Foreign Affairs (4 page)

S
tone and Heddy went back to their suite; Stone called Dino.

“So,” Dino said, “is your Italian adventure improving?”

Stone had to think about that for a minute.

“Hello?”

“Sort of,” Stone was finally able to say.

“Define ‘sort of.'”

“Well, we got most of our stuff back.”

“The Italian cops caught the thieves?”

“No, the thieves returned the car, with our stuff still inside it.”

“Well, that's a win-win, isn't it?”

“Not exactly.”

“Why not?”

“The car was a total loss—the thieves set it on fire. In front of our hotel.”

“Did you report that to the police?”

“We didn't have to, they turned up almost immediately. Their big action was to revise the police report to exclude the items returned.”

“Okay,” Dino said. “That makes sense. Anything else?”

“Nothing. They ventured no information on the thieves or their motive.”

“I see,” Dino said, clearly not seeing.

“Something else, though: at dinner I found myself sitting next to Leo Casselli.”

“Casselli? He got deported, didn't he?”

“Deported to Italy. He may have self-deported, I don't remember.”

“And how did you come to be seated next to him?”

“Luck of the draw, I guess. He was there with a very young lady.”

“And did you and Casselli converse?”

“We did. He pointed out that we had a mutual acquaintance in Eduardo Bianchi.”

“I'm not entirely surprised that he knew Eduardo. I'll bet they hadn't spoken for forty years.”

“I didn't ask, but if I see him again, I will.”

“What makes you think you'll see him again?”

“He expressed an interest in my burned-out car—or rather, in Marcel duBois's burned-out car. He said that maybe it was a warning, and that maybe I should heed it.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Funny, that's what I said to myself.”

“Are you mixed up in something Casselli is interested in?”

“I don't know, but I'm here for a board meeting, which was about buying a partially built hotel that we could turn into a new Arrington. That was at midday yesterday. Then yesterday evening the structure burned down.”

“Uh-oh.”

“You said that before.”

“Sounds like you and Casselli have a common interest.”

“Not in the sense that we are partners.”

“Casselli may not see it that way.”

“I thought he was retired.”

“He's retired from America, although he may still have hidden assets here, but he could still be active in Italy. I'll check into that.”

“Good idea.”

“When are you going back to Rome?”

“Marcel is sending a car for us tomorrow afternoon. We should be back later in the day.”

“Let me talk to a couple of people, and I'll get back to you late tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“And in the meantime, try not to piss off any mafiosi, will you?”

“I haven't
been
trying.” They hung up.

—

W
hat was that all about?” Hedy asked.

“I'm not sure. Dino is going to make some calls and get back to me tomorrow.”

“Tell me who Dino is, if you haven't already.”

“He's the police commissioner of New York City.”

“And you know him how?”

“I used to be a cop, and Dino and I were partners.”

“And you keep in touch?”

“We're sort of best friends.”

“That must be very convenient for you.”

“Sometimes.”

“Is Dino how we got our stuff back?”

“I don't think so. Apparently, there's something going on that I didn't know about. I'm going to have to have a serious talk with my partner, Marcel, when we get back to Rome.”

T
he following morning they took the little electric vehicle and roamed the vertically stacked streets of Positano, doing a little light shopping for Hedy. They checked out of Le Sirenuse at one o'clock, and there was a Mercedes with a driver waiting for them. Stone got a better look at the Amalfi Coast with somebody else driving, and he enjoyed the experience, until they got onto the autostrada, when the driver spoke up.

“Mr. Barrington,” he said, “is there any reason somebody would be following you?”

“None that I'm aware of.”

“There's a black Lancia sedan three cars back,” the man said. “It's been behind us since we left your hotel.”

Stone looked back and saw the car; two men occupied the front seat.

“How fast are we going?”

“A hundred and thirty kilometers an hour.”

“Let's see what happens at a hundred and sixty.”

The Mercedes accelerated. “He's keeping pace with us,” the driver said.

“What's going on?” Hedy asked.

“Somebody appears to be tailing us.”

“Are we in any danger?”

“I don't think so, they're keeping well back.”

“I hope you're right.”

“So do I.” Stone put his head back and dozed off.

—

W
hen he woke up they were in Rome. “Do you want to go to your apartment or come with me?” he asked Hedy.

“I spoke to the rental agent while you were asleep, and I asked the driver to drop me there. Let me get sorted out, and I'll come to you later.”

“I'd like that—you're good company.”

“So are you.”

The driver dropped Hedy under an arch in a narrow street and took her bags to the elevator.

“I'd like to go to Mr. duBois's office,” Stone said. Ten minutes later, they were driving under a larger arch and into a spacious courtyard. “Can you take my luggage to the Hassler, please?”

“Of course, sir. Should I come back for you?”

“I'll get a cab,” Stone said. “Whatever happened to the Lancia following us?”

“He kept with us all the way.”

Stone got out and went into the building, where a uniformed security guard called duBois, then he was sent to the top floor.

Marcel greeted him at the elevator. “Come in, Stone,” he said, and ushered him to a comfortable sitting room.

“This is a lot like your Paris home,” Stone said, looking around.

“When you live in several places, it's best to keep them as much alike as possible. That way, I always know where everything is.”

Marcel served Stone an espresso, then sat down.

“What's going on, Marcel? I was followed here from Positano by two men in a car. Were they your security people?”

“No,” Marcel said. “It appears that someone is taking a deep interest in our plans for the new hotel. Perhaps it's related to that.”

“Marcel, have you been approached by anyone demanding a bribe?”

“A bribe for what?”

“For anything at all. I'm beginning to feel that the Italian Mafia has taken an interest in our project.”

“No one has asked me for money, except the people I've hired for various things. Apart from the fire, everything has been normal.”

“Marcel, it is not normal for your car to be stolen at an autostrada service area, then returned to me in Positano and set afire.”

Marcel shrugged. “I will grant you that.”

“Who is providing security for the hotel site?”

“The same security company that provides people for this building.”

“An Italian company?”

“Yes. They were recommended by a business acquaintance.”

“Perhaps it would be better if we delayed the acquisition of the hotel site until we've had time to look into this situation.”

“Stone, I closed on the site this morning, on schedule. You and I now own it, through the corporation.”

“Has anyone made an offer to buy the site from you?”

“No, why would anyone do that?”

“Perhaps someone is trying to frighten you and drive the price down, so they can buy it cheaply.”

“Nothing like that has happened,” Marcel said. “Everything is normal.”

“I'm afraid not,” Stone said. “Last night at dinner I found myself seated next to a man called Leo Casselli. Does that name ring a bell?”

“I met someone called Leonardo Casselli at a social function in Paris a couple of weeks ago.”

“Same fellow. In New York he was known as Leo, and he was the reputed head of a large Mafia organization. He returned to his native Italy some years ago.”

“I've heard nothing from or about him since our meeting,” Marcel said.

“I doubt very much if Casselli has retired. My friend Dino
Bacchetti is looking into it. Casselli introduced himself to me, and as he left the table he said that maybe the burning of the car was a warning, and that perhaps I should heed it.”

“That sounds ominous,” Marcel said.

“I thought so, too.”

“What do you propose we do?” Marcel asked.

“I think we have to wait and see if Casselli approaches us, then, if he does, make a decision.”

“All right,” Marcel replied. As he spoke, a telephone beside him buzzed, and he picked it up. “Yes?” Marcel listened, then covered the phone. “Mr. Casselli is on the line,” he said.

“Don't speak to him just yet,” Stone said.

“Please tell the gentleman that I'm in a meeting and can't be disturbed,” Marcel said, then hung up the phone. “Now what, Stone?”

“I think we have to make some preparations before speaking to Casselli,” he said. “I think that we should start by replacing all your security people with guards from Strategic Services, Mike Freeman's company.”

“I have a contract with the Italian company,” Marcel said.

“Then I had better read the contract.”

Marcel picked up the phone and ordered the contract brought to him.

Stone went through it. “The contract is up for renewal in three weeks,” he said. “I suggest you get Mike's people in, then buy out the remaining time on that contract.”

“Call Mike,” Marcel
said.

S
tone called Mike Freeman in New York.

“Where are you?” Mike asked.

“In Rome. May I assume you have an office here?”

“You may.”

“I'm here with Marcel duBois,” Stone said. “I expect you remember taking over his security needs in Paris last year.”

“Of course.”

“He has something like the same situation now in Rome. We're trying to build a new Arrington here, and I'm beginning to suspect that the local Mafia is taking an interest. You remember Leo Casselli?”

“I remember reading about him.”

“He's back in Italy.” Stone told him about his encounter with Casselli and about the two fires.

“How quickly do you want my people there?”

“As quickly as possible, and I'd like you to be particularly careful that none of your people has any Mafia connections.”

“How many do you need?”

“The current contract with an Italian company calls for twelve.”

“I've got four Americans there who speak good Italian. Let's start with them and then go to Italians who speak English.”

“Sounds good.”

“I can have at least half a dozen on-site tomorrow morning and the rest soon after. I'll send in some people from Paris, if necessary.”

“Excellent.” Stone gave him the address. “Have your supervisor come to Marcel's apartment on the top floor of the building, then he can start moving his people in.”

“All right. Are you staying there?”

“I'm at the Hassler, but the best way to reach me is on my cell. And we're going to need the new hotel building site guarded, too.”

“We'll assess that tomorrow morning and make a recommendation, and that will include a sweep of the offices for devices and a thorough examination of Marcel's computer systems.”

“Good.”

“I'd better get started, then, we're near the end of the business day in Rome.”

“Thanks, Mike.” Stone hung up. “Mike can make the transition tomorrow morning. His supervisor will come here and speak to you, then he'll move his people in. It should go smoothly.”

“Wonderful,” Marcel said. “I'm much relieved.”

“We don't want a repeat of our encounter with the Russians in Paris,” Stone said. “It's best to draw a clear line now.”

“I agree.”

Marcel's phone rang again, and a conversation ensued. He hung up. “That was our construction company,” he said. “They're withdrawing from the project, and they wouldn't give me a clear explanation of why.”

“I think we know why,” Stone said. “You should speak to the architects in New York and see who they can recommend to take over the project. Explain to them what we're facing here.”

“Of course.”

“If you'll excuse me, I'll go back to the Hassler and make some calls of my own.”

“Good. We'll talk tomorrow.”

Stone took the elevator downstairs and walked through the courtyard to the street, where he found a cab almost immediately. Back at the Hassler, he called Joan.

“How is sunny Rome?”

“Sunny. I need you to order me a new briefcase from the guy who made the one I have. I'd like it identical, but an inch deeper.”

“All right. I don't know how long that will take.”

“Let's get him started.”

“Something happen to the old one?”

“It was damaged in a fire. I'll explain when I see you.”

“And when will that be?”

“I don't know yet. Probably another few days, maybe a week.”

“Having too much fun to come home?”

“I'll tell you all when I get back.”

“Okay, I'm on the briefcase.” They hung up.

His phone rang. “Hello?”

“It's Hedy. I'm all sorted out here. Are you ready for me?”

“Come ahead,” he said. “I'm more than ready.”

“I'll be there in less than an hour.”

“I'll look forward to seeing you.”

“Yes, it's been such a long time, hasn't it?”

They hung up, and Stone stretched out on the bed for a nap. He was nearly asleep when he was wakened by the doorbell. He had forgotten to put out the
DO NOT DISTURB
sign. He got out of bed and answered it.

A bellman stood at the door, holding an elongated cardboard box. “Flowers for you, Mr. Barrington,” the man said.

Stone put out the
DO NOT DISTURB
sign and opened the box. Who would be sending him flowers? Hardly anyone knew he was in Rome.

The box was filled with lilies, and they were wilted and dying. Stone found a card and read it.

You would be more comfortable in New York
.

Stone called Mike with the latest.

“I'm going to put somebody on you,” Mike said. “This is going to escalate, and we have to be ready.”

“Whatever you think is best.”

“I'll have somebody with you in the morning.”