The Pigeon Project (28 page)

At last, they had finished and gone out in the sunlight and started back to their car.

Walking alongside the columnist, Jordan said, “I hope you got a good story.”

“A very good one, thank you. It’ll take up two columns, which I’ll file soon as they let me fly out of the city. What’s going on here? I can’t believe they’d quarantine a tourist city with a tourist economy at the height of the tourist season merely to catch some second-rate spy. Any idea of what’s behind it?”

“There’s probably nothing more behind it. I think they’re quite serious about getting their hands on the spy.”

“Well,” Moore was saying, “I’d love to get to the bottom of it. But I’m afraid I’ll have to use up my days here digging for something else.”

“Do you have any other stories you’re going to do?”

“Only one is set,” said Moore. “The day after tomorrow, a travel agency is taking a dozen American and British industrialists on a preview tour of a new innovatively furnished petrochemical factory in Mestre. I was invited to cover it. Sounds dull, but what the hell.”

“How are you getting to Mestre?” asked Jordan, suddenly interested.

“The same way I got here with you. Special dispensation from the mayor, and a couple of police guards.”

“What agency is taking you on this tour?”

“I believe it is called CIT.”

“Yes, that’s one of the big ones.” Then Jordan added casually, “Did they assign you a guide? I know most of them, and I can tell you if you got a good one.”

“Some woman. I don’t remember—Wait, I think I have a note on it in my pocket.” He fished into the pocket of his seersucker suit and came up with several cards. He glanced at them, then held up one. “Here. CIT. The guide’s name is Felice Huber. Is she any good?”

“The best,” said Jordan enthusiastically as they reached the Mercedes. “You’re very lucky.”

And so am I, he thought, watching the columnist get into the car. Bruno Girardi had been one light at the end of the tunnel. Now there were two, and the second was named Felice Huber.

Jordan felt better, much better. The odds on hope had just improved. Two for one.

* * *

It was late afternoon when Jordan returned to his suite in the Hotel Danieli. As he stepped into the sitting room, Alison, having heard him, came quickly out of her bedroom. Her face was tight with anxiety.

“Tim, there was an important phone call for you,” she said without preliminaries. “Bruno Girardi got your messages and called. He wants to speak to you. He’ll be in his office at
Il Gazzettino
until six o’clock.”

“That’s the call I’ve been waiting for,” Jordan said. He held up his wristwatch. “Still time.”

“Was everything all right today?”

“Bring you up on that later,” he said, stripping off his jacket. “I want to catch Bruno.”

“Mind if I listen?”

“We’re in this together,” he said, going to the sofa and pulling the telephone closer to him.

As Alison sat down at the desk, Jordan took up the receiver and asked the hotel operator to put him through to
Il Gazzettino
. Moments later, he had Bruno on the line.

“Bruno? Tim Jordan here.”

“Yes. I meant to report to you sooner. But it seemed pointless because of the delays. Our—our party of the third part—our partner—he was jittery and broke two of our appointments. So I was waiting until I really saw him.”

“He broke two appointments?” Jordan repeated for Alison’s sake. “Have you seen him yet?”

“Yes, yes. I saw him at lunch today in the Piazzale Roma.” There was a brief silence, and then Jordan heard Bruno speak to someone in the background. His voice came on again. “Someone stepped into the office. I’m alone now.”

“Did you discuss the matter with our partner?”

“I discussed it fully. He was definitely interested, but thinks the sum involved only moderate for the risk involved.”

“Did he want more?”

“He did not speak of more,” said Bruno. “He was worried about the consequences if the—if the venture did not work out.”

“Well, what was his decision?” Jordan asked impatiently. “Did he turn it down?”

“No, absolutely not. He wants to consider it. He wants to discuss it with his wife, for her opinion.”

“Discuss it with his wife?” repeated Jordan. “Do you know his wife?”

“No. If she is a worrier type, she will influence him to turn it down. On the other hand, if she wants the extra money, she will persuade him to accept. I can say only one thing, Tim. I am sure the man and his family need money. So we shall see.”

“How long?” pressed Jordan.

“What?”

“How long before we know?”

“Oh. I would say a day or two, no more.”

“Will you keep after him? I can’t wait longer.”

“You leave it to me,” said Bruno. “The second I have a favorable answer, I will find you.”

“I’m depending on you, Bruno. Good luck.”

Hanging up, Jordan summarized the conversation for Alison.

When he was through, she did not seem reassured. “What do you think, Tim?”

“I think I’d better make another phone call. Try to get us a backup position.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning after I showed Schuyler Moore around the Center today, I asked him if he was going to do any more stories about Venice. He told me a small party of industrialists has been given permission to leave the city briefly the day after tomorrow and tour a new advanced factory at Mestre. Moore is going to cover it.” Jordan reached for the telephone again. “The woman assigned to guide that tour happens to be a friend of mine.”

“You think something’s possible?”

“I’m sure going to try to find out. Alison, my personal address book is in the right-hand drawer of my desk. Toss it over.”

She found the address book and handed it to him.

He looked up Felice Huber’s phone number and put through the call.

There were two rings, and he heard Felice’s voice on the phone.

“Felice, darling, this is Tim Jordan.”

“I wondered what happened to you. Here I handed you and your friend a free Program A tour yesterday, and you walked out on me. When we reached the Bridge of Sighs, I looked for you and you were the man who wasn’t there.”

“I had to find a toilet for my friend.”

“Anyway, I’m glad to hear from you,” said Felice. “What can I do for you?”

“See me for lunch.”

“Nice. Business or pleasure?”

“Both. With you it’s always a pleasure. But there is some business.”

“It’s a date. Where? When?”

“Tomorrow. Let’s say twelve noon. Quadri’s. Down in front of the orchestra. Are you free?”

“Umm, let me check the schedule. I’ve a tour group at two. Noon is fine.”

“Look forward to seeing you, Felice.”

Dropping the telephone into its cradle, Jordan lay back on the sofa, tired, and watched Alison as she wrapped her light pink robe more closely around her.

“Do you think she’ll cooperate?” Alison asked.

“I don’t know how tight the security is on her Mestre party,” Jordan said. “If Felice can do me a favor, within reason, I think she might.”

“And if you can pull it off?”

“We’d have a way of getting the professor out of Venice. Just in case Bruno doesn’t come through. It would be the harder route. Much of it would depend on how resourceful the professor is. Do you think he is resourceful?”

“You’d better ask him.”

Jordan started to get to his feet. “That’s what I intend to do right now. The contessa’s dinner party starts in two hours. Let’s get to her palazzo an hour earlier, so we can have time to lay plans with MacDonald. Can you be ready to leave here in forty-five minutes?”

“I’ve had my bath, and I’m all dressed underneath. What do I wear on top? I’ve never been to a Venetian palace.”

“Not formal. But no jeans either. Do you have a snappy cocktail-type outfit?”

“Just bought one off the Mercerie.”

“You’re set,” said Jordan. “Meet you out here again in forty-five minutes.”

* * *

When they had arrived at the Palazzo De Marchi a half hour before guests were to assemble for the dinner party, the contessa had personally met them. Without wasting a moment, she had taken Jordan and Alison up to the second floor.

“He’s such a nice man,” she had said along the way. “The professor and I talked for almost an hour this morning. I brought him some books in English, and then we chattered away. He wanted to know about my family, my background, and I told him what I could—I hope I didn’t bore him—and then I asked him about his own beginnings and his experiments with C-98. At first, he was somewhat reticent, but then he warmed up to me and tried to explain. I pretended to understand, but I’m afraid I was out of my depth with his scientific language.”

“But you do understand what he has achieved?” Jordan had asked.

“That part was clear. People doubling their lives on earth, and in good health. It will astound the world.”

“Provided the world hears about it.”

“If I have anything to say in the matter, the world will hear about it. The professor is welcome to stay here safely, in hiding, until you find a means of smuggling him out of this Red-infested bedlam.”

“Thank you, Contessa.”

When they had arrived at the door to the guest bedroom, the contessa had tried to reassure Jordan and Alison. “As you can see, the bedroom is out of the way. The best hiding place.”

“How many people do you have staying here?” Jordan had wondered.

“Four in Cedric Foster’s party, plus Cedric himself. Then my live-in couple and my secretary. But have no fear. No one knows he is here. In fact, I don’t even trust the servants to bring him his meals. I do it myself. Now you can go right in.”

“You’re the perfect hostess,” Jordan had said.

“The perfect hostess serves dinner on time,” the contessa had said. “Please don’t be late.”

Jordan and Alison had gone into the bedroom, a small room elegantly furnished in Empire style, and found Professor MacDonald stretched out on the bed, an open British paperback on his chest. Apparently, he had fallen asleep, but their arrival awakened him.

MacDonald had sat up on the edge of the bed, while Jordan and Alison pulled up chairs.

Yes, he was comfortable enough, no complaints about that. But his nerves were edgy after all the recent running, and he was restless in confinement and eager for news about some escape hatch.

Now, listening to him, Jordan was pleased that he could speak of two lights at the end of the tunnel.

“I won’t say I have good news for you, Professor, not yet,” Jordan began, “but I do have slightly hopeful news. First of all, your own situation is better than it’s been since the police set out to catch you. No one suspects where you are. The contessa sympathizes with you—indeed, is thrilled to have you—and she is a trustworthy person. And she just told us you can stay here as long as is necessary.”

“I appreciate that,” said MacDonald, “but I hope it’s not too long.”

“Professor, if I can get you out of Venice tonight or tomorrow, I’ll do so. The important thing is that your staying here safely buys me more time to find a means of escape.”

Alison interrupted. “In fact, Davis, Tim has already come up with another possibility.”

MacDonald looked at Jordan. “Really?”

“It’s an idea. I’ll have to see if it can work. To start with, let me bring you right up to date on where we stand. I got hold of our photographer friend, Bruno Girardi. He met with his carabinieri captain and laid out the proposition. The captain is, of course, interested. He can use the money. But he’s worried about the risk. It was left that he’s going to take it up with his wife. I can’t say what will happen. But if her response is favorable, you should be on your way out of here very soon.”

“And if it’s not favorable?”

“Well, then, as Alison mentioned, a second possibility presented itself earlier today.”

Professor MacDonald was extremely attentive, waiting.

Briefly, Jordan recounted his experience with the columnist, Schuyler Moore, at the Voltabarozzo Hydraulic Center in the early afternoon.

“When I learned,” said Jordan, “he was accompanying a small tour outside of Venice the day after tomorrow, and I learned the guide would be my good friend Felice Huber—you remember her?—my mind started clicking. I phoned Felice after I got back to the city. I invited her to lunch tomorrow. That’s when I’ll find out if the second possibility can work.”

MacDonald seemed lost. “I’m not sure I know what you have in mind.”

“A group of American and English industrialists, businessmen, are being permitted to leave the city for a short time, go by bus to Mestre to tour some kind of new petrochemical factory complex. Well, Professor, if I can get you on that tour, out of here to Mestre, you’ll be free.”

“Could we get away with it?”

“I don’t know. This is a longer shot than the Bruno one. I have to talk Felice into letting you join her tour. If she agrees, I don’t see too much danger in getting you safely out of Venice. You’d be anonymous in a group. The group is not suspect, has high-level permission, and is, I’d guess, very VIP. The main problem presents itself once you get to the Mestre factory. There will be several carabinieri guards along to keep an eye on all of you. Somehow, you’d have to elude them, slip away without being seen, or hide somewhere in the factory until they were gone, and then make your own way to the Mestre railroad station or a car-rental agency. You don’t know your way around there, but I’d give you some directions before you left. And almost everyone in the vicinity speaks English. I’m not saying it would be easy. It wouldn’t. I can see endless dangers of being caught. Yet it is worth considering if Bruno’s captain fails us.”

“Somehow it frightens me, attempting this alone.”

Alison tried to bolster him. “You did make it out of the Soviet Union, Davis.”

“That was different,” said MacDonald. “No one was looking for me when I left. Right now there are hundreds, maybe thousands, searching for me.”

Jordan stood up and walked thoughtfully around the room. “One other thing occurred to me,” he said. “Taking the columnist, Schuyler Moore, into our confidence. I’m sure he could be trusted out of his own self-interest. If he got you or the story out, he’d have the newsbeat of the century.”