Table of Contents
Cover
Previous Titles by Michael Gregorio
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Main Characters
Earthquake
’ndrangheta
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Previous Titles by Michael Gregorio
Fiction
The Hanno Stiffeniis series
CRITIQUE OF CRIMINAL REASON
DAYS OF ATONEMENT
A VISIBLE DARKNESS
UNHOLY AWAKENING
The Sebastiano Cangio series
CRY WOLF *
Other Titles
YOUR MONEY OR YOUR LIFE
Non-fiction
INSIDE ITALY
FIFTY SHADES DEEPER INSIDE ITALY
* available from Severn House
CRY WOLF
Michael Gregorio
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
This first world edition published 2014
in Great Britain and 2015 in the USA by
SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of
19 Cedar Road, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM2 5DA
Trade paperback edition first published 2015 in Great
Britain and the USA by SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD.
eBook edition first published in 2015 by Severn House Digital
an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited
Copyright © 2014 by Michael Gregorio
The right of Michael Gregorio to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
Gregorio, Michael author.
Cry wolf.
1. Park rangers–Fiction. 2. Earthquakes–Italy–
Umbria–Fiction. 3. Mafia–Fiction. 4. Wolves–Fiction.
5. Suspense fiction.
I. Title
823.9’2-dc23
ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8467-1 (cased)
ISBN-13: 978-1-84751-570-4 (trade paper)
ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-617-5 (e-book)
Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.
This ebook produced by
Palimpsest Book Production Limited, Falkirk,
Stirlingshire, Scotland.
This book is dedicated to the memory of Fabrizio Reali Roscini & Damiano Corrias
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Cry Wolf was inspired by a series of shocking events which changed our lives. We wish to thank inmates of the maximum-security prison of Maiano, Spoleto, who helped us to understand how the Mafia works, while we taught them creative writing. If not for them, we might still have been writing historical crime fiction.
MAIN CHARACTERS
POLICE OFFICERS (in order of rank)
General Arturo Corsini, Special Ops Commander, carabiniere, a.k.a. the Legend
Alfredo Dandini, Captain, carabiniere
The Supervisior, Special Ops Co-ordinator, carabiniere
The Watcher, Special Ops undercover agent, carabiniere
Antonio Sustrico, Brigadier, commander of the carabinieri in Spoleto
Eugenio Falsetti, Special Constable, carabiniere
NATIONAL PARK POLICE
Marzio Diamante, Senior Ranger with powers of arrest
Sebastiano Cangio, Park Ranger with powers of arrest
Loredana Salvini, Cangio’s girlfriend
CRIMINALS
Don Michele Cucciarilli, ’Ndrangheta clan boss
Zio/Zì Luigi Corbucci, ’Ndrangheta lieutenant
Raniero Baretta, ’Ndrangheta soldier
Ettore, ’Ndrangheta picciotto, a new member of the clan
Corrado Formisano, ’Ndrangheta former hitman
Andrea Bonanni, ’Ndrangheta drug dealer
POLITICIANS
Donatella Pignatta, the Queen, elected President of Umbria
Paolo Gualducci, the Queen’s secretary
Maurizio Truini, Mayor
Cesira Truini, Mayor’s wife
MAGISTRATE
Calisto Catapanni
BANKERS
Cosimo Landini, director of the bank
Ruggero Franzetti, manager of the bank
CIVILIANS
Lorenzo Micheli, student, anarchist
Federico Donati, student, friend of Lorenzo
Riccardo Bucci, student, friend of Lorenzo
Davide Castrianni, student, friend of Lorenzo
Wolves howl for three reasons:
•As a rallying cry for the rest of the pack
•As a signal to let the pack know of a wolf’s location
•As a warning to other wolves to stay out of the pack’s territory
They also howl when they are in pain.
EARTHQUAKE
The Apennine Mountains in central Italy are often plagued by a ‘swarm’.
That’s how experts described the series of earthquakes that hit Umbria that summer. The first one weighed in at 4.5 on the Richter scale. Almost seventy per cent of the buildings in the region were damaged, but not too seriously. There was another quake three days later, but that one was only 4.1. On 22 September, there was yet another one, even smaller this time. Only 2.4, a man from the Ministry of Civil Defence announced. The danger zone begins at 5.0 on the Richter scale.
People had been sleeping in their cars for weeks, and they were exhausted. The ‘swarm’ appeared to be diminishing. The danger was over. That seemed to be the message.
Most pe
ople slept in their own beds that night. At 03.02, another earthquake struck. It measured at 6.1. The real problem wasn’t just how big it was, but how long it lasted.
It went on rumbling only four miles beneath the earth’s crust for almost a minute.
Everything that wasn’t new fell down.
The man from the Ministry appeared on the TV news next morning, saying that Umbria had been declared a ‘disaster zone’.
A telephone conversation was recorded by police at 04.27 that night.
A: ‘Did you hear the news?’
B: ‘I just popped a bottle of Moët. We’ll be partying till doomsday.’
A: ‘Churches, houses, bridges. We’ll have to rebuild the whole fucking lot …’
B: ‘Billions and billions! And that’s just the Italian government. There’ll be more once the Europeans get their fingers out …’
A: ‘We’ll be swimming in champagne!’
No criminal intent could be inferred from the telephone call between two businessmen, who happened to be laughing shortly after a massive earthquake in which thirty-six people lost their lives. No legal action was ever taken against them.
ip/00/395 – Brussels, 11 April, 2011.
European Commission approves emergency aid for earthquake-hit region in Italy.
Today the Commission approved an increase of €75 million in the budget for the parts of Italy most affected by the earthquake in autumn 2009.
In February 2010 the Commission, acting on the basis of Article 87(2)(b) of the EC Treaty, approved outright grants for firms in the worst-hit areas in Marche and Umbria which had made investments in the immediate aftermath of the disaster. It is now apparent that the total assistance of €46 million falls far short of what is required to meet compensation requests. The Commission has therefore decided to match the €75 million provided for in the Italian Budget Act for 2010/2011. The aid has been deemed eligible for the exemption provided for in Article 87(2)(b) of the EC Treaty.
’NDRANGHETA
Think of Italy as a long riding boot, and Sicily as a ball. The toe seems to be kicking the ball into the Mediterranean Sea. It is a visual symbol of what has happened in recent years.
Cosa Nostra, the original Mafia, gained power and influence after aiding the Allied invasion of Sicily in July, 1943. But there were other mafias in Italy, and some of them have expanded rapidly in recent years, smuggling tax-free cigarettes at first, then running drugs and guns, controlling rackets and extortion, prostitution and illicit gambling.
The Camorra controls the bay of Naples. The Sacra Corona Unita rules in Puglia, while smaller organizations, such as the Mafia del Brenta, reign over the rich Venice hinterland. But the most powerful mafia is the ’Ndrangheta from Calabria in the southern ‘toe’ of Italy.
It was the ’Ndrangheta that kicked Cosa Nostra into touch.
The ’Ndrangheta clans were violent, ruthless and greedy. They infiltrated the rich, industrial north of Italy, controlling the drug trade in Lombardy and Piedmont. Today, they supply the whole of Italy and the rest of Europe. The drugs in your home town come from South America, Asia, Africa. They are imported and distributed by the Calabrian ’Ndrangheta.
The ’Ndrangheta earns thirty-three billion euros every year tax-free, one-fifth of the total tax revenue that Italy generates. The word ’Ndrangheta is a corruption of the Greek andranghatia – andros (man) and agathos (brave) – and it prescribes a criminal code of fierceness coupled with absolute obedience. The ’Ndrangheta is formed of ’Ndrine – criminal clans or ‘families’. At least 160 ’Ndrine are known to the Italian police, generally by the surname of the capo, or boss of the clan. They are spread all over Italy. Each new recruit starts out as a picciotto, a ‘kid’, and works his way up the ladder by showing his courage, following the orders of his section boss who is known within the clan as zio or zì (uncle). The head of a clan is the don. He may be the oldest and wisest man in the family, or he may be the youngest, the wildest, the most ambitious, the one who has wiped out all of his rivals.
All the ’Ndrangheta needs is the opportunity to move in.
On 23 September, 2009, the earthquake in Umbria provided an opportunity.
Before that date, rural Umbria had been of no interest to the ’Ndrangheta. But as EC money began to flow into the area and the reconstruction started, everything changed.
Some people came to help the victims.
The ’Ndrangheta came to help themselves.
ONE
December, 2011 – London
Sebastiano Cangio was heading east on the Central Line.
Most of the passengers jumped off at Tottenham Court Road, which was where the lovebirds got on. The guy had an Afro hairdo which added six inches to the five-foot-two-inch frame cruel Mother Nature had dealt him. The woman was thinner, taller in flat-heeled pumps, her black hair braided with multicoloured strings. They weren’t as young as they wanted to look, but the kiss they exchanged the instant they sat down was the biggest tongue-in-throat job that Sebastiano Cangio had ever seen.
He hated travelling on the Tube. Anything could happen down here, and no one took a bit of notice.
The woman’s hand was inside her lover’s jeans, and a couple of kids sat fiddling with their mobile phones. A woman on the opposite bench was working on her laptop, totally absorbed. An Asian in a blue uniform and matching turban was flicking through the pages of a free newspaper. There was something about Italy on the front page, but it was too far away for Cangio to read it. Almost everyone had ear pods shutting out the world.
All Cangio had was a plastic folder. He slipped a sheet of paper out of the folder and pretended to read it. He was heading out to the Docklands for an appointment with an American couple who had walked into the property agency the day before. They were interested in buying a top-floor flat with what the agency described as ‘stunning views’ of the slate-grey waters of the stinking River Thames, and a ‘breathtaking’ panorama of the low-rise south London skyline on the far bank.
He glanced up without thinking.
The man’s purple tongue came sliding out of the woman’s mouth.
‘You fancy doin’ it there, then?’ the woman said.
The man was gazing at something above Cangio’s head.
‘Why not?’ he said. ‘I’d do it anyplace with you.’
The train began to slow down. Then it pulled in at Bank and the pair got off.
Cangio crossed the aisle and sat down where the lovebirds had been sitting. The seat was still warm. There was an advert next to the Central Line route map. He’d seen a lot of these ads on Tube trains in the last few weeks – pictures of Venice, Florence, Rome. The Italian tourist board was trying to woo the British holidaymaker away from Spain. This picture showed a fabulous view of a long, curving sandy beach and a pretty hill-top town that Sebastiano Cangio recognized.
Soverato.
Just seven months before he’d been stretched out on the sand at Soverato beach, drying off after a swim, watching the girls stroll by at the water’s edge, when a family of four had arrived. They’d hired two deckchairs and a beach umbrella. The kids had dug a sandcastle while the mother prepared lunch, and the father had thrown a handkerchief over his face and taken a nap. They hadn’t been there long when a Ducati motorbike pulled up on the promenade. The man riding pillion had jumped off, strode down the beach still wearing his crash helmet, pulled a pistol from his belt and shot the sleeping man in the face. Not once, but five or six times.
And still, the man wasn’t dead.
He had dragged the blood-soaked handkerchief from his face, staggered to his feet and tried to run away, barrelling down to the sea and into the water, blood pouring from the wounds in his face and throat. The killer had splashed after him into the shallow water. People had screamed, running away in panic, but the killer had ignored them. He’d hooked the pistol in his belt, grabbed the man by the hair then smashed his face repeatedly against a rock until the water turned red and the man lay float
ing in his own blood.
Everyone had looked the other way as the killer sprinted back up the beach.
Everyone, except Sebastiano Cangio.
He’d been paralysed, shocked.
The crash helmet had turned his way for an instant, and he’d seen a lizard tattoo on the killer’s neck. The gun had come up and aimed. Click … If there’d been a bullet left in the pistol, Cangio would have caught it. The killer had shaken his head then run up the beach to the waiting motorcycle.
You couldn’t stay in Soverato after something like that.
The TV news that night had announced that the victim had been a local ’Ndrangheta boss. There was a faida going on, they’d said – a new generation was taking over, stepping into the driving seat.
His mother had bought him a plane ticket for London that night: one-way from Lamezia Terme. He had tried to say no. He was supposed to be defending his PhD thesis at the University of Catanzaro three weeks later. He’d been working hard all spring and summer to put together the photographic portfolio, heading up into the Sila mountains two or three times a week, checking out the various dens. The wolves were roaming wild for the summer and the cubs were growing, starting to hunt, so it was easy to document the habitats that they had abandoned.
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