The Raven Affair by Steven Nedelton (web based ebook reader TXT) 📖

This is an excerpt from The Raven Affair. The book is Five Stars based on The US Review of books, Apex Reviews, etc. All details are provided at www.snedelton.com. The book is available in all formats Amazon, B&N, etc.


Father Dominic’s story

“His Christian name was Roberto Rossi, and he was the Vatican’s banker, although I’m not so sure how good a Christian he was. Apparently, Rossi had been introduced to the Church’s highest circles by members of some masonic lodge, and was later mentored by a Sicilian fellow Michele Fusinato,” Father Dominic explained. “The following is the story based on facts and speculations my family was able to gather for me about Rossi’s death.

“They named him Dino Benito in the St. Basil’s document after his uncle on his mother side and after Il Duce, a relative on his father’s side—a very distant relative, but nevertheless one that made the familia proud. Since his childhood, he progressed from Dino tesorino to Dino diavoletto, to Diavolo, to a long number on his black striped uniform, to Dino the Strangler, and finally to Dino de’ Medici, although that last appellation was vastly exaggerated and known only by a very small, select group. For he was only the delivery page of that miraculous concoction that sent saintly John Paul I into his heavenly slumber, as gently as a Lord’s lamb (Lord save his soul). Unfortunately, John Paul I was too much of an inquisitive ‘lamb’ for his own good, for the ‘interested parties’ must have thought that that particular coup of theirs was the wisest move they’d ever conceived of.

When the ‘interested parties’ contracted him for the job, Dino wasn’t all that surprised. He had the right experience, was of the right age, and was definitely no longer the small time gangster many had thought him in the early days of his career. And it was sheer irony since the victim himself had chosen Dino as his trusted and only guardian, not to mention the millions he’d wasted on him for that ‘trustworthiness.’

On the other hand, his American partnership just happened, overnight—so to speak. Dino had been called and informed that there was a need for another ‘expert,’ and that he would be arriving on the chosen night. Dino didn’t really care all that much for the blond, blue-eyed American who was too good looking for his taste in business partners. Who needed a whoremaster to quiet an old fat banker? But then, Dino had learned that there was also a third man in the operation, known as the ‘mason,’ an expert at climbing walls, who would be waiting for Dino and the American at their destination.
What had astonished him most was the choice of the execution place, some five miles from the safe house, when the flat was a far more convenient spot. But orders were orders, and questioning them was a waste of time.

The night was cloudy, dark like ink, and the rain drizzled on Chelsea. As Big Ben struck the eleventh hour, Dino and the American arrived at the eighth floor apartment of the safe house and knocked on the door. Three sharp raps followed by another two, as agreed upon earlier.
“Who is it? Is it you Angelo?” a deep voice queried in Italian from inside. The old man knew Dino as Angelo.
“It’s me, it’s me. It’s urgent, Signor Rossi,” Dino responded in English.

“Uno momento, uno momento, Angelo. You‘re supposed to call before you disturb me,” the deep voice retorted, and the two men could hear a quick, heavy shuffle.
Dino made an obscene gesture at Rossi’s door then turned to the blond, “Getting his pea shooter, that idiot. Does it every time.”

Dino made them stand at the opposite sides of the doorway, although the door had no peephole that the banker could see them through.
Only a few days before, Dino had brought Rossi to this safe house. The old man had been and still was quite agitated after his narrow escape to London. Dino understood… half the Brotherhood was gunning after Rossi, not counting the banks and some powerful lodge in Florence. The old man was shitting in his pants, which explained the millions he was wasting on Dino, his new and only protector.

Finally, the door half-opened and a pudgy man in his sixties, still in pajamas and clutching a small revolver in his hand, appeared.
“This better be good, Angelo,” he barked out. Then he noticed the young blond on Dino’s left, “And who’s this?” he grumbled nervously.
“Not to worry, Boss. That’s why we’re here. We need to talk. We might have some good news for you.” Dino replied, nudging the blond into the room, while Rossi backed away from the door, although reluctantly.

Dino shut the door behind them without locking it, for that would have upset Rossi. The small room was in total disarray he quickly noted; the bedspread was half on the floor, food wrappers all over, and a half empty wine bottle sat on the nightstand. As he glanced around some more, Dino noted the black leather briefcase on the floor next to the bed. He would have to come back later to retrieve it. It was worth a fortune.

“Boss, this is Signor Duval, from a bank in Bern. I’ll let him talk now. Nothing to worry about.”
“Mr. Rossi,” the young man spoke in American-accented English, “I am the assistant to our bank vice president who’s presently waiting on you at a conveniently quiet restaurant on the waterfront. I’ve been instructed to inform you that our bank would consider helping you, and that we must be there within an hour because my employer is flying back to Bern in the morning. He has a loan plan that should be of interest to you. You’re more than welcome to bring your bodyguard with you, if you feel apprehensive about my unexpected visit. That is all I am allowed to convey to you. The details you will learn from Monsieur Martin himself.”

Rossi nodded, lowered the gun, and turned to Dino, “How did he find us? This is absolutely unacceptable. After our agreement and my payment to you.” Rossi was red in the face, and for a brief moment Dino worried the old man might start shooting at them. But the blond man quickly intervened.

“I am truly sorry, Mr. Rossi, but this wasn’t Mr. Angelo’s doing. Let’s say that our Bank has ways of…” The young man paused. “If you are truly interested in improving your, ahem, odds, my apologies for the ill-chosen expression, please hurry. Monsieur Martin’s flight is at eight in the morning and he had conferences all day long. He begs you to hurry.”
“I need to see your business card at least, or your passport. Something that you are…” Rossi trailed off nervously.

The blond hurriedly handed over his business card and began digging in his coat pocket for his passport. Suddenly decided, or perhaps overwhelmed by the pressure, Rossi returned the business card to the American and nodded, as if fully satisfied.
He turned to Dino, “Angelo, sbrigarsi, get my shirt, suit, and shoes; I need to shave.”
The blond man looked at his wristwatch. “Mr. Rossi, we have only minutes. The drive could be a half hour in this traffic and weather.”

“I can’t be seen by your vice president looking like a hoodlum,” Rossi grumbled irritably, then threw the gun on the bed and disappeared into the bathroom.
“It’s fine, it’s fine, Mr. Duval,” Dino said and smiled at the blond man, “I’m a fast driver, Italian blood, no worry. You’ll sit in the back with Signor Rossi.”
The American nodded.

Ten minutes later, they were in the street next to a Mercedes. The American opened the rear passenger door for Rossi, and got in next to him, while Dino got into the driver’s seat. The rain had stopped, though the sky was still dark and starless. Dino drove reasonably, careful not to stand out in the passing traffic. They were only five or so miles from the bridge, but they had to get to the motorboat first.
In the back, Rossi and the American were quiet. Rossi wore his grey suit and his fancy Patek Phillippe wristwatch. He even had his phony passport and a bunch of money in his pockets. He must sleep with that stupid Patek, that idiot. But it’ll serve a purpose tonight, Dino thought, smiling to himself.

After a while they were on the road leading to a small, private pier. Rossi must have been drinking too much wine, for he was snoring, sound asleep. That was good. It made their job easier. The road was practically clear of traffic; only a few cars passed by in the opposite direction. Then Dino gently turned into the entrance to the pier. The boat was there, swaying on the water, waiting for them. For the last few minutes, Dino had carefully slowed down, to avoid waking Rossi. Now he rolled into the parking space and stopped, smooth as silk. As they came to a stop, the engine quieted, but Dino left it idling for its effect on Rossi.

He grabbed a plastic bag, pulled out a large piece of chloroformed cloth, and handed it to the American. To their surprise, Rossi jumped up in his seat and screamed. The next moment, Dino saw the American trying to force the cloth over Rossi’s face, but the old man seemed fully awake now and was fighting back. Dino quickly jumped out of the car and entered the rear passenger compartment.

“Don’t hurt him! Careful!” he hissed at the American, and then fell over Rossi, holding his hands and pushing down his legs. Moments later, Rossi quieted and slumped back into the seat, unconscious. The American had held a pillow over Rossi’s face and gently smothered him. Finally, the old man stopped breathing. They watched him for a while, checked his pulse, then his breath with a hand mirror. The man was definitely dead. They checked his face and hands but didn’t notice any signs of blood or struggle. The man looked untouched, almost as if asleep.
Dino turned off the motor, closed and locked the car while the American held Rossi propped up against the door. They carried the body to the small motorboat and carefully lowered him into the back seat. Then, without starting the motor, they rowed toward the Black Friar’s Bridge. As they approached it, Dino saw a dark figure low down on the scaffolding under the center arch. The “mason” was waving at them with a flashlight.

Somehow, Dino got the boat under the scaffolding. The American threw the ropes to the mason, who tied the boat to some brackets.
“It’s ready,” the mason said in a low Italian accented voice, pointing at a rope with a noose attached to the scaffold.

Dino looked at the rope. “No good. The guy will be in the water. Can’t we hang him from some other plank up higher?” he asked.
“Too hard for me. This is easy. Just hold him up, I’ll hang him. He’ll be fine. By morning, he’ll be above water, I guarantee it. The water level gets lower,” the man explained.
Dino turned back toward the dead Rossi and motioned to the American. “Come on. The guy says it’s okay. By the morning he’ll be above water. Hold him by the waist and I’ll help. Let’s go, slowly, eh? It has to look natural.”

It took them a while to get the body into the right position.