Bloody Passage (v5) (9 page)

"You might thank me, old stick," he said calmly.

"Why should I? You didn't do it for me," I said.

"Good point."

He slipped the Walther into his coat pocket as the two characters from inside the inn joined Nino and Barzini in examining the bodies.

Barzini came back to the Mercedes. "I know one of them, Cerda. He's a Mafia gun. The other's new to me. Nino's friends will put them under the sod after we've gone." He shook his head and said grimly, "God, but that was close."

"All right in the end," I said.

"Thanks to you."

"And Langley," I reminded him.

"That's right." He turned to Langley and he wasn't smiling when he said, "I can see I'm going to have to watch you after all."

"Anything else I can do to help, just call," Langley said and got into the Mercedes beside the driver.

Barzini called to Nino who joined us in the rear. We drove back down the track. As we turned on to the main road, Barzini said, "They must have been in that cattle truck that passed us outside Misilmeri. Cunning bastards." He sighed. "I'm getting old."

"Aren't we all?" I said. "Five years ago I'd have taken both of them. Tonight, I'd have died if it hadn't been for Langley."

It was a sobering thought.

It was just before midnight when we got back to Via San Marco. When we went into the entrance hall the old reception clerk appeared from his tiny room looking like some pale ghost in the guttering candlelight.

"A gentleman to see you, Signor Barzini," he said. "I put him in your office."

"Doesn't he ever go home?" I asked as we moved on.

Barzini shrugged. "Why should he? He likes it here."

He opened a mahogany door at the end of the corridor and led the way into his office. It was a beautiful room, the walls panelled in rosewood, wall-to-wall carpeting on the floor to deaden all sound. A handsome young man in a rather dashing white raincoat and tweed cap was sitting with his feet on the desk smoking what was presumably one of Barzini's best cigars.

He stood up. "What in the hell kept you? I told you, Aldo--I've got a date."

It was only when he spoke that it became apparent that this was Angelo Carter. The change was really quite incredible. He just wasn't recognizable.

"All right, all right!" Barzini said. "She can wait for another half hour, can't she?" He took off his coat and turned to me. "Okay, Oliver, you've got the floor. What do we need?"

"For a start, a good fast boat," I said. "Something that'll do twenty-five or thirty knots with no trouble like the one you used to use on the Albanian run."

"The
Palmyra."
He smiled. "Right here in Palermo harbor. No problem there. What else?"

"This man Zingari I told you about. He operates out of Zabia, which is about fifteen miles from the prison. He tells me there's a little fishing village called Gela halfway between them. Half a dozen houses, an old stone pier, and a couple of tunny boats. We'll use it as a base."

"You'll need a front," Langley said.

I nodded. "That's where you come in. I want a permit to allow archaeological diving in that bay which you'll probably have to get from the Libyan Embassy in Rome. Stavrou will have to pull a few strings. I shouldn't imagine it's beyond him."

"What are we supposed to be looking for?" Angelo asked.

"A Roman wreck," I said. "That should sound well enough. The whole area's stiff with them anyway."

"Which means diving equipment," Barzini said. "No trouble there. There's plenty on board
Palmyra
now."

"More than that. I want three or four Roman wine jars. You know the sort of thing. Typical amphorae that have been lying on the seabed for sixteen or seventeen hundred years. Preferably encrusted with seashells. I hear the fishermen bring them up in their trawl nets off Marsala all the time."

"They're even selling them in the antique shops now to tourists," Barzini said.

"We'll also need Libyan army uniforms and they get their hardware from Russia these days which means AK assault rifles." He started to smile and I said, "Yes, I know, by a strange coincidence you just happen to have a warehouse full of them. Where are they bound for--Belfast or Bahrein?"

Langley said, "When do you intend to go?"

"If we miss this coming Friday, we'll have to wait another week," I said. "And that could be fatal. It's Monday now. Could we get together what we need and have the boat down at Capo Passero by Wednesday morning?"

"I don't see why not," Barzini said.

I said to Langley, "Which means that weather permitting, we could be in Gela Thursday night."

"Always supposing everything goes according to plan," he said.

I shrugged. "That's what makes life exciting. You'd better get back to Stavrou first thing in the morning. Fill him in on all this and get Zingari on the first flight out to Tripoli and tell him to be waiting at Gela Thursday night."

"What about you?"

"I've got things to do here. I'll be down with the boat."

I think he was going to argue, but Angelo cut in impatiently. "Can I go now?"

"Okay, okay," Barzini said. "Go and knock hell out of her, but be back here at eight or I'll have your ears."

Angelo departed. Nino, incredibly, was snoring in a chair in the corner. Barzini threw up his hands in despair. "I ask you, what can you do with them." His face brightened as if at a sudden thought. "Heh, I got something that might interest you, Oliver. A new gun. I'll show you."

He took out a key on the end of his watchchain and unlocked a small door in the corner. He switched on a light and we followed him down some wooden steps to a long whitewashed corridor.

He flicked another switch illuminating a row of targets at the far end each representing a charging soldier of indeterminate nationality, then opened a drawer in a table by the wall and took out a tin box. Whatever was stencilled on it was in Russian.

"A Stechkin," he said. "A true machine pistol. Best I've seen since the Mauser. Better than the Browning in every department. You can actually fire this baby on fully automatic if you want to."

As I opened the box, Langley moved to join me. The Stechkin was in a wooden holster and when I took it out I saw that it was similar to the Browning in appearance at least.

"Five inch barrel, twenty round magazine," Barzini said. "A hell of a lot of gun, especially if you use the wooden holster as a stock. They tell me a good shot can consistently hit a man-size target at up to a hundred and fifty yards."

"Now there's a challenge, if you like," Langley said. "May I, old stick?"

He hefted the Stechkin first in his right then in his left and finally tried it both hands together.

Barzini passed him an ammunition clip. "The safety selector's on the left behind the slide. Semiautomatic in the center, automatic at the top."

Langley took careful aim and shot the first target through the head, then he fired five times rapidly and scored five hits in the heart area, three close together, the other two straying towards the edge.

"Not bad," he said, "but I think the trigger needs lightening."

He went on to automatic and shredded the second target with what was left in the magazine. He turned and handed the weapon to me without a word.

Barzini gave me another magazine and I reloaded, took aim and fired half a dozen times at the third target. I nicked the edge of the heart once and the rest were in the shoulder area except for one which seemed to have missed altogether.

Langley shook his head. "It just isn't your day, is it? Ah, well, I suppose I'd better wend my way."

He started for the door and Barzini said, "Heh, smart boy, aren't you forgetting something?"

Langley smiled, took the envelope from his inside breast pocket and threw it on the table. "I thought you'd never ask. I'll be seeing you, old stick."

He went up the steps whistling softly between his teeth. The door closed behind him. Barzini took out the bank draft and examined it.

I said, "I'd cash it first thing in the morning if I were you."

"Tell me," he said. "The business earlier in the car about being too old and now this? Letting Langley make a fool of you."

"So he thinks he has an edge." I shrugged. "What harm does it do if it makes him feel good."

I fired three times so rapidly that to anyone except an expert it must have sounded like one shot, putting a bullet between the eyes of each of the remaining targets.

I put the Stechkin down on the table and nodded, "Yes, that really is a most remarkable weapon. Remind me to take one along, will you?"

I moved past him and went up the stairs.

6
The Rules of the Game

W
e came into the horseshoe bay below the villa at Capo Passero just before noon on Wednesday. Having left Palermo at midnight, we'd had an excellent passage, taking the western route past Marsala through the Sicilian Channel and the Golfo di Gela.

The Cessna was moored to the two buoys in the center of the bay and as we moved in towards the stone jetty the Landrover came down the dirt road which hardly surprised me. I suppose we must have been under scrutiny from the ramparts for quite some time.

Barzini was in the wheelhouse and Nino and Angelo fended the
Palmyra
off as we bumped against the jetty and I went over the rail with a line. As I looped it round a bollard, Langley got out of the Landrover followed by Gatano and came toward me.

"Hello there, old stick. How's every little thing?"

Gatano's face was badly bruised and there were stitches in the left cheek, the whole combining to make him look uglier than ever.

"Who's your friend?" I asked.

Gatano was holding a Sterling sub-machine gun and the look on his face was such that for a moment I thought he might be tempted to use it.

"Still full of the joys of spring, I see," Langley said. "The old man wants to see you and Barzini. The others can stay here."

"Anything to oblige." I turned to look up at Barzini as he cut the engine and leaned out of the wheelhouse window. "Royal command, Aldo. We're going visiting."

"That's nice," he said and came out on deck.

He was wearing a Smith and Wesson .38 in a spring holster on his left hip, butt forward. Langley said, "You leave that down here."

Barzini shrugged, took the gun out of the holster, leaned inside the wheelhouse and dropped it on the chart table. Langley turned to me. "What about you?"

I raised my hands without a word. He searched me anyway, completely missing a favorite place for a concealed weapon in expert opinion--the small of the back tucked into the pants under the shirt. Not that I'd anything there this time as it happened, but it was a serious flaw and certainly gave me pause for thought where Langley was concerned.

He slipped back, apparently satisfied. "All right, old stick, let's go."

Gatano stayed on the jetty, sitting on a bollard, the Sterling across his knees. Barzini and I got into the rear of the Landrover and Langley took the wheel.

"How's my sister?" I asked him as we drove away.

"Fine, old stick." He smiled with what appeared to be genuine warmth. "Lovely girl. Practices the piano most of the day. Perfectly happy. And Simone's been spending some time with her."

"Plus Frau Kubel and her Doberman?" I said. "How nice. All we need to make up the party is Charles Lutwidge Dodgson and we're all set for an idyllic afternoon on the river."

"Dodgson?" Barzini looked puzzled. "Who in the hell is this Dodgson?"

"Better known as Lewis Carroll.
Alice in Wonderland
and all that," Langley said. "Not to worry. Our friend's feeling a little pensive this morning, that's all."

He braked to a halt in the courtyard; we got out and started up through the garden to the high terrace. Stavrou was standing at the wall peering down into the bay. For a moment there was a fugue in time and I was conscious of an irrational coldness. It was as if nothing had happened--as if it were still that first day when they'd brought me up from the Hole. The table laid for lunch, the bottles of
Zibibbo
in the bucket, the waiter at the ready, Moro and Bonetti in the same fisherman jerseys standing stolidly side by side, arms folded.

Stavrou swung around and looked at us. "So this is Mr. Barzini?" he said. "A well-found ship, sir. I congratulate you."

He lurched forward on his two sticks and the waiter eased him into the chair then poured him a glass of wine. He sampled some with a sigh of content and looked up at me.

"Well, sir, and how does it go?"

"I want to see my sister," I said. "Before anything else."

He nodded to Langley without the slightest hesitation. "All right, Justin. Five minutes."

Langley moved through the archway into the garden beyond and I went after him. This time there was no music playing, but I could hear laughter and a dog barked.

We paused by a small wall and looked down into a sunken garden. Hannah was seated on the ground on a rug, Simone beside her. She was throwing a rubber ball for the Doberman, who chased it eagerly and brought it back to her each time. Frau Kubel sat on a stone bench, knitting.

"Strange how that dog has taken to her," Langley said. "I just can't understand it."

Simone glanced up and saw us. The smile left her face and she stood. I heard Hannah quite distinctly ask her what was wrong.

Langley tugged at my sleeve. "All right, old stick. Better get back now. We don't want to upset him, do we?"

There didn't seem much I could say to that so I turned and led the way back to the high terrace where we found Stavrou and Barzini with their heads together over a British Admiralty chart for the Libyan coastline, Cap Bon to Tobruk.

Stavrou looked up. "Ah, there you are. Now you can tell me all about it."

"You got the permit from the Libyan Embassy for archaeological diving?" I asked.

Langley produced a large buff envelope from which he took out an imposing document with no less than four wax seals on it.

"This cost money," he said. "So watch it."

I leaned over the chart. "If we leave this evening we can be in Gela the same time on Thursday. All I need then is Zingari. If he lets us down we're finished."

"He won't," Stavrou said. "I'm paying him too much, but tell me everything from the beginning."

"All right. We sail into Gela posing as underwater archaeologists looking for a Roman wreck in the bay. We've got several amphorae with us which can go over the side under cover of darkness to be publicly recovered for the whole village to see the following day. That should keep everyone happy."

"And the assault on the prison?" Stavrou said. "What takes place there?"

"I presume Langley has told you about Angelo Carter?" Stavrou nodded and I carried on, "He gains access to the prison as indicated. Once inside his one aim is to get to the north wall and dispose of the two sentries there."

"That seems one hell of a tall order to me."

"But not to Carter. He was a Green Beret. He has a light line with him which he drops down. I'll be waiting on the rocks at the base of the cliff with Nino Barzini. We attach a climbing rope to the line, which Carter hauls up. Then Nino, who's an expert in these matters, climbs it, drops a body line to me and he and Carter haul me up between them."

"All right, supposing all that works."

"Carter changes, then we cross quite openly to the Commandant's house, passing ourselves off as soldiers. Colonel Masmoudi has a weakness for the ladies which means he tends to be very fully occupied on a Friday night. We shouldn't have too much trouble in overpowering him."

"Then what happens?"

"He does as he's told like a good boy and has your stepson brought to his house. Then we all leave by the front gate nice and quietly in Masmoudi's car. Drive straight to Gela and embark. At that time of night the tunny boats are out in force about ten miles off shore. One or two nets draped from our mast is all we need and we'll be lost in the crowd."

There was a lengthy silence while Stavrou looked at the map. I helped myself to
Zibibbo.
Finally, he turned to Barzini. "What do you think?"

"I'm going, aren't I?" Barzini pointed out.

"I don't know." Stavrou shook his head. "There are too many ifs."

"You're right," Barzini said cheerfully. "The plain truth is that if everything falls right for us, we can't fail, but if even one single item goes wrong then the whole house of cards comes tumbling down."

Stavrou nodded, looking at the map. "Justin has a point to make."

"And what might that be?" I said.

Langley grinned. "You're not going to like this, old stick, but it's a fact. Imagine you're walking across the courtyard of the prison wearing Libyan uniforms, making straight for Masmoudi's house."

"So what?"

"What happens when the sergeant of the guard or an officer, or even just a stray soldier calls out good night or asks you what you're doing?"

"Simple," Barzini said. "I'd say I'm on a special detail for the colonel."

"Oh, I see," Langley said. "I didn't realize you spoke Arabic."

There was a heavy silence and I said, "That's what's called not seeing the wood for the trees."

"You mean you don't speak Arabic either, old stick?" Langley said. "Never mind. I do."

Which was what the whole damned thing had been leading up to, of course. I saw it all now, just as I saw with equal certainty, that he was right.

"Okay," I said. "Welcome aboard." I turned to Stavrou. "Happy now?"

He smiled delightedly. "That's what I like about you, sir. You're a sport."

"Who's hot and thirsty and badly in need of a shower," I said. "Which is exactly what I'm now going to have," and I left them there and moved up through the garden to my room.

I took my time over the shower, going over the whole thing in my mind Stavrou was right--there were too many ifs, but I couldn't help that any more than I could help the business with Langley. He was right there also. The inability to make some sort of response in Arabic if required was just the sort of detail on which the whole thing could fail. Most Libyans spoke Italian, that was true, a relic of Mussolini's dreams of Empire, but not among themselves.

So, Langley would have to go, as Stavrou had obviously intended all along, to keep a watching brief. I didn't like the idea, but it was something we'd have to put up with.

I pulled on a bathrobe and went out into the living room towelling my hair. Simone was sitting on the terrace gazing out to sea. She didn't turn round so I draped the towel around my neck, went to the drinks trolley and mixed two large gin and tonics.

I put one on the wall in front of her and took the other chair. "Well?" I said.

She turned her head slowly to look at me. Her face was as calm, as enigmatic as usual, but there was something in the eyes. Some kind of personal hurt.

She said, with a kind of anger, "What do you expect me to do?"

"I don't expect you to do anything."

She picked up the gin and tonic, swallowed about half of it, then sat staring down into the glass, holding it in both hands. When she spoke it was obviously with great difficulty.

"Your sister--she's a nice person."

"I would have thought I'd made that plain enough to you a long time ago."

Somewhere not too far away, Hannah started to play. Ravel--
Pavane on the death of an Infanta.
Infinitely beautiful in the still heat of the garden, touching something deep inside. Life itself, perhaps at the very center of things.

She was crying now, slow, heavy tears, and when she spoke her voice was hoarse and broken. "I suppose what I'm really trying to say is that I'm sorry."

"Who for? Me, Hannah, or yourself?"

It was brutal enough, I suppose, but she took it well. Strange, but I was almost proud of her when she tilted her chin bravely and looked me straight in the face.

"All right, Oliver, I deserved that, but I'm not going to crawl. I've crawled enough in my time." She stood up. "I hear Justin is going with you."

"That's right."

"Watch him--there's more to this thing than you think."

Which didn't exactly surprise me. I said, "What, for instance?"

She certainly put on a good show of distress and uncertainty. "I don't know, I really don't, but there's something. I just wanted you to know that."

"All right," I said. "You've told me."

And now she was angry again, much more the old Simone I'd known and loved. The glass went sailing over the wall into space. "You bastard," she said, turned and walked rapidly away.

I sat there finishing my drink and thinking about what she'd said, and Barzini appeared. "Langley said I'd find you up here. Heh, I just passed a very angry young woman. When I asked her if I was on the right track for you she told me to go to hell."

"It's not one of her good days." I went back inside to the bedroom and started to dress.

Barzini leaned in the doorway. "Stavrou wants us to have lunch with him. Afterwards he'd like to look over
the Palmyra."

"He can wait," I said. "I've more important things on my mind. The way things have turned out, Langley's going to be breathing down our necks from now on and I want a chance to talk to Nino and Angelo Carter alone while there's still time."

"And just how do we do that?"

I grinned. "Just stick with me. To the pure in heart all things are possible."