by Jeff Carson
Wolf remembered the conversation from the day before inside the observatory - Vlad worked for the EAC, overseeing the logistics of moving astronomical equipment between observatories throughout the European Union.
A clear mental picture was forming in Wolf’s mind as to the true nature of Vlad’s activities.
Small light-colored boxes caught his attention, stacked underneath the open boxes of electronics. Wolf moved a box, unveiling a stark white cardboard one about one foot cubed in size. A dark blue logo was faintly visible. He bent closer and ran his finger across it - it was the letters EAC with what looked to be stars or planets. He lifted it. It was packed densely, heavy, and shaking didn’t produce any movement or sound inside.
He straightened and turned an ear towards the doors, keeping his breathing still. There was no noise. The best he had in way of a blade was a tiny scooter key in his pocket. It wasn’t his Leatherman, but it would have to do.
Cutting it open and pulling up the cardboard, he saw a square plastic bag packed densely like a clear sack filled with flour. Cocaine, he thought. Cocaine was found at his brother’s apartment, and a white bag was found at Rosenwald’s. It could have been planted by these guys. And, of course, wholesale cocaine smuggling to other countries makes a lot of money. But he wasn’t going to get anymore sure than that about the nature of the substance. He’d seen many lethal white powders in his day, and he wasn’t about to jab it open, shove his finger in and taste it. That was a move reserved for television actors.
Wolf heard a jostling inside the door, sending a shock through his body. He shut the flap and replaced the box as the light switched on in a blinding flash. He darted around the side of the truck. Looking down, his feet were bathed in light. He took one large stride, aligning his feet with the tire.
The door swung open and hit the exterior wall with a thud. Vlad and Cezar were in mid conversation, one of them walking briskly to the truck.
The truck jolted downward with bodyweight, rummaging sounds came from the other side of the thin metal side wall. Wolf looked to the front of the truck. He squinted and bore his vision into the darkness to see just where the truck was going to drive. It was parked on grass, smooth black pavement just in front of the front tires.
His eyes followed the jet black void cutting through the dark lawn. It went on about ten yards then veered to the right. Wolf swung his body to the right and followed the road all the way out to a gate, which then veered right again, where the road lowered below the level of the property as it descended downwards.
A secondary punch of adrenaline hit him when he realized the road was the same perimeter road his scooter was parked on, right out in plain sight with a stack of coats on the fence directly above it.
Facing the back of the truck again, his eyes widened as four fingers came into view gripping the back corner of the truck.
Just then Vlad, illuminated from the floodlight, stepped into view from the back of the truck. He turned and looked directly in the direction of Wolf. Looked right at him. “Eh?” He turned his head to the back of the truck. Vlad shot an uncomprehending glare to the mumbling voice Wolf heard within the truck and disappeared out of site. The truck jolted downwards again. Further downwards. They were both in the truck.
Wolf moved to the front of the truck, eyeing the open gate to the perimeter road. If he ran out to the gate, he could do it without detection, but getting the scooter as well? Not unless they stayed inside the truck for at least a full minute so he could slip past the good fifty foot section of road that was illuminated through the iron fence. He didn’t want to bring attention to himself in case they recognized him.
Vlad and Cezar launched into a loud argument which sounded right next to his ear. They were deep into the back of the truck.
Shaking his head, he clenched his teeth, cursing his options. He shuffled to the rear of the truck and inched his eye around the back corner. Wolf saw the faint flashlight glow and heard them talking probably eight feet in — hands rummaging through materials.
He eyed the dangling rope on the truck door.
Wolf sucked in a breath and lunged, gripping it with both extended arms, and pulled with the full force of his body weight. The door slammed all the way down faster than he expected, bouncing up from the floor a good three feet as he stumbled backwards onto his backside. He immediately bounced back up to the now slowly rising door and pulled down hard, catching a glimpse of shoes right at the door interior. The door began to rise, and Wolf knew the leverage they had trying to raise the door from the standing position was much more than he had holding it down with his arm. It inched higher.
The locking latch was right there in front of his face, but the door needed to be completely closed. Putting both of his hands on the exterior handle, he pulled down with the force of his two hundred pound body. Just as it slammed, he flipped the latch with his right hand.
Instinct told him he was already too late. He laid back and rolled just as loud reports from inside pealed open holes next to the door handle. He got up and sprinted back the way he came in. Muffled gun shots rang out behind him. Huffing loudly, he reached the fence and vaulted it in a single bound, barely touching his left hand to the top.
Wolf was suddenly flying ten feet over the scooter towards the rapidly approaching dirt road. Wind filled his ears as he finally landed — hard on his heels, instantly rolling and smashing his hipbone into the rough road, elbow bashing a split instant later. He gasped and stumbled to his feet gripping his elbow hard to contain the pain.
Suddenly the sound of a diesel engine roared to life from within the property fence. He heard a yell of a man, then the deep thundering of the gurgling engine.
“Shit.” He rammed the scooter key into the ignition and sat on the seat, slapping the kickstand up with his heel. He cranked the throttle, producing more ear-splitting whine than forward movement, so he put down his left foot and skateboard pushed, sending a fresh jolt of pain into his hip.
Acceleration gently took over and he propelled down to the main road. To the right was the direction of John’s apartment, but it was an uphill jaunt for a hundred yards or so past the front of the observatory property. The street slanted downhill to the left, which would give him more acceleration from the small engine.
He went left, shooting out onto the black pavement in a deep lean, just keeping his balance, barely maintaining tire contact with the road.
Vibrating handlebar mirrors showed the bright lights of the truck passing where his scooter had just been parked seconds before. Out of nowhere a sharp turn to the right came up fast. He hand-braked hard and leaned deep again, the rear tire sliding a good foot before grabbing purchase with a jolt, kicking the scooter hard right, leaning him into a sharp involuntary turn to the left. He maintained control, but lost all speed.
A straightaway stretched for a hundred yards, corn fields on the right and left, ending in a dim lit township. He cranked the throttle wide open and leaned down, the scooter inching forward painfully slow. The hairpin turn in the handlebar mirrors was illuminated with bouncing light.
Suddenly a dirt turnout materialized on his right. He jammed the brakes, went up the road, and crashed into the cornfield. He turned the key off and laid the moped down. Reaching up, he steadied two corn stalks that swayed wildly with his hand.
Wolf calmed his heaving breaths and listened carefully, hoping to God he hadn’t kicked up too much dust. The diesel engine was getting louder from the distant left. It slowed considerably, taking the turn carefully, then swung out onto the straightaway, faint light illuminating Wolf’s sliver view of the road. It coasted onwards, slowly and quietly at low RPM’s. It braked to a slow halt, pausing for a few seconds, then turned onto the road. Light swept across him through the stalks as it bumped onto the rough turnout with a slow crunch.
His heart thumped in his chest. Chances were good he could out-run Cezar. Cezar was a smoker, and he could use the corn to stay a hard target. Of course, he would have quite a stri
de on him being at least a couple inches taller than Wolf, and who knew what kind of shot he was.
The truck came to a halt. It was fifteen feet from Wolf. From Wolf and his white scooter. Five or so rows of corn between it and himself. Cezar was in the driver’s seat, looking to his left out the glass — but more down the road than into the corn immediately in front of him. Wolf stayed frozen.
Cezar lit a cigarette, momentarily lighting the interior of the cab, and rolled down the window.
Wolf narrowed his eyes and kept an eye on the cab, for any sign of a pistol aiming directly in his direction. Light blue writing on the outside of the white truck momentarily distracted him. It was the same light blue writing as on the wooden Albastru Pub sign. In fact, it said “Albastru” on the side. However, underneath it, it said “International Shipping Co.”
Wolf darted his eyes back to the truck cab as the truck rocked slightly on its wheels. The rear lit up and a continuous beep filled the air. The truck slowly backed up, pulled onto the road, and went back the way it came.
Chapter 29 - Friday
Drool ran up Wolf’s face as he watched Connell laugh and sharpen a stick with a camping axe. Chop-chop-chop-chop. Dangling by his ankles with heavy boat rope from a tall tree branch, Wolf pleaded, but couldn’t produce any intelligible words. He tried to move, but could only struggle against the tight restraints. Chop-chop-chop-chop.
Wolf woke with a start.
Knock-knock-knock-knock.
He looked at his watch, it was 8:15. When? P.M.? Did he sleep through the whole day? He got out of bed, then stared at it for five seconds. Looking slowly around the room, he couldn’t remember where he was to save his life.
Knock-knock-knock-knock.
He moved towards the sound of the knocking, wincing at the hot stabbing in his left hip. He opened the door. Lia was wide eyed looking at him. Wolf came to the present moment in a sudden instant. He looked down at himself and straightened his twisted boxer shorts.
“Oh shit! Sorry! I don’t know what happened. I forgot to set the alarm last night I guess. Here, come in…”
Lia’s stiff expression melted to a slight smirk as she walked in.
“They say it takes one day per one hour time difference to get over jet-lag,” she said from the hallway as he quickly put his clothes on.
“Yeah, I’m definitely still feeling the effects.” Visions from the night before came to him like distant childhood memories.
“So, they have all the paperwork done to release your brother down at the morgue.”
“Okay.”
“Let’s go for coffee in the piazza before we leave.”
He felt as if he’d taken a handful of sleeping pills after just running a marathon. “Heck of an idea there.”
The piazza was bustling once again. His brother was onto something coming over here for inspiration. Too many people for Wolf’s taste. But, had he been here for any other reason, he could see himself enjoying the atmosphere. Throngs of people milled about in a murmur of words Wolf couldn’t understand.
The bar was bustling, people lined up two-deep against the counter, baristas behind the bar clacking, and smacking, and twisting, and frothing.
“Due,” Wolf held up two fingers to Lia.
“You want a double?”
“Yes,” he said. “It was a difficult night.”
Wolf looked in the mirror behind the shuffling baristas and saw Lia’s face turn red.
They had a croissant, or a ‘brioche’ as they called it, and slammed their coffee without eye contact or a word said.
Walking out, Wolf said, “Look, about last night. I didn’t mean it was a difficult night because of you…or because of us.”
“I’m sorry about that…”
“No, I don’t care. I mean, don’t worry about it,” he shook his head. “Look, there’s more to last night. I went to the observatory, and I found out something big.”
Driving to the morgue, Wolf detailed the night before to Lia. He told her about the load of stolen looking electronics and bags of white substance in the Albastru Shipping truck, how Cezar shot at him, and the ensuing chase. He left out the part where he spent a full hour sitting motionless in the cornfield after Cezar left the scene, only to get hopelessly lost on the way back to his brother’s.
“Okay, that connects the Romanian bar owner and Vlad to the cocaine. I’m not sure what that means. Was Matthew dealing the drugs for them? Why the baggies found at your brother’s and his apartment?”
“I don’t know. But Cezar was really roughing up Vlad. I’ve been thinking, and I would bet if we found out where these two were from in Romania, they would be one in the same place.
“What did Dr. Wembly at the observatory say about Vlad? He was kind of kissing his ass, like he was surprised Dr. Vlad chose to work there. He said something to the effect of, ‘He’s gracing us by working here.’ In all the places in Europe, he chooses that outdated observatory in Northern Italy to set up shop? Why? I think it’s because he wanted to be close to Cezar. Or maybe he didn’t have a choice. Cezar might have something on him.
“Anyways, it’s obvious that Cezar is running some sort of electronics fencing and drug operation, and Vlad’s complete reign of a respectable, European agency’s shipping and logistics operation is a perfect means to transport the stuff wherever they want. The Albastru International Shipping Company and the European Astronomical Confederation. It’s a perfect marriage.”
“So how does your brother fit in?”
“I don’t know yet. But I’m going to find out, today.” He jabbed his finger into his knee. “I want to talk to these guys. I think it might be best if I go about this alone.”
She laughed, and looked over at Wolf who was staring out the window.
She turned back to the road. “I will help you.”
“I don’t want you getting in trouble, Lia. I plan on getting the truth today. I don’t have any time left.”
They drove in silence the rest of the way.
At the morgue, his brother was packed and ready to go in a heavy duty plywood box with metal latches and handles. A large gray and black stenciling saying “Handle With Extreme Care” in English was scrolled along the side diagonally.
An Air Tray. He’d seen plenty in the Army, all of which stabbed his heart, but none like the sight of this one. He gave it quick jolt with his palms to check the quality of construction — an unconscious maneuver that told him nothing.
They pointed where he needed to sign, and he signed. He took his brother’s bag of belongings, and they wheeled him away to the truck waiting out back. Wasting no time. That was good. He was on his way. Wolf had accomplished half of what he came to do.
They left the morgue and drove to the Caribinieri station. The underbelly ground floor was devoid of people, the faint odor of sweat still thick in the stagnant air. Friday mornings off.
Lia turned the corner at the top of the stairs and almost slammed into an officer jogging out of Colonello Marino’s office. “Che cazzo!” She twisted, coming to a stop.
A silence fell over the room as Wolf and Lia entered.
“What the hell’s happening?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Let’s go talk to Paulo.”
They walked on and everyone resumed their talking, looking towards Wolf and Lia. Lia led them to the computer geniuses desk in the back room.
“What the hell is happening Paulo?”
“Oh, good morning.” He didn’t smile, looking between Lia and Wolf. “I couldn’t trace Dr. Rosenwald’s phone. I found that his latest credit card transactions were normal enough. Groceries and then a payment to the Albastru Pub on Friday night at 10:43 pm. His car is missing at his apartment building. We are looking for it.”
Wolf and Lia looked at each other.
Paulo shifted uncomfortably, now speaking at a million miles an hour. “His passport had no activity on it. Rosenwald doesn’t seem to spend much time online. Anyways, we don’t need to worry about it any
more.”
Lia folded her arms. “And why is that.”
“Because they just found him?”
Wolf’s eyes widened. “Where?”
“Near the lago by the Osservatorio di Merate. Lying in some long weeds.”
Chapter 30
Lago Sartirana was a good sized lake to the eyes of a Coloradan — described as a retention pond by Lia. It was surrounded by dense vegetation and hills on the north side, where a bright yellow villa stood shining brightly in the morning sun. A trail circumnavigated the oval lake, the main access point being at a straight outflow canal that was fifty feet wide.
To the left of the straight canal stood some locals — some curious onlookers, some un-curious fisherman throwing in their lines. To the right, local Poliziotti stood. Lia and Wolf walked by them without receiving a single glance.
The path was well worn. Fisherman’s trash was strewn about, hooks, weights, old brightly colored lures, brittle knotted line, and lots of cigarette butts.
The lake shore itself didn’t look much cleaner. Plastic and galss bottles bobbed above the water line. A thick film of green algae had blown up against the rocks and mud, piling on itself in small waves. The smell was that of stagnant lake water with a whiff of raw sewage thrown in every ten breaths. It wasn’t a swimming lake.
After two hundred yards they came around a bend. The main trail veered to the right, away from shoreline. To the left, the shoreline turned wilder, dense with marshland. There, the Caribinieri were milling about.
They took the narrower, less traveled path, stepping on roots and rocks to keep out of the thick mud and puddles.
