beings, too. I can only imagine the conditions they are fleeing. The cost, the peril, to come all this way. I salute their bravery.”
“Of course, Luca. I was only saying…”
Borgia dropped a cube of sugar into his espresso. “I have every respect for their culture, as we all must, but in its rightful place. We do not share similar values.”
Melzi huffed in agreement. “Most certainly not.”
“They come to our open society, take advantage of our inclusive laws, our generosity and charity and goodwill toward all men, and what do they do? They establish their own rules, their own laws, which are neither open nor inclusive. Worse, they spread their restrictive, discriminatory dogmas to our own people. Do I have to mention how they treat their women?”
“Not to me.”
“Like dogs. Using them only to procreate, and that they do in abundance. Like…like…”
“Rabbits.”
“Indeed!” said Borgia, now that the melanzane was out of earshot. “Sometimes I feel as if we are surrendering to them, not just the immigrants but to all of them: the academics, the media, the communists, the entire left-leaning political mess of the eurozone. Can’t they see what they are allowing to happen right under our very own noses? The destruction of the world’s greatest culture, the abdication of Western democracy, the infiltration of a lesser religion, one that seeks only to dominate all others. Christ, our savior, preached that we must turn the other cheek, to be tolerant, that our first duty is to love all mankind. Their prophet preaches to blow us all to kingdom come.” He mimicked pressing his thumb on a detonator switch. “Allahu Akbar! God is great! If this continues, there will be none of us left. Soon we will be forced to call our land ‘Eurabia.’ Think of it. Eurabia.”
“We cannot allow it,” said Melzi.
“I will not allow it.” Borgia finished his espresso as a familiar figure appeared in the doorway. “Ah, here is our guest.”
A short, fit man dressed in the crisp uniform of the Italian paratroops crossed the salon, cap held under his arm. General Massimo Sabbatini commanded the 9th Paratroopers Assault Regiment, also called the Col Moschin, Italy’s most elite special forces. He was an athlete to look at. Borgia had read something about him running a twenty-four-hour race in the Swiss Alps, covering a hundred kilometers or more. He read that commitment in his taut, tanned face as the general held out a hand.
Sabbatini sat perched on the edge of his seat, bristling with energy. “So,” he said, “it is finally time. How I have been waiting.”
“Soon, Massimo, soon,” said Borgia. “A few days yet.”
“In the nick of time,” said Sabbatini. “You’ve driven through the city. You’ve seen this crime to our country. Basta!”
“Complaining will get us nowhere. Now, gentlemen, listen closely. The shipment is arriving tomorrow in Naples. I’ll be there to pick it up.”
“Luca, please, let my men. We have experience with this.”
“No, no. I do not want the army anywhere near these types. You know them—there are bound to be last-minute difficulties.”
Sabbatini and Melzi shrugged in agreement. They knew who controlled the docks in Napoli. Unsavory types. Gangsters.
“As soon as I have the goods, I will contact you to make the transfer. Then the rest is up to you. Massimo?”
“My men are on standby. They are only awaiting my signal.”
“And Lampedusa?” asked Borgia.
The tiny island one hundred seventy-four miles south of Sicily housed the immigrant Reception Center, a processing and holding facility for refugees streaming from northern Africa. It had been built to house no more than eight hundred persons at any one time. Over one hundred thousand had poured through the facility in the last year alone.
“I have everything in place,” said Sabbatini, then sotto voce: “Don’t worry, Luca, our actions will be justified—welcomed, even—especially after what will have transpired the night before.”
“Let us not speak of that,” said Borgia. “Not yet. And you, Bruno?”
“My men control the police in Milan, Turin, and Naples. Rome is a different story, but I am hopeful that with the proper impetus, they will follow suit.”
Borgia nodded grimly. “Impetus they will have. Oh yes, they will not lack motivation. Personally, I do not see how they can sit on their hands and allow the city to be so despoiled.”
“Now they will have a reason to clean the streets,” said Melzi.
“What more can we do, gentlemen?” Borgia stood. “I am pleased that all is in readiness. Two days, then. A spark to light the fire.” He looked each man in the