Lust, Money & Murder (24 page)

With a feeling of unreality, Elaine stared at the paper in her hand, the smell of the damp ink flooding her nostrils.

She suddenly felt sick. Teetering, Cattoretti grabbed her arm and settled her down into a metal folding chair.

“It is shocking for you?” Cattoretti said uncertainly.

“That’s an understatement.”

“Let me get you some water,” he said, and he trotted over to a cooler and returned with a full paper cup.

Elaine drank. The room kept spinning—the men, the machines, uncut stacks of fake $100 bills...

This is what I swore to stop,
she thought queasily.
And this is what killed my poor father, and landed Nick in jail.

She wondered where Nick was, wracked with guilt again, feeling like she was somehow responsible. She pushed the thoughts from her mind—Nick was out of her life, and she would never see him again. All of that was in the past.

Cattoretti was squatting beside her, holding her hand. “Are you all right?”

Elaine didn’t answer. She had been fairly certain that some criminal had been using a real KBA Giori press to make the counterfeits, but it was still a shock. She had never seen or heard of a counterfeiting operation of this magnitude. The typical bogus moneymaking setup consisted of one or two technical types working out of a small basement or an abandoned warehouse, usually with cobbled together equipment that could be broken down and moved at the first sign of trouble. In contrast, this operation not only had a real KBA Giori printing press, it looked as sophisticated and permanent as the one at the BEP itself. Even the paper cutting machine was just like the ones used at the BEP.

“Drink some more water,” Cattoretti said.

Elaine took another sip. She began to feel a little better. As she gazed across the room at the men studying the blowups of the $100 bill, her curiosity grew. She shakily rose from the chair and approached the huge, taped-together enlargements.

She noticed everyone had stopped working and were all watching her.

“If you’re feeling up to it,” Cattoretti said, “will you do me the honor?” He handed her a magnifying glass, then motioned down to the page of freshly printed banknotes—she had forgotten she was still holding them. “To pass muster with someone from the U.S. Treasury would be a real coup for us.”

The men were all standing there, watching curiously, mostly with their arms crossed.

Elaine raised the magnifier and methodically began checking the freshly printed sheet of banknotes the way she had checked thousands of others. First, she rubbed the paper between her thumb and forefinger, testing the texture. Of course it was printed with an intaglio press—the machine was sitting right in front of her. But she was testing for something else. Most laymen did not know that the paper itself was a major stumbling block for many counterfeiters, even the pros. This paper had the distinct feel of the genuine U.S. mix, 75% cotton, 25% linen. She peered at the edges through the magnifying glass. It also contained the different lengths of red and blue fibers. They weren’t merely printed onto the paper, the way amateur counterfeiters did it, but woven right into the material, just like genuine U.S. currency.

She held the page up to the light. The required graduated watermarks were there, too. All of them looked right.

These were the same bills she had been checking the last year, only they were of even better quality now. They had continued to improve.

Elaine glanced at Cattoretti—he was watching her with a knowing smile. He was well aware of everything she was checking. But did he know that she was the one who had been in charge of developing the software updates? He didn’t seem to.

Next came the security threads. The super-thin polyester strips were properly woven into the paper. With the magnifier, she checked the tiny
USA 100
that was micro printed on the strip. The characters were clear and sharply defined. The magnifier wasn’t strong enough for her to check the mistake in the zero on the set of numerals.

She switched on the magnifier’s built-in ultraviolet light. The security thread glowed red, just like it was supposed to.

“The threads are right,” she muttered.

Cattoretti glanced at the other men, pleased.

Next she turned her attention to the color-shifting ink in the
100
denomination in the corner. She slowly tilted the page and watched the numbers shift from copper to green all down the page. The hues looked spot-on, but a technician would have to check them with a spectrometer to be sure.

These were the bills she had been checking the last year, there was no doubt in her mind now.

Cattoretti smiled. “So have we passed with flying colors?”

“Not just yet,” Elaine said. She had a feeling that if she wanted to remain alive, she better find some additional faults than the ones the new software updates would search for. He hadn’t had a chance to check the “salt shaker” yet, but he would soon. He wouldn’t need her anymore unless she could spot some new defects in his counterfeits that no one had found before.

She moved closer to the huge enlargements of the $100 bill spread out over the floor.

“The blowup on the left is genuine,” Cattoretti advised.

“I know,” Elaine said.

Cattoretti raised an eyebrow, but did not ask how.

Elaine started to step out onto the paper, then remembered the high heels. She slipped off the bright green stilettos. All the men were watching, a few obviously enjoying it. She also noticed that most of them had skeptical expressions on their faces.

Elaine padded onto the paper in her bare feet and began moving from one area of the enlargement to another, searching for defects that were not included on the data key.

“For starters,” she said, “the face on this clock isn’t right.” She pointed down at the image of Independence Hall on the back side of the $100 bill.

“It shows ten past four,” Cattoretti said defensively. This feature could only be seen under magnification.

“That’s not the problem. The roman numerals aren’t shaped correctly.”

The other men glanced at each other, unable to grasp her English.

“
Numeri romani,”
Cattoretti said, translating.

One of them, a short man with teardrop glasses, said, “
Stronzate!
” and began babbling angrily in Italian, speaking with his hands. It sounded like he was saying “How can you listen to this stupid bimbo,” or something to that effect.

“
Comparero
!” Cattoretti barked.

The men reluctantly gathered around the blown-up clock and began to compare it to the clock in the original.

Elaine moved on, slowly making her way across the paper, checking minute details, until she reached the front side of the bill. She stopped with her bare feet on the bridge of Benjamin Franklin’s nose.

“What is wrong now?” Cattoretti said.

“Franklin’s chin isn’t drawn correctly.”

“How so?” Cattoretti said, looking skeptical himself.

All at once, the men across the room began talking excitedly. The one in the teardrop glasses called to Cattoretti. “
Otto e dieci sono errati
?”

“On that clock, is it the eight and ten?” Cattoretti asked Elaine.

She nodded.

Now the men were looking at Elaine with respect.

* * *

When she finished her inspection, Cattoretti led her out of the basement and back up to his office. She had only revealed a fraction of the finer mistakes she had seen.

An off-putting grin appeared on his face, as if he had just discovered some kind of secret.

“What’s wrong?” Elaine said uneasily.

“I know who you are,” he said, pointing at her. “You are the woman who used to work at the Secret Service office in Bulgaria. The one who has ‘an eye for a fake.’”

Elaine didn’t react.

He smiled knowingly. “Do not deny it, Elaine. I know it is true. Everyone involved in counterfeiting across Europe heard about you. The rumor was that you could spot a counterfeit as fast as any automatic machine. Your own field offices were sending bills to you, instead of back to the States, to get quicker turnaround. Then, you disappeared—no one knew what happened to you.” Cattoretti chuckled. “I should have known the U.S. Treasury Department would not let someone like you waste away in a godforsaken place like Bulgaria.” He gave a big belly laugh. “I cannot believe it! And here you are, standing right here with me in my very own office!”

Cattoretti waited for her to say something, but she remained silent.

His mouth slowly opened, and then he pointed at her again. “You were the one in charge of creating the software updates, too. Am I right?” He slapped his forehead. “Of course I am! That is why you disappeared from Bulgaria—you were transferred to the Treasury Department to help create the software updates. It is true?”

Elaine still said nothing.

“It is true? Yes, it’s true!”

“So what if it is?” Elaine finally said.

“Is it not obvious? You and I—we could make history together!”

She couldn’t believe this. “You actually expect me to
help
you with your counterfeiting operation?”

Cattoretti looked genuinely surprised. “Is that such a far-fetched idea?”

“You destroyed my life!”

“Me?” Cattoretti said. “You are terribly mistaken, Elaine. I told you before, my Russian partners were responsible for obtaining the data key. I had nothing to do with it. I told them what I wanted, and they handled the rest. All I knew was that they bribed some high level Treasury official, a man—”

“Gene Lassiter.”

“Is that his name?”

“Yes. He was my boss,” Elaine added bitterly.

“In any case, I knew nothing more about it. There are very good reasons that I must maintain my distance from the United States. I had no knowledge of any other details, how the Russians were acquiring the data key.” He paused. “You must understand— I really have no choice but to work with them. Only an organization of their size can launder the amount of money I can produce with that Giori machine. I cannot risk changing the money to Euros in Italy—I sell every last dollar to the Russians for laundering.”

Elaine wanted to believe him, but it was difficult. She would have to think about all this later—if there was a later.

Cattoretti looked sympathetically at her. “I am truly sorry that someone as lovely as you became a victim in this project, Elaine. If I had known this is the way it was being handled, I would have put a stop to it.” He paused, studying her. “Of course, I cannot reverse what has happened...but I can make it up to you. If you join me in my efforts, I can certainly do that. I will be glad to do that! And why not? I can pay you very handsomely for your work.”

Elaine looked at the door. “And if I refuse to help you?”

Cattoretti frowned, looking insulted. “You continue to misjudge me, Elaine. You are not a prisoner here.” He motioned to the door. “You are free to leave whenever you wish.”

She looked into his dark eyes. He knew damn well she had nowhere to go. Lassiter had probably called in the Secret Service by now, which meant Interpol was looking for her as well. She wouldn’t stay on the streets long.

He watched her for a moment, then said, “There is no need for you to rush to any decision. All I ask is that you think about it. What have you got to lose? As long as you are in Italy, under my protection, you have nothing to fear—no one can touch you here.” He gave a relaxed smile. “I would suggest that you go to my villa and have a good rest, reflect on the situation. My staff will cater to your every whim. We have an indoor swimming pool, a sauna, a private chef, and a masseur with absolutely magical fingers. Spend some time letting yourself be pampered, Elaine. You deserve it.”

Without waiting for a response, Cattoretti picked up the phone on his desk. “Luigi? I want you to escort Ms. Brogan to Fontanella.”

* * *

A few minutes later, Elaine was again sitting in the back of the silver Rolls Royce as it glided along Italian countryside, Luigi and the chauffeur in front.

As she gazed out the window, she considered what Cattoretti had said. Was it really such an outrageous thought, helping him? She had been blamed for the theft of the data key, but was reaping none of the rewards. On the other hand, the thought that she was helping a man like Giorgio Cattoretti was abhorrent to her. He may have been elegant and sophisticated, but he was still a criminal, just like the man who had destroyed her father.

How many lives had he destroyed? But, on the other hand, how many had he saved by creating hundreds of jobs in an economically repressed part of Italy? His employees did not seem to fear him—they seemed to admire him, to hold him in awe.

The Rolls slowed, approaching a four-way stop. There was a sign that said FONTANELLA – 3 KM and pointed to the right.

They turned in that direction. In a few minutes, the Rolls soon slowed again and turned off the highway, down a smaller paved road. They drove down an easy grade, through the woods, and then up a steeper rise. There were PROPRIETA’ PRIVATA signs posted every now and then.