Pens flew furiously over lined yellow notebooks.
‘In such cases, the problem is knowing when to intervene. Strike too soon and the criminals may get off lightly. But strike too late …’ he paused for extra emphasis, ‘… and lives may be lost. After consultation with Magistrate Calisto Catapanni, who has worked closely on the case and authorized the arrests, and President Donatella Pignatti, who was the subject of the latest anonymous threat, the decision to act was taken yesterday in view of strong indications of an inevitable progression towards armed insurrection. At five o’clock this morning I gave the order for assault teams to apprehend the suspects, who were taken into custody without a single shot being fired thanks to the skill and the experience of the officers involved. I take this opportunity to congratulate my men. I am fully confident that further investigative and forensic analysis of the evidence will lead to the conviction of the people who were arrested this morning.’
General Corsini paused and looked around the room, noting with satisfaction the shocked faces of people in the audience, the racing pens of the journalists, the red lights blinking on the television cameras.
‘I will now take questions regarding the logistics of the operation. Of course, I can say nothing regarding the terrorists … the suspects, that is,’ he corrected himself with a smile. ‘The law guarantees them the right to remain silent, and the onus will be on us to demonstrate their guilt. I have no doubts on that account.’
Hands were waving in the air, calling for his attention.
General Corsini pointed his finger at a young woman from Rome who he knew would ask the right questions. How many men were involved? How many helicopters had been used? How long had the operation taken?
Next, the television reporters staked their claim to questions. Did the fact that so many policemen had been used indicate how very dangerous the suspects were? Should the public feel reassured to know that the immediate danger was over? How long had General Corsini and his men been keeping tabs on these local activists? When the general spoke of a terrorist cell, was he suggesting that they were part of a national, or even an international, terrorist organization?
General Corsini replied with measured calm, underlining the fact that the operation had been carried out with the full cooperation of all the authorities involved. He was about to close the meeting when a man that he didn’t recognize stood up, announcing that he was a reporter with a local online news site.
‘General Corsini,’ the man began, ‘by explosive devices, I suppose you’re talking about bullets, right?’
‘Correct,’ General Corsini snapped.
‘And, er, this decapitated head of a wolf, General … Have you ever come across a threat like this from a terrorist group before? It’s the sort of thing that you hear about down in Sicily or Calabria, where the Mafia …’
‘There are no indications that the Mafia was involved,’ Corsini said quickly.
‘You are renowned for spectacular operations of this kind,’ the reporter went on, refusing to sit down, ‘which attract a great deal of attention in the media. Is that why everyone calls you the Legend?’
General Corsini pushed his glasses up on to his forehead and leant closer to the microphone.
‘Let me ask you a question,’ he said. ‘If you think that I am an attention-seeker, don’t you think I’d have gained far more attention by arresting important members of a Mafia clan in some other part of the country, instead off a splinter terrorist cell in Umbria that nobody has ever noticed before?’
General Corsini glanced in the direction of President Pignatti in time to see her furrowed brow relax and a broad smile appear on her lips. He waved his hand towards the microphone, inviting her to speak, moving aside as she took her place.
‘I wish to express my sincere thanks to General Corsini,’ she began, ‘and to all the officers who played a part in the arrests which were made this morning …’
Corsini stood beside Calisto Catapanni.
‘You handled that well,’ the magistrate murmured behind his hand.
Corsini nodded. ‘Any news?’ he asked.
Catapanni pinched his nose and sniffed. ‘I received a phone call from Milan this morning. It seems that there’s a vacancy up there in the procurator’s office.’
Corsini pursed his lips. ‘Congratulations,’ he said.
While they had been talking, the press conference had ended. President Pignatti was at the centre of a large crowd now. Journalists were swarming around her, political allies surging forward to offer their congratulations and best wishes for the future.
The same question was on everyone’s lips: would she be standing in the coming parliamentary elections?
FORTY-THREE
19 September – 12.06
Cangio parked the Land Rover before he reached the farm.
He could have driven all the way up to the door, but the noise of the diesel engine would have frightened the animals. He cut across the open meadow, the grass knee-high. The breeze blew fresh in his face, but the smell of manure grew stronger as he skipped over the dry-stone wall and walked along in the shadow of the barn, approaching the house and the farmyard. He still could not make any sense of what he’d heard on the news.
As he came around the corner of the barn he stopped dead in his tracks.
A silver-grey Mercedes was parked in the courtyard, where hens were pecking for worms. Had some gentleman farmer driven all the way up the mountain in such a fine car to take care of the animals?
‘Hello!’ he called. ‘Is anyone there?’
No one answered, but the barn door was open.
Was the visitor in there milking the cow and feeding the pigs?
He made for the door, called out again, but no one answered. As he stepped into the building he was blinded for some moments by the lack of light. The pigs began to squeal and leap up on their hindlegs, trotters resting on top of the concrete wall of the sty, staring at him with unblinking eyes, their red mouths open, shrieking. It was clear that they hadn’t been recently fed.
‘Hello?’ he called again.
At the sound of his voice, the cow let out a mournful lowing.
He turned towards the cow and saw a body lying on the ground beside the concrete trough at the far end of the barn. His first thought was that someone had come up alone to feed the beasts and been taken ill.
Cangio dashed towards him. That was when he saw the gash in the throat. Blood had stained the man’s white shirt and light grey suit.
Whatever had happened, it wasn’t an accident. He fumbled in his pocket, pulled out his mobile phone. He found the number and pressed the call button. It rang several times. Then he heard a voice.
‘Yes?’
‘General Corsini! It’s me, Cangio. Sebastiano Cangio. I’m at the farm I told you about. Come up here fast. There’s something you should see …’
A heavy blow struck him from behind.
Cangio hit the floor before his phone did.
FORTY-FOUR
19 September – 13.01
General Corsini snapped his telephone shut.
The ranger’s voice had sounded like static from a distant planet.
Still, Corsini knew where he was calling from. That farm up in the mountains. The one that had belonged to Corrado Formisano. The ranger was drawn to the place like a fly to jam. The general took a deep breath, then he opened his phone again, intending to call Cangio back.
President Pignatti stepped into his line of sight as she freed herself from a platoon of journalists and came marching towards him. She was smiling broadly, as if the TV cameras were still pointed in her face.
‘Are you avoiding me, General?’ she hissed through the smile.
Corsini slipped his phone into his pocket. ‘On the contrary,’ he said. ‘I didn’t want to rob you of your share of the glory. You deserve it after the risk you’ve run—’
‘Cut the bullshit!’ she murmured. ‘I’m no safer than I was before. Thanks to you, Gener
al Corsini. Or should I say, thanks to them?’
‘Them?’ he said, turning his ear towards her, as if he hadn’t understood. ‘Do you mean the terrorists we arrested this morning?’
‘I’m talking about whoever sent me those bullets!’ Her voice was low but it was loaded with venom. ‘The people who killed my cat. That’s who I mean, not the band of juvenile delinquents you and your army locked up in jail this morning. Now I really am scared shitless, while you’ve got what you wanted out of this charade.’
‘They won’t bother you,’ he assured her. ‘You’ve got the message; I’m sure you’ll act upon it. And I am quieter than a grave when it comes to keeping secrets. They know that I know, and that I will not hesitate to act on what I know, if necessary.’
‘Are you quite certain, General?’ she said. ‘You won’t catch them as easily as the kids that you call terrorists. I’ve been reading the book you told me about. Sun Tzu? I understand what you were saying about an enemy you can beat.’
‘You’ve beaten them, too,’ he reminded her. ‘Today you are reaping the rewards. The press, the compliments, the television! You’ll be the talk of the town for quite some time to come. There’s nothing so winning as a woman in jeopardy who sticks to her guns and weathers rough seas. The voters love that sort of thing. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that your party has already put your name on the list for the general election. And that, if I may say, you owe to me, signora.’
She shook her head and stared at him. ‘Unexploded bullets, dead wolves … What happens next, General Corsini?’
The Legend shrugged his shoulders. His gold epaulettes emphasized the gesture. ‘Nothing will happen. They know when they’re outclassed. They realize now that you are an intelligent, perceptive woman who knows how to handle herself. They won’t mess with you … Unless you mess with them, of course. And you’re far too sensible for that. They want the same things you do, and they’re ready to share the cake. Money, power …’
‘What do you want, General Corsini?’
‘Smile,’ he warned her as a tall blonde reporter came rushing over towards them, microphone in hand, a camera crew trailing in her wake. ‘Money and power don’t interest me at all. I am not so vulgar.’ He laughed out loud as the red light of the camera flashed on, and Donatella Pignatti slipped her arm into his. ‘I am not a politician,’ he murmured into her ear.
It reminded him of that cartoon film that his youngest niece watched over and over again. He and the president must have looked a bit like Cinderella and Prince Charming as the band struck up and the ball began.
‘A big smile for the camera,’ the reporter said. ‘Then a word from both of you for our viewers.’
‘You cannot know how grateful I am to General Corsini,’ gushed Donatella Pignatti, slipping effortlessly into the role as she turned and planted a kiss on the general’s cheek with her bright scarlet lips.
Lights flashed, cameras clicked and whirred.
The picture would be on the front page of the all newspapers the next day.
FORTY-FIVE
19 September – 13.06
‘Who the fuck are you?’
The question rattled around inside Cangio’s brain. His head was heavier than lead. His nose felt as if it was broken. Blood clogged his mouth and throat. His stomach heaved, and he vomited on the shoes of the man who was pointing a pistol in his face.
‘I’ll kill you slow for that,’ the gunman cursed.
Cangio opened his eyes and looked up at him.
The man was older than himself – not much, but older. A thin face, long nose, a slit of a mouth, eyes too close together. Even so, he was smartly dressed. Apart from the blood stains on his jacket.
‘Who the fuck are you?’ the man asked. ‘What are you doing here?’
The pistol tapped Cangio’s nose and a wave of nausea shot through his nervous system.
‘I work in the park,’ he managed to say. ‘I came to feed the animals.’
The pistol caught him under the chin and lifted his head.
‘And you were ordering sweet-and-sour for the three little pigs from the Chinese takeaway, I suppose?’
Cangio coughed and spat out a mouthful of blood, turning his head to avoid hitting the man, his shoes, his clothes. One thought kept going through his head: General Corsini had answered. Corsini knew where he was. The general hadn’t called him back. He must have realized what was going on.
‘Who were you phoning?’
It was easier to answer the first question.
‘My name’s Cangio. I’m a park ranger—’
The pistol jabbed at his chin, held him fixed as securely as a nail.
‘Been up here before, have you, Cangio?’
‘I knew the man who was living here.’
The man let out a thin whistle. ‘You knew Corrado?’
‘Just a bit …’
The man’s thin face displayed a twisted smile. ‘Fuck me! You’re the ranger that arrested him. You were playing with fire, my friend.’
The butt of the pistol hit Cangio hard in the teeth.
‘Don’t fuck around with me,’ the man said. ‘Who were you calling?’
Cangio spat out a tooth. ‘Who was he?’ he said, glancing towards the body stretched out on the ground.
The man looked at him. ‘Does it matter?’ he smirked. ‘Tell me who you were talking to or I’ll throw you in the acid with him. You’ll be alive, though.’
Cangio opened his mouth then closed it again. If he mentioned General Corsini, the man would shoot him. If he said nothing, the man would shoot him anyway.
‘The cat got your tongue?’ the man said. He took two steps to the side, never taking his eyes off his prisoner, except for one moment as he bent down and picked up Cangio’s phone. ‘These things never lie,’ he said. He pushed a button and the number came up. He pushed another and a name appeared on the display.
This man murdered people. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill again. The germ of an idea sprouted in Cangio’s mind.
‘You know who I was talking to,’ he said.
‘You didn’t tell him nothing.’
‘I told him enough.’
Some spark of sarcasm, a sneer or a smile, must have appeared on Cangio’s face, because the man reached out with the pistol and banged it hard into his cheekbone.
‘Don’t you fuck with me,’ he said. ‘What was the message, then?’
Speak and be killed, or die for saying nothing. The odds were zero either way. The only possibility was to play for time. General Corsini must have heard enough to put two and two together.
‘He knows where I am,’ Cangio said. ‘I didn’t need to tell him anything. He’s on his way, and he won’t be alone. He’ll bring an army of men. There’s only one road leading up here. One way in, one way out. You’re trapped.’
‘All the way from Rome?’ the man sneered. ‘It’s a two-hour drive.’
‘He’s in Umbria,’ Cangio said. ‘He arrested a bunch of kids … terrorists, in town this morning. He knows about the ’Ndrangheta, too. I told him everything. He’ll drop on you like a ton of bricks. Ten minutes by car, three by helicopter. You’ve got blood all over you—’
A kick caught Cangio full in the face.
Before he blacked out, he remembered asking himself whether it was better to be kicked to death or take a bullet in the brain. Either alternative was better than being thrown half-dead into a bath of acid.
He felt a slap on his cheek and opened his eyes.
The man was sitting on his heels, watching him through narrowed slits, hefting the gun in his hand now, as if he had something on his mind.
‘This general of yours,’ he said. ‘If he knew about Corrado, the wolf and us … why would he bother with a bunch of kids?’
Cangio spat more blood, more fragments of teeth. ‘They menaced a politician, sent her bullets through the post—’
The man’s sharp laughter stopped him in mid-sentence. ‘Fucking hell!’ He looked up at
the ceiling. ‘That wolf? That was Corrado, that was. Did your mighty general know, I wonder? I’m almost tempted to wait and ask him. Still, if he’s going to bring the cavalry,’ he said, standing up, pointing the gun at Cangio, ‘we’d better get this done and get out of here.’
‘I can help you,’ Cangio said.
The man slid the ammunition chamber out of the pistol, then slapped it back with the palm of his hand.
‘You stink of dead meat.’
‘I can make him come up on his own,’ Cangio said.
‘Explain.’
Cangio took a deep breath and climbed to his knees. ‘All I have to do is call him back—’
The kick hit him square in the balls, but it wasn’t as hard as it might have been.
‘If you’re shitting me, you’re dead,’ the man said.
‘He told me how he works,’ Cangio lied, staring him in the eye. ‘He goes scouting alone before he calls his men. I can make sure he comes up here on his own.’
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