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enterprise: racketeering, drug trafficking, gambling, loan-sharking, prostitution, insurance fraud, waste management, pornography, murder.
    It was not as famous abroad as the Sicilian Cosa Nostra, but it was estimated to be the most powerful Italian syndicate. A US study estimated that it was responsible for three per cent of Italy’s gross domestic product, with a revenue of fifty billion Euros a year, and that the money was drenched in the blood of their rivals.
    Their history was littered with tales of kidnap and murder; John Paul Getty III was reputed to be one of their victims. Politicians, judges and the police had all been targeted and, eventually, cowed. There had been internal feuding between the clans that made up the syndicate, and hundreds of deaths, but the organisation that had been birthed in all that blood was more powerful and dominant from Naples all the way south into the Italian boot. There were rumours that the the syndicate was casting its eye north, and members had been arrested as far up as Lombardy.
    Intelligence suggested that the deal between the Camorra and the Patterson family had been consummated two years ago. The Liverpool family had an established distribution network and they had ramped it up again and again as the relationship had been developed. They cut the pure cocaine with laxatives and baby powder, bulking it out so that one kilogram became one and a half. The product was divided and passed to the wholesale providers, who then supplied it to the local dealers. It was cut and recut again and again until the purity was just forty or fifty percent. By the time it hit the streets in the north of England it was wholly adulterated and retailing for forty pounds a gram.
    Number Three had filed his final report the day before he had dropped out of contact. He noted that he had made contact with a go-between who, he believed, would be able to introduce him to the capo of the Camorra crew responsible for the deal with the Patterson family.
    Her name was Antonietta Agosti and she managed a Camorra restaurant in Castellabate.
    Milton decided he would visit the restaurant for dinner tonight.
     
    THE SMALL town of Santi Maria di Castellabate was found between Paestrum and Velia, nestled in a hollow in the rugged coastline. The night was drawing in as Milton rode towards it, the lights glittering against the darkening green of the surrounding countryside and the velvety dark of the sea. The breeze whipped around him as he gunned the bike, eventually slowing it to a languid forty miles an hour as the road twisted and turned and led into the buildings that marked the edge of town.
    The town centre was at the top of the hill that offered a stunning view of the gulf between the Punta Licosa and Punta Tresino. The place had a medieval feel, especially at night, with a series of narrow streets, ancient stairs, and arches that appeared unannounced around corners. There was the Angel’s Castle, a Papal basilica and a bell tower that dated from the twelfth century.
    Milton rode down into the Santa Maria area. The houses were painted in traditional white with bright red roofs, the street lights were strung across the road on ropes and lines, verdant ivy clambered across walls, and the air was salty with brine. The restaurant was right on the esplanade. A wide promenade separated it from the sea wall and the expanse of sand that led to the tide’s reach. Tables and chairs had been positioned on the promenade with an awning that could be extended in uncertain weather. The main body of the establishment was opened out with a series of wide French doors and Milton could hear the sound of conversation and the tinkle of cutlery against china as he descended the stone steps that led down to it. The landward side was bordered by a road into which a line of cars had been crammed, with barely enough space for others to pass.
    Number Three had identified the place in one of his reports as the place where he had