The Mark of Cosa Nostra Read online

  "You've done your homework, Carter," Hawk said. He turned just enough to look at me. The black stub of cigar was still clenched between his teeth. The girls had changed to doing pushups.

  "Thank you, sir," I said. If Hawk had been testing me, I evidently passed.

  "All right," he said. "That's what heroin is. Now I'll tell you what it can do. As you undoubtedly know, there is a great deal of drug abuse going on among our GIs stationed in Vietnam."

  "Sir?" Tanya interrupted. "Isn't heroin being sold openly in Saigon?"

  Hawk and I both looked at Tanya. She gave us a weak smile.

  Hawk went on. "In Saigon, as Tanya pointed out, heroin is easily available. Pure heroin can be purchased for three dollars a vial; that same vial would cost three hundred dollars back here in the States. The result is there has been a spiraling death-rate among GIs due to overdoses. And the sale of the stuff is not just in dark alleys with whispered deals; it can be bought by asking for it in the teeming marketplaces of Cholon, or within blocks of the USO on central Saigon's Street of Flowers."

  Hawk turned back to where the girls were doing deep knee bends. "A subcommittee on juvenile delinquency has begun an investigation into these GI deaths. In one thirty-day period in Saigon alone the investigators pinpointed thirty-three overdose deaths. And by the time the investigation is completed the death rate is expected to reach fifty a month."

  Hawk pulled the cigar from between his teeth. He studied it carefully while he patted his pockets for matches. He dug a match out, lit it, and touched it to the end of the cigar. The air around us clouded with the rank aroma of Hawk's cigar smoke. When he had it going he said, "The drug problem in Vietnam has reached an outrageous level. All agencies have been working on the problem: Army and Navy Intelligence, the CIA, the FBI, and Senate subcommittees. All information gathered has been funneled to AXE. It has cost eight agents' lives but we have backtracked the stuff. We know it's coming from Turkey. And in tracing it back we've learned that it gets to Saigon from Mandalay in Burma. We backtracked further to Calcutta and then New Delhi in India, to Karachi in Pakistan, by ship through the Gulf of Oman, then the Persian Gulf, up the Tigris River to Bagdad in Iraq, then by plane to Istanbul, Turkey." Hawk suddenly became quiet.

  I noticed the girls were on their backs doing bicycle-pedaling exercises. I asked Hawk, "Do you think the source of the heroin is in Istanbul?"

  Hawk shook his head. "In Istanbul five of the eight agents were killed, three CIA agents and two Naval Intelligence officers. It's possible that is where the heroin originates, but the connection comes from somewhere else. All the agents came up with the name of one man. Rozano Nicoli. But whenever an agent started asking questions about the man, the agent was found shortly thereafter floating face down in the Black Sea. Cause of death was always the same, drowning. And an autopsy always revealed an overdose of heroin."

  I turned the name over. Rozano Nicoli. Hawk blew smoke up above him. Tanya stood silently beside me. I said, "So who is Thomas Acasano? He must be connected to all this somewhere."

  Hawk nodded. "You have assumed the role of Acasano because you are going to infiltrate the Mafia. We know the Cosa Nostra is the organization behind the shipments of heroin into Saigon."

  "I see," I said. "And I guess I'll go where the shipments really begin."

  "In Sicily," Hawk said. "You won't have to worry about discovery from the source of your disguise; Thomas Acasano is quite dead. As to who he is — he is the only man considered a close friend to Rozano Nicoli."

  Three

  Hawk turned his back on the exercising girls. He looked to the north where mountain peaks were dusted with snow. The black cigar stub was still clenched tightly between his teeth.

  "We've learned a few things about Rozano Nicoli," he said. "For one, he commutes regularly by plane from Palermo in Sicily back and forth to Istanbul. Before our agents were killed, they each had the same thing to report. Nicoli is the head of a 'family, or branch, of La Cosa Nostra in Sicily."

  Tanya said, "Then he must be the one behind all that heroin going into Saigon."

  Hawk kept looking at the mountains. "It's very likely. He spent five years in America some time ago. It's been reported that he was once a high-ranking member of the old Capone family in Chicago, then he was connected with Raoul (The Waiter) Dicca, who followed Frank Clitti as boss when Capone went to jail." He paused long enough to look at me steadily, his wrinkled, leathery face showing no expression. "Some of these names won't mean anything to either you or Tanya. They are before your time."

  He pulled the cigar stub from his mouth and held it at his side as he talked. His eyes looked at the mountain peaks again.

  "It was Nicoli who went with Joseph Boranko from Brooklyn to Phoenix, Arizona. Boranko put a lid on most of the Southwest, and Nicoli thought he was going to get a slice of it. He was sadly disappointed. There was an ambitious young man in the organization by the name of Carlo Gaddino, who handled nineteen contracts for the Cosa Nostra. He operated out of Las Vegas, and it was he who put an end to Boranko's life and career. A double-barrel shotgun was used, one barrel removing the forehead and left eye, the other eliminating the chin and half the neck."

  Tanya's green eyes flinched a little.

  "Gaddino made his aims clear," Hawk went on. "He was taking over every operation in America, and he was coming after Nicoli because Nicoli had been connected with Boranko. Nicoli figured the climate in America was getting too warm. He left for Sicily the day after Boranko's large and lavish funeral. The idea was for him to lay low long enough to make his peace with Gaddino."

  "And he hasn't been back in America since?" I asked.

  Hawk shook his head. "No. After he left, Gaddino really began to move. He left a trail of bodies all over America. Contracts were issued for family bosses in Los Angeles, Brooklyn, Philadelphia, Chicago, and just about every major city in the nation. Within two years he was the unquestioned leader of the national La Cosa Nostra. He could afford to be generous, so he did not push the contract against Rozano Nicoli. Everybody prospered, including Nicoli."

  There was a pause. I noticed the girls had completed their exercises and were jogging off the field. Hawk continued to look at the mountains. Tanya was looking at me.

  The cigar was dropped on the grass and mashed with Hawk's shoe. He turned to look at me. His eyes looked deeply concerned.

  "Many people don't realize, Carter, how truly far-reaching the powers of La Cosa Nostra are. The methods used by Carlo Gaddino to take over simply would not work today."

  I nodded in agreement. "There would be too much publicity now if the boss of every major city was killed. The FBI would be on him so fast he wouldn't know what hit him."

  "Precisely. There is something else, too. While the Cosa Nostra has expanded in most areas, there is one in which they have retreated. Narcotics. The Bureau of Narcotics has had a get-tough attitude toward the families trafficking in drugs. So, although controlling much of the importing of heroin, the families have increasingly left the wholesale market of drugs in America to the Negro and Puerto Rican underworld."

  Tanya frowned. "Then why are they pushing heroin into Saigon?"

  "Not they, my dear, just Nicoli."

  Four

  Hawk stood in the middle of the grassy field and pulled another cigar from his pocket. His eyes locked with Tanya's in a look I didn't quite understand. He gave her a curt nod.

  She smiled at me. "If you gentlemen will excuse me, I have an appointment."

  "Of course," I said.

  We watched her walk away, and it was more of a strut than a walk. I wondered if it was for my benefit, or if she always strutted like that. It didn't really make much difference, my being over thirty and probably over the hill.

  "Delightful young lady," Hawk said. "Brilliant mind. She will be an asset to you on this assignment, Carter."

  "Yes, sir." I was still wondering what my assignment might be. "She seems very young, though."

  "By necessity
, Carter. Have you had breakfast?"

  "No, sir."

  He put his hand on my arm. "Let's go to the commissary then, and see what they can rustle up for us."

  We started walking across the grass. He had the cigar clenched between his teeth, unlit. The dark clouds above had completely blocked the sun. The bite in the air had become worse. Both of us turned up the collars of our coats as we reached the sidewalk.

  At the door of the commissary, Hawk left instructions that Tanya was to be notified where we were. We picked up trays and walked through the line loading the trays with scrambled eggs, hash brown potatoes, sausage, and a pot of black coffee.

  As we sat to eat, Hawk poured a cup of coffee. "Where was I?" he said suddenly.

  I had to think. "Rozano Nicoli." He started buttering toast. "While the Cosa Nostra was expanding all over America, Rozano Nicoli remained in Palermo. He prospered also, but he never made his peace with Carlo Gaddino. Things went well for a number of years, and then two weeks ago something happened."

  "Nicoli came back to America?" I asked.

  He shook his head. "Carlo Gaddino was very mysteriously found in the sauna bath of his private club. There were nineteen bullet holes in his head. Of course no one heard any shots. There was a large, lavish funeral nine days ago."

  The food was good. It didn't take me long to devour it. "Sounds like Nicoli is trying to clear a path for his return," I said.

  "Very possibly." He held a fork toward me. "Carter, we already have eight dead agents. I don't want you to be number nine. I'll tell you what those eight agents gave us before they were killed."

  I sat back sipping coffee.

  "As I said, Nicoli commutes between Palermo and Istanbul. And he has picked up some interesting friends. While in Istanbul he has been keeping company with a known Turkish Communist named Konya. He also has a constant companion wherever he goes, an Oriental called Tai Sheng, who is a high-ranking member of the People's Republic in China. In fact he is one of their ace pilots and has earned the nickname, The Winged Tiger. We think he has a great deal of influence over Nicoli, and besides Acasano, whom you are now impersonating, he is Nicoli's closest friend."

  We had finished eating. There were two lovely young ladies in the place besides us. They were in a far corner, heads together in whispered conversation. The commissary was like all the others at AXE training schools. Pea-green walls surgically clean, well-polished tile floors, small round tables with wrought-iron chairs. Girls and women selected for training all had to put in their time as waitresses, cooks, and dishwashers. It was part of the discipline.

  Hawk and I leaned back sipping coffee. He pulled out yet a third cigar and stuck it between his teeth. This one he fit. I pulled out one of my gold-tipped cigarettes.

  When we were smoking, I said, "Do we know anything about this Tai Sheng: his background, why he's such a high-ranking member of the People's Republic?"

  The leathery face remained passive. "We know several things. It is believed that he organized the Chinese Communist Air Force which helped drive Chiang Kai-shek out of mainland China to Taiwan. Supposedly he speaks often with none other than Mao Tse-tung himself."

  A whistle escaped from my lips. Tai Sheng was beginning to impress me.

  "After receiving Red China's highest medal from Mao Tse-tung, Sheng helped organize factory production of fighter planes and in later years, missiles." Hawk blew a puff of cigar smoke toward the ceiling. "Like Nicoli, he is in his early to middle fifties, and he has a great deal of ambition. We think he personally arranged the path of heroin from Istanbul to Saigon. Nicoli provided the capital and has reaped most of the benefits."

  I studied him with a frown. "With heroin selling at three dollars a vial in Saigon, Nicoli's profit margin can't be all that great. It must bother him to know he could get one hundred times that amount in the States."

  "Believe me," Hawk replied, "it bothers him. But even at three dollars a vial he is making a one hundred per cent profit."

  My frown of disbelief seemed to amuse him a little. The report on heroin came back to mind as he spoke again.

  "In America one ounce of heroin will bring seven thousand dollars. Most of the heroin shipments coming in here are sent from Turkey, either direct or by way of Mexico and Canada. Compared to what is paid for the stuff in Turkey, it can be sold in the U.S. at a three thousand per cent profit. Which is the main reason why dope smuggling is so lucrative to so many."

  It had all been in the report. Hawk made a minor ritual of using the ash-tray edge to push an ash off the end of his cigar. He seemed in deep thought.

  "Eight agents, Carter," he said softly, looking at the ash tray. "Their lives paid for your assignment. I'll tell you what information was gained at that cost. We believe that La Cosa Nostra in America is now without leadership. There has been little activity from organized crime lately; everything seems silent. We further think it was Rozano Nicoli who gave the hit order on Carlo Gaddino, and that order was carried out by someone connected with the Chinese Communist Party in the U.S., under the orders of Tai Sheng. AXE also thinks that Rozano Nicoli intends to take over organized crime in the States, and has already put out feelers to find who will back him and who will oppose him. Tai Sheng would use American Chicoms from large-city Chinatowns to deal with anyone opposing Nicoli. Nicoli is short-sighted; he can only see as far as the huge profits from smuggling heroin into the U.S. He actually believes that he is using Tai Sheng and the Chicoms to help him take over in the States, as well as providing the route for heroin from Istanbul to Saigon. But what will actually happen is that Nicoli will become a Chinese Communist puppet, if he isn't already. It is obvious that the Chicoms want to demoralize American troops in Vietnam, but to take over organized crime in the U.S., using Nicoli as a front, would be like the power in Peking taking over General Motors."

  "Then my assignment is to stop it from happening," I said.

  "Partly. You must get close to Nicoli, to stop him by killing him if necessary, and the flow of heroin from Istanbul to Saigon must cease."

  I nodded. "So why the disguise? Who is this Thomas Acasano I'm impersonating? How did he die?"

  "Your impersonation of Acasano is our only chance," Hawk said, studying the glowing end of his cigar. "Thomas Acasano was Nicoli's trusted ally on the East Coast. He carried a lot of weight with Nicoli, which is something Tai Sheng does not like. As far as both of them are concerned, Acasano is still very much alive."

  "I see. And how did he die?"

  This was what Hawk unfolded.

  AXE had had agents watching everyone even vaguely connected with Nicoli ever since Gaddino was gunned down in that sauna. The agent assigned to Acasano was a good man named Al Emmet. Al intended to do more than just follow his man. He wanted a pipeline to Nicoli, and he figured Acasano was it. So he pushed a little too close.

  Many things must have gone through his mind at that time. He probably went back over the last few days and tried to find out where he made his mistake. Then there was a decision to be made. Should he tell AXE headquarters he had been found out? To do so would mean he'd be yanked from the case and another agent would take over. And just when he was so damned close.

  Al Emmet was good. What separated American agents from those of the Communist world was independent action. Agents like Al didn't follow any book. Each case was individual, and he handled it as he saw it. So he didn't tell headquarters he had been discovered. He kept tailing Acasano.

  When Thomas Acasano found out he was being tailed, he immediately sent out a coded telegram to Palermo asking what should be done about it. The answer came back in one sentence. The AXE agent was to be hit.

  Normally, when a man had reached the stature of Acasano, the procedure would be simple. A button man would be contacted and issued a contract. But these were not normal times. Gaddino was dead, and not even cold in his grave yet. Organized crime, temporarily at least, was without leadership. There would undoubtedly be power struggles within the families to see
who would end up on top. As a result no button men could really be trusted. Gaddino himself had started as a button man from Las Vegas, and everyone in the organization knew it. There were many ambitious young men who thought they could step into leadership shoes exactly as he had.

  Acasano knew that Nicoli had worked too hard, made too many plans, and was just about ready to come back to the States. No lousy AXE agent was going to blow the whole thing wide open. And since no one else could be trusted, Acasano would have to handle the hit by himself.

  Al Emmet knew when the telegram had come ordering his own execution. And he knew what it had said. But his main concern was for the code. If AXE headquarters had both the telegram sent by Acasano, and the one returned by Nicoli, the code might be broken, which would be helpful in the future when messages were sent between gangland leaders.

  Three nights after Acasano received the telegram from Palermo, Al drove out to Long Island. Acasano had a huge house out there, as well as a swanky apartment in New York that he maintained for his girl. So Al drove out there at night. He was going to get that telegram ordering his own execution, as well as Acasano's copy of the one he sent.

  It had been snowing that night. He parked a block from the house and walked, listening to the crunch of his shoes in the snow. He had brought some rope with a three-pronged hook on the end. With that it was easy to scale the twelve-foot-high concrete wall Acasano had built around the mansion.

  As Al ran in a crouch across the big yard, he knew he was leaving footprints in the snow. They would be discovered later. It worried him all the way to the back door of the house. Then he was relieved to see that it began to snow once more. The fresh snowflakes would cover his tracks.

  He got in the house and made his way to the den with a pencil flash. Finding the two telegrams was easy. Too easy. They had been in the third drawer of the desk, right there on top. It wasn't until Al had shoved them in his overcoat pocket that he knew he had been caught.