Marco sat stunned. He felt fear grip his stomach, like a giant knot, spreading through his body until he was almost paralysed with it. His mind raced. What would happen to his parents? What should he do now? The more he thought on his conversation with Lorenzo the more bizarre it seemed. He remembered his father’s words to him before he left for Italy: people would do anything to get hold of those letters including murder: and really, for the first time the reality of those words hit him full force. He realised that underneath the civilised façade of a very cultured people, lay open wounds, left over from the war that would perhaps never be healed.
Wounds that spoke of memories, passed down through generations, of brutality, murder, and other shameful deeds committed by both sides in a bitter civil war, of which even today are seldom spoken about. For the first time since he was a child, he felt tears well up in his eyes. He forced them back and tried to pull himself together. He thought of his military training, the mental and physical toughness required for Para selection and he pulled to the fore all his reserves of strength.
He gradually felt more composed, and his breathing returned to normal. Slowly a cold resolve took over his mental processes. He was once again back in the ranks of the airborne. He was once again a disciplined fighting force. He was once again in control.
He got up from the table, made for the phone booth in the reception area, and dialled Anna’s home number. After a few rings, she answered. He briefly explained the situation to her and asked her to contact her superiors and tell them that they had until seven pm tomorrow night to come up with a credible action plan to rescue his parents. He also told her that any plan would have to be approved by himself before any course of action was decided on, as he didn’t want any unnecessary risks taken with their lives. Anna agreed. She also added that there was no need to leave at four am now that the terrorists, as she called them, knew of their intentions. She suggested they left later, and have the two SISI agents follow close behind as backup. They then set a time to meet and ended their conversation. Marco steeled himself to now phone his parents in Glasgow.
The phone rang out in the family home a few times before Angelo answered it. ‘Dad, it’s me. Are you both ok?’ Angelo took some time to answer him. ‘Marco, we are both ok and not harmed. The two men here say that they will not harm us so long as you do as you are told. They have left us alone in our bedroom and have promised not to hurt us.’
Marco was amazed that even though his father was under severe stress as a hostage, he had still been able to think clearly enough to tell him there were only the two terrorists holding them and that they were being left alone in their bedroom. ‘Tell them it’s all in hand for seven pm tomorrow night, so look after mum and stay cool Dad. It’ll soon be over.’ ‘Look after yourself Marco and don’t do anything foolish,’ said a nervous Angelo, before hanging up.
Marco went to the bar and ordered a large brandy. The barman asked him what type of Brandy and pointed to the gantry. Marco pointed at a bottle and said, ‘give me a large Napoleon.’ Finding a comfortable seat, he sat down and thought about events as they had unfolded. He also wondered why Anna had called them terrorists and not kidnappers or criminals. He knew that he would never sleep that night, so he may as well try his hardest to relax as best he could.
His mind roamed back to his time in Northern Ireland with his unit.
It was 1970 in Crossmaglen, sometimes called bandit country by the army, and Marco was on night operations with his section. They were staking out a barn in the middle of nowhere land that Army Intelligence suspected was going active that night. An informer had told them it was being used as a weapons dump by the PIRA, (Provisional IRA) and for the last four hours he had been lying in the pouring rain in a wet ditch that was gradually becoming swamp like, keeping a keen eye on the barn and the surrounding countryside with five other Paras from his unit. Their information was that the PIRA would be arriving that night to pick up weaponry for a planned op the next day, so they were all keyed up.
The NCO in charge had spotted through his night sight some movement to their left. Three shapes carrying rifles were seen moving in on the barn. They were difficult to pick out in the bad weather and the darkness of the night. The Paras waited until the terrorists had slowly moved in on the barn until they were about to pick up the hidden cache of weapons, before four of the Paras moved cautiously in on them. Marco was detailed with his best mate ‘Dusty’ Miller to cover their rear and to stop any terrorists from escaping.
The NCO shouted out, ‘Security forces – lay down your weapons or we fire.’ The PIRA squad turned, fell to the ground and immediately opened fire on them. In the dark, the noise of the firefight and the flash of the weapons, combined with everyone shouting at once, caused utter confusion for everyone involved. Marco tensed his finger on the trigger as he saw a shape moving away to the left. Was it a terrorist or one of the Paras? He reasoned that his unit wouldn’t be moving in that direction, so he opened fire. The dark shape stopped moving. When it was all finished, the three terrorists were lying dead on the ground. The Paras had come through the fight unscathed. Thankfully, surprise had been on their side. Marco had remained quite calm throughout, and had been given the credit for killing the terrorists who had tried to slip away from the rest. He had never taken a life before and it had proved to be a traumatic experience for him. He walked over to the dead terrorist and stood over him. At first, he had felt quite cold inside, almost numb. Afterwards, in his room back at the barracks, he was sickened at what he had done. The feeling of revulsion he felt that night was almost physical, however he knew that if he had to, he could kill again without hesitation.
He took a sip of his brandy and thought, I did it once before out of a sense of duty, but if those bastards hurt my parents, it will be a joy to kill them.
Chapter 8
Lorenzo held a meeting in his home with a colleague, a left wing radical activist, who was used to working covertly on his own and who was also used from time to time as a hired assassin by the Red Brigade. Up to now, the police were unaware of his existence and Lorenzo used him for any jobs that needed a sensitive hand.
They sat in his kitchen enjoying an espresso and a cigarette. Lorenzo was clearly agitated over recent events. He took a draw of his cigarette and said, ‘we have to get our little secretary silenced before she spills the beans on our whole operation. The other man nodded agreement. ‘Do you really think she’ll talk?’ he asked. Lorenzo thought for a moment, ‘I don’t know for sure. We need to get access to the station to make sure she doesn’t get the chance to tell the Carabinieri what she knows.’
The man was silent. He knew where this conversation was heading, and why he was called to the house. Lorenzo gave him a weary look, ‘I think the preferred option would be to silence our little canary in her little cage before she gives away our plans, and probably as soon as possible.’
The other man said, ‘do we use a gun or something cleverer to finish her off?’ Lorenzo stood up and walked to a box on the kitchen table. Opening it, he took out an old German Army Luger and a silencer. ‘This may look like a museum piece my friend, but it is a smooth working weapon. It also has the advantage of being completely unmarked and untraceable in case it has to be left behind.’ He placed it back into the box and handed it to his companion.
His companion took it out and examined it. ‘Has it been used before on any jobs?’ Lorenzo shook his head, ‘it was last used in the war, but it has been well looked after since then. It belonged to my friend’s father who was a partisan with the Stella Rossa Brigade on Monte Sole. He was executed by the SS in September 1944, and the Luger was found by my friend after the massacre.’
‘Why has your friend agreed to letting us use this? It obviously has sentimental value.’
‘My friend died for the cause some while ago, and I don’t think he would mind what we are doing.’
Stalin took the weapon and placed it in the shoulder holster he had brought along in expec
tancy of another job from Lorenzo. ‘It will be a pleasure to use a weapon with such history as this.’
Lorenzo then reached for an envelope sitting on the table that contained the address of a printer in the city that was sympathetic to their cause. He gave it to the assassin, saying ‘I want you to go to this address when you leave here. You will find a printer there who will provide you with a photo ID that will be identical to the one used by the SISI. This will give you access to the police station, and of course access to our canary. The printer is expecting you anytime now my friend, so I will ask you to leave and go to him. When you meet him, tell him that you are ‘Stalin’ and he should tell you that he is ‘Rasputin’
Lorenzo shook hands with the man, and wished him good luck. He walked him to the door and watched him walk down the street. Stalin seemed to have the gift of merging into the background wherever he was. The original grey man.
The man Lorenzo had called ‘Stalin’ preferred to remain in the shadows. The less people knew what his speciality was, the better for him. The Spetznatz, the Russian Special Forces, had trained him in the Libyan Desert. They had taught him all there was to know about covert entry, surveillance and assassination methods. He felt confident he could enter the police station, kill his mark and leave again without leaving a trail for the Carabinieri to follow.
He had been used recently on a similar case involving a council official who had forgotten where his loyalties lay, and who had been speaking to the police about things he shouldn’t have.
The council official, who was a communist, had developed cold feet and had to be ‘eliminated.’ Lorenzo knew the official’s house was under twenty four hour surveillance as the police had been expecting an attempt on his life there, so Stalin decided to take him out at the council offices. He just walked in, walked up to his office door, opened it and shot him in the head with a silenced gun. He calmly walked out again without leaving any trace of his presence. No one in the building even noticed him enter or leave.
He approached the station on foot rather than driving. First rule of assassination: be like a ghost, and keep it simple. Cars can leave a trail and should be avoided if possible. Second rule: always be prepared. They had drummed into him the maxim – prior planning prevents poor performance. Many times over the last few years this maxim had saved his life. He had his Luger in his shoulder holster, ready, with the safety catch off. Lorenzo had told him that the Commandante and Bastiani had left the station for the night, so now was the ideal time to act. He put on a pair of fine black cotton gloves to prevent his prints being picked up anywhere in the station, and climbed the steps.
Third rule of assassination: act normal and confidently. This was perhaps the most difficult to achieve. He always found his heart rate increased on a job and he hoped it didn’t show.
He opened the Station door and approached the officer on duty at the front desk. Giving his best impression of bon ami, he said ‘Buon Giorno, I am Agent Giovanni Ciccero of SISI.’ He handed the officer his ID. ‘I am here to interview the prisoner Laura Moscardini.’ The officer replied ‘Buon Giorno, and examined his ID before saying ‘We weren’t expecting anyone from SISI today, agent Ciccero.’
Stalin smiled and said, ‘perhaps you would care to verify this with agent Bastiani, who is expecting me.’ The officer was still reticent to allow him access. He looked up at Stalin and said, ‘agent Bastiani left a few hours ago and didn’t leave us any instructions on this case.’ Stalin still kept his cool, and said. ‘Officer, please clear this with Commandante Capaldi at once. I’ve come from Rome on the orders of SISI and I have some urgent questions for this prisoner.’
The officer shook his head at Stalin, ‘Commandante Capaldi is off station and will not be back until tomorrow morning, except for emergencies. I feel awkward agent Ciccero, this is an embarrassing situation.’
Stalin feigned an angry appearance. ‘This is impossible officer, but we can sort this out. If you let me ask her two or three questions now so that I can report the answers to SISI, I will wait until the Commandante returns tomorrow before doing the main questioning. Is this acceptable? The officer, seeing a way out of this, readily agreed. Stalin even went further in his appearance of compromise. ‘As I won’t take long Officer, I can ask her two or three questions here in her cell. You don’t have to prepare an interview room. The Officer readily agreed and led Stalin to the confinement area.
He opened the cell door and stood aside to allow Stalin access, then returned to the front desk.
Laura Moscardini looked at the smiling man in front of her, and stood up. Stalin put out his hand towards her, ‘I am a solicitor hired by our mutual friend, Signora Moscardini. You have nothing to be afraid of; I am working to set you free. Laura accepted his handshake and said, ‘I knew he wouldn’t desert me.’ Stalin kept on smiling, and said, ‘tell me what you have told them so far Laura?’
Laura relaxed at this and said, ‘Nothing signore, nothing at all.’
It was the last thing that she ever did. Stalin, still smiling, pushed his Luger into her mouth and fired. The heavy calibre bullet tore off the back of her head and splattered the cell wall with red gore. As a precaution, Stalin wiped the gun handle clean of prints, even though he was certain there were none, and pressed the gun into Laura’s right hand. He wasn’t concerned if the police thought she had committed suicide or not. Just another twist, another bend, to put them off the real scent.
Stalin straightened up and smoothed his clothes. He noticed blood on his shoes, so he used the corner of Laura’s skirt to clean them. He left the cell and made for the reception desk. ‘Thank you officer, you were most helpful. I’ll come back later tomorrow when Commandante Capaldi is here.’ Handing over the cell keys, he said, ‘She’s securely locked up again officer.’ The officer took the keys back with a relaxed wave of the hand. ‘Grazie, agent Ciccero, would you mind signing out now?’ Stalin still smiling signed the out log with an artistic flourish, after all, he thought, this is going to be examined by experts.
Two hours later, Officer Dezzini was doing his routine check on the prisoner Moscardini. He pulled back the viewing flap on the door and looked in. He couldn’t believe the scene before him. A dead Secretary lay stretched out on the concrete floor with blood spattered everywhere. He pressed the emergency alarm and ran for the phone.
Enzo was sitting at the dinner table with his wife, his three sons and two daughters. Their respective spouses were also there, plus his three grandchildren. He had just finished his meal and was sitting with two of his grandchildren on his knee when the phone rang. His wife sighed and watched a weary Enzo go to the kitchen to answer the call. She could hear him shout something about, procedures, before he came back into the room.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said with a sad expression on his face. ‘There seems to be an emergency back at the Station. I need to go.’ Enzo’s wife gave a resigned shrug of her shoulders. After forty years, she was used to these calls at home.
‘Call me if you are going to be late, you know I worry about you.’ Enzo laughed, ‘for forty years you’ve been saying the same thing every time there’s a call out. Don’t worry. I won’t be long.’
When Enzo returned to the station, a very embarrassed Duty Officer, Franco Dezzini told him about the SISI visit. Enzo listened to him for a while, then said, ’did he have written orders?’ The Duty Officer’s face grew red with embarrassment, ‘I didn’t think to ask for orders Commandante. He had official ID.’ Enzo took a cigarette out of his pack and placed it between his lips. ‘Did you phone SISI HQ to check him out?’ Officer Dezzini shook his head, ‘no Commandante, I didn’t see a need to.’
Enzo reached behind the desk for the cell keys and moved briskly down the corridor to the Cell area, followed by the Duty Officer. He put the key in Laura Moscardini’s door and opened it. He was met by a gruesome sight. Laura was lying on her back, dead, on the concrete floor with blood all around her head. The back wall of the whitewashed cell was covered by bloo
d and brain matter.
He shouted out instructions to other officers, ‘Lock down the station, and look everywhere for anyone or anything unusual. He stood looking at the dead body from the cell door: not wanting to enter in case he contaminated the crime scene. He noticed the Luger in her hand and shook his head. A clumsy attempt to fool us, he thought.
One thing struck him as odd however. Most of the blood was to the head area and around the rear wall and floor. There was one small area on the hem of her skirt that was unusual. How did that get there, he thought. He knelt down to get a closer look at it. My God, he thought, the killer wiped his shoes on the hem of her skirt. That’s black shoe polish mixed in with the blood. Enzo straightened up and reached for a cigarette, this is one cool guy, he thought, he even took time to clean his shoes.
He made for the nearest phone and alerted his immediate superior to the killing. After this call he told Officer Dezzini, who seemed to be in a daze, to bring the CCTV film of the reception and cell areas to his office, and to set up his video player.
He then put out a call for a forensics team and the duty doctor, who he knew had to confirm the death, to attend the scene.
He called out for a yellow tape barrier to be erected around the area to stop casual entry to the cell. Once he was satisfied that he could do no more, he went to his office and waited on the CCTV film.
He thought who would have the training and professionalism to carry out a hit like this. The killer was obviously someone who was used to this kind of work. The Red Brigades were more into bombings and kidnaps, and he was unsure if they would have the expertise to do something as subtle as this. He sat in silence trying to work it out.
Before long, the Station was buzzing with people all trying to out shout the next, as they went about their business. There was a knock on the Commandante’s door. ‘Come in,’ Enzo said with his usual gruff voice. Officer Dezzini entered with the CCTV tapes in his hand. ‘Set it up Franco and play it please.
Legacy of Sorrows Page 21
