Hands moved lightly and rapidly all over his body, like a couturier fitting a client. He opened his eyes. A tall figure wearing a black clerical suit stood looking down at him, a revolver in each hand. Above the trim white collar rose a garish latex Carnival mask representing the bluff, benign features of John Paul II.
From the other side of the latex mask, Aurelio Zen surveyed the situation with a sense of satisfaction and relief. He had been extremely dubious about the outcome of this venture ever since picking up the package that afternoon at Linate. He had no idea what stun grenades looked like, but given what Gilberto had told him they were going to cost, he was expecting something pretty impressive. Gleaming stainless-steel canisters with spring-action triggers and time-delay settings, slightly greasy to the touch — that sort of thing. Above all, he was expecting them to weigh. ‘We are the goods,’ he expected them to tell him as he staggered away from the airline counter with a metal case marked DANGER — HIGH EXPLOSIVE.
Instead of which the clerk had casually tossed him a padded envelope which felt almost empty. Zen left feeling like the victim of a confidence trick. Matters did not improve when he opened the envelope in the taxi on the way back to the city. Inside, he found two grey plastic tubes, each about the size of a toothpaste dispenser, lashed together by a rubber band looped over on itself. At one end, a red plastic peg with a ridged grip protruded a few centimetres from the body of the tube, the junction being sealed with a pull-tab. There was also a note in Gilberto’s jauntily precise writing.
To avoid accidents, remove seal at last moment. After pulling out the red pin, you have 3 seconds to deliver the grenade and get out. The effects last 5 seconds or more, depending on the physical condition of the opposition, their degree of preparation and training, etc. One pack is enough for an average-sized room; larger areas may require two.
Just like air freshener, thought Zen disgustedly. Four hundred thousand lire each, Gilberto was charging him for these! ‘And that’s cost price, Aurelio. In fact below cost, because it’s what I paid three months ago. God knows what the replacement cost will be.’ As an added irony, the source was one of Zen’s colleagues. The reason the grenades were so expensive was that very few came on to the market. Any equipment on general military or police issue could be had at massive discounts, for that was very much a buyer’s market. But stun grenades were supplied only to a few specialist units in the police and Carabinieri. Nieddu’s supplier was connected to the Interior Ministry’s DIGOS anti-terrorist squad, whose morale was at an all-time low these days — which no doubt explained why they were resorting to private enterprise, like everyone else.
In the event, though, Zen had to admit that his doubts had been decisively confounded. The grenades might not look much, but they packed one hell of a punch. Even from the other side of the door, the effect had been that of the firework to end all fireworks. He hadn’t been sure how large the room was, but at almost half a million lire a go, Zen decided that one was going to have to be enough. Which it certainly had been. When he charged in, Falcone was lying on the floor, his hands to his head and his knees drawn up, like one of the victims over-whelmed by lava at Pompeii. Setting down his replica revolver, Zen grabbed the pistol which the man had been holding and frisked him swiftly for other weapons. Then he picked up his toy gun and stepped back.
After a few seconds, Falcone moaned and rubbed his eyes as though stirring from sleep. He stared incredulously at Zen, who smiled in the privacy afforded by the latex mask. The fancy dress had been another aspect of the affair which he had been unsure about. Some disguise was certainly necessary. He didn’t want to give the game away too soon, not without finding out as much as he could. This was his first deliberate attempt at criminal extortion, and he didn’t want to bungle it. The single card he had to play should certainly be enough to extract a cash settlement, but if his victim could be kept in suspense about who he was and what he wanted, then other potentially profitable facts might well emerge. At the very least, the aura of psychological domination thus established would work strongly to Zen’s advantage when it came to agreeing terms.
The moment he thought of disguises, he recalled the fancy-dress shop he had seen that morning in Via Pisani. At that time of year, they had an extensive selection available for hire, but in the end Zen had opted for a clerical outfit. The mask, a pudgy parody of Wojtyla’s Slavic features, had then been an obvious accessory. Nevertheless, it remained to be seen how it went down on the night. As it turned out, there were no worries on that score. Falcone couldn’t keep his eyes off it.
‘You’re a bit early for Carnival,’ he eventually remarked with a brave attempt at reasserting himself.
‘It’s for your protection,’ Zen replied in the singsong accent he had used on the phone.
‘For yours, you mean.’
The plastic pope’s face moved from side to side in a gesture of negation that made a macabre contrast with its expression of benevolent paternalism.
‘If I were not masked, you might recognize me,’ Zen explained. ‘Then we would have to kill you.’
He waited a moment for this to sink in.
‘We may decide to do so anyway in the end, of course. That depends on whether you are able to furnish a satisfactory explanation of your conduct with regard to the Ruspanti affair.’
Falcone tried a laugh.
‘What have I to do with that? There’s absolutely no evidence linking me to the Ruspanti affair.’
‘Evidence is for judges. I am not a judge, I am an executioner. Sentence has already been passed. Unless you can persuade me otherwise in the next few minutes, it will be carried out.’
In the pools of shadow on the floor, Falcone squirmed like a stranded fish.
‘But what have I done, for God’s sake? What have I done?’
‘You have taken our name in vain! You have slandered our organization and circulated lies about our aims and activities. You have stirred up a hornet’s nest of speculation and rumour that is causing us considerable embarrassment. In short, you have attempted to make use of us.’
The black holes of the mask’s eyes bored into Falcone.
‘The Cabal does not allow itself to be made use of.’
Once again Falcone tried to laugh, but it broke from him like a belch, uncontrolled and shameful.
‘Listen, there’s been a terrible mistake! I had no idea that any such organization as the Cabal even existed! Ruspanti told me he had dreamed it up as a way of getting the Vatican to give him refuge. He was very proud of how clever he’d been, of how the priests were swallowing it all and coming back for more. I thought that’s all it was, just something he’d made up!’
‘That’s not what you told the police.’
At this, Falcone visibly shrank.
‘What?’
‘The police official from the Ministry of the Interior who was called in by the Vatican to investigate the Ruspanti affair. You didn’t tell him that you thought the whole thing was a hoax. On the contrary, you went to great lengths to ensure that he thought that the Cabal was behind the whole affair.’
Falcone gasped.