Conor Fitzgerald - The Namesake

‘I needed to find you as quickly as possible,’ said the captain, as if this were a sufficient answer. ‘Also, I told you, I work for the DCSA. Electronic surveillance and tracking mobile phones is what we do.’

‘For drug smugglers and criminals. Not for police commissioners,’ said Blume.

‘Were you going somewhere?’ the captain pointed to an outsized, shiny hard-shell suitcase next to the door.

‘That’s been there for weeks,’ said Blume. ‘Why did you pretend not to know where I was?’

‘You’re the one who seemed reluctant to mention that you were at home. It seemed impolite to insist. May I sit here?’

‘It’s a bit…’

The captain sat down on Blume’s sofa, which received him in a soft sinking embrace so that his knees were soon on a level with his eyes. He struggled back up and eyed it then Blume with suspicion.

‘I was going to suggest the armchair,’ said Blume. ‘That’s basically just a pile of cushions. The springs went and then the webbing.’

The captain sat in the armchair and beat out a tattoo on the cracked leather armrests. For himself, Blume chose a cheap IKEA chair that Caterina had made him buy for her apartment and rejected as soon as he had finished assembling it.

‘You should dispose of that sofa,’ said the captain.

‘I know,’ said Blume. ‘It’s been here for years. I’ll get around to it someday.’

The captain interlaced and cracked his fingers. ‘I need your help for Monday morning, think you can do that?’

‘Sure thing,’ said Blume. ‘You need to move a piano, paint a room, have someone killed?’

‘Ah, sarcasm. Here’s my ID card if you need to check my credentials.’

He neatly flicked a plasticized card into Blume’s lap, then clicked his fingers impatiently as Blume examined it. The badge showing the interforce symbol of the DCSA: three swords, the flaming grenade representing the Carabinieri, a walled crown representing the police, the yellow flame of the Finance Police, and the motto: Trigemina vis cor unum.

‘Three forces and one heart,’ translated Blume. ‘Beautiful concept.’

‘Let’s get down to business, Commissioner. On September 2nd, the Ndrangheta are holding their annual general meeting in Polsi after the Feast of the Madonna. This year, same as last, we’re fitting the place out with hidden cameras and mikes, keeping an eye on who turns up. We’ll be logging number plates, taking photographs. They know we’ll be there, but, as always, they don’t care, and no matter how many devices we plant, they don’t have any problems making sure we pick up nothing that is vital. The bosses from all over the world turn up, or give powers of proxy to their seconds-in-command. This year, for the fun of it, we’re hosting a delegation from the German Federal Police, the BKA. The delegation arrived a few hours ago, and we meet tomorrow morning, then again on Monday and during the week. There are some tensions between the BKA and the Italian authorities, but more cooperation than you might think. The Germans have occasional moments of humility when it comes to organized crime, or, at least, they are willing to acknowledge our greater experience. Now that they have moved beyond the “mafia-doesn’t-exist-in-Germany” stage, they are interested in learning. A visit to Polsi is part of that. Your friend Agazio Curmaci could well turn up, too.’

‘My friend?’

‘You know what I mean. You come recommended, Blume. Magistrate Arconti speaks highly of you. In fact he says hello.’

‘He said hello? Not hyyuhhaggh?’

Massimiliani shrank back as if unnerved by Blume’s zombie imitation. ‘If you’re referring to the fact he was taken ill today, he’s already far better. He was sitting up in bed when I saw him. It’s true, he can’t speak properly, though I don’t think that’s an excuse for you to mock…’

‘You’ve seen him today?’

‘Yes. He recommended you a while back, of course. Today I went to visit him as a friend.’

‘Oh,’ said Blume, taken aback. ‘And what did he recommend me for?’

‘As someone who we might turn to for an extra hand. Specifically, someone who had a perfect command of English, a smattering of German, professional integrity, intelligence, experience, willingness to travel, no family commitments.’

‘A hand in what? I’m busy right now.’

‘It looks to me like you were taking an early night.’

‘I am on standby. Is Arconti really sitting up?’

‘He had a stroke, they administered the drugs. It remains to be seen what damage there is and how long it will take him to heal. But he’s already regained movement. Look, Blume, I’m not a doctor.’

‘Now that we’re on the subject, who are you exactly? Who do you work for? Apart from the DCSA?’

‘In order of importance and pride, I would say I am first and foremost a Carabiniere. I also work for AISI, and I have been seconded to the DCSA.’

‘AISI. You didn’t mention that before. SISDE, huh?’

‘AISI, not SISDE. SISDE’s the old name. It hasn’t been used for a while.’

‘That’s because you fuckers had such a reputation for subversion and corruption you had to change your name like a criminal on the run. More of a conspiracy of crypto-fascists, thieves, Freemasons and Vatican financiers than a secret service.’

‘I was a kid back then, but most of your criticism is justified. Even so, there was always a public-service ethos. Good people. Same as in any institution in this country. Layers of deadwood and corruption, but a core of good people in the middle, fighting against the odds. There is no conflict between homeland security and my duties as a Carabiniere. They are complementary. You know what the motto of the AISI is? It’s Scientia rerum Reipublicae salus, which means…’

‘The salvation of the Republic comes from knowing all about other people’s shit,’ said Blume.

‘That’s a very free translation.’

‘Tell me some of the Republic-saving intelligence you know.’

‘I know your colleagues are spending all night following up an investigation that has already ended. And you, sensing this to be the case, have wisely decided to take an early night.’

‘Explain.’

‘A few hours ago the police in Sesto San Giovanni got a call reporting an explosion and fire in one of those giant disused industrial areas. They found a van with two charred corpses. The bodies have not been identified, yet. But the van is the one your colleagues have just put out an APB on. The investigating magistrate in Milan has decided not to inform the investigating magistrate in Rome until tomorrow or even Monday.’

Blume retrieved his home phone from among the cushions of his collapsing sofa.

‘What are you doing?’

‘They’re my colleagues. I’m going to tell them. So they, too, can get an early night.’

‘I’d prefer you didn’t.’

‘They’ll know soon enough; why not immediately, give them a proper weekend?’

‘Because I would be breaking my word to my friend in Milan, if Rome were to learn about this before he was ready.’

‘So you shouldn’t have given him your word.’

‘I told you this because I thought I could trust your discretion.’

‘You’re one of these people who can’t keep a confidence. Immediately you hear one, you rush off to tell someone else, me in this case, and then you get all moral and uppity if it looks like I want to do the same thing. A secret service man who can’t keep a secret,’ said Blume.

‘I can keep secrets, Blume. For instance, I am not going to tell anyone that you falsified a confession by the wife of a powerful member of the Ndrangheta.’

Blume started to put the phone back on the sofa. But before it touched the cushion, it started ringing.