“I arranged for us all to catch up over a drink and a meal once he settles in.”
“That’s cool,” said Cait. She liked Paul. Ever since he’d left his wife Kaz and took up his new role as CEO of Care the World he was a changed person. He actually took the time to speak to her now as if he really cared about her welfare, and he was always good for a laugh, especially when he was at his outrageous best.
“Yeah, Paul’s coming here on business. He’s to check out the treatment of the refugees in Sicily. Apparently the Cosa Nostra have been muscling in on the deal and creaming huge amounts of aid money off the top big-time that should have been available to spend on accommodation, clothes and food for the refugees. It’s big business for them.”
“The Cosa who?” asked Cait.
“You know, the Mafia.” G paused for a sip of wine.
“Do you remember when we all saw The Godfather back when you were in your teens? You didn’t like it. Thought it was too violent. Well, that movie was about the Mafia—or Cosa Nostra—who started here in Sicily and then moved to New York. They used to call themselves ‘The Honoured Society.’ Well, apparently it wasn’t too far from reality.”
“Yeah, sort of,” said Cait.
“You remember, sis. They had that scene where that guy woke up with a horse’s head in his bed. Then all those people in dark suits kept getting shot,” said Dec, all too eagerly for his sister’s comfort. “Blood and guts everywhere.”
“Yuck. No wonder I didn’t like it,” said Cait, her face distorting like a schoolgirl’s expression in an abattoir.
“Well, Paul’s here to look into the corruption. Pity help the Mafia with this one if he manages to get his nose into their books,” said G jokingly.
“You know what Paul’s like. He’ll sniff out a rat at ten paces, and he’s got the clout at Care the World to cause them some real grief if he finds anything.”
“You know, G, suggesting that job to Paul in his lowest moments may have cost him his marriage, but you saved him at the same time,” said Jools. “I think he would have drunk himself to death if he’d stayed with Kaz after their Carlton development crashed and burned.”
“Well he’s certainly a changed man if that’s what you mean,” replied G. “He’s back to his old self like when we were all at uni together, don’t you think? A man with a social conscience again. He’s totally obsessed by this role. Reckon he’d walk over broken glass to get a result.”
Cait was drifting off as her parents chitchatted and glanced up over the top of her glass of white wine at the two slightly scruffy young men working the tables in the piazza. Beggars, no doubt, she absentmindedly thought to herself as they moved from table to table, having little success selling the sun hats they were peddling.
“Hey, do you reckon those two guys over there annoying everybody are refugees?” said Cait, nodding her head in their general direction. G, Jools and Dec all turned around in unison to see what she was talking about. Cait took off her sunglasses to get a better look and accidently caught the eye of the younger one, who immediately made his way to their table.
“You American, signorina?” said the black-haired young man in heavily accented broken English. “Français?” He was obviously fishing for a response. He’d done this before.
Cait looked up at him and was about to say, “No, not interested,” and turn back to her meal when she noticed a spark about him. A strange light of familiarity that lasted no more than a millisecond, but was there nonetheless.
“No, Australian,” she said, interested as to why his aura drew her in.
“Ah, kangaroo. You from Sydney?”
“No, Melbourne.” The beggar had just passed first base. He’d elicited a response. Now the hard sell.
“You like hat, signorina?” he said, thrusting a white panama hat into her empty hands.
“Very hot day. Keep the sun off your pretty face. Look very nice on you.”
Cait looked up at the person in front of her and noticed he was wearing scrupulously clean, but obviously hand-me-down clothing. She smiled and reached under the table, grabbing her own hat and placing it back on her head.
“No thanks, I’ve already got a hat.”
He smiled a cheeky grin through a mouth that was missing three top teeth. Staring at the gap in his otherwise full mouth, a shiver ran up Cait’s spine and she checked out.
“Signorina, you buy another hat from me, please. Only ten euro. Very cheap.”
But Cait heard nothing. She was detached and floating in the Otherworld, aware of her surroundings, but divorced from them at the same time. And strangely James was there, looking down on Cait and the beggar, intermingling with her vision.
But why James? she thought. How weird.
James’s vision brought back instant memories of the Gatekeeper, but they faded a split second later as Cait snapped out of her trancelike state and came back to the present. She felt like she’d been gone for an hour, but really it was only a few seconds.
Cait focused on the beggar in front of her.
“You poor man,” she said, an empathetic tone to her voice. “Your journey here hasn’t been easy, has it? You lost your brother to the sea.”
The young man had opened his mouth to continue his sales pitch, but Cait’s words hit him hard between the eyes, paralyzing him. Jools was silently watching from the wings and noticed the beggar’s demeanor change in a heartbeat. As Cait’s words assaulted the beggar, he transitioned from being pushy and out there to deathly still, shocked to his core at what he had just heard, a look of total disbelief and amazement passing across his previously pleading expression.
“I know what it’s like to lose someone you love,” continued Cait.
She reached into her bag and slipped twenty euros into his outstretched hand, touching it briefly as she placed the blue note into his palm. An unseen electric bolt shot up her arm as if she had just made contact with a live wire and an immediate vision of a white overturned life raft floundering in heavy seas flashed in front of her eyes, but the apparition dissipated as quickly as it appeared.
The beggar remained transfixed, unmoving, the twenty euros still in his open palm.
“How do you know that?” the beggar managed to utter in a tone of absolute disbelief, his words rising an octave as he spoke.
“My name’s Cait. We’ll meet again soon. I know it,” Cait replied. An explanation wasn’t necessary and wouldn’t be understood. She picked up the panama hat off the table and handed it back to him.
“Goodbye, and take care.”
Turning her back on the beggar, she reached for the bottle of vini chianti in the middle of the table and refilled her glass. She looked up again and the man was at the next table, selling his wares.
“What the hell was that about, sis?” said Dec, amazed at what he had just seen. But then again, with Cait strange things happened, so he didn’t really expect a straight answer.
“You just had a vision, didn’t you, Cait?” Jools said knowingly.
G looked on silently, amazed at his daughter’s powers.
“You’re a special person, Cait,” he said, sensing this was the beginning of a new chapter in Cait’s life.
“It’s an absolute travesty of justice. Literally thousands of refugees lose their lives crossing the Mediterranean every year, yet their tragic deaths more often than not go unreported.”
Paul was on his soapbox, getting wound up about the plight of the refugees crossing the Mediterranean.
“These poor souls are murdered, drowned, suffocated in ridiculously cramped quarters belowdecks, starved, some are thrown overboard by the smugglers dead or alive, it seems to make no difference. Life’s cheap on the high seas.”
G, Jools, Cait and Dec were out to dinner with Paul, and he was filling them in on the dangerous and risky journey from Libya to Sicily that tens of thousands of desperate refugees were taking each year in pursuit of a new life to what they hoped was the promised land.
“And then
they land here in Sicily starving, sick, broke, often with only the clothes on their backs, and the Cosa Nostra plus corrupt officials screw them over and blatantly siphon off as much as they can of the billions in aid money that’s been earmarked to help them. There’s literally millions and millions of euros that are going missing each year. Apparently ripping off the aid money is now more profitable for them than drugs. All those bastards have to do is first control it, and then it’s easy pickings.”
Paul stopped his tirade to pick up his vini rosso, swishing around the red liquid in the glass like a whirlpool as he gathered his thoughts, then took a long draft, draining half the glass in a single gulp.
“And that’s why I’m here. To nail the bastards.”
He returned his empty glass to the table with a resounding thump.
“Paul, in the words of that martyred anti-Mafia judge who was killed by a massive car bomb in the early nineties—actually, ninety-two from memory—‘follow the money and you’ll find the Mafia,’” G said sagaciously. He was well known for coming up with out-there quotes that just seemed to hit the mark.
“Just so right, G. You know what?” said Paul. “There’s an elephant in the room here, yet no one seems to be cognizant of it.”
All ears at the table suddenly tuned in to what Paul was about to say. After all, being CEO of Care the World afforded him insider information, and just maybe a few juicy snippets of information were about to pass his lips.
“Eh? Tell me more,” replied G inquisitively.
“Well, on the one hand, you’ve got the high-profile Italian politicians doing their best to prevent the refugees from arriving, or if those wretched souls do actually make it to dry land, palming them off to another country. But the flip side is that many of the local Sicilians are actually welcoming them with open arms.”
“You’re kidding. How’s that?” asked G, his interest titillated by the apparent inconsistency.
“The Sicilians actually have a long history of welcoming strangers to their shores. God knows they’ve been conquered and occupied by so many different foreign forces over the years, I’ve lost count.”
“Yep. Try the Moors, the Spanish, the Phoenicians, the Greeks, the Normans. And of course the Romans, just to name a few,” replied G. He had a head for trivia, and he knew his history.
“Correct. And now it’s the refugees; they’re the new invaders. And the locals love ‘em,” said Paul.
“We’re all ears, Paul,” interjected Jools, tuning into their conversation big-time.
“You see, the Sicilians don’t like to work too hard, and the dirty jobs, well, they like to give them a miss.”
“Well, they certainly don’t paint their houses much. Not on the outside at least,” said Dec.
“You got it in one. And guess who’s filling the void? The refugees!” said Paul, looking pleased with himself that he had a captive audience. “They’re injecting life back into the economy. Jobs are getting done that the locals wouldn’t do, such as potholed roads being repaired, and they’re also repopulating the old, dying towns and villages in the countryside. Their arrival here has been a real bonus for the local economy.”
“Jesus, Paul, I hadn’t thought of it like that. Makes perfect sense,” said G, absorbing Paul’s revelations like a sponge.
“And my digging tells me that the big stumbling block in helping these guys get the aid they deserve is the Cosa Nostra,” said Paul.
“And the long trail of corrupt officials,” G added sagaciously. Jools and G had been traveling the world for years, more often than not in the Third World, and he was well and truly aware of the effects of bribery and corruption up and down the food chain. They’d experienced it many times in their travels.
“No doubt they’ve got their snout in the trough as well. Best of luck with that one, mate,” G added anecdotally.
Cait listened on the periphery, taking it all in, but saying nothing. She couldn’t get that poor young beggar in the piazza out of her head—he must have been a refugee, she thought to herself. And the fleeting vision of the upturned craft? Those dead bodies floating in the water that flashed in front of her eyes when she briefly brushed against his palm kept replaying in her head like it was Groundhog Day.
Paul’s explanation of the refugees’ plight was stoking a fire in Cait’s head, causing random thoughts to bounce around inside her brain, looking for a clue, some commonality that tied them all together. The tingle up her spine was telling her that she just had to find out more.
It was her grandmothers from the Otherworld, knocking on her back door.
She knew it.
What is it? Cait kept asking herself over and over. Where’s the connection? Why am I being dragged into this?
Like being forcefully drawn toward a cosmic magnet, she couldn’t escape its pull and there was no way she could let this moment pass.
“Paul, I know it’s a strange question, but would I be able to come with you tomorrow when you go to Catania?” asked Cait inquisitively. She was fishing, searching for a positive response.
Cait’s request out of left field took Paul totally by surprise. Actually, it was an unexpected bolt from the blue for everyone.
“Well . . . I, ah . . . suppose so, if you’d like to come. I’ll be there on business, you realize, so you’ll have to be on your own for a bit. You won’t be able to be with me all day.
“G, Jools, you okay with that?”
“Sure, Paul. Sounds like an adventure,” said G. Jools nodded in agreement.
Paul needed a moment to gather his thoughts on this one, so he took a small mouthful of acqua frizzante and a large gulp of his vini rosso.
“Yeah sure, why not? There’s space in the limo, so it’s a shame to waste the empty seats. You’re welcome. Love to have you tag along.”
This was like a moving feast, and Paul was thinking on the fly.
“Thinking about it,” Paul said, “I’ll probably drop you off at Catania for a few hours when I visit the refugee camp at Cara di Mineo. The refugees somehow manage to cross the Mediterranean and some of the lucky survivors land in Pozzallo, about one hundred and twenty kilometers to the south of Catania, then more often than not they end up in Cara di Mineo.”
“So what about Catania?” asked Cait.
“It’s a beautiful old port with heaps to see. You’ll love it. But sorry, you’ll have to stay in Catania by yourself for a few hours. It’s way too dangerous for you to join me where I’m going.
“Besides, our insurance doesn’t cover hangers-on,” Paul added as a light touch.
“You see, the Cosa Nostra have apparently moved into Cara di Mineo and are flexing their muscles while ripping off the system blind. I need to see where the aid money’s disappearing to. Millions of euros are at stake here, and it looks like the refugees aren’t getting their fair share. So I have to be escorted around by an armed guard.”
“It’s that bad?” interjected G. He’d been listening in on their conversation and the words “armed guard” caught his attention.
“Cait won’t be in any danger, will she?”
“No, all good, G. It’s only in the camp, and Care the World insisted that I have a guard just as a precaution. Standard practice actually whenever I visit these places.”
“Yeah, I can understand that. You’re numero uno after all, and besides, think of the paperwork if something happened to you,” joked G.
“Ha ha, very funny, G,” said Cait. “I think I’ll just explore Catania while you visit the refugee camp, Paul.”
Cait paused for an introspective moment.
“You know, I can’t explain why, but for some reason I just have to go with you, Paul. It’s sort of weird, but exciting at the same time. Something’s dragging me down that way.”
Nothing Cait did these days surprised G and Jools. They had brought her up from an early age to be an independent thinker, and she was an adult after all, so it wasn’t as if she needed their approval. Besides, Cait had been traveling
the world on and off since she was old enough to remember what a passport looked like, not only with them, but also on her own when she traveled to the US and Europe during her gap year, and then later to Asia so they had no qualms about saying yes.
“Paul, what about Dec? Would you be able to handle the two of them for a day?” said Jools, looking over at her son.
“You interested in a day out traveling around Sicily with your sister?”
Dec had been listening to their conversation but wasn’t really tuned in at the same time. Instead his attention was drawn to the attractive twentysomething girl who was sitting two tables across. He was racking his brains as to how he could strike up a conversation with her. She was a stunner.
“What . . . yeah, sounds cool. Where you going, Paul?” said Dec, returning to reality.
“Across Sicily, west to east then back. I’ll have a driver, so we can do a bit of sightseeing along the way. We go straight through the guts of the country, so you’ll see the countryside. It’s a land of contrasts out there. And we’ll have to stop for a caffe fredo and a few Sicilian pastries when we get to Enna—it’s right in the middle. Beautiful medieval town in a run-down Italian sort of way, if you get my drift.”
Paul was quite getting into this. His role as head honcho of Care the World had seen him in Sicily a few times now, so he wanted to show the kids around his turf.
Well, sort of.
“And when we’re in Enna, I’ll take you to see the best-preserved villa in the whole Roman Empire. Even better than Pompeii. The ruins are so well preserved that it’s a UNESCO World Heritage Site. It’s huge. Over fifty rooms excavated to date, and the most magnificent detailed mosaics.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Cait, “but you had me at the pastries.”
“You two will just have to try the cassatta siciliana. Oh, and the arancia candita is to die for.”
“Haven’t got a clue what they are, but count me in,” said Dec, salivating at the thought. He was really getting into Sicilian food.
“Well, just to wet your whistle, the cassatta is not ice cream. It’s even better. Liqueur-soaked sponge cake layered with ricotta and chunks of candied fruit, and arancia is candied whole orange, with one end dipped in chocolate. You’ll love them. And best of all, I’m paying.”
The Cait Lennox Box Set Page 54
