Claire Gulliver #03 - Intrigue in Italics (15 page)

Claire smiled at the nod from one of a group of woman who could have been cloned, they looked so much alike. She recognized one as the old woman who was the mother-in-law of their landlady. The black-clad women moved slowly, almost painfully through the piazza, chatting quietly amongst themselves, waving their hands in accompaniment to their words, only their eyes moving swiftly, darting here and there, absorbing everything.

Claire commented to Kristen, “Did you notice their feet?”

No wonder they appeared to walk painfully, their knobby toes and heels were bursting out of the cuts made in their low heel shoes to accommodate their misshapen feet.

“Do you think that’s from a lifetime of climbing these hills?”

Kristen shrugged. “Maybe, or maybe arthritis from the dampness of the sea. Or it could be from spending their youth cramming their feet into fashionable Italian shoes.”

Claire shook her head, unable to imagine these traditional old women wearing short skirted garments and high heel shoes that were the fashion in the 40’s or 50’s.

“Look at those day-trippers. Fashionable shoes will certainly never give them problems with their feet.”

The group of five young people outfitted with backpacks and water bottles were clad in shorts and tee shirts, each with a sweater or lightweight jacket tied around their waist and all were shod in clunky hiking boots. They watched the group gaily tromp across the piazza and up the street, only to move purposefully between two buildings. It didn’t take long until they emerged above the buildings on the trail moving up the cliff on their way to the next town.

At the same time Claire noticed people going behind the church and, by leaning way back, she could see there was another trail on this side of the piazza. She pulled the guidebook from her backpack and after a minute said, “The trail over there,” her head nodded toward the hill beyond the house where they were staying, “goes to Cornigia and is rated difficult. It takes two hours. But the trail up behind the church goes to Monterosso de Mare and it’s only an hour and a half. It’s an easier trail. Or, if we wanted, we could take the train down to Manarola or Riomaggiore for lunch and take one of those walks back this way. They’re both rated easy and take less than an hour.”

Kristen nodded. “Sounds like a good way to spend the afternoon. But let’s wait a while until I make my next call. We’ve got plenty of time and I’d like to check around here a little bit and maybe walk up to the top there.” She pointed to the other side of the piazza where a tower of some sort loomed high on the cliff overlooking the sea as well as the village.

Claire looked at her with disbelief. “Up there?”

Kristen nodded. “Sure, we could take our time. It can’t be too bad. There’s a restaurant up there. I bet it’s a gorgeous view.”

Claire wasn’t convinced any view would be worth the climb, but she knew wherever Kristen went she intended to be right there with her until she had seen her transported to safety.

But right now they weren’t going anywhere. Sitting on the piazza, breakfasting in the sun amidst other tables full of tourists she decided to have another Latte while she finished the last pastry. She could almost forget what had brought her here and just enjoy the day.

Finally finished, they wandered around the village, peeking in the church and a few of the shops which were open for the tourists. The restaurant where they had dinner last night was closed, but their waiter was outside hosing down the cement under the tables clustered around the door. He recognized them and waved with a friendly smile when they passed.

“If you’re serious about climbing up to the tower, let’s do it before the caffeine jolt wears off.”

Kristen laughed and headed for the steep set of stairs narrowly cutting through the buildings.

It wasn’t as bad as Claire expected, because the stairs twisted and turned constantly changing the view and even sometimes allowing tantalizing glimpses of the sea. When they arrived at the base of the tower they could see all the way down the coast.

“Look, Kristen. That must be the trail I read about.” They could barely see the little figures moving across the jagged cliffs apparently heading for the next village which was hidden from them by the distance. Turning they looked across the piazza, but the coastal view that way was blocked by the large hump of land rising behind the church. From here the village looked unreal. They watched as people boarded a boat on the quay and it swung out of the small harbor heading north.

“I didn’t know they had boat service here, did you?”

Kirsten shook her head. “Maybe instead of taking the train this afternoon we should take the boat to one of the other villages. That would be fun and we’d get a different view.”

When they headed back down they paused at the little restaurant, whose terrace hung over the point. It was up far enough to escape the spray of the waves and had an unobstructed view of the turquoise sea.

“Let’s check the menu. This would be a great place to have dinner tonight and watch the sun set.” Claire, originally reluctant to come up, now found she wanted to come back. She wished she had her camera, but that wasn’t one of the items Kristen told her to put in her backpack. Then it occurred to her that she could buy one of those little disposable ones. She was sure they would have them in the little store they passed.

Returning down the stairs Claire noticed how the stairway they were on connected with other stairways and paths snaking through the thick maze of buildings, some even heading up in the direction of the hill where they were staying. She resolved that when they went back up the hill they would try to cut through this way and see if they could find another way through. Maybe it would connect to that little train track they saw this morning on the hill. Their landlady had told them it was used during harvest time to transport the grapes from the vineyards on the hill. They hadn’t seen the vehicle but could imagine from her description the train-like motor, pulling a line of crates on wheels filled with grapes.

When they reached the piazza again Claire headed for the harbor. “Let’s check on those boats.”

Kristen followed willingly and after a long discourse with the man at the ticket booth she made a purchase.

When she joined Claire again she said, “We could leave on the next boat but I really need to call in before I do anything else. So I couldn’t get a ticket until two-thirty. I guess on Sunday this is a popular excursion. But, we’re on it for Riomaggiore, we can have a late lunch there and then walk as long as we like. We’ll just take the train back when we’ve had enough, okay?”

After eating all those breakfast pastries Claire was willing to wait for lunch. They came to the little shop she had seen. “Wait a minute. I need to buy a bottle of water. And maybe I’ll get one of those disposable cameras. If we walk on one of the trails I think I’d like to take a few pictures.”

The little shop seemed to be crammed with a little bit of everything, so when Claire emerged she had both her water and a camera. She blinked in the bright light noticing a train had just stopped on the platform up the hill. They watched it disgorge its load of assorted people. The day-trippers were easily recognizable by their hiking clothes and boots. The family groups, dressed in Sunday best, were probably coming for lunch, or maybe they had relatives in the village. And the tourists were struggling with their baggage while consulting their maps and books for directions to the pensions. Amongst the few other people, who looked as if they were residents returning from somewhere, were two men, who didn’t look as if they belonged.

Claire reached out and grabbed Kristen’s arm, dragging her into the shadow of the building they were passing.

“Kristen, it’s him!”

“Him? Him, who?” She stretched her neck to see.

“No, no stay back. It’s the man I followed in Florence; the man, who had the large box strapped to the back of his bike; the man who parked his bike behind the art store!”

Kristen sucked in a mouthful of air, then said, “Are you sure? Where?”

“He just got off the train. See there? He’s with that guy in the red jacket.

“And, yes, I’m sure. Do you think I would mistake that suit? I’m sure it’s a one of a kind. He was wearing it that day of the bombing.”

Kristen studied him, taking care to keep well back in the shadow. The taller of the two men was wearing a brown suit of some kind of shiny material that flashed green when the light hit it. He was way overdressed for the sleepy fishing village. Even from this distance he stood out from the others. The second man, shorter, more square was wearing casual clothes with a red, light-weight windbreaker over his shirt. He looked like a day-tripper or even one of the locals dressed for his day off. The two men conferred, took a long look at the down side of the village, then went down the stairs, under the tunnel and up the hill.

“They’re looking for us, aren’t they?” It was a rhetorical question. Kristen knew the answer.

“I think they’re going to start at the top and work their way down.”

“Oh, no, I’ve really got us in a pickle. We’re trapped. There won’t be another train for an hour, but there’s no way we can get on a train without them seeing us. And the boat has already gone. Damn, I wish we had been on it.”

“No, that wouldn’t have been good either. We’d have come back at the end of the day and walked right into them,” Claire told her.

Kristen’s voice quivered slightly, the only sign of her fear. “I need to make my call. We need help.”

She moved furtively across the street to the pay phone fishing in her backpack for her phone card while she watched up the street in case the men started back down their way. She had inserted her card and was just poking in a series of numbers when Claire reached over and pushed down the connector, cutting her off.

“No! Wait! Don’t call. Don’t you see? They know we’re here. They didn’t just accidentally arrive in Vernazza. They’re here looking for us. They must know we’re here.”

Kristen’s eyes widened.

Claire continued. “But how could they know we were here? How did they know to look for us in Sienna yesterday? For that matter how did they find you in Florence?

“You’ve used different passports. And you look so different I can hardly recognize you. There is no way they could have known where we were unless someone told them.”

Kristen turned so white her freckles once again popped out like polka-dots. Claire put out her hand to grab her, thinking she might collapse.

She whispered, “Me? You think I told them?”

Claire nodded. “Not intentionally, but it’s the only way. No one knows who I am or my connection to you. They can’t be following me. So it has to be you. It’s you they want. And you have been calling in each day to dutifully report where you are. And then the next day that guy shows up and someone gets killed.”

They stared at each other with horror.

“Did you tell them you changed your hair?” The guilty look on Kristen’s face was all the answer Claire needed.

“But that can’t be. These are the people who are trying to keep me safe. They need me to help them convict Sonny.”

“Apparently not all of them are. Trying to keep you safe, I mean.”

Claire’s words were too much for Kristen. Her knees gave out leaving her clutching the post supporting the telephone. She lost her composure, wailing, “But I have to be able to trust them.” She looked at Claire, tears in her eyes, suddenly calm again. “You’re right! How else could these guys be tracking me?”

She took a deep breath, panic close to bubbling over. “I just don’t know what to do.”

Kristen’s fear was contagious. Claire’s own heart was beating so hard that for a moment she couldn’t even hear the noise around them. She took three deep breaths.

Breathe in deeply, hold, release. Breathe in deeply, hold, release. On the third release her heart was no longer pounding in her ears and she had remembered something.

“Kristen, what is the code we have to use for a call to the States.”

Kristen looked at her strangely, probably wondering who she needed to call at such a critical time as this, but gave her the number without question. “Use double zero then one before you put in your area code and number.”

Claire left Kristen’s phone card in the slot and punched in the numbers she had memorized at Jack’s insistence last September. She was hoping they would work.

Jack Rallins, her friend with the mysterious connections, had come to her rescue twice before, once in London and then in Washington D.C., where he thwarted a mugger who tried to use a knife on Claire. Later, before they parted at the end of that visit, Jack had insisted she memorize this number. He said she just seemed to attract danger, and he would feel much better if he knew she could get help if she had a “problem”. They both understood that “problem” meant if her life was in danger she should use this number. Of course, Claire never expected to need it; she was only humoring him in gratitude for his support.

Now, waiting endless moments for the connection, she glanced up the hill wondering where those two men were. Wherever they were they hadn’t yet appeared in their line of sight. Finally, she heard the ring.

“Hallo?” The youngish female voice threw her.

“Hello, hello who is this?”

“Hallo, yourself. Who were you calling?”

Claire’s heart started racing again, but she managed to keep her voice steady as she replied, “Is Bernie there?”

“Hold on one minute please.”

It could have only been seconds, but Claire felt as if the silence stretched forever.

“Hello, who are you calling?”

“Bernie. I’m trying to reach Bernie.”

“Who’s calling, please?”

“This is Claire Gulliver and I need to talk to Bernie.”

“Ah, Miss Gulliver, I’m sorry Bernie is not available right now...”

With a terrible sinking feeling, Claire’s hand was already moving to disconnect, but she paused as the man quickly continued.

“...but I see that we have implicit instructions to respond to your inquiry. Is there something I can help you with?” The older male voice sounded genuinely concerned.