Foreign Affairs (A Stone Barrington Novel)

by Stuart Woods

  “I expect you press the up button,” Stone replied.

  The elevator was not locked, and the four men got on, the younger ones first, so they’d be the first out through the door facing the building.

  “It’s going to make a lot of noise,” Dino said, “so they might be ready for us.”

  The young man pressed the button, and the elevator started up. It was slow, and as Dino had predicted, noisy. They squeaked and rattled their way up the building. Stone reckoned it was twenty-five or thirty stories, but he forgot to count.

  Before he had expected it, the elevator came to a sudden stop. The young man held up a hand, then pointed. “We’ve got some cover,” he said. A few steps from the elevator there was a stack of what looked like bags of cement or plaster.

  “So have they,” Stone said. “Let’s go.”

  The young man opened the door and ran to the stack, sheltering behind it, and was closely followed by his companion, Stone, and Dino.

  They stopped and listened. From somewhere behind the stack, music was playing.

  The young man stood up straight, peered over the stack, and ducked back behind it, shaking his head.

  Stone stood up and looked. A dozen feet beyond the stack was another stack.

  “Let’s get over there,” he said.

  The two young men led the way to the next stack, then the leader had another look. This time he didn’t duck back but walked around the stack and stopped.

  His companion followed, and so did Stone and Dino. They were standing on a floor that was empty of anything, except the two stacks of bags.

  “Let’s check it out,” Dino said.

  The four men spread out and began searching the floor, while the music got louder. The floor was dimly lit by a dozen hanging lightbulbs scattered around the ceiling. In the middle of the floor were two sawhorses with a plank laid across them. On the plank rested a radio, plugged into one of the wires from the ceiling.

  Stone turned it off. “Wrong building,” he said.

  34

  It was late when they got back to Marcel’s apartment, and Stone went straight to bed without dinner. His glimmer of hope had been dashed in Naples, and the experience had been exhausting. He slept poorly.

  He joined Dino and Viv at breakfast.

  “You look tired,” Viv said.

  “Tired and hungry.” He ate a large breakfast, had two cups of strong Italian coffee, and felt better. The butler told them that Marcel had gone downstairs to his office for a meeting.

  Jim Lugano showed up not long after breakfast. “I thought you’d like to know that our survey of buildings in Naples got the same results you did by driving around. The building you entered was our best hope.”

  “I think you should do a survey of buildings under construction by Casselli Costruzione,” Stone said.

  “I’ve no idea how many there are,” Jim replied. “I’d never heard of the company until yesterday.”

  “That’s probably because Casselli isn’t building in Rome, for whatever reason. Maybe the Italians can do a computer search on building permits with his company’s name on them.”

  “Good idea,” Jim said. “I’ll call Dante in a minute and ask him to do that. In the meantime I wanted you to know that I heard from Langley . . .”

  “You mean, Lance?”

  “From Langley. Your request is getting serious consideration. They seem to be trying to build a national security case, instead of just one of law enforcement. That’s not really what we do.”

  “I understand. I should think that international organized crime would constitute a threat to national security.”

  “I’ve made that case to the powers that be,” Jim said. “We’ll hear from them in due course.”

  “That sounds like a long wait.”

  “Not necessarily—we can move quickly.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “In the meantime, we’ve had a nibble on your offer of a reward for Casselli.”

  “Oh?”

  “Oddly enough, it’s from a German citizen who is visiting Rome.”

  “Does Casselli have business dealings in Germany?”

  “It’s the European Union—much easier than in the past to do business in different countries.”

  “Who is he?”

  “His name is Frederic Klaucke.” Jim spelled it for him. “He’s in the chocolate business: an importer.”

  “Do we have any indication that Casselli has an interest in chocolate?”

  “Casselli is interested in money: if chocolate looked profitable, and if he could find a way to make an illegal bundle in it, he’d be interested.”

  “Okay, what now?”

  “Herr Klaucke is in a car downstairs. Shall I ask him up?”

  “Let’s not invite him into our secure location,” Stone said. “Is there somewhere else we could meet him?”

  “In one of our vans downstairs in the courtyard?”

  “That sounds good. What has he told you so far?”

  “Almost nothing. He’s had some business dealings with Casselli, that’s all he’ll say. He wants to speak directly to the person offering the reward.”

  “Do you think he wants to get at me?”

  “No. My sense is, he knows something. It might not be what we want to know, but it can’t hurt to listen to him.”

  “Tell me what you know about the man.”

  “He’s tall, probably six-two or -three, in his fifties, mostly bald, seems to be well-educated, dresses well.”

  “Where in Germany is he from?”

  “Hamburg. Lives in the suburbs, has offices in the city.”

  “And he wants to meet me.”

  “He does. He doesn’t know your name, but he’s seen the flyer we distributed. Had a copy of it in his pocket, actually.”

  “This sounds preposterous.”

  “Maybe it is, who knows? You’re the one offering the reward. That would sound preposterous to a lot of people.”

  “I suppose it would.”

  “I think the distribution of the leaflet has also told Casselli how much you want Hedy back. I think he looks at five million euros as your opening bid.”

  “My opening bid?”

  “Yes.”

  “He thinks I’m negotiating?”

  “Probably. To tell you the truth, I drew the same conclusion.”

  “Well, you’re wrong,” Stone said, rising. “Let’s go meet with Herr Frederic Klaucke.”

  35

  Herr Frederic Klaucke was pacing the courtyard impatiently. His bearing was Prussian, his tan tweed suit so wrinkle-free that it might have been made of cast iron. He was carrying a briefcase that must have belonged to his grandfather.

  “Herr Klaucke?” Stone asked, unnecessarily.

  Klaucke stopped marching. “Ja. Yes.”

  “I am the person you wish to speak to.”

  “May I know your name?”

  “I’m sorry, you may not.”

  “My name is Frederic Freiherr von Klaucke,” he said. He did not click his heels. “I would like you to know that.” His English was perfectly grammatical, his accent distinct. And he had just announced that he was a member of the German nobility.

  “Thank you.” Stone indicated the open door of the Mercedes van. “Would you like to sit down?”

  “Yes, please.” He climbed into the van and took a seat; Stone followed him, and Jim Lugano was right behind.

  “What have you to tell us?” Stone asked.

  “I wish to tell you of Leonardo Casselli.”

  “Please do.”

  “I have just spent three days in his company. Involuntarily.”

  “Are you saying that Mr. Casselli kidnapped you?”

  “In the manner of speaking.”

 
“For what purpose?”

  “He wished to sell me a great deal of chocolate.”

  “Are you not a chocolate merchant?”

  “No, I am an importer of chocolate, I am not a retailer. I import chocolate, refine it, add other ingredients, like fruit or nusse—nuts, that is—and wholesale it to merchants.” He opened the briefcase, which Stone assumed had been searched, and extracted a very large chocolate bar containing hazelnuts and handed it to Stone. “Is complementary, please.”

  Stone accepted the chocolate bar, which was labeled 500 kg, or half a kilo, or 1.1 pounds. “Thank you.”

  “Mr. Casselli called me in Hamburg, where I have my offices, and invited me to come to Rome at his expense to discuss what he described as a very large business deal.”

  “I am not aware that Mr. Casselli is in the chocolate business.”

  “Nor am I, especially after our meeting.”

  “Where did you meet?”

  “At a hotel conference room.”

  “Which hotel?”

  “I am not aware of that, either. I was met by a van with painted windows. We drove to the hotel. I was escorted in through a kitchen.” Klaucke made that sound like a personal affront.

  “I see.”

  “We sat at a conference table, and Mr. Casselli stated his business.”

  “Which was?”

  “Chocolate. He wished to sell me a very large amount of chocolate—perhaps more than three thousand kilos—at an extremely low price, about half what I am accustomed to paying for the finest chocolate.”

  “And how did you react to his offer?”

  “I was immediately suspicious.”

  “Suspicious of what?”

  “Sir,” Klaucke said with a note of reproval in his voice, “this is not, as my Jewish competitors would say, kosher.”

  “You believed the chocolate to be, ah, illegally obtained?”

  “I believed so.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it corresponded to a shipment of chocolate that was stolen from one of my competitors in Rome perhaps a week or ten days ago. I believe the American term is ‘hijacked.’”

  “I see. And how did you respond to Mr. Casselli’s offer?”

  “I told him I was not in the market for such an amount.”

  “And how did he respond?”

  “He would not believe me, that I would respond so. He seemed to think I was negotiating.”

  “He was offended?”

  “No, just surprised, I think.”

  “What happened then?”

  “I was escorted back outside, put in a van, and driven to a hotel somewhere outside Rome, where I was imprisoned for three days.”

  “What sort of hotel?”

  “A quite comfortable one, with room service and TV.”

  “What was its name and location?”

  “I was not given that information.”

  “So you don’t know where you were?”

  “I do not. It was within an hour’s drive of Rome.”

  “Did you see Mr. Casselli again?”

  “Yes. Every day, I was put into the van and driven somewhere, where Mr. Casselli repeated the offer, each time at a lower price.”

  “And you continued to decline?”

  “I did, and Mr. Casselli became very angry on the third day. Finally, I was driven to the airport, where I saw your advertisement. That was early this morning. I phoned and I was told to come here.”

  “Baron Klaucke, do you understand that the reward is for information leading to the arrest and conviction of Mr. Casselli?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you understand that he must first be apprehended?”

  “Of course.”

  “You have not told me anything that could be used to find Mr. Casselli or to bring him to a court of law.”

  “How about kidnapping?”

  “You have a point,” Stone admitted. “But first we must find Mr. Casselli and arrest him, then convict him of kidnapping on your testimony. Then, and only then, would you receive the reward.”

  “I assure you of my intention to testify against him.” Klaucke handed him a business card. “You may reach me here when the time arises. My bank account number is on the reverse of the card. It is where you may wire the funds.”

  “Thank you. Baron Klaucke, please search your memory: Is there anything else you can tell me that would help us find and arrest Mr. Casselli?”

  Klaucke appeared to search his memory. “I don’t think so. May I have a lift to the airport?”

  “I’ll see to that,” Lugano said.

  They piled out of the van, shook hands, and Klaucke was driven away.

  “Chocolate,” Stone said.

  “Chocolate, indeed,” Lugano echoed. “I’ll let the police know about the theft. Who knows, it might be helpful.”

  “I liked Baron Klaucke,” Stone said.

  “He was all right.”

  “He’s not afraid of Casselli. That’s good.”

  “He probably has no idea who he is.”

  36

  Stone went back upstairs and poured himself some coffee from the buffet.

  “What was that all about?” Dino asked.

  “Chocolate.” Stone placed the huge chocolate bar on the table and told him the story.

  “Bizarre,” Dino said.

  “The story?”

  “The chocolate. Why would Casselli want three tons of chocolate?”

  “Maybe his minions thought the truck was carrying something more readily marketable.”

  “No doubt.”

  “Perhaps it would have been more marketable if he had not chosen an honest man to try and sell it to.”

  “There’s a thought,” Dino said.

  “What thought?”

  “Having failed to sell it to the honest baron, maybe he’s looking for a less honest customer.”

  Stone got out his phone. “Jim? Dino had a thought. Having failed to unload the chocolate on the baron, maybe he’s looking for another buyer. Perhaps the police would like to know about that. Thank you, Jim.” He put away the phone. “Jim will speak to the police.”

  “There’s somewhere I’d like to go,” Dino said.

  “Where?”

  “The emperor Hadrian’s villa. It’s about an hour from Rome, near Tivoli.”

  “I’m game,” Stone said. He called Jim and asked if they could use the car again. After a brief conversation, he hung up. “The car is ours for the day, but he can’t send our bodyguards. They’re out, probably looking for chocolate.”

  “Suits me,” Dino said.

  “He also recommended a restaurant in Tivoli for lunch. Viv, you want to join us?”

  “No, I think I’ll go find Mike Freeman and pretend to work.”

  “As you wish.”

  —

  The GPS in the Fiat knew all. They reached the entrance to the villa in an hour. There, they bought tickets and prepared to walk up a long hill. Dino had a better idea: he went back, flashed his badge, and they opened the gates so that they could drive to the villa.

  At the top of the hill, at a visitors’ center, they saw a large model of the villa, which was now an elegant ruin.

  “Not bad, for a weekend place,” Dino said. “It would look good in the Hamptons.”

  They left the visitors’ center and walked onto the grounds of the villa, past lakes and baths and a theater. “This place is enormous,” Dino said. “I wonder what kind of a staff he needed to keep it running.”

  “Slaves, I expect.”

  They toured the grounds for two hours, then got into the car, entered the address of the restaurant into the GPS, and followed the directions back into Tivoli. The GPS proceeded to conduct them through impossibly narrow streets,
in a large circle. They found themselves back in the town.

  “There’s a large parking area over there,” Stone said. “Let’s park there and take a cab to the restaurant.”

  They could not find a parking place. Eventually, they drove to the top of a hill near a large arch and found a space where they could abandon the car.

  “There,” Stone said. “Jim said it was next to a temple.” He pointed at the restaurant.

  “Unfortunately,” Dino said, “there appears to be a deep gorge and a river between us and there.”

  They went back down the hill to the open plaza; Stone got out his iPhone and went to Google Maps. He pointed at a bridge. “We cross the bridge and take a right. It’s not far.”

  Presently, they found themselves at the door of Restaurant Sibilla, where a small electric cart was parked. Shortly they were seated on a large terrace, covered by a grapevine with a trunk like an oak, with the Temple of Diana nearby.

  They had a superb lunch, but went easy on the excellent wine, since they had to drive back. They spent a good two hours there, then Dino had an idea and asked if they could have a ride back to their car. The electric vehicle was brought up, they got aboard, and began to move. Back at the main street, two young men took more than a normal interest in them. As they crossed the bridge, Dino looked back. “Those two guys are chasing us,” he said.

  Stone looked back, too; Dino was right. “Fortunately, they’re not gaining on us.”

  They were driven to their car, tipped the driver of the cart generously, and drove back down the hill. On the way back, they passed the two young men walking up the hill. One of them pulled a gun from his jacket as they passed.

  “Uh-oh,” Dino said. He glanced into his rearview mirror. “They’re getting into a car.”

  37

  Stone was behind the wheel. “Don’t drive fast,” Dino said.

  “You want them shooting at us in town?”

  “I don’t think they’ll do that.” As it turned out, Dino was right; they were on the autostrada back to Rome before the car pulled up next to them and shots were fired in their direction. Stars appeared on their armored windows; Dino climbed into the backseat. “I’ll bet they don’t have an armored car like ours,” he said. “Let’s find out.” He rolled down the window a couple of inches and fired two rounds at the front seat passenger. Their window glass shattered. “I was right,” he said.