The Curious Case of the Missing Head

by Gabriel Farago

  ‘I do.’

  Just then the door opened and Cesaria burst into the room. ‘You are here already,’ she said, and hurried over to Jack.

  ‘No wonder I love Florence,’ said Jack, enjoying her embrace. ‘I don’t know another place where a chief superintendent of police gives you a hug like this so early in the morning.’

  ‘And I don’t know another man who has been through so much with me as you have,’ replied Cesaria. ‘You were there when Conti died,’ she continued, tears in her eyes. ‘I still find it difficult to talk about.’

  ‘I understand. Here, have one of these before they all disappear,’ said Jack, pointing to the few crostini left on the plate. ‘Knowing you, you’ve probably worked through half the night without eating a thing.’

  ‘You know me too well.’

  ‘So, what exactly is your interest in the Giordano family and Nike?’ asked Grimaldi.

  Cesaria and Grimaldi listened attentively without interrupting as Jack took them step by step through the Stolzfus matter and the MI5 briefing with Cross the day before.

  ‘And you think the Giordanos are behind this Stolzfus abduction?’

  ‘It would seem so.’

  ‘A Jack Rogan hunch,’ teased Cesaria, ‘just like last time?’

  ‘A little more than that, I hope.’ said Jack. ‘There’s quite a—’

  ‘I think you are right,’ interrupted Cesaria.

  ‘You’ve searched the Nike?’

  ‘We have.’

  ‘And?’ prompted Jack.

  ‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing. But even nothing can be a clue.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘The forensics team concluded that the vessel had been meticulously cleaned top to bottom with chemicals just hours before they came on board. Now, that by itself tells you something. A vessel isn’t cleaned like that without good reason, shortly after arriving in the harbour at the end of a long journey.’

  ‘True. But we need more, don’t you think?’

  ‘We do. And we have more.’

  ‘You have?’ said Jack. ‘I knew I came to the right place.’

  ‘It would seem that your Mr Cross at MI5 hasn’t told you everything,’ said Cesaria and reached for her briefcase.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He sent us this yesterday.’ Cesaria handed Jack a large black-and-white photograph. It was an aerial shot of a circular, rotating storm cloud taken from high above. There was a large hole in the centre of the cloud and in the middle of that hole, one could just make out two small shapes, one quite larger than the other.

  ‘What am I looking at?’ asked Jack.

  ‘This is an aerial photograph taken by a weather satellite on sixteen June off the west coast of France. The meteorologists were tracking a hurricane, Hurricane Patrick, a rogue storm that was behaving in a strange way.’

  ‘And this is relevant because ...?’

  Cesaria pointed to the large hole in the middle of the storm cloud. ‘Because of this here. These are two vessels quite close to each other, as you can see, in the middle of the storm, quite literally.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘We have followed this up with the meteorologists in France and asked for clarification, and this is what they came up with. This is why I was working so late last night ...’ Cesaria handed Jack another photograph. It was an enlargement of the first photo and showed a large ship and a smaller vessel next to it, taken from above. Cesaria paused to give Jack some time to have a close look at the photograph and digest the implications.

  ‘And the best news is, we have been able to identify the two vessels,’ continued Cesaria. ‘The large ship is the Caritas, a hospital ship operating mainly in African waters, and the smaller vessel is, wait for it, Nike.’

  Jack looked stunned. ‘This is extraordinary,’ he said. ‘And Cross didn’t say a word about this.’

  ‘To be fair, he didn’t know the whole story at the time.’

  ‘I suppose not, but still ...’

  ‘You know what spooks are like,’ said Grimaldi, smiling. ‘All cloak-and-dagger and reluctant to share information because they want the glory all to themselves. Not like the Squadra Mobile we have here in Florence.’

  ‘So, what does all this mean?’ asked Jack.

  ‘We believe the injured professor was transferred to the hospital ship during the storm on the afternoon of sixteen June. The Nike returned to Monaco and was scrubbed – “forensically cleaned” would be a more accurate way to put it – to erase all traces of Stolzfus having been on board. At the moment we have nothing on Nike or the crew. We spoke to the captain, Giacomo Cornale, a loyal Mafia soldier who knows how to keep his mouth shut. We’ve come across him before. The crew was already on leave and therefore difficult to trace quickly.’

  ‘And the charter party with the false passports?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Left as soon as they arrived and disappeared without a trace.’

  ‘And the Caritas,’ said Jack. ‘Do we know where she is now?’

  ‘We do. In Malta.’

  ‘Amazing,’ said Jack, shaking his head. ‘What do you know about this hospital ship?’

  ‘It’s owned by a syndicate and run by a charity. And guess who has a big stake in that?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The Giordano family.’

  ‘It’s all coming together.’

  ‘That’s also the end of the good news,’ said Cesaria.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because we have little chance of getting any cooperation from the authorities in Malta. The Mafia dominates everything there, even the police; especially the police.’

  ‘We’ve been watching the Caritas for quite some time now,’ said Grimaldi. ‘Suspected refugee smuggling from Africa, drugs, and something more sinister: trafficking in body parts.’

  ‘Charming. What a lovely hospital ship,’ said Jack, shaking his head. ‘And run by a charity. Donations from all over the world to support the vulnerable and the poor in need, I suppose?’

  ‘Something like that,’ said Grimaldi. ‘Registered in a Mafia stronghold we can’t get near.’

  ‘So, are we saying that the injured, kidnapped Stolzfus could be on board the Caritas in Malta?’

  ‘It’s the most plausible explanation,’ replied Cesaria. ‘Classic Mafia. They like to have all the angles covered. They like to be in control. The only thing we don’t understand at the moment is why they have kidnapped such a high-profile scientist during such a public occasion, with so much risk attached. This isn’t really like the Mafia at all. Normally they do such things quite differently, and the target and the motive are usually obvious and clear from the beginning, but not here. This is quite different, and that’s what puzzles us. And on top of it all, there hasn’t been any contact. No demands; nothing. That certainly doesn’t fit either.’

  ‘Perhaps Stolzfus is dead,’ suggested Jack.

  ‘Could be,’ said Cesaria.

  ‘So, is this the end of your involvement?’ asked Jack.

  ‘It is for the moment. We’ve provided everything MI5 has asked for. It’s their case, not ours.’

  Jack nodded, looking vacantly into space for a moment.

  ‘What will you do now?’ asked Grimaldi.

  ‘I’m catching the afternoon train to Venice to visit Tristan and Lorenza. A long-overdue visit. If they were to find out I was here without dropping in, well ...’

  ‘Give them our regards,’ said Grimaldi and stood up to farewell his friend, signalling that the meeting was over.

  ‘It doesn’t stop here, does it?’ said Cesaria after they left Grimaldi’s office together. ‘For you, I mean.’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Jack, giving Cesaria a cheeky smile. ‘This is just the beginning.’

  ‘I thought as much. But please be careful, Jack. You know better than most just how dangerous these people are.’

  ‘That’s why I’m going to Venice to ask for Tristan’s help. You know he has a sixth sense ...’
/>
  ‘Just as I suspected,’ said Cesaria, shaking her head. ‘You and Tristan ...’ She gave Jack a peck on the cheek. ‘What did Countess Kuragin call you? An incorrig ... something-or-other—’

  ‘Incorrigible rascal,’ Jack completed her sentence. ‘It’s a term of endearment, you see.’

  ‘Oh. Is that what it is?’

  ‘Maybe not all the time; it depends ...’

  ‘Take care, Jack; I mean it. And you know where to find us. My door is always open. Should you need something, anything, all you have to do is call me.’

  ‘I know that. Thank you.’

  ‘Even incorrigible rascals need help from time to time; admit it.’

  ‘We sure do.’

  25

  Palazzo da Baggio, Venice: 22 June

  Jack had decided to surprise Tristan and Lorenza. Instead of calling them from the railway station to let them know he was coming, he caught a water taxi. Jack had visited Venice only once since their wedding, and the trip along the Canal Grande brought back memories of the dramatic events two years earlier that had almost cost Tristan his life. Lorenza’s abduction after she had won the Top Chef Europe crown, followed by Tristan’s disappearance and the strange Mafia ransom demands, which ended in tragedy in Istanbul, had stretched the da Baggio family to its limit. However, their wedding in the Sistine Chapel in Rome, presided over by the pope, had healed everything and had marked the beginning of a wonderful future for two special people who were very dear to Jack.

  It was already getting dark as the water taxi passed under the Rialto Bridge, and Jack knew he was almost there. Lorenza and Tristan had turned the old da Baggio family palazzo into an exclusive boutique hotel complete with a Michelin Star restaurant – Osman’s Kitchen – run by masterchef Lorenza, which was booked out weeks in advance.

  In the elegant foyer full of paintings and antiques that had graced the da Baggio family home for centuries, the receptionist looked at Jack in surprise. She hadn’t expected any guest arrivals because the hotel and the restaurant were already completely booked out. And besides, the man standing in front of her certainly didn’t look like someone who could afford the astronomical hotel tariffs and lofty prices charged in the high-class restaurant, where two hundred euros was the starting point for a reasonable bottle of wine. Dressed in a pair of khaki slacks, open-neck shirt and a somewhat crumpled linen jacket that had seen better days, Jack looked like a lost tourist who’d found himself in the wrong place.

  ‘May I help you, sir?’ asked the frosty receptionist.

  Sensing her displeasure, Jack put down his duffel bag and pointed to the gorgeous floral arrangement on the marble reception desk. ‘Magnificent,’ he said. ‘I love flowers. Do you?’

  ‘Have you come to discuss flowers, sir, or is there anything else I can help you with?’ asked the receptionist sarcastically.

  ‘Oh, I hope so. I would like a room, please, preferably one with a view over the canal. Old memories, you see.’

  The receptionist was bemused. Was this guy for real? ‘This hotel is fully booked, sir. Has been for weeks.’

  ‘Oh well. Dinner then,’ said Jack, enjoying himself. ‘Would you have a table—’

  ‘The restaurant is fully booked as well, I’m afraid,’ interrupted the receptionist, exasperated.

  ‘That’s very disappointing. I’ve come such a long way, you see, just to be with my—’

  ‘Is there a problem?’ said a voice coming from behind Jack.

  Jack slowly turned around.

  ‘Jack?’ said Tristan, his eyes wide with astonishment. ‘I don’t believe it!’ Tristan hurried over to the reception desk and hugged Jack tight. ‘What are you doing here? I thought you were in Africa.’

  ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘Wait till Lorenza sees you,’ said Tristan, taking Jack by the hand. ‘She’s in the kitchen, come.’

  ‘Good. I’m starving.’

  Jack looked at the receptionist and winked as he went past. ‘I don’t think I’ll be needing that table now; thanks anyway,’ he said and followed Tristan into the kitchen.

  Over the years, Jack and Tristan had developed a close bond and had shared many adventures. When Jack first met him, Tristan was fourteen and in a coma after a serious accident. In fact, he had been in a coma for several years, watched over by his mother, Cassandra, a Maori princess and psychic. When Tristan unexpectedly came out of his coma, Cassandra told Jack that her son could ‘hear the whisper of angels and glimpse eternity’ and that his psychic powers were much stronger than hers. Jack had never forgotten her words.

  Tristan pointed to a small table at the back of the elegant dining room, a discreet distance away from the other diners. Lorenza, who was busy in the kitchen, said she would join them as soon as she could.

  ‘Dinner and a chat?’ said Tristan, smiling. ‘You obviously haven’t eaten all day, right?’

  ‘You know me too well.’

  ‘Let’s remedy that, shall we?’ Tristan called one of the waiters over and ordered some pasta, followed by veal ‘Osman’, a signature dish of the restaurant that he knew Jack would enjoy.

  ‘This is really strange,’ said Tristan. ‘Just this morning I had this feeling ...’

  ‘What feeling?’ asked Jack, enjoying his second bowl of veal and pasta with truffles, washed down with a fine Chianti from Tuscany.

  ‘That you would turn up.’

  ‘Well, here I am. See? We can always rely on that sixth sense of yours, and that is exactly why I’m here.’

  Nodding to some of the diners who appeared to know her well, Lorenza, who was the star of the restaurant, came over to the table. ‘How is it?’ she asked and sat down next to Jack.

  Jack gave her a peck on the cheek. ‘Superb. What else?’

  ‘Are you going to tell us why you’ve turned up like this? Out of the blue without letting us know you’re coming? Is it just to surprise us, or is there more to it?’ asked Lorenza, looking excited.

  ‘Sure, but first I would like to finish this,’ said Jack, tucking into the last bits of the veal with gusto. ‘This is amazing!’

  ‘Thanks, Jack,’ said Lorenza. ‘One of my grandmother’s recipes.’

  Jack looked around the crowded, exclusive restaurant and pointed to the Ottoman recipes displayed in heavy, ornate frames on the walls next to numerous awards the restaurant had won.

  ‘Remember those, Tristan?’ he said. ‘What we had to go through to get them back?’

  ‘How can I forget? It’s what brought Lorenza and I together.’

  ‘You two have transformed this place. It’s absolutely stunning. I’m very proud of you.’

  ‘Thanks, Jack. So, what has brought you here?’ asked Lorenza again and put a hand on Jack’s arm. ‘It’s not just to see us, is it?’

  ‘No ...’ Jack took a sip of wine and put down his serviette. ‘It all started with a phone call I received in Africa a week ago,’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘A friend asked for my help.’

  ‘Sounds familiar. What about?’ asked Tristan, his curiosity aroused.

  ‘It’s all about a famous astrophysicist, Professor Zachariah Stolzfus. He disappeared mysteriously in London twelve days ago.’

  ‘And your connection to ...?’

  ‘He’s the brother of Rebecca Armstrong, my publicist.’

  ‘Ah. Can you tell us more?’

  ‘It’s all very hush-hush at the moment. The authorities are tight-lipped about it all ... very political.’

  ‘Until you stepped in and made a fuss?’ said Tristan, who had heard it all before.

  ‘Something like that, but what we do know is that he’s been abducted – most likely by the Florence Mafia. We also know that he was seriously injured during the abduction. Shot. I just spoke to Chief Prosecutor Grimaldi and Cesaria in Florence, and it would appear that the professor is being held on a hospital ship in Malta.’

  ‘By the Mafia?’

  ‘In a roundabout way, yes.’

  ‘How interest
ing,’ said Tristan.

  ‘And, of course, you promised to investigate,’ said Lorenza. ‘Right?’

  Jack looked a little sheepish but didn’t reply.

  ‘I thought so.’ Lorenza looked at Jack. ‘I have a bad feeling about this,’ she said. ‘You and Tristan ...’

  ‘What’s on your mind, Jack?’ asked Tristan, smiling. He knew his friend well and therefore realised at once where this was heading.

  ‘There’s something I would like to do. Right now. It’s urgent.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Somehow get on this hospital ship in Malta and have a nose around.’

  ‘To see if the good professor is being held there? Is that it?’ said Tristan.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And how are you planning to do that?’ asked Lorenza.

  ‘I have an idea, but I need Tristan’s help.’ Jack turned to Lorenza, sitting next to him. ‘Do you think I could borrow your husband for a couple of days?’

  ‘Do I have a choice?’

  Jack shrugged. ‘Why don’t you ask him?’ With that, Jack stood up and went to the bathroom.

  As Jack walked past a table for two near one of the tall windows overlooking the canal, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Two women were holding hands and looking intently at each other. One of the women began to laugh, and it was that laugh that triggered something in Jack. He stopped, turned and looked at the woman.

  It can’t be, he thought and took a closer look. The woman must have noticed him staring at her, because she turned her head and looked at him.

  ‘Izabel?’ said Jack and slowly came closer.

  At first the woman didn’t say anything and just stared at Jack. Then her face lit up. ‘Jack?’ she said and stood up. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Looking for you, of course,’ said Jack, covering his surprise with charm.

  ‘Sure,’ said Izabel and embraced Jack. ‘Come, let me introduce you. This is my friend Teodora. Teodora, this is Jack Rogan.’

  Teodora pointed to Jack’s neck. ‘Ah, the man with the cross. Pull up a chair and join us.’

  Jack looked nonplussed. ‘How did you know ...?’

  ‘I told Teodora all about you and how you saved Soul,’ said Izabel, a shadow of pain flashing across her beautiful face.