by Allan Topol
“No … no.”
“Then tell me what happened to the files.”
She took a deep breath and let it out. “Signor Castiglione died on Saturday night. When I came into the office on Monday morning, I saw that all of his files were gone. His computer was gone as well. I have no idea who took them. You’ll have to ask Signor Leonardo.”
“Was Signor Castiglione in favor of selling shares to the Singapore bank?”
She didn’t respond.
“Well was he?”
She linked her hands together and looked down at them.
“I don’t know.”
Craig was sure she was lying. He had already threatened obstruction of justice. Now he tried another tact. “You liked Signor Castiglione. I know that.”
She nodded. “Very much.”
“And I’m sure you want us to find out who was responsible for his murder?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“Then you have to help me.”
She began to cry again. “I’m frightened. Not for my job—for my life.”
“I promise that whatever you tell me will never be disclosed to anyone other than Giuseppe. Not Dominic. No one.”
“She studied his face, undoubtedly trying to determine if she could trust him.”
Finally, she wiped her eyes with his handkerchief that she was still clutching and began in a stammering voice. “Signor Castiglione never closed the door to his office. So I heard things.”
“What kind of things?”
“About two weeks ago, a man by the name of Lin Yu, the Director of a large Singapore bank, Pacific Sun, came to see Signor Castiglione.”
At last, Craig felt as if he was getting somewhere.
“Lin Yu,” she continued, “said that he wanted to make a major investment in our bank. Signor Castiglione told him it wasn’t possible. So he raised the price. When Signor Castiglione still turned him down, he told Signor Castiglione to take his offer to the board, which he agreed to do. They scheduled another meeting the following week.”
“Did Signor Castiglione take the offer to the board?”
“He did. I was at the board meeting. He argued against the transaction. The board agreed with him.”
“Any dissenters?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Not even Signor Leonardo?”
“Correct. No one.”
“What happened at the second meeting between Castiglione and Lin Yu?”
“There was a great deal of shouting. Signor Castiglione still refused to sell.”
“What did Lin Yu say?”
“That he had powerful friends, and if Signor Castiglione didn’t agree on the transaction, he would pay for it with his life.”
“You heard him use those words, ‘pay for it with your life?’”
“For sure. I would never forget that. I was surprised and frightened.”
“Did they meet again?”
“No. But Thursday, two days before Signor Castiglione died, Lin Yu called him. I don’t know what they said. Only that Signor Castiglione was very upset after the call. Then he called Signor Goldoni to meet him in Biarritz. That’s all I know.”
Craig thought about what she’d said. He didn’t have any other questions. “You’ve been very helpful. Thank you.”
“And you won’t tell anyone other than Giuseppe what I said.”
“I promise. I will not.”
Craig then joined Giuseppe in his interviews with the officers. All were sticking with Dominic’s story.
Afterward, the two of them left the bank’s headquarters and dodged Milan’s ubiquitous motor scooters while crossing the street en route to a small café two blocks away. Giuseppe was furious when he heard what Craig had to say. “Those four were flat-out lying. I should charge them with obstruction.”
“But I promised Donna we wouldn’t use her.”
“Yeah, I guess I can’t.”
“Forget them. They can’t help us. Our next move is to go to Singapore and to speak with Lin Yu. Find out who his powerful friends are.”
Giuseppe downed an espresso and said, “Let’s wait twenty four hours to move up on Singapore. I want to give Jean-Claude a chance to locate the Russian killers from the fencing of the jewels. Also, for my investigators to examine bank files to check out the organized crime issue.”
“Sounds reasonable.”
“I’m going back to Rome. I’ll call you tomorrow afternoon, or sooner, if I hear from Jean-Claude.”
Once Giuseppe left, Craig called Lorenzo and went to see the lawyer who seemed stunned by what Donna had said about the bank takeover.
“I had no idea about any of this. I was not only Federico’s lawyer, but his friend. He should have spoken to me about it.”
“Do you doubt its accuracy?”
Lorenzo shook his head in dismay. “Donna is an honest woman. And Federico unfortunately sometimes confided in me and sometimes did not.”
* * *
Still afraid of going home, Craig spent another night at the hotel Palazzo Parigi. The next morning, at five o’clock, he went running. Craig headed toward his favorite route in Milan. One of the city’s most imposing sites was the Sforza Castle, a dominating brick and stone structure in the center of Milan surrounded by a moat. Construction had begun in the 15th century by Francesco Sforza whose family ruled the area. Later generations modified it. And now the castle was a major complex of museums including paintings, furniture, and archeology.
Craig liked this site for running because a vast green park area with winding paths spread out behind the castle. He had a regular route for a five-mile run, beginning at the castle and ending up there.
As Craig left the castle at the start of his run, the park was deserted and the sky was still dark. Normally when Craig ran, he tuned out whatever he was working on, but not today. He kept replaying in his mind everything he had learned about Federico’s death. Donna was courageous, and she had given him his first real break, but he was still a long way from having any answers.
As he made the turn and headed back toward the castle, the sun was beginning to appear in the eastern sky. Nearing the castle, Craig, who had missed several days of running, was breathing heavily.
Suddenly, through the corner of his eye, he saw a glint of bright sunlight on his right next to a tree. Craig turned in that direction. The sun was reflecting from a gun pointed at him!
Instinctively, he dove off the path onto the grass. He hit the ground and rolled toward the rear entrance of the castle. He heard a gun being fired. A shot flew over his head.
Before the shooter had a chance to aim again, Craig raced into the castle. On the left, a wooden gate blocked the entrance to the museum. It was locked. Craig, leading with his shoulder, blasted through it, smashing the wood. He tore up the stairs to the second floor of the museum.
Glancing over his shoulder, he saw his assailant following him up the stairs. Immediately, he recognized the blond haired man: Igor’s security guard who had patted Craig down when he had gone to see Igor.
A weapon, Craig told himself.
I need a weapon.
He ran through the second floor rooms until he came to the archeology section. A glass case on one side held a collection of knives. Craig grabbed a chair and used the legs to smash the glass. He reached in and pulled out a knife. Then he concealed himself, flat against a wall near the entrance to the room, the knife at his side, its blade sharp.
Gun in hand, the Russian ran in and looked around. He spotted Craig and shouted, “This bullet is from Igor.”
As the Russian prepared to fire, Craig raised his right arm with the knife in his hand.
One chance is all I get.
Craig let go with the knife, aiming for the Russian’s heart.
It hit the Russian in his chest, ruining his aim. The shot went up in the air against the ceiling.
The Russian collapsed onto his back. As Craig walked over, he saw the Russian was bleeding profusely.
/> “Help,” he pleaded. “Help.”
“Be glad to help you.”
Craig took the Russian’s gun and shot him, finishing the job.
He used his shirt to wipe the gun for prints. Then he tossed it on the ground and ran down the stairs and out of the museum.
When he was back in his hotel room and was ready to shower, his cell phone rang. It was Giuseppe.
“I heard from Jean-Claude. We caught a break.”
Craig was excited. “What happened?”
Late yesterday afternoon, a Russian tried to unload some of the jewels in a shop in Marseilles where the owner buys pieces well below market value for cash. The owner recognized the pieces from the email he received from Jean-Claude so he bought them. But here’s the better news.”
“Tell me,” Craig said impatiently.
“The owner has a hidden camera in the ceiling. He caught the Russian on video and forwarded it to Jean-Claude, who sent it to the Biarritz police. They made a match with Vladimir Radovich, the leader of a gang of Russian thugs who settled in the area when a large contingent of wealthy Russians bought homes in Biarritz. They’ve taken Radovich to the regional jail in Bordeaux.”
“That’s great. What’s he look like?”
“Tall, about six-four, muscular. Why?”
“Amelie said the shooter was a tall guy.”
“Sounds like our man.”
“I think so.”
“You and I should talk to him. I have a plane lined up to take me to Bordeaux. We’ll swing by Milan to pick you up. Can you meet me at Linate at nine this morning?”
“I’ll be there.”
Northern Italy
Having slept three hours on the flight from Beijing, Zhou Yun arrived fully refreshed at Milan’s Malpensa airport. It was ten minutes past eight in the morning. His unmarked Chinese military aircraft, with Zhou as the only passenger, taxied to a remote corner of the airfield. Through the window, Zhou saw a black sedan with tinted windows waiting.
In a show of Parelli’s political clout that surprised and pleased Zhou, a crew member advised Zhou that the pilot had been informed that no customs or passport formalities would be required. The pilot and crew were directed to stay on the plane and await Zhou’s return while the car took him to his meeting with Parelli.
Zhou immediately understood the significance of these arrangements. With no record of Zhou’s visit, Parelli could later claim it never occurred. For the Italian political candidate, this secret meeting with Zhou was fraught with peril. At the same time, it drove home for Zhou how precarious Parelli’s financial situation must be. Desperate men take high-risk chances.
Carrying a thin briefcase, Zhou bounded down the steps of the plane.
Without saying a word, the driver held open a back door for Zhou. Only the two of them were in the car when it passed through a military checkpoint at the back of the airfield.
The car made its way to the highway then sped south and west into the heart of the Piedmont region of Italy. Zhou admired the beautiful scenery, the lush, green rolling hills against the snowcapped Alps in the background.
This was Zhou’s first trip to this region of Italy, and he made comparisons with China. He was struck by the relatively few cars on the road so close to major population centers, the clear blue sky without any smog, and the well-maintained roads. Along with the beauty, there was a striking tranquility he never felt in frenetic China.
Zhou thought about his brother who had a similar reaction to the south of France where he had purchased an estate. His brother would still be enjoying it if it weren’t for Craig Page. He pounded his right fist into the palm of his left hand, again vowing revenge.
Perhaps, he would do something similar, Zhou thought. If his Italian operation went according to plan, he would acquire or build an estate along Lake Como or Maggiore and make that his base in the summer to escape the dreadful heat and pollution of China and all of its people. Everywhere people, people, and more people. With computers and cell phones, he could easily run his business empire from northern Italy two or three months a year.
Soon, they were in the heart of wine country. The home of Barolo and Barbaresco, two of the great wines of the world. Grapevines lined both sides of the road.
Half an hour later, the car slowed and turned right at a paved road blocked by a metal gate. On one side of the gate was a stone guardhouse. Two men in security uniforms brandishing automatic weapons stood on each side of the guardhouse. Another man was inside. As soon as the driver rolled down the window and nodded to the man inside, the gate swung open.
The road wound up a hill, slicing through vineyards. At the top, Zhou saw a two-story stone house, which had the look of a luxurious estate. This is no simple farmhouse, Zhou realized. Half a kilometer to the left was a large modern glass and steel building that had to be one of Parelli’s wineries.
The car dropped Zhou off in front of the house. The door opened and Parelli, whom Zhou recognized from pictures, walked down the three stone steps to greet him.
“Welcome to the Parelli winery.”
The two men shook hands, and Parelli led him into the house. Zhou saw a somber-looking man standing in a corner of the reception area, eyeing him suspiciously.
“I want to introduce Luciano, my closest advisor and confidante.”
Luciano nodded without moving forward to shake Zhou’s hand. He recalled what Qing had told him: that Luciano was opposed to Parelli meeting with Zhou.
“No one else is in the house,” Parelli added. “I wanted us to have complete privacy.”
“I appreciate that.”
Parelli opened a bottle of wine and poured three glasses. He handed one to Zhou. “This is my ’97 Barolo. One of the finest made in Italy during that extraordinary vintage,” he said with pride.
Zhou sipped it and nodded. “It is incredible. I didn’t think Barolo was capable of such finesse and elegance while having the depth and structure. I confess to being partial to great Bordeaux and Burgundy. But what you served me is in the same class.”
“I appreciate that. Now I’d like you to come up to the second floor verandah. I want to give you a visual tour of the property from there.”
Zhou followed Parelli up the stairs, both of them carrying their wine glasses. Glancing over his shoulder, Zhou saw Luciano remaining behind.
For the next twenty minutes as they stood outside on the stone deck, Parelli spoke enthusiastically about the property. When he was finished, Zhou asked, “Is there somewhere we can sit down to talk business?”
“My study across the hall. I’ll get Luciano.”
“I would prefer to talk to you alone.”
“Luciano is involved in all details of my campaign.”
“Afterwards, you can brief him as you believe appropriate.”
That seemed to satisfy Parelli. He led the way to a study. One wall was lined with books, many of them leather bound.
Another had pictures of Parelli or his father accepting awards for their wines.
When the two men settled into leather chairs facing each other, Parelli began, “Qing Li, your associate, who met me in my Venice hotel room, said you were interested in contributing to my campaign. I told him I would be willing to listen to what you have to say without any commitments, of course.”
In Parelli, Zhou recognized he was dealing with a savvy businessman. No point being vague or talking in riddles. “I’ll put all my cards on the table. Your campaign is in trouble financially.”
Parelli shook his head vigorously. “You have been misinformed. I—”
“If we are to do business, we must be candid with each other. Your debt to Turin Credit, Alberto Goldoni’s bank, is now 310 million euros.”
Parelli sat up with a start. “I can’t believe Alberto spoke to you.”
“He didn’t. We live in the modern cyber world. Computers are not secure. There are no secrets in matters like this.”
“You hacked into the computer at Goldoni’s bank?�
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“Hack is an awful term—with unpleasant connotations. I prefer to regard information on computers as available to those who have the technology to obtain it. So to continue, Goldoni will call those loans in a matter of days if you do not repay him. Your campaign will be finished. You will lose your farm and winery. You will be ruined.”
Parelli’s face was flushed. “These are only temporary obstacles.” His voice displayed bravado. A false bravado, Zhou was convinced.
“Of course. Which I wish to help you overcome.”
“How do you propose to do that?”
“As you’re no doubt aware, I like wine and have recently acquired Chateau Margaux and Domaine Romanee Conti in France.”
“I did hear that. Two of the great properties of the world.”
“Now I would like to acquire the Parelli wine business.”
“It’s not for sale.”
Zhou ignored him and continued speaking. “My financial people appraise it at roughly 200 million euros. I’m prepared to offer you one billion euros in a confidential transaction.”
Parelli looked mystified. “I don’t understand. You just said the property was worth 200 million.”
“I want you to have the other 800 million for your political campaign. I think that should be enough for you to prevail in the election. But if you need more, I would be willing to increase the price.”
Parelli was eyeing Zhou suspiciously.
“And why do you want me to win?”
“Because I believe in your cause. The New Italy Party. If you split the country as you propose, you will have a powerful economic nation in the north.”
“Now it’s my turn to speak candidly with you.”
“Of course.”
“I understand your motive. If I win, I’ll be enormously grateful to you. And you would expect me to award construction and other contracts to your company and other Chinese firms. In short, you will have a foothold in the heart of Western Europe.”
“I won’t deny that. Friends help friends. That’s the way of the world. It’s a wonderful offer for you. With the money I’m providing, your New Italy Party will prevail in the election. You will be Prime Minister with the parliamentary majority you need to divide the country.” Zhou paused for a minute then added, “I trust what I’m offering is acceptable to you.”
