Vendetta: Sam Weston Thriller Series

By Sean Rider

2nd in the Sam Weston Thriller Series.
Sam is back home on leave and gets a request for assistance from an old family friend. But that friend is a mafia Padrino.

In helping, with the blessing of organised crime agencies, he gets sucked into a vortex of death and betrayal unique to the Calabrian Mafia, the 'Ndrangheta.

Only just escaping death, Sam enlists assistance from the dark underbelly of corrupt agencies and European organised crime. His life is at risk and those who help him. He is forced to rescue a colleague from a CIA Black Prison, as a result.

His plans for early retirement are cancelled as his handlers send him on a hostage extraction in Russia. The pursuit by the FSB ends with a bullet. Will he survive?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sean Rider
• Release date: Oct 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9780645203349

Book preview

1

Marcello Fossato liked breeding race horses. He was 81 years of age and he ruled a business empire in Australia worth nearly a billion dollars. He sat in the sun on the rear porch of his sprawling country home, located in the Southern Highlands, 130 miles southwest of Sydney. It was where he spent most of his time now, in semi-retirement. His only son looked after the day-to-day operations of his businesses. The wealth they created, funded what he adored.

His estate comprised some 3000 acres of the richest grazing country in the region. It featured a half mile training track, stables, yards and the best facilities in the business. He was rivalled only by the Robinsons, who had been trainers, not so much breeders. Marcello bought yearlings and turned them in equine athletes. He left their race training to others. But he ruled his empire efficiently and had a reputation for paying employees well and generating loyalty. He was also the reluctant and unco-operative patriarch of the largely dormant Sydney Ndrina of the Ndrangheta, that had its roots in the western region of Calabria, in the foot of Italy.

His father had adopted the Fossato name when he migrated to Australia in 1948. The name came from a mountain region that overshadowed Reggio Calabria. It was common step for migrant families wishing to break free from the control of the crime clans back home.

When he was 18, he, his father Giorgio and his mother, landed in Perth virtually penniless. With returned soldiers, unemployment was high in Australia so they decided to move to Sydney where there was more opportunity. Both father and son worked at labouring jobs and saved enough to buy 20 acres of farming land on the northern edge of the suburbs. There they grew tomatoes, and by 1955 they had a thriving business. But young Marcello had more ambition.

He delivered papers and magazines to letterboxes in the nearby old-money suburbs of the Upper North Shore. Every day he would walk by the big houses with their sprawling grounds and manicured gardens. There was one particular house he loved. He vowed to himself that he would eventually own it, and bring up his own family there.

One day he announced to his father that he would be getting a job as a mechanic at a garage down the train line, closer to the city. There he met a Czech mechanic called Milos Bezek, whose family also migrated after WW2. Working together, they formed a close friendship that lasts to the present day. They eventually bought the garage business and then acquired more commercial land along the north shore railway line. In 1963 they went to GM Australia and borrowed $300,000 to build a new car dealership. They had repaid the loan in four years.

But the tentacles of the ‘Ndrangheta reached to Australia, and it had members there originating from another clan that was based on the eastern coast of Calabria. They were descended from Greek and Albanian traders and were called the Grenica, and the rivalry between the two groups often resulted in bloodshed. Members from that region mainly migrated to Melbourne, as it already had a large Greek migrant community.

In Melbourne, the dark side of ‘Ndrangheta...extortion, drugs, kidnappings and murders, thrived. Marcello was determined that this disease would not get a foothold in Sydney.

Marcello’s business grew and he opened up more dealerships elsewhere in Sydney. He signed a parts distribution agreement with the major manufacturers. He also diversified into the lucrative wholesale concrete business.

He found out that when building his new dealerships, up to 20% of the premixed concrete being carried to job sites in concrete trucks was not required, and it made its way into landfill because it cured too quickly to be returned to the mixing plants. So, he came to an arrangement with drivers that he would buy this surplus concrete from the driver for cash, and redirect it to his own and associates’ building sites for a fraction of what it would normally cost.

This side of the business was developed by Milos. But it made enemies. They undercut the concrete companies and their driver/contractors, and that industry was dominated by the Greeks and Italians with roots from eastern Calabria. Grenicos started causing trouble, and it was stoked from their counterparts in Melbourne.

Milos, as head of security for the Fossato businesses, had to be prepared for a clash between the groups that threatened them. It also threatened the relative peace that had existed since Marcello was acknowledged as the senior Padrino in Australia. They even had a name for it, the Onorata, short for Honoured Society. The head of the Melbourne Ndrina, Domenico Lacci, had sent men up to Sydney to cause trouble, and two concrete truck owner-drivers who were selling their surplus to Milos, had disappeared. It was a direct challenge to Marcello. The Grenicos wanted control of what they regarded as their rightful domain, and because Marcello refused to be a criminal and repatriate tribute money to the ‘Ndrangheta organisation back home.

Milos sat opposite Marcello. He was Marcello’s enforcer, and was eternally vigilant against threats. These people are out to destroy you. It goes right back to the old days. We know that lots of money from Italy is being washed through their businesses in Melbourne, and they grow rich on crime. They are starting to buy up vegetable farms in southern New South Wales, using intimidation and extortion. A local reporter threatened to expose it, and he’s disappeared too.

Yes. They are peasants and failed fishermen, spat Marcello. Back home we control shipping and transportation, ports and railway networks. They transport drugs and other such criminal acts but our families have a peace with the Cosa Nostra in Palermo, and the Camorra in Naples. The Grenico’s resort to killing for influence. I will not tolerate it in Sydney. Last week I had dinner with Giuseppe, the Don of the Cosa Nostra in Australia, and he agreed with me. He diversified into high rise construction and freeways, and he has many government contracts. He has no need for criminality.

Milos said, Now we have Lacci, the son of the leader of the biggest Grenico clan back home, trying to expand from Melbourne. He has told his people that he wants to take over from you as head of the Australian Onorata.

"I have not spent fifty or more years in this country, building up legitimate businesses to have a criminal take it away. My father left his homeland to escape this situation. We have never been in drug trafficking, money laundering or extortion. All this will bring an unwelcome spotlight from law enforcement and the media, and it will threaten the negotiations we are having to control new car distribution in Sydney.

He turned to Milos. Call a meeting of our Sydney families and we will have a discussion about this threat. I do not want to see good people getting killed.

Milos withdrew and returned to his non-descript Toyota. He got on his phone and spoke to his assistant back in the office in St. Leonards in Sydney.

Increase protection for Marcello and his son. I’ll be back in three hours. He drove steadily north and he knew that they had faced such threats before, but this time he was very concerned. He made another call.

Peter? Can we share a coffee? Yes, today. The café at Pebbly Beach. You know it. Say, 3pm?"

Milos continued on his way. Being a Czech, he was divorced from mafia shenanigans but he could see it from the outside. His loyalty to Marcello was absolute. He had grown rich and he had used his fists to rid the organisation of people who showed disloyalty or disrespect.

He smiled when he remembered in the late 1980’s, when Marcello was in day-to-day control of the car business. They had hired a German sales manager at one of the dealerships. It had been a mistake. He soon became a problem, upsetting customers, treating staff badly. Staff called him The Fuhrer. He was arrogant, and Milos said he reminded him of the Nazis back home when he was a boy.

Milos had been called, when there was almost a stand-up fight between this sales manager and a longstanding fleet customer. He arrived and the shouting was still in full song. Milos walked up to the German, grabbed him by the throat and lifted him up off his feet with one of his huge hands, then carried him out onto the busy main road. With cars and trucks roaring by, he threw the German into the middle lane. He only just managed to scramble out of the way of a speeding truck. They never saw him again.

The story soon spread, and if Milos turned up at a dealership it was rarely good news. This suited Marcello, because he hated violence and it was why he used others to be the muscle. To Marcello and Milos, loyalty was everything.

Milos was sitting in the café at Pebbly Beach, which he actually part-owned, and a tall man in a dark suit walked up and joined him.

Hello, Milos. Are you in trouble?

No Peter. But there is some trouble.

Peter Brandson, or to give him his correct title, Commissioner Peter Brandson, was head of the New South Wales State Crime Commission. It was a secretive, intelligence gathering organisation that specialised in combating organised crime. It reported to Parliament and the State Premier. It had the powers of a Royal Commission, and could do things and ask things of people that went outside normal policing. It was an effective weapon, and Peter used its powers ruthlessly. He rarely had a problem with the Italian or Greek community. It was the migrants with Muslim roots that worried him the most.

Domenico Lacci. said Milos.

Ah...I see.

Milos gave him chapter and verse on developments.

What is Marcello’s response?

He has called a meeting at The Property for the heads of the local families for the weekend. He wants to find out more and get a better assessment of the threat.

I have to say that this fits a pattern my people have noticed. I will make a call to my Victorian counterpart, and see what they have. I know Lacci has been agitating down there and some people have disappeared or are scared shitless. We do not want him to get a foothold up here.

It goes right back, Peter...way back...the hostility between the groups in Calabria.

I know. Let’s meet here again next Monday.

Milos had pressed the button. It was rare for him to do it, so but he knew that they did not have a group of ‘soldiers’, like Lacci did. He needed to add security and for that he made another call.

I need ten men to make The Property secure next Sunday. He explained the requirements, and why.

New South Wales Police lower ranks worked a three days on, four days off roster, with each shift being 12 hours. Most had second jobs, despite being amongst the highest paid police in the world. So there was always a pool of highly trained men and women who could be hired for a day’s protection work. They could earn $200 an hour for doing so. There would be a ring of law enforcement around The Property on Sunday.

Milos finished his coffee and returned to the office. He caught up with matters that had arisen in his absence. There was a note that the head of BMW Australia had called. His assistant gave him a heads up.

Is that what Germany said? They want us to spend $60 million on four new showrooms with workshops, and they want 55%...a controlling stake?

His assistant nodded. That’s what their Distribution Manager confirmed. It’s a new policy to lessen competition between different dealerships, he said.

I don’t care if it’s their policy. Tell them to get fucked. We will go with Audi.

Where’s Alberto?

Alberto, Marcello’s son, was ineffectual. He was an accountant by training, not a trader or entrepreneur. He just did not get it. When Milos and Marcello finally died, the succession plan was weak. Their competitors knew that it was their vulnerability. It was why Lacci had made his move.

Well, we have to put a stake in the ground, Milos thought. There was one thing he knew he had to do next week. And that was scare the shit out of Lacci, as a warning. He sent a text on his phone.

2

Sam Weston was sitting on his yacht at the big marina in Rushcutters Bay, in Sydney Harbour. He was on holiday, and had a group of old friends with him who helped crew the 50-foot, Farr racing yacht. They were doing checks on sails, ropes and fittings for the race on Saturday. He had stepped back from the frantic active duty with ASIS a few months before, but was on call. He had a business his late mother had started in Hawaii. That was for sale. He also had one he ran in Tunisia, and that he used as a cover. He was still run out of the ASIS EU HQ office in Cairo.

His dad owned the huge sheep and cattle station, Paroo, on the Darling and Paroo Rivers in far western NSW, and they both had a Special Forces background. He had completed his schooling in Sydney after his mother had been gunned down in Hawaii, outside her office.  Then as a teenager, he moved to live with his dad in Australia. He had a son, Timmy, but the relationship with his mother Susan, who also worked for ASIS, never blossomed. She had serious issues with her own ex, who was not really an ex, as Sam had discovered. She now lived in Paris. Sam saw Timmy whenever he was in Europe, and paid for his upbringing and schooling.

He saw the text. He had met Milos many times, because Alberto Fossato also attended the same school in Sydney. He made his excuses, and stepped down onto the mooring arm and walked back to the busy clubhouse. He made his way through to the road outside, and headed for the long, thin park that ran along the edge of the bay. Milos sat on a bench 100 yards away. Sam sat down beside him.

Hello, Milos. How’s Alberto? Milos rolled his eyes. Sam laughed.

We are under threat, Sam. Milos filled him in. None of this was really news to Sam. In his role at ASIS, he had access to criminal intelligence information, and he was a good friend to Alberto, but their paths did not cross much.

What’s your week coming up, looking like? Can you go to Melbourne for me? We have a problem I need you to sort out for us.

We are racing on Saturday. But I have a couple of days free. It should be ok. I’ll fly down. He knew that such a request from the Fossatos, was never refused.

$10k a day, plus expenses? Sam nodded.

He liked these little black jobs. They kept his hand in, supplemented his income, helped him maintain his networks in the shadier side of business, and he could pick and choose which ones to take on. He had a strong conscience and never took on anything grossly illegal. He was still on ASIS books, and with that came a diplomatic passport. And that was very handy. He was very good at what he did, and he never left any evidence behind. He had been tapped on the shoulder more than once by Peter Brandson too.

That night, back in his apartment looking out over the Harbour, he logged into his secure VPN. ASIS had set him up with a new one just to be safe, and there was a folder waiting. It had been put together by the NSWCC, so that meant Milos had discussed this matter with Brandson.

He opened the file and started reading. A lot of the information had come from the VicCC in Melbourne, and Lacci, and his side of ‘Onorata, were indeed causing a headache. Milos and Marcello had every reason to be nervous. Maybe he could rebalance things.

The meeting at The Property on Sunday was tense. The minor families expected Marcello to step up to the threat, and repay their loyalty and business with some protection. That was the way of the ‘Ndrangheta. It was an ‘Obligato’. Marcello did not demand a percentage from their profits, as Lacci did in Melbourne, but he had to appear strong all the same, and at 81, he was not as intimidating as he once was.

Milos sat at the side of the room. The guests had noticed the security afforded them, and that was appreciated. But the succession plan was in peoples’ minds. They all enjoyed a delicious dinner after business was concluded. Marcello had assured them that he was addressing the Melbourne problem. By 10pm, most had left. One had stayed on.

He was the biggest vendor in the huge Flemington wholesale fruit and vegetable market, in the western suburbs of Sydney. His family had migrated to Sydney in 1920. Even the big supermarket chains bought from him. He was the same age as Marcello, but he had a son who had been sent back to Reggio, Calabria, to go to university there. The real reason however, was for him to learn the ways and rules of the Reggio ‘Ndrangheta, from the strong families there. He had come back with confidence and ruthlessness. Marcello had regretted not doing the same with Alberto. But at the time, he wanted to avoid the association, not get closer to it.

3

The Pilatus PC-6 was a reminder of the last covert mission Sam had done on US soil, less than a year ago. He had avenged the killing of his mother in Hawaii. But getting away had been a close thing. He had bought the plane in Canada and when Susan left his base in Tunisia, he had flown it back to Australia. It gave him freedom of movement and it was also on call from the Royal Flying Doctor Service, if needed. Along with sailing, flying was Sam’s other recreation. He was planning to visit his dad in coming weeks.

The PC-6 was a truck. It was sturdy, had a big payload capacity, and it had a high output, turbo prop engine that made it faster then it looked. And because the RFDS and the Army also used its big brother, the PC-12, it had access to good factory maintenance.

He parked his Toyota Landcruiser in the private area of Bankstown Airport and only those with a keen eye saw that it sat a little lower on its springs than a standard model. Sam had it fitted with composite ballistic door and floor linings and the glass was the latest bulletproof thin polycarbonate that had become available. He was one of very few ASIS operators in Australia with a handgun license, and he carried a concealable Sig 9mm compact pistol when operational. There was a tactical Mossberg shotgun mounted beneath the dash. This was one of those times. He had cleared the trip with ASIS. Brandson had blessed it.

The ground staff had prepped the PC-6 and he had lodged a flight plan the evening before. On this trip he had a passenger. It was one of Brandsons staff who had also needed to get into Melbourne quickly and unofficially.

The turbine ran up and Sam taxied out and along the taxiway. He waited for clearance. He joined the runway at its midpoint and his passenger looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Sam opened the throttles and the PC-6 leapt down the concrete and was airborne in less that 1500 feet.

Built for Africa. Can’t kill it with a stick. His passenger looked nervous.

Sam increased height to 10,000 feet and set the autopilot for his destination.

So, what do you do for Peter?

I investigate stuff.

Right.

What do you do?

I clean up messes and fix difficult problems like hostages.

I read about that Libya disaster. Were you involved?

He though how he should answer this. It would not have been a disaster if we had gone in earlier. That was not our decision.

Right.

It was a formal, stilted conversation, but the two-hour flight went quickly. They landed at Melbourne’s Moorabbin Airport, and Sam left instructions that he would need it refuelled and ready to go the next day.

He had ordered a rental car and it was waiting. The traffic into the city down the Tullamarine Freeway, was not too busy as the peak had passed. He drove into the Grand Hyatt, parked in the guest car park, and checked in. He went straight to his room.

His training never left him. There was another hotel directly opposite, so he returned to reception and changed rooms. This time there was a open view and so preventing anyone with a set of binoculars or a rifle scope to look into his room. He opened the curtains, pulled out his laptop and sat at the desk.

Lacci did not have the Melbourne Greek underworld all to himself. There were other ethnic Greek crime bosses. They were called The Underbelly, and Sam had some contact with them. He sent some messages and made some calls.

A couple of hours later, there were three leaders from the Melbourne fish markets in his room, and he quizzed them about Lacci. He found that Lacci was not popular within his clan. They also told Sam where his house was located. It was down on the Mornington Peninsular. Sam decided it was time to pay him a visit.

He waited until after midnight, and then drove the 60 miles until he past Sorrento. The house was on the ocean side of the peninsular, and on his one drive-by, he saw a car parked up near the gated entrance. He drove further on and then took a return route, back along the next road over. They would not clock him once, but twice, they just might. 

Sam parked up, and with his Sig and short suppressor attached, snug in its holster in the small of his back, and a short wide knife strapped to his inner arm, he made his way down and onto the rocky shore. He had peeled off some strips of duct tape from the roll he always had with him, and stuck then to his left arm. He entered the water and pulled a black balaclava down over his face. He swam out about 50 yards, and then swam steadily west until he was adjacent to Lacci’s home.

As he predicted, there were no guards on the ocean frontage of the house. He emerged from the water, crossed the narrow beach and climbed up the rocks unobserved. It was 1.30am. Sam made his way through the low bushes on the top of the dunes, and was soon at the low sea wall that was the home’s rear boundary. Such amateurs, thought Sam.

He climbed the wall and crossed the rear lawn. From what he had been told, there was no security inside the home. Lacci was arrogant and negligent. Sam crept across to the end doors...the ones he was told led to the master bedroom. He knelt and listened. Using a small tool, he silently defeated the lock on the sliding door. He slid it open a little to allow the air pressure to equalise. He gave it another ten minutes. The door slid further open silently and Sam entered and lay on the bedroom floor. There was no wind so the curtains did not blow around.

It was a queen-sized bed and he could hear two sets of breathing. Slowly raising his head, he saw Lacci laying on his back, softly snoring. There was a young woman asleep on her side, and there was cocaine residue on the bedside table. He crept around to her side of the bed. Sam hit her very hard on the temple. She did not move. He took one of the strips of tape and covered her mouth, and with others, her eyes and then her wrists. He then went around to Lacci’s side of the bed and repeated the blow, but this time he quickly strapped Lacci’s wrists together first, then also taped his mouth and eyes. He stood back. In a few moments Lacci came to and when he did, Sam slit a gap in the tape over his mouth with his knife and inserted the silencer deep into Lacci’s mouth. He stopped moving immediately. Sam bent over Lacci and whispered into his ear, Come back north of the border again, and I will kill you. Lacci nodded. Sam then hit him really hard behind the ear and he would be out for some time. The girlfriend was coming around so Sam hit her again.

Fifteen minutes later, Sam was driving back to Melbourne. He retraced his route and the jog back to the car had allowed most of the seawater to drain away but he had brought a towel and a change of clothes anyway. He stopped driving after five minutes and in a secluded side street, he changed, and dropped the wet clothes into a charity bin. He sat on the towel and after another forty minutes, he was back at the Grand Hyatt.

The operation went as smooth as he hoped. Lacci would lose serious face with his minders. He would be humiliated that his house and security could be penetrated so easily.

Sam enjoyed a nice breakfast at the hotel, and he was back in the PC-6, heading north to Sydney before midday.

That evening, he was having a quiet drink in his apartment, when his phone vibrated. He looked at the message: ‘Nice’. It had come from Milos.

4

Lacci was enraged. The whole side of his head was black and blue, as was his female companions. She was paid off and removed. He could not hear out of his left ear and blood had accumulated around his left eye socket. It was now tuning yellow and black.

Two minders were assigned to stay with him, and he increased the numbers at his house and office. It was costing a fortune. Unlike Marcello, Lacci did not have a big business empire that gave him an available cashflow. Really, he was a small-time hood in comparison.

His immediate action was to overreact. Sam warned Milos that he would respond, so Marcello, his wife flew to their apartment on the Queensland Gold Coast. Sam packed a bag and moved into The Property. He told Milos to move the patrols to the inside of the grounds and to keep the big Mercedes parked in the driveway.