Orsinni Contracts

Bill Cariad

Description

In the U.K... A top secret government project must beat the Russians in a race which will give the winner control of men's minds. Meanwhile the police hunt is on for a gruesome paedophile who mutilates his kills, and the death toll is rising! In Italy...Six children are abducted from Rome's streets on the same day. The carabiniere hunt for them uncovers a paedophile ring with unexpected connections. In America...The Hip Sing and Burning Hand tongs vie for supremacy of New York's Chinatown. In Italy... Maria Orsinni begins a journey towards her new life. It is a journey which will develop her martial arts talent and life-skills. It will also bring her into conflict with America's Mafia and its CIA, Chinese Triads, and killer paedophiles.

Sujets

• Thriller

Informations

• Publié par: Andrews UK
• Date de parution: 17 octobre 2014
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781785380105
• Langue: English

Extrait

Title Page
THE ORSINNI CONTRACTS

Bill Cariad



Publisher Information
The Orsinni Contracts
Published in 2014 by Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
The right of Bill Cariad to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998
Copyright © 2014 Bill Cariad
Cover Design and Illustration copyright © 2014 Haydn
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any person who does so may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.



Prologue
A Stone’s Throw To Destiny
Palermo, Sicily, 10 Th Day Of January 1979
Passers-by paid scant attention to the butcher’s van which quietly stopped outside the office building on the busy street adjoining the market square. The van disgorged five men, and the immaculately suited driver and a stocky man in work-overalls entered the office building. The remaining trio, wearing the boldly striped aprons of the macellaio’s they purported to be, withdrew from the rear of the van the metal rack from which hung the gleaming steel hooks. The men in butcher’s aprons positioned the assembly at the pavement’s edge and calmly stood beside it to await the return of their colleagues.
It would be another hour before this building would receive those who staffed the offices on its four floors, so the van driver and his companion had the elevator to themselves and rode it in silence to the top floor. The elevator’s door opened to reveal a spacious reception area and a wall-plaque informing them that this entire fourth floor was dedicated to one company, bearing the name Contracts Consultancy Inc. Through a glass-fronted door to one side of the elevator could be seen a man seated at his desk, busily engaged with whatever he was doing, and his presence was a surprise to the visitors. Nevertheless the smartly dressed van driver and his overall-clad partner ignored the early-bird-clerk, focusing instead on the large reception desk directly in front of them.
The desk was manned by an attractive looking female, who interrupted her typing to greet the unexpected but harmless looking male duo who were smiling pleasantly as they approached her domain. Behind her simple barricade stood the closed door to whom she imagined these men had come to see. She knew that there was nothing in the appointments book about an early meeting and wondered if her habitually imperious boss would deign to see them. The smart looking one in the suit began talking to her and immediately had her full attention. As she listened, her initial doubt vanished. Her boss would definitely be seeing these men.
Behind the door separating him from his receptionist, was the man who had foolishly bitten the hand that fed. The finished telephone conversation still occupying his mind, the man who had been given the soubriquet of ‘Abacus’ stood at the window and surveyed the peaceful scene before him with turbulent thoughts. He had planned for every contingency... except war! The transatlantic ‘heads-up’ call, with its bombshell news that the powerful Bartalucci family who protected him had struck their own protective deal with the Corleone family, didn’t alter the fact that the so-called Sicilian Commission was reportedly on the verge of being ripped apart by an all-out war between the other families. A war which was a distraction he could do without. Which necessitated abandoning his cautious approach and accelerating his plans.
Stylishly clever Italian grooming concealed the corpulence and a benign facial expression masked the arrogance of the man who stood by the window. His blinkered view of the outside world took in richly patterned Arabian domes reaching for a blue sky above the 12 th century Palazzo dei Normanni, but the man wasn’t impressed by such things. He had closed the window to shut out the boisterous market sounds and the smell of polluted air. His own private sights were currently set elsewhere and the tantalising scent of success was all that he needed to fill his nostrils. On the solitary desk behind him rested his brand new Commodore Vic-20 computer, retailing for a mere US $299 but which had already keyed him halfway to becoming a secret multi-millionaire. The well-tailored man with a talent for juggling figures was overweight and over-confident. The weight problem was something he’d lived with for a long time, something which hadn’t prevented him attracting the woman who had given him a fine son, something which didn’t seem to bother his mistress, something which hadn’t curtailed the rapid rise to his current indispensable position. The confidence factor was something else. He had always possessed it of course, but would have scorned the suggestion that it might have come to possess him to the point of carelessness.
The man turned away from the window and his glance fell on the framed canvas depicting a Brazilian beach scene. Brazil was never far from his mind these days and Rio de Janeiro was where he and his ten million dollars were destined to live happily ever after... and then the door of his office unexpectedly opened and abruptly closed down the fantasies of ‘Abacus’.
The ensuing question and answer routine was painfully concluded within ten minutes. Additional time was used by a no longer arrogant or indispensable ‘Abacus’ as he complied with supervised procedures on his brand new computer. The van driver led the way back into the now deserted reception area, followed by his stocky companion effortlessly carrying the naked and miscalculating ‘Abacus’ in a fireman’s lift. Duct tape covered the mouth of the overweight figure juggler; he had nothing more of interest to say to his visitors. As expected, the receptionist had obeyed her simple life preservative instructions and there was no sign of her or the previously seen office clerk as the men re-entered the elevator.
The van driver and his accomplice emerged onto the street and transferred their load to the waiting men in striped aprons. Some passers-by stared in disbelief, but they were probably tourists and curiosity at this stage of the exercise was to be expected. Other pedestrians quickened their steps away from the scene. With practiced ease two of the men in butcher’s aprons hefted the naked man and impaled his body on the gleaming steel hooks, whilst the third man produced a butcher’s knife and swiftly slit the throat of ‘Abacus’ before using the razor sharp blade to open the man’s femoral arteries.
The van driver was calmly signalling to rejoin the traffic even as the butchering trio were climbing into the rear of the vehicle. The van drove off as quietly as it had arrived. No siren sounds could be heard by those passers-by who slowed to stare at the human being hanging from the steel hooks with his life’s blood pouring into the gutter. Some of the passers-by had seen this form of Palermo pig-roast before and knew that sirens weren’t the answer. The naked man would bleed out before any help could get to him.
11 th day of January 1979, Via Angelo Emo, Rome, Italy
To some, those of a less aesthetic disposition perhaps, it could have passed for just another building in the north-west part of a city knowingly filled with architectural marvels. However, and not wholly attributable to its commanding view of the glorious Citta Del Vaticano, this particular building still frequently drew openly admiring looks from passing tourists and more discerning glances from the better informed of the area’s indigenous population.
The guide book fraternity would note that the building had once housed Vatican dignitaries, and, since no current information was available to them, would sensibly conclude that the heavily manned gatehouse just inside the formidable looking iron gates signalled occupancy by someone still important enough to warrant such protection. One could imagine some of the building’s younger admirers speculating as to which pop or movie star might be resident within it. Set in what appeared to be opulent grounds, to the older and romantically inclined tourists the majestically styled building looked like a palace fit for a king. Of course the historically seasoned of those tourists would have dismissed the idea of the building’s incumbents being any form of royalty, past or present, but their perspective of history would have been shaped by textbooks which had never fully informed.
So, in a somewhat perverse way, the romantics almost had it right. Because if such a building could be said to contain a kingdom and if such a kingdom could be said to have a king, then at this point in time the crown belonged to Don Carmine Bartalucci. Of course he wasn’t a blue-blood royal in the accepted sense; nevertheless sufficient of the red variety had been spilled along the way to making him an absolute ruler. To those in the know, Don Carmine Bartalucci headed one of Italy’s most influential Mafia families. So if such a king granted you an audience in his throne room, it would be to this building on the Via Angelo Emo that you would come. Giovanni Orsinni, the Bartalucci family consigliere (counsellor) had been granted such an audience today and had arrived with a worried mind.
Giovanni Orsinni had not travelled far to counsel his ruler, having simply walked the short distance from his own home which stood amongst the compound of buildings connected to the main