Guiseppe replied with a bit of interest, "Oh, I'm on vacation. I've come to see the historic sights in old Bana, and browse for antiques, particularly books. I know Bana City isn't the oldest of cities in Scandigrad, but as a former capitol you would be surprised at the records left behind from its heyday. It used to be quite important, you know!"
He paused for a moment, "Speaking of importance, would you happen to know which direction I turn for the car rental area once I leave the customs hall?"
"Good morning, Detective Boswell, I presume?" Dabri asked, then continued, "I'm Giudice, or investigating magistrate, Dabri Savripalam of the Ministry of Justice, in the jurisdiction of the State of Katz Paja Mas, in Culcatta, Alunya. My brief is the investigation of organized crime which, as you no doubt are aware, runs the gamut of most types of crimes. I mention this because my office has acquired some sensitive information by national technical means, which I am not at liberty to disclose at this time, but which concerns your jurisdiction."
She took a brief pause, considering how much she could trust her unknown audience. Was this Boswell an honest cop? Or was he as corrupt as many of the line officers in the Culcatta police force? She didn't know, and it set her on edge.
She continued, "To be brief, we have reason to suspect that there may have been a shipment of narcotics to Scandigrad through the port of Bana a few weeks ago that may have proved problematic in some fashion. The type of drug involved would most likely be heroin, either near pure or cut."
"While we don't have specifics," she lied, not admitting how little she did know, "We do think there may have been a fault with either the quality or the delivery of a shipment." She quickened her breathe, getting to the point, "Would your office happen to be aware of either an interception of such drugs, or perhaps you've heard on the street of users complaining or overdosing on bad narcotics?"
"Oh," she brightened, "I forgot to mention my bona fides. If your office wishes, be sure to call my superior, Giudice Antonio Galietta of the Ministry of Justice, State of Katz Paja Mas, Alunya. His office can be reached at regional code 30, country code 420, area code 5231, telephone 2304-3115-3510. You should verify that as correct in your international police directory. If you want, you can have him call me -- to have me call you back once you have checked my background. Trust is important in our line of work, and I wouldn't want you disclosing information to just anyone!"
She paused to wait to hear from Boswell as to how he wished to proceed with her request, hoping that a straightforward answer to her inquiry would be forthcoming.
Father Damiano Di Topolino squared away his luggage. It had been a long flight from Rome with multiple connections, the last flight being a bit bumpy from Scandigrad City to Bana City, where he was now ensconced in the rectory of the archbishop's cathedral. He sat down at the edge of the modest bed, and admitted to himself that he was worn out and cross.
Vanity wasn't a desirable trait in a priest, but he had graduated from the Pontificia Ecclesiastica Academia, anticipating an initial assignment in an Apostolic Nunciature somewhere, or barring that, at least within the office of one of the cardinals. His Italian, like most Alunyans, was impeccable and often more correct than that of many Romans. But Bana City -- it had ceased being a capitol decades ago, and had been short-lived at that. A more materialistic man would admit that career prospects did not look good.
If it is Your Will, Lord, then let me be of the greatest service to You, and a help to Archbishop Niccolo Langoratti.
He brightened at the thought. The Archbishop was a kind man, and though he would never be a cardinal, he too had started as a parish priest, right here in Bana City almost a quarter of a century ago. Damiano reflected that he would at least be a priest of the see, administering the sacraments in the Roman Catholic cathedral of Bana City. It wasn't as if he was assigned to be the one and only priest of an obscure suburban parish like his childhood church of St. Polycarp. He would observe and learn the workings of the archdiocese.
He crossed himself, said a brief prayer for the Archbishop, then stood and straightened himself in preparation of meeting the man himself. He closed the door behind him, and proceeded to the offices of the archdiocese.
Rocco Maschetti slammed his clipboard down on his desk and sighed. Twenty years of paperwork, and it never seemed to end. Every year got busier, even in the occasional economic downturn, as trade dispersed to cheaper labor pools. The glut of shipping and improved efficiency in their prime movers now made it almost possible to ship coal to Newcastle after it had been dried in Xangzhou. Everyone seeking to improve the bottom line now meant that salmon caught locally were now often filleted on the other side of the world and shipped back frozen. It was absurd!
And while the facilities at the modern shipping port near Bana City were state of the art, his office was not. Hackeem, Witta, Maschetti was still a low budget, cost conscious ship brokers and agents office of just five people. Jean Hackeem, who came from Lebanon, handled ships from the Eastern Mediterranean, including many in the Greek registry, and the Arabic countries. Agnieska Witta, of Poland, often took on the vessels from the Baltic and Black seas. And he, Rocco Maschetti of Alunya, handled the vessels hailing from Italy, the Iberian peninsula, and all of Latin America as well as elsewhere in the North Pacific. With an office secretary and an intern, five people was just enough to keep up with the flow of vessels in and out of the port -- and too few to keep up with the paperwork.
Of course, theirs wasn't the only brokerage in port. Those Asians handled a glut of ships from that side of the Pacifics, and other brokers specialized in vessels from other regions. But even though business was booming, the margins were so thin that he didn't even want to contemplate hiring another hand.
His exasperation of the moment was directed at a grain carrier that would not make her assigned berth at the assigned time. Shipping was brutal; if you didn't make your slot, someone else would take it. A rice carrier from the Western Pacific would now be docking in her stead. He would have to scramble to find a new time to berth the Passafiume Paladin, a HandyMax bulk commodity vessel. Damn that captain, whoever he is!
He glanced at the clipboard again. An Alunyan flagged-vessel -- never on time, of course. He wondered if this one would be carrying drugs. The heavy SUVs with the beefed up torsion bars and the gentlemen in suits too nice for the dockyards, paying a visit to the officers' quarters and raiding the ship's locker were dead give-aways. Not that you could tell the port police that -- who else would let the bastards roll right into a secured area in the first place?
It had bothered him for months when his neighbor's daughter had been kicked out of her home after failing rehab one too many times. Her father had confided that she was shooting up with heroin, and that he was at his wits end. A bit of tough love, he had said wistfully. They didn't know where she was now, and it gnawed at the mother. Rocco had finally had enough, and had screwed up the nerve to go into downtown Bana and visit the narcotics division of the Bana Police department. A bored detective had taken his name, listened with a yawn to his story of how drugs moved through the port, and handed him a business card, telling him to call if he saw anything suspicious.
Suspicious was the watchword, and there was plenty of it, but he had only called a couple of times to report the really egregious stuff going on. As far as he could tell, nothing had come of it. Maybe it was all a sham; after all, if the port police couldn't be trusted, maybe the municipal police were no better.
Well, if this Captain Biancheri were to get a special visit by the special gentlemen, then he was going to make sure he placed a special call on behalf of the captain. The Passafiume Paladin had already wrecked his day.
