Armed with the information Joey Barberi provided, Agent Underwood took over the investigation. Joey had authorized access to his telephone and bank records and in short order the FBI determined that the caller who had set up the brake job on Nicole’s car was in Italy using a throwaway cell phone. The wire transfer had come from UcretsizBank in Ankara, Turkey. Citing Turkish law, the bank would say only that a Turkish corporation owned it. It turned out that Turkish company was owned by a Liechtenstein trust. The trail stopped there; Liechtenstein was a tax haven – ownership information was difficult or impossible to get. The tiny country prided itself on secrecy and this case would be no exception.
UcretsizBank refused to provide any information on activity in the account because of Turkey’s secrecy laws. If money laundering were alleged the financial institution could be more forthcoming, but that wasn’t the situation here.
Jack Underwood took a different route. He called a law school classmate of his at the CIA in Langley, Virginia. He explained the case he was working on and that it might involve the Mafia at high levels. His friend agreed to check with the CIA Station Chief in Istanbul to see if he had any connections at UcretsizBank. Forty-eight hours later he called Underwood with some news.
“This may or may not help, and it’s not much,” the CIA man said. “This is all I know. The Turkish bank account received a $5 million deposit a week before the car sabotage in Dallas. The fifty thousand was wired out to a Dallas account and the rest is still there. I don’t know if the five million is related to your case but it’s a hell of a lot of money regardless.”
“That may be helpful…”
“I’m not quite through. I have one more odd bit of information to give you. That five million deposit I mentioned. It was a wire transfer from the Institute for the Works of Religion.”
“What the hell’s that? Sounds like a church.”
“It’s the bank that the Catholic Church owns, Jack. It’s also called the Vatican Bank.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
Vatican City
Work on John Spedino’s extradition to the USA had commenced the moment he was arrested in Italy. As a condition to handing over the Mafia don, the US had to agree that he would not face capital punishment for his crimes. This was a standard requirement for extradition from almost all western European countries. Spedino was immediately flown to New York City accompanied by FBI agents. He was transferred to the Metropolitan Correctional Center in downtown Manhattan where he would remain until his arraignment. At the moment he was charged with unlawful flight to avoid prosecution and drug trafficking, the latter charge pending from over a year ago, before his incarceration in Guatemala. The US Attorney hoped to add murder charges shortly.
A few days later as Dominic Cardinal Conti worked at his desk his cellphone rang. The screen showed, “Blocked,” so Conti declined the call. In a moment a voicemail was left. As Dominic listened to it he first was surprised, then a little fearful but also angry.
He heard a recorded voice. “This is a collect call from the Metropolitan Correctional Center in New York. This call is from…” The message paused for the insertion of a name and Conti heard a familiar voice. “John Spedino.” Then the recording continued. “To accept all calls from this number press *13. To decline all calls from this number press *15.”
Conti had heard that the godfather was now in New York to face charges relative to the Fifth Avenue bombing. “I have nothing to say to you, John Spedino,” the Cardinal muttered as he considered whether he should decline all calls. If Spedino called again maybe he’d accept just to see what the old man wanted. He pressed *13 and hung up.
Five minutes later the same blocked number appeared on his cellphone screen. Conti pressed *13 again and accepted the collect call. Mindful that calls from correctional facilities were recorded, Dominic would be careful what he said.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t decline my call, Dominic. It was smart of you to accept it.”
“What do you want? I have nothing to say to you.”
“Oh, but I have something to say to you, Cardinal Conti. Something very interesting happened. The FBI has a recording of a conversation between you and me…or part of a conversation, I should say. Someone gave them the part that incriminated me, but forgot the rest. Remember the rest, Dominic? The part that shows your involvement?”
The cleric chose his words carefully. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I asked you to get a manuscript for the Church and of your own volition you murdered a number of people. That had nothing to do with me.”
“I only have a few minutes left, Dominic. These calls are five minutes maximum – one of the minor inconveniences of being in jail.” He laughed. “Here’s why I called. I have nothing to lose at this point. The Feds think they have an airtight case against me. I wonder if they know about $5 million that was wired from the Vatican Bank to an account in Turkey? Does that ring any bells, Dominic? Do you remember wiring money for a job you hired me to do? It must have been a big job – five million’s a lot of money just to get a manuscript. What if they know about that? You gave the FBI a doctored tape of our conversation, Dominic. I’m going to make sure they know the true story. I’m going to give you up. Your life will soon change forever, just like mine did thanks to you. Best wishes, Cardinal Conti. You won’t hear from me again.”
Spedino hung up.
This is bad. I have to silence him.
In New York the next morning the warden of the Metropolitan Correctional Center called the FBI’s office a few blocks away. He told the Special Agent-in-Charge about John Spedino’s call to a man he addressed as “Cardinal Conti” and “Dominic.” The warden advised the number Spedino dialed was foreign, to country code 39. Underwood looked it up while they talked. It was the code for Italy. It was also that of Vatican City. The agent wasn’t surprised. He’d have been more surprised if it hadn’t been.
Within an hour Jack Underwood had listened to Spedino’s phone call and sent a request to John Spedino’s attorney. Underwood wanted to interview the godfather. If he was ready to give Conti up, Jack Underwood was ready to listen.
Chapter Fifty
New York/Vatican City
It took a couple of days for John Spedino’s attorney to respond to the FBI’s request for interrogation. The US Attorney’s office got involved since the godfather’s lawyer asked for a number of concessions in return. By now every agency working on Spedino’s case was aware the President himself had an interest in it. The US Attorney was careful to ask his bosses in Washington what they wanted him to do.
From the conversation between Spedino and Cardinal Conti, the FBI believed Spedino truly did have nothing to lose at this point. Spedino was already immune from the death penalty as part of his extradition agreement. He was going to spend the rest of his life in prison one way or another and from the call it looked like he was willing to take a leader of the Church down with him.
So they refused to negotiate with Spedino’s attorney. They would play a waiting game to see if John Spedino would talk without a plea agreement.
It took twenty-four hours. Spedino’s attorney came back with news that his client, against the advice of counsel, had agreed to tell them what he knew about the Fifth Avenue bombing.
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In his Vatican office, Cardinal Conti felt as though his life were spinning out of control. He was losing his grip. He had three murders to plan. His very existence – his life as a revered cleric and senior official of the Church – was in danger of collapsing. He could go to prison! He would be mocked, ridiculed, his name a synonym for scandal and deceit forevermore. He would be the Cardinal who shamed his office, his Pope, his Lord.
Be rational, Dominic. Think through this. He glanced at notes he had made on a pad, laying out his thoughts so he could formulate a plan. John Spedino had to die, but the godfather was safely in a Federal prison in New York. He also had to get rid of Brian Sadler and that librarian in London. Conti didn’t even k
now that man’s name. This dilemma would be humorous, Conti briefly thought, if it were a stage play. He was plotting to kill a man whose name he didn’t even know. How in God’s name had he gotten to this point? He wasn’t used to arranging murders. Except when he used John Spedino now and then, of course. That was different. That extended back to the days when they were young and good friends. But now his so-called friend had betrayed him. Conti wouldn’t allow him to get away with it. Back to business. Figure this out, Dominic. Come up with a plan. You always have. You can do it again.
Prison killings happen every day, at least in the movies. Surely Conti could get someone inside to do the job. That would be the easiest and would remove Spedino from the picture.
Brian Sadler had said he was flying to London. That’s where his gallery is, Conti reflected. I can get someone to take care of him and the librarian at the same time. Some kind of accident. Of course it’ll be suspicious given the Fifth Avenue bombing and Brian’s involvement, but they’ll never pin it on me.
He wasn’t satisfied yet with his plan, but he pressed ahead to the next step. He would find someone to pull this off.
Chapter Fifty-One
New York
The interrogation of former Mafia chieftain John Spedino was held in a secure room inside the facility where the godfather was incarcerated. The U.S. Attorney for Manhattan attended along with Underwood, Spedino’s attorney and the Deputy Director of the FBI in Washington. It was a high-profile cast for an important meeting.
A court reporter created a record of every word spoken in the room. Two tape recorders provided redundancy. No one would miss a word of this testimony.
Spedino’s attorney said his client wished to make a statement to begin the proceedings, after which the usual question-and-answer session could occur. The parties agreed and Spedino began to talk.
And talk, and talk. John Spedino was an educated man and an eloquent speaker. In front of him lay a notepad on which he’d made several pages of entries. He referred to it often. He quietly described his long-time relationship with Dominic Conti, from the days when the Cardinal was a young cleric in Rome until now. The mobster talked about the Templars manuscript and Conti’s obsession to have it at any cost. He filled in the missing conversation that occurred just after the bombing, the part Conti had deleted from the tape recording he gave the FBI.
Obviously John Spedino was coming clean because of his enmity toward his former friend. He had no need to further implicate himself, but he had chosen this path for one reason – revenge. His career as a criminal was finished. The rest of his life would be in a prison cell. And if it was to be, he was going to take his Judas to the cross with him. Regardless, those in the room were surprised at how calmly and quietly he described how he’d masterminded the Fifth Avenue bombing and the deaths of eleven people, the killing of Arthur Borland and the attempted murder of Nicole Farber. Those were personal, the godfather pointed out. They had nothing to do with Dominic Conti. Those were paybacks for previous wrongs against him.
By the end of the day John Spedino had handed Dominic Cardinal Conti to the authorities, wrapped, bow-tied and on a silver plate. The cleric was in this up to his eyeballs.
The godfather slept well that night in his prison cell. Ah, but revenge was a satisfying accomplishment.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Vatican City
Dominic Conti was at his desk in the Vatican early. He was close to a solution. On his notepad he outlined points. He would transfer ten million Euros from the bank to a personal account he’d set up in a tax haven country. Then he’d travel to Sicily, birthplace of the Mafia. He’d be incognito – no one would recognize him as a priest. He’d ask around, throw some cash at the right people and come up with a name. He’d hire a hit man who could arrange the whole thing. For enough Euros that man would kill Spedino, Sadler and the nameless librarian.
Cardinal Conti was a desperate man. Thoughts had flown through his mind all night and he’d prudently jotted each one down. Sometimes the best ideas came to you in the middle of the night, he’d thought. He had them all on his notepad. Crazy ideas, ranging from hiring a demolitions man to blow up the Monument Club in London with Brian and the librarian in it, to using his priestly garb to get into the prison in New York City and hire a killer to assault John Spedino. Some of them were easier than others to wrap his mind around, but he wrote them all down.
Around a quarter to nine a knock came on his office door and his secretary entered. Conti glanced up, then went back to work on his idea sheet.
“Get me a cup of coffee when you have a chance, please,” Conti said without raising his head.
“Eminence, there are some men here to see you.”
What? Why would the secretary allow visitors into Conti’s office unannounced? What on earth was he thinking?
The Cardinal glanced up, looked across his massive desk and down the long office to the door where his faithful assistant stood next to three persons – two Swiss Guards with pistols drawn and Frederico Messina, the head of the Gendarmerie Corps of Vatican City. He became lightheaded as bile rose into his throat.
“The Pope wishes to have a word with you, Eminence,” Messina said, smiling. “Please come with us.”
Conti glanced down at his desk. “I’ll just clean this up,” he muttered as he picked up the notepad full of his plans and ideas.
Messina strode quickly to the desk and pulled the pad from the cleric’s hand. “Please leave everything just as it is, Cardinal Conti. We’ll take care of your things.” Conti’s shoulders sank. That little notepad would be the death of him.
The Cardinal walked slowly around his desk, taking in all the personal mementos in the bookshelves of his office. Here was a record of his life – pictures with Popes and world leaders, little keepsakes he’d picked up in his travels, things he’d considered important.
He knew this was the last time he’d ever see them. It made him sad. Given his religious upbringing, he should have been sorry he’d betrayed everything a man of God stood for. That thought crossed his mind but Dominic was sad because he hadn’t had time to finish the Templars project. He knew what was in the pit. He just wasn’t sure how to let the world know about it. He wanted the fame and glory for revealing it, but he hadn’t finished planning how to keep it from hurting the Church.
Dominic Cardinal Conti was deeply saddened, but not because of things he had done. He was sad he’d gotten caught.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Nova Scotia
Brian met Harold Mulhaney at the Oak Island Inn at six am for breakfast. It was a gorgeous fall morning and they were ready to begin excavating the Money Pit. The crew had moved heavy equipment into place over the weekend and today at eight everything would commence.
The crater on the northeast side of Oak Island looked like a construction site by nine am. Heavy equipment moved earth from the bottom of the indention and a boring truck sat idling nearby, waiting for its chance to move into place and begin excavating. The place was noisy – Brian and Harold watched a dozen men engaged in a variety of tasks.
Brian’s cellphone rang. He saw the London number and walked to Harold’s pickup. He climbed in, shut the door and answered the call. It was significantly quieter inside the cab.
Jeffrey Montfort’s usually cheerful voice was positively bubbly today. “Good afternoon, my good man!” the librarian said.
“You sound chipper!”
“Oh yes. I am chipper. I’ve found something I overlooked earlier. I don’t know if you even knew about this or not, but I’ve got something that’s going to make your life a lot easier!”
“Don’t keep me in suspense. What is it, Jeffrey?”
“When I first met you we perused a list of the documents and books Arthur Borland had viewed during his hours at the library. I believe I mentioned there were a few odds and ends he’d requested, but you and I focused on the Templars manuscripts. That was my fault, dear boy. I led you astray, I’m afraid.”
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Brian could hear the excitement in Jeffrey Montfort’s voice. The man wanted to reveal his information to Brian his way, in his own time, so Brian resisted the urge to hurry him up.
“I can’t wait to hear what you’ve found.”
“Do you recall Lord Borland mentioning anything about a man named Simeon Lynds? And that we have his diary from the early nineteenth century?”
“Absolutely. We discussed it briefly. Arthur said Simeon was either a Templar himself or he was involved with those who were. I think Arthur believed Simeon Lynds found out from the Templars what was in the pit.”
“I’ve read the entire diary in the past twenty-four hours. Didn’t get much sleep last night, frankly. I couldn’t put it down because I knew you were right there at the Money Pit. I knew today you’d be standing on the very ground where Simeon Lynds searched for the treasure in 1804. And I found something, Brian. This is so exciting I couldn’t wait to call you, but I had to get my friend from Cambridge University to do one more decoding project. Then I had to bide my time and wait until it was daylight on your side of the pond. Now it’s time to reveal my secret!”
Brian was getting caught up in the man’s exuberance. Suddenly he was jolted back to reality by a harsh rap on the passenger window of the pickup. Harold Mulhaney was standing just outside the truck.
“One sec, Jeffrey. Have to deal with something. I’ll be right back.”
He put the phone on mute and opened the car door. Mulhaney told him the bulldozer had scraped the land down about three feet and they had uncovered a much smaller circular crater. “OK with you if we pull the dozer back and let the boring start there?”
Brian Sadler Archaeological Mysteries BoxSet Page 90
