by Stuart Woods
“Is there a cook present?”
“The house is fully staffed as of this moment.”
“Then I will have dinner served here,” he said, taking a seat in a reclining chair and switching on a six-foot television screen. “Where is the girl?” Casselli asked.
“In a maid’s room, on the lower level, awaiting your pleasure.”
“I need no pleasure from her, and I have no wish to see her. I merely want to know she is here. When is Sophia due?”
“She is being driven down from Rome, sir, and should be here within the hour.”
“Ah, good. Tell the cook to delay dinner until her arrival, and bring us a bottle of the Masi Amerone, the oldest we have.”
“Of course, Don Leonardo. You have only to lift the phone and press the upper-right-hand button to page anyone in the house.” He left his master to his news show.
—
Stone leafed through the plans that Jim Lugano had brought; Dante, the policeman, had joined them. “This is spectacular,” Stone said. There was a profile elevation showing the elevator shaft, plans of each floor, plus drawings of electrical and plumbing installations. There were renderings of each room, showing furniture placement.
“Look,” Stone said, pointing, “he even has a grand piano, and it’s a nine-footer, if this scale is correct. I wonder how he got it into the house.”
Jim applied a scaled ruler to the plans. “The elevator is three by three meters, big enough for the piano and large artwork, too. You only see elevators like that in museums. And there’s a security room on the lower level. He’s got cameras everywhere.”
“If we want to get in there, we’re going to need a power failure,” Stone said.
“That won’t work—he has a fifty-kilowatt generator on the lower level, enough to power the whole place.” Lugano looked at him funny. “Stone, you’re not thinking about going in there, are you?”
“I don’t see how we’re going to get Hedy out, unless we do.”
“That would not be a quiet operation,” Jim replied. “We’d need fifty people, at least. We’ve got three stories to deal with, plus that elevator.”
Stone pointed to the plans. “There are four staff rooms here, on the lower level. That’s where Hedy has got to be.”
“Yeah? In which one?”
“I’ll have to let you know about that,” Stone said.
41
A squad of Italian police arrived bright and early at a freight yard connected to Leo Casselli. The commanding officer marched into the office and found two people working there. He handed them a search warrant. “I want the registration and insurance documentation for every vehicle and trailer on this lot,” he said to the man in charge, “and be quick about it.”
“Do you know who owns this place?” the manager whispered to him.
“Yes, I do,” the cop whispered back. “It’s Leo Casselli’s place.”
The man blanched. “I will get into big trouble.”
“You’re already in big trouble,” the cop said. “And if I have to tell you again to get moving, I’ll put you in handcuffs and tear this place apart.”
The man got moving. He went to a filing cabinet and removed a stack of folders. “Here,” he said. “This is the file on every piece of equipment in the yard. The serial number for each is written on the outside of the folder.”
The cops went to work. Two hours later, the lead cop called his men together. “Have you finished?”
“Yes, sir,” one of them said. “Except for that trailer, the refrigerated one—there is no record of it.”
“Get me the bolt cutters,” he said.
He walked over to the trailer and cut the padlock. “Open it!”
Two men swung open the doors; the trailer was filled to the ceiling with cardboard boxes.
“What is it?” the cop asked.
A man pulled down a box and cut it open. “Candy,” he said.
“Bring me those two people from the office.”
The two workers were marched out.
“Where is the paperwork for this trailer?”
“Um, there is no paperwork,” one of them said. “We arrived for work a couple of days ago, and it was sitting here. We have to refill the tank for the refrigeration unit every day.”
“You are both under arrest for the receiving of stolen goods,” the cop said, “and every vehicle and trailer on this lot is now confiscated. Bring me the keys for all of them.”
“Confiscated?” the man said. “I will be shot.”
“It is now all the property of the Italian government,” the cop said, “and so are you.”
—
Stone, Dino, and Viv were at lunch, with Jim and Dante as their guests, when Dante’s phone rang. “Pronto.” He listened for a moment. “Eccellente.” He hung up. “You will all be delighted to know that we have found the missing shipment of chocolate, and that the trailer is parked on a lot owned by Leo Casselli. We have confiscated half a dozen trucks and two dozen trailers and arrested the workers there. It will be interesting to see who makes bail for them.”
“Baron Klaucke will be thrilled,” Stone said, “but only if this leads to Casselli’s arrest and conviction.”
“Now we have two provable charges against Casselli,” Dante said. “The kidnapping of the baron and the larceny of the chocolate and its trailer. That’s progress.”
—
Casselli was having a light lunch when his phone rang. “Pronto.”
“Don Leonardo,” a voice said, “the police have raided your lot in Naples and have discovered the load of chocolate.”
Casselli laughed. “They are welcome to it,” he said.
“It is worse,” the voice said. “They have arrested your two employees on the lot and they have confiscated every vehicle there.”
“Confiscated?” Casselli asked, disbelieving. “Call our captain of police in Naples and have this order canceled at once.”
“I have already called him,” the man said, “and he hung up on me.”
“Hung up on you? I don’t believe it!”
“He must believe his telephone is tapped.”
“What phone are you calling from?”
“My cell phone, Don Leonardo.”
“Bail those people out of jail before they start talking!” He hung up.
“Something wrong, darling?” the lovely Sophia asked.
“You might say that,” Casselli said, and he was sweating.
—
Casselli isn’t going to like this,” Lugano said, smiling.
“Wait until he tries to get his people out of jail,” Dante said. “We have moved them south, to Salerno. He is not going to like that a lot!”
“It’s about time he started to get nervous,” Jim said. “He’s not accustomed to being nervous, and when people are nervous, they make mistakes.”
42
Leo Casselli got back into his truck and was driven to Naples, to a prearranged meeting site. His two top capos, newly appointed to fill the places of their departed predecessors, stood before him, looking anguished.
“What is going on here?” Casselli demanded.
“We don’t know, Don Leonardo,” the braver of the two replied. “Our vehicles are being stopped and ticketed for speeding and broken taillights, even when they were not speeding and their taillights were not broken. Three restaurants have been inspected and closed by the health authorities. Four building sites have been shut down for safety violations. We have security camera footage of four men who entered another site with guns drawn, and all the vehicles at the trucking yard have been confiscated and taken away and two employees arrested. We cannot bail them out, because we can’t find them.”
“Wait a minute. You said security camera footage?”
“Yes, Don Leonardo. Would you like t
o see it?”
“Immediately.”
The man took a cassette from his briefcase and inserted it into a player, then pressed a button.
Casselli watched intently as the four men entered the top floor of the building and moved around two stacks of building materials. Then they moved toward the radio and came into the light. “Stop it right there!” Casselli said. “Rewind a few seconds. Stop!” He peered at the images. “Do you know these men?”
“Two of them are agents of the DIA, the ones on either end. We don’t know the other two.”
“I know one of them!” Casselli spat. “His name is Barrington, and he is the partner of Marcel duBois! I want him found and brought to me immediately!”
“Ah, so that is Barrington,” the man said. “We know where he is.”
“Where?”
“At the building belonging to Marcel duBois. It is surrounded by the police and the DIA, and there are vehicles there registered to the American Embassy.”
“Then bring him to me!”
“Don Leonardo, I am sorry to say that the security in the building and its courtyard has been impenetrable for us, and they have discovered and disconnected our cameras and listening devices in the building. On the one occasion that Barrington and his friend left the building and drove to Tivoli, they did so in an embassy vehicle that had bulletproof glass and bodywork, and our attempt to kidnap them failed.”
“So now I have to deal not only with the police and the DIA, but the health department, building inspectors, and the Americans?”
“It would appear so, Don Leonardo. I regret that, in the present circumstances, we are unable to carry out your orders.”
Casselli glared at the man and waited for him to wilt, but he did not. He began to admire his courage, and, being a practical man, he recognized that what he was being told was true. “Still,” he said, “we have an edge.”
“We do, Don Leonardo? What is that?”
“Give me a secure cell phone,” Casselli said.
The man removed a phone from his pocket and handed it to him.
Casselli looked closely at it. “This cannot be traced?”
“We change them every day,” the man said. “That one has not yet been used.”
Casselli took a notebook from his pocket and found a number, then dialed it.
—
Stone was alone in the living room when his phone rang. He checked caller ID and saw nothing. “Hello?”
“Good day, Mr. Barrington,” Casselli said. “Do you know who this is?”
Of course he knew, but he wanted Casselli to say it. “No. Who are you?”
“This is Leonardo Casselli.”
“Oh, yes, I remember you. I last saw you running from a Paris restaurant, ahead of the police.”
“Very far ahead. It was duplicitous of you to try to take me, and worse, ineffective.”
“What can I do for you, Leo?” He knew Casselli hated being called that.
“How would you like to buy back the girl?”
“I would have to speak to her, before I can even discuss that,” Stone said. “I will need proof of life. Surely you have kidnapped people before—you know how these things are done.”
“I can arrange for you to hear her scream,” Casselli said through clenched teeth.
“Come now, Leo, making threats will not get us to a mutually satisfying conclusion. What do you want?”
“Fifty million euros,” Casselli said, “and the attention of the police withdrawn.”
Stone laughed aloud and hung up the phone. He called Lugano.
“Yes?”
“Casselli just called. Did you get a trace on him?”
“On which phone?”
“The old one.”
“No. Our system can only do two searches at a time. Capacity is taken up by a watch on your new cell and Hedy’s phone.”
“Shit. Hedy’s phone is dead. Take it down and concentrate on my two phones.”
“All right. What did Casselli have to say?”
“He’s feeling the heat,” Stone said. “He wanted fifty million euros and, get this, the police and the DIA off his back.”
“Jesus, is he serious about the money?”
“Of course not, he’s just trying to show me he has the upper hand. He wouldn’t let me speak to Hedy. That indicates to me that he and she are not in the same place. He threatened to torture her.”
“What did you say to him?”
“I hung up the phone.”
“Well, that was gutsy of you.”
“What else could I do? I’m not going to give him fifty million euros, even if I could raise it.”
“Well then, I suppose the next move is his. Let’s see what he comes up with.”
“Right.” Stone hung up, hoping that Casselli’s next move was not Hedy screaming into the phone.
43
Casselli sat, fuming. The insolence of this Barrington! He was unaccustomed to being spoken to in that manner, and no one, but no one, ever got away with hanging up on him during a telephone conversation. He turned to the two men. “I have a rather distasteful job for you,” he said.
“Anything, Don Leonardo,” they said in unison.
“I need you to go and take the finger of a young woman.” He explained exactly how he wanted it done.
“Which finger, Don Leonardo?” one of them asked.
“Oh, let’s see, how about right index?”
“It shall be done, Don Leonardo.”
—
Stone and Dino were having a drink with Viv and Marcel at the end of the day, when a package was delivered.
“Who is this from?” Stone asked.
“We don’t know, but it’s not explosive. It’s an object about three inches long,” the DIA agent said. “Would you like me to open it?”
“Please,” Stone said.
The young man produced a switchblade, flicked it open, and cut the tape around the box. He removed the lid and handed it to Stone.
Whatever it was was in an envelope of suede leather, like something from a jewelry store. Stone opened it and shook out the contents into the box. He blanched. The object was a human finger, with a brightly painted nail. “Jesus Christ.”
Jim Lugano came into the room. “I heard there was a package delivered,” he said. “Was it checked out?”
Stone handed him the box. “I checked it out, and I’m sorry I did.”
“Well,” Lugano said, looking at the thing, “that’s gory. Do you recognize it as being Hedy’s?”
“I’ve no idea. I never examined her fingers.”
Jim pointed at the young Italian agent. “You. Come with me.” The two men left the room. Twenty minutes later, Jim returned. “I’ve sent it to the police lab. Do you know if Hedy has ever been fingerprinted?”
Stone shook his head.
“Military service? Arrest? Application for a gun license? Anything?”
“I don’t know,” Stone said. “Run the print and see what you come up with.”
“That’s being done,” Jim said. “I’m going to go over to the lab and see what they’re finding out. Do you want to come?”
“No, thanks,” Stone said. “Right now I’m working on not losing my lunch.”
“I’ll call you when I know something.”
“Try for some more cheerful news,” Stone said. Jim left, and the others sat there, silent. “Maybe I shouldn’t have hung up on Casselli,” Stone said at last.
“Stone, this is not your fault,” Viv said.
“Isn’t it? The worst luck Hedy has ever had was meeting me on an airplane. This wouldn’t have happened to her otherwise.”
They sat, mostly in silence, for another hour or so; then Stone’s phone rang, and he got it out of his pocket.
“
Just a moment,” Viv said. She took a small object from her pocket and affixed it to the back of his phone. “Now answer it.”
Stone pressed the button. “Hello?”
“You don’t sound so good,” Casselli said. “Has something upset you?”
Stone was silent.
“It was very quick, you understand, and a nurse was standing by, so no permanent damage has been done.” He paused for a beat. “Yet.”
Stone still couldn’t speak.
“Of course, it was very painful—nothing to be done about that.”
“You miserable piece of shit,” Stone was finally able to say. “I hope I find you before the police do.”
“That would be a very interesting meeting,” Casselli replied. “Now, are you ready to negotiate the release of the girl?”
“I won’t negotiate with you.”
“I don’t know what it takes to move you, Mr. Barrington. Shall I send you more body parts? Would you like to return them to her parents?”
Stone hung up. Viv took the phone from him, tapped some keys, and replayed the conversation. Everyone listened, rapt. “Good man,” Viv said when it was done.
Jim Lugano strode into the room. “Relax,” he said, “the finger doesn’t belong to Hedy.”
“How do you know?” Stone asked.
“We found her prints from an application she made for a Global Entry pass, the thing that gets you through airport security in a hurry. No match. Also, the lab says the finger, though recently severed, had been refrigerated for several days. The finger was probably taken at a morgue. Finally, we got a hit on the print from the Italian database: the woman it belonged to had an arrest record for prostitution in Naples.”
Stone heaved a loud sigh. “When you find Casselli, I hope you’ll give me a few minutes alone with him.”
44
Casselli paced back and forth across his new living room. He had been faced with uncooperative victims before, but never one like Barrington. Normally, he could beat, shoot, or bomb a holdout into submission, but Barrington, in addition to being a hardhead, had the connections to make himself unavailable for mayhem or murder.
