The Italian Divide (20 page)

“That’s okay with me.”

Their first courses came. They traded tastes. Both were sublime.

After eating a little, Elizabeth asked Craig whether he had made any progress in finding Federico’s killer. He described everything he had done with Giuseppe. “Who, by the way, sends his regards.”

He was still talking, and they were drinking wine when the main courses came. The lamb was great and perfect with the wine.

“There’s one other piece to the puzzle,” Craig said. “Then you’ll have everything.”

“What’s that?”

He told her about Giuseppe’s meeting this afternoon with Alberto Goldoni and the threat McKnight made to Alberto. “What happened to Federico, and now Alberto, can’t be random events. Someone must be masterminding large investments in Italian banks and using surrogates to do their dirty work.”

Elizabeth dropped her fork with a clink on the plate. Other diners looked at her.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered.

“Did you say that Alberto’s takeover offer came from Victoria Bank of Hong Kong?”

“Correct. Why?”

“I could be wrong, but …” She sounded excited and pulled the iPhone from her purse. She held it up. “May I?”

“Sure.”

She pushed a few buttons, then said, “Exactly what I thought. Through a long and convoluted ownership chain, Victoria Bank of Hong Kong is owned by one of Zhou Yun’s banks.”

He gave a long, low whistle. “Which means that Zhou’s probably behind all the Italian bank transactions and Federico’s murder.”

“That may be a stretch, but hopefully, you’ll be able to establish he was behind the transaction with Federico’s bank when you and Giuseppe go to Singapore.”

“But why just the banks in Italy? Zhou Yun thinks big.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re the one who saw a Chinese man in Parelli’s suite. You sent me his picture.”

She nodded.

“Suppose Zhou is behind Parelli’s campaign, making a play for political as well as economic control of Italy.”

She smiled. “Same old Craig. Trying to find Zhou, like his brother, responsible for everything.”

“But it is something Zhou would do. You have to admit that.”

She nodded.

Craig continued, “Then, if—,” raising his voice a little with excitement.

“Sh. Not so loud.”

“Okay,” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “then if Parelli won the election and divided the country, Zhou and China would have a strong position in Parelli’s northern Italy and a foothold in Europe. That would have a devastating effect on the United States. China is now challenging the United States as the dominant world power. In many respects they are our enemy. This will give them influence in NATO and in the EU. The entire US–European alliance will be at risk—our most important relationship. We can’t let this happen.”

She placed her hand on top of his. “Whoa, Craig slow down. Linking Zhou with Parelli is more than a stretch. It’s a leap into the unknown. How do you intend to prove it?”

“You can do it with the picture of the Chinese man in Parelli’s suite on your smart phone. Suppose you sent it to your Beijing Bureau Chief and asked if he recognizes the man as somebody who works for Zhou.”

“The Internet censors in Beijing would never let it go through, and I’d be putting my reporter in danger. I’ll have to find another way to get him to see it. But first, I’ll try to arrange an interview with Parelli. Maybe I can get him to talk about his Chinese support.”

“You really think he’d do that?”

“My father taught me if you throw a rock up in an apple tree, sometimes you get an apple. If Parelli did, I could write it up in the newspaper. That would expose Zhou Yun and kill Parelli’s chances.”

Craig looked alarmed. “That could be dangerous. Zhou plays rough.”

She reached across the table and touched his hand. “Thanks, Craig, for your concern. We don’t know that Zhou’s involved, but I’ll be careful.”

Craig was very pleased at how well the evening was going. It really did seem like old times for the two of them.

The luscious dark chocolate soufflé arrived for them to share. Jean-Pierre came out of the kitchen and added an exquisite sauce to the center of the soufflé.

Midway through the course, Craig’s phone rang. He quickly pulled it from his pocket and looked at the caller. “Giuseppe,” he told Elizabeth.

“You better take it.”

Craig answered.

“Hope I’m not disturbing anything,” Giuseppe said.

“Just a delicious dessert Elizabeth and I are having.”

“I have bad news.”

“What happened?”

“The bean counter in the Finance Department vetoed my trip to Singapore.”

Craig was astounded. “How stupid can he be?”

“They’re squeezing every euro until it bleeds. Italy. The EU. Our economies are continuing to contract. Deflation is a possibility. People are scared. They’re behaving irrationally.” Giuseppe sounded dejected.

“Can you appeal to his boss?”

“Unlikely to succeed.”

“What do you think we should to?”

“Could you go yourself ?”

“I don’t know. I’m thinking. I’ll let you know.”

“Sorry, Craig. Really, I am.”

“Yeah. I know.”

He told Elizabeth what happened.

“That sucks,” she said.

Craig felt a surge of anger. “I hate the damn bureaucrats in government everywhere. In Europe. In the United States. They’re all the same. They’re the reason I quit the CIA the first time. Some power hungry jerk gets appointed to an important job and thinks he’s a statesman like Winston Churchill.

“Can you go yourself ?”

“I could. Obviously, money’s not the issue, and I’m not beholden to any bureaucrats, but I wouldn’t be able to accomplish a damn thing. I’ll need governmental authorization to see the Singapore banker. Winning the race in Stresa won’t do the trick. I’m stuck.”

Her eyes were closed. He guessed she was deep in thought. Craig didn’t want to interrupt her. Meantime, he was thinking about Zhou Yun. Craig was glad the Chinese industrialist was involved. Craig was now convinced that Zhou Yun, and not his brother, had been responsible for the death of Francesca, Craig’s daughter. It was Zhou Yun who had been in Calgary meeting with Canadian oil companies. But his brother was in Beijing at the time of Francesca’s death. Zhou Yun must have given the order to murder the nosey reporter. Now Zhou Yun had given the order for Federico’s murder. And would Alberto be next?

Craig decided he had to come out of hiding. He couldn’t let this evil man continue.

Elizabeth opened her eyes and said, “I have an idea for you. Use your relationship with Betty Richards. She’s still the CIA director. Fly to Washington and have her authorize your trip as a US representative.”

“You think there’s enough United States interest?”

“I know there is. What happens in Europe and Italy always affects the United States. You just told me about the threat to NATO. Besides, they’re paranoid about China in Washington. Lots of Americans fear it’s only a matter of time until China overtakes the United States as the world’s dominant superpower. Or at least pulls even. China’s advance into Europe would feed that paranoia. Anything that would slow down China’s march toward dominance would gain the approval of those people.”

“I’m convinced. I love your idea. I’ll fly to Washington tomorrow.”

She smiled and said, “I hope you don’t take an early plane.”

He moved his hand beneath the table, reached under her skirt, and stroked her thigh. It was warm and soft. “I remember that Air France had a flight around four in the afternoon.”

“They still do. It leaves at 4:25.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Craig paid the bill and they left the restaurant. Walking the six blocks back to the Bristol where he was staying, along the Rue St. Honore, they had their arms around each other, like a couple of young lovers. Alone in the elevator, on the way to the sixth floor, he pulled her close and kissed her. Her arms were tight around his back.

In the corridor, she whispered, “Oh Craig, I’ve missed you so much.”

“And I’ve wanted you.”

Once they were in the room, Craig kicked the door shut. He held her tight, kissing her passionately. She was clutching him. They were both on fire after twenty-one months apart. She pulled away. “Oh Craig. Oh Craig.”

He ran his hand over her arm, gently caressing her skin. Then the back of her neck. He unzipped her dress and let it slip to the floor.

She was wearing a gorgeous and sensuous yellow silk bra and bikini panties. He remembered buying them for her in Corsica.

As he ran his fingers over her back, she undid his belt and unzipped his pants.

Craig unsnapped her bra and caressed her breasts. He lowered his hand down and took each of the nipples into his mouth—first one; then the other. He reached into her silk panties, to her moist folds of skin. As he touched her, she moaned, “Oh Craig, that feels so good.”

His erect prick was poking out through his shorts. She slipped them down and wrapped her hand around it.

“To bed,” she said with urgency. “To bed.”

She stretched out on her back and he entered her, while giving her a long, deep kiss. When he pulled his head away, their fused bodies moved together. Faster and then faster.

Being inside of her felt wonderful. Fabulous.

He could sense she was on the verge of climax and he held back, waiting for her. When she cried out in ecstasy, he exploded with her.

Moments later, he rolled off and she snuggled in his arms. “I’m so happy,” she said. “So happy.”

“You can’t believe how much I missed you.”

They woke up at eight, made love again, and had room service bring breakfast.

“Don’t you have to go to work today?” he asked.

“Not until you leave for the airport.”

It was a gorgeous summer day. A time for lovers in the city of love. They walked through the Tuileries holding hands. They crossed the Pont Neuf to the left bank. Then walked along Boulevard St. Germain. They ate mussels, washed down by Meursault, at a small bistro near St. Sulpice.

She checked her watch. “You better get going.”

They took a cab back to the Bristol where he stuffed his clothes into his wheelie suitcase.

At the front door, they kissed one more time before he climbed into the cab to the airport.

Beijing

Z
hou had received a call from McKnight, still in Turin, following the Hong Kong banker’s meeting with Alberto Goldoni. “I’m sorry,” he had said. “I wasn’t able to reach an agreement for the investment you wanted.” An angry Zhou cursing under his breath ordered McKnight to fly directly to Beijing. “Don’t even stop in Hong Kong. We have to discuss next steps.”

Their meeting had been set for ten in the morning, but at that time Zhou was in his private gym adjacent to his office pedaling on a stationary bike. Following Zhou’s instructions, his secretary led McKnight into the exercise room.

By forcing McKnight to stand in front of him to conduct their conversation while he pedaled, Zhou wanted to humiliate McKnight.

“You’re a failure,” Zhou shouted at McKnight. “I give you one simple job to do, and you can’t do it.”

McKnight stood up straight and stared at Zhou.

“Goldoni’s not willing to sell. He promised his grandfather on his deathbed that he’d keep the bank stock in the family.”

“I don’t care about Goldoni’s grandfather. How much did you offer?”

“Sixteen billion.”

“I told you to offer 20.”

“There was no point going any higher,” he said defiantly. “Goldoni made it clear that money wasn’t the issue.”

“Did you let him know if he didn’t sell, he’d end up like Federico?”

“I made a reference to Federico.”

Zhou stopped pedaling and stared hard at McKnight. “You made a reference,” he said contemptuously.

“That’s right.”

“You’re a fool. You should have done more than make a reference. Goldoni has to understand he’ll be dead if he doesn’t sell.”

“I thought that would be too much for our first meeting. I left him enough to think about.”

“Humph. I want you to go back to Turin, meet with Goldoni, go up to 20 billion, and make it clear what will happen to him if he doesn’t sell. Do you understand?”

“I doubt if it will work.”

“Do it anyhow. And I’ll give you an incentive to close this with Goldoni. If you don’t, you’ll lose your position as CEO of Victoria bank and I’ll make sure that you’re criminally charged with illegal currency transfer and thrown into a Chinese jail.”

Zhou paused for a moment to let his words sink in. McKnight’s usually ruddy face had turned ashen. “Now I think you understand what’s at stake.”

“I understand.”

“Good. Get out of here. I want you to go back to Italy and get the job done. And to help you, I’m sending Qing Li, one of my people, with you. Talk to my secretary. She’ll handle the flight arrangements for both of you.”

Ten minutes after McKnight staggered out, Zhou’s secretary called to say, “Arrangements have been made for Mr. McKnight and Qing to fly to Turin. Also, the United States Secretary of the Treasury, Winston Tyler, just arrived for his meeting with you.”

“Fix him coffee. Tell him I’m in a meeting. I’ll be there shortly.”

Zhou was wondering why Tyler had wanted this meeting on short notice. He hadn’t been willing to disclose a topic. He said it was better if they spoke in person.

That was fine with Zhou. He had something he wished to extract from Tyler at the meeting. Zhou finished his hour on the bike, showered, dressed, and went back to his office.

The heavyset American with a shock of gray hair and wire frame glasses, dressed in a three piece navy suit, was seated in the secretary’s suite, dozing.

“Ah, Winston,” Zhou said in a booming voice.