Текст книги "Foreign Affairs"

Автор книги: Stuart Woods

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

46

Everyone seemed happier at dinner. They knew that Hedy was alive and well, and they knew where she was. As for rescuing her, nobody seemed to have a clue, short of a commando assault, and nobody wanted that.

“How about a drone?” Stone asked. He had had a recent experience with drones that had frightened him with their capabilities.

“We have access to drones,” Lugano said.

“So have we,” Dante echoed.

“What would you do with a drone?” Lugano asked.

“I don’t know: spy on him? Get a closer look at the house? Maybe figure out where they’re holding her?”

“We’ve got detailed plans of the house,” Lugano pointed out, “and as for where they’re holding her, my money’s on one of the maids’ rooms. From what we heard on the phone call, I don’t think Hedy’s bunking in with Casselli.”

“If we could get Hedy out first,” Stone said, “I wouldn’t mind firing a Hellfire missile into the place. In fact, I’d be glad to pull the trigger.”

“Overkill,” Dante said. “We wouldn’t have anyone left to try, and I very much want a trial.”

A servant brought an envelope to Lugano. “This just came by messenger,” he said. “It’s addressed to you and Mr. Barrington.”

Lugano opened it and found another envelope inside, along with a letter on handsome stationery with a crest at the top. “It’s from Baron Klaucke,” he said. He read from the letter. “‘This arrived today. It may have been intended ironically. Please add it to the evidence I am providing.’” Lugano opened the other envelope and extracted an invitation. He read it slowly. “It doesn’t say who it’s from, but there’s an ornate C at the top.” He read: “‘The pleasure of your company is requested for a housewarming. Drinks, dinner, and music.’ There’s an address on the Amalfi Coast road.”

“When?”

“Saturday, in three days, drinks at seven.”

“Why would Casselli invite Klaucke to his party?”

“Because he’s a baron? Maybe Casselli is a snob.”

“I think we should accept on Baron Klaucke’s behalf,” Stone said, “but without an RSVP.”

They moved to the living room for coffee and brandy.

“We can’t attack,” Jim said, “but Stone’s right, we can infiltrate.”

“Disguised as guests?” Stone asked. “I don’t think we could pass for Casselli’s friends.”

“But,” Jim pointed out, “there will be a lot of other people in the house—staff, catering personnel, musicians.”

Dante brightened. “On another occasion we smuggled our people into a large event as workers. It could work again.”

“How would you manage it?” Stone asked.

“The same way we did before: we find out who’s catering the affair and what sort of music is being provided. We substitute our people for some of theirs.”

“I play bass,” Lugano said, raising his hand. “Most Sunday nights at a jazz club.”

“One of my assistants plays very good jazz guitar,” Dante said, “in the manner of Django Reinhardt. All we need is a pianist who knows how to use a gun.”

“Stone is likely to shoot himself in the foot,” Dino said, “but he plays pretty decent piano.”

“Oh, no,” Stone said, “I’m the rustiest piano player you ever heard.”

“Let’s hear something,” Lugano said, taking away Stone’s drink and pointing him at the piano in the corner.

“Casselli’s file says he’s a music lover,” Dante said, “with a particular fondness for the Great American Songbook.”

“All right,” Stone said, “I’ll play you some Rodgers and Hart, but it will sound a lot better if you’re all talking at the same time.” He sat down and played “My Romance,” and got a round of hearty applause from the group.

“You’ll do,” Jim said. “Where have you played?”

“I picked up spending money when I was at NYU, at a little club on Bleecker Street called the Surf Maid.”

“I’ve been in there,” Jim said. “A nine-foot grand with stools around it and a bar.”

“That’s the joint. I warn you, I don’t have the chops anymore for up-tempo stuff.”

“Okay, we’ll keep it sedate.”

“So we have ourselves a trio,” Dante said, taking out his phone. “I’ll get on the search for what agency is supplying the music and what caterer has the job, then we’ll start threatening them.” He walked to one side of the room and began speaking Italian into the phone.

“Problem,” Stone said. “Casselli knows me—we had lunch, remember?”

“Don’t worry,” Jim said, “one of the great skills harbored in our Agency is that we are masters of disguise. We have a guy who can turn you into Ray Charles.”

“I don’t do blackface,” Stone said.

“You could do George Shearing,” Viv contributed.

“I don’t look anything like Shearing.”

“Just the dark glasses. You can play blind—you just never look directly at anybody. If you’re talking to someone, you look over his shoulder somewhere. But you can’t look at your hands when you play.”

“Dark glasses and a mustache might do it,” Jim said. “Maybe a better nose.”

“What’s wrong with my nose?” Stone asked.

“It’s too good,” Viv said. “Jim’s right. His makeup man could mess it up a little, give your face character.”

“Casselli will never make you,” Jim said. “I promise.”

47

Hedy was stunned for a moment but quickly recovered. She could hear footsteps on the wooden deck behind the house. An outside light came on.

Hedy got to her feet and climbed over a rock to her left. She cowered in a crevice as footsteps went past her on the path, then they retreated back to the deck.

“Nobody out here,” a man said in Italian. “Where did the key go?” He went inside, and she heard the door lock behind him.

Hedy discovered a niche under her rock and crawled into it. She was dry, if not warm, and she was in no mood to go blindly along that path in the rain. Soon she was asleep.

When she woke the rain had stopped, and the sun shone intermittently, enough to warm the air comfortably. She was hungry, but she wasn’t ready to risk the trail in daylight. She’d wait until dark, and if it wasn’t raining, try it again. She crawled out of her shelter and looked around. A few feet away was the rope handrail on the path, which led along a sheer cliff face and seemed to narrow to almost nothing. In the other direction was a lovely view of the sea and mountains and, a few feet away, what seemed another sheer drop-off. She was trapped on a peninsula of stone, with the path leading to the house, and in the other direction, God knew what awaited her.

Then she heard something odd: the sound of hooves on stone. She peered over a rock and saw an old man picking his way along the path on the cliff face, leading a donkey, which was heavily laden. As he passed slowly toward the house she saw that the donkey was carrying groceries, and she managed to swipe two apples and a banana before he had passed her. She retreated to her hiding place and had the banana for breakfast. The apples would have to do for breakfast and lunch.

Then she heard a woman’s voice shrieking, “Gone! The girl is gone!” People in the house rushed about talking loudly, then it got quiet again.

–

Casselli sat in the living room, going over a list. “I make it fifty-eight, with wives and girlfriends,” he said to his secretary.

“Only the man Klaucke, from Germany, did not respond,” she said. “Everyone else accepted.”

“We have the caterer from Rome, correct?”

“Yes, Don Leonardo. And the musicians, a quartet of jazz.”

“Good.”

A man entered the room carefully. “Don Leonardo,” he said, “there has been an incident.”

“What sort of incident?”

“The girl is gone.”

“Gone? Gone where?”

“No one knows, Don Leonardo. When she was taken her breakfast, she wasn’t there. The door was locked, as usual,” he lied.

“Have you searched the house?”

“Yes, Don Leonardo, every room, closet, and corner. She is not here.”

“How could she get out of the house?”

“The only irregularity we have discovered is that the key to the rear door to the deck is missing. It was hanging on a hook in the hallway. But we have a spare key.”

“You think she got out the rear door?”

“It’s possible, Don Leonardo. I myself have walked the path to the village both ways, and she is nowhere to be found. It’s possible that she may have slipped on the path in the dark and fallen into the ravine, but we cannot see a body anywhere.”

“Take the elevator down and search the parking area. She would have fallen there, likely.”

“Yes, Don Leonardo,” and he beat a retreat.

Strangely, Casselli felt relieved that the girl was out of his house. He hadn’t known what to do with her.

The man was back in fifteen minutes. “There is no sign of the girl anywhere near the road.”

“Could she have climbed down the rock face to the parking area?”

“In the dark? Impossible, I think. I believe she must have got to the village or beyond, though I would not wish to attempt the path in the night, without an electric torch.”

“She could go to the police, but they would call here, wouldn’t they?”

“Of course, Don Leonardo. They are in your pocket. Do you have further instructions for me?”

“No, no, get out.”

“It is a good thing,” his secretary said. “The girl was a pain in the ass. I hope she fell down the ravine and broke her neck.”

“From your lips to God’s ear.”

“The flowers and extra liquor have been ordered and will be delivered in due course,” the woman said. “The tableware and glasses are being delivered today. It’s going to be a wonderful party.”

“Yes,” he said, “wonderful. I’m looking forward to seeing everybody. I’ve been cooped up for too long.”

–

Hedy passed the afternoon napping. She tried her cell phone again, but it was truly dead. When it got dark, she would go back into the house for some food. Maybe she would find a flashlight, too; she could make it along the path in the dark with a flashlight.

48

Stone called Arthur Steele, in New York.

“Have you news, Stone?”

“Good news,” Stone replied. “Hedy is alive and well, and we have a location for her.”

“Why haven’t you retrieved her?”

“She is in a house built into a cliff face on the Amalfi Coast,” Stone said. “The only way to take it immediately would be by a military attack, and that would be very dangerous for Hedy. The police have elected to infiltrate instead. On Saturday night the owner is throwing a housewarming. The police are placing people on the catering staff and as musicians and will take it from inside, after having secured Hedy.”

“God, I’m glad I haven’t told her mother about this,” Arthur said.

“I think you were right not to. Casselli has made a halfhearted attempt to extort money in exchange for Hedy.”

“How much is he asking?”

“Fifty million euros. That’s how we know he’s not serious.”

“You were right not to agree to that, Stone.”

“If you can hang on until Sunday, I think we’ll have good news.”

“I’ll do my best.” The two men hung up.

“How are Arthur and his wife holding up?” Dino asked.

“Arthur hasn’t told his wife, so she’s just fine. Arthur is well-named—he’s a steely guy.”

Jim and Dante got off the elevator.

“Any progress?” Stone asked

“We’ve located the businesses that are supplying the catering and music, and my people are working on them now,” Dante said. “We should have everything wrapped up this morning, with any luck at all.”

“Have these people dealt with Casselli before?”

“They’ve dealt with his secretary, who is making the arrangements.”

“Do they know that if we’re successful Saturday night, they’ll lose a customer?”

“I’ve authorized my people to offer very attractive financial incentives—the minister has approved the money.”

Dante’s phone rang, and he stepped aside to answer it. Shortly, he returned. “A small problem,” he said. “The jazz group that was being furnished for Casselli’s party has agreed to a buyout for the evening.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Stone asked.

“Casselli is expecting a quartet. We need a drummer.”

“So, hire a drummer.”

“We can’t take a civilian musician in there. Anyway, the agent says nobody’s available on short notice. I don’t want you to show up there with a smaller group than has been paid for.”

“So what do we do?” Stone asked.

“We’re all out of ideas.”

“Relax,” Dino said, “I play drums.”

Stone stared at him. “That’s a joke, right?”

“It is not.”

“You just want to go along on this raid. You’ll embarrass us with your ham-handed efforts.”

“How well do you play?” Jim asked.

“About as well as Stone plays piano,” Dino replied. “I played in the high school band and the dance band, too. Oh, and I’m not a civilian like Stone, and I’m good with being armed.”

“Stone? Shall we take a chance on Dino’s drumming?”

“I want him to audition,” Stone said.

“Oh, come on!” Dino yelled.

“I had to audition, I want Dino to audition, too. I think his high school story is fishy—he’s never said anything to me about playing drums.”

“Okay,” Dino said, “get me some drums.”

“I play with a drummer on Saturday nights,” Jim said,” but he’ll be using his drums.”

“Ask him where we can rent or buy a set in Rome,” Dino said.

Jim made the call, then hung up. “There’s a place called Drum City, out in the burbs to the south.”

“Let’s go, then,” Dino said.

“Dante, are drums in the budget?”

“I’m not sure how to explain that to the minister.”

“What the hell,” Dino said, “I’ll buy them and take them home with me.”

“No, you will not!” Viv said. “I’m not living with a drummer!”

“I’ll find the money,” Dante said.

–

Two hours later, Dino was all set up in Marcel’s living room, next to the piano. He sat down behind the set and played a roll, followed by a cymbal crash. “Okay,” he said, “let’s do it.”

“How much did he make you spend?” Stone asked Dante.

Dante winced. “Twelve hundred euros, and change. Dino insisted on the best stuff—said his reputation was at stake.”

“God,” Viv said, “I’m glad you’re not taking them home.”

49

Arthur Steele put the phone down and buzzed his secretary.

“Yes, Mr. Steele?”

“Get me Cardinal Prizzi at the Vatican.”

“Yes, sir.” She came back after a minute. “The cardinal is on the line.”

“Arturo! How are you?”

“Not as good as I should be, Pietro.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that. How can I be of help?”

“I’m very sorry to have to come to you with this, Pietro.”

“Nonsense! Anything, anything I can do. You have only to ask.”

“My wife’s daughter has been kidnapped in Italy.”

“I am astonished! How has this happened?”

“A mafioso named Casselli has taken her and demanded a ransom.”

“Leo Casselli? That one?”

“That one.”

“But how do you come to be in business with this man?”

“I am not in business with him. I have had nothing to do with him. A friend and associate of mine met Hedy in Rome. Perhaps you know Marcel duBois?”

“You are doing business with Marcel?”

“No, with Marcel’s partner, a very fine man named Stone Barrington.”

“Spell.”

Arthur spelled.

“He and Marcel are building a hotel in Rome, and Casselli is trying to extort money from them, promising to pave their way. They need no help in that regard.”

“Shocking!”

“Hedy is being held at a property belonging to Casselli on the Amalfi Coast. Casselli is demanding a ransom of fifty million euros.”

“No! You must not pay it, Arturo, this will not guarantee the return of your daughter. Have you spoken with the police?”

“Yes, and they are trying very hard to help, but they are afraid to go in there for fear that Hedy will be killed in the assault.”

“Infamous! How can I help?”

“I confess I don’t know, Pietro. I have no ideas. My wife will take her own life if anything happens to her daughter. I am distraught.”

“Arturo, I will call you back in an hour.”

“All right.”

–

The cardinal buzzed his secretary, and the young priest entered his office. “Yes, Your Eminence?”

“That invitation I told you to decline—do you still have it?”

“I made the call—I think it must still be in my wastebasket.”

“Find it.”

The priest left and returned after a moment. The cardinal stared at it. “Call this number and get Leonardo Casselli on the phone immediately.” He sat, tapping his finger, for perhaps a minute.

–

Mr. Casselli, Cardinal Prizzi of the Vatican Bank is on the line.”

“You’re shitting me!”

“I am not. Will you speak to him?”

“Of course I will speak to him, you stupid bitch!” Casselli shouted, snatching the phone from her. “Yes, Your Eminence?”

“Hold for the cardinal,” the priest said.

Leo Casselli was not a religious man, but he was a superstitious one. He feared the Church as a teenager might fear zombies. He was instantly terrified.

–

The phone buzzed, and the cardinal picked it up. “Yes?”

“Casselli on line one.”

Prizzi picked up the phone. “Casselli?”

“Yes, Your Eminence,” Casselli oozed. “What an honor to hear from you personally!”

“What do you know of honor, you pig?”

Casselli made a gulping noise. “I’m sorry, Your Eminence? Have I somehow . . . inadvertently . . . offended you?”

“You offend the human race by belonging to it,” the cardinal spat. “I will damn you to hell!”

“Oh, Your Eminence,” Casselli said, his bowels turning to water, “how have I offended you?”

“You have kidnapped the daughter of my friend Arturo!”

Casselli remembered the name. Could the girl not have been lying? “Oh, Your Eminence, I would never do such a thing, I swear to you. The girl was a guest in my home—it was all very proper.”

“Was? Have you harmed the girl?”

“Oh, no, Your Eminence! I would never harm her. She is such a sweet girl.”

“Let me speak to her.”

Casselli gulped again. “I am so sorry, she is not here. She left my house late last night, of her own free will!” At least that was not a lie, he thought.

“Where is she?”

“I think she might have returned to Rome.”

“If you kidnapped her, she would not have a car.”

“Ah, um . . . perhaps she hitchhiked?”

“You find that girl, and you return her to her father at once!”

“But, Your Eminence, I have no idea where she is.”

“You have harmed her, haven’t you? Hedy would not leave there in the middle of the night in that awful storm we had. What have you done with her?”

“If you wish, Your Eminence, I will send my people out to find her.”

“You had better do that, and fast. If you have not found the girl by tomorrow, your soul will be in mortal danger. Call my office!” The cardinal slammed down the phone.

–

Casselli was astonished to find that he had peed in his pants.

50

Arthur Steele’s phone rang at home. “Hello?”

“Arturo, it is Pietro.”

“Pietro, thank you for calling.”

“I have good news: your daughter is alive and, presumably, well.”

“Thank God.”

“I spoke to this swine Casselli myself, and he assured me that she left his house last night.”

“Where is she now?”

“Casselli believes she is hitchhiking to Rome. There was a line of thunderstorms over most of western Italy last night, so she may have taken shelter someplace, but Casselli has promised to send out his men to find her. When that happens, I will see that she is promptly returned safely to you.”

“Thank you, Pietro.”

“You owe me no thanks, I am simply helping a father in distress. It will no doubt help if you will pray to God for her safe return, as will I.”

“I’ll do that, Pietro.”

“I’ll call you as soon as I hear something. Good night.” The cardinal hung up.

Instead of immediately praying for God’s help, Arthur called Stone Barrington.

–

Stone picked up his phone. “Hello, Arthur?”

“Yes, Stone. I have heard that Hedy is alive and well and that she is hitchhiking to Rome.”

Arthur is breaking under the pressure, Stone thought.

“I heard this directly from Cardinal Prizzi.”

“Cardinal Prizzi? How the hell do you know him?”

“I met him on his last visit to New York. We played golf—he is a fanatic—and I gave him a couple of investment opportunities. We’re thinking of collaborating on something.”

Stone’s mind reeled.

“The cardinal spoke directly to Casselli.”

“How did he do that?” Stone asked. “Did he have a direct line?”

“I don’t know, but Prizzi knows everybody.”

“What did Casselli say?”

“He said that Hedy left his house last night and was hitchhiking to Rome.”

“We had awful weather last night,” Stone said, remembering the rain beating against his window.

“Prizzi postulates that she may have taken shelter along the way. Casselli told him he would send his men out to look for her.”

First, the good news, then, the bad. “I’ll alert the Italian police,” Stone said. “And I’ll get back to you when there is news.”

“I’ll look forward to hearing from you.” Both men hung up.

Stone went into the living room, which had become a command post for the DIA and the CIA, and reported the call to Jim and Dante.

Jim stared at him blankly. “Cardinal Prizzi from the Vatican Bank?”

“He’s apparently a personal friend of Arthur’s.”

“So Hedy wasn’t lying when she said that Arthur knew the Pope?”

“I doubt that. If Arthur knew the Pope, believe me, he would have called him instead of the cardinal. Dante, is there anything in your file on Casselli that connects him with the Vatican? In particular, with the Vatican Bank?”

Dante turned to his computer and began doing searches. “I have the two of them at the consecration of a private chapel that Casselli’s company built for a prominent Napoli Catholic layman. That’s it.”

Jim spoke up. “The question here is: Who’s hallucinating? Arthur? The cardinal? Everybody?”

“Arthur is not the sort to hallucinate,” Stone said, “and from what I’ve heard of Prizzi, neither is he. Casselli, on the other hand . . .”

“No, Jim,” Dante said. “The question is: Are we still going to run this infiltration thing, if Hedy isn’t in the house anymore?”

“Of course we are,” Jim said. “We’re not going to rely on Casselli’s word that she’s left his house.”

“And if she is gone, we’re going to run this elaborate operation, in order to arrest Casselli for dealing in stolen chocolate? I don’t think I could explain that to the minister.”

“There is the matter of the kidnapping of both Hedy and Baron Klaucke,” Stone pointed out. “And we would have . . . at least one of them to testify.”

“Hedy could be dead in a ditch somewhere,” Dante said, “and there’s little doubt that Casselli could get to Klaucke before he could talk.”

“I think we have to stick to best-case scenarios,” Jim said, “unless we get more information to the contrary. Dante, can you alert the police between Amalfi and here to be on the lookout for an American woman?”

“Of course,” Dante said, picking up his phone.

“And we’re still on for tomorrow night?” Stone asked.

“Yes,” Dante said, “we’re still on, God help us.”