Lust, Money & Murder (33 page)

Cattoretti spent many hours drinking in beer gardens and mixing with the locals, making friends, playing the role of friendly traveling salesman, slowly amassing information. It amazed him how much people would say when they were drunk. It did not take him long to track down a few different men who worked in the KBA Giori shipping and receiving department.

He checked them out one by one, looking for dirt. If he didn’t find any, he would create some.

He finally lucked out when he casually struck up a conversation with a man named Niklas Kaiser. Kaiser was 40 years old and weighed 300 pounds, divorced, with a 15-year-old daughter he visited on weekends.

He also worked as an accountant in the KBA Giori shipping and receiving department.

Cattoretti soon observed that Niklas Kaiser exhibited odd behavior, behavior that held promise. Kaiser often went to the library and several bars that offered computers with free Internet access.

Yet Kaiser had his own notebook computer and subscribed to wireless Internet at home.

* * *

One morning when Niklas got out of bed, he was shocked to find a strange man in his kitchen. The intruder was sitting calmly at the table, peeling an apple with a long-bladed knife.

“
Guten tag
, Niklas,” the man said.
He had a dark complexion, salt and pepper hair, and wore black gloves. A long, frightening scar ran down his jawline.

Niklas backed away, terrified, his blubber shaking under his bathrobe. “Who are you?”

“Incest,” Cattoretti said.

“What?”

“Incest,” Cattoretti said again, motioning with the knife.

On the corner of the table sat three printouts. Niklas recognized them, and had a sinking feeling. The three titles, translated into English, were
Father Knows Best
,
Wicked Stepmother
, and
Taboo Easter
.

Niklas looked back at the man in his kitchen.

“You have quite an imagination,” the intruder said, carving out a slice of the apple and popping it into his mouth. “I particularly enjoyed
Taboo Easter
. I never would have thought of doing something like that with a hard-boiled egg...especially to my own daughter.”

Niklas blushed.

“Do you make much money writing this filth?”

Niklas was too stunned to answer.

“It does not matter, I was simply curious. In these trying times, a man has to do what he can to make a living.” The intruder motioned to the picture on the coffee table. “I was also curious as to what your daughter would think if she read these stories and knew that her dear old
Vater
was the author.” The bastard smiled. “And your ex-wife—I wonder how she would react if she knew her bastard ex-husband was actually Birget Schmidt, the German incest porno king?”

Niklas didn’t wonder how she would react. He knew. The shrew would take him to court, have his visitation rights revoked, and he would never see his daughter again. Worse, it would create a terrible scandal—a juicy story like that would be all over the TV and newspapers. KBA Giori would fire him instantly—it was a 200-year-old firm, and extremely conservative.

“What is the matter, Niklas? The cat got your tongue?” The man laughed as if this was some private joke.

“What do you want?” Niklas whispered, his throat dry.

“Very simple, Niklas. I want information.”

“W-what information?”

“I want to know each and every time a KBA Giori printing press is shipped to South America. I want to know the name of the vessel, the container number, and the final destination.”

Niklas stared. What this man was asking him to do could put him in jail for 20 years. He looked back at the printouts, and at his daughter’s picture.

“That’s impossible,” he said. “I don’t have access—”

“But you can
gain
access, Niklas. I have already seen how good you are with computers.”

* * *

That same evening, Cattoretti called Anders on the
Stella
, the largest of his container ships.

“Anders, this is Giorgio. How would you like to make a million Euros?”

There was only a brief pause. “I’m listening.”

“You will need to take a leave of absence from the
Stella
and work as an Ordinary Seaman for a while...”

* * *

Over the next 18 months, Niklas Kaiser dutifully informed Giorgio Cattoretti of the KBA Giori container shipments to South America. One to Argentina, one to Brazil, one to Ecuador. It was only on the fifth shipment when Anders happened to be a crew member on the particular German ship carrying the KBA Giori printing press.

The machine was bound for Santiago, Chile on a ship called the
Emilie
.

Two weeks before the scheduled departure, Giorgio Cattoretti traveled to Bremerhaven, Germany, still using the false identity of the Italian auto parts distributor. There, he arranged for a container of his goods to be shipped to an auto parts distributor in Chile.

From the docks in Bremerhaven, he silently watched the
Emilie’s
crane pick up the container and then set it down on top of a stack, with dozens of others.

All the rusty brown metal boxes looked exactly the same.

The only way you could tell them apart were by the numbers stenciled on the sides.

* * *

Fourteen days later, a truck arrived at the loading dock at the Ministry of Finance in Santiago. Three armed guards emerged and they began unloading the unmarked crates that contained the new KBA Giori printing press they had ordered.

Using a crowbar, one of the ministry workers carefully opened the crate, with the others looking on.

When they removed the packing, they all gaped at each other.

They found themselves looking at stacks and stacks of brand new Pirelli tires.

* * *

The Chilean intelligence department and Interpol were immediately called in. It seemed that somehow, the numbers on the containers had been mixed up on the German ship’s cargo manifest. A simple mistake—the tires could be sent to the rightful owner, and the printing press recovered.

The rightful owner of the tires proved difficult to track down. It turned out there was no company in Chile by the name that was listed on the shipping documents. The address listed in Santiago proved to be that of a massage parlor. There were no records of the truck that had picked up the contents of the KBA Giori container at the docks, and no one could remember what it looked like.

On the other end, in Europe, it also turned out that the name of the Italian company that had shipped the tires was false. No such company was registered in Italy. The address given for it in Trieste turned out to be that of a school for the hard of hearing.

All payments had been in cash. There was no way to trace it.

The investigators then realized that it was not the cargo manifest that had been modified, but the numbers on the containers themselves. Someone aboard the vessel had managed to climb up onto the stacks, cover the numbers with rust-colored paint, and stencil on new ones in white.

By this time, the
Emilie
had already arrived back in Germany. One of the crewmembers, a blonde man from Norway, had disappeared, presumably in Chile. Further investigation of his records showed that he had been signed onto the crew using false documents.

After six months of investigation, the authorities exhausted all their leads and concluded that the stolen Giori press would probably never be recovered.

An insurance claim was filed.

Shipping procedures were changed at KBA Giori so that nothing like this could ever happen again.

* * *

One year later, Giorgio Cattoretti was using the complex machine to turn out his first crude but promising fake U.S. $100 bills. It took him another two years before he could manufacture them well enough so that they would pass through automatic verifying machines. Then the U.S. Treasury hatched the idea of programming the machines to recognize his fakes...

“
Papà
!” Luigi said, breaking his reverie.

Cattoretti was still standing in the castle courtyard, gazing at the East Tower. He had been so lost in his memories that his cigar had gone out.

“What?” he said, turning to his son.

Luigi was walking towards him across the cobblestones. There was something in his hand.

“I found this in your bedroom,” he said, giving the cellphone to his father. “Gene Lassiter must have dropped it when he was looking for the combination to the safe.”

Cattoretti turned it on, then scrolled through the names in the contact list one by one, reading them.

When he saw the name GYPSY, he stopped.

There were a half dozen text messages sent to that number, the last one only a few hours ago.

He read through them, then looked up at Luigi and chuckled. “We are going to get the eight million back, my son. Every last Euro.”

CHAPTER 3.8

Elaine Brogan slept badly the night that Giorgio Cattoretti’s castle was robbed.

She had tangled dreams of Gene Lassiter lurking around the castle, of Giori printing presses spewing out mountains of paper money, and of Giorgio Cattoretti and the opera.

She also dreamed of Nick. She slept with the broken wind-up turkey he’d given her as a present under her pillow. She and Nick were in the Ethiopian cafe across the street from the Secret Service office in Sofia, where they were “synchronizing their DOPS.” They were talking and laughing and immensely enjoying each other’s company. During the dream, she realized that those days were over, and they had been the happiest moments of her life. She wondered if Nick had enjoyed those times as much as she had.

Elaine was awakened by the soft beeping of a small alarm clock on the nightstand, one that she didn’t remember being there when she had gone to bed. It was just getting light outside, but too dark to see the time. She flicked on the light and squinted at the display of the little alarm clock.

6:45.

When she glanced across the room, she noticed that there were flowers on the dresser, red roses in a lovely antique vase. Attached to the vase was a note.

She climbed out of bed and read it.

The note was written with a fountain pen, on cream monogrammed stationery, a fancy
G
and
C
embossed in gold at the top. There was a bold, showy flair to the handwriting.

Good Morning Elaine,

I am truly sorry about what happened last night, and how suspiciously I behaved towards you. Can you forgive me?

I selected this outfit from the vault and had it sent out to you. I hope it cheers you up.

Giorgio

Outfit?
she thought, looking around the room. Then she saw the business suit—it was hanging on the handle of the wardrobe door. A Dolce & Gabbana—of course— a navy wool-twill blazer with light blue pinstripes and matching city shorts. Underneath was an Oscar de la Renta sheer silk ruffle blouse. The shoes were Lanvin, a pair of braided black satin sandals.

Then she noticed a P.S. at the bottom of the note:

You will find your work schedule for today on the dresser.

She picked up the computer printout and read it.

TODAY’S WORK SCHEDULE

6.45 Wake up

6.45 - 7.15 Quick swim in mineral water pool

7.15 - 8.00 Custom-prepared healthy breakfast. (Consultation with dietician for future preferences)

8.00 - 9.00 Makeup and hair stylist visits

9.00 - 9.30 Get ready for work (chauffer will wait in courtyard for you)

9.30 - 10.00 – Arrive at DayPrinto

10.00 – 13.00 Work

13.00 - 14.00 Free time –on site cosmetic salon open Monday, Wednesday, and Friday

14.00 - 15.00 Lunch (prepared by DayPrinto chef)

15.00 - 18.00 Work

18.00 - 18.30 Travel back to Fontanella

18.30 - 19.30 Exercise as desired

20.30 - ? Dinner, hopefully with me (?)

Elaine smiled to herself. What a “work” schedule!

She looked back at the business suit, touching the lush fabric. The man certainly did know how to cheer a woman up in the morning.

As she donned the luxurious silk robe and padded down the spiral staircase, she thought of her typical day working the last six months for Gene Lassiter and the U.S. Government.

7:00 Drag ass out of bed

7:00 – 7:30 Gulp down instant coffee and try to wake up

7:30 Shower & eat (yogurt & frozen juice)