by J. L. Drake
“Good day, sir. How may I help you?”
Saturated with worry and fatigue, he was unable to return the smile. “I need to access my safety deposit box.”
“Absolutely, I’m just going to need to see photo identification.”
He removed the passport his father provided from his back pocket and presented it to the woman. She typed feverishly on the keyboard in front of her.
“If you’ll excuse me for one moment, please.” The woman smiled and started to walk away.
Crap. What was happening now? “I’m sorry, is there some sort of problem?”
“Oh no, sir. The box you own can only be accessed by our manager. I was going to get him so he could escort you to the box.” Again, the woman smiled and swiftly walked to the back of the bank.
Tony sighed in relief, Thank God. He rested his elbows on the counter and used his face to cover his hands. Please let this have some clue as to what’s going on and who has Kate. Please, God, help me get the information I need for this nightmare to be over. I just want my life back.
“Excuse me, sir?”
Tony lifted his head to find a man, approximately in his early thirties. His hair was slicked back and he was wearing a black pinstriped suit with a white button-down shirt. His dress shoes were recently polished, reflecting the lights from the ceiling.
“I’m the bank manager, Alexander Berggren. If you would please follow me, I can assist you to a private room in which you can view the contents of your box.”
Tony nodded and followed the man across the lobby, down a hallway to an unmarked locked door. Berggren took out his keys and opened the door.
“Right this way.”
As Tony walked into the small room, he noted the fluorescent lights and the oak table lined with leather chairs. There was a coffee machine in the corner with all the condiments one could need to dress their coffee, and a potted plant in another corner, as well as a small plant in the center of the table.
Berggren placed a small bowl in front of Tony.
“We’re going into a very secure area of the back. I’ll need you to empty your pockets, except for the key, into the box. We’ll be going through a metal detector, so make sure you have any metal items, such as belts or watches, removed.”
Tony emptied his pockets. He wasn’t wearing a belt and his shoes didn’t have any metal on them.
“Follow me.”
Berggren directed him back down the hallway. They turned right down another hallway until they came to a metal detector that looked very much like the ones found in airports.
“If you would hand me your key, sir.”
He reached into his pocket and surrendered the key before walking through the detector. No alarms sounded, and Berggren handed the key back to Tony. He proceeded to walk through the metal detector.
They approached a large metal door. Berggren placed his index finger on a sensor and punched a code into the keypad. The doors opened immediately, leading to another set of doors. Berggren repeated the process opening the final set of doors leading into a room full of various sized boxes.
“Do all of your safety deposit boxes have this much security?”
Berggren smiled. “No. Only these owners want the additional safety and protection. Your father was very concerned about the contents of the box. He prepaid for fifty years.”
“How much does something like that cost?”
Berggren cleared his throat. “Five million euro.”
Tony pursed his lips. Holy crap! Where did he get that kind of money? What the fuck is going on?
“Your box is right over here. You’re going to have to insert the key and enter the passcode into the keypad. For security reasons, you only have three chances to get it right.”
Tony stared at the keypad; he had no idea what the code was.
“You do know the code, don’t you?” Berggren’s eyes grew wide.
“I’m not sure. Let me give it a shot.” Tony’s mind raced to the last papers he received. He tried to mentally scan through them searching his memory for any mention of a code. At the jewelry store, the address was 416, and the numbers on the inside of the ring were 0416. He walked up to the box, inserted the key, and pressed the digits. He sighed in relief when a green light flashed and the box popped out enough for him to grab hold and pull it the rest of the way out.
“You are welcome to peruse the contents here, but I suggest going back to the room we started in. You’ll be more comfortable and it will be private.”
Tony looked around; there were no chairs, no table, just row after row of boxes. “Let’s go back to the room.”
“Very well. Please follow me.”
When they reached the room with the table, Tony sat down in one of the leather chairs and placed the box in front of him.
“I will leave you alone. If you need any assistance, please pick up the phone. It will dial directly to my cell phone.”
Tony nodded as he eyed the black phone on the table. How he missed it earlier, he was unsure. Berggren closed the door and left him alone to stare at the mysterious box before him.
He took a deep breath and opened the box and began sorting through the contents. The first thing he noticed was a DVD. On it was inscribed: In case of emergency. Beneath was another disc labeled: Give to authorities.
As he continued to look through the items, he came across a medium-sized manila envelope. He ripped it open and studied the contents. Inside, there were keys and a deed to an apartment in London. The flat was owned by all the fake identities he retrieved earlier; his new name was among them.
He put aside the keys and deed and moved onto a bank statement. Tony read through the detailed document and placed a hand over his mouth as he realized there were five million euros sitting in the account. He slammed his fist down on the table as the gravity of what his father did set in. For the first time since his family perished, Tony sobbed. His gut wrenched and his heart ached—he didn’t hold anything back. His father set him up with a new life. Tomas knew he wasn’t going to live, and he worked tirelessly to ensure his family could. Tomas was a selfless hero.
So many questions raced through his mind. Where did all this money come from? What had his father gotten into? When did he manage to find the time to plant all of the clues, go to London and buy a flat, and come to Geneva and establish a safety deposit box? He didn’t remember his dad being gone for long periods of time. He did recall Tomas taking day trips here and there to meet with prospective clients. Could this have been what he was really doing? Was the business all just a cover-up for something else? How on Earth did his father get his hands on that much money? Sure, business had been good over the years, but the tariffs and taxes for exporting the oil had significantly reduced the amount of profits they received. His family lived a comfortable life, but certainly nothing to this magnitude.
He gave himself a few more minutes to mourn his family before he called for Berggren. He needed to see what was on the DVDs.
Berggren answered on the first ring. He had a sense of urgency to his voice when he asked how he could help Tony.
“Do you have a laptop or some sort of computer I can borrow? My father left me some videos and I’d like to watch them.”
“Absolutely, sir. Just give me one moment and I’ll be right there.”
Tony hung up the phone and waited patiently while trying to imagine what could be on the videos. Various scenarios popped in his head. Did his dad have another business? Did he have a secret life? Was he really a day trader in the stock market? Tony chuckled at the thoughts running through his head.
Berggren returned promptly with a laptop and plugged it into the wall. “We keep this for circumstances such as this. You’d be amazed how many of our customers request the use of a computer. I’ve already entered the password for you to access it. Please, take your time. There’s no hurry.”
“Thank you,” Tony replied.
He inserted the disc. Within a minute, the video started playing.
His father walked across the screen and shook the hand of someone Tony recognized as being part of the cartel. He watched and listened to the meeting play out. When it ended, he closed the laptop in disbelief. Tomas was working with the cartel. He agreed to sell them some of his pure olive oil knowing full well it was going to be broken down, and repackaged as extra virgin. He then agreed to a five million euro payout. What the hell? What had his father done? Tony got up, clasped his hands behind his head, and paced around the room. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why Tomas would take the blood money.
He sat back down and inserted the second disc labeled: Give to authorities. He watched the same video as before except this had extra clips of other meetings of Tomas’s. The video that caught his eye was the one with his brother Paolo in it. They were arguing and Tomas explained to Paolo the only way to capture the bad guys was to become one of them. His plan was to join them and collect enough information to bust their ring. Paolo argued with him to let the authorities handle it and tried to talk Tomas into just helping to test olive oil samples they took from the cartel. His dad refused, saying it was the only way.
Tony covered his eyes and shook his head. He couldn’t watch anymore. He slammed the laptop shut and paced around the room some more. He pulled his hands through his hair. Was the money set aside in the bank account blood money? How could he live with himself using it? His entire family had been killed for it. Instantly, he loathed his father for what he did. Because of his actions, his family was dead. And now, innocent people were becoming victims.
He went back to the table and collected all of the box’s contents. As he put the videos back in their cases, he noticed a phone number and name inscribed in the case labeled to give to the authorities. He made a mental note to call the number once he got back to Italy.
Tony picked up the phone and called for Berggren to escort him out. Within minutes, he was on the road heading back to the factory in Umbria. He left the bank without checking the account; he didn’t care if there was money in or if someone already withdrew the funds. He didn’t want any part of the blood money; his dad had left him enough in the envelope in Rome to last for a while. He didn’t want to touch any more of the money that had killed his family.
As Tony got back in the rental car, he tucked the envelope under his seat. He didn’t want it visible for anyone to reach if his car was broken into. After what happened to Kate, he couldn’t be too careful. Once Tony crossed the border into Italy, he pulled over and reached for the cell phone he purchased in Florence and dialed the number on the disc case. The number was clearly foreign, but he didn’t know from where. It rang a few times before someone picked up.
The gruff American voice on the other end of the line identified himself as Agent Thompson.
Chapter
Twenty-One
The number displayed across the screen was an Italian phone number, however nothing but empty silence plagued the line.
“This is Agent Thompson. Can I help you?” Thompson was quickly becoming inpatient. He was sick of the cat and mouse game he’d been playing over the last several days. Italy was a beautiful country, but he wanted nothing more than to get back to his apartment and into his own bed.
“I-I’m not sure.”
“Who am I speaking to?”
“My name is Massimo Bertalucci.”
Thompson froze for a second as realization set in. The elusive individual who seemed to hold all the cards was on the phone. He turned to Manchetti, gestured that they got him, and Manchetti rushed to his side.
“Mr. Bertalucci. What a surprise. Why are you calling today?”
“I have something you may be interested in.”
He nodded to Manchetti. This was it—everything was going to work out. “What might that be?”
“First, I need to know what your relationship was with my father.”
He paused, waiting for confirmation from Manchetti the call was being traced. “I see. How about we meet to talk about this face to face?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t do that. I’ve got to be somewhere by four.”
“Mr. Bertalucci, you’re a hard man to track down. Perhaps we can arrange a meeting at some point in the very near future.” Still waiting for the signal, Thompson was growing impatient.
Silence. It was as if the line went dead.
“Mr. Bertalucci?”
“Yes, I’m still here.”
He tried to keep his cool, but inside, his heart was racing a hundred miles an hour. He couldn’t screw this up. “A meeting?”
“My father left me something to give to you.”
His heart skipped a beat. He hoped it was something that could help indict the cartel. “May I ask what it is?”
“My dad left a video and gave directions to give it to the authorities. This number was on the case. What was your connection with my dad?”
Bertalucci’s voice had grown more stern, and Thompson knew he didn’t have long before the man refused to cooperate and would hang up the phone. He had to say something to keep Bertalucci on the line. “Your father and I were working together on a mutual project.”
“Does this involve the cartel?” Static continued to invade the line.
“What do you know about the cartel?”
“I know enough to know my entire family was murdered by them. Did this happen because he was working with you? Are you the one who turned my dad to the wrong side? Are you the reason he sold out his family and began working with them?”
“I think we need to have that meeting sooner rather than later. Why don’t you bring Ms. Anderson in with you?”
The line hummed for several seconds before Bertalucci spoke.
“I can’t.”
The hair raised on his neck. “Why not?”
His voice was so solemn. “They have her.”
This was bad. The muscles in his shoulders and neck tightened, and his hands started shaking. “What do you mean they have her? Who?”
“I presume the cartel.”
“Mr. Bertalucci, I need you to tell me where you’re at.”
There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the phone. “How do I know I can trust you? How do I know you weren’t the cause of my family dying in that explosion?”
“I’m an agent from the United States Food and Drug Administration. Your father sought out my services. For whatever reason, he didn’t trust the local authorities. I’m working with Agent Manchetti with the Guardia to not only make sure you’re safe, but bring down the people who killed your family and wanted to bring down your family business. I also need to make sure Ms. Anderson gets back to the States safely.”
Bertalucci cleared his throat. “Where can I find you?”
“Currently, I’m in Rome. I’m across from the embassy. I’d be happy to meet you anywhere.” Silence filled the line like prayer time in a church. “Mr. Bertalucci, you’re wasting time. I need to know where you’re at and we need to find Ms. Anderson immediately. Her life depends on our swift action.”
Finally, Bertalucci spoke. “I’m next to the Switzerland border.”
“It’s going to make it much more difficult for me to help you if you cross.”
“I’ve already crossed and I’m on my way back. I don’t have time to get to Rome. Can we meet in Orvieto at two o’clock?”
Manchetti nodded at him. “Yes. We’ll be there.”
“Meet me at the entrance to the caves.”
He looked to Manchetti for approval and again he nodded. “Okay. Two o’clock at the caves.”
The silence on the other end of the line was deafening. Bertalucci had hung up.
“Why do you think he called?”
Manchetti crossed his arms and placed one hand to his chin. “I think he’s scared. Something must’ve happened with Anderson.”
“Well obviously, since she’s no longer with him. We’ve got to find her. Any idea where the cartel might keep her?”
“None. Since the explosion, they’ve
been silent. There haven’t been any shipments, deliveries, or anything out of the ordinary.”
“What about the Bertalucci factory? Is it still being investigated?” Thompson crossed his arms and leaned against the desk.
“No, the investigation there wrapped up a few days ago. The crime scene tape is still up, but that’s about it.”
“Any chance I can take a look at it?”
“Sure, it’s not too far from Orvieto. We can head there before we meet up with Bertalucci.”
“Great, I need to check in with my superiors at the D.C. office. Let me make a quick call and I’ll be ready to go.”
As he punched the numbers into his phone, a throbbing pain set in behind his eyes. How was he going to explain this? How was he supposed to tell his boss that Katherine was missing? His hands shook as he held the phone to his ear. He felt like a young boy telling his dad he’d done something wrong. Thompson brushed his free hand through his thick brown hair.
“Thompson, I was just getting ready to call you. Where’s Katherine Anderson?”
He cleared his throat. “At this time, her whereabouts are unknown. We’re meeting with Bertalucci in a few hours to gather more information.”
“In a few hours? She could be dead!”
He cringed at the sound of glass shattering against a wall. “I’m aware of that. Unfortunately, Bertalucci is on the opposite end of the country from us. We are rendezvousing in the middle.”
“Her dad received a ransom call this morning.”
Sweat beaded up on Thompson’s forehead and he swiped it away with the back of his hand. “Jesus.”
“What’s going on there? I thought the Guardia located her whereabouts.”
He informed his superior of the progress to this point. He gave as many details as possible. Each time Thompson was berated, the tension in his jaw grew tighter until it felt as though it would snap. When his boss finally finished, Thompson agreed to reconnect after the meeting with Bertalucci. Katherine’s dad had been given seventy-two hours to come up with five-million dollars, and have it wired to an unknown account; he had to find her before the deadline.
