Cosi Fan Tutti - 5 (30 page)

were discovered today, Giosue Marotta/

‘But surely he was charged with stabbing a Greek

sailor?’ a TV reporter asked with a puzzled frown.

‘Exactly! Marotta, a noted hothead, was injudicious

enough to get involved in a scuffle with some foreign

naval personnel while acting as courier in a low-level

smuggling operation of no relevance to the present case.

This gave us a convenient pretext to arrest him without revealing our hand and thereby losing the initiative. But his connection to the Strade Pulite terrorists was proved in tragic and dramatic fashion when one of their commandos attacked a police car in which he was being transferred to hospital and cold-bloodedly gunned down one

of our most promising younger officers, Ispettore

Armando Bertolini.’

There was a moment of respectful silence.

‘But if you knew about Strade Pulite from the first, why couldn’t you protect the other three victims?’ another

voice demanded.

The Questore raised one finger.

‘It is essential to distinguish here between knowledge

of the group’s existence and precise intelligence as to its goals or targets. Thanks to our extensive intelligence

efforts, we have been aware of these fanatical throwbacks to the anni di piombo for some considerable time, but it is only within the last few days that we have been in a position to predict where they would strike next.’

‘What can you tell us about the method of assassination they employed?’ asked the plant, helpfully changing the subject.

‘It was the same in every case,’ the Questore replied, as though reading from a tele-prompt. ‘A truck belonging to the municipal cleaning department would be stolen at

gunpoint. In the present case, the attackers disguised

themselves as policemen performing a routine traffic

control. Meanwhile the prospective victim had been followed, his movements noted, and a suitable time and

venue selected. He would then be knocked unconscious

and thrown into the truck, there to be crushed to death by the compacting machinery. The whole thing took only a

few seconds. Afterwards the truck was driven to an abandoned factory site in the Pendino area, where there was

vehicular access to a series of underground quarries. The contents were then deposited in the disused cistern

where we discovered them today.’

A female reporter held up her hand and received the

Questore’snod.

‘Three of the victims - Attilio Abate, Luca Delia

Ragione and Ermanno Vallifuoco - were all under judicial investigation for alleged offences ranging from bribery and tax evasion to association with organized crime/ she noted. “The other, Giosue Marotta, was a known confederate of Vallifuoco. How do you explain this choice of targets?

What were the terrorists’ long-term aims?’

The Questore assumed an air of intense gravity.

‘The men arrested this morning are still under interrogation, and we hope to have more precise answers to your questions soon. However, the overall object seems quite clear. It is true that the victims had been accused of various offences, but we must not forget that these allegations had not been tested in a court of law. Without wishing to prejudge the findings of the investigating magistrates, I suggest that the aim of these terrorists was to ensure that they never were/

‘You mean that these were political acts?’ prompted the plant.

‘Without doubt. This was a classic campaign of destabilization, such as we have seen so many times before in

recent years. In short, it was the work of ideologically motivated extremists determined to demonstrate that the rule of law had broken down and that only direct vigilante action could “clean the streets” of our cities. And

unfortunately there were many ready to believe them, to call for a suspension of due legal procedure and the

implementation of new, so-called “elite” law-enforcement agencies, operating independently of the police and

unaccountable to our democratically elected representatives in Rome.’

He smiled.

‘Not the least of the triumphs we have achieved here

today is to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that good

old-fashioned policing, using tried and true methods, is capable of obtaining the desired results without any

recourse to such new and potentially risky experiments.’

‘So how did you trap them in the end, dottore?’ asked a reporter from RAI Uno.

‘Thanks to a combination of diligent and tireless work

by the staff of this service, and the exceptional heroism of the operative whom I personally seconded from Criminalpol.’

Another nod in Zen’s direction.

‘Despite all our stringent security measures, we

learned a few days ago that our targets had identified

him, that they were aware of the threat which his presence in Naples posed, and that they were preparing to eliminate it. I personally communicated these facts to

Dottor Zen in a conference late last night. I told him that I was not prepared to order him to proceed with an operation which put his life in imminent danger, but that if he

agreed to volunteer, then we might draw the terrorists

into a trap and smash the whole operation once and for

all. I am proud to say that, faced with such a terrible choice, he did not hesitate for a single moment.’

The serried faces all turned towards Zen with expressions of awe and admiration. Flash bulbs exploded, cameras

whirred, microphones were pushed forward.

‘The Questore is too generous,’ Zen said with an

embarrassed shrug. “I only did my duty, as I hope and

believe that any other member of the force to which I am proud to belong would have done in the same circumstances.

But let us not exaggerate the contribution of any

one individual. A coup such as this is dependent not on the exploits of one person, but rather on team-work, dedication, discipline and efficiency. I would like to add that

I have never seen these qualities more abundantly or

effectively employed than here in Naples, under the

inspirational leadership of my esteemed superior and

colleague.’

‘What about the identity of the terrorists?’ someone

called out. ‘Have they any links to other organizations, domestic or foreign?’

The Questore shook his head and held up his hands.

‘That’s all we have time for now,’ he declared firmly. “I and my men have pressing work to do to clear up the

remaining questions surrounding this case. As for Dottor Zen, as I am sure you will appreciate, he is in need of rest and recuperation after his heroic ordeal.’

The Questore sweeps out with his retinue, the reporters hasten away to break the news he has given them to a

waiting world, and the various soldiers, servants, sailors, wedding guests, street people and hangers-on who have

somehow squeezed in all withdraw, leaving Aurelio Zen

alone upon the bare, brilliantly lit stage.

Finale

Not for long, however, for almost at once the doorbell

sounds, unleashing a bustle and scurry of activity. First the food arrives, carried upstairs in deep trays balanced on the shoulders of two strapping lads who proceed to

lay it out on silver platters under the direction of an elderly retainer distinguished both by his uniform - significantly more pleated and layered than theirs - and by the

expression of transcendental dignity which he retains

throughout these proceedings, contrasting pointedly

with the air of barely controlled panic with which his

underlings go about their business.

Before long, bottles of spumante make their appearance, arrayed in beds of cracked ice, together with yards of

snowy starched linen to cover the trestles hastily erected at one end of the terrace to accommodate all these goodies.

And not a minute too soon, for the guests are already

starting to roll up. The first to arrive is Valeria, who has only with difficulty been dissuaded from bringing a

selection of snacks and appetizers of her own devising in a well-meaning attempt to bail out the helpless bachelor who has impulsively decided to throw a party for the

entire cast, and now appears awed and slightly resentful at having so misjudged both the competence of the host

and the scale of the hospitality which he has laid on.

But this mood does not last. As she tells Zen, her daughters have been in touch and assured her that all is well, and with that anxiety dispelled she is in a mood to celebrate.

Pasquale and Immacolata Higgins are the next to appear, the former almost unrecognisably elegant thanks to a very nice near-Armani suit and all the accoutrements. La Igginz has just spent all day, not to mention a lucrative part of the night, behind the wheel and is wearing a rather less fetching ensemble designed with a view to comfort rather than

style, terminating in a pair of garish yellow plastic sandals.

Valeria Squillace starts to feel even better.

Zen returns the silver box which Pasquale gave him,

slightly battered by the experiences he went through, and explains how it saved his life.

‘So what’s the secret?’ he asks.

Pasquale shrugs.

‘It’s not something to speak about at an event like this, duttb. Abit of respect is called for. Let’s just say that every year the corpse of a certain saint, preserved here in

Naples, exudes a liquor which the priests soak up with

cotton wool and make available to a few select people

who…’

Aurelio Zen is already beginning to look as though he

was sorry he asked, but luckily for him Dario De Spino

now emerges from the interior of the house, whose front door downstairs has been left open to save the host from having to run up and downstairs every time someone

rings. Dario, it must be said, thought long and hard

before agreeing to show up at all. His sixth sense still told him that it would be better to lie low for a while, particularly at any function to which Gesualdo and Sabatino will

inevitably have been invited.

Nevertheless, the promise of a lavish party with lots of free eats and booze was a powerful inducement, and the

flattering pleas of the two Albanians, who phoned him

personally and practically burst into tears when he hesitated, was just enough to swing the balance, albeit against

his better judgement. He does not want to lose contact

with lolanda and Libera, for whom he still has plans

whose scope is validated by the spectacle they offer,

entering with a studied air of confidence and sophistication, resplendent in the outfits which Dario has had

knocked up for them through a friend of a brother-in

law’s friend’s cousin’s business associate.

‘Quite the party, Don Alfonso!’ he exclaims, voicing the thoughts of the other guests, none of whom, however, has been vulgar enough to express them.

Zen shrugs modestly.

‘It’s not every day one survives a murder attempt.’

‘Murder?’

‘How?’

‘When?’

‘Where?’

‘Why?’

The guests, including Professor Esposito, who has just

joined the gathering, crowd eagerly around Zen.

‘Shortly after midnight this morning,’ he begins, sending Valeria a meaningful glance, “I was on my way home

when I encountered a team of garbage collectors at work.’

The newcomer laughs.

‘Impossible! I’m sorry, dottore, but you’ll have to do better than that. City employees at work at such an hour here

in Naples? Unheard of!’

Zen smiles and nods.

‘Exactly, Professor. They weren’t garbage collectors at all, but a team of killers from the terrorist organization known as Strade Pulite/

‘Wait a minute!’ objects Dario De Spino. “I saw the TV

news story about that. It happened all right, but not to you. It was some policeman from Rome, a certain Aurelio … I don’t recall… Aurelio…’

‘Zen,’ says Gesualdo, coming out on to the terrace with Sabatino. ‘His name’s Aurelio Zen, and he’s a policeman.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Valeria exclaims. ‘He’s called

Zembla. Aren’t you, Alfonso?’

She is furious at the unexpected appearance of her

daughters’ unsuitable suitors, even though Zen has

explained that that’s all over now that they’ve fallen head over heels for the fascinating Albanian immigrants

installed in the lower apartment and have completely forgotten the Squillace girls, far away in a foreign land,

thank heavens, blissfully ignorant of how quickly and

with what little trouble they have been displaced in their lovers’ affections.

‘Why would terrorists want to kill someone like you?’

demands Iolanda. ‘They only go for big shots, people of real importance/

The majestic majordomo advances, holding a telephone

on a long extension cord.

‘For you, cummendatb/ he says, handing the instrument

to Zen.

‘Hello?’

‘Aurelio?’

‘Is that you, Gilberto?’

‘I just… check you’re … after the … congratulations on../

‘Speak up, can you? It sounds like you’re calling from

Russia!’

‘I am/

‘What?’

‘That’s how I was able to get the passport so quickly,

courtesy of my partners here. If you know the right people, Moscow’s even better than Naples these days. Anyway,

I was watching CNN here at the hotel and who

should I see but you!’

‘They ran that in Russia?’

‘You’re world-famous, Aurelio! And after smashing

those terrorists they’ll have to give you your old job back, maybe even with Some promotion.’

‘Well, I don’t know about…’

‘So it seemed a good moment to make a small confession.’

Zen

wiggles his empty glass at a passing waiter, who