Read Online The Puppeteer by Timothy Williams - Free Book Online Page B

on file here and it was a chance in a million that I should recognize her—you know, that photo where half her face is covered with a handkerchief and she’s about to hurl something—probably at the Celere or at the fascist forces of repression. I recognized it—and I took it.”
    “Then where is it, Commissario?”
    “In the glove box of my car.”
    “And where’s your car?”
    “I wish I knew.”
    Magagna gave him an unsympathetic laugh that crackled over the line. Trotti took a sweet from the packet that Pisanelli had brought him. “Let me know when you get something on her, Magagna.”
    “I should be working on Ragusa.”
    “You’ll have plenty of time to do that.”
    There was a moment’s hesitation, then Magagna said, “I’ve had better luck with Maltese.”
    “He was Ramoverde’s son?”
    “He was in Argentina—after the Villa Laura affair, the entire family emigrated to South America.”
    “The Ramoverde family?”
    “Of course.” A slight pause. “After a short return to Italy, he got a job with
Popolo d’Italia
. He was their correspondent for Latin America. And apparently he was pretty good stuff. He wrote articles on the Dirty War, Videla and all the rest. He even managed to make the front page of the
Popolo
.”
    “Where did you get this information from?”
    “Then he got the sack. 1980, just about the time the
Popolo d’Italia
changed owners. The paper was bought up by a big consortium called Stampital. This same consortium is supposed to have certain interests in South America, particularly Chile and Argentina. Which would explain why Maltese suddenly found himself without a job.”
    “What’s your source of information on this, Magagna?”
    “Look, you ask me to do you a favor.” Magagna sounded peeved. “And I’ve done it. This isn’t my field; you know that Ragusa is in Monza and that’s where I should be, instead of doing all this running around for you.” He paused, caught his breath. “This isn’t classified information. You could have got it from Finanza.”
    Trotti sucked at his sweet while at the same time he folded and refolded the cellophane wrapping. The telephone was propped between his head and shoulder. “Go on, Magagna.”
    “Maltese left Argentina, spent some time in the States and then returned to Milan.”
    “When did he get back?”
    “Have you heard of Novara?” Magagna asked.
    “A journalist?”
    “You’ve heard of the Banco Milanese?”
    “Of course.”
    “Banco Milanese Holding is a conglomerate. BMH has interests in Liechtenstein, in the Bahamas and in South America. In Peru alone, there are six Banco Milanese agencies. And through Stampital, it is also supposed to have a ruling interest in the
Popolo d’Italia
.”
    “Go on.”
    “The Banco Milanese is a highly respected Catholic bank—and now it’s under inspection from the Banca d’Italia for irregularities. There have even been rumors that the Banco Milanese is on the verge of collapse. The Director, Bastia, is expected to resign at any moment. A lot of wealthy families—people who for generations have trusted in the Banco Milanese as a reliable and respectable bank—are suddenly going to find themselves a lot less wealthy.”
    “What’s all this got to do with the journalist Novara?”
    “Novara used to be a partisan and a communist during the war. Now he’s an agent provocateur. They used him at Fiat in Turin to set up bogus trade unions—to undermine the real trade unions that were getting too pushy for the management’s liking. That and then a series of smear campaigns.”
    “Smear campaigns?”
    “There are always good people who get left by the wayside—and who understandably feel bitter. Novara has developed a way of cashing in on their bitterness. He gets them to supply him with information—perhaps even with compromising documents—and then he publishes a broadsheet. Distributed free of charge—he sends it to bank managers and judges and lawyers and