Brugnoli puffed sardonically.
‘The Defence people will say that that was perfectly normal. These men belonged to a unit trained to work undercover or behind enemy lines. They don’t wear traditional uniforms.’
‘Not even shoes?’
‘Shoes?’
‘The corpse was barefoot.’
Brugnoli thought about this for a moment, then gave a dismissive shrug.
‘They’ll say that he was wearing army issue boots which had to be removed to prevent a positive identification. They’ve got every angle covered, Zen.’
He turned away and started to stroll down one of the side paths.
‘When did this supposed incident happen?’ asked Zen.
‘They declined to be specific on that point. “For reasons of operational security”.’
Zen stopped and fussed over lighting a cigarette to cover his growing feelings of alarm. Both literally and figuratively, Brugnoli was leading him down the garden path, and into what was potentially very dangerous territory indeed.
‘You’re probably wondering why they left the corpse in situ,’ his superior went on. ‘Well, they claim that the fatal accident involved a test with some sort of nerve gas, one of those chemical warfare things. Since they could not be sure about the potential risk involved, they decided to seal the site by exploding a charge to block the tunnel. The family was told that their son had been killed in an unfortunate accident which had disfigured him so badly that it was necessary to hold a closed coffin funeral to avoid distressing the mourners.’
‘But the tunnel was not blocked. The body was discovered by those Austrian youngsters and then extracted by the carabinieri. I crawled in there myself.’
‘They suggested that there must have been some subsidence since the event.’
‘That’s impossible. The rock in those mountains is like iron.’
Brugnoli turned to Zen with a level gaze.
‘You don’t think for a moment that we believe any of this, I hope?’
‘What does it matter whether we believe it or not?’ Zen demanded. ‘We can’t disprove it, because they haven’t given us anything to disprove. The identity of the victim is being withheld, along with the date and nature of the alleged incident, access to witnesses and physical evidence, as well as all records of the post-mortem examination. Frankly, they might just as well have said that the case had to be hushed up because the victim was an alien invader from outer space and the public would panic if word got out. And if all this is being relayed to us “at the very highest level”, then it is only at such a level that any progress can be made. I therefore fail to see what steps I can effectively be ordered to take in the matter.’
This last phrase was spoken in the coldest and most bureaucratic tone Zen was capable of, and it made its effect. Brugnoli took his arm with a defusing laugh and walked him towards the only exit and entrance to the gardens perched high above the street.
‘ Caro dottore! There’s no question of ordering you to do anything at all. This is not the old days! Remember my motto, “Personal choice, personal empowerment, personal responsibility”. If you don’t feel fully committed to a course of action, you’re not going to perform well and achieve the desired results.’
‘And just what are the desired results?’
Brugnoli gestured broadly.
‘You have rightly objected to being unnecessarily burdened with confidences, so I shall not go into details or name any names, but the fact is that in the current political situation, with a cabinet reshuffle widely rumoured to be imminent, there is a distinct tension between certain high-level players in the Defence Ministry and those on our own team. Potentially there’s a very great deal at stake, believe me.’
Both men stopped dead as a haggard figure erupted from the shrubbery on their right, demanding money. One of his arms had been amputated at the elbow, and his skin was the colour of the tree trunks all around. He was dressed only in shorts and an undershirt, and kept talking incessantly and incomprehensibly in a series of loud, stabbing phrases.
Brugnoli ignored the beggar and walked on. Zen dug into his pocket and poured some loose change into the man’s remaining hand.
‘You shouldn’t do that,’ Brugnoli remarked when Zen caught up with him. ‘It only encourages them.’
‘It’s my insurance policy.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
But Zen chose not to answer this question.
‘What has the current political situation to do with this specific affair?’ he asked instead.
Brugnoli sighed heavily.
‘ Dottore, you surely must have experienced cases where you could not immediately achieve your primary objective, for lack of evidence or cooperative witnesses or whatever, but where you were able to make progress by pursuing a secondary objective where these conditions did not obtain and then using that as a lever to crack open the original problem. Well, it’s the same here. It would be counter-productive, and for that matter probably futile, for us to tackle la Difesa openly about this matter, which is in any case peripheral to our real interests. But assuming that they are indeed lying through their teeth, then a skilled operative such as yourself might be able to turn up some potentially interesting material which might provide us with the advantage we need to address the larger issues concerned.’
Zen nodded slowly, as though all these long words and abstract concepts had confused him. In reality he was assessing the respective risks involved in accepting or refusing Brugnoli’s proposition.
‘So what you want…’ he began ponderously.
‘What I want is a huge scandal that will be front-page news for days if not weeks, better yet the head of some eminent name on a plate, and ideally a confession implicating the entire Defence Ministry from the onorevole himself down to the night cleaning staff. However, I’ll settle for almost anything — just some grit to throw in the machinery and generally foul things up.’
Zen was silent for a long time.
‘The Austrian caver gave me some digital photographs his friend had taken of the corpse,’ he said eventually. ‘They’re not very clear, but he suggested that it might be possible to do something called “an enhancement”.’
Brugnoli nodded vigorously. ‘No problem! One of my first initiatives was to upgrade all such equipment and facilities. Just go to Technical Services on the second…’
He broke off.
‘What do these photographs show?’
‘As I said, the prints aren’t very clear, but potentially a marking of some sort on the dead man’s arm, possibly a tattoo. It might be of assistance in making a positive identification of the victim.’
Brugnoli pursed his lips judiciously.
‘Then you’d better get it done privately.’
‘You don’t trust our own technicians?’
‘I trust them to do good work. I don’t trust them not to leave copies of it lying around in some computer file where the opposition might find it. And if it means anything at all to us, it’ll mean a lot more to them.’
It took Zen a moment to grasp the point.
‘The Ministry of Defence has a spy within the Viminale?’ he asked.
‘I’d be amazed if they didn’t. Almost certainly several, in fact. Not to mention the secret services. Disgruntled operatives who feel they’ve been wrongfully passed over for promotion, time-servers with a year or two to go until retirement who want to feather their nests while there’s still a chance, that sort of thing. Hence the deliberately indirect manner in which this meeting was set up. You’re already known to the carabinieri in Bolzano, and they will almost certainly have reported your visit there to their masters at the Defence Ministry. If I had simply told you to come to my office this morning, that fact might well have been reported and the obvious conclusion drawn.’
‘Perhaps you should use someone else then,’ Zen suggested rapidly. ‘Someone untainted by previous associations with the case.’
Brugnoli’s expression revealed that he had not been deceived by this attempt to wriggle out of the assignment.
‘No, no! You’re the man for the job, Zen. After all, the fact that you’ve already begun enquiries makes it all
