The Doomsday Conspiracy (32 page)

"Bene. I can get him down there easy enough."

"We'll be waiting for him," Lucca said.

"We'll have a little talk with him. I hope he has a nice voice, because he's going to sing for us." When Carlo returned to the house, Mr. Jones was gone. Carlo panicked.

"Where did your friend go?"

he asked Pier.

"He said he had to go into town for a little while. He'll be back. Why?"

He forced a smile.

"Just curious."

Carlo waited until his mother and Pier were in the kitchen preparing lunch, then hurried into Pier's room. He found the bracelet hidden under some lingerie in a dresser drawer. He swiftly pocketed it and was on his way out when his mother came out of the kitchen.

"Carlo, aren't you staying for lunch?"

"No. I have an appointment, Mama. I'll be back later." He got on his Vespa and headed toward the Quartiere Spagnolo. Maybe the bracelet is phony, he thought. It could be paste. I hope I don't make a fool of myself with Lucca. He parked the motorbike in front of a small jewelry store that had a sign in front that read: Orologia. The owner, Gambino, was an elderly, wizened man, with an ill-fitting black wig and a mouthful of false teeth. He looked up as Carlo entered.

"Good morning, Carlo. You're out early."

"Yeah."

"What have you got for me today?"

Carlo took out the bracelet and laid it on the counter.

"This."

Gambino picked it up. As he studied it, his eyes widened.

"Where did you get this?"

"A rich aunt died and left it to me. Is it worth anything?" Page 201

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"It could be," Gambino said cautiously.

"Don't fuck around with me."

Gambino looked hurt.

"Have I ever cheated you?"

"All the time."

"You boys are always kidding around. I'll tell you what I will do, Carlo. I'm not sure I can handle this by myself. It's very valuable." Carlo's heart skipped a beat.

"Really?"

"I'll have to see if I can lay it off somewhere. I'll give you a call tonight."

"Okay," Carlo said. He snatched up the bracelet.

"I'll keep this until I hear from you." Carlo left the shop walking on air. So, he had been right! The sucker was rich, and he was also crazy. Why else would someone give an expensive bracelet to a whore? In the store, Gambino watched Carlo leave. He thought, What the hell have those idiots gotten themselves into? From under the counter, he picked up a circular that had been sent to all pawn shops. It had a description of the bracelet he had just seen, but at the bottom, instead of the usual police number to call, there was a special notice: "Notify SIFAR immediately." Gambino would have ignored an ordinary police circular, as he had hundreds of times in the past, but he knew enough about SIFAR to know that one never crossed them. He hated to lose the profit on the bracelet, but he did not intend to put his neck in a noose. Reluctantly, he picked up the telephone and dialed the number on the circular. It was the season of fear, of swirling, deadly shadows. Years earlier Robert had been sent on a mission to Borneo and had gone into the deep jungle after a traitor. It had been in October, during musim takoot, the traditional head-hunting season, when the jungle natives lived in terror of Batii Saiang, the spirit that sought out humans for their blood. It was a season of murders, and now for Robert, Naples had suddenly become the jungles of Borneo. Death was in the air. Do not go gentie into the fucking night, Robert thought. They'll have to catch me first. How had they traced him here? Pier. They must have tracked him down through Pier. I have to get back to the house and warn her, Robert thought. But first I have to findaway out of here. He drove toward the outskirts of the city, to where the autostrada began, hoping that by some miracle it might be clear. Five hundred yards before he reached the entrance, he saw the police roadblock. He turned around and headed back toward the center of the city. Robert drove slowly, concentrating, putting himself into the minds of his pursuers. They would have all avenues of escape out of Italy blocked. Every ship leaving the country would be searched. A plan suddenly came to him. They would have no reason to search ships not leaving Italy. It's a chance, Robert thought. He headed for the harbor again. The little bell over the door of the jewelry shop rang, and Gambino looked up. Two men in dark suits walked in. They were not Page 202

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customers.

"Can I help you?"

"Mr. Gambino?"

He exposed his false teeth.

"Yes."

"You called about an emerald bracelet." SIFAR. He had been expecting them. But this time he was on the side of the angels.

"That's right. As a patriotic citizen, I felt it was my duty-"

"Cut the bullshit. Who brought it in?"

"A young boy named Carlo."

"Did he leave the bracelet?"

"No, he took it with him."

"What's Carlo's last name?"

Gambino lifted a shoulder.

"I don't know his last name. He's one of the boys in the Diavoli Rossi. That's one of our local gangs. It's run by a kid named Lucca."

"Do you know where we can find this Lucca?" Gambino hesitated. If Lucca found out that he had talked, he would have his tongue cut out.

If he did not tell these men what they wanted to know, he would have his brains bashed in.

"He lives on Via Sorcella, behind the Piazza Garibaldi."

"Thank you, Mr. Gambino. You've been very helpful."

"I'm always happy to cooperate withThe men were gone. Lucca was in bed with his girlfriend when the two men shoved open the door to his apartment. Lucca leapt out of bed.

"What the hell is this? Who are you?" One of the men pulled out his identification. SIFAR!

Lucca swallowed.

"Hey, I haven't done anything wrong. I'm a law abiding citizen who-"

"We know that, Lucca. We're not interested in you. We're interested in a boy named Carlo."

Carlo. So that's what this is about. That fucking bracelet! What the hell had Carlo gotten himself into? SIFAR did not send men around looking for stolen jewelry.

"Well-do you know him or don't you?"

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"I might."

"If you aren't sure, we'll refresh your memory down at headquarters."

"Wait! I do remember, now," Lucca said.

"You must mean Carlo Valli. What about him?"

"We'd like to have a talk with him. Where does he live?" Every member of the Diavoli Rossi had to swear a blood oath of loyalty, an oath that they would die before they would betray a fellow member. That was what made the Diavoli Rossi such a great club. They stuck together. One for all and all for one.

"Do you want to take that trip downtown?"

"What for?"

Lucca shrugged. He gave them Carlo's address.

Thirty minutes later, Pier op_ned tye door to find two strangers standing there.

"Signorina Valli?"

Trouble.

"Yes."

"May we come in?"

She wanted to say no, but she did not dare.

"Who are you?"

One of the men pulled out a wallet and flashed an identification card. SIFAR. These were not the people she had made her deal with. Pier felt a sense of panic that they were going to try to cheat her out of her reward.

"What do you want with me?"

"We'd like to ask you a few questions."

"Go ahead. I have nothing to hide." Thank God, Pier thought, Robert is out. I can still negotiate.

"You drove down from Rome yesterday, didn't you." It was a statement.

"Yes. Is that against the law? Was I speeding?" The man smiled. It did nothing to change the expression on his face.

"You had a companion with you?"

Pier answered carefully.

"Yes."

"Who was he, signorina?"

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She shrugged.

"Some man I picked up on the road. He wanted a ride to Naples." The second man asked, "Is he here with you now?"

"I don't know where he is. I dropped him off when we got into town, and he disappeared."

"Was your passenger's name Robert Bellamy?" She knitted her brow in concentration.

"Bellamy? I don't know. I don't think he told me his name."

"Oh, we think he did. He picked you up on the Tor di Ounto, you spent the night with him at the L'Incrocio Hotel, and the next morning he bought you an emerald bracelet. He sent you to some hotels with airline and train tickets, and you rented a car and came down to Naples, right?" They know everything. Pier nodded, her eyes filled with fear.

"Is your friend coming back, or has he left Naples?" She hesitated, deciding which was the best answer. If she told them that Robert had left town, they would not believe her anyway. They would wait here at the house, and when he turned up, they could accuse her of lying for him and hold her as an accomplice. She decided that the truth would serve her better.

"He's coming back," Pier said.

"Soon?"

"I'm not sure."

"Well, we'll just make ourselves comfortable. You don't mind if we look around, do you?"

They opened their jackets, exposing their guns.

"N-no."

They fanned out, moving through the house. Mama walked in from the kitchen.

"Who are these men?"

"They are friends of Mr. Jones," Pier said.

"They have come to see him."

Mama beamed.

"Such a nice man. Would you like some lunch?"

"Sure, Mama," one of the men said.

"What are we having?"

Pier's mind was in a turmoil. I have to call Interpol again, she thought. They said they would pay flfiy thousand dollars. Meanwhile, Page 205

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she had to keep Robert away from the house until she could make arrangements to turn him in. But how? She suddenly remembered their conversation that morning.

"If there's trouble you pull one shade down ... to warn someone away." The two men were seated at the dining room table eating a bowl of capellini.

"It's too bright in here," Pier said. She rose and walked into the living room and pulled down the window shade. Then she went back to the table. I hope Robert remembers about the warning. Robert was driving toward the house, reviewing his plan of escape. It's not perfect, he thought, but at least it should get them off the trail long enough to buy me some time. He was approaching the house. As he neared it, he slowed down and looked around. Everything appeared to be normal. He would warn Pier to get out and then take off. As Robert started to park in front of the house, something struck him as odd. One of the front shades was down. The others were up. It was probably a coincidence, but still... An alarm bell sounded. Could Pier have taken his little game seriously? Was it meant to be a warning of some kind? Robert stepped on the accelerator and kept driving. He could not afford to take any chances, no matter how remote. He drove to a bar a mile away and went inside to use the telephone. They were seated at the dining-room table when the telephone rang. The men tensed. One of them started to rise.

"Would Bellamy be calling here?"

Pier gave him a scornful look.

"Of course not. Why should he?"

She rose and walked over to the telephone. She picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Pier? I saw the window shade and-" All she had to do was say that everything was all right, and he would come back to the house. The men would arrest him, and she could demand her reward. But would they merely arrest him? She could hear Robert's voice, saying, "If the police find me, they have orders to kill me." The men at the table were watching her. There was so much she could do with fifty thousand dollars. There were beautiful clothes to buy, cruises to take, a pretty little apartment in Rome.... And Robert would be dead. Besides, she hated the goddamned police. Pier said into the telephone, "You have the wrong number."

Robert heard the click of the receiver and stood there, stunned. She had believed the tall tales he had told her, and it had probably saved his life. Bless her. Robert turned the car around and headed away from the house toward the docks, but instead of going to the main part of the port that serviced the freighters and ocean liners leaving Italy, he drove to the other side, past Santa Lucia, to a small pier where the sign over a kiosk read: "Capri and Ischia." Robert parked the car where it could easily be spotted, and walked up to the ticket seller.

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"When does the next hydrofoil leave for Ischia?"

"In thirty minutes."

"And for Capri?"

"Five minutes."

"Give me a one-way ticket to Capri."

"Si, signore."

"What's this 'si signore' crap?"

Robert said in a loud voice.

"Why don't you people speak English like everybody else?" The man's eyes widened in shock.

"You goddamn guineas are all alike. Stupid! Or, as you people would say, stupido." Robert shoved some money at the man, grabbed the ticket, and walked toward the hydrofoil.

Three minutes later he was on his way to the island of Capri. The boat started out slowly, making its way cautiously through the channel. When it reached the outer limits, it surged forward, rising out of the water like a graceful porpoise. The ferry was full of tourists from a variety of countries, happily chattering away in different tongues. No one was paying any attention to Robert. He made his way to the small bar where they served drinks. He said to the bartender, "Give me a vodka and tonic."

"Yes, sir."

He watched the bartender mix the drink.

"There you are, signore." Robert picked up the glass and took a swallow. He slammed the glass back down on the bar.

"You call this a drink for Christ's sakes?" he said.

"It tastes like horse piss. What's the matter with you goddamn Italians?"

People around him were turning to stare. The bartender said, stiffly,

"I'm sorry, signore, we use the best-"

"Don't give me that shit!"

An Englishman nearby said stiffly, "There are women here. Why don't you watch your language?"