Swimming with Sharks (12 page)

Sergio Vitali entered his office at the VITAL Building. His oldest son Massimo and his lawyer Nelson van Mieren were already waiting for him. He smiled briefly when they wished him a happy birthday, and then he sat down behind his desk.

“So?” he asked, looking at his son. Massimo was courageous and intelligent, but his uncontrollable violent temper led him to make mistakes
time and again. Fortunately, his screwups had not yet triggered any major consequences. “We have a problem at the port,” Massimo said without introduction. “Johnnie Craven—president of the dockworkers’ union—isn’t keeping his end of the bargain.”

“What did he do?”

“A shipment from Germany arrived yesterday—Russian Kalashnikovs and control mechanisms for ICBMs. They were declared as ‘cooling units’ as usual. Craven normally makes sure that the stuff clears customs, but yesterday he didn’t.”

“Did you talk to him?”

“Yes.” Massimo leaned forward. “He claims that his people somehow forgot to keep the customs officers from boarding. But he lied to me. It’s no one’s fault but his. That’s what we pay him for, and not too shabbily at that!”

“Go on…”

“Ficchiavelli was listed as the delivery address. The cops searched all the warehouses. We were lucky that the last shipment was already out for delivery, so they didn’t find anything. I claimed that they must have mixed up the cargo in Germany.”

“Nelson?” Sergio looked at his lawyer.

“They can’t prove that the weapons were meant for us. The shipping documents for the cooling units were okay. But we do have a problem in that the Port Authority Police has involved the FBI and confiscated the entire shipment.”

“Where was the delivery headed?”

“Houston.” Massimo clenched his fist. “Tommasino was mad as hell when I told him that we can’t deliver for at least three more weeks. Not only has a two-and-a-half-million-dollar deal gone down the drain, it looks as if we might also get into trouble with the dockworkers’ union.”

“Can we reason with Craven?”

“No. He said that he wouldn’t let himself be bossed around by fucking wops.”

“Is that so?” Sergio raised his eyebrows. “Then let’s not waste our time with him. Who is second in command after Craven?”

“His name is Michael Burns. He’s the up-and-coming man. The dockworkers have a lot of respect for him. And it also appears that we owe this disturbance to him.”

“Can this man be persuaded?”

Massimo understood what his father meant and shook his head.

“He’s Irish, Papa.”

“Hmm.” Sergio thought for a moment. The port was strategically important, and they couldn’t face the risk of losing more valuable shipments. Above all, they needed the port for drug imports from Colombia and the Far East. They could hardly afford any trouble.

“Do we have a reliable man on the docks?”

“Yes.” Massimo nodded. “Angelo Lanza, Giuseppe Lanza’s nephew. He’s a good man.”

“Good. Burns must disappear, and it should happen today. I don’t want any trouble at the port,” Sergio said. “Nelson, Luca should have Manzo handle this.”

Nelson van Mieren nodded.

“But we have one more problem, Sergio,” the lawyer said, clearing his throat, “and it’s pretty serious.”

“What is it?”

“David Zuckerman.”

“I thought that was taken care of a long time ago.” Sergio threw an indignant look at Nelson.

“I thought so too,” van Mieren said, raising his shoulders. “They must have grilled him pretty bad, because last night he agreed to testify in front of the investigation committee. They offered him immunity in return. Our contact at city hall just called me thirty minutes ago.”

Sergio jumped up. His face reddened in murderous rage.

“Damn it! We have Kostidis to thank for this,” he exclaimed angrily. “That rotten bastard doesn’t know when to quit! The state attorney wanted to close the case a long time ago, but Kostidis insisted on digging deeper. I could kill him myself!”

“They must have pressed him really hard.” Massimo made himself heard. “David would never talk.”

Sergio pretended not to hear this comment. He had a completely different opinion about Zuckerman than Massimo. The boy still had a lot to learn about human nature.

“How dangerous is Zuckerman, Nelson?” he asked.

“Extremely dangerous,” the lawyer responded. “He was there when we bribed some of the media. He knows that McIntyre is our man. He knows about all the arrangements and the amounts of money that we paid. He’s known it for years. He could blow everything up.”

“Can we get to him?”

“He’s in a hotel in Midtown.” Van Mieren shook his head. “He has more protection from the FBI than Fort Knox. It’s near impossible.”

“There’s no such thing as impossible,” Sergio said harshly. “When is the next committee meeting?”

“Next Monday. Kostidis did everything in his power to bring the members back from their vacations early.”

“I want him to disappear today. Nelson, give the contract to the Neapolitan. I don’t care how he does it. I want his report by tonight.”

“But Papa,” Massimo objected, “David is—”

“He’s become a major threat to us,” Sergio interrupted, giving him a cold stare. “He’ll talk. We can’t afford any leniency. You know that as well as I do.”

Massimo sighed and nodded. He knew that any decision his father made was irrevocable. With a tinge of genuine regret, Massimo thought about David Zuckerman, whom he liked very much. David’s wife and his
own wife were good friends, and their children often played together. This would not be easy for him. But the die was cast.

“I’ll see you later tonight at your party,” Nelson wheezed as he got up.

Sergio waited for the two men to leave his office, and then he turned and gazed out the window. The foundation of his power was a fine network of connections, but thin as a spiderweb. To build and maintain it had cost him many years and much money. Very few men knew enough about him to pose a threat. And most of these men would rather go to prison than open their mouths. Nevertheless, there was a weak link every now and then, and Zuckerman had become one. It was a shame, because he was a good man, an ace when it came to generating business in the construction industry. Sergio owed many lucrative contracts to him. But Zuckerman had recently caught the attention of the authorities, which made his services useless. Sergio knew that this man was a coward who paid too much attention to his social standing. Zuckerman would rather betray Vitali than go to prison for a year or two. He had apparently forgotten to whom he owed his mansion on Long Island, his weekend house on Cape Cod, and his life of luxury. But it was too late now to remind him. He was a liability.

Alex steered her black Porsche convertible on to the Henry Hudson Parkway, which later turned into the Saw Mill River Parkway. She drove through placid, wooded hill country and passed the exclusive suburbs of Bedford Hills and Mount Kisco. She had been thinking for days about whether she should actually accept the invitation to Sergio’s birthday party at his house in Westchester County. She didn’t quite feel comfortable facing the wife of the man with whom she was having an affair, but her curiosity about Sergio’s house and his family was ultimately stronger
than her fear. Sergio told her that there would be many interesting guests, and that it wouldn’t hurt her to meet some new contacts.

She turned onto a narrow asphalt road near the Mount Kisco exit. Properties here in Westchester County were so large that you couldn’t see the houses from the road. After Alex had been driving for some time along a ten-foot-high yew hedge, she figured that she’d taken a wrong turn somewhere. But then a big gate appeared with several men in dark suits with walkie-talkies. She stepped on the brakes, rolled down her window, and showed her invitation to the security guard. With her heart pounding, she drove through the wide-open cast-iron gate. The estate was enormous. The gravel driveway wound through a meticulously designed landscape—the artfully trimmed bushes and lush green lawns reminded her of a golf course, interspersed with patches of trees.

Alex was amazed when she turned the corner and saw the brightly lit house on the hill. In the twilight, it looked like a French castle. Cars were parked in the large space in front of the mansion, and a man wearing sunglasses assigned her a parking spot. Alex had suspected that the cream of the crop of New York’s society would be gathered at this little garden party. Just at that moment, a bright red Ferrari Maranello pulled in next to her, and Alex recognized Zack. She was actually relieved to see him here.

“Hello, Zack,” she said, looking him up and down. With his deep tan, he looked more like a playboy than an investment banker in his light linen suit. “How was your vacation in the Caymans?”

“Vacation,” he said as he kissed her on both cheeks and laughed, amused, “you’re too funny! It’s hard work profitably reinvesting all the money that you industrious bankers bring in!”

“You look like you’ve been working very hard,” Alex noted sarcastically. They walked toward a broad flight of stairs with two stone lions enthroned at its base.

“I admit,” Zack laughed happily, offering her his arm, “that I enjoyed some time on the beach in between. What do you think about this shack? It’s even better inside!”

“It’s unbelievable that some people live like this,” Alex replied.

“Well,” Zack said, pursing his lips and throwing her a quick side glance, “Vitali isn’t a normal person.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“My God, Alex, you know him better than I do,” Zack said. “You can’t possibly measure him against normal standards.”

A butler opened the thirteen-foot-high white wing doors. They entered the spacious, black-and-white tiled entrance hall. Muted music could be heard in the distance. Alex saw Sergio surrounded by a group of people. She was impressed to recognize Robert Landford Rhodes, governor of the State of New York, who resided in Albany, and Clarence Whitewater, the chief judge. Charlie Rosenbaum, one of the city’s biggest real estate speculators, stood next to him, as well as Carey Newberg, the publisher of
Time
. When she entered with Zack, Sergio excused himself and approached her, smiling. Alex had butterflies in her stomach.

“Alex! Zack! I’m glad you could make it!”

He extended his hand to Alex first, then to Zack. The sight of his steel-blue eyes made her shiver. They congratulated him on his birthday and chatted a little. Zack wandered off.

“I’m very happy to see you here,” Sergio murmured to Alex.

“Nice little party,” she said with a grin. “Is there anyone who isn’t here?”

“Very few,” he responded with amusement. “I’ll see you outside in a minute.”

He squeezed her hand one more time before turning to greet the newly arrived guests. Alex looked around curiously. The tasteful yet impersonal furnishings of the house might have been a masterpiece of interior design, but the entire place somehow reminded her of a mausoleum.

“It’s incredible, don’t you think?” Zack grinned. “I want a house like this someday.”

“I’ll say,” Alex said, raising her eyebrows. “This is no house, it’s a temple!”

“Well, it’s impressive. If you live like this, you’ve really made it.”

He was right about that. They walked down a few steps to the large terrace. It offered a breathtaking view across a parklike garden, decorated with antique white statues, a large white marble swimming pool, and a pool house. People were crowded around tables and benches on the grass between the terrace balustrade and the pool. A band played Italian folk music on stage risers, and an opulent buffet was served under big white pagoda tents. Everything was beautifully decorated with colorful paper lanterns, burning torches, and splendid flower arrangements. A bar surrounded by cocktail tables was right next to the pool. It was the perfect setting for a high-society summer party.

They met almost the entire board of LMI on the terrace. Vincent Levy, Isaac Rubinstein, and Hugh Weinberg were here with their wives. A bit later, Michael Friedman and Max Rudensky—owners of a famous brokerage and arbitrage firm—also arrived. The mood was relaxed, and when Levy suggested that they take a look at the buffet, everyone but Alex turned toward the steps. From the corner of her eye, she saw that Sergio had stepped out of the house and stopped at the terrace’s balustrade. The warm air smelled like lavender, and swallows shot through the gorgeous misty twilight.

“How do you like my house,
cara
?” Sergio asked as he stood behind her.

“It’s imposing.” She turned, and a mocking smile flitted across her face. “It seems to me that you’ve built a mausoleum for yourself during your lifetime. Like the pharaohs in ancient Egypt.”

“That’s what I appreciate about you.” Sergio said, smiling at her. “Anyone else would have said how fabulous it is.”

“We’re probably beyond the stage of courteous phrases.”

“Yes, we probably are.” Sergio leaned next to her on the balustrade. Alex gave him a probing look. He seemed relaxed and in a good mood, but she saw an attentive tension in his eyes. She suddenly remembered what Oliver had said to her that night:
Are you kidding me, or are you really that naive?
She was just about to pepper Sergio with some hard questions when she sensed him noticing someone approaching behind her.