The School of Turin

by Dale Nelson

  “Thanks, Rusty. Stay frosty.”

  “Vaya con dios.”

  “Hey Rust, I need one thing. If you can do it.”

  “Yeah.”

  Jack could hear in Rusty’s voice that he wanted to be gone.

  The flight back to Alicante was maddening.

  He suddenly cared very little about Aleksander Andelić and his power games with the other criminal syndicates that he was warring with. He cared even less about Guilia Montalto. Even the prospect of finding Bartolo’s hidden diamonds and wrecking the twenty-year escape plan of the man who stole his love and tried to kill him paled next to thoughts of his survival.

  But how in the hell was Danzig involved? More importantly, how did she know he was?

  They were careful inside. Up until the shooting, they were very careful about the placement of the cameras, and they didn’t remove their face masks until they were outside. Even then, Jack was careful to keep his features hidden until he’d had his helmet on. None of the crew knew his real identity. And that was supposed to be handled, according to Castillo. He worked under an alias, and none of the people captured knew who he really was.

  Unless Aleksander was tightening the screws of that loosely formed cage he’d set up around Jack. Feeding small clues to the authorities, forcing Jack to need his help. Or he wasn’t as good as he said he was.

  Danzig’s involvement added another dimension of complexity that he wasn’t prepared for. It made Jack question the logic of his next move. Should he even go through with this?

  By any other objective measure, the hour was late when Jack finally made it back to Aleksander’s home, but the Spanish were just getting started. Aleksander was hosting a variation on the movable feast that he threw the night Jack returned from California.

  Jack didn’t see Viktor, and that made him nervous.

  All conversation stopped when Jack appeared in the doorway.

  Aleksander, Basia, Guilia, and Castillo sat at the long, teak table outside, which was filled with food and several bottles of wine in various states of emptiness. Knowing what he did of three of the people at the table and what they were capable of, Jack couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer absurdity of the scene. It was a look into a parallel universe through a dirty window.

  It was Hemingway reimagining Dante’s Inferno.

  Aleksander held a cold gaze for a long moment. Jack remember a look like that once before. It was the kind of dead, soulless stare Niccolò Bartolo had right before he shot him. Aleksander pushed back from his chair, dropping the cloth napkin on the table, and stood, still wordless. He raised a hand, pointing back inside the house. Jack followed the straight line of Aleksander’s arm. Aleksander followed, sliding the glass door behind him.

  Jack immediately looked around the kitchen for possible weapons. The closest thing to him was a bottle from the wine rack built into the kitchen island, but that was between him and Aleksander. Otherwise, there was a knife block on the countertop about fifteen feet away. Jack was closest to that, but he had no training in knives. His host, he suspected, did.

  “This better be an exceptionally good story.”

  “It was no good,” Jack said flatly.

  “No good,” Aleksander repeated, cocking his head slightly to the side. “I thought you were the best in the world,” he said in a mocking tone. “In fact, I believe you used those words to describe yourself. Overselling it a bit, were you?”

  “They amped up security,” Jack said. “The two worst times to try a job like this are the week after they opened, because they’ve got the kinks worked out, and the last week, because everyone is on edge that someone is going to try something.”

  That was absolutely not the case in Venice, but Jack was counting on the Pink Panthers’ now infamous smash and grab method of entry as wrote that they’d spent little effort in understanding the psychology of security systems.

  “Why didn’t you say something before you left?”

  “Would you have listened? But I didn’t know they were ending until I got there, and there’s always a chance that it’s different. You never know until you see it in person.”

  Aleksander shrugged his response.

  “They had double the guards we were expecting and more cameras. There were two guards on the exits, and the pieces we needed were in the back. There was no way we could make it from those cases to the stairwell without being made. I made a call.”

  “You made a call,” Aleksander said, and Jack realized it was the second time in this conversation that Aleksander had repeated what Jack just said as a question. The guy was off balance. This had taken him entirely by surprise, and he wasn’t sure what to do.

  Maybe he was thinking about what to tell his buyer.

  Or maybe there wasn’t one.

  When Aleksander hadn’t preached about the consequences of not stealing the jewels, Jack started to suspect that there was no buyer. Aleksander just wanted him visible.

  “You mentioned a job,” Aleksander said, then turned his mastiff head back to the dinner party behind him.

  Time to press his advantage.

  “No. We settle something else first. The FBI knows I was in Paris. There was security camera footage outside the hotel.”

  “We have that taken care of.”

  “No, you don’t. This happened after, or in spite of, whatever you’ve done with the judges or the police or whatever. Looks to me like your reach doesn’t go as far as you say it does.”

  “Watch yourself.”

  “Well, I’m clearly the only one who is. Now, since the FBI knows about me, you can’t hang that over my head anymore. Friends know I’m here. If I don’t check in every few hours, they go to the press, and they go to the police. INTERPOL, not the locals you’ve paid off. It’ll take a while, and I won’t be around to see it, but they’ll have you.”

  Aleksander stared at him for long, hard seconds.

  Finally, in a flat voice he said, “Follow me.” He led Jack down the hall to his office. He opened the door, Jack noting that it was unlocked, and waved him into the dark room. Aleksander turned the light on and followed him in. “Speak,” he said. “What do you want?”

  “You know what I want. I want whatever blackmail you’ve collected on me over the years. I want to know what’s really going on here. And I want you to leave me the hell alone. Now, from where I stand, you don’t have nearly the network you bragged about, and if you can’t make this FBI thing go away, I’ve got no reason to protect you.”

  “I’ll talk to Rafael; it will be handled.”

  “How?”

  “I said it will be handled.”

  “Not good enough.”

  “We have someone in the Paris police. We can make the footage disappear.”

  “The FBI already has it.”

  “What are you after, Jack? You’re not making a compelling case for my keeping your around. Maybe I’d be better off if you disappeared instead of a few grainy photographs.”

  “Diamonds,” Jack replied.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Niccolò Bartolo, my mentor in Turin, stole one hundred million dollars in cut diamonds in 2003 from a diamond warehouse in Antwerp. He was arrested shortly after the job when his escape fell apart and has been in jail ever since. The diamonds were never recovered. I know where they are.”

  “That’s impossible. If you’ve known where they are all this time, why the hell haven’t you tried to get them?”

  “I said I know where they are now. It took me a while, but I figured it out. You agree to run interference with the FBI. Make that go away, and we go after these diamonds. Split it down the middle. I can do a lot of disappearing with fifty million.” Jack studied the other man. He’d verbally punched Aleksander a moment ago and accused him of overselling his “vast network.” Now he was reeling the man back in.

  “So, where are they?”

  “In a bank in Rome.”

  Aleksander was good, he was controlled, but his eyes flare
d when Jack said the word “bank.”

  Jack continued. “Bartolo first tried to sell them to a diamond merchant in Milan, but the guy never showed. He already suspected something was up. So, Bartolo returned to Turin and was arrested, but they only found a few thousand dollars’ worth of stones on him. Just enough to make the charges stick. What they could never account for at his trial was what happened between Milan and Turin. Bartolo has always remained mute on this. What I know now is that he handed the diamonds off to someone that he trusted. That person hid them in a safety deposit box he had at a bank in Rome. The box is under an alias, which only the two of them knew about. That is why no one has been able to find them yet.”

  Jack could see the embers of interest start to flicker in Aleksander’s eyes.

  “Bartolo expected he’d only get five or six years in jail. He didn’t think they were going to nail him on a parole violation and then keep extending it. My guess? The Belgians are pissed that he basically copped to it but won’t tell them where the diamonds are. They know he’s got them stashed until he gets out, so they continue to make it that he can’t get out.”

  Dark clouds of doubt began to form on Aleksander’s face. “So, if you know where they are, why come back here and offer it to me?”

  “Three reasons. First, I wanted to square things between us. I want out. If I can trade a split of this for my safety, I think that’s better than using them all to stay hidden. Second, you kept me off the radar in Paris up until the FBI got involved. There’s a hole in your operation, and there might be more. I thought you should know. Finally,” Jack pointed behind him, vaguely in the direction that he thought was the patio, “Guilia is the one who hid them. She was Bartolo’s mistress. She kept that quiet, especially after he was arrested because she didn’t want to be implicated.”

  There was a glimmer of recognition in Aleksander’s face, but it was like the green flash at sunset. A trace, and it was gone.

  “If that’s true, why hasn’t she just gone in and taken them?” Aleksander asked.

  “Normally, a safe deposit box requires identification to access. Or you can designate an agent using a power of attorney, which are typically time bound.”

  “You said normally.”

  “Well, in a normal bank that’s all true. This isn’t a normal bank. It’s a legitimate lending institution for all intents and purposes, but it is controlled by a mafia family based out of Sicily. Bartolo’s uncle was the boss. His son, Bartolo’s cousin, took over after the father died. They use this bank to have a secure place to launder money, but they also offer the safe deposit boxes to specific clients so they can hide things they don’t want found. My source says that all transactions or safe deposits are managed with a passcode in order to keep it anonymous. Bartolo would have called ahead, using an alias, and told the bank manager that a representative needed to access his box number one time, providing the passcode. Guilia would likely have been given a different phrase to tell the bank manager in order to verify herself.”

  “I’m impressed,” Aleksander said, still revealing little.

  “Now, I think we can dispense with the pretense, Aleksander, because we both know why you really have me here. Guilia told you about the diamonds, but she didn’t tell you that she knows where they are or how to get them. Once I figured out where they were and that she was the one who put them there, I puzzled out that’s what you really wanted me for. You figured that I was your best shot at getting the location from her. I’ll bet you also know that it was Bartolo’s cousin who protected her after he went to prison, which means you know who he is. That’s why you haven’t tried more forceful methods of persuasion. I think Venice was a sideshow, and an unnecessary one. But I’m willing to set that aside if you are.”

  Aleksander favored Jack with a cold smile and clapped slowly.

  “Bravo, Mr. Burdette. You don’t disappoint.” Aleksander then walked over to a small table in between four low leather chairs. There was a decanter and four glasses. Aleksander took the stopper from the decanter and poured some of its contents into two glasses. He picked them up and walked over to Jack, handing him one. Jack sniffed it. Cognac, and by the smell, a very rare one.

  Jack thanked him for the drink, took a sip, and continued. “Now, by the time the Antwerp job happened, the cousin, Salvatore Cannizzaro, hates Bartolo. I don’t have all of the details there, but I’m working on it. There was some kind of a falling out. Some of the reporting suggested that the cousin was originally a backer and Bartolo may have cut him out. But whatever the reason, Bartolo knows if he ever sets foot in that bank, he’s a dead man.”

  Aleksander laughed. “That’s the kind of money vendettas are made for.”

  Jack nodded in agreement. “But cousin Sal took a shine to Guilia,” Jack said, giving Aleksander a knowing look. “As men are wont to do. Guilia knows Salvatore, and the word is she went to him for help after Bartolo went up. That’s the other reason Guilia can’t go in there now and hasn’t gotten the diamonds herself. If she goes into that bank, Salvatore will find out and will eventually connect her with the diamonds. People know she was Bartolo’s mistress.” Jack took a sip of the cognac. “How often does she go back to Rome?” Jack suspected she was still in touch with Cannizzaro but wasn’t positive, so he just acted as though he knew and let Aleksander confirm it for him.

  “Not Rome,” Aleksander said. There was something strange in his voice. “There was some…unpleasantness there. She meets him in Sorrento now.”

  Guilia would trust a mob boss to keep her safe, but she sure as hell wouldn’t trust him to help her move a hundred million in diamonds. She’d know that the last words she’d hear would be something to the effect of, “The world is full of pretty girls.”

  “How did you come to know her?” Jack asked.

  Aleksander rolled his shoulders in a nonchalant way. “I realized some time ago that robbing jewelry stores was a young man’s game, so I diversified.”

  “Buying judges and government officials.”

  Aleksander smiled. “Call it political influence. One such was a prominent senator who was associated with the shipping magnate Antonio Fugatti, whose amorata was Ms. Montalto. She and I met at a private party at Mr. Fugatti’s estate. Fugatti was paying the senator, Sergio Casellatti, in exchange for some,” Aleksander rolled his hand as he spoke, “concessions on imports or some such. Guilia was the go-between so that the two wouldn’t be seen directly communicating. Signore Fugatti and I were already acquainted. Unfortunately, the payments were exposed, as was Giulia’s involvement as the facilitator. The media incorrectly labeled her as Senator Casellatti’s mistress, which was quite insulting to her. I can understand, having met the senator. She became wanted by the police for her role in it. I offered her a place to stay until things cooled down.”

  The nonchalance with which he said the last part told Jack that he was only getting part of the story, but he decided not to press the matter. He knew enough to put pieces together. He still didn’t know how Aleksander came to know about the diamonds, but that was less relevant than the fact that he did.

  They both drank in silence for a time. Then Aleksander said, “What’s the name of this bank?”

  “The Commerce Bank of Rome,” Jack said.

  Everyone had a tell, some just hid it better than others. In Aleksander’s case, he squinted his eyes ever so slightly, as though he were trying to focus them on something far away. It was gone in the time it took to blink an eye.

  Aleksander knew that bank.

  Aleksander had an interest in this for some other purpose, but he hadn’t considered the possibility that Bartolo’s diamonds would be there too.

  Patterns began to connect quickly in Jack’s mind.

  Aleksander was not happy. It was subtle, but Jack was an expert at reading people.

  Why was Aleksander unhappy with this news?

  He knew the diamonds were in a bank, but Guilia didn’t tell him which one. She held that back because it was th
e only card she had. Aleksander wanted to get into a bank in Rome for something else.

  Jack Burdette robbing a bank for a hundred million in diamonds was a hell of a distraction.

  Paris, Venice, Jack Burdette flaring on law enforcement radars.

  Aleksander said, “Bartolo took an awfully big risk hiding them there. Are you sure your information is good?”

  “He did take a risk,” Jack agreed. “But my source is confident, and I’m confident in my source. No, I’m not going to tell you who that is. Given their relationship, the Cannizzaros would never think Bartolo would hide the diamonds right under their noses.”

  Jack paused and gave Aleksander time to consider it. Jack could read the consternation on his face. He was trying to figure how this new information factored into his plans. Jack also assumed he was trying to see how he could accomplish his primary objective and then cut Jack out of the diamonds

  “So,” Jack said. “What do you say?”

  “I’ll sleep on it,” Aleksander said and flashed a cold smile. “If you’re alive in the morning, then we have a deal. But Jack, if you’re lying to me, I’ll kill you, and I’ll burn that winery of yours to the ground. My people will be in a hurry, I’m sure, and they won’t have time to make sure Ms. McKinney isn’t inside.”

  Fury welled up inside him, and Jack fought to maintain his composure. Aleksander wanted him to know that he was in control, wanted him to be afraid, wanted him rattled. The mention of Megan’s name sent waves of rage positively radiating through his body, but Jack wasn’t going to tip Aleksander to the fact that he’d gotten to Jack. Instead, he just said, “I understand,” in an emotionless voice, but his eyes narrowed as he said it.

  “I’ll let you know the terms tomorrow.”

  Jack awoke to the sound of the lock disengaging, and his first thought was about his gun. He hadn’t realized that he’d even fallen asleep, and waking was a jarring surprise. Instinctively, he reached under his pillow for the pistol, which, he realized when his hand came up empty, was still hidden under the seat in Aleksander’s Ferrari. Jack hadn’t been able to sneak into the garage and get it when he’d arrived because the man who had intercepted him at the airport on his return from California was patrolling the driveway. It was he who let Jack into the compound, personally rather than remotely. He’d worn a shoulder holster openly and with the practiced ease that came from long familiarity.