The Italian Divide (15 page)

They included a ring with a 12.4 carat cabochon emerald in the center surrounded by 14 diamonds, valued at 950,000 euros; a bracelet with alternating faceted sapphires (totaling 7.0 carats) and diamonds (totaling 8.3 carats), valued at 1.2 million euros; and a yellow gold necklace with clusters of diamonds and rubies, valued at 1.35 million euros.

Several other less important pieces had been stolen as well.

My God, Craig thought, the woman had valuable stuff. He quickly added it up. Almost five million euros worth of jewelry had been stolen. Most were very distinctive pieces.

Craig concluded that the Russians weren’t following him. So he went downstairs and had dinner in the hotel’s luxurious gastronomic restaurant that had excellent food and was a favorite of many of Milan’s top social set. Several people recognized Enrico Marino and congratulated him on his Stresa victory. One couple asked Craig to join them for dinner, but he declined telling them he was tired and wanted to eat quickly and leave. “I’m afraid I won’t be much fun.”

Over dinner, he thought some more about the jewelry. He wondered whether Federico had given them to Bonita, his first wife. Well, regardless, no mere robber would ever hang around a house once he had these in his hands. The Russians clearly had another agenda. Someone had wanted Federico dead. Craig was determined to find out who it was.

Paris

T
he day after Elizabeth’s article on Parelli’s Venice speech was published, she received a call from Jonathan Hanson, an American expat who had held her job as foreign editor of the
International Herald
. He had retired twelve years ago and was living in Provence. When she was elevated to foreign editor, Hanson came to Paris and took her to lunch. He had offered his help if she ever wanted guidance, but she had not taken him up on it and hadn’t seen Hanson since then.

Today, he sounded excited when he said, “Elizabeth, it’s Robert Hanson.”

“Good to hear from you.” She almost said Bob, but remembered he hated that so she quickly mumbled “Robert.”

“Good piece you did on Roberto Parelli. First rate journalism.”

Elizabeth was thrilled with the compliment. Hanson had won prizes for articles dealing with political developments in Europe. “You made my day.”

“Now, I want to be helpful. I have some background info for you on Roberto Parelli. How about having lunch with me tomorrow? I’ll come to Paris.”

Elizabeth was delighted. She wanted to understand more about the candidate. Hanson would never have called if he didn’t have something significant. “Sure. Tell me where and when.”

*     *     *

For lunch the next day, Hanson selected a bistro not far from the Herald’s office. When she arrived, she found him seated at a table in a corner. The place was quiet. They’d be able to talk.

Hanson was sipping red wine as she approached. The tall and trim Hanson stood up. He looked to be a model of health and vigor. He was sun tanned and had thick brown hair and a smile that turned up his mouth. He could have been an ad for the good life in Provence. She noticed a bottle of St. Joseph on the table. The waiter poured her a glass.

“Even though we’re both Americans,” Hanson said, “we can still drink at lunch.”

“Sure. Why not?”

A portly waiter with a bushy brown mustache came to the table. Elizabeth ordered moules and frites; Hanson asked for steak and frites.

Hanson raised his glass. “Here’s to your superb article on Parelli. And I loved the title: ‘Roberto Parelli—Savior or Sinner.’”

His words made her feel good. “Coming from you, that compliment means a great deal. So which is he: saint or sinner?”

“Clearly a sinner. When you hear what I have to say, you’ll agree with me.”

“How do you know Parelli?”

“We go back a long way. Would you believe to Yale when I was an undergrad.”

“The Dark Ages.”

Hanson laughed. “Tell me about it.”

“I wasn’t even born then.”

“Ouch. That hurt.”

Hanson paused to sip some wine and said, “First, let’s talk about Roberto Parelli’s father, Mario. That becomes relevant later on. When Mussolini came to power, Mario wasn’t in politics. He was operating the Parelli vineyards and winery. As I’m sure you know, Mussolini never agreed to Hitler’s demands that he round up the Jews and deport them to camps like Auschwitz. Once Mussolini was deposed the first time, near the end of the war, Germany invaded Italy and the SS began rounding up and deporting Jews. Mario was outraged. Not only were some of his friends Jewish, but he was a decent and honorable person. He made his farm and vineyard a stopping point for Jews escaping from Turin into Switzerland.

“The Nazis found out about it and decided to punish Mario. They wanted to make an example of him. When the SS showed up at his farm, they gathered all of Mario’s family and everyone else there into the yard in front of the house. Mario was forced to watch as they raped and then shot and killed his wife and four daughters. Roberto, his youngest, and only other child, was six months old. He survived because Mario’s good friend Rinaldo held the baby and pretended it was his own. After the carnage, Mario pleaded with the Germans to kill him, but the officer in charge said that leaving Mario alive to remember what occurred would be a worse punishment.”

The waiter came with the food. They stopped talking for a few minutes and ate. Then Elizabeth said, “That’ a helluva story.”

“Yeah. I heard it from Mario. I interviewed him a couple of times. After the war, he turned the wine business over to a man he hired away from Gaja. He devoted his life to politics to prevent atrocities like this from happening again in Italy. Rinaldo became his chief advisor—and confidante. Mario was in Parliament for many years and the minister of agriculture and finance. But of course he was never prime minister.”

“So Roberto has politics in his blood.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t plunge in until a year or so ago. Before that he was a lawyer with a prominent Milan firm. He’s very high energy. He also had a justly deserved reputation as a playboy, which in Italy isn’t easy to obtain. As you’re no doubt aware, marital fidelity isn’t, shall we say, as widespread in Italy as in some other places. Simply put, he loves high living and he fucks anything that wears a skirt.” Hanson said it with contempt.

Elizabeth couldn’t wait any longer. “Tell me about Yale.”

“Ah. Good old New Haven.”

“I went to Harvard myself.”

He smiled. “I won’t hold that against you.”

She ate a few mussels, waiting for him to continue.

“When I was a senior, I was Editor in Chief of the
Yale Daily News,
which I thought was a big deal.”

“It was.”

“Not big enough, as you’ll hear. Well, anyhow, I had it all, or so I thought. I was madly in love with and engaged to a fabulous woman— smart and a drop dead gorgeous blonde with a figure that turned men’s heads. Her name was Diane Taylor, a junior at Vasser. She came down to New Haven one evening for a political program in the law school auditorium about Europe’s future. One of the four speakers was the US Secretary of State. Another was a graduate law student, Roberto Parelli, who was charismatic and gave a superb speech.”

Hanson sounded bitter. The smile was gone. His mouth turned down. “After the program ended, I rushed up to interview the Secretary of State. Through the corner of my eye, I noticed Diane talking enthusiastically to Parelli. Before I was finished, Parelli was leaving the auditorium with Diane in tow. She called the next day and asked me to come to Vasser and collect the ring. No apologies or explanation. She married Parelli a month later and dropped out of Vasser.”

“And did they live happily ever after?”

“Hardly. Ten years later and two children for her, I was still single and agonizing over what could have been. I had taken a job at the
Herald
, playing a long shot that if I were in Europe I might hook up with her again.”

“And?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re impatient?”

“They do all the time.”

He didn’t laugh. “I heard rumors that Parelli was a playboy. Lots of affairs. So I called Diane. We had a torrid affair for about a month. She told me that she would leave him and run away with me. Then she called and ditched me again. This time, I got an explanation.”

“I’ll bet this was good.”

“Actually, it was. Roberto had gone to dinner with his father in Rome. Mario liked Diane. He even provided the funding for Diane to open a boutique in the fashion district of Milan. He wanted to save Roberto’s marriage for the sake of his grandchildren. At dinner, Mario had tried to convince Roberto to stop running around with women. They ended up in a shouting match. Roberto stormed out of the restaurant. Half an hour later, when Mario was walking back to his hotel, Libyan terrorists shot and killed him.

“Grief stricken, Roberto told her what happened with his father at dinner. He swore he was done with other women. So she took him back. She still loved him. A few months later I met Jacqueline and married her. From that point on, I tried to forget about Diane. I have no idea if Roberto has been faithful to her or not. But I doubt it. Men like Roberto are serial adulterers.”

Elizabeth recalled her conversation with the prostitute in Venice. “Well he hasn’t been. I can tell you that.”

Hanson finished his wine and poured some more. “It doesn’t matter. I got her out of my system long ago. I wanted to talk to you today because I’d like to encourage you to find a way to destroy Parelli. Not because of my personal issues with Diane. Not because he’s a lying cheating scum bag. We have plenty of leaders in every country who fit that description. There’s something else. If Parelli is elected, his political program would be a disaster for Italy.”

“You mean because the south is so much poorer than the north and couldn’t make it as an independent nation.”

“That’s part of it. A division between north and south would heap misery on millions of low-income people living in the south. They need the support they get from the central government. Even with that support, the south is in dreadful shape. Annual gross domestic product in the south is 21,000 per capita compared with 43,000 in the north. Sixty percent of young southerners have no job. Without it, poverty levels would rise and infant mortality as well as other health indices would go off the charts. The south lacks the manufacturing base of the north. Without it, the economy in the south would crumble. Do you think it’s possible to sustain standards of living on an economy that only exports olives and olive oil. Even the best wines are in the north. But it’s more than economic issues.”

Hanson was sounding emotional. “I love Italy. And who doesn’t? With all of its defects, and there are plenty, it is a great country. Italians are a wonderful people with a creative independent spirit. And Parelli wants to destroy it.”

“He’s never said where he’d divide the country.”

“You’re absolutely right. And for good reason. It can’t be done. Would Rome be in the south? Would it be a divided city? Rome is the pulse of Italy. As much as Milan and Turino. Politicians like Parelli never worry about the practical problems. They shoot off their mouths with a grand vision. All there would be is endless fighting. Of course, there are enormous differences between people in the north and the south. That’s always been the case. But so what? I know it’s a trite expression that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts, but that happens to be true for Italy.”

Elizabeth recalled the research she had done for her article following Parelli’s speech in Venice. “On the other hand, southern Italy did exist as a separate political entity from the north for eight hundred years until the country was unified in the 19th century.”

“So what? That was a different time and a different world. Massachusetts, Virginia, Pennsylvania, and other states of the United States existed as colonies of England. That doesn’t mean they should go back to being separate entities.”

“Do you think the people in Scotland have to stick with England if they want independence? Or in Catalonia if they want independence from Spain?”

“That’s the point. You said if THEY want it. In Italy, the vote isn’t just by southerners deciding to stay with the north. Northerners will be voting overwhelmingly to kick them out in order to increase their standard of living. You think that’s right?”

“Polls show that Parelli has support of a majority in the south.”

“Hanson sneered. “The church misleads them. The Vatican wants a real state it can dominate. Not the tiniest nation in the world.”

Elizabeth didn’t argue. She realized Hanson was right.

He continued, “Parelli has to be stopped, and you’re an incredible reporter with a golden pen. You can do it.”

The waiter cleared their dishes and asked about dessert. Hanson paused and asked for an espresso. Elizabeth had seen the waiter serving a luscious looking profiterole to a nearby table, but she had gained a couple of pounds lately. Do I or don’t I?

“Just an espresso,” she told the waiter.

The coffee came a moment later. “Do you have any ammunition for me to use against Parelli?” she asked.

“I’ll give you two suggestions. First, develop a relationship with Luciano, Parelli’s closest advisor and chief of staff. Rinaldo, Mario’s best friend, was Luciano’s father. Luciano is a professional political advisor. As soon as Parelli went into politics and formed his New Italy Party, Luciano went to work for Parelli. But here’s the point: Luciano, like his father and Mario, is an honorable man. At some point, Parelli, the scum, will do something to alienate Luciano. That could be his undoing.”

She was nodding. “That’s very helpful. What’s the second?”

“In his personal and business life, Parelli spends money like water. Diane told me that during our brief fling. Prior to Berlusconi’s entry into politics, money was not the driving force in Italian elections. However, Berlusconi had a marketing background, and he followed the model of an American campaign with huge advertising expenditures. Parelli has taken a page from Berlusconi’s playbook. So he needs lots of money. And you and I know that candidates in this type of campaign will make concessions to contributors to keep the money flowing. As they say in Washington, ‘follow the money.’ That may be how you can nail Parelli.”