Zito tapped his fingers on the tabletop and then rose to his feet as he took in the view across the Tyrrhenian Sea. He breathed in the salt air deeply and exhaled with a satisfied sigh. “I do not think we have a cauldron on the island either, and certainly if I found rats on the island I would shoot the man responsible for allowing them to breed here — such filthy creatures. Just like heroin thieves.”
“I’m not a thief, sir. I was desperate.”
“The ancient Greeks used the wonderful Brazen Bull — a simple bronze bull with a hollow interior in which was placed the victim.” Here, Zito paused to pull a cigarette from a solid gold case and light it up. He exhaled the smoke and flicked some ash over the side of the balcony. “They lit a fire under the bull and cooked the victim. Do you know why they shaped the vessel like a bull, Stefano?”
“No…” Stefano sobbed. “I do not.”
“Because when the men inside screamed for their lives, the acoustics of the bronze vessel made their screams sound like the bellowing of a terrified bull. The victim inside was roasted until he, or she, was dead. We have such a bull here on the island, but it is so messy. Don’t you think the ancients were so much more inventive when it comes to methods of torture and execution?”
Now, Stefano was just crying. No more pleading for his life.
“The sad fact is we are just too busy for such fantastic flourishes,” Zito continued. “Take the Irish woman I have locked upstairs. She will die the same way as you, I am certain — with a bullet to the brain and then dumped in one of the island’s septic tanks.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Stefano said. His words were almost inaudible among the sobs and gasps. “I can find the money by sunset, I swear. Please, Signor Zito! Have mercy!”
“Poor Stefano — how can I show you mercy? Do you know how many men and women I have delivering my products all over Europe? What if word got out that Giancarlo Zito let people steal heroin from him and did nothing about it? Can you imagine what would happen to my empire? My business is not what the authorities call legitimate. If my employees steal from me I cannot go to the police, can I now? If my employees steal from me — as you have done — I have to deal with it myself, and there is only one way to do this. You must be executed.”
Stefano’s tears stopped now the moment was upon him. His face had turned from one of fear to a pale, frozen dread.
Zito slapped the side of the young man’s face almost tenderly. “So you see I have no choice.” He turned to a tall man standing just behind Stefano and nodded his head; it was subtle but the man understood what it meant. “Bruno, take Stefano here out to the beach and let him smell the sea one last time before you execute him.”
“Si, signore.”
The man grabbed Stefano’s trembling shoulders and pulled him to his feet. Steering him away from Zito’s balcony, the young man began to scream again, almost hysterically now.
“You bastard, Zito!” the man screamed out. “You fucking bastard! Now I’m glad I ripped you off.”
“No — wait!”
Bruno stopped dead in his tracks. “What is it, boss?”
Zito walked over to Stefano. “What’s that you said? You are glad you ripped me off?”
Stefano looked defiant for just a moment, but then started to crumble. “I… you’re going to kill me, so I just meant…”
Zito nodded his head. He understood. “The bullet was merciful, Stefano, because you showed me remorse. Now, with these new words, you change things.”
“I’m sorry… I was so angry, I…”
“Where is the bull, Bruno?”
“On the southern patio.”
“Fire it up.”
“No!” Stefano screamed. “Please… I’m sorry! I never meant to insult you.”
“Goodbye, Stefano.”
The young man screamed and tried to lash out as the much stronger and older Bruno dragged down to the southern patio where the Brazen Bull awaited.
Zito’s mind drifted away from the moment and turned once again to the Irish woman upstairs and the manuscript on the lid of his grand piano just in the next room.
And that weird golden statue.
Richard Eden lay as still as the dead in a small hospital in West London. Outside in the corridor the two plain clothes police officers were taking it in turns to get some sleep, but the man they were protecting was unconcerned with their problems. He had plenty of his own, starting with the induced coma he was in and ending with the man they knew as the Oracle.
After getting past the intense security, any visitor to his room who knew the man always responded the same way — a shallow, polite gasp and then an overwhelming sense of pity as their eyes danced over the tangle of wires and tubes keeping Sir Richard alive for yet another day.
Eden wasn’t bothered by any of this. Right now he was sixty feet above the frozen Yorkshire countryside, running as fast as he could over the trainasium. He didn’t now how it had happened, but now he was a young man again, in his early twenties, and working his arse off to get through P Company selection. All he had ever wanted was to be an officer in the Parachute Regiment and this was his one shot at making it happen.
Pegasus Company, or P Company as the men knew it, was the toughest selection test in the British Army. Anyone who put themselves up for it faced weeks of punishing beastings and savage physical exertion, not to mention the notorious aerial assault course.
But Eden was in his element.
Reaching the end of the jump illusion he climbed back down to the ground in a hail of abuse from a screeching drill sergeant but he had done it. He would win the world-famous maroon beret and parachute badge. He deserved it. A commissioned officer in the Parachute Regiment.
Now things changed and he was in the back of a C130 by the rear door. It opened to reveal more black. They were ripping over the English countryside in the middle of the night. It was winter. A freezing cold crosswind clawed at the aircraft and it descended down to six hundred feet.
Civilian parachute jumps started high — usually ten thousand feet. The reason was simple — a better view for the money and more time to fix the chute if anything went wrong. This was not how the Parachute Regiment rolled. The Paras were not interested in sightseeing and a jump from that altitude meant giving the enemy enough time to locate you, track you and shoot you dead before your feet hit the ground.
When the Paras jumped out of a plane they did it at low altitude. This meant there was no time for the enemy to track and shoot you, but it also meant you had only five to ten seconds to fix any problems with the chute because after that you were hitting the ground at terminal velocity.
Eden took a breath. He felt the freezing winter air scratching at him from the cavernous black mouth at the rear of the Hercules. He was number one in the door, and that meant a good free jump and then no problems with the chute opening.
When paratroopers jumped from a plane they moved fast. The objective was to get all the troopers out the back gate and into the drop zone in a few seconds and then the aircraft could climb back up to a safe altitude. It also meant keeping the paratroopers together in the battle zone rather than all over the place.
For this reason, the men stood on either side of the aircraft facing the door in two lines and jumped out at half-second intervals. The faster the better, but this meant those at the back had their air stolen by the men at the front. When a parachute opened, it pulled down air inside its canopy, so when you jumped out right over the top of the man in front of you, there wasn’t enough air for your chute to open fully, and it would stay collapsed until it found enough air to open properly.