Omerta - Mario Puzo [47]
The director invited Cilke to sit down in an extremely uncomfortable chair on the other side of his massive oak desk.
“Agent Cilke,” he said, “I called you down for several reasons. Number one: I have placed in your personal file a special commendation for your work against the Mafia in New York. Due to you we have broken their backs. I congratulate you.” He leaned over to shake Cilke’s hand. “We don’t make it public now because the Bureau takes credit for its individual achievements. And also, it might place you in some danger.”
“Only from some crazy,” Cilke said. “The criminal organizations understand they cannot harm an agent.”
“You’re implying that the Bureau carries out personal vendettas,” the director said.
“Oh, no,” Cilke said. “It’s just that we would pay more attention.”
The director let that pass. There were boundaries. Virtue always had to tread a very thin line. “It’s not fair to keep you on the hook,” the director said. “I’ve decided not to appoint you one of my deputies here in Washington. Not at the present time. For these reasons. You are enormously street-smart, and there is still work to be done in the field. The Mafia, for lack of a better word, is still operational. Number two: Officially you have an informant whose name you refuse to divulge even to the top supervising personnel of the Bureau. Unofficially, you have told us. That is classified AFLAX. So you’re OK, unofficially. Third: Your relationship with a certain New York chief of detectives is too personal.”
The director and Cilke had other items on their meeting agenda. “And how is our operation ‘Omerta’?” the director asked. “We must be very careful that we have legal clearance on all our operations.”
“Of course,” Cilke said, straight-faced. The director knew damn well that corners would have to be cut. “We’ve had a few obstacles. Raymonde Aprile refused to cooperate with us. But of course that obstacle no longer exists.”
“Mr. Aprile was very conveniently killed,” the director said sardonically. “I won’t insult you by asking if you had any prior knowledge. Your friend Portella, perhaps?”
“We don’t know,” Cilke said. “Italians never go to authorities. We just have to look for dead bodies turning up. Now, I approached Astorre Viola as we discussed. He signed the confidentiality papers but refused to cooperate. He won’t do business with Portella, and he won’t sell the banks.”
“So what do we do now?” the director asked. “You know how important this is. If we can indict the banker under RICO, we can get the banks for the government. And that ten billion would go to fight crime. It would be an enormous coup for the Bureau. And then we can put an end to your association with Portella. He’s outlived his usefulness. Kurt, we are in a very delicate situation. Only my deputies and myself know of your cooperation with Portella. That you receive payments from him, that he thinks of you as his confederate. Your life could be in danger.”
“He wouldn’t dare harm a federal agent,” Cilke said. “He’s crazy, but he’s not that crazy.”
“Well, Portella has to go down in this operation,” the director said. “What are your plans?”
“This guy Astorre Viola is not the innocent everyone says he is,” Cilke said. “I’m having his past checked out. Meanwhile, I’m going to ask Aprile’s children to override him. But I worry, can we make RICO stick all the way back ten years for something they do now?”
“That’s the job of our attorney general,” the director said. “We just have to get our foot in the door, and then a thousand lawyers will go all the way back. We’re bound to come up with something the courts can uphold.”
“About my secret Cayman account that Portella puts money into,” Cilke said. “I think you should draw some out so that he thinks I’m spending it.”
“I’ll arrange that,” the director said. “I must say, your Timmona Portella is not frugal.”
“He really believes I sold out,” Cilke said, smiling.
“Be careful,” the director said. “Don’t give them the grounds