Death in Tuscany (60 page)

Rizzo, Sergi and the two constables approached them. 'How do we know these are the real hostages?' Rizzo asked the man who had been translating.

'Him,' the Albanian replied, pointing to Laprua, who was made to get out of the car.

Laprua lifted the hood just enough to recognise Simonetta Palladiani. He nodded and returned to the car.

'Your turn,' the Albanian said to Rizzo, who, because he had taken the initiative, must have been considered some kind of big shot, or at least a man the boss trusted.

Rizzo threw a last glance at the hostages, turned round and walked to a point not far from there, where a block of marble had already been separated from the side of the mountain. It had two vertical cuts on the sides and one horizontal cut in the base. Thin metal sheets had been inserted into the cut in the base.

He shouted at the worker to start the hydraulic pumps. The metal sheets, growing thicker until they were like cushions swollen by the force of the water, slowly lifted the enormous block.

The Albanians were following the operation without understanding what was happening.

When the crack was about a foot wide, the worker shut off the pumps and slid two wooden beams in to support the raised block. Rizzo then put his hand in and started to pull out the small bags which had been hidden in a niche gouged into the base on which the block rested.

Serpico joined them, and they arranged these small bags in two overnight bags, which they then handed over to the Albanians. One of them opened one of the overnight bags, took out a small bag at random, tasted and sniffed the contents, and nodded in approval.

'Ikim!'
their chief said, after the two overnight bags had been placed in the bed of the lorry.

The cars and the lorry reversed to the edge of the clearing, turned and sped away.

Finally able to come out into the open, feeling doubly liberated, Ferrara ran towards the group, screaming into the microphone of the two-way radio, 'Don't stop them! Let them pass! Alert Superintendent Giuffi!'

Rizzo almost snatched the radio from his hand when he reached him and said, 'I'll deal with it, chief. You have something else to do.'

Massimo Verga and Simonetta Palladiani stood petrified between the two constables who had untied them and removed their hoods. Massimo had thought he recognised the voice of Superintendent Rizzo, his friend Michele's deputy, and he had felt a glimmer of understanding, but he had feared it was a hallucination, and he'd had a lot of those during this absurd captivity. He had been close to death many times, and had even reached the point where he had longed for it. The one thing that may have saved him was that his tormentors had to keep Simonetta safe. For some reason they needed her. But they certainly hadn't used kid gloves with him.

Now that he could see as well as hear, he managed to get Michele's dear face in focus just for a fraction of a second, before his eyes filled with uncontrollable tears.

Ferrara, too, had come to a halt. Seeing the wounded, suffering face of the man he had feared he would never see again, looking almost ghostly in the moonlight, he had frozen, as if spellbound, as if he wanted to savour the magic of the moment. But it was only for a matter of seconds, then he broke into a run.

They embraced for a long time, in silence. And Ferrara finally realised that he had emerged from the nightmare and come back to real life.

'It's all over . . . you'll soon be good as new,' he said, separating from him at last.

'I knew you wouldn't abandon me, Michele
...
I always knew it. That's why I'm alive.'

'Take them to emergency in Carrara,' Ferrara ordered the two constables, with a glance at the woman. Despite all she had suffered, she still looked beautiful. Then he ran to the car, where Rizzo, Sergi and Fanti were waiting for him.

'Ciuffi is getting the signal loud and clear,' Rizzo said, as Sergi put on speed. They were driving in the direction of Bedizzano.

Tracking devices had been hidden in both overnight bags, which would allow them to follow the path of the target on the screen of a laptop. The Florence
Squadra Mobile
had a van equipped for the purpose, which in the past had allowed them to follow the cars of people suspected of being the accomplices of dangerous fugitives and had eventually led them to the fugitives' hiding places.

The van, with Ciuffi and two technicians on board, had been parked in a clearing about a mile and a half from the quarry, ready for the eventuality that Viktor wouldn't come, which would have made it pointless to arrest the Albanians on the return journey. Now it was following the convoy at a safe distance, and the police cars which had been waiting near the Fantiscritti fork were following Ferrara's car.

'They've checked those licence numbers,' Rizzo said to Ferrara. 'There's no record of the vehicles being stolen. They're registered to various owners in the provinces of Prato and Pistoia. They're checking them out now.'

Ferrara had just dialled his home number, but it was engaged. 'Good, Francesco,' he said. 'But they'll probably turn out to have been stolen anyway
...
If the thefts were recent they may not yet register in the data bank.'

Rizzo nodded.

Ferrara was starting to relax.

If everything went according to plan, the tracking devices would lead them to the lair of the elusive Viktor Makregi. He still had one thing to do. He redialled his home number.

Petra answered at the third ring. 'Michele? I was trying to call you . . . well?'

The words - those words he had been hoping to say to her for nearly twenty interminable days - would not come. There was a lump in his throat which held them back.

'Hello? Michele? What's happening?
Mein Gott!
Michele, are you still there?
Sag' doch etwas,
I beg you, Michele, say something!!!'

Ferrara made an effort and overcame the emotion of the moment, but his voice sounded rough and tired. 'He's safe and well
..."

'And what about you?' she asked, and burst into tears that were a mixture of unrestrained joy at the fact that their friend was safe and continued anxiety about her husband.

'I'm okay, don't worry, but I haven't finished yet. . . Take care of Massimo now. They're taking him to hospital in Carrara.'

There was a pause.

Then, almost in a whisper, 'Michele. I love you, Michele
...
Be careful. . . You know you're everything in the world to me!'

And you to me.'

Suspicious by nature, the Albanians did not release Salvatore Laprua in Carrara, or even at the entrance to the autostrada.

It was not until they were about a mile past the Montecatini junction that Rizzo's mobile rang. He recognised Ciuffi's number on the screen and answered immediately.

'Yes, Luigi!'

'The signal stopped - in a service area . . . Ah, now they're starting again . . . I'm carrying on . . . I'll leave it to you . . .'

'Okay' Rizzo said and passed the message onto Ferrara, who ordered Sergi to enter the service area, which could not be far, and then immediately gave instructions to one of the cars following them to do the same, while the others would carry on and join Ciuffi.

They reached the service area a few minutes later.

Salvatore Laprua was standing in the car park of the motorway restaurant.

Ferrara and his men got out of their car and joined him.

He seemed calm.

Pointing towards the officers in the other car, Ferrara said, 'Signor Laprua, you have to go with my men.'

'Are they taking me home?' Laprua asked dubiously, catching something different in Ferrara's tone.

'No, Laprua. Unfortunately, things aren't over for you yet.'

'Shall I handcuff him, chief?' Fanti, who had never before been involved in a field operation, asked diligently.

Surprised, Ferrara nodded, and his secretary performed the task with a rapidity and professionalism which left them all speechless. Simple as the action was, it suggested he had been training for it. The faithful sergeant must have unsuspected ambitions!

Ferrara didn't have time to decide if he was amused or worried by this, because at that moment the old man gave him, Ferrara, a look of such hatred, it was as if he had spat in his face.

He had betrayed his word; he was nothing but a common, despicable police officer.

In his old age, Salvatore Laprua had helped Ferrara to find his friend, who mattered more than all the police operations in the world, and the
Squadra Mobile
to track down a dangerous gang of drug traffickers and bring them to justice. He had not done it out of generosity, altruism or civic duty, that went without saying, but partly because he had been forced to, partly in obedience to an old code of honour and respect. But he was still a criminal. A powerful Mafia boss, a drug trafficker and a murderer.

Ferrara did not consider that he owed him any explanation but, before leaving him, he could not help saying, 'It's not what you think, Zi Turi. I'm not arresting you over the drugs, I gave you my word on that. I'm arresting you for the murder of Claudia Pizzi.'

40

'They left the autostrada at the Pistoia tollbooth, but then got straight back on it,' Ciuffi said. 'Now they're heading back in the same direction they came from.'

It was a few minutes since Ferrara's car had left the service area, preceded by the one with Salvatore Laprua on board, which had set off back to Headquarters at top speed, with the flashing light attached to the roof.

'We'll be there!' Rizzo replied, then passed Ciuffi's message on to Ferrara, adding, 'They may be smarter than we thought. They wouldn't even tell Laprua where they were going.'

While Rizzo had been talking to Ciuffi, Ferrara had received a communication from the operations room at Headquarters, telling him that the three vehicles the Albanians were using had been stolen from their rightful owners in the last twelve hours.