Legacy of Sorrows (29 page)

The NCO in charge had spotted through his night sight some movement to their left. Three shapes carrying rifles were seen moving in on the barn. They were difficult to pick out in the bad weather and the darkness of the night. The Paras waited until the terrorists had slowly moved in on the barn until they were about to pick up the hidden cache of weapons, before four of the Paras moved cautiously in on them. Marco was detailed with his best mate ‘Dusty' Miller to cover their rear and to stop any terrorists from escaping.

The NCO shouted out, ‘Security forces – lay down your weapons or we fire.' The PIRA squad turned, fell to the ground and immediately opened fire on them. In the dark, the noise of the firefight and the flash of the weapons, combined with everyone shouting at once, caused utter confusion for everyone involved. Marco tensed his finger on the trigger as he saw a shape moving away to the left. Was it a terrorist or one of the Paras? He reasoned that his unit wouldn't be moving in that direction, so he opened fire. The dark shape stopped moving. When it was all finished, the three terrorists were lying dead on the ground. The Paras had come through the fight unscathed. Thankfully, surprise had been on their side. Marco had remained quite calm throughout, and had been given the credit for killing the terrorists who had tried to slip away from the rest. He had never taken a life before and it had proved to be a traumatic experience for him. He walked over to the dead terrorist and stood over him. At first, he had felt quite cold inside, almost numb. Afterwards, in his room back at the barracks, he was sickened at what he had done. The feeling of revulsion he felt that night was almost physical, however he knew that if he had to, he could kill again without hesitation.

He took a sip of his brandy and thought, I did it once before out of a sense of duty, but if those bastards hurt my parents, it will be a joy to kill them.

Chapter 8

L
orenzo
held a meeting in his home with a colleague, a left wing radical activist, who was used to working covertly on his own and who was also used from time to time as a hired assassin by the Red Brigade. Up to now, the police were unaware of his existence and Lorenzo used him for any jobs that needed a sensitive hand.

They sat in his kitchen enjoying an espresso and a cigarette. Lorenzo was clearly agitated over recent events. He took a draw of his cigarette and said, ‘we have to get our little secretary silenced before she spills the beans on our whole operation. The other man nodded agreement. ‘Do you really think she'll talk?' he asked. Lorenzo thought for a moment, ‘I don't know for sure. We need to get access to the station to make sure she doesn't get the chance to tell the Carabinieri what she knows.'

The man was silent. He knew where this conversation was heading, and why he was called to the house. Lorenzo gave him a weary look, ‘I think the preferred option would be to silence our little canary in her little cage before she gives away our plans, and probably as soon as possible.'

The other man said, ‘do we use a gun or something cleverer to finish her off?' Lorenzo stood up and walked to a box on the kitchen table. Opening it, he took out an old German Army Luger and a silencer. ‘This may look like a museum piece my friend, but it is a smooth working weapon. It also has the advantage of being completely unmarked and untraceable in case it has to be left behind.' He placed it back into the box and handed it to his companion.

His companion took it out and examined it. ‘Has it been used before on any jobs?' Lorenzo shook his head, ‘it was last used in the war, but it has been well looked after since then. It belonged to my friend's father who was a partisan with the Stella Rossa Brigade on Monte Sole. He was executed by the SS in September 1944, and the Luger was found by my friend after the massacre.'

‘Why has your friend agreed to letting us use this? It obviously has sentimental value.'

‘My friend died for the cause some while ago, and I don't think he would mind what we are doing.'

Stalin took the weapon and placed it in the shoulder holster he had brought along in expectancy of another job from Lorenzo. ‘It will be a pleasure to use a weapon with such history as this.'

Lorenzo then reached for an envelope sitting on the table that contained the address of a printer in the city that was sympathetic to their cause. He gave it to the assassin, saying ‘I want you to go to this address when you leave here. You will find a printer there who will provide you with a photo ID that will be identical to the one used by the SISI. This will give you access to the police station, and of course access to our canary. The printer is expecting you anytime now my friend, so I will ask you to leave and go to him. When you meet him, tell him that you are ‘Stalin' and he should tell you that he is ‘Rasputin'

Lorenzo shook hands with the man, and wished him good luck. He walked him to the door and watched him walk down the street. Stalin seemed to have the gift of merging into the background wherever he was. The original grey man.

The man Lorenzo had called ‘Stalin' preferred to remain in the shadows. The less people knew what his speciality was, the better for him. The Spetznatz, the Russian Special Forces, had trained him in the Libyan Desert. They had taught him all there was to know about covert entry, surveillance and assassination methods. He felt confident he could enter the police station, kill his mark and leave again without leaving a trail for the Carabinieri to follow.

He had been used recently on a similar case involving a council official who had forgotten where his loyalties lay, and who had been speaking to the police about things he shouldn't have.

The council official, who was a communist, had developed cold feet and had to be ‘eliminated.' Lorenzo knew the official's house was under twenty four hour surveillance as the police had been expecting an attempt on his life there, so Stalin decided to take him out at the council offices. He just walked in, walked up to his office door, opened it and shot him in the head with a silenced gun. He calmly walked out again without leaving any trace of his presence. No one in the building even noticed him enter or leave.

He approached the station on foot rather than driving. First rule of assassination: be like a ghost, and keep it simple. Cars can leave a trail and should be avoided if possible. Second rule: always be prepared. They had drummed into him the maxim – prior planning prevents poor performance. Many times over the last few years this maxim had saved his life. He had his Luger in his shoulder holster, ready, with the safety catch off. Lorenzo had told him that the Commandante and Bastiani had left the station for the night, so now was the ideal time to act. He put on a pair of fine black cotton gloves to prevent his prints being picked up anywhere in the station, and climbed the steps.

Third rule of assassination: act normal and confidently. This was perhaps the most difficult to achieve. He always found his heart rate increased on a job and he hoped it didn't show.

He opened the Station door and approached the officer on duty at the front desk. Giving his best impression of bon ami, he said ‘Buon Giorno, I am Agent Giovanni Ciccero of SISI.' He handed the officer his ID. ‘I am here to interview the prisoner Laura Moscardini.' The officer replied ‘Buon Giorno, and examined his ID before saying ‘We weren't expecting anyone from SISI today, agent Ciccero.'

Stalin smiled and said, ‘perhaps you would care to verify this with agent Bastiani, who is expecting me.' The officer was still reticent to allow him access. He looked up at Stalin and said, ‘agent Bastiani left a few hours ago and didn't leave us any instructions on this case.' Stalin still kept his cool, and said. ‘Officer, please clear this with Commandante Capaldi at once. I've come from Rome on the orders of SISI and I have some urgent questions for this prisoner.'

The officer shook his head at Stalin, ‘Commandante Capaldi is off station and will not be back until tomorrow morning, except for emergencies. I feel awkward agent Ciccero, this is an embarrassing situation.'

Stalin feigned an angry appearance. ‘This is impossible officer, but we can sort this out. If you let me ask her two or three questions now so that I can report the answers to SISI, I will wait until the Commandante returns tomorrow before doing the main questioning. Is this acceptable? The officer, seeing a way out of this, readily agreed. Stalin even went further in his appearance of compromise. ‘As I won't take long Officer, I can ask her two or three questions here in her cell. You don't have to prepare an interview room. The Officer readily agreed and led Stalin to the confinement area.

He opened the cell door and stood aside to allow Stalin access, then returned to the front desk.

Laura Moscardini looked at the smiling man in front of her, and stood up. Stalin put out his hand towards her, ‘I am a solicitor hired by our mutual friend, Signora Moscardini. You have nothing to be afraid of; I am working to set you free. Laura accepted his handshake and said, ‘I knew he wouldn't desert me.' Stalin kept on smiling, and said, ‘tell me what you have told them so far Laura?'

Laura relaxed at this and said, ‘Nothing
signore
, nothing at all.'

It was the last thing that she ever did. Stalin, still smiling, pushed his Luger into her mouth and fired. The heavy calibre bullet tore off the back of her head and splattered the cell wall with red gore. As a precaution, Stalin wiped the gun handle clean of prints, even though he was certain there were none, and pressed the gun into Laura's right hand. He wasn't concerned if the police thought she had committed suicide or not. Just another twist, another bend, to put them off the real scent.

Stalin straightened up and smoothed his clothes. He noticed blood on his shoes, so he used the corner of Laura's skirt to clean them. He left the cell and made for the reception desk. ‘Thank you officer, you were most helpful. I'll come back later tomorrow when Commandante Capaldi is here.' Handing over the cell keys, he said, ‘She's securely locked up again officer.' The officer took the keys back with a relaxed wave of the hand. ‘Grazie, agent Ciccero, would you mind signing out now?' Stalin still smiling signed the out log with an artistic flourish, after all, he thought, this is going to be examined by experts.

Two hours later, Officer Dezzini was doing his routine check on the prisoner Moscardini. He pulled back the viewing flap on the door and looked in. He couldn't believe the scene before him. A dead Secretary lay stretched out on the concrete floor with blood spattered everywhere. He pressed the emergency alarm and ran for the phone.

Enzo was sitting at the dinner table with his wife, his three sons and two daughters. Their respective spouses were also there, plus his three grandchildren. He had just finished his meal and was sitting with two of his grandchildren on his knee when the phone rang. His wife sighed and watched a weary Enzo go to the kitchen to answer the call. She could hear him shout something about, procedures, before he came back into the room.

‘I'm sorry,' he said with a sad expression on his face. ‘There seems to be an emergency back at the Station. I need to go.' Enzo's wife gave a resigned shrug of her shoulders. After forty years, she was used to these calls at home.

‘Call me if you are going to be late, you know I worry about you.' Enzo laughed, ‘for forty years you've been saying the same thing every time there's a call out. Don't worry. I won't be long.'