The Traitor (The Carnivia Trilogy)

by Jonathan Holt

  “Yes,” he said simply. “Yes, I gave those orders. Sometimes not in so many words, but those were my wishes, and they were carried out.”

  “And you arranged for my father to be given blood-thinning medication, in the hope that it would kill him.”

  “No,” he said, raising his hand. “No, that’s the irony in all this, Holly. I never ordered that. I took his report and told him I’d pass it on, that’s all. We don’t kill Americans.”

  She saw then what he was going to do – admit everything she was certain of, but deny the one thing that would make her pull the trigger.

  Words; always words. He used them as a musician used notes, or a magician a deck of cards. The one thing he would never do was tell her the truth.

  As if reading her mind, he said, “There’s no such thing as history, Holly. Only competing points of view. Why don’t I give you my perspective on all this? And then, if you don’t like it, you can go ahead and shoot me.”

  More words. She feared them – feared his skill: that he would use them to dazzle or bewitch her. But it was ingrained in her nature to allow an accused man his say.

  She gestured with the gun. “Go on.”

  “As you know, back in the seventies we had a major job on our hands, stopping the communists from getting into power,” he began. “Even as a junior partner in a coalition government. Once voters elsewhere saw Italy making a success of eurocommunism, who knew where it might end? The Italian peninsula; a Russian satellite; the contagion spreading to Spain and France… So we pursued a two-pronged strategy. One: turn the people against the communists. Two: make sure that Italy wasn’t a success.”

  “Generating bloodshed on both sides, you mean. With Gladio as your instrument. But it wasn’t the gladiators themselves who came up with those initiatives, was it? It was you. The puppet master. Pitting Punch against Judy, Judy against Punch.”

  “That’s overstating it a little,” he said mildly. “The truth is, no one was in complete control of the situation. But yes, for a time I and my colleagues had the tiger by the tail, and we did a pretty good job of making sure it bit the other guy instead of us.” He shrugged. “It worked, I guess. After all, we won the Cold War.”

  “But you didn’t stop then. It would have been the logical time to call a halt. But by that time you were addicted to it.”

  “Or, to put it less hysterically, we had a very efficient, expensive asset – an entire country at the heart of Europe that was set up to work as a client state of the US in all but name. Of course, we’d always been careful to maintain the outward appearance that Italy was still a functioning democracy. But effectively there was a whole parallel system of government, shielded from public view. We had our ruling council, our sub-committees and executive bodies, our central bank, our police, our civil servants and bureaucracy. The world knew them as charitable organisations, Mafia families, Masonic lodges and private financial institutions. But in reality, they were all extensions of our control. And, don’t forget, we had filled that country from top to toe with military installations. Once it became clear that the end of the Cold War wasn’t the beginning of some grand pax Americana, we still needed a base in the Mediterranean from which to project our military capability into Asia, into Africa… Into the rest of Europe too, should that need ever arise. Being the world’s policeman means being ready to put boots on the ground, wherever that ground might be.”

  “You’re not the world’s policeman,” she said bitterly. “Policemen uphold the law. Policemen carry out arrests, not assassinations. You’re the world’s vigilante, acting in no one’s interests but your own.”

  “Perhaps. But what’s good for the US has generally been pretty good for these little European countries too. Take Tignelli, for example.”

  “Stopping him was your doing, I suppose?”

  He nodded. “It’s nothing we haven’t done before. Every so often one of our gladiators gets drunk on his own success, starts believing he’s the answer to the mess he’s helped us create. In Tignelli’s case, he had the resources to set up an entire black lodge to support his plans. But the last thing America wants is for Italy to break apart. That could be a real impediment to the free movement of our troops.”

  It took her a moment to realise he wasn’t joking.

  “We soon realised, though, that disrupting Tignelli’s ambitions gave us access to some very useful levers,” he continued. “There’s only one player in Italy besides the US, and they’ve been misbehaving of late. This Pope has been rather critical of the war on terror. Seen in that context, that shady deal between the Vatican Bank and Cassandre to offload their toxic assets is gold dust. At the right time, a quiet word will be had in the right ear, and the Pope’s policies will drift back in our direction. That’s how it works.”

  “And the attack Kat and Daniele have been trying to foil? Is that how it works as well?”

  He shrugged. “As you know, Europe’s been squealing about the extent of our cyber-surveillance programmes. They need a gentle reminder of just how risky the world can be right now if you don’t have US protection. After this, every government in Europe will be begging to be allowed to sign up to VIGILANCE.” He nodded thoughtfully. “It’s a rather brilliant system, actually. Someone noticed that terrorist activity in Europe actually decreased after Snowden revealed the extent of our spying activities. At first we thought the bad guys had just learnt how to evade our scrutiny. But then we realised: knowing you’re being watched actually makes you behave better in the first place. It was a philosopher called Jeremy Bentham who discovered the principle, back in the eighteenth century. He used it to design a self-regulating prison in which every inmate believed himself secretly observed by the guards. He called it the Panopticon – the All-Seeing. VIGILANCE is our Panopticon, Holly. And pretty soon everyone in Europe is going to walk inside it of their own free will.”

  “At what cost?” she said, appalled.

  “Oh, well.” He considered. “Venice will burn, I imagine. But is that such a terrible thing? The place is sinking anyway. Don’t worry, we’ll help them rebuild it. Only this time it’ll be six feet above the water level, there’ll be proper sewers, fire exits, service roads… For the first time in ten centuries, it might actually work.”

  “You’ll turn it into Disney World,” she said. “Vegas-on-Sea.”

  “Disney World is a damn well-run business. They could do a lot worse.” He sighed. “And yes, some people will die, in the panic and the fires. A few thousand, I estimate. If you look around the world right now – at Syria, at Lebanon, at almost any African country – that’s an almost insignificant figure, although the fact that this conflagration will headline every news channel across the world will make it seem so much more important. I’m not defending it, Holly. The decision not to give the Italians more details of the attack was the wrong one, in my opinion. It’s one of several things that’s persuaded me it’s time to retire – really retire, that is, as opposed to just leaving my official post.”

  “You’re Caesar, aren’t you? The man on the ground who calls America’s shots.”

  He nodded. “A purely honorary title. My predecessor, Bob Garland, was the first Caesar, I was the second. Italy has had sixty-two official governments in seventy years, but only two real rulers. You’ll be the third.”

  “Me!” she said, astonished. “What makes you think I want anything to do with this?”

  “What makes you think I did?” he retorted. “When I brought you over here, Holly, it was because of your father, just as I told you. But the more I’ve seen of you, the more I’ve realised that you’re exactly what this place needs. There are some who think you might have been contaminated by your Italian upbringing. But I look at you and I see a brave, patriotic American, a logical thinker who puts her own country first, but who loves this ridiculous nation enough to want to save it from itself. Am I right?”

  She didn’t reply.

  “The point is, all these difficult decisions will no
w be yours to make. Have we been too heavy-handed? Should we be allowing men like Flavio Li Fonti to unearth our secrets, if the price of that is worldwide revulsion against America and our policies? Which is more important, the lives of a few Italian troublemakers or the safety of US troops around the world?” He leant forward. “You want to do good, Holly? I’m offering you the power to do unlimited good. Be my conscience, my advisor, whatever you like to call it. And then, when I’ve shown you how it works, I’ll step back and you’ll take over.”

  “Just like that,” she murmured.

  He shrugged. “Or you can shoot me. I’m not sure I care any more. I certainly won’t try to dissuade you, if that’s what you choose.”

  “And – just so I’m clear about the options – is there any other choice here?”

  “Of course. If you decide not to kill me, but you don’t want the position I’m offering, you can walk away with no hard feelings. I could probably even arrange for you to do good somewhere else. What would you like, Holly? Humanitarian work in Sierra Leone? Peacekeeping in Darfur? Preventing genocide in Iraq? If you really have no stomach for the harsher realities of American power, there’s always the flipside – the positive work it allows us to do around the world. If that’s more to your taste, you only have to say.”

  “And then there’s a fourth option,” she said.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Which is?”

  She pulled the laundry bag from her shoulder and, without taking her eyes off him, reached inside for the objects she’d brought from her kitchen.

  A carton of rat poison. And a sharp knife.

  “The fourth option is that I make you swallow the contents of this carton. It’s Warfarin – the same blood-thinning agent I believe was used on my father. And then I cut off your ears and nose, just like you had Carole Tataro do to Daniele. The shock might bring on a stroke like my father’s, or it might not. But either way, the anti-coagulants should mean you bleed to death.”

  She watched him carefully, but the pale blue eyes barely flinched.

  “Yes,” he said softly. “Yes, that would be another option, wouldn’t it? So, Holly, which is it to be?”

  72

  THE CARABINIERI HELICOPTER flew fast and low over the sea. Soon the coast of Italy was only a series of twinkling pinpricks behind them.

  It had taken Bagnasco and Panicucci only a few minutes to identify the most likely ship. Not only was Serenity of the Seas a colossus of a vessel, carrying up to 3,750 passengers and 1,300 crew, but she was also gas oil powered, and Venice was the next destination on her itinerary. The clincher was the state-of-the-art technology she boasted, from free on-board wi-fi via the ship’s own satellite, to the facial-recognition apps, location tracking and special RFID wristbands that replaced conventional security systems.

  Prosecutor Marcello, though, had been unconvinced, particularly when Kat requested that Venice be closed to all shipping and a general evacuation organised immediately.

  “Close Venice?” he echoed, appalled. “Do you have any idea, Capitano, how many cruise ships visit our city each day? And how many visitors those ships bring in?”

  “Twenty thousand tourists a day, about a quarter of the total,” she said impatiently. “But the safety of the other three quarters, not to mention Venice’s own citizens and its buildings, must be our priority now.”

  “There has to be a reasonable balance between security and letting people lead their normal lives. We can’t be seen to be panicking at every fanciful suggestion.” Marcello had sat up a little straighter, clearly enjoying the unfamiliar sensation of casting himself as the champion of personal liberty. “Your request is refused.”

  “Wait,” Saito said. “The ship in question is currently in international waters. So long as the ship’s captain agrees, no Italian warrant is needed to board it. The request isn’t yours to refuse or accept, Avvocato.” He looked at Kat. “I’m overruling the prosecutor. On my authority, you’re to take two officers and search that ship. If you find anything, anything at all, we’ll discuss further what to do.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She’d been out of the door before he had a chance to change his mind.

  Right now, Serenity of the Seas was sailing up the Croatian coast. By dawn, those lucky enough to have outside cabins on the starboard side would have a direct view of the scenic bays of Losinj, while even those on the inside could watch them slip by on their “virtual porthole”, a round television screen above their bed.

  Around midday, Serenity would turn north-west and cross the Adriatic. With any luck, the late-afternoon sun would be bathing Venice in a magical glow as she sailed through the Bacino di San Marco and up the Giudecca Canal, towards the terminal at Tronchetto. Passengers could then plan to disembark for dinner, or join one of the walking tours laid on by the ship.

  In practice, though, most would eat in Qsine, Serenity’s own fine-dining option, or one of the other on-board restaurants. It was the approach itself, through the Bocca di Lido into the lagoon, that would have all 3,750 passengers crowding the rails with their cameras as the ship towered over Piazza San Marco, the Doge’s Palace and the basilica.

  “There it is,” the helicopter pilot shouted over his shoulder, pointing. Kat looked down. There were three or four islands in view, their lights just visible in the darkness. One seemed especially built up. Then she realised it wasn’t an island at all, but a ship.

  She’d seen supertankers and had marvelled at the vast empty length of them, the crew quarters and bridge just a small structure on the endless deck. Serenity was nothing like that – although almost as long as a supertanker, its seven storeys towered above the deck, crowded with cabins, atriums, tennis courts, climbing walls, water slides… The bridge itself was a visor’s eyepiece, a glass slit, tiny in proportion to the rest, that ran the whole width of the ship and even jutted out a little from each side.

  That isn’t a floating skyscraper, she thought as the helicopter hovered carefully over the landing pad, matching its own speed to the ship’s. That’s a floating city.

  She checked her handgun, and saw Bagnasco and Panicucci do the same.

  Two officers were waiting to greet them and hurry them down to the bridge. It was bigger than it had appeared from the air, a double-height gallery forty metres wide. There was little in the way of what Kat, used to smaller boats, recognised as navigation equipment, only a cockpit like that of a jumbo jet situated dead centre, containing two seats surrounded by banked rows of screens and computer consoles. The ship’s wheel the nearby helmsman was holding was no bigger than a motorboat’s. It was extraordinary to think that such a monster could be controlled by something so tiny.

  “I’m Captain Lozano and this is my First Officer, Daryl Valasco,” the captain said, getting up from one of the cockpit seats. “How can I help you?”

  “We’re looking for a terrorist suspect we believe may be hiding amongst your IT crew,” Kat replied.

  “I’ll assemble them now.” The captain nodded to the first officer, who moved swiftly towards a phone. “Is my ship in any immediate danger?”

  “I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “Have you noticed anything strange since leaving Sicily? Particularly with your computer systems?”

  He shook his head. “Absolutely nothing. It’s been a very smooth voyage.”

  “Well, as a precaution, I suggest you disable any equipment accessing the internet.”

  The captain frowned. “It’s not quite as simple as that. Our passenger-biometric-recognition systems all use the same network. But I’ll have someone run some checks.”

  While they waited for the men to be brought up, Kat found herself looking at Bagnasco and remembered that the sottotenente suffered from seasickness. “How are you feeling?” she asked quietly.

  “Oh.” Bagnasco looked surprised. “I’m fine. I’ve got used to it, I guess.” Well, that was something, Kat thought.

  Soon eight men were led into the bridge, still rubbing the sleep from their eyes.<
br />
  “Is this all of you?” the captain demanded.

  One of the men glanced down the line. “All except Mustaqim. He’s on night duty.”

  “Where is he?”

  The man went to a computer screen mounted by the door and typed something. A map of the ship appeared. A small blue dot was flashing on Deck 3. Looking around, Kat noticed that each crew member was wearing a coloured bracelet. Those must be the trackers she’d read about on Bagnasco’s computer.

  “He’s in the gaming centre,” the man reported.

  “First Officer Valasco, would you be so kind as to go and get him?”

  “I’ll go too,” Kat said. “Keep the rest here, would you? My officers can start checking their identities.”

  She accompanied the first officer into a glass lift. It descended into an atrium three floors high, lined with shops.

  “Follow me.” Valasco led the way across the floor and through a fire door. A sign announced that this was Casino Royale, the largest on-board gaming facility in European waters. On every side lights flashed and machines beeped. Even though it was the middle of the night, it was crowded with people.

  He opened another fire door and they entered another windowless, beeping space. Only this time the machines were video games and the clientele mainly teenagers.

  He pulled out a tablet and consulted the map again. The flashing dot was only a few feet away now. “Over here,” he said, leading the way towards a dance mat.

  The teenager gyrating on the mat barely glanced at them, all her concentration fixed on the screen.

  “Get me a picture of this Mustaqim,” Kat said. “As quickly as possible, please. And I need to speak to the captain again.”