The Italian Divide (38 page)

“That sounds good,” Dempsey said. “Meantime, we’ll maintain satellite and drone surveillance of Zhou’s house. To make sure he’s there at zero hour. Everybody good with that?”

“Yes, sir,” rang out around the room.

“You’ll split into two groups of two. Darrell and Glen are G1. Doug and Tony G2. For the assault, you’ll have automatic weapons with suppressors and also tear gas and masks. G1 will take out any guards at the front gate and blast it open. All four of you race to the house. Craig will drive the ambulance in and park it in front.”

Dempsey was talking fast. He paused to take a breath. Then continued. “G1 will secure and hold the first floor and the building entrance. G2 and Craig will move up the stairs to the second and third floors. Doug will secure the second floor. Tony, you’ll move up to the third with Craig. We’ll provide you, Craig, with a powerful sedative administered by syringe to disable the target. Speed is critical. Knock down doors that don’t open quickly. You have to get in and out before the Swiss police come. Figure you’ll have twenty minutes max. Less would be better. Everybody clear on that?”

All heads in the room were nodding. Dempsey turned to Craig. “It’s your operation. Over there, you’re in charge. That isn’t something I’m used to doing. Turning command of my men to an outsider, but with your record it’s justified.”

“Thank you for your confidence, Colonel.”

“Anybody have any questions or issues with the plan?”

Darrell spoke up. “Suppose the target eludes Craig and is escaping? Do we shoot to kill?”

Dempsey pointed to Craig.

“No. Just hit him in the leg. I need him alive.”

“Anybody else?”

No one else said anything.

“Alright. Enough talking. We have plenty of work to do to nail down the operational details and not much time.”

As Craig rode in a jeep back to the airport, he had a queasy feeling in his stomach. This operation in Ascona was beginning to sound a lot like the attack he had tried in Bali—when attempting to kidnap Zhou Yun’s brother. There, he had led four courageous and talented young Spanish men with wonderful lives ahead of them, into a bloody ambush in which all four of them had died and Craig had barely escaped. He couldn’t bear to think he’d be doing the same thing to Darrell, Glen, Doug, and Tony.

Ascona

Z
hou’s unmarked private jet arrived at Milan’s Malpensa Airport at five o’clock Monday afternoon on a beautiful summer day with a robin’s-egg blue sky and not a cloud. As he climbed down the stairs to the tarmac, he looked up at the mountains in the distance. Their peaks were still covered with snow.

Each of the past two years he had brought with him to the Ascona conference several top ranking officials in the Finance Ministry whose assignment had been to gather information about world economic developments from other delegates, particularly those from Europe and the United States. This year he brought only eight security men, whom he had borrowed from the military and were dressed in civilian clothes, and Qing. Their bags contained rifles, automatic weapons, and pistols.

Though he planned to deliver a speech Friday morning, touting China’s successful investments in Africa, Zhou had no interest in economic issues at this year’s Ascona conference. He had come for one reason: to kill Craig Page. After twenty-one long months, he would finally be avenging his brother’s death.

Waiting for Zhou and his entourage at the airport were three black Mercedes sedans for Zhou and his men to drive. One was bullet proof. Zhou would be riding in the back of that car. One of his men would be driving. Two more would be in the car with him. His other five men would be split between the two other cars, one to ride in front of Zhou’s car; the other behind.

An hour and a half later, the caravan passed through the town of Locarno, which also fronts on Lake Maggiore. Once they crossed the bridge over the River Maggiaone, they were in Ascona; then turned left onto via Delta, passed the Park Hotel and approached number 16.

The instant they were in front, the door opened. Someone inside must have seen them coming.

Zhou had taken over the house for the last two years. By now, the routine was settled. Zhou paid 100,000 euros for the five nights. In return, Hans Wilhelm, the caretaker, arranged for a team of maids and a kitchen staff to come in every day between 3 p.m. and 6 p.m. They cleaned the house. Then they all left until the next afternoon. Zhou and his group had the house to themselves.

Once Wilhelm showed Zhou the food, he and his staff departed.

Zhou, as he had in the past, took the master suite, the largest room on the top floor facing the river on one side and Lake Maggiore in the distance. The head of Zhou’s security group assigned the other rooms, except for the room next to Zhou, which would be occupied by Qing Li.

As Zhou got off the elevator on the top floor, he saw Qing waiting for him. “I’ve swept your room for bugs,” Qing told Zhou.

“And the other rooms?”

“Also clean. We have to go to your room to talk. I have something to tell you.” Qing sounded worried.

Once they were in Zhou’s room, Qing took out his hand held computer and turned it over to Zhou. “Look at this article that just went up on the
International Herald
website.”

In stunned disbelief, Zhou read Elizabeth’s article, exposing in detail his agreement with Parelli.

Her source? He asked himself. Who was her source?

Then it struck him. There was only one possibility: Luciano. Zhou had made a critical error not having Qing kill Luciano.

At the end of the article, he saw a news flash stating that Parelli would be giving a speech at seven this evening. He checked his watch. That was in a couple of minutes.

Zhou turned on the television across the room to CNN. Moments later, he saw Parelli’s picture on the screen. He grabbed the remote and turned up the volume.

Parelli was speaking to the media with a cluster of microphones in front of his face. Zhou listened intently.

“It is with the deepest regret,” Parelli said, his expression grim, “that I have decided to withdraw from the election and terminate my New Italy Party. I do so because the disclosure of the sale of my farm and winery to a Chinese man has caused a backlash among my supporters. Unfortunately, many of them have withdrawn their support even though everyone recognizes I did nothing illegal or inappropriate. It was my property and I was free to sell to whomever I wanted. I am truly astonished in this age of globalization that some people should be so narrow minded to believe that Italian property must be sold to an Italian.

“I feel dismayed because I wanted the best for the people of Italy and my New Italy Party would have done that. The Chinese man involved, a very respected international business figure, purchased my farm and winery, just as he purchased two top wineries in France. He did not want—nor did I promise him—any influence in the new Northern Italy nation should I have been elected.

“However, I realize that in politics perception often trumps reality. And that is all I have to say.”

Reporters fired questions but Parelli ignored them. Holding his head high, he turned and walked away.

Zhou wasn’t surprised by Parelli’s withdrawal. He didn’t have any choice after the publication of Elizabeth’s article. She had destroyed his campaign.

As for the monetary consequences for Zhou, they wouldn’t be significant. His lawyers hadn’t yet forwarded the agreement to Parelli for his signature; now they wouldn’t. Parelli had no doubt spent on his campaign some of the money in the Swiss account, but in such a short period it couldn’t have been that much. Zhou had set up the account with a provision permitting him to take back the funds at any time until the agreement was signed. Nor was he disappointed that he wouldn’t own Parelli’s winery and vineyard. If he made a move into Italian wines, and he might very well do so, he’d go after the more prestigious Gaja or Antonori.

Zhou called his Swiss banker to transfer back the bulk of the one billion euros from the Parelli account.

There was a moment’s pause. Zhou expected to hear the banker say the transfer was made. Instead, Zhou heard, “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Parelli took it all except for 1,000 euros and moved it to a bank in Palermo, Sicily. It’s gone.”

“Make a claim to the bank in Sicily. Demand the money.”

“Unfortunately, the Palermo bank is controlled by the Mafia. They don’t respond to demands from other banks. Doing business in Sicily is a challenge.”

Zhou knew he had a lost cause. “That thief, Parelli,” he wailed in frustration and hung up.

So Parelli would be able to pay off his debts and turn a nice profit when all this was over. Zhou swore he’d gain revenge, but right now he had to concentrate on closing the deal for Alberto’s bank. That would be a success Zhou could point to with the Central Committee if Mei Ling came to them with the loss of one billion euros to Parelli. It was about all Zhou could salvage from his Italian operation that was going from bad to worse. He had to gain control of Alberto’s bank.

Zhou had to move on from the Parelli fiasco. He had no choice. He explained to Qing what Tyler had told him about Barry Gorman, and about the meeting he had set with Barry Gorman, who was really Craig Page.

“I’m not surprised,” Qing said. “I could never understand what Barry Gorman was doing. That made me suspicious. For example, his press interview.”

“Thursday morning, we’re going to kill Craig Page,” Zhou said coldly.

“How do you plan to do that?” Qing sounded excited.

“Let’s start with the fact that I have a great advantage. I know that Barry Gorman is Craig Page, but Page isn’t aware that I know.”

“Are you certain of that?”

Zhou didn’t like being questioned. “Yes, I’m quite certain. I have to assume Page is planning to kill me when he comes Thursday morning. He’s still trying to avenge his daughter’s death.”

“That’s a reasonable assumption.”

“So I have to kill him before he gets here at ten Thursday morning and make sure it can’t be attributed to me. I don’t intend to give him the address here until an hour before our meeting so Page won’t be able to plan a move against me.”

Qing was nodding. “Do you know where he’s staying in Ascona?”

“I’ve had someone hack into the computers of all the leading hotels in the area, but none of them have a reservation for Barry Gorman. My assumption is he won’t be staying here Wednesday evening. He’ll come into Ascona in the morning of our meeting. Via Delta is the only road leading to this house. I want you to work with the eight security men I’ve brought. Thursday morning, I want four of them placed on via Delta close to this house’s driveway. Two on the north and two in the south because we don’t know which way he’ll be coming. One as spotter. One as a shooter.”

“I’ll do it. What about the other four?”

“Station one along the driveway, leading to the house and one in the back between the house and river, in case the first four miss. And leave the last two with me in the house, in the event Page, who’s tricky, finds another way to get inside. Once Page is shot, it will be up to the killer to escape. You explain to all eight men that if they do the shooting, or if they’re the spotter, they can’t be taken alive under any circumstance. Tell the others to fasten weights to Page’s dead body and dump it into the river downstream from the house where the river flows into the lake.”

“I understand,” Qing said. “Do you have a photograph of Barry Gorman?”

Zhou reached in to his bag and extracted a dozen copies. “This was taken from the Philoctetes website.”

“What will you do until Thursday morning?”

“What I would normally do at this conference. I want to hear some of the speeches, particularly that of Jane Peterson, the chairman of the US Federal Reserve who will be talking tomorrow morning about their view of interest rates. Also, mix around with other delegates. Attend receptions.”

Zhou could tell that Qing wanted to say something, but he was hesitating.

“What are you worrying about?” Zhou demanded.

“I think you should stay here in the house until Page is dead. He knows what you look like. He may try to kill you before Thursday morning. At the conference, we may not be able to protect you.”

“Never,” Zhou said emphatically. “I refuse to hide in a cave like a sniveling coward. I’m the finance minister of the world’s most powerful nation and I intend to conduct my business. Craig Page will not upset my activities. Do not suggest that again.”

“Yes, sir.”

As Zhou thought about his plan some more, he realized it had one weakness. By killing Barry Gorman so close to the house he was staying in, he would be drawing suspicion to himself with the Swiss authorities, who would eventually learn that Barry Gorman was involved in a struggle for control of the Turin Bank to which Zhou had ties. The Swiss were good at cutting through bank chains of ownership. Their banks created enough of them. And if Page’s killer were captured either alive or dead and he were Chinese, or Craig’s body was discovered in the river close to Zhou’s house on Delta Road, that would heighten their suspicions. Zhou was confident he could buy his way out of being implicated, but he didn’t need the aggravation. It would be neater and cleaner to kill Page before he ever got to Ascona.

He told Qing that was what he wanted to do.

“Work with my computer people in Beijing.” Zhou told Qing. “Find out when Barry Gorman is scheduled to fly into any airport in Italy or Switzerland. Once we have a flight, we can send a couple of my men to meet that flight. Then follow Page as he leaves the airport and kill him before he ever reaches Ascona. That’ll be much better.”

Qing raced off to his own room to hook up with Zhou’s computer people. Half an hour later, he returned looking dejected. “No flights for Barry Gorman into any European airport. They will keep checking every few hours and let me know if that changes. They said he might be flying under another name.”