In a week Paul had gained some insight of the enormity of his position and how little he did know about the affairs of men. His indoctrination came the following week when Barrington called a meeting to discuss the purchase by one of the subsidiaries of the Foreman Magnetic Metals Company of Wilmington, Delaware. This company, with assets of eleven million dollars, manufactured a variety of metal products, but had been losing money the last three years. The vice-president of the subsidiary planning to acquire Foreman, presented the case clearly. His company, a consumer goods manufacturer, had been showing gross profits of up to eight million dollars annually. Various taxes reduced that to a net of about four million. Foreman Magnetic was on the market for seventeen million dollars. It had accumulated losses of four and a half million, and projected losses for the year of two million dollars. The subsidiary, if it purchased Foreman, would consolidate the losses against its profits, and this would result in a tax of less than one million instead of the usual four million. In essence, the United States Government was paying the subsidiary three million dollars to help purchase Foreman.
Foreman Magnetics, however, had recently developed a new coil with interesting potential. This small coil was the heart of an electric cut-off switch which instantaneously stopped the voltage of a line whenever a short circuit occurred. Its possibilities were awesome. Placed in a house or industry, the moment a child or workman touched a hot wire creating the short circuit, the switch would react to prevent electrocution. The vice-president of the subsidiary showed a film demonstrating a volunteer placing one hand in a bowl of water and touching the exposed wire of a lamp with the other. The lamp blew immediately, but nothing happened to the man.
The coil would take two more years to perfect and be distributed on the market in sufficient quantities to make a profit, said the vice-president. During that period losses should exceed four million dollars. Paul could scarcely believe the nods of approval garnered from the committee. Of this four million dollars, continued the vice-president, the United States Government would credit the subsidiary with an additional tax saving of two million. Therefore, in effect, not only would the government present the subsidiary with a windfall of three million dollars, but would now underwrite half of the cost of perfecting and preparing for distribution this new coil.
The request to absorb this company by a stock for stock acquisition was unanimously approved by the committee with the exception of Paul, who chose to abstain.
During the first week, Paul had gotten to know and admire the small, pudgy Pole, Boranski, with his ill fitting suits. His protective measures were flawless. He brought in experts to ascertain that no bugs were in Rose’s mansion, and the grounds, guarded since the time of Vito’s father, received an electronic surveillance system second to none. Besides the routine remote television cameras and listening devices, electronic instruments were installed which gave warning even when telephone operators checked a line or when a sharp tool cut into window glass. Paul himself made a physical inspection of the property. There was not an inch free from scrutiny by a guard or an electronic system, even during hours of darkness when infrared and heat scanning devices were employed.
Reports were filtering in about Bonazzi, most of them negative. Paul had charged Boranski with obtaining all information possible, and he had moved with characteristic speed. His people reported that Bonazzi was not seen outside his estate, and, for that matter, no one could be sure he was still inside. As Mickey visited the mansion periodically, it was assumed that he might yet be there. Taps were frequently attempted. Boranski explained that they had a device which could record telephone conversations if the vehicle containing the massive instruments could be positioned near the cables. One of Bonazzi’s counter devices had signaled the tap. His men had tracked down the vehicle, cracked the heads of Boranski’s people, and destroyed the truck and its contents. They now kept all sections of cable under observation. It was move and counter move, and Bonazzi was still impenetrable.
His young, beautiful girlfriend, the sister of the weasel, was placed under constant surveillance and her phone tapped, but Bonazzi had cut her off completely.
Al Gorden, the union attorney from the Bronx who had sent Bill Auburn to the hospital to kill Dominic, was also lying low. He went about his duties as an attorney as if he never heard of the Mafia. Auburn, after being treated for the gunshot in his abdomen, was later picked up by an ambulance sent by a gangland doctor. He had since dropped out of sight.
Paul and Boranski discussed the situation at length, then Paul asked, “Cy, can you obtain some fighting men if need be?”
“No problem at all, General, if all you want are fighters. However, if you also demand loyalty, that takes a lot longer.”
“What kind of men would you get as fighters?”
“Young punks hoping to make a name for themselves. Out of work vets who miss the thrill of shooting guns. You’ve certainly run upon that type in the service. Now and then a gangland soldier. He’d be an asset if you could be sure he’s not a plant.”
“And the loyal types?”
“Ex-cops, private detectives out on their luck, soldiers of fortune. Best of all would be an ambitious sub-capo who needs cash to take on his capo at a later time. He would have the nucleus of a tough fighting force.”
“How about your own people?”
“I have a dozen or so who would do whatever you want. But from that point on, you’re ticketed.”
“What do you mean ticketed?”
“They’d know who ordered the action and where they can get a free meal ticket anytime they want. It’s plain out and out blackmail, when you get down to it. With other people, it could be handled at such long distance that it would be next to impossible to involve you. Remember, you can be guilty as hell, but unless the police can pin down some hard evidence, all their suspicions don’t amount to a hill of beans. And having some fellow say he heard you order an action isn’t hard evidence.”
“How far can you and I go into this?”
“All the way, General. But Mr. Donini signed a paper stating that the company and he would back me down the line in the event the feathers flew the wrong way. The document is in a safe deposit box, and would be sent back to Mr. Donini if I died.”
“Would you get me a copy so I can think about signing one myself?”
“I’ll be glad to.”
Boranski had it for him the following morning. The contract guaranteed all legal and medical expenses plus twice his pay in case he was seriously injured or went to prison. A two million dollar bond had been posted with a bank to guarantee performance, the bond to extend two years beyond Vito’s death. Paul went to the bank that afternoon to speak with the senior trust officer, who was swift to explain that the bond could be extended to any point by Mrs. Donini, since she was the beneficiary. He talked to Rose about it that evening. She phoned the bank the next day to have it send to her by messenger whatever papers were necessary to extend the bond for five years.
Bonny dropped by during this time, looking very little like the old maid who had visited Chicago. Dominic was in Santo Domingo, the Dominican Republic, she said, under false identification papers in the name of Howard Carson, and mentioned he had gone there only because it would be easy to remember if one thought of his name. She was scheduled to leave on her expedition to Uruguay in early December, and although the other members had already gone, she was delaying her trip to settle her mother’s estate. Once that was completed, she planned to fly by private plane to Santo Domingo on her way to Uruguay if Dominic gave his permission to come.
December arrived, and with it the first snow of the season. Paul began taking unscheduled trips to the subsidiaries, closely guarded by men assigned by Boranski. He found the work stimulating, challenging, and starting to make sense. Ettore was happily occupied with remodeling part of the mansion. It had been built sixty-five years ago, and Rose wanted some changes. Ettore was only too glad to agree. Rose and Carol became fast friends. They
turned their enormous energies to charitable works, especially training centers for the handicapped to teach them how to work.
One afternoon Boranski phoned for an appointment to see Paul. He was told to come right over. Without preamble, once the door was closed behind him, he said, “Mickey Giannotti is in Boston.”
“Where?”
“At Don Eulio Gobetti’s. He’s the top Mafia figure in this area.” He raised a brow. “How did you know Mickey would make his move now?”
“It stood to reason that Bonazzi would strike before Christmas. Killing one of us before then would make the death more poignant.”
“Well, your instructions to watch Mickey closely seem to be paying off. Why do you think he came here?”
“I was about to ask you that.”
“Gobetti is an organization man. So is Bonazzi. My guess is that Bonazzi wants help from Gobetti.”
Paul shook his head. “According to your reports, Bonazzi has a small army at his beck and call. He doesn’t need help. My opinion is that he plans to attack here, and, since any flak in the Boston area will affect Gobetti, Bonazzi wants his consent.”
“Good thinking, General.”
“I want you to keep Al Gorden in the Bronx under surveillance as closely as Mickey. He arranged for a man to kill Dominic, and I wouldn’t be surprised he also provided the men in Canada.”
“Okay, General.” He peered at Paul through half shut eyes. “What shall we do with Mickey? I can have him taken care of.”
“No, not yet. If Mickey goes, Bonazzi will dig in deeper. By the way, get more of those aerial photographs.”
When Boranski had gone, Paul sat thinking. He had been expecting this. Too many people thought of the military as being upright, noble minded gentlemen who abided by the laws of chivalry. Little did they realize that every level of training was directed towards stealth, surprise, deception. A proper ambush won a citation. Murder was a highly prized operation. Striking from the rear was the ultimate tactic. Prisoners were taken only because it conserved friendly lives, not because it was morally correct. Once he surrendered, every officer would welcome an excuse to kill him.
It irked Paul to wait in limbo. He knew that every second was danger filled until Bonazzi was destroyed. But to mount an attack, even with the forty men Boranski had gotten together, would be foolhardy. Attrition would not solve the problem. If he couldn’t pinpoint Bonazzi’s exact location, a fight would merely put the opposition on guard.
From a drawer he drew out plans of Rose’s estate and of the Donager buildings. The attack will be at one of these places, he decided. But before going into it further, he leaned back in his chair to think over every spot a DiStephano might go between now and Christmas. No, all movements by the family were sporadic, unscheduled. Therefore, it had to be at the mansion or office. He opened the plans and leaned over them, a thought nagging at his mind that he might not be able to take his hoped for trip to see Kristine and Ingrid at Christmas.
Boranski brought the reports of Mickey’s whereabouts each time the huge man moved. After a lengthy meeting with Gobetti, Mickey had remained at a downtown hotel for a day, then went to New York. His first call there was at the home of Don Enrico Cattaneo, for whom he had previously worked. He was closeted with Don Enrico most of the afternoon, then returned the following morning for an additional hour.
“He came back for an answer,” said Boranski. Paul nodded.
From New York, Mickey took a plane to Miami, rented a car, and drove north to Hollywood where Don Alfredo Paladino kept a winter home. He was with Don Alfredo for only an hour or two, then returned to the airport for a plane to Chicago. There he went directly to Bonazzi’s estate.
“He’s there,” said Paul. “There’s no doubt of it. Cy, I have a list of items I want you to collect.” He handed over a sheet of paper.
Boranski read the list and grinned. “You ought to contact some of your friends at the Pentagon.”
Paul laughed. “I also want you to infiltrate twenty of the men into Chicago. All ex-military types.”
“How soon?”
“Right away. Bonazzi is planning something here, and the best way to avoid it is by hitting him first. But we can’t do that until he emerges. Going in after him is a last resort. Anyhow, I want some men there just in case an opportunity presents itself.”
That evening at supper he told the family about Mickey’s moves. “He’s planning a surprise here,” said Ettore.
“We suspect as much, Papa. That’s why I want you and Rose and Carol to stay as close to home as possible until after Christmas.”
“Papa won’t mind that,” said Rose, smiling at Ettore. “I just gave him two more rooms to renovate.”
Ettore’s smile was somewhat wry. “I enjoy working here, but it’s not what I really want. You know what that is, Paul.”
“I know. I wish we could make the try, too. I’ve been studying photos of his house so thoroughly that I know it by heart. But even if we use enough trained men to get over the wall, there will be such a noise by the time we reach the house that every police officer in Chicago will come there. And breaking into that fortress will be ten times tougher than getting on the estate.”
“He’s got to come out, sooner or later,” said Carol.
“Not until he kills us all,” said Ettore. “He’s smart. He knows we’ll have to go to him eventually. When that happens, he’ll have the law on his side. That’s why he’s waiting. And that’s exactly why I’m letting Paul run the show. I would make the mistake of going in after him before I should. Paul won’t.” He moved the desert dish aside. “Now, General, has that army of yours given you any training in checker playing?”
A week passed slowly. Paul waited patiently for some move by Mickey, but the powerful, giant-sized man stayed put in Chicago with his bodyguard checking all who came near, as if he expected an attack against his own person. It was the old waiting game, and Paul had spent much of his combat service doing exactly that. But on the battlefield a commander could send out troops for a spoiling attack to throw the enemy off balance for a while. Here, all he could do was inspect his security over and over again. It had to be at the estate, of that he was convinced. He went to the office too irregularly and took only unscheduled trips for an attack while traveling for his work. Whether the plan was designed to kill him or one of the family, it had to be here.
Anthony phoned Rose the middle of December to say he intended to visit Boston for the holidays. She was highly pleased. Since Mama died, Anthony had come home for Christmas only a handful of times. It would be good to have the family together for some reason besides tragedy. If only Dominic could be here.
She told the others about it at supper. All were happy. There were so few of the family left that each one became more important.
Paul’s mood dimmed the next morning when Boranski reported that Mickey had started moving about. Paul told Boranski to have him watched closely, but the big man outwitted them. He collected a dozen men in three cars and had them driven to a private airport outside Chicago where a chartered jet was waiting. Immediately it took off, Boranski’s agents checked out the ownership and flight plan. The owner was a small leasing company who had rented the plane to a construction firm in Indianapolis. One of the firm’s officers was known to be Mafia connected, and they had provided the pilot. The flight plan was scheduled as being Chicago - Newark. Donager security men were promptly assigned to Newark Airport, others to major jet landing capabilities within a hundred miles of Boston. Boranski even put into service the twenty fighters he had been holding back for Paul.
Neither he nor Paul were surprised when the hours passed without word of the plane. They had not really expected it to land at Newark, but hoped they might chance upon it at a nearby airport. When five hours passed, Boranski had men phone all the jet airports within a two hundred mile radius of Boston. When that failed, they extended the range. Information was finally gained from a field near Pittsburgh. Yes, the jet had landed h
ours ago, and was still there. The plane, that is - not the passengers nor the pilot.
“They took cars to another field where a second plane was waiting,” said Boranski. “My guess is that they landed in a busy airport like New York. If so, we’ve lost them for the time being.”
“Post men on all the roads leading into Boston. Have them take pictures of all cars carrying four men or so. Then call in the agents from Chicago to look over the pictures. I know it’s a helleva job, but we might get lucky.”
As Paul said, it was a helleva job, and they were not lucky. Even with the finest cameras, it was difficult to obtain clear shots of vehicles in traffic, and impossible to do so at night, especially since a light snow began falling. Nonetheless, the photographs kept flowing in and the agents from Chicago, who had seen some of Mickey’s men, continued to pour over them with magnifying glasses. By the end of the week, Paul called off the search. Now he tightened the screws on security. All signaling devices were double checked, guards were secretly screened for possible gangland influence, the grounds were inspected again for any gaps in the protective system.
Paul told the family, including Eleanor, now on vacation, that they were not to leave the grounds for any purpose until after Christmas, and he himself stopped going to the office. Boranski was instructed to move into the mansion with a couple of his best lieutenants. All was point - now he must wait for counter-point.
The report of Anthony’s departure for Boston came from his undercover guards on the 21st. This corresponded with his last phone call to Rose saying he would arrive the afternoon of the 22nd.
Paul alerted Boranski. “Keep a close watch on Monsignor Anthony when he gets here. Have him picked up in a company car by an armed guard. Then place a second car behind his with at least two more men.”
“Okay. But I can’t for the life of me believe Bonazzi will harm the Monsignor.”
I Contadini (The Peasants) Page 33
