While Ravani was loading our "precious cargo", I organized a "Parade of White Lights" in the now former "torture chamber".
Aug. 19, 8:57 p.m.
The organization had no other such "room of trivial questions" in Montpellier, so we had to stop by the "embassy", although by all our articles it was a violation of all principles to torture and, in general, to bring all kinds of trash there, but it was a matter of the utmost importance.
At the "black" gate, we had to stop.
I got out of the car and headed for the entrance with big, quick steps (the flicks were after us, after all, so I was nervous). After two knocks and twenty seconds, the door was opened by a lanky man in his twenties, dressed in a standard black suit with two buttons on the jacket. He was clearly ignorant of etiquette, and the bottom button was buttoned. He had a square face, shoulders like an arshin, fists to hammer nails with, in short, another heartless bat in crime. I'd never seen this eagle before.
He asked the question that I recommended asking in all embassies at such meetings (two years ago I personally supervised the foundation of all the security systems of our representative offices in France, three in totaclass="underline" in Montpellier, Paris, and Brest): "You, on what subject?"
"I am Faust."
Not a single muscle trembled on the square face, "So what?" The guy is new not only to Montpellier, but also to Cosa Nostra.
"Inform Ducon that Faust has arrived," — Ducon is ambassador to Montpellier.
"No such here, sorry," — the newcomer replied and slammed the door shut, a trick that was also my invention.
Serious information even for two ears
August 19, 23:03.
We were given a very small room by Ducon, but with serious luxury (in fact, the whole house was like that): wonderful landscapes and still-lifes on fine paintings, a Persian carpet for the whole room (a real work of art), oak furniture (two chairs and a table, on which, by the way, stood, I think, a Chinese vase). There are no windows at all, but the lighting is nevertheless good, thanks to the gilded wall lampshades.
There were three people in the room: me, Ravani, Fantin. Emilien was in the next room coming to his senses.
Ravani did all his procedures again and after thirty minutes he started the session, "Sleep deeply… (familiar phrase with the same length of repetition) You are sleeping soundly and you can hear my voice perfectly…".
Obviously, after the first time, Ravani recognized that the victim was incapable of psychological resistance and did not give a verifying command, but simply continued: "You really like to sleep… Now you want to answer my questions… Continue to sleep and answer my questions… What is your name?"
The investigator muttered under his breath, just as he had the last time, "José Fantin." "Sleep deeper… Deeper still… Where do you work?"
"In the prosecutor's office."
Similar rudimentary questions followed, and after about the thirtieth Ravani got down to business, "What is your latest case?"
"The Koza-Nostra Case."
"Sleep deeper… Deeper… Do you love your children?" "Yes."
"Do you love your wife?" "Yes."
"Do you love your job?" "Yes."
"Do you want to be with your family more often?" "Yes."
"You're going to tell me everything."
The subject hesitated a bit, but then came to some senses, spewing out: "Yes (the system the hypnotherapist used is familiar to me — four natural positives and a squeezed inertial fifth response)."
"Sleep deeply… I am your superior Nicolas Sivan (the first and last name of the superior Ravani had learned during the past thirty questions).
"Yes, Chief."
"I'm waiting for your report…" "Faust doesn't want to split…"
"Sleep deeper… We need to emphasize others…" "Yes, Chief."
"Who did you take but Faust?" "Giovani Gambino…"
"Sleep deeper… Name everyone else…"
"Mario Orsoni ("The Bodyguard" — for seven years he personally supervised the security of our favorite boss (he was given this nickname because during his tenure there were twenty-two assassination attempts on the boss, of course without results — a kind of record)), Ricardo Azzaronni ("Pegasus" — almost always walked in white, and also escaped from the scene of a crime with simple cosmic speed), Pierce Brosman (this is a nickname, his real name is unknown to others as well as mine)".
"Sleep deeper… Is that it?" "Yes, Chief…"
I whispered in Ravani's ear, "Good boy, quit talking. We don't need him anymore.
Top secret
As it turned out a little later, "Brosman" (so he was called not because he bore a resemblance to the last James Bond, but because his equipment always included such things, which even in the world of Hollywood never dreamed of. Eight years ago I had the opportunity to work with him. It was in Milan. It was necessary to eliminate one figure who felt too confident in the criminal environment (in short, a complete outlaw), so the case was entrusted to the "masters". The object was located in the famous Milan center of economy, surrounded by guards of fifty people (actually he lived in another place, but then we had to show that any person who would do such things (before arriving in Milan, the object without permission robbed a bank in Palermo, and then our brothel, and then shooting all the visitors and employees) should be killed brutally and immediately). I alone entered through the main entrance, and six minutes later, having gone through a lot of difficulties with the guards (long story, but then my bullets killed eighteen people), I found myself in the final room. By this time Brosman had already ripped the victim's stomach open. How he managed to find himself in his room, where, by the way, there were no windows and the door was under constant surveillance by his personal guards (they were indeed ironclad: they were all loyal to their boss because of their high salaries and excellent attitude and approach, for which he was even nicknamed "Socium" (for caring about the workers)), I have never been able to understand. And this is only a story about his personal abilities, and about his "tricks" and even more about their principle of action can be told for days.) got out from under the clutches of the agents himself, and Gambino was shot while trying to escape during the arrest, incidentally taking with him to the other world a good two and a half dozen local law enforcement officers (they tried to arrest him in Istanbul, when he was watching the shipment of Afghan drugs to Western Europe through the Middle East and the Mediterranean Sea).
Orsoni (work in England) and Azaronni (work in Germany) remained, and since it is much more difficult to work in Germany than in England (unlike England, where ordinary patrolmen do not have the right to carry firearms, in Germany in case of emergency all roads are instantly blocked and not by investigators or even operatives, but by special forces — it is clear that under such conditions there is no time to have fun: all the minimum time to work).
While I was dealing with Fantin, the escaped "Brosman" extracted information from another representative of the law about the whereabouts of Orsoni (Liverpool) and Azaronni (Munich), and that the original documents on the Cosa Nostra case were at the Interpol headquarters in Lyon, the other two copies near the detainees Orsoni and Azaronni. Whether there are more copies, the interrogator did not say.
Who's on Koza Nostra?
Aug. 20, 11:43 a.m.
Twenty people came out of the building (nineteen men in black suits, two of whom were handcuffed to another man, but already in a white suit and with a particularly fashionable, as it seemed to me, tie (this is the famous "Pegasus")) and headed towards the cars standing next to them (three Volkswagen minibuses and two Audi). After their "departure" they were joined by another big bus of "Mercedes" company (obviously, it is a special forces). That is, in total, in the first minute of liberation we could resist up to sixty flicks, including special forces, and what will happen after the arrival of reinforcements, it is difficult to imagine. The conclusion is that the Germans and their guards had not just overdone it, but had gone completely nuts.