Chapter 15
Michael Bardi had not slept well. Several weeks had gone by since his lightening trip to Mexico. The memory of Olivia and their passionate evening often came to his mind. It even happened while he was being intimate with Rachel O’Hara, who was a sexual dynamo.
Before his return to Washington, Olivia had promised to call him on his cell phone. But he had not heard from her. Olivia had given him her cell number, but had asked him not to use it because she feared it was tapped. He turned on his alarm system even though it had not worked when his home had been broken into and someone had gone through his papers.
Michael got into his BMW. The tank was almost empty. He decided to stop at the Exxon station off McArthur Blvd., despite the fact that the gas there was perhaps the highest priced in the city. “It’s incredible,” he thought while inserting his credit card in the pump. “Right across the bridge in Virginia, gas costs 30 to 40 cents less per gallon.”
While his tank was filling, Michael went to a pay phone, inserted a few coins, and dialed Olivia’s number in Mexico. After a few seconds, the phone rang and then a male voice announced, “News in El Sol de Acapulco” and gave a date.
Michael didn’t feel like going to work with Rachel. He went back home. Once there he turned on his laptop and went to the Mexican newspaper’s web site. He read the article and turned pale. For a moment he stared into the void, paralyzed. He got up, grabbed a bottle of whiskey and poured himself a shot. Then he lowered the blinds, settled into his leather armchair and sipped his drink while listening to Beethoven’s Concerto number 5 for piano and orchestra.
He thumbed through his smart phone until he found a photo. It was of a sleepy Olivia after their night of lovemaking. Olivia had sacrificed herself for him despite knowing she was running a terrible risk. He felt tears come to his eyes at the thought of her death at the hands of Gutierrez. A terrible death exacted in vengeance by a Mexican gangster who must have been informed by one of his underlings. Either that or, most probably, there had been a hidden camera in his suite.
His cell phone began vibrating. It was Rachel.
“What are you doing? Aren’t you coming to the office?”
“Forgive me, but I had a few urgent matters to take care of… taxes and other stuff my accountant wanted me to do. I was just about to call you.”
“You sound strange. Don’t you feel well?”
“I’m a bit sad because I got a call from Switzerland. An old school mate died.”
“I’m so sorry, Michael. By the way I got a call from Gutierrez. He asked me if you had read the Sol de Acapulco. When I asked him why, he said it was between the two of you. What happened?”
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Chapter 16
“Brother Bardi,” a scratchy voice on the phone said, “How are you? It’s Cardoni. I’m calling from Rome where I just found out about a small set back you had in Mexico. You had a case of Montezuma’s revenge. It’s a typical stomach problem that afflicts tourists who don’t take precautions. It forces you to spend a lot of time in the bathroom. In any event, I hope you are better now. Next time take some antibiotics before going. Everything is proceeding well, except for the Montezuma. Just don’t get too emotional. By the way, I got a call from the law firm of Smith & Smith in Washington asking me to thank our dear Edmundo. It’s really true that opposites attract. Talk to you again soon.”
Michael put down the phone. Across the desk, Rachel lowered her glasses and looked at him inquisitively.
“Everything OK. Just a friend from Rome,” said Michael putting and end to the matter.____
Oreste Balducci, the Garibaldi Lodge’s secretary, reread the email. “Dear Secretary: As you well know, I have to travel abroad a lot for professional reasons. These trips keep me away from Washington for long periods of time. As I wish to maintain my standing I would greatly appreciate it if you could grant me a certificate of good standing so as to allow me admission to Lodges in whatever country I may find myself. I thank you in advance and offer you my triple fraternal embrace. Michael Bardi, Master Mason.”
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Oreste Balducci dialed the phone number for Gaetano Olderisi, Worshipful Master of the Lodge. He read him the email.
“This is one of those guys who don’t show up at the Lodge and then expects to get a Masonic passport. Over so many months he never found the time to show up for a few hours,” was the annoyed reply.
“Tell him that this has to be referred to the Grand Secretary of the Grand Lodge. You should meet him. He’s a fine young man and very well prepared. He could be a great resource for us if only he devoted a bit of his time to our Lodge.”
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5 p.m. in Piazza Signoria in Florence, Italy. Seated at an outside table at the Café Rivoire is a man in his thirties. He has a typical Middle Eastern complexion. The man is deep in thought and sipping a granita with a side shot of vodka. His appearance, on the surface, was completely normal. He was admiring the artistic beauties surrounding him. A tour guide of Florence was on his table. Facing him, in front of the Palazzo Vecchio, was the life size copy of Michelangelo’s David.
“The original is in Saint Mark’s,” he thought. Through his pocket binoculars he began observing the Neptune fountain sculpted by Ammannati, heavily criticized by Michelangelo and nicknamed “Il Biancone” (“The White Giant”) by the locals.
Then he turned his gaze to the Loggia dei Lanzi on his right and in particular at the statue of Perseus holding Medusa’s head. He took another sip of his granita. He remembered what Cellini wrote about it in his autobiography. About how he had run out of tin while casting the statue and had sent all his apprentices to gather tin forks and spoons from neighbors to throw into the melting pot, thus salvaging the lost wax procedure. It was the first all in one piece cast of that size. He marveled at the artistic mastery.
The man’s cell phone began to vibrate. He answered. On the other end a mechanically distorted voice asked him where he was. “In Florence, in Piazza della Signoria,” he whispered in reply.
“Good. You will be given an envelope with the details of your next mission. Stay under the radar as much as possible. Avoid anything that might make someone remember you. While in Florence you are one of the tens of thousands of tourists who every day visit the city. Behave like one. This vacation In Florence must be utilized to calm down the situation and bring everything to a head. Don’t make me say any more. Understood?”
The man looked at his watch and compared the time with that of the clock on the Palazzo Vecchio’s tower. He left 20 euros on the table and walked towards the main entrance where a middle-aged man carrying a sign marked X was waiting for him.
“Welcome, I am pleased to meet you. My name is Giovanni and I am an official tour guide. You must be a very important person to get us to open up the Study at this time of day.”
The guide spoke English well. The visitor gave him a forced smile and indicated he should continue.
“From what you wrote me, I assume there is no need to stop in the Hall of the 500 and Uffizi Museum – as you have visited them numerous times before.”
But then, having entered the immense hall that had functioned as the seat of Italy’s first Parliament when Florence had briefly been the nation’s capital, he turned towards the north wall, which was covered by a gigantic Vasari fresco. Noting that the beauty of the fresco visibly impressed the visitor, Giovanni started up again.
“You might know that a famous Florentine scholar, Prof. Maurizio Seracini, has been claiming for the past 20 years that under this fresco is one by Leonardo called ‘The Battle of Anghiari.’ It’s been reported on TV worldwide.”
“I did not know that,” replied the tourist as he continued to gaze at the wall.
“It’s a fascinating story. Leonardo was always trying something new. He wanted to paint the enormous wall using the process of encaustic painting. It’s a technique based on adding colors to linseed oil and it is supposed to give the fresco greater luminosity than traditional fresco painting. Unfortunately, as documented at the time, the paste didn’t hold the colors. Leonardo set up enormous braziers to try and make the paint dry faster. Useless. And so he gave up. The wall was white washed and Vasari painted his fresco over Leonardo’s work.”
“And how do we know all this?” asked the man in an annoyed tone of voice, trying to get to the end of the story.
“Well, using special technology Seracini seems to have found fragments of Leonardo’s work. But in the past the city’s administration has always been against taking a core samples. The usual bureaucracy. Now things have changed. Approval has been given for some probing. But then certain factions led by intellectuals and art critics appealed the courts for a stop order. Basically, the classical Italian way of doing things.”
The guide thus concluded his story. The two men headed towards the door that opened into the study. A municipal employee who was clearly irritated at having to work overtime opened it. The visitor passed him a 50-euro bill and the employee’s attitude immediately changed.
“Please go ahead and take your time,” he said in his Florentine dialect. “Since you are no usual tourist,” said the guide Giovanni,
“I feel it is my duty to tell you that I will give you two presentations. One is the official one and one is the, so-called, popular one. I’ll begin by saying that this small study was the room where Francesco I of the Medici family did his research and experiments. This Francesco, who succeeded his father Cosimo as Duke of Florence, was a very peculiar guy. He was also detested by the locals because of the heavy taxes he imposed on them to pay his contribution to his brother-in-law the Emperor Ferdinand I of Austria. Francesco had married his sister, who apparently was lame. She gave him seven children before she died at the age of 31. Some say she was poisoned by Bianca Cappello, Francesco’s lover. In any event, he married her right after his wife’s death – after also dispatching her husband. Francesco was interested in alchemy and collecting. So this study is a kind of chamber of wonders. Giorgio Vasari and Giovan Battista Andriani designed it. After the death of the Duke in 1587 it was abandoned. Then in 1920 it was decided to restore it based on Vasari’s very accurate documentation. According to Vasari it was designed to hold rare and precious objects, art and valuables such as jewels, medals, cut stones, carved crystal containers and devices, all of small size. Do you see that small Giovanni Stradano painting called ‘The Alchemist’s laboratory?’ The man portrayed on the lower right is Francesco I de’ Medici. Francesco did not want anything religious in the paintings he kept in his study and the adjoining room. This turned the Church authorities against him – despite that fact that he was a Guelph.”
The guide went on describing the paintings on the walls and cabinet doors.
“These personify the Four Elements: Air, Water, Earth and Fire. Also in the four corners we see alchemy elements: Phlegm, cold and damp like earth and water; Blood, hot and damp like fire and water; Sadness, dry and cold like earth and water and Rage, hot and dry like fire and air. These are Alessandro Allori’s portraits of Francesco’s parents: Cosmo I and Eleonor of Toledo. They are copies of Bronzino’s original ones. In total there are eight niches for the statues and 36 paintings. Behind every panel there are closets, with the exception of an air intake (this is important) and doors that led to Francesco’s bedroom and two other secret rooms (Cosimo’s study and one for the presumed treasure).
So, that’s the official description. Now comes the so-called popular one. Because Francesco was a strange man and very despotic. As happens to all inventors and above all alchemists looking for the philosopher’s stone and a way to turn lead into gold, he had a bad reputation. Add to this that the death of his first wife was believed to have been due to Bianca Capello’s having poisoned her, the people would say that ‘Francesco is in his palace’ whenever body parts, especially female ones, were found floating in the Arno river. Those who worked on the restoration of the room in 1920 said there was a ramp used to dispose of the remains of Francesco’s experiments. These experiments were supposedly used to lure in maidens and gentlemen on the pretense of admiring miraculous things. But no one apparently ever resurfaced to tell of them. It is possible that the origin of this rumor lay with the Church’s hatred of Francesco. As for the bodies, lots of people were killed in those times. Not for nothing, the Medicis had ordered Vasari to build a corridor between the Palazzo Vecchio, through the Old Bridge, all the way to Palazzo Pitti. It was a way to avoid attacks by rival families. Francesco and Bianca died on the same day – supposedly of malaria. Many claimed the brother of Grand Duke Ferdinand who wanted to take his place poisoned them. Basically, the craziness of the aristocracy.”
The olive complexioned, Arab looking visitor stopped to observe what was officially called Francesco’s bedroom, which in reality may have been his abattoir. While slightly smiling, he caressed the stones sticking out of the walls. He then leaned on the marble
Undercover block where Francesco had cut up his victims to satisfy his perversions. Minutes ticked by, marked only by the visitor’s heavy breathing. Giovanni, the guide, observed him carefully but did not interrupt his strange meditations. He thought to himself, “What a strange guy he is. It almost seems he is having an orgasm thinking about how Francesco I butchered his victims in this room.”
When he opened the door to let them out, the municipal employee approached the visitor and in perfect English said, “They left this envelope for you.”
Once back in Piazza della Signoria, Habib Fareh mixed in with a crowd of Japanese tourists intent on photographing the genitals of the marble statues, beginning with those of the copy of Michelangelo’s David.
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Chapter 17
The Embraer ERJ 170 LR of Egypt Air Express from Cairo began its approach to Hurghada International Airport. Among the forty passengers there were four who spoke Russian. One hour earlier they had disembarked from an Aeroflot Moscow-Cairo direct flight.
“Hurghada has become a Russian sea colony,” whispered one of the four to his traveling companion, a man in his sixties. “I remember when I came here the first time twenty years ago,” he replied after tossing down a mini bottle of vodka he had paid for in dollars. He added, “This airport, we built it along with some other military infrastructure. We also did the Aswan Dam, which provides a never ending supply of electricity.”
“Yes, but ruined the environment. For millennia the Nile’s flooding was the best fertilizer. Now they have to import thousands of tons of chemical fertilizer and the Delta now lets in miles of salt water that burns the crops.”
The older Russian looked at his younger companion in amusement as he complained about the damages caused by the Aswan Dam.
“I can see that you have bought into capitalist propaganda,” he said.
The young Russian shook his head. “Not at all. It is a fact. Over decades the Soviet Union gave Egypt and other African countries billions and billions of rubles and now the country is under American control. Some success.”
His stocky companion took another puff off his electronic cigarette.
“I was telling you about Hurghada,” the younger Russian continued. “Today it’s a big city with hundreds of hotels, even though competition from Sharm El Sheik on the other side of the Red Sea has had a bit of an effect. But after the attacks in Sharm El Sheik plus the increase in criminality, Hurghada is looking up. And to think it used to be a scuba diver’s paradise. Many people are starting to go to Mar Sa La. Hurghada’s attraction is sex, like at Rimini in Italy, but at cheap prices the Russian middle class can afford.”
The Embraer made a perfect landing. As they had already gone through customs in Cairo, the four Russian speakers got into a black rental car waiting for them just outside the terminal. The sign on the windshield read Lilyland.
Lilyland Beach Club was one of the first resorts Italian architects had built in Hurghada. Despite the fact that several decades had gone by, Lilyland held its own against the gigantic complexes built by international hotel chains with substantial, legally mandated, Egyptian capital resources. Where that money actually came from, better not to ask. Lots of different size cottages, big swimming pools, and a manmade bay with a long pier over the clear waters of the Red Sea. For years Lilyland had been a favorite destination of upper middle class Italian and German tourists. Then came the massive influx of Russians who with $1,000 could spend 15 days with meals and airfare included. The result was a lowering of ratings. Hurghada was now so Russian that the signage was written in Cyrillic and management had been forced to set aside the main restaurant solely for Russians. Italian and Germans were asked to eat elsewhere.
After checking in, the four Russians got their key. They took one of the electric shuttles and the driver stopped in front of their cottage. They had two rooms with twin beds, two bathrooms, a sitting room with a kitchen and big sofa beds. By then it was 8 p.m. and after putting on their casual suits, they headed towards the restaurant for Russians. A waiter showed them to their reserved table. The place was full of Russians. There were large families with lots of little kids, some of them howling, as well as mature single women in search of an Egyptian adventure.
As the four walked to their table, a group of people who were dining watched them go by. The appointment was set for 11:30 by the pool, after the evening performance provided by a group of Italian entertainers.
“Is this bottle all right?” asked Valery with a smile. He was one of those who had watched them enter the restaurant. While laughing he put a bottle of frozen vodka straight from the freezer on a plastic table. The group consisted of eight people seated around a table.
“Just what we need,” said Andrei, the man in his sixties who had just arrived from Cairo, as he lit his umpteenth real cigarette. Everyone poured out some liquor.
“Cheers, prost, skoll, na zdorovie, good health, salute,” said Valery. The others answered with a hearty “na zdorovie!” “Tovarisch,” began Andrei in a low voice.
“We are here for a number of reasons. Some can wait, and some require immediate action. We are dealing not only with a war among those of us who have and control oil and the environmentalists who want to replace fossil fuel with alternative energy. There is no doubt that the decision taken by Japan’s Prime Minister, after the Fukushima disaster, to stop construction of new nuclear power plants and concentrate on renewal energy is a big problem, not only for the people who build nuclear power plants but also for everyone who extracts, sells and refines fossil fuels. Even if I am certain that the nuclear Japanese plants will be reopened after some months.”
There was general agreement as the vodka was passed around again. Andrei continued, “But there isn’t consensus among oil people. The Arabs are acting in a confusing way. The Royal family of Saudi Arabia continues to lobby the U.S. and both sides of Congress. I have been told they have hired a very ruthless killer to eliminate anyone who stands in their way. I wouldn’t be surprised if their ultimate target turns out to be the President of the USA. He is so enthusiastic about alternative energy that he is giving a lot of support to industries focusing on solar, wind, sea, and biomass energy.” His seven tablemates exchanged worried glances.
“Iraq follows orders from Tehran. But things there are changing due to the Israelis who want to deal a big blow to Iran. As for Libya, after Khadafy’s death, the rebels want to follow a line of prudent collaboration with the U.S., France and Italy. Moving on to Latin America, Venezuela continues to be an unknown especially due to Chavez’s illness. Russia cannot afford to break ties with the U.S. Plus, the U.S. needs our Soyuz to resupply the Space Station and we are paid well for the service: $63 million per seat. Plus, the U.S. leaves us alone in Latin America because every so often we sell it confidential information about the Colombians and the cocaine brought into the States – now they are even using home-made submarines.”
“But it’s not only the USA, comrade Andrei,” interrupted Valery who seemed to be the spokesman for the rest of the group. “World consumption of fuel is increasing exponentially and we can’t afford to lose our share of the pie.”
“You are absolutely right, tovarisch. This global scenario also encompasses our immediate need to maintain control of the situation. Arab competition is a big problem. For years, the U.S. has been using the CIA to foment rebellions in North Africa. It has had some success with the removal of long-time dictators in North Africa and Yemen. But look at Egypt. The Tahrir Square protests got rid of Mubarak and then the generals who were fed up with him replaced him. But the situation has not improved. In fact, the Muslim Brotherhood that used to operate semi-clandestinely has become a political mainstay after the general election and the victory of President Morsi.”
Andrei paid for one more bottle of vodka before the bar shut down. The rest of the resort’s guest had gone to bed. Some were getting up at 5 a.m. to go to Luxor. Their van would join the hundreds of other vehicles on the highway that moved along under police protection against terrorist attacks. The trip would take hours and would be a frightening one due to the manic driving of the locals. Other guests were exhausted from their wind surf lessons, scuba diving, beach volley games, and horseback rides. Their aching muscles cried out for the soothing massages of the resort’s spa.
The remaining eight guests were now able to talk more freely. But there was little desire for conversation. What they wanted to do was continue listening to Andrei, a former high level KGB officer.
There was another round of vodka and na zdorovie.
“Islamic fundamentalism is worrisome, and not only for the West but for us too. Just think of the toll Chechnya is taking. That is why I think the old American idea to use their religious divisions (Shiites and Sunnis) to make them implode is worth considering and implementing whenever possible. Each one of you has an important rank in the Family. Be ready to intervene with your lieutenants when asked. We must operate under the radar, as always. But, once the target has been set, we must succeed. Among our targets will be attacks on the downtowns of major cities in the West and ensuring that the blame is cast on Islamic fundamentalists. They will deny it, but to no avail. The result will be an increase of hatred of Arabs and all they represent in the West. Here is the problem of domestic terrorism in democratic nations. Oslo is a perfect example: an idiot neo-Nazi, Christian fundamentalist killed 77 people. Al Qaeda had initially claimed it, only to quickly backpedal. It’s a danger that persists – let’s not forget the 168 victims of the Oklahoma City bombing in 2005.”
Andrei paused and asked his comrades for comments. There were many requests for details. There was special interest in the status of the relationship with Cosa Nostra. Andrei replied.
“How can we trust the Italians? There is a reason they are known as the people who never end a war on the same side they started. It’s, their nature, it is in their DNA. They’ve served many masters only to betray them at an opportune moment. They respect us and we respect them as long as they stick to what agreed. But remember, when faced with ambiguous behavior you must inform us immediately. We will make a decision and let you know. We leave tomorrow. Each one of us is to go where designated. Later we will regroup elsewhere to review matters. Do svidaniya until then.”
Valery, “And what about the Rock?”
Andrei, “Who set it up?”
“Cardoni, I think,” replied Valery. “An Italian …”
“Well, there’s your answer.”
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