Note: All names and associations used in this story are not real, and any similarity is strictly accidental in nature. This is a work of fiction, and please read it with that in mind.
Dear Reader, This is an Edited Version of Chapter 12. I did this for two reasons. First, to clean up some English problems. Second, and MOST IMPORTANT, to advise you that my computer, containing Chapters 13, 14, and 15 died, taking with it all my work. It is with my I.T. people now and they are trying to retrieve it from the hard drive. If they are successful, I will start posting these chapters one week apart, through the end of the story, which I am working on now. I am truly sorry for the delay. When I opened the computer and saw the Blue Screen, I cried. Prolonged_Debut10
42. A Tale of Two Sundays
Bern, Switzerland -Three private jet aircraft were loading on the tarmac ready for their trip to Milan. Attendants carefully loaded "Don" Antonio Castronova into the largest aircraft, which had been turned into a flying hospital. With him would be: his cardiologist, two nurses, two attendants, and his two oldest sons.
The two other aircraft would contain several other family members, who had stayed with him, in Bern, plus other medical staff personnel, and his bodyguards. Although these two aircraft would take off after "The Don's aircraft, they would arrive first; and prepare the way for him, when his aircraft landed. Everything was choreographed to the last step of the dance. "The Don" was even wearing makeup, which made him look like he was on death's door.
Upon arrival at the Lineata airport, the occupants of the first two aircraft set up a rope line to keep visitors, away from "The Don." It would allow the ambulance to get very close to the aircraft, without hurting anyone.
As the attendants walked gingerly down the stairs, carrying "The Don," a cheer arose in the crowd, welcoming him home. To show his gratitude, the Don raised his hand at the wrist, and waved it at the crowd as best he could. His hand then flopped back down onto the stretcher, seemingly exhausted.
Agents from every Italian law enforcement division were taking pictures and looking at the frail old man, as he was taken to the ambulance. They interviewed the doctor, the nurses, the attendants, and even the flight crews to see if anything was being done to fool them. They had no idea that each of these people were very well bought and paid for; and also threatened to within an inch of their entire family's existence. Everyone happily complied with their instructions. They also knew that more money was still to come their way.
After Don Castronova was put into the ambulance, cars lined the way in front, and behind him, leading the caravan to his home. In his life he had lived lavishly, and he would die that way, also. He felt it was befitting his station in life.
At home, his bedroom was now a hospital room; with every hospital monitor, and diagnostic machine available. His doctors would only need to look at a wall to see what was happening in "The Don's" body. Men and women from all walks of life went to the Don's home to pay their respects and brought gifts for him. All were received happily, but very few were allowed to see "The Don," because he was so frail. Every so often, a member of the judicial branch of the Italian government was allowed into the room with "The Don," to speak with his doctor, about his condition. However they were not allowed to disturb the patient himself. They were able to read the monitors for themselves and make notes of the doctors reports and they knew the old man's time was about up. 10 days later, they were right.
Don Antonio Guido Castronovo passed away on the morning of December 19. He is survived by his wife of fifty-five years Elizabeta, their seven sons, four daughters, twenty-six grandchildren, and three great-grandchildren.
A cry of mourning went out throughout the city of Malan, when the old man passed away. For the people living there, he was a benefactor. He gave to charities, helped people start businesses, gave generously to keep the churches and cathedrals looking beautiful, and no one had a bad word to say about him.
However, to the police and the other law enforcement agencies, he was a criminal. He made money off the weaknesses of others. He smuggled in drugs in huge quantities, which he redistributed throughout the world. What he kept he sold locally and around Italy. He was involved in gambling; and he ran the sex clubs in Milan, and the surrounding area. He was exceedingly wealthy, and he guarded that money well, by distributing it to the men and women within the family that did his bidding.
Philip Castronova was not one of them. He was very happy with his vineyards, his winery, and his wines. He inherited this from his mother's side of the family, and never fell in to the schemes and troubles of his father's illegal activities, and happily, the police knew it.
The "Don's" palatial home was draped in black. Family members could be seen walking through the gardens weeping and holding on to one another for support. To everyone on the outside it looked like a great loss had occurred and the family was trying to find a way to cope with it. It did not look like they were doing very well.
When the morticians arrived, they removed the body on a gurney in a black bag, and brought it to their mortuary, with two family members. Naturally, the police were there also. The Don was put on the cold stainless steel table and stripped of his clothing. Doctors had already signed the death certificate, and no autopsy was required. As the morticians began dressing the Don the police left to take care of other duties.
As soon as, the eldest son, Anthony was sure they were far enough away, he took the syringe out of his pocket and injected its contents into his father's arm. Within seconds, the Don began to show signs of life. He opened his eyes, saw his son smiling at him, and said, "It worked!"
"Papa, it was your plan, it had to work."
The Don finished dressing and watched as another body was placed into his coffin which was then sealed for the last time.
"Papa, it is a shame you going to miss your funeral; it is going to be beautiful."
"Anthony, my son, send me some photographs, I am sure I will love them. I will love it more sitting on the beach by the Atlantic Ocean."
"Here are the keys to your safety deposit boxes and the names of each bank they are in. Here your checkbooks and the keys to your car at the airport you will recognize it, because it is just like your car here at home. Remember, Morocco does not have extradition a treaty with Italy, so do not fall for anyone's line saying that they do. We will do everything by courier as you have asked. This way you will not break any Moroccan laws and they will have no reason to bother you. The police will have no reason to track Mama or any of the girls, so you will have company from time to time. We will come to you Papa, do not come to us, you could lose everything including your freedom."
"It could be a case of mistaken identity, couldn't it?"
"Papa, there is too much of your DNA running around Milan. You and Mama were too successful having children. Your children were too successful having children. Now, your children's children are having children. Stay in Morocco, please, we will come to you."
"Anthony, you are too much like me; you worry too much."
