The Milan Contract Read online

  Kurti wondered if things may actually be worse than he’d imagined.

  “You’d better not be fucking with me, Marco. Stay by your phone, I’ll call you back.”

  He turned off the autostrade at the next junction and parked in a lay-by just outside Serravalle.

  He tried to think. Hitting the wrong mark had not been in the list of failures so eloquently recited to him a few hours ago. Surely, if the wrong guy had been hit, that would have been top of the ‘fuck-up’ list. But clearly, Fanucci believed the wrong man was dead. Kurti called him back.

  “Why do you think it was the wrong target? And you’d better stay straight with me, Marco, because right now all I want to do is rip your fat, sweaty head from your shoulders.”

  “There’s a guy been trying to find me, name of Zeffirelli. I know him, he’s low-life. Ran Czech guns through Austria over the mountains into Italy in the nineties. He’s not connected to anyone important but has occasionally run errands for a couple of families. Sees himself as a player.”

  “Go on,” said Kurti remembering how much he hated Marco’s tendency to talk around any given subject, “get to the point.”

  “Well, this Zeffirelli character tracked me down. He began by asking me about Issam Bennani, the techie whose son we used for the hit. I told him to fuck off, but he got wild. Started screaming down the phone that I’d tried to take down his brother-in-law.”

  “Sounds like a nutcase. Why does he think you’ve got a contract out on his brother-in-law?”

  “He knew the name of Bennani’s son. Knew he was the shooter. Tells me his brother-in-law is the spitting image of our target and he was staying in the Hotel Napoli on Sunday.”

  Kurti stayed silent. A picture was forming, but it was difficult to focus while Marco was still bleating.

  “You didn’t give me a name, Alex. You said I didn’t need it. You just gave me a photograph. The grey-haired man and the black Mercedes, that’s all I had.”

  “Fanucci, shut the fuck up and let me think.”

  Marco stopped rambling.

  “What’s the name of the brother-in-law?”

  “Salterton. Peter Salterton. He’s English. But if we’d hit the wrong guy, you’d know that. So we didn’t screw up?”

  Confusingly to Fanucci, when Kurti spoke, his tone was softer, more conspiratorial.

  “It looks like we did hit the wrong guy, Marco, I just checked. They didn’t give me a name either. But it should have been Salterton. I can see what happened, but we’ve got to clean this mess up you and I.”

  “Oh shit, Alex. He’s going to string us up by the balls. He doesn’t accept failure, you told me that a hundred times.”

  “Marco, I get it, it’s not down to you, I see that. But I need you to get hold of this Zeffirelli character and tell him to call me. Do you understand?”

  “I’ve got it. Alex, this is a shitstorm, but you can see it wasn’t my fault. You can see that, can’t you?”

  “I will sort things out, Marco. It’s 11:15 now, get him to call me on this number before midnight, got it? Tell him the contract on Salterton was down to me. Be sure to give him my name. You need to make it clear; he has to call me before midnight, right?”

  “I got it Alex, before midnight.”

  “Now listen, Marco, I will save your backside, but you’ve got to do what I tell you. Do you hear?”

  The crying had stopped.

  “Anything Alex, you know I will put things right.”

  “Good, then meet me at the barn in the morning at seven. Got that, Marco? We’ve got to finish the job. We’ll come up with a plan, OK?”

  “OK, I’ll be there Alex. I’m so sorry.”

  62

  Germany – Post-Reunification

  There was no reason to remain in Potsdam. He knew no one, his father was dead, and he needed to find work. Lukas Stolz had suddenly found his own version of ‘liberation’ but wasn’t sure how to exploit it.

  He briefly considered moving to Russia but had to admit there were parts of his new life he’d got used to and didn’t feel inclined to surrender. In particular, he enjoyed being able to move around without restriction, amazed that his new passport let him wander around Western Europe as he pleased; as far as Britain to the west and Greece and Italy to the south.

  He found the west both fascinating and disturbing. Whilst he was forced to admit that life had become less ‘grey’ and ‘serious’, that did not necessarily make him feel comfortable. He found ‘choice’ more difficult than he could have imagined, but he needed a job.

  For two terms, he taught maths in a secondary school just outside Cologne but hated it. The students were shallow, fickle and lacked self-discipline. They’d been provided with too many choices and insufficient resolve to make the most of them.

  He yearned for university life, to research and to innovate. He considered applying for his old teaching job in Leipzig, but the memory of his final days in that city still pained him, and he dreaded being recognised by those who had assailed him because he’d rejected their particular brand of ‘freedom’.

  He found a job writing code for a small software company in Frankfurt, but his duties were repetitive and boring. In Hamburg, he worked for a company developing cloud-based solutions for the military. It was there that he was introduced to the complexities of data links and knew immediately that he’d found his calling.

  He soon started giving lectures on data coding. He gained fame amongst a select group of mathematicians and scientists for his innovative ideas and ability to bend numbers to meet his aims. Within three years, the name Stolz became synonymous with high-level, military-grade encryption. He was headhunted by Skyguard in 1994 and knew straight away that he would never work for anyone else again.

  Skyguard revered his mind, and he was given the freedom to develop encryption systems. In particular, he was encouraged to take a central role in creating the data link code behind the Skyguard II missile system.

  During vetting, he admitted he’d been an active member of the Communist Party in Leipzig, but his assessors didn’t see that as a barrier. More than half of all East German academics had been members of the same organisation and things were different now. In any case, no sane person could harbour loyalty for a doctrine soundly rejected by the overwhelming majority of ex-Soviet citizenry. Wasn’t ‘freedom’ and ‘democracy’ the salvation of the failed communist states? Lukas Stolz was a clever man, they concluded. He would never contemplate biting the hand that was now so graciously feeding him.

  When talking about himself, Stolz quickly learned what to say, and what to omit. He didn’t see it as lying, it was pragmatism. ‘In any case,’ he told himself, ‘I’ve changed. I no longer feel so bitter towards the west.’

  63

  Service Station on the SR10, Tortona, Italy

  At eleven-forty-five, he pulled off the A7 motorway and parked under the trees in the forecourt of a run-down service station on the outskirts of Tortona. ‘He’ll call,’ Kurti told himself without a shred of doubt.

  Just before midnight, the phone vibrated.

  “You’re Zeffirelli, I hear you spoke to Marco Fanucci earlier?”

  “And he told me you took out a contract on my brother-in-law. Is that right?”

  “I’ve been caught up in the middle of this. I asked you to ring me so I could set things straight.”

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “Because if you don’t, you’ll end up dead. You’ve had enough time to ask around about me. Am I right?”

  “Yeah, I spoke to a couple of people. They know you. So, what the hell is going on?”

  “You don’t need to hear the details. You only need to know I’ve arranged for Fanucci to meet me in a barn out in the sticks in seven hours. Except I won’t be there, you will.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’ve been tearing up the city trying to find out who wants to put a bullet in Salterton. Am I right?”

  “Maybe.”

&
nbsp; “Well, I’m giving you Fanucci. He was behind the hit. He took out the contract on your brother-in-law.”

  “Why did he want Pete dead?”

  “Because Fanucci’s a frigging idiot, that’s why. He gets touchy if he thinks someone is trying to muscle in on his rackets.”

  “But we didn’t know Fanucci was in on the smuggling game!”

  “Neither did I. That’s the point. He’s been acting without authority, do you understand?”

  “But he told me it was you who took out the contract. Why would he say that?”

  “I told him to say that you prick. I knew it would be the only way to get you to call me.”

  “Why are you telling me this? Why sell Fanucci out?”

  Kurti slammed his hand on the dashboard.

  “Because I need you to put the shit you’ve been spreading all over Milan back in its box, so that we can all go home and sleep with both our eyes closed.”

  “How do I know you aren’t setting me up?”

  “You don’t. But right now, I’m a little pissed off because you’ve caused me a whole pile of problems. I don’t like problems. So this is going to end. You’re going to kill the man who tried to drop your brother-in-law and as a bonus, you get to walk away from this in one piece. But only if you do as you’re told. Now get a pen, I will give you the address. Talking’s over.”

  64

  Thursday

  Guardia di Finanza Headquarters, Milan, Italy

  Conza couldn’t sleep and took the first train back to Milan. On the kitchen table, he left Sergeant Moretti written instructions to keep Kadin in the apartment until reinforcements arrived. He also told him not to touch Issam’s electronic equipment in case he inadvertently deleted the recording.

  Back in Milan, Conza stopped off at his apartment and felt a little more alert after a shower and change of clothes. At the Finanza offices, he knocked on the colonel’s door.

  “Come in, Raffy. I’m looking forward to hearing all about your meeting in Genoa. But before we start, are you available tomorrow morning?”

  Conza knew it wasn’t really a question.

  “I can be free then, sir.”

  “Excellent, our flight leaves at ten.”

  “Where are we going? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “Berlin. We have an appointment with the German Federal Intelligence Service. I will tell you all about it later. For now, tell me about Kadin Bennani.”

  ◆◆◆

  An hour and a half later, two technicians, two forensic examiners and two Finanza junior officers were on their way to Genoa by van.

  The colonel invited Captain Brocelli and the State Police commissioner to an urgent meeting in his office. While they waited, the colonel asked to see the photographs from Conza’s phone, which he ordered his secretary to have enlarged and printed. The colonel asked Conza to leave the room while he made some phone calls.

  ◆◆◆

  The meeting with Brocelli and the head of the State Police in Milan started promptly at eleven. The colonel spoke first and provided a short summary of events in Genoa. Brocelli and the commissioner listened intently. The colonel concluded with news that technicians and forensics had already been dispatched to Genoa.

  The commissioner responded first.

  “Thank you, Colonel, quite a tale. But before we get into what happens next, may I ask a question?”

  “Of course Commissioner,” the colonel replied, his green eyes sparkling with warmth and amiability.

  “Why did you choose to hold this meeting in Finanza? You said on the phone it was important that we met here?”

  Captain Brocelli smirked.

  “Commissioner, I have reason to believe certain information about this case has been leaked. It’s a matter that I was due to discuss with you today, but as it happens, I needed to update you on the Bennani case. It seemed apt to deal with both matters here.”

  Conza knew the colonel was careful to state “I” not “we”. He was taking personal responsibility, and any subsequent culpability, for Conza’s story. It should have made Conza feel better, but it didn’t.

  Captain Brocelli bristled and sat forward in his chair, but the commissioner raised a hand.

  “That is a very serious accusation Colonel, and one that I think we should discuss in private. Do you agree?”

  The colonel nodded. The commissioner was far from stupid. ‘A political animal,’ Conza thought, and not one willing to discuss his department’s potential shortcomings in front of juniors. Matters moved on.

  Politely, the commissioner asked, “So, can I take it the Bennani boy will be brought into custody today?”

  The colonel turned to Brocelli.

  “Captain, firstly, as head of this investigation, I wanted to thank you for the diligence and patience shown by your team. Lieutenant Conza has to some extent been working alone, but I know that as an experienced officer you will understand his reasons for doing so.”

  Brocelli fidgeted but could only offer a quiet “Thank you, sir,” in half-muted response.

  “Secondly, I am sure, like me, the commissioner would seek your advice as to where we should go from here? If you will forgive me, but I think the position is this. We now have under our control a minor who has admitted killing Lukas Stolz. It appears he was coerced into carrying out the act. We have unknown felons trying to find him. We, as state officials, owe the child a duty of care. I know you will agree that prison is not a safe place for him to be held. His father is dead, and the rest of his family are in hiding. He gave himself up and is therefore not a flight risk. What are your thoughts?”

  The commissioner’s jaw twitched, but Conza felt like clapping. Captain Brocelli flushed and started to fiddle with his tie.

  “Well, sir, it would appear it might be best to place Bennani in some sort of protective custody. After all, he is a minor.”

  “Right, I see. With his family?”

  “That would seem best, I think sir.”

  “And Captain, would you recommend an arraignment via video link?”

  “Yes, sir. A video arraignment is what I would recommend.” Brocelli unfastened the button of his collar.

  “Excellent, Captain Brocelli. Thank you for your recommendations. In the circumstances, I wholly endorse your position.”

  “Indeed,” said the commissioner tersely.

  Conza bit the inside of his cheek. The colonel sat forward, clasping his hands together.

  “That would seem to be settled. I have to say, I’m glad Captain Brocelli will continue to head this investigation. It needs the leadership of a seasoned professional. Lieutenant Conza will continue in support and now that Kadin Bennani is out in the open, only the address of the safe house needs to remain a secret.”

  “Colonel, there is absolutely no reason why the head of this investigation should not be told the location of the safe house. Indeed, I insist on it,” the commissioner said sternly.

  The colonel raised his hands and sat back in his chair. He looked small again.

  “You’re right, of course. Captain Brocelli must be told, Commissioner. The list of people who know where the Bennani’s are being held is very short. One more name won’t make any difference.”

  He turned to Brocelli and leaned forward.

  “My apologies, Captain, I sometimes have to be reminded that we at Finanza don’t have a monopoly on discretion.”

  65

  Apartment 3, Villa Nuova, Genoa, Italy

  Sergeant Moretti woke just before six, Conza had already left. Kadin was in the kitchen and the smell of coffee drifted in from the hallway. Their ‘good mornings’ were sober and awkward. Kadin was counting the euros and separating them from the sterling.

  “This is what Mr Stolz gave me,” he explained, handing over a stack of notes. “I expect you’ll want it for evidence. I’m sorry, I just put it together with the money my father left in the garage.”

  “That’s OK,” said Moretti, “but what do you mean ‘gave
you’?”

  “He thought I was trying to rob him,” Kadin replied, closing his eyes and clutching the edge of the table. “It was horrible, I keep seeing his face.”

  “So he offered you the money?”

  “Yes, he just took it out of his wallet and gave it to me.”

  “You didn’t mention this last night, Kadin. Why not?”

  “I’m sorry, I felt so ashamed. I think he actually felt pity for me. Before I knew what was happening, he’d pushed the cash into my hand. It all happened so quickly.”

  “And you took it?”

  “It shocked me. I was panicking. I wasn’t thinking straight, I’m so sorry.” He began to cry.

  “It’s OK Kadin, I can’t imagine what you’ve been put through. But at least it explains why Stolz’s wallet was empty. That really threw us for a while. But you’re right, we’ll have to bag it up when forensics arrive.”

  They took their coffees into the lounge.

  “Do you know much about him, Lukas Stolz, I mean? I didn’t even know his name. They never told me.”

  “Not much. He was a bit of a loner I think. A bachelor, no family of his own,” he added, looking at Kadin to make sure he’d heard. “Maths professor. Worked in England for a defence company.”

  “There was a picture of a woman and two children.”

  “His sister’s family, not his. It was an old photo, taken in the nineties. The children are grown-ups now.”

  “He had a dog though.”

  “Really? How do you know that?”

  Kadin went to the kitchen and returned with the photograph.

  “It was in amongst his notes.”

  Moretti turned the picture over as Kadin asked, “Strange name for a dog isn’t it?”

  “It’s an old Italian name. Not one you come across very often.”