The Italian Divide
Page 1
Praise for The Washington Lawyer
by Allan Topol
“Pity the poor political novelist. After all the real-world skullduggery of recent decades—Nixon’s Watergate, Clinton’s intern—how can fiction possibly compete with reality? Washington lawyer Allan Topol can’t beat those odds, but in The Washington Lawyer he’s given us a lively insider’s portrait of political mischief featuring a senator who is a traitor and perhaps a murderer, a nominee for chief justice of the United States who is desperately trying to cover up his own misdeeds and a gang of Chinese spies eager to bribe or, if necessary, kill our politicians to obtain the Pentagon’s innermost secrets … Topol’s version is entertaining and at times has the ring of truth.”
—Patrick Anderson
“Book World,” The Washington Post
“Archeologist professor Allison Boyd doesn’t believe her beautiful twin sister, congressional aid Vanessa Boyd, drowned in the Caribbean while away for the weekend alone. Vanessa was many things but ‘alone’ was never one of them. Convinced Vanessa was murdered, Allison heads to Washington to uncover the truth. As she finds herself caught up in a tangled web of power players, she begins to realize how far some people will go to keep a secret. No matter the cost.
Fast-paced and action-packed, Topol’s novel expertly weaves together power, murder, and intrigue to paint a chilling picture of the sinister underbelly of Washington politics. A thrill ride that doesn’t let up.”
—Beth McMullen
Author of Original Sin and Spy Mom
“Morals, ethics, values, and integrity often go out the window when temptations come your way. What happens when two men let their greed and desire for wealth and power overtake their moral compasses, and find that one simple indiscretion leading to one wrong choice can bring down your entire world? …
Once again author Allan Topol delivers a plot and storyline that will keep readers in suspense from start to finish … When the truth is revealed whose damage control wins out? Find out when you read this five-star novel.”
—Fran Lewis
Author, creator and editor of MJ magazine, and host on Red River Radio Show and World of Ink Network
“The Washington Lawyer is a thrilling tale of intrigue and revenge at the highest levels in the American government—told from an insider’s point of view. The action is nonstop, from the gripping prologue to the satisfying end. Not to be missed!”
—Joan Johnston
New York Times best-selling author of Sinful
“Rich with international intrigue, The Washington Lawyer bristles with insider details, heart-stopping action, and memorable characters. This is Washington politics at its most revealing, told by a top attorney who knows where the truth—and the bodies—are buried.”
—Gayle Lynds
New York Times best-selling author of The Assassins
“The Washington Lawyer is a fast moving thriller from a very articulate writer. A tangled web showing the corrupt and selfish Washington elite and the tarnished government officials that will stop at nothing to reach their goals and pay any price to succeed. You can’t put this spy-adventure down until the last thrilling pages. Allan Topol knows the Washington scene and is masterful in his depiction.”
—Pat Pascale
FreshFiction.com
“A lawyer, Andrew Martin, who is a longtime friend of Senator William Jasper, needs help. A sex tryst at Martin’s beach house in Anguilla has gone awry, and congressional staffer and former model, Vanessa Boyd, is dead. Martin must decide how to best protect his reputation and the senator’s. What unfolds are hairpin plot turns as human vice and power collide and race toward catastrophe for both men. Here’s an intriguing and entertaining look inside the circles of power… . If you’re looking for a great read, you will find it in this novel.”
Book Reviews by Alan Caruba
THE ITALIAN DIVIDE
Also by Allan Topol
Fiction
The Fourth of July War
A Woman of Valor
Spy Dance
Dark Ambition
Conspiracy
Enemy of My Enemy
The China Gambit
The Spanish Revenge
The Russian Endgame
The Argentine Triangle
The Washington Lawyer
NON-FICTION
Superfund Law and Procedure (coauthor)
Copyright © 2016 by Allan Topol
All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the publisher.
This edition published by SelectBooks, Inc.
For information address SelectBooks, Inc., New York, New York.
First Edition
ISBN 978-1-59079-366-4
eISBN: 978-1-59079-341-1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Topol, Allan.
The Italian divide / Allan Topol. – First edition.
pages ; cm. – (Craig Page ; 4)
ISBN 978-1-59079-366-4 (softcover)
1. United States. Central Intelligence Agency–Officials and employees–Fiction. 2. Women journalists–Fiction. 3.
Murder–Investigation–Fiction. 4. Political fiction. I. Title.
PS3570.O64I87 2016
813’.54–dc23
2015032960
Manufactured in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Dedicated to my wife, Barbara,
my partner in this literary venture
Contents
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Biarritz
Aosta, Italy
Biarritz
Stresa, Italy
Venice
Milan
London
Southern Italy
Turin
Beijing
Turin
Rome
Paris
Milan
Northern Italy
Bordeaux
Turin
Paris
Beijing
Washington
Northern Italy
Singapore
Los Angeles and Washington
Turin
Beijing
Rome and Bordeaux
Beijing
Orta, Italy
Beijing
Turin and Paris
Beijing and Paris
Milan
Paris
Beijing
Turin and Bologna
Turin and Paris
Rome
Beijing
Washington
Northern Virginia
Northern Italy
The Italian Divide
Western North Carolina
Ascona
Washington
Ascona
Ascona
Stresa
Ascona
Washington
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Iowe a great thanks to Kenzi Sugihara, who founded SelectBooks. This is our fourth novel together, and I could not ask for more support and encouragement from a publisher. Kenzi was enthusiastic from the first time I broached the idea of doing a book about Italy, and he offered valuable comments to help shape the concept for the novel.
Nancy Sugihara did a wonderful job of editing. Kenichi Sugihara is outstanding as the Marketing Director, and again he developed a superb cover.
My agent, Pam Ahearn, provided critical advice on the story and structure of the novel as well as editorial suggestions. It
is a pleasure working with Pam.
My wife, Barbara, traveled with me throughout Italy, offering insights into the country and the people as I shaped the ideas in the novel. She then read draft after draft and offered valuable suggestions, particularly for the characters.
P R O L O G U E
Biarritz, France
At two thirty in the morning, Qing Li was carrying a briefcase stuffed with 500,000 euros. He walked down three cracked concrete steps into the Volga nightclub. The lights were dim. It took a few seconds for him to see through the haze of cigarette and cigar smoke. The room was jammed with people, many speaking Russian loudly and sounding drunk.
A silver coated ball twirled from the ceiling in the center of the room. A Russian singing voice on tape blared from a loud speaker. Straight ahead was a small stage. A busty blond in a G-string went through the motions of dancing.
To the left was a bar. Qing, who was six foot four and walked ramrod straight, as they had taught him in the Chinese People’s Liberation Army, headed toward the bar. He had gotten his instructions from Sergei in Moscow a few hours ago. He knew what to do.
Qing saw two empty seats at the bar. He took one of them, put the briefcase at his feet, and ordered a drink. “Macallan’s 12 year old on ice.”
Ten minutes later, as he was sipping his drink, Qing felt a tap on the shoulder. He whirled around to see a tall man about six-six, with a shaved head and sandpaper beard, standing behind him. The man was wearing a dark jacket unbuttoned to reveal a gun holstered at his chest over a black turtleneck shirt.
“I’m Radovich,” the man said in English with a Russian accent.
“Mao’s my name.”
Radovich didn’t crack a smile. “Come with me,” the Russian said.
Qing grabbed his briefcase and followed Radovich to an office in the back. Only one man was in the room. He was short and stocky.
“This is Boris,” Radovich said. “He’ll be working with me.”
Qing nodded and sat down at a table cluttered with papers and photos of strippers.
“Let’s talk about the job,” Qing said.
“No. First the money,” Radovich said sharply.
Just like Russians, Qing thought. They don’t care about the work. Only about money.
Qing pointed to the briefcase on the floor. “I have 500,000 euros in there. I’ll leave it with you. The bag is a gift.”
Again, no smile.
“And the second 500,000 euros?”
“It’ll be wired to your Biarritz account from Moscow twenty-four hours after you finish the job.”
“Show me the money.”
Qing hoisted the bag onto the table and snapped it open. The euros were old and all with totally different numbers. It would be impossible to trace them.
Qing was watching Radovich. The Russian stared greedily at the money. Boris leaned over the bag, eyes wide open.
Qing guessed what Radovich was thinking: one bullet was all it would take to kill Qing. It would be easy to dump the body in the sea. No risk of getting caught. Why take a chance for another 500,000?
Qing had a switchblade knife in his jacket pocket. And a gun in an ankle holster.
Radovich lifted his hand and moved it toward his jacket. Convinced Radovich was going for his gun, Qing reached for his ankle. As Qing made contact with the cold metal, the phone in his pocket rang. Radovich dropped his hand.
Qing took out his phone. He immediately recognized the Beijing number. He had to take the call.
“Yes,” he said tersely in Mandarin.
“Status?”
“Final arrangements are being made.”
“Any issues?”
Qing looked at Radovich whose hands were on the table.
“None for me. Any change at your end?”
“No. Proceed.”
The caller in Beijing clicked off, but Qing decided to use the call to bluff Radovich. He pretended the conversation was continuing, and he switched to English.
“Are you with Sergei now?” Qing said.
He waited a few seconds, then continued. “Tell Sergei I’m in a meeting with Radovich and Boris, his people in Biarritz… . No, I don’t think we have a problem.”
Qing stared at Radovich, hoping that invoking the name of Sergei, the Moscow crime boss, would be enough to ensure that he abandoned his intention of trying to kill Qing. “Do we?”
“Tell Sergei, no problems,” Radovich said.
Qing breathed a sigh of relief. He repeated Radovich’s words, then put away the phone.
“Okay, now let’s talk about the job,” Qing said.
“We’re ready,” Radovich replied.
“I want you to kill an Italian banker.”
Biarritz
June 1
Alberto Goldoni stood at the window of his eighth floor suite in the Hotel Du Palais in Biarritz. A powerful storm was ahead. As he watched the angry swirling sea crashing against the rocks below, he wondered what he was doing here.
Thursday, two days ago, he had been in his office at Turin Credit bank when Federico Castiglione had called from Milan. In a frightened voice, Federico had said, “We must talk. You have to meet me in Biarritz over the weekend.”
Because of their friendship and the obligation Alberto’s family had to the members of Federico’s family, he’d do anything for Federico. Still, he was mystified by the proposal and curious about what Federico wanted to discuss. “Why wait until the weekend? I can come to Milan today.”
“No, it’s better outside of the country. Please believe me. Amelie and I will get to our house in Biarritz late Saturday afternoon. You should stay at the Hotel Du Palais. We’ll have dinner in the hotel Saturday evening with our wives. Then early Sunday morning, you and I can talk on the beach. No one will be able to overhear us.”
From the determination in Federico’s voice, Alberto realized further questioning was pointless. “I’ll be there.”
“Good. This is important for you, too… . Not just for me.”
Without saying another word, Federico had hung up. Now at eight thirty on Saturday evening Alberto and his wife, Dora, having flown up in his bank’s private plane early in the morning, were dressing for dinner.
Federico was the CEO and largest stockholder in the National Bank of Milan, the third largest in Italy. Alberto’s bank was the largest in the country. Whatever was happening to Federico undoubtedly involved banking business or finances in Italy. Both of them had barely survived the financial upheaval of 2008. Now there must be a new threat to their survival.
Alberto would try to find out what was happening this evening at dinner. He didn’t like having to wait for tomorrow morning. But he knew Federico. The man could be stubborn. If he decided on something, there was little chance of convincing him to change.
As if reading his mind, Dora called from behind Alberto. “Are you worrying about Federico?”
He whirled around and looked at her wearing a white silk bra and panties, sitting at the vanity table, brushing her long black hair. They had been married for twenty-two years, and he still found her as beautiful as the day he had met her at the University of Bologna where they were both students. He also respected her views and intellect.
“Federico sounded upset during the call Thursday.”
She put down the brush. “I can’t understand why he couldn’t come to Turin to talk to you. Or ask you to go to Milan.”
“He made it sound as if he was afraid of someone who was there.”
“And he wanted to slip away from them?”
“That’s what I thought. But no matter what, if Federico wanted me to do this, I had to.”
“You’re a good person, Alberto.”
“Not really. I made you suffer through a day on one of the great beaches in Europe. And dinner in the hotel should be a hardship as well.”
“The hardship will be having to put up with Federico’s new French wife, Amelie.”
“I know you liked Bonita, but it’s not Federic
o’s fault she died.”
“He didn’t even wait six months to remarry.”
Alberto didn’t have a retort for that. He had been surprised as well.
“And then he picks a sexy French bimbo,” she continued. “A former model. Ach! You men. You’re all the same.”
“Hey. I didn’t do anything.”
The ring from Alberto’s cell phone resting on the desk interrupted their banter. He picked it up and saw the caller was not identified. “Yes?”
“This is Roberto Parelli.” The voice was raspy and strained. “I’m sorry to bother you on the weekend, but I’ve been busy with my political campaign and Luciano told me that my loans are due tomorrow.”
“Actually, they were due six months ago.” Alberto had spoken about it with Roberto several times. “I gave you additional time to pay them back.”
“Well now, I need more time.”
“How long?”
“Another six months.” Parelli wasn’t asking. He was demanding. “The election is on September 30. Less than four months. I expect to win. When I do, donors will step forward to pay off my debts.”
Alberto’s heart was pounding. This was a tough decision. The loans totaled 310 million euros. Considerably more than the value of the collateral: The Parelli farm, vineyard, and winery. The prudent thing for Alberto to do was call the loans and seize the property. That would mean not only destroying Parelli financially, but also effectively ending the heavily in debt political campaign of the controversial Parelli. The candidate was either Italy’s savior or agent of the devil sent for the nation’s destruction.
Alberto hated being in this position. He was a banker, not a politician. He despised Parelli’s New Italy party and what Parelli wanted to achieve, but he didn’t think that should influence his decision. Still, he was only human. Subject to the same passions which Parelli provoked in others.
“I’ll give you one more week. That’s all,” Alberto said firmly.
He noticed Dora moving close to him, a concerned look on her face.
“But don’t you realize what I’m trying to do for the country?”
“I’m very sorry. I can’t give you preferential treatment. It’s a question of fairness among all the bank’s clients.