"The Italian Gambit"


Terminal 2 at Cairo International Airport contained seven gates and if two or more were being used to unload at the same time, the crowding became horrendous. Franco had chosen his LH flight because a British Airways 747-400 arrived five minutes beforehand and most of the 300 people aboard were still streaming out of the jetway and converging with the over 200 people aboard his Lufthansa A340-300, ensuring that Franco could safely submerge out of sight in a sea of humanity.

He flowed with this sea into the Passport Control area and presented his false Spanish passport and tourist visa. The passport agent scanned in the passport and stamped the visa before handing it back. Franco approached the Customs area, however the agent just looked at his rucksack and waved him through. Franco continued on and exited into the Arrivals area and stopped by a store to purchase a disposable cellular phone. As he walked out into the open, the hot desert air assaulted him as did the noise and diesel fumes of taxis and buses. He hailed one of the yellow taxis and instructed the driver to take him to the Ramses Hilton hotel. He checked in to his suite overlooking the River Nile and then placed a call on the phone.


The sun had set some three hours prior as Franco stepped outside the hotel lobby and into the back seat of a 60 Series Toyota Land Cruiser. The mid-October temperature still hovered near 30°C and the cool air coming out of the vehicle's vents felt wonderful.

They drove out of the downtown area and crossed the River Nile to the west. Even at this late hour, the streets were absolutely clogged with cars and adherence to traffic laws and signs appeared to be voluntary. With much honking of horns and creative use of sidewalks, they continued on, disappearing into the warren of buildings and alleyways that sprawled from the left bank of the Nile to the Giza Plateau.

The dark-skinned man in the front passenger seat lifted an advanced digital radio to his lips and spoke rapidly in a language Franco could not understand, but assumed was Arabic. The vehicle made a turn and stopped in front of what appeared to Franco to be a restaurant. The dark-skinned man exited and opened the rear passenger door.

"Come with me," he said in excellent Italian. Franco exited and followed him inside. He heard the Land Cruiser drive off. Inside, wicker chairs were arranged around wooden tables on a tiled floor. The walls were of pink stucco with pictures of famous Egyptians, Egyptian architecture and scenes of Egypt. Wooden posts and crossbeams supported an open latticework roof that helped cool the building. The African led Franco to the back where a European with blonde shoulder-length hair sat dressed in jeans and a denim shirt.

"Thank you, Aşik," the man said to the African and then indicated for Franco to take a seat across from him.

"I'd heard you were dead," Giacomo Dante stated.

"It makes things easier for people to believe that," Franco replied.

Dante pointed to a large bowl of what appeared to Franco to be spaghetti.

"It's called kushari," Dante noted. "It's tomato sauce and garlic served over a base of rice, lentils, macaroni and chickpeas. The other dish is Macaroni Béchamel. They're about as close as I can get to Italian cuisine here. The fried things are known as falafel and are made with chickpeas and fava beans."

Franco scooped some of each on his plate and took a bite. At Dante's raised eyes, he nodded his head in agreement that it tasted pleasant.

"I'd heard Cristiano was dead, as well, so you can imagine my surprise when I received a letter from him asking for this meeting. And where's your partner? The idealist?" Dante asked, pouring water from a bottle into Franco's glass.

"The reports of her death were, unfortunately, true."

Dante nodded his head in sympathy.

"I expect your…sources…have told you that the movement is effectively rudderless," Franco began. "Not just Padania, but the entire Five Republics. Greed and egos have the heads of the various factions playing against each other. And after the government took out the entire Milan faction last month, everybody ran to their holes and covered their heads.

"Despite the pettiness of some of the movement's leadership, the movement itself remains strong, even in the face of ruthless and relentless attacks by the government. And yet they are starting to lose faith and beginning to question if they're making a difference. They need that faith restored, Dante, and Cristiano believes you are the one to do it."

"Why does he not take over himself? If his peers are all dead, he should have little problem, I would think. He could be a modern day Lazarus, risen from the dead to take command," Dante laughed, though his chuckles had no warmth.

"Cristiano is seriously ill, Dante. It is why he did not come in person to see you. Even if he wished to take control of the Milan faction, he would not be strong enough to hold on to it. You have the respect and the clout to do so, Dante," Franco said.

"I've not been living in exile because of choice," Dante shot back. "The government's dogs hounded me everywhere I went, as well. It became too…inconvenient…for the movement's leaders to protect me so I had no choice but to flee. I went to the Balkans and they even hunted me there so I continued East into the Caucasus to lose them. I've been working my way back West these past years via the Middle East and the Horn of Africa."

"Milan would accept you and protect you, Dante. You have fought for Northern Independence since you reached adulthood. Vicenza. The attack on the Audace at La Spezia. Kidnapping Minister Ronchi. They remember and admire you. And those who feared your popularity and shunned you are now dead. You can create your cadre of loyalists around you."

Franco leaned forward and looked Dante in the eyes.

"You were always a skilled orator, able to fire-up passions, which is why the government worked so hard to track you down and eventually forced you abroad into hiding. Now is your chance to return to Italy and take over the movement and re-light the fire of revolution. Italy's Fourth War of Independence needs a general, Giacomo. Will you accept the uniform?"

Dante leaned back in his chair and took a deep pull from the water bottle.

"Pretty words, Franco. And strange ones, at least in terms of coming from your mouth. Your partner had the fire in her belly, not you. But I also understand that you cannot fight a war with just words. You need guns and bullets and that costs money. Something I hear has been in somewhat short supply since the government arrested Pirazzi and locked him up for the next three lifetimes."

"Cristiano kept a few million in assets hidden in case he ever needed to escape, as well. Since he may soon not need it in this life and can't take it with him into the next, he is ready to put a good portion of it at your disposal to help you reassert control."

Franco leaned back and stared through the rafters to the stars above.

"After the death of my uncle, I only wished to be left alone and slowly drink myself into oblivion. Franca's passion moved me and re-ignited in me a desire to live and a cause to fight for. When she was killed, I considered slipping back into the old ways, but her memory still burns brightly in my heart and that heart calls out for me to avenge her."

"I understand vendetta, Franco. However, you and Cristiano are asking me to not only stick my head into the lion's mouth, but then stab him in the ass with a pin. If it's just killing some government officials, there are plenty of people willing to do that for some of Cristiano's money. Why do you need me and the movement?"

"The people I want dead are not human," Franco said.

"I don't understand."

"Neither do I, to be honest. They look like pre-teen girls, but they shrug off bullets like they were pebbles. I've seen them jump three meters and punch through walls. They're expert marksmen, yet they can also kill with their bare hands."

"Any child can be turned into a weapon," Dante noted. "Here in Africa there are large armies composed of young children brainwashed into being brutal killers. And they make body armor for children now, plus the right amount of pain killers would allow them to continue even if shot."

"I've seen the documentaries. And Pinocchio dealt death with aplomb even though he hadn't left his teens. But these girls are different," Franco said. "There have been rumors about them for a few years now—little girls with superhuman strength and abilities that can't be killed. I didn't believe them until we encountered one of them in Montalcino. She had long blonde pigtails, wore a suit and wielded a shotgun. She moved like a mongoose and her reflexes were supernatural. And when we came to aide Cristiano in Milan, we surprised another one of them and she pulled a pistol and placed rounds on us within the blink of an eye. Franca hit her head-on with the car and I put a round through her shoulder. Yet she was back on her feet in moments and firing at us as we escaped."

The waitress brought a tray of baqlawa and a pot of strong coffee.

"Again, Franco, this is all very interesting, but if you want to slay these…dragons, I am sure there are plenty of knights available for you to hire to do so. If you like, I can put you in touch with some people here who would be more than happy to take your money and have no qualms about killing little girls in public."

"The problem is nobody knows how many there are or where they are based. They've been seen in at least Rome, Bologna, Milan, Venice, Tuscany, Naples and Sicily. What I need is something audacious and grandiose that will ensure the Agency sends as many of the girls as possible so they can be entrapped and disposed of. That event will not only allow me to extract my revenge on the people who killed Franca, but it will also allow you to make a clear statement as to why you deserve to not only lead the Milan faction, but be protected by them."

"If I come back to Milan and take control, those little girls you want dead will be trying to mount my head on the Prime Minister's trophy room wall," Dante replied.

"All the more reason to eliminate them, no?" Franco noted.


Dante kept Franco waiting for two days before agreeing to come back to Italy, though he refused to offer any hints as to when he would do so nor where he would enter.

He did tell Franco to wire him €10.000 for "initial working capital" and added he "would be in touch". Franco agreed and headed back to Switzerland.

When he arrived, he found Cristiano's conditioned had worsened. The pneumonia had leaked into his bloodstream, causing bacteremia that then lead to sepsis and required immediate hospitalization. Attempts to arrest the spread were unsuccessful and he began to suffer from multiple organ dysfunction syndrome. Cristiano dictated his will, leaving all of his assets to Franco. He also granted Franco full Power of Attorney and had a video created for Giacomo Dante, informing him that he would soon be dead and that Franco had his blessing to work with Dante to bring about whatever they felt necessary. Cristiano passed away on All Hallows' Eve and Franco had him buried in a small plot on the outskirts of Milan.

With Cristiano dead, Franco now had the freedom to wage his campaign of revenge against the cyborg girls and their handlers at the Social Welfare Agency.