by Allan Topol
“We never met. I’d be a pretty insular banker if I hadn’t heard of him. By reputation, Zhou evokes fear.”
“Which is justified.”
“Zhou was responsible for Federico’s death. Wasn’t he?”
“I’m certain of it. But so far I can’t prove it.”
“I want to defeat Zhou.”
Their first courses came. They ate in silence for several minutes. Then Craig said, “Giuseppe and I have a plan.”
He decided to omit the CIA and President Worth. “I have created a new identity for myself as Barry Gorman, the head of a US-based private equity firm with billions of dollars to invest. The firm is called the Philoctetes Group.”
“After the hero of one of Sophocles less known seven extant plays.”
“Exactly. I will be making a competing bid for your stock. Going head to head with McKnight. My goal will be to smoke out Zhou. As Barry Gorman, I’ll make him come after me to try to kill me so he can get your stock and take over your bank. Once I can prove Zhou is the one responsible for trying to murder me, I’ll seek his extradition and have him tried in an Italian court. Perhaps I’ll be able to nail him for Federico’s murder as well. While all this is happening, Giuseppe will provide extensive security for you and your family in case Zhou decides to come after you. Personally, I don’t think he’ll do that. It’s far more likely he’ll come after me.”
“There’s a defect in your plan.”
“What’s that?”
“When people see Barry Gorman in the press or on television, they’ll recognize him as Enrico Marino.”
“That’s right. So I can’t let them see Barry Gorman. My interviews have to be on the radio or with the press while I’m at a remote location, and they can’t get a picture. I must pretend to be a kind of Howard Hughes recluse.”
Alberto looked dubious. “This plan of yours seems far-fetched.”
“I recognize it is a bit extreme. However, I had a good result once before with a similar Barry Gorman ploy in Argentina. And frankly, I can’t think of any other way to catch Zhou.”
“What do you want me to do to make it work?”
“Behave like any businessman who has competing offers for his stock. Press us both to go higher.”
“I can do that—but I never want to sell my stock—You have to understand that.”
“I already do. Giuseppe told me. You don’t have to worry about that. In the end, like any businessman, you can say you decided not to sell. What do you think? Will you cooperate?”
Without hesitating, Alberto responded, “Absolutely.”
Beijing
“What the hell does she want now?” Zhou wondered as he rode in the back of his car on the way to the president’s office.
It was a miserably hot and humid summer day in Beijing. He wished he were in northern Italy.
Traffic was heavy. He was impatient. “Put on the siren and flashing lights,” he barked to his driver.
Soon cars were clearing a path for them.
Mei Ling had a stern look on her face. Refusing to be intimidated, Zhou glared at her as he sat down in front of her desk.
“It has come to my attention,” she began, “that you are, without my knowledge, using funds of the People’s Republic of China to manipulate the election in Italy and support one candidate, Roberto Parelli.”
How in the world could she have found out? Zhou didn’t dare show weakness. He refused to deny her accusations. Instead, he went on the attack. “What do you mean,” he said, then mimicking her, declared: “‘It has come to my attention.’ Who told you these things?”
“Who told me isn’t important.”
Zhou pounded his fist on the desk. “But it is. I’m seeking to restore China to its former greatness. If we have a close relationship with the new Italian leader, we’ll benefit hugely. We’ll get contracts for airports, roads, and infrastructure and that will just be the beginning of our control in Italy. Parelli is our vehicle to gain a foothold in Europe. Our Trojan horse. Don’t you see that?”
“Those are my decisions to make. Not yours.”
“Don’t you realize our enemies have come to you with these stories to undermine me. Now tell me who is your source?”
“I refuse. By engaging in these acts, you have usurped the power of my office. I intend to remove you as Finance Minister and to charge you with being an enemy of the state. Tonight, I will call a meeting of the Politburo to confirm my actions.”
Zhou was counting votes in his mind. There were now fifteen members of the Politburo. Mei Ling might be able to garner the support of eight. He had to play his final and best card.
Without saying a word, he removed his phone from his pocket and made a call. “General Ko, this is Zhou Yun. I am directing you to move your tanks out of their storage facility and into Tiananmen Square. Position them immediately below the president’s office.”
Zhou had arranged with the commander who had been close to his brother to have one unit of tanks stationed next to Tiananmen Square and ready to move if he gave the order. “Yes, sir,” he said.
Zhou asked General Ko to repeat that more loudly and held the phone in the air close to Mei Ling. When Ko repeated his words, Zhou had no doubt Mei Ling had heard them.
He turned to Mei Ling. “You must know that our patriotic military leaders are still angry with you for being a party to my brother’s murder. They would like nothing better than to remove you from the presidency. I have been the one urging them restraint in the interests of maintaining civilian control of our government. Now you forced my hand. You have a choice. You can ignore everything I am doing in Italy, or you can lose your presidency in a military coup that will name me as president. It’s that simple. But wait. Don’t answer too soon. I want you to see the tanks in the square before you make your decision so you’ll know I’m not bluffing.”
Zhou walked over to a window facing Tiananmen Square. Mei Ling stood at an adjacent window.
With a smile of satisfaction, he watched soldiers clear the square of civilians. Then twenty tanks rumbled into the square and took positions facing the windows of the president’s office.
“Well, what’s your decision?” Zhou asked.
There was a long pause. He wasn’t sure what she would do. After a minute, she said, softly with reluctance, “You win.”
Zhou should have been elated. He wasn’t. The critical fact was that someone had told Mei Ling about his support for Parelli. He had enemies working against him. He had to find out who they were and strike at them.
Back in his office, behind his desk, Zhou closed his eyes and tore at his mind, trying to figure out the source of Mei Ling’s information. Finally, he concluded it was Luciano. The political adviser had been opposed to Parelli dealing with Zhou from the beginning. He was probably prejudiced against Chinese people.
Luciano must have found his way to one of the officials in the Chinese Embassy in Rome. The information would have worked its way up to the Chinese foreign minister who considered himself a rival of Zhou.
Yes, that must be how Mei Ling found out.
Zhou had made a tactical error in not letting Qing kill Luciano when his aide had wanted to. But Zhou would overcome that. Nothing would stop him.
Zhou heard the ringing of a cell phone on his desk. It was the matching one he had given Parelli.
This can’t be good news, Zhou thought. He and Parelli had reached an agreement. He had transferred the money. Why would Parelli be calling?
“Zhou here.”
“We have a problem.”
“What happened?”
“I was interviewed by a reporter doing a feature on me. She was pressing me hard about whether I’ve received any foreign money for my campaign.”
Parelli sounded nervous. Zhou needed to allay his anxieties. He didn’t want Parelli backing out of their deal.
“So what? That’s not an unreasonable question. After all, you now have a strong lead in the polls thanks to the money I provide
d for your campaign.”
“No. It’s more than that. She had a picture of Qing on her cell phone. She took it in my suite in Venice when he met with me to set up our meeting. She’s connected the dots. My meeting with Qing. My new advertising money.”
“But she doesn’t know we met. She doesn’t know anything about our agreement. Does she?”
There was a pause. Finally, Parelli replied, “I don’t think so. I guess you’re right.”
“I know I’m right. Who’s the reporter?”
“Elizabeth Crowder from the International Herald.”
Zhou’s blood ran cold. Again, Elizabeth Crowder. That nosey bitch of a reporter.
Before focusing on her, he had to finish the call with Parelli. “You don’t have to worry. She’ll never get the information she needs to write an article. There won’t be a leak from my side and Swiss bankers don’t talk. You’re safe. I assure you.”
“Alright. I’m satisfied. I wanted you to know.”
“Thanks for telling me.”
When he put down the phone, Zhou thought some more about his meeting with Mei Ling an hour ago. He realized now he had been wrong to conclude that Luciano was the source of Mei Ling’s information about Zhou’s actions in Italy. It had to be Elizabeth.
That was even worse for Zhou. She was an excellent reporter. If she found out about his agreement with Parelli, she would publish it in her paper and he’d be ruined. He had to stop her from doing that. No matter what it took. That meant killing her.
That could easily be done. Fortunately, he had asked Qing Li to remain in Italy until McKnight closed the Goldoni bank deal. Qing would know how to do it without leaving a trail back to Zhou.
Zhou thought about the death of Craig Page’s daughter, Francesca, in Calgary, Canada. She also had been a journalist working on a story that would have been damaging to Zhou and his effort to control Canadian oil. The truck that crashed into her car, killing Francesca, left no links to Zhou. Qing could easily arrange a similar accident for Elizabeth.
Zhou picked up a phone to call Qing. Before dialing, he realized that anger was clouding his mind. He was missing what was totally obvious.
Elizabeth couldn’t have supplied her information to Mei Ling by telephone. He had a tap on Mei Ling’s office phone line.
Chances were that Elizabeth had come to China to tell Mei Ling in person. She was reckless. That was the sort of thing she would do. And she might even still be in China.
Zhou personally called the head of security for all international airports. He directed him to put out the highest alert—bright red—for Elizabeth Crowder. In case she might be using a phony passport, he forwarded her picture.
Then he waited by the phone, planning what he’d do to her when he got his hands on her and how he would use her to lure Craig to China.
Turin and Paris
Alberto was unhappy. This was the last day Parelli had been given to repay his loans. Alberto had his lawyers draw up the papers foreclosing on all of Parelli’s property. At three in the afternoon he planned to give them the order to file with the court. At the same time, they would serve a copy of the papers on Parelli. Alberto didn’t like taking this action; Parelli had left him no choice.
For the last week, he had followed Parelli’s campaign activities closely in the media. The candidate had increased his advertising. He must have gotten additional cash from somewhere, but hadn’t offered Alberto a single euro in part payment.
Alberto concluded that Parelli was playing a high-risk game. He was assuming the banker would never foreclose. Well, he doesn’t know me, Alberto thought. He’s going to be sadly mistaken.
The phone rang. Alberto saw the call was from Parelli. Without hesitating, he picked up the phone. He had no need to hide behind secretaries or lawyers. He would tell Parelli exactly what he intended to do at three this afternoon.
Before he had a chance to say a word, Parelli blurted out, “We have to talk. I would like to come and see you in an hour.”
“You’re wasting your time. I won’t extend the loans.”
“I won’t be asking you to do that, I assure you.”
“Then what do you want?”
“Only ten minutes of your time. You won’t be sorry. Believe me.”
Alberto wondered what Parelli had in mind. Even if he wanted to extend the loans, contrary to what he’d said, Alberto would still meet with him. After their long relationship, he didn’t mind telling Parelli in person that in a few hours lawyers would be filing papers to seize his property.
An hour later, Parelli walked into Alberto’s office, a smile on his face and a briefcase in his hand.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” Parelli said. “I have some news for you.”
I have some news, too, Alberto thought, but he let Parelli speak first. “I’m listening.”
“Ten minutes ago, I wire transferred to your bank 310 million euros. The total amount I owe you. I came to tell you that.”
Alberto was dumbfounded. Parelli must have gotten the infusion of cash he had been hoping for. Alberto was so surprised he couldn’t respond.
Parelli continued, “I also want to thank you for your forbearance all these months. I realize it’s been difficult for you. I know that because of our friendship you departed from your normal way of doing business by extending and even increasing my unpaid loans. I’m grateful to you for that.”
Parelli pointed to the computer on Alberto’s desk. “Check your financial accounts,” he said. “Make sure the money has been received by your bank.”
Alberto was itching to do that. However, his sense of propriety required him to say, “That’s not necessary if you tell me something is transmitted.”
“Please. I insist.”
As Alberto sat behind his desk and went to work on his computer, Parelli took a chair in front of the desk.
In a few seconds, Alberto confirmed what Parelli had told him.
“Your payment has been received,” Alberto said. “Thank you.”
Parelli reached into his briefcase and pulled out a dusty bottle of wine. With great care, as if he were handling a fragile object, he placed it on Alberto’s desk.
“It’s a bottle of our legendary 1945. Bottled after the end of the war. There’s never been a better vintage like it before or after. I only have three remaining bottles. I want you to have one.”
Alberto was overwhelmed by the gift. “I very much appreciate it. It’s something I will always prize.”
“Drink it on Ilana’s wedding day.”
“You and I will share it together when she announces that joyous event.”
“The wine is a small token of my gratitude to you for continuing to support me for so many years. I realize this went against all of your normal banking policies. By not calling the loans—even lending me more money—you put yourself in a position where you might suffer heavy losses, but because of our relationship and that of our families you still did it. And I really appreciate it.”
“I’m happy to hear that. Our relationship does mean a great deal to me as well.”
“I will want to ask your forgiveness for how I’ve spoken to you lately. I was in a desperate situation financially—which is no excuse— and I was being ripped apart by many in the media who claimed I want to destroy Italy.”
“Your program is certainly controversial.”
Parelli smiled. “That’s a polite way of telling me you think I’m wrong about dividing the country.”
“I do, but that was never the critical factor in my decision to call the loans. I was trying to operate as a prudent banker.”
“I can understand why you and others disagree with me, but I want you know that it is not my intention to harm—much less destroy— Italy. I believe my program is best suited for the entire country. Both north and south. Next to my family, Italy means the most to me. When I started down this political road, I had nothing to gain financially. In fact, I gambled everything I had to win this electi
on—I wanted to give it my best shot.”
“That’s why I extended your loans. I wanted you to have every chance.”
“I realize and appreciate that. If I can ever do anything to repay you, I would happily do it.”
“Thank you. I would just like to resume our normal business relationship.”
“Absolutely, and I promise to repay every loan on time. I went through a bit of a rough patch, but my finances are alright now.”
Alberto wondered where Parelli had gotten the money to repay him, but he didn’t ask.
The phone rang. Alberto ignored it, letting his secretary answer. A moment later, the intercom rang. “Excuse me,” he told Parelli and picked up the phone.
“I’m very sorry to disturb you, but it’s Mrs. Goldoni. She said it’s extremely urgent. A family matter.”
Dora had never used words like that before. Something terrible must have happened. Alberto forgot that Parelli was in the office and activated the call on hold.
“Yes, Dora.”
She was crying.
“Tell me what happened.”
“It’s Ilana. She—She’s disappeared.”
He was frantic. “What do you mean Ilana’s disappeared?”
“Her roommate Cara called to tell me she didn’t come home last night. She didn’t go to class today. Last night her roommates thought she might have spent the night with a boy, although she’s never done that before. And she never misses class.”
“Did Cara call the police?”
“She only called me. She thought Ilana might have come back to Turin.”
For an instant, Alberto was paralyzed. Oh God, no. Not his Ilana. But he had to stay in control. He understood exactly what was happening. McKnight had arranged Ilana’s kidnapping to persuade him to sell. They better not harm Ilana. He’d strangle that Hong Kong banker with his bare hands.
“I’ll call Giuseppe right now,” Alberto said.
“Tell me what happens.”
“Absolutely.”
While Alberto checked his computer for Giuseppe’s number, he heard Parelli clear his throat. Alberto suddenly became aware that Parelli was still in the office. Indeed, standing in front of Alberto’s desk, he had heard every word that Alberto had said to Dora. He had to get rid of Parelli so he could call Giuseppe.
