The Storm Protocol (38 page)

‘Which documents would those be?’ he asked politely.

I thought about it for a minute or so.

‘I’ll know them when I see them,’ I said.

‘As you wish,’ he said. ‘I’ll unpack, you can sort.’

First thing out of the pile was my mother's death certificate. I’d seen a lot of death, and it hadn
’t affected me in the slightest, but this particular document brought a lump to my throat. I knew why of course; still a lot of unfinished business.

There were numerous
other documents, relating to the original purchase of my current house, and the sale of the old house on Merchants Quay, but strangely enough, on both documents, my mother was named as the sole owner. I scratched my head.

Then out of the blue, I pulled another document out of the pile; my mother's birth certificate. I gave it a cursory glance over and then put it to one side. I was about to pick up the next document
, when something made me go back.

‘This is odd,’ I said to the aged solicitor. ‘Check out my mother's maiden name?’

I pointed to the area on the document.

‘Maiden name?’ he responded
, looking at me with a puzzled expression. ‘Your mother was never married.’

If he had shot me, I wouldn't have been more surprised.

‘What do you mean, she wasn't married?’ I asked, almost in a whisper.

‘I’m not sure I can put it any plainer, young man,’ he said. ‘She wasn't married. There is no marriage certificate, no mention of a husband, no joint accounts, nothing.’

I scrabbled around on the desk. He looked at me in alarm, as documents started to go flying. At last I came up with the document I needed, holding it aloft like a trophy.

‘My birth certificate,’ I said. I almost ripped the document, I was so eager to unfold it. I read the single word, beautifully scripted in fountain pen. And then, as the full impact of the word sank in, I flopped down onto one of the chairs. He plucked the document from my nerveless fingers, his lips echoing the word that was repeating over and over in my own head;
unknown
.

‘How can that be?’ I asked finally, in a choked whisper.

He pulled up a chair and sat down facing me.

‘You’ve got to remember,’ he said kindly. ‘Ireland was a different place back then. In some ways you’re lucky
that you and your mum were able to stay together. In most cases, children born out of wedlock were forcibly removed and put into care homes.’

Both he and I instinctively shuddered at the thought.

‘But hold on a second,’ I said triumphantly. ‘I have a copy of my birth certificate which states that my father is Richard O'Neill.’

He shook his head a little sadly.

‘Back then, when the mothers were getting copies of the certificate,’ he said. ‘They would ask for the
father's
name to be filled in.’

I didn’t like the way he accentuated the word father.

‘Sometimes, all they had to do was ask, other times a small quantity of money would change hands.’

I shook my head in disbelief.

‘But I met him, I knew him,’ I said.

‘Did you really?’ he asked. ‘In those days it wasn't unheard of for cousins of the mother to play the part, or even brothers.’

‘So the man I knew as my father could have been my uncle or my second cousin?’ I asked.

‘He could,’ he
answered. ‘I’m sorry, young man.’

He patted my shoulder.

‘I thought you knew; that you were seeking information on your father to track him down. I didn't see it as unusual. I thought you were on a quest to find him, and were looking for some specific information.’

‘Yeah, that's pretty ironic isn’t it,’ I said
, a little sourly. ‘I come searching for my father, and find out I really do need to be searching for my father.’

I stood up abruptly.

‘Thank you, Mr Maguire, for taking the time to see me at such short notice.’

He shook my hand and looked at me with concern.

‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ he asked.

‘I’ll be fine,’ I said. ‘Thanks again.’

‘Take care of yourself, Thomas,’ he said.

I walked back into reception and asked the receptionist if I could use the restroom. She pointed at a different door on the other side of the corridor and handed me the key.

I sat down in one of the cubicles with my head in my hands and did something I had not done for almost thirty years; I cried.

When I exited the front door of the building some five minutes later, the outpouring of emotions had hardened my resolve like steel in a forge. Someone had made t
his personal. Now it was personal for me too; bad move on their part.

21
st
May 2011 – Eleven days after the Storm.

There is always a ‘but’ in this imperfect world. – Anne Bronte.

The steering wheel danced and twitched in his hands as the large low-profile tyres continually fed back to him what the car wanted to do.

At this stage of his life, Ben could afford pretty much any car he wanted and he had test-driven most, but the Mazda was still his favourite. Full four seat practicalities
, allied to a free revving rotary engine. Couple that with an almost ideal forty nine to fifty one percent weight distribution, rear-wheel drive and perfect temperament. It was the easiest car to push to the limit that he had ever driven, and no matter how much punishment he dished out, it would absolutely never fight him back. It didn't have a lot of torque, but if you kept the revs high, and your foot planted, you could have a serious amount of fun.

Ben always went to work early; partly because he was a hard worker
, but mostly because it was the best time for driving fast, especially in the wilds of West Cork. In the light of the early morning dawn, when the conditions were just right, you could see for miles. He could throw the car into the corners, secure in the knowledge that there was nothing coming towards him; nothing to spoil his enjoyment of just pure driving.

He glanced up; t
he way ahead was clear as far as he could see. As the corner approached, he turned in tight and kept his right foot firmly to the floor. He carried the speed into the apex, and felt the back starting to breakaway as it always did. He fed in just enough opposite lock to power slide through, before straightening up with a double shimmy. In no time at all, the next corner was upon him, and as he slid through corner after corner, the exhaust note growled back at him, echoed and amplified by the close cropped hedgerows.

‘It just doesn’t get a
ny better than this,’ he whispered to himself.

He shot through the entrance to the estate. Hand-braking the Mazda into the car park, he showered the front of the building with gravel and small stones. He put his hand on the bonnet as he got out
, and nodded in satisfaction. It was scorching, red hot, a sure sign that man and machine had been moving and performing in perfect harmony.

‘Morning, Mr Collins,’ said Bill, as Ben walked through reception.

Bill was one of the team of security guards that they’d employed, as the facility had started to take shape. Unlike most other security firms, this one was a spin off from David’s core business, and had a number of unique advantages over other firms. Not only did Bill have access to weapons, but he was well trained in their use, and application, and not afraid to employ them should the need arise. The facility was in very safe hands indeed.

As Ben sat at his desk, the smile slowly faded from his face. He had to now try and find the words to tell David that there was a little bit of a hiccup. It was nothing they couldn't handle;
Guido and Ernesto were their business partners after all, but he knew David’s initial reaction would not be positive, even though it had been the Mancini’s who had informed Ben of the issue.

Ben had been through the calculations in his head the previous night; he believed in having all the ammunition he needed up front
, so he worked them through again on the pad in front of him, realising his initial estimations were spot on. There would be no material disadvantage from a monetary point of view, which would be a relief in itself to David. The only problem was time, and this was the commodity that was most precious to his boss.

David was getting increasingly anxious. He had moved his base of operations away from the city and out to the country. Even though David loved his Clonakilty bolt hole, he felt removed from the action in the city and felt more exposed to exploitation and danger. It was taking much longer than they’d originally planned to get the factory up and running and David had pumped a lot of his own money into it as well. Ben knew that David did not get nervous
, and he also knew that at the moment David was extremely nervous. He was a hands-on business man. He had to be able to touch his business, so he was finding the distance very stressful.

Ben looked up and caught sight of the framed certificate on the wall opposite;
Harvard school of business
. He was a long way from the Ivy League now.

It was prophetic that his tutor at Harvard had told him once that he would make money at anything he did, regardless of whether it was legal or illegal. Ben had no qualms and no preference either way, it was just he
’d found the
illegal
route to be a little bit more profitable and a little bit quicker.

Where his exceptional intelligence came into play, was making sure that his name and his actions could never be linked to any of their illegal activities. He was more than happy for David to take the limelight
, but it took a huge amount of energy and concentration to keep his own name purged from the records. He didn't really care about what his boss did, and whether it was against the law. He didn't give a second thought to the consequences of David’s decisions or his actions, as long as they could not be linked back to him. In that respect he was no different from most corporate managers; corporate responsibility was not a word in his vocabulary.

Yes, his boss used euphemisms sometimes, and Ben pretended he didn't know what they meant; more for David’s sake than his
own. He was not stupid; he knew what the company did and how it made its money, but as far as he was concerned, his conscience was clear. If circumstances ever conspired against him, he could use the age-old defence; one that had not been modified or changed in generations. I was only following orders.

A shadow darkened his door
, and a minute later, a cappuccino was placed on the desk in front of him. He could see the steam rising through the drinking aperture on the safety-lid. For a second, he smiled. David was nothing if not a creature of habit. Ben looked at his watch; always the same drink and always the same time. He wordlessly grabbed his coffee, got out of his chair and the practiced routine began once more. He followed David the twenty yards or so down the corridor to the corner office.

David made himself comfortable as he always did, and leant back i
n his leather recliner with his hands crossed behind his head.

‘Thanks for the new girl by the way,’ said David. ‘Gave her a test drive last night
, if you know what I mean.’

They both laughed in a coarse and earthly fashion for a minute or so.

No, you didn't, Ben thought silently to himself.

Both of them knew that David rarely touched the girls. They gladly agreed to share his bed
, because they knew he was not looking for sex, and it was a welcome reprieve from the harshness of the street. Neither David nor Ben would have vocalised the thought, but for vastly differing reasons.

‘First off,’ said David with a beaming smile. ‘What do you know about this?’

He held up a copy of the Cork Examiner; the stark headline shrieked against the backdrop of a full size picture of a half demolished building.

Eight dead as drug war escalates.

‘They all belong to Black Swan,’ David said with a huge grin, as he passed the paper over.

He watched impassively as Ben read the story, his lips moving silently.

‘Sorry to disappoint you, boss, but it wasn’t anything to do with us.’

‘If not us, then who else?’ asked David with a puzzled expression. ‘This is bad karma
, Ben. Apart from me and Black Swan, there is no one else who has that type of firepower. They took down eight guys, for fucks sake!’

‘It definitely wasn’t us,’ said Ben soberly. ‘Unless someone else is trying to muscle in on our territory; one of the Dublin gangs maybe?’

‘We would have heard at least a vague murmuring of a rumour, if that was the case,’ said David. ‘Wouldn’t we?’

‘
An internal feud then? Maybe someone got fed up with their lowly position in the hierarchy.’

David’s face cleared.

‘Ben, I think you might just have put your finger on it. There’s very little loyalty among these guys.’

‘You really think so?’ asked
Ben. ‘Something doesn’t smell quite right to me.’

‘
Let’s be extra vigilant,’ said David. ‘I don’t mind fighting a war on a single front; I don’t want to have to start fighting a war on two fronts, especially when I’m stuck down here and effectively blind.’

‘I’ll get the word out,’ acknowledged Ben.

‘Still, it does make me a little nervous,’ said David. ‘I feel very exposed in this neck of the woods. Anything could be happening in that city. Our guys wouldn't exactly be the most loyal.’

‘I think you'd be surprised at our guys,’ s
tated Ben. ‘Loyalty has its price, just like everything else and we pay top dollar.’

‘Even so,’ said David. ‘I’m getting a bit jittery. We need to get this plant up and running
, and we need to do it real soon.’

Ben hesitated and David saw the hesitation. Ben hadn't expected to have to confront the issue so quickly.

‘Spit it out, man,’ demanded David. ‘I can see you’ve got something on your mind.’

‘The Mancini's rang me last night,’ said Ben. ‘There’s been a slight hitch.’

‘What do you mean by a slight hitch?’ asked David. ‘How slight?’

‘Apparently the protocol we are working to is incomplete. We need to stop all construction on the lines
, until we can verify the revised protocol in full, and ensure that the currently constructed production processes need no further modification.’

‘So
, more fucking delays,’ stated David, holding his head in his hands.

‘They’ve promised to bring the
complete extended protocol with them tomorrow, when they finally come to meet us,’ said Ben.

‘Yeah
, was going to ask you about that?’ said David, changing tack. ‘Is there anything that we need to be aware of prior to the meeting? What do we actually know about the Mancini's? Other than what we can read in the papers, of course,’ he added.

‘Information on them is quite difficult to come by,’
replied Ben.

He looked at David’s expression and held up his hands in mock surrender.

‘Hey, I’m not giving you an excuse,’ said Ben. ‘I had to go to hell and back to get this information. And I had to be doubly careful they didn't find out I was prying; apparently they are fiercely protective of any information pertaining to their personal lives and reputations.’

‘As are we all,’ acknowledged David. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to stop you, go on.’

‘Ernesto and Guido Mancini,’ began Ben. ‘They were born in Little Italy to one Francesco Mancini and his wife Maria. Francesco had gone over to America from Napoli in the twenties, with a tiny bit of money, and some very big ideas. He was not a big physical man by all accounts, but he had an aura about him, a presence. He was able to rally people around him and create strength in numbers.’

‘So
, the father was the driving force,’ said David.

Ben could see where his thoughts were going.

‘Yes and no,’ said Ben. ‘Francesco worked hard, very hard, and galvanised the Italian immigrant population around him. He brought a work ethic and a sense of worth to the community. But this is where he was different from his sons. He was ruthless, yes, he bent the law, yes, but Guido and Ernesto took it to a whole different level. It was a large semi-illegal empire when they inherited it, but they built it into a criminal corporation.’

‘Don’t get me wrong,’
continued Ben. ‘Francesco was no angel. By the time he died in 1968, he had amassed a nice modest fortune and a substantial business empire; mostly property and small businesses, a mixture of legal and slightly shady activity. Guido and Ernesto took over when they were young; very young.’

‘What age were they?’ asked David.

Ben thought about it for a second.

‘About the same age as you and John were,’ he said quietly.

‘So, they took over in 68,’ prompted David.

‘Yep, and they didn't have it easy,’ said Ben. ‘Just prior to Francesco’s death, there was already a simmering feud; one which he had managed to quell by sheer force of personality
, but the alliance was uneasy to say the least. When he died, there were initial rumblings that the Mancini brothers would not be recognised as his true successors. There were two particular men in the area who were extremely vocal. Their names were Giuseppe Mizzoni and Gianfranco Forlani. Within a week of Francesco's funeral, both men had disappeared and there was no more talk of the brothers not being the rightful airs to the empire.’

‘So
, they showed their ruthless streak early on?’ asked David.

‘They had to,’ said Ben. ‘Little Italy in the seventies was not for the faint hearted.’

‘So it was the two brothers who built up the business,’ stated David.

‘I think they were a product of their time, much as Francesco was a product of his,’ said Ben. ‘Francesco was extremely wealthy by the standards applied to people of the day
, but he hadn't the same opportunities that Guido and Ernesto were presented with. The late sixties/early seventies, especially in America, and especially along the East Coast, was a real purple period when it came to the drugs trade. It gave Guido and Ernesto the opportunity to get in at the ground floor. It was an opportunity they grasped with both hands. Before long, they’d expanded their reach across the whole of the eastern United States. The West Coast was a much harder nut to crack, and to this day, they wouldn't have as much penetration there as they would like. But they were one of the first to apply true supply-chain logic to the drugs trade and hence they are now worth conservatively multiple billions of dollars.’