Medusa - 9 (20 page)

Anyway, Zen was of no real importance, Alberto reminded himself. The key to the whole affair remained Gabriele Passarini, the one remaining member of the original Medusa cell besides himself. Once he had been taken care of, the police could sniff and snoop around to their hearts’ content. He would then retire to his house here in Prati, close the shutters, ignore the news and relax, conscious of a job well done and a life well spent.

He turned his thoughts to his imminent meeting with some people from the Ministry of Defence that had been requested, in terms that amounted to an order, ‘to clarify the situation’. In other words, to ensure that their arses would be covered if anything went wrong. Alberto hadn’t felt it appropriate to refuse, but he had cited reasons of security for changing the venue from the Ministry itself to Forte Boccea, the headquarters of the military intelligence service.

They had in turn declined that option, obviously not wanting to give Alberto home advantage any more than he wanted to play away at their ground. The result had been a compromise, in the form of a largely disused barracks and training camp in the heart of Prati, just a few minutes from Alberto’s home. The detour from the restaurant where he had eaten lunch had added ten minutes, and Cazzola’s call another five, but he would still be just in time.

He had given the meeting a considerable amount of thought, to the point of debating whether or not to wear his uniform. In the end he had decided against it, on the grounds that any overt display of his status and authority would be outweighed by the implication that this was a purely military matter. These men would be either high-level civil servants or up-and-coming politicians. Either way, their goal was to rise in a political hierarchy where military rank counted for nothing. They would wear suits, so he was wearing a suit.

He had also spent much time considering what exactly to tell them. This was almost impossible to decide in advance, since he couldn’t be sure how much they already knew and to what extent they might be prepared to give him a free hand, if only to keep their distance from the whole affair. In the end he had formulated a menu of possible options that he hoped would cover most eventualities, but it still remained to choose and execute his responses correctly on the spot and without apparent hesitation. These people might be civilians, but it would be an error to assume that because of this they were necessarily stupid.

The urban villas to his right had given way to a blank stretch of high wall topped with angled barbed wire and signs reading
Zona Militare
. A few minutes later, Alberto reached the gate, showed his identification to the sentry at the gate and warmly acknowledged his respectful salute. Matters had improved beyond all recognition since the government had ended the draft. Now the intake consisted of young men who were personally pre-selected for the military virtues, instead of a gaggle of resentful scum resigned to the bleak prospect of two years’ servitude as the cost of keeping the army democratic and the country safe from a possible armed coup.

‘Your guests are already here, sir,’ the sentry said, pointing to a black limousine drawn up on the other side of the courtyard, where a bored-looking driver in a peaked cap and dark glasses leant against the right front wing, smoking a cigarette and reading a newspaper.

‘When did they arrive?’

‘About ten minutes ago. Three of them. They were shown up to the former deputy commander’s office in B wing.’

Alberto checked his watch. They had arrived early, damn it, trying to score a point before the meeting had even started. Well, if they wanted to play stupid power games, he still had a few tricks up his sleeve.

‘Is the colonel back from lunch?’ he asked the sentry.

‘Not yet, sir.’

‘Contact the senior lieutenant on duty and tell him to proceed to the commander’s office on the double.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Alberto walked straight across the courtyard, through a door in the archway leading to the parade ground, and up two flights of stone steps. He glanced cautiously along the corridor at the top, then turned right and entered the first door he came to.

It was not a grand room, but it felt inhabited and businesslike. There were papers and files on the desk, and large maps and framed certificates of military awards on the walls. Best of all, Alberto knew the man in nominal command of this moribund establishment, having dropped in from time to time when he was feeling nostalgic for the old days. He also knew that the colonel’s lunch was invariably followed by a two- hour siesta at his private quarters on the other side of the parade ground.

The door behind him opened. It was the duty lieutenant. Alberto gave him his instructions and then went behind the desk. The chair was an old-fashioned swivelling affair in very dark oak. He adjusted the height of the seat until his shoes barely touched the ground, took a pen and a piece of paper from the stationery tray and began to write at random as the door opened again.

‘Ah, there you are!’ Alberto remarked urbanely as the three men walked in escorted by the young officer. ‘I was beginning to wonder what had become of you. Please, take a seat. Lieutenant, fetch another chair.’

‘There’s no need for that,’ snapped one of the Ministry officials. ‘I prefer to stand. I’ve been sitting for almost fifteen minutes in the office next door as it is!’

Alberto looked duly concerned.

‘Really? I do apologize. You must have been shown to the wrong room.’

The three newcomers looked uncertainly at each other as the lieutenant saluted and left. The one who had spoken waved the other two impatiently into the chairs on their side of the huge desk. He was in his mid-thirties, prickly and pushy, and made no attempt to conceal his distaste at the manner of the reception that he and his aides had been accorded.

‘I am Francesco Belardinelli, principal private secretary to the deputy Minister,’ he told Alberto. ‘You know what we’re here to discuss. There seems to be some considerable degree of divergence about the precise facts involved. Please be good enough to give us the whole story in your own words. Keep it brief, though. I can only spare an hour, and thanks to this mistake we have already wasted a quarter of it.’

The younger of the two aides switched on a small tape recorder and placed it on the desk, then took out a notebook and poised a pen over it. His older colleague sat tight, looking up at the ceiling like a builder checking for signs of damp. The secretary and the spin doctor, thought Alberto. He felt like a schoolboy hauled up before the headmaster to explain how the window of the old lady’s house on the corner came to be broken. Fortunately he had his answer ready.

‘I’m afraid I can’t comply with your wishes,’ he said.

Francesco Belardinelli eyed him with incandescent frigidity.

‘What is that supposed to mean?’

‘This matter involves national security issues of the very highest sensitivity,’ Alberto replied evenly. ‘Under the terms of my remit, I am only empowered to reveal the full facts directly to the Minister.’

‘I am a representative of the Minister,’ Belardinelli rapped back.

‘So is the driver who brought you here.’

‘How dare you?’ the other man shouted, now openly furious.

Alberto spread out his hands in a conciliatory gesture.

‘It’s a question of security clearance,
dottore
. The first thing I did when this meeting was arranged was to check yours. I regret that it is not of a sufficiently high classification to permit me to divulge the full facts involved. I am however quite prepared to address any questions you may have, as long as the answer would not conflict with the limitations I have already mentioned.’

‘This is sheer insolence, Guerrazzi! You SISMI people are required to report to the Ministry.’

‘I am only required to report to my immediate superiors, to the Minister of Defence in person, and of course to the Prime Minister and to the President of the Republic should they so desire. Not to principal private secretaries with a B3 security clearance.’

Belardinelli hammered his right fist into his left palm.

‘Right! So this meeting is a complete farce and a total waste of time.’

He turned to the other two.

‘We’re leaving.’

Alberto got to his feet.

‘Wait a moment,
dottore
! I’m sure we can work out a compromise solution that will satisfy your needs while ensuring that security remains intact. To get us started, may I ask why this affair is of such interest to the Ministry in the first place? It’s really just a dirty little secret dating back thirty years, of no contemporary relevance whatsoever except in so far as its revelation would cause severe embarrassment to the armed forces, resulting in destructive criticism and loss of morale. Steps are being taken to ensure that this does not happen, and I have no doubt that the whole thing will be forgotten in a week or two. Frankly, you would do much better to leave the matter to the professionals and avoid any involvement.’

Belardinelli eyed him across the room.

‘I appreciate how difficult it must be for you to understand the wider issues involved,
colonnello
, locked as you are into your little secret society of codebooks, classified files and security clearances, but even you may be aware that a cabinet reshuffle is imminent. If it goes wrong, one or more of the coalition parties might withdraw, bringing down the government. Our rivals at the Ministry of the Interior have already launched their own investigation…’

Alberto nodded. ‘An officer named Aurelio Zen.’

‘
Bravo
. I’m glad to hear that you are at least efficient. Nevertheless, there is clearly a secret to be discovered here. You have refused to reveal its precise nature, but you admit that it exists. If this Zen manages to unravel it, and this cock-and- bull story about a training accident involving nerve gas which we have been disseminating is revealed to be a lie, then the people at Interior will have scored a major coup. They will naturally make the most of it, and the outcome might well determine the fate of the present government. Is that clear enough, or would you like me to draw you a cartoon version?’

Alberto decided to let him have that one. He nodded submissively and sat down again.

‘I completely understand and share your concern,
dottore
, but may I remind you that what you rightly term the cock-and- bull story about nerve gas did not originate from SISMI, but from certain elements within the army who were desperate to explain the fact that the victim found in that alpine tunnel had been reported killed following an explosion on board a military flight over the Adriatic.’

‘So they knew who he was?’ Belardinelli shot back.

‘They knew who he was.’

‘Despite the fact that the
carabinieri
had listed the body as unidentified.’

‘I was able to help them.’

‘And how did you know?’

Alberto sighed regretfully.

‘The answer to that question would involve one of the breaches of security that I alluded to earlier. Let us just say that through various channels and resources available to my department, I was provisionally able to identify the body as being that of one Lieutenant Leonardo Ferrero.’

‘But instead of communicating this information to the
carabinieri
in Bolzano, you invoked the national security emergency clause and ordered them to seize the body and effects from the hospital and transfer them to Rome.’

Alberto shrugged.

‘It was perhaps a little precipitate, but it seemed the best course of action at that juncture.’

Belardinelli shook his head incredulously.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘So the body is that of an army lieutenant named Ferrero. Which regiment?’

‘The
Alpini
.’

‘And how did he die?’

This was the moment that Alberto had been building up to. He stood up and glanced around the room, as though worried about being overheard.

‘It was indeed the result of a misadventure, although not at the time nor in the manner of the version retailed to you by sources in the armed forces. The actual facts are very different. You must realize, first of all, that military mores were very different at the epoch of which we are speaking than is the case now. For example…’

‘We haven’t time for a lecture on military history,
colonnello
. Kindly restrict yourself to the facts.’

‘Very good. It appears that Lieutenant Ferrero and a number of his fellow junior officers were participating in a form of initiation ritual that was quite usual at the time. Those concerned spent a weekend or even longer on furlough in the military battlegrounds where so many members of their regiment had given their lives during the Great War. As you have reminded me that time is short, I shall not describe in detail the various ordeals which they were required to undergo in order to become “blood brothers” of our glorious dead. Suffice it to say that they were extremely arduous and painful. Unfortunately Lieutenant Ferrero must have suffered from some undiagnosed physical condition which rendered the initiation rites fatal.’

‘Why did those with him not simply report what had happened and have the body recovered then and there?’

‘The others naturally reported the tragedy to the colonel in charge of the detachment of the regiment in Verona on their return. Rightly or wrongly, he decided against disclosing the truth about Ferrero’s death, since that would have meant revealing the nature of the activities involved. Given the unstable political situation at the time, he feared that this would be seized upon by left-wing propagandists in an attempt to further discredit the armed forces. His initial idea was to recover the body and say that Ferrero had died during a training accident, but a few days later a military flight from Verona to Trieste happened to go down with all hands over the Adriatic. The colonel arranged for Lieutenant Ferrero’s name to be included on the list of those missing.’

Belardinelli caught the eye of the older aide, who was now checking the walls for cracks.