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 Balli Salang, 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 gentle 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 find a way 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 centre 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. And 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 harbour again.
The little bell over the door of the jewellery shop rang, and Gam-bino looked up. Two men in dark suits walked in. They were not 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 with ..."
The men were gone.
Lucca was in bed with his girlfriend when the two men shoved open the door to his apartment.
Lucca leaped 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 was what this was about. That fucking bracelet! What the hell had Carlo got himself into? SIFAR did not send men around looking for stolen jewellery.
"Well ... do you know him or don't you?"
"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 opened the 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?"
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 LTncrocio 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 you 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 fifty thousand dollars. Meanwhile, 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. 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.
"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 ladies present. Why don't you watch your language?"
"I don't have to watch my language," Robert yelled. "Do you know who I am? I'm Commander Robert Bellamy. And they call this a boat? It's a piece of junk!"
He made his way to the bow and sat down. He could feel the eyes of the other passengers on him. His heart was hammering, but the charade was not over yet.
When the hydrofoil docked at Capri, Robert walked over to the ticket booth at the entrance to the funicular. An elderly man was in the booth selling tickets.
"One ticket," Robert yelled. "And hurry up! I don't have all day. You're too old to be selling tickets, anyway. You should stay home. Your wife is probably screwing all your neighbours."
The old man started to rise in anger. Passers-by were giving Robert furious glances. Robert grabbed the ticket and stepped into the crowded funicular. They'll remember me, he thought grimly. He was leaving a trail that no one could miss.
When the funicular came to a stop, Robert shoved his way through the crowd. He walked up the winding Via Vittorio Emanuele, to the Quisisana Hotel.
"I need a room," Robert told the clerk behind the desk.
"I'm sorry," the clerk apologized, "but we are fully booked. There is ..."
Robert handed him sixty thousand lire. "Any room will do."
"Well, in that case, I think we can accommodate you, signore. Would you register, please?"
Robert signed his name. Commander Robert Bellamy.
"How long will you be staying with us, Commander?"
"One week."
"That will be fine. May I have your passport?"
"It's in my luggage. It'll be here in a few minutes."
"I will have a bellboy show you to your room."
"Not now. I have to go out for a few minutes. I'll be right back."
Robert stepped out of the lobby, into the street. Memories hit him like a blast of cold air. He had walked here with Susan, exploring the little side streets, and strolled down Via Ignazio Cerio and Via di Campo. It had been a magic time. They visited the Grotta Azzurra, and had morning coffee at the Piazza Umberto. They took the funicular up to Anacapri, and rode donkeys to Villa Jovis, Tiberius's villa, and swam in the emerald green waters at the Marina Piccola. They shopped along Via Vittorio Emanuele and took the chair lift to the top of Monte Solaro, their feet skimming over the vine leaves and leafy trees. Off to the right they could see the houses sprinkled down the hillside toward the sea, yellow broom covering the ground, an eleven-minute ride through a colourful fairyland of green trees, white houses and, in the distance, the blue sea. At the top, they had coffee at the Barbarossa Ristorante, and then went into the little church in Anacapri to thank God for all their blessings, and for each other. Robert had thought then that the magic was Capri. He had been wrong. The magic was Susan, and the magician had left the stage.
Robert went back to the funicular station at the Piazza Umberto, and took the tram down, quietly mingling with the other passengers. When the funicular arrived at the bottom, he walked out, carefully avoiding the ticket seller. He went over to the kiosk at the boat landing. In a heavy Spanish accent, Robert asked, "A que horn sale el barco a Ischia?"
"Sale en treinta minutos."
"Gracias." Robert bought a ticket.
He walked into a bar at the waterfront, took a seat in the back and nursed a scotch. By now they would have undoubtedly found the car, and the hunt for him would narrow. He spread out the map of Europe in his mind. The logical thing for him to do would be to head for England, and find a way to get back to the States. It would make no sense for him to return to France. So, France it is, Robert thought. A busy seaport to leave Italy from. Civitavecchia. I have to get to Civitavecchia. The Halcyon.
He got change from the owner of the bar, and used the telephone. It took the marine operator ten minutes to put his call through. Susan was on the line almost immediately.
"We've been waiting to hear from you." We. He found that interesting. "The engine is fixed. We can be in Naples early in the morning. Where shall we pick you up?"
It was too risky for the Halcyon to come here. Robert said, "Do you remember the palindrome? We went there on our honeymoon."
"The what?"
"I made a joke about it because I was so exhausted."
There was a silence on the other end of the line. Then Susan said softly, "I remember."
"Can the Halcyon meet me there tomorrow?"
"Hold on a moment."
He waited.
Susan returned to the telephone. "Yes, we can be there."
"Good." Robert hesitated. He thought of all the innocent people who had already died. "I'm asking a lot of you. If they ever found out you helped me, you could be in terrible danger."
"Don't worry. We'll meet you there. Be careful."
"Thanks."
The connection was broken.
Susan turned to Monte Banks. "He's coming."
At SIFAR headquarters in Rome they were listening to the conversation. There were four men in the room. The radio operator said, "We've recorded it, if you would like to hear it again, sir."
Colonel Cesar looked at Frank Johnson questioningly.
"Yes. I'm interested in hearing the part about where they're going to meet. It sounded like he said Palindrome. Is that somewhere in Italy?"
Colonel Cesar shook his head. "I never heard of it. We'll check it out." He turned to his aide. "Look it up on the map. And keep monitoring all transmissions to and from the Halcyon."
"Yes, sir."
At the farmhouse in Naples, the phone rang. Pier started to get up to answer it.
"Hold it," one of the men said. He walked over to the phone and picked it up. "Hello?" He listened for a moment, then threw the phone down and turned to his companion. "Bellamy took the hydrofoil to Capri. Let's go!"
Pier watched the two men hurry out of the door, and thought: God never meant me to have so much money, anyway. I hope he gets away.
When the ferry boat to Ischia arrived, Robert mingled with the crowd boarding it. He kept to himself, avoiding eye contact. Thirty minutes later, when the boat docked at Ischia, Robert disembarked and walked over to the ticket booth on the pier. A sign announced that the ferry to Sorrento was due in ten minutes. "A round trip ticket to Sorrento," Robert said.
Ten minutes later he was on his way to Sorrento, back to the mainland. With a little luck, the search will have shifted to Capri, Robert thought. With a little luck.
The food market at Sorrento was crowded. Farmers had come in from the countryside bringing fresh fruit and vegetables and sides of beef that lined the meat stalls. The street was thronged with vendors and shoppers.
Robert approached a husky man in a stained apron, loading a truck. "Pardon, monsieur ..." Robert spoke with a perfect French accent. "I'm looking for transportation to Civitavecchia. Would you happen to be going that way?"
"No. Salerno." He pointed to a man loading another truck nearby. "Giuseppe might be able to help you."
"Merci."
Robert moved over to the next truck. "Monsieur, would you be going to Civitavecchia by any chance?"
The man said, noncommittally, "I might be."
"I would be glad to pay you for the ride."
"How much?"
Robert handed the man a hundred thousand lire.
"You could buy yourself a plane ticket to Rome for that much money, couldn't you?"
Robert instantly realized his mistake. He looked around nervously. "The truth is, I have some creditors watching the airport. I'd prefer to go by truck."
The man nodded. "Ah. I understand. All right, get in. We're ready to leave."
Robert yawned. "I am tr��s fatigue. How do you say? - tired. Would you mind if I slept in the back?"
"It's going to be a bumpy ride, but suit yourself."
"Merci."
The back of the truck was filled with empty crates and boxes. Giuseppe watched Robert climb in, and he closed up the tailgate. Inside, Robert concealed himself behind some crates. He suddenly realized how exhausted he really was. The chase was beginning to wear him down. How long had it been since he had slept? He thought of Pier and how she had come to him in the night and had made him feel whole again, a man again. He hoped she was all right. Robert slept.
In the cab of the truck, Giuseppe was thinking about his passenger. The word was out about an American the authorities were looking for. His passenger had a French accent, but he looked like an American and he dressed like an American. It would be worth checking out. There might be a nice reward.
One hour later, at a truck stop along the highway, Giuseppe pulled up in front of a gas pump. "Fill it up," he said. He walked around to the back of the truck and peered inside. His passenger was asleep.
Giuseppe went inside the restaurant and made a telephone call to the local police.
