The Italian Divide (30 page)

“Some thugs in Singapore wanted me to leave with a souvenir from my visit.”

“Do you hurt?”

“I heal fast.”

“So I’ve learned. I just wish you didn’t end up as a punching bag all the time.”

“I’m afraid it’s part of the game.”

“At least the way you play it.”

“What happened in Beijing?”

She threw herself into his arms. “I never thought I’d get out.” She sounded distraught.

“Tell me about it.”

“First, I want to soak in a hot tub for about half an hour. Then I’ll be ready to talk.”

“Good. I’ll order some food from room service and a good bottle of wine. That’ll help you make the transition.”

“You think good food and wine can fix everything.”

“Well, most things.”

*     *     *

Half an hour later, Craig was sitting across the room service table from Elizabeth, hanging on every word as she recounted her brief and harrowing trip to Beijing.

He was so relieved she was safely back.

At the end, she said, “Bottom line: we now have confirmation that one of Zhou’s aides was in the Venice hotel room with Parelli. We also know that Mei Ling was unable to control Zhou. I was happy to get out of there. And how was your day?”

He told her about Singapore and Washington. Then about his dinner with Alberto. When he began telling her about the disappearance of Alberto’s daughter, Ilana, he could barely speak. It brought back awful memories of Zhou’s murder of his own daughter. “Giuseppe’s doing everything possible to locate Ilana,” Craig said. “But it’s easy to hide people. I don’t have a good feeling about this. Zhou’s vicious and cruel.”

“Let’s be optimistic. Giuseppe knows the countryside. Speaking of that, how’d you find out about this place in Orta?” she asked.

“I read about it in a guidebook.”

“Liar. Why didn’t you ever take me there?”

“You were pursuing your career.”

“What was her name?”

He had no intention of telling her about his friend in Milan, which would have triggered more questions, such as: “What was she like? Was she better than me in bed? Was she …?” Now that he was back with Elizabeth, he’d never see the woman again.

“Okay. That was the commercial. Can we go back to the program?”

“I guess so. Some day when you’ve had too much to drink, I’ll get it out of you.”

“Now let’s talk about my Barry Gorman ploy. As I told you before I was so rudely interrupted, Alberto is willing to cooperate. Giuseppe will help us put it together. So I’m ready to roll.”

“What’s your first step?”

“Going public with my competing offer for Alberto’s bank. Either in a radio or a newspaper interview that won’t show Barry Gorman’s picture. I can touch up my appearance a little, but I want to minimize the risk of someone concluding Barry Gorman is Enrico Marino and a phony. Any ideas who could do the interview?”

“A friend of mine, Carlo Fanti, is a top reporter at
Italy Today
. He told me where Parelli was staying in Venice, so I owe him a favor I’d like to repay. He’d love to do this. I’ll tell him you’re giving him an exclusive.”

“Would he be willing to do it without Barry Gorman’s picture?”

“If I tell him that’s a condition. The story’s good enough.”

She checked her watch. “Too late to call Carlo this evening. I’ll call first thing in the morning.”

“Perfect. That takes care of Zhou’s bank move. Now what do we do about his Parelli operation?”

“After we cleared Chinese air space, that’s all I thought about for the rest of the long plane ride.”

“What’d you decide?”

“I don’t have enough to write an article exposing Zhou’s financial support for Parelli.” She sounded dejected. “The fact that Parelli had a meeting with a Chinese man in his Venice hotel room who is an aide of Zhou’s doesn’t get me far enough. I know what my boss is like. He’d kill the piece. I need more evidence. Somehow I’ll figure out how to get it if it’s the last thing I do.”

Milan

W
hile preparing for his interview with Carlo Fanti, Craig thought about his appearance. There wouldn’t be any pictures, but Craig still had to worry about Carlo recognizing him as Enrico Marino. Perhaps Carlo had no interest in racing and had never seen Enrico Marino, but then again maybe he was an avid fan. Craig decided to do some minor touch ups and hope that was sufficient. He colored his black hair a sandy brown. He bought a pair of glasses with plain glass lenses. When he looked in the mirror, he was satisfied that he had sufficiently changed his appearance.

Craig met Carlo in the lobby of the
Italy Today
newspaper building. Elizabeth’s friend was in his fifties with a stubble of a beard and a friendly smile. He shook Craig’s hand firmly. “I’m pleased to meet you, Barry Gorman.”

Craig, who was accustomed to making snap judgments about people, decided that he liked Carlo.

“Likewise,” Craig replied. “Elizabeth said lots of good things about you.”

“How do you know her?”

Craig had to be careful to stick with the Barry Gorman bio and the fake Philoctetes website. He was a Stanford undergrad and went to Harvard Business School. But they couldn’t have met when she was at Harvard. He was too much older.

“We met when we were both in New York. She was working for a paper there. I was with a private equity firm based in Manhattan.”

“Was it romantic?”

“Just business. She was covering one of my deals that had international implications. She’s a helluva reporter.”

“You can say that again. Let’s go to the café down the street. I find it easier to talk there.”

“Sure. Whatever you want. Elizabeth told you no pictures. You okay with that?”

“I can live with it. I was wondering why.”

“Once, I was in a bidding contest for an acquisition and the principal on the other side hired someone to use a little force to get me to back off. Since then, I figure if they can’t recognize me, it’ll be harder to hit me.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Wish I weren’t. Business can be like warfare.”

Carlo led the way to a small café. There he directed Craig to a remote corner that was deserted. He picked up two coffees at the bar and joined Craig.

As he sat down, Carlo stared at Craig for a few seconds. Craig held his breath, hoping Carlo didn’t recognize Enrico Marino.

The reporter didn’t say anything. Instead he removed a pen and steno pad from his bag. “I’m old school,” he said. “No computers.”

“Whatever works.”

While Craig sipped his coffee, Carlo said, “Elizabeth didn’t tell me what this was about. She just said that her friend Barry Gorman was in private equity and he had a real scoop. So you better start from scratch.”

“Okay. How much do you know about private equity?”

“It’s a way for rich people to get even richer.”

They both laughed. “You’re close. I head up a private equity firm based in San Francisco, the Philoctetes Group. We raise money from investors. Then I travel around the world trying to find investment opportunities to put that money to work. Right now I have a fund of 50 billion I’m working with.”

As Craig had been talking, he noticed Carlo writing furiously. He paused for a minute to let Carlo catch up.

“What brings you to Italy?”

“I learned that control of your largest bank, Turin Credit, is in play. I just made an offer to buy Alberto Goldoni’s stock.”

Carlo looked startled. “I never thought that Alberto Goldoni would sell. That bank has family history.”

Craig smiled. “I don’t want to appear crass, Carlo, but if the price is right, everything is for sale.”

“Who else is bidding on it?”

“Victoria Bank of Hong Kong made a 20 billion euro offer. I went to 25 hoping to wrap it up quickly, but Victoria has deep pockets. They may keep bidding. That’s what I like about this business. You never know what your competitors will do.”

“Sounds as if you enjoy what you’re doing.”

“I love it.”

“If you get control of Alberto’s bank, will you change how it operates?”

“Absolutely not. Alberto is a superb manager. I’d like him to remain on for at least a couple of years as CEO to make sure we keep it on the tracks.”

“You won’t start firing employees and take all those cost-cutting measures I heard about with private equity owners?”

“I don’t operate that way. People on my staff have thoroughly studied Turin Credit. We’re convinced it’s an excellent bank with dedicated employees. I want to keep it that way.”

“Will you change the direction of the business?”

“Right now the bank is strong in Italy, Western Europe, and the Middle East. I would like to expand into Asia and Latin America. Those areas have the potential for growth.”

“Would that mean transferring employees out of Italy?”

“Some perhaps, but I envision an overall gain in employment here.”

Carlo looked over his note pad.

“Anything else I can tell you?” Craig asked.

“Where can I find information about the Philoctetes Group?”

Craig gave him his card. “Check our website.”

He and Betty had revised it before he returned to Italy. He was confident it would withstand scrutiny.

“Elizabeth was right,” Carlo said. “This is big news. It’ll be on the front page of
Italy Today
tomorrow morning.”

“Good. I’ll look for the article.”

“By the way, where will you be staying in Italy? In case I want to check any facts or talk to you again.”

“I’ll be moving around a lot, but when in Turin, I’ll be at the Grand Hotel Sitea”.

“Am I allowed to say that in the article?”

“I’d rather you didn’t. Same reason I don’t want any pictures. I’m afraid I may be a target. I don’t want to make it easy for anyone to find me.”

Craig had to stick with his story, but he realized that disclosing his hotel in the article was irrelevant. There were only a couple of luxury hotels in Turin, which was where a private equity high roller would stay. He was registered under the name Barry Gorman. By tapping into hotel computers or making a couple of phone calls, Zhou or his goons could find out where Craig was staying. That was okay with Craig. He wanted Zhou to launch his attack against Barry Gorman.

As soon as Craig separated from Carlo, he called Giuseppe.

“Any news about Ilana Goldoni?” he said anxiously.

“Not a thing. We have a large force on the case. They’ve combed the entire Bologna area. Absolutely no trace of her. They’re expanding the perimeter of their search.”

“Have the parents heard anything from the kidnappers?”

“Not a word.”

“That confirms what I thought,” Craig said grimly. “Zhou is waiting for Goldoni to contact McKnight who is no doubt back in Hong Kong which will never extradite him. He’s waiting for Alberto to tell McKnight he’s ready to sell.”

“I agree with you. That means we have to move quickly. At some point, Zhou may decide Ilana’s not giving him the leverage he wants and kill her.”

Paris

U
nless it was raining hard in the evening, Elizabeth walked from her office at the
International Herald
across the Jardin des Tuileries and across the Pont de la Concorde to her apartment just off Boulevard St. Germain on the left bank. This evening there was fog and a little drizzle. Not enough to keep her from walking.

As she cut across the Tuileries, it was a little after ten in the evening. Elizabeth was deep in thought, recalling the numerous Italian news stories she had seen today—all announcing how much of a commanding lead Parelli had. She also tried to think of how she could get the critical information she needed linking Parelli to Zhou so she could destroy Parelli’s campaign.

Because it was nighttime, only a scattering of people were walking on the paths that cut across the well-tended grass. She heard footsteps behind her.

When she turned, she saw two young men who appeared to be Chinese in the dim light. They were both close to six feet tall and powerfully built, and were about twenty yards behind her. She felt a surge of anxiety, but told herself not to become paranoid. There were plenty of Chinese people in Paris. All of them weren’t working for Zhou.

Still, she recalled what had happened at Beijing Airport. Zhou was definitely after her. Ever since she and Craig split up twenty-one months ago, and Zhou’s men followed her, she had grown accustomed to keeping a gun with her at all times. She reached into the bag draped over her shoulder. She felt around until she clasped the .22 in her hand. At the same time, she increased her pace.

She strained her ears to listen. The two men were walking faster as well. She began to run. They were running, too. And they were faster.

She realized that with the risk of attack by Zhou she had been foolish to take such a deserted route home. She would have been better staying on wide boulevards with pedestrians. But it was too late to dwell on that.

If she made it to the Place de la Concorde, which would be brightly lit with lots of traffic and pedestrians, she’d be safe. She gauged the distance and how rapidly they were catching up.

If the two men were after her, she didn’t want to give them the advantage of attacking from behind. She suddenly stopped and pivoted to face them. As she did, she saw one of them pull a metal pipe about three feet long from inside his jacket. He raised his arm with the pipe. There was no longer any question about their motives.

She guessed at their plan. One would tackle and hold her. The other would beat her with the pipe.

She glanced around anxiously, but didn’t see anyone. Shouting for help was pointless. They were moving up fast. Only ten yards away now.

She yanked the gun out of her bag and aimed it at them. They stopped dead in their tracks, stunned.