“A prime minister?” Sarah exclaimed in astonishment. “From what kind of country?”
“A country like any other,” Rafael said. “If you knew just half of what happens in yours, or anywhere else in the world, you’d be horrified. The P2 listings are not dangerous in themselves,” Rafael went on, “except for what they reveal or suggest, or what they prove, in connection with politics in Italy, in Europe, or the rest of the world during the past thirty years.
“Anyway, it seemed that Pecorelli knew too much. For instance, he knew that this obscure prime minister was involved in Operation Gladio, a paramilitary and terrorist organization created by the CIA and the MI6 after World War II, with the objective to prepare for the eventual invasion of Europe by the USSR. Later, during the sixties, the organization focused on preventing Communist and Socialist parties from taking power in Western Europe and South America. For many years this network was sustained and financed by the CIA, NATO, the British secret services, and other Western institutions.
“In Italy, Gladio carried out a far-reaching operation, the so-called strategy of tension. Basically, it financed leftist terrorist groups so that democratic Communist and Socialist parties became the recipients of citizens’ hate. In this strategy of tension, Gladio supported, financed, and carried out the attacks on Piazza Fontana in 1969 and on Peteano in 1972.
“And as far as its European structure was concerned, Gladio operated in Greece, Turkey, Spain, Argentina, France, and Germany, among many other places. The objective was always the same: to spread supposedly Communist-sponsored terror, and thus to create a favorable environment for conservatism and the extreme Right.
“Giulio Andreotti discovered this plot in 1990, when it was judged. It was revealed during the trials that the P2 was heavily involved in that plot. It made sense. The P2 and Gladio shared the same fascist roots.
“One of the dangerous details that Pecorelli knew was about the connection among Gladio, the P2, the Red Brigades, and the assassination of Aldo Moro, prime minister of Italy and a member of the Christian Democrats. According to Pecorelli, the Red Brigades were indeed a leftist terrorist group, but manipulated-even created-by Gladio and the P2. Some people thought it was heavily infiltrated by CIA agents. All these organizations, according to their strategic plans, promoted the kidnapping of Aldo Moro in 1978.”
Sarah sat again at the edge of the bed, overwhelmed by the intricate network of conspiracy, corruption, and manipulation her roommate was describing for her. Nonplussed, she looked at Rafael, nervously wringing her hands.
“Could you bring me something to drink?”
“Of course.”
Rafael got up and went to the minibar by the door. He returned with a bottle of water and a soda.
“If the P2 took part in Operation Gladio, in addition to the CIA and all the others”-Sarah was trying to make the right connections-“that means that the world intelligence services not only knew about the existence of the P2, but had some relations with it, right?”
“Exactly. Except that it’s ‘have,’ and not ‘had.’ To give you an idea, the CIA hands the P2 eleven million dollars every month. They still spend a lot of dough on them.”
“Even right now?”
“Yes, now. This whole network of lies and manipulations stemmed from World War II. Right after the end of the war, a period of total mistrust developed. The old Soviet Union sealed itself off and became isolated, together with its satellite countries of the Warsaw Pact, always fearful of some destabilizing action from the West. On the other side, the democratic countries were afraid of tricks by the KGB and other Soviet secret services.
“The Soviet Union and its own or closely related agencies used to spend a lot of money to finance Communist parties and even terrorist groups in the West. The secret services of the United States, Great Britain, and other democratic countries maintained a similar campaign to prevent leftist parties from gaining power and, to do that, didn’t hesitate to form alliances with Masonic lodges, violent groups, fascist associations, whatever they needed.”
“Masonic lodges, the military, secret services… Who is actually governing us?”
“In theory, we are free citizens.”
“Yes, but who’s in charge? The governments we vote to elect are manipulated by secret organizations.”
“That’s a pretty good assessment.”
“It was meant to be a question.”
“A question, yes, but also an answer.”
“This is terrifying.”
“Then don’t think about it.”
“As if it were easy not to think about it.”
“It is,” Rafael asserted. “Try to think about less worrisome things.”
Sarah put down the bottle of soda and wrung her hands impatiently. “What an incredible amount of lies! This is terrifying,” she said again. “What’re we going to do now?”
“We’re going to see your father.”
“Where? Is he in London?”
Rafael got up and pulled his cell from the pocket of his jacket. He dialed a number and waited. When someone answered, he spoke in fluent German. “Hallo. Ich benötige einige Pässe. Ich bin dort in fünf Minuten.”
26
Who were you just calling?” Sarah asked, back in the Jaguar, sitting beside the driver.
“A German guy who’s going to make you a passport.”
“Just me?”
“Yes. I’ve got several.”
“Can he be trusted?”
“No.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just that-he can’t be trusted. These counterfeiters work for money. That’s what keeps them in business. He’ll do anything for money.”
“But-”
“But he’ll only talk for money, too. If you’re worried he’ll go running out to report us, that’s not going to happen. You can relax.”
“Oh, yes, I feel much more relaxed now,” Sarah answered sarcastically.
“You should.”
It was a short trip, less than five minutes, including the time it took to park in front of a crowded, noisy pub. Next to it, a door was ajar. They climbed to the third floor, where Rafael rang the bell. The door opened instantly.
“Hello, how are you?” the German greeted them effusively.
“Terrific. And you?”
“Wonderful. Come in.”
“You’re the best,” Rafael said, stepping in and winking at the German.
Hans was a young man, barely in his twenties. His forgeries, besides being fast, were clean, and hadn’t drawn attention at any border post so far.
“So, old chap, tell me what you need.”
“I need you to make a passport for this lady.”
“For this lady. I like your elegant words, my friend.”
The young man took a camera and grabbed Sarah by the arm.
“Stand there.”
It was a wall prepared for making ID photos, with a neutral blue background.
“Don’t smile.”
“What?”
“Don’t smile. For passport photos you don’t need to smile.”
“Right.”
Sarah turned serious, perhaps too serious, while Rafael inspected a wall covered with photographs.
“Who are all these people?”
“All the chaps who’ve passed through here.”
“You’ve got quite a sizable clientele.”
“No complaints.” He connected the camera to a computer and began his work. “Do you have a particular country in mind, or a name that you especially like?”
Sarah was embarrassed. She hadn’t thought about this.
“Sharon Stone,” Rafael answered.
“I like that name, old chap. I think I might even know someone by that name.”
“As for the country, anything in the Schöningen region.”
“Okay, man. Do you have five thousand?”
Sarah went back to Rafael.
“Did you know this character?” she asked in a low voice.
“I didn’t. I know somebody who knew him.”