Swimming with Sharks (18 page)

“I didn’t think that the Feds would make so much noise about this,” Nelson van Mieren said, concerned. “Their failure was rather embarrassing.”

“This is not the FBI.” Sergio slapped the newspaper with a flat hand. “This article is Kostidis’s creation.”

He let out a sinister laugh.

“He thought he finally had me, and now he sees that I slipped through his fingers once again.”

“I don’t like this at all, Sergio,” the lawyer objected. “This talk about the Mafia and corruption damages your reputation. This is a godsend for the media.”

“So what? I don’t give a damn.” Sergio stood up and crumpled the newspaper. “No one will remember this in a couple of weeks. Kostidis can suspect as much as he wants, but he can’t prove anything. And he very well knows it.”

“I don’t think they will let it rest so easily this time,” Nelson replied, “because it’s an opportunity to discredit you publicly. You know yourself how sensitive this topic still is. It’ll become difficult to maintain the support of our friends if the press picks up on this. Politicians hate negative publicity.”

“But they love my money.” Sergio laughed. “I don’t give a damn whether or not they like me. I own them. I know way too much about them and their secret tax-free earnings for them to stab me in the back.”

Nelson van Mieren let out a sigh. It had taken him years of hard work to build a legal and serious facade for Sergio’s empire. Just a few negative words in the headlines and television coverage could cause a great deal of damage. And these headlines were sure to come, because the press was virtually starving for sensational stories in the summer.

“The building commissioner just called,” Nelson said.

“He’s starting to freak out,” Sergio said, sitting in his armchair again and leaning back with a sinister smile. “We gave him twenty-five thousand
dollars last month! What’s he going to do? He won’t bite the hand that feeds him.”

He turned his chair to the side to behold the Empire State Building and the skyline of Midtown Manhattan.

“Look at this, Nelson,” he said, “my city at our feet! I’m the king of Manhattan. Anyone who wants to do business here must get past me first!”

He laughed, but there was an icy glint in his eyes.

“Nelson, I’m not a megalomaniac, you know that. I’ve made it here from the streets of Little Italy, and nobody helped me. I’m used to a headwind, and I’m not scared of it. Quite the contrary—I like to fight! And I like to win. I’ll win this time.”

“Kostidis will try to crucify you.”

“He’s been trying for years.” Sergio waved his hand, dismissing him. “I don’t care. I’ll stay backstage pulling the strings just like I’ve always done. Do you know what would really be bad, Nelson?”

“No, I don’t.”

“If I were in a position where I needed to hand this all over—that would be bad. But I don’t.” Sergio smiled, musing. “I could have retired a long time ago. I’ve seriously considered the idea, but…”

“But?” Nelson looked at him attentively.

“Massimo isn’t ready to lead all of this yet.” Sergio made a sweeping gesture. “And besides that, I still enjoy this game way too much.”

Nelson looked at his friend with an uneasy feeling. He had witnessed Sergio’s unstoppable rise and knew how ruthless he could be. But Sergio was wrong about one thing: he could not afford to ignore his reputation, because many of his business partners wouldn’t allow themselves to be linked with a man who was called a Mafioso in the press. Sergio’s empire—based on brutality and bloodshed—had become so mighty and powerful because he understood how to convince influential men to side with him. Assuming that nothing could shake it was a mistake. He’d made many enemies on his way to the top, and Nelson was convinced that many
of these bought friends were just waiting for the moment when Sergio’s empire started to rock to quickly jump ship. There were no bigger opportunists in the world than politicians.

“What’s the matter, Nelson?” Sergio asked. “Don’t tell me this newspaper scribbling scares you.”

“I think you’re taking this much too lightly,” his lawyer replied. “We can’t afford to make any mistakes that could threaten our key connections.”

“What are you trying to say?” Sergio’s ice-blue eyes seemed to pierce van Mieren. Nelson shuddered. It was inconceivable to imagine what would happen if someone who really knew something decided to get out. Vincent Levy, for example. Would he risk the reputation of his bank by publicly supporting Sergio? Never! Levy was a businessman, and he wasn’t Italian. He was a Jew. If push came to shove, he would switch sides to ensure his own survival. But it was pointless to argue with Sergio because he refused to accept any reality but his own. Nelson realized that Sergio had stopped heeding his advice a long time ago.

“Nothing,” he said, “you’re right. Chances are that no one will still be talking about this in a few days.”

Sergio smiled.

“Nelson, my old friend, you’re not going to lose your nerve on me, are you? Speculation over whether I have something to do with the Mafia is less damaging than the testimony of a man who knows facts and figures. The dust around Zuckerman will settle, and then the bootlickers from politics, justice, and the administration will return. Ancient human greed has always bound them to me.”

He stood up and stared out the window. Even if they avoided him for a while, they would never revoke their loyalty. One person who had planned on doing so was now lying stiff and cold in the morgue at the Department of Forensic Medicine. Sergio Vitali was no one to mess with.

“What about the woman?”

Sergio looked at Nelson in surprise.

“Alex?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing. What about her?”

“Is she on your side?”

“I don’t know.” Sergio shrugged his shoulders. “She does her job, and she does it well. I don’t talk about my business with her.”

Nelson breathed a sigh of relief. He had secretly feared that Sergio had given in to weakness and let her in on his secret business deals.

“Are you worried that I would risk everything because of a woman?” Sergio laughed out loud.

“Well,” Nelson replied, “after all, you toyed with the idea of confiding in her.”

“But I decided against it. It was a sentimental moment. It passed.”

He sat down at his desk again, but the smile had vanished from his face and made way for a grim expression.

“Get me McIntyre on the phone,” he said to Nelson. “I’d better talk to him before he flips out.”

“Sergio!” Paul McIntyre exclaimed in a low voice that had the sound of sheer panic. “Have you read the paper?”

He didn’t hear the typical arrogance in McIntyre’s voice.

“Yes,” Sergio replied, “I have. Is there something in it that should interest me?”

“Jesus.” McIntyre lowered his voice to a nervous whisper. “Zuckerman is dead! No more investigation committee! Kostidis is mad as hell, and now they’ll certainly come after me.”

“Nonsense. Who would come after you?”

“The US attorney, Kostidis—who knows!”

“Nobody will come, Paul, I can promise you that. Now calm down. I’d like to discuss something with you.”

“Calm down!” McIntyre laughed desperately. “The entire city is standing on its head, and you tell me to calm down!”

“How was your vacation?” Sergio leaned back into a comfortable position in his chair; he put his feet up on the reflective top of his mahogany desk. “Was everything arranged to your liking?”

McIntyre instantly got the hint. He hesitated for a moment; then his voice sounded calmer.

“Of course. It was perfect, as usual. My wife even went diving.”

“I’m glad. I hope that she spent a lot of money.”

“Hmm…yes…”

“I heard that another little tidy sum has been transferred to your account in Georgetown.”

“Great.” McIntyre was still tense, but he had himself under control again.

“Paul,” Sergio said, “I need a favor. A friend of mine has a small problem.”

The buildings commissioner was silent. These words coming from Vitali were familiar and were meant as anything but a request. However, Vitali rewarded those who did him favors royally. McIntyre was aware of that. He’d complied for the first time with one of Vitali’s requests about fifteen years ago, when he was a clerk at the Department of Buildings, and he had never regretted it. He was able to send his kids to private schools instead of the run-down public schools, and his family vacationed at hotels Vitali owned throughout the world. In addition, they were always treated as if they were Vitali’s close relatives. McIntyre had by now added a respectable chunk to his retirement savings. Although he still needed to be careful not to live beyond his means, he would retire in luxury.

“So what can I do for you?”

“Charlie Rosenbaum is having problems with his new skyscraper on Fifty-Second Street,” Sergio began.

“For heaven’s sake! God knows that I can’t do anything about that! The mayor himself just asked last week whether Rosenbaum had applied for a retroactive permit.”

Sergio felt the hot anger rise up in him whenever he heard of this man. Kostidis! Didn’t he have enough work on his hands without assuming the jobs of the attorney general and the buildings commissioner?

“And?” He forced himself to remain calm. “Did he?”

“No.”

“See? Go ahead and issue a permit for him now. Kostidis has other things on his mind at the moment and won’t ask again for a while.”

“Impossible!”

“I’m not familiar with that word, Paul.”

“This could cost me my job.”

“I’ve promised my friend I’d put a good word in for him.”

Rosenbaum had offered Sergio two magnificently run-down apartment buildings in Morrisania and Hunts Point at a truly special price in return for his help as an intermediary with the Department of Buildings. Of course, Rosenbaum couldn’t possibly know that these areas of the South Bronx were earmarked as priority redevelopment projects in city hall. In a few years, perhaps even sooner, these properties would be worth hundreds or even thousands of times more after the decrepit apartment buildings were demolished. Sergio owed this information to his absolute favorite informer sitting right in Kostidis’s office. This informer made up for all the trouble Sergio had with the mayor. A strange twist of fate had made Zachary St. John’s old college friend a member of Nick Kostidis’s inner circle. It was easy enough for Sergio to recruit the unhappy man with St. John’s help. In addition to regular payments, Sergio promised he would support his ambitious political aspirations. Thinking about this made Sergio smile in satisfaction. He had an eye and an ear directly in the mayor’s office. He’d never before had a mole that far up the ladder in city hall. Whatever Kostidis did, Sergio was immediately informed about
everything and able to take countermeasures, if necessary. Without a doubt, the 107th mayor of New York City would go down in history as the least successful of them all.

“So, Paul, how about it?” Sergio asked. McIntyre sighed, and Sergio knew that he had won. The buildings commissioner argued a little for appearance’s sake.

“By the way,” Sergio said, playing his trump card, “I found that house your wife has been dreaming about for years. Right on the coast of Long Beach with an ocean view. It’s a real beauty, with its own dock and private beach.”

This eliminated any remaining doubts.

“Okay,” Paul McIntyre said, giving up his resistance, “tell Rosenbaum to call me.”

“You’re my friend, Paul.” Sergio tapped the miniature bronze Statue of Liberty on his desk with the toe of his shoe. “And you know that I never forget my friends.”

Alex also read the article in the paper. The hint at a connection between Sergio and the Mafia was anything but speculation; it was the absolute truth. The ugly man whom she’d encountered at Sergio’s house was David Zuckerman’s killer. Sergio had no doubt lied to her. She had believed his reassurances because she had
wanted
to believe him.

On Saturday night, she had managed to escape from his house unnoticed. Driving back to the city, she briefly contemplated calling Oliver, but she didn’t. The memory of his contempt was still too vivid, and she wouldn’t have been able to bear it if he slammed the door in her face. She had been wide awake all night as she sat in her dark apartment, trembling with fear and trying to gather her thoughts. Sergio didn’t suspect that she’d found out the truth about him, and he must never find out. Once again,
the fear crept up inside of her. Were all the guests at Sergio’s party really as clueless as she assumed? Or was she the only one in the dark? It seemed impossible to her that the governor, the publisher of
Time
magazine, even LMI’s board members, could turn a blind eye.

Alex got to the office early the next morning. She was biting her lower lip, contemplating how she could cool off her relationship with Sergio without raising suspicion, when she heard a knock on her glass office door. Her nerves were so tense, she jumped up as if someone had just shot her.

“Hi, Alex.” It was Mark. He was surprised by her frightened expression. “Here are the documents about Xiao-Ling Industries and Midway Porter.”

“Okay, thanks.” Alex nodded absentmindedly. Fortunately, she was going to be able to get away from Sergio for eight days. She had to take a business trip to Asia and Europe with John Kwai, and this would give her time to develop a strategy.