The Doomsday Conspiracy
Robert thought about Susan’s offer. We’re just off the coast of Gibraltar. We can pick you up at any place you say. It’s probably your only chance of escape. He was reluctant to involve Susan in his danger, and yet he could think of no other alternative. It was the only way out of the trap he was in. They would not be looking for him on a private yacht. If I can find a way to get to the Halcyon, he thought, they could drop me off near the coast near Marseilles, and I can get ashore by myself. That way, they won’t be in danger.
He parked the car in front of a small trattoria on a side street, and went inside to make the call. In five minutes, he was connected with the Halcyon.
“Mrs Banks, please.”
“Who shall I say is calling?”
Monte has a fucking butler to answer his phone on the yacht. “Just tell her an old friend.”
A minute later he heard Susan’s voice. “Robert … is that you?”
“The bad penny.”
“They … they haven’t arrested you, have they?”
“No. Susan.” It was difficult for him to ask the question. “Is your offer still open?”
“Of course it is. When …?”
“Can you reach Naples by tonight?”
Susan hesitated. “I don’t know. Hold on a moment.” Robert heard talking in the background. Susan came on the line again. “Monte says we have an engine problem, but we can reach Naples in two days.”
Damn. Every day here increased the chances of his getting caught. “All right. That will be fine.”
“How will we find you?”
“I’ll contact you.”
“Robert, please take care of yourself.”
“I’m trying. I really am.”
“You won’t let anything happen to you?”
“No, I won’t let anything happen to me.” Or to you.
When Susan replaced the receiver, she turned to her husband and smiled. “He’s coming aboard.”
One hour later, in Rome, Francesco Cesar handed a cablegram to Colonel Frank Johnson. It was from the Halcyon. It read: “Bellamy coming aboard Halcyon. Will keep you informed.” It was unsigned. “I’ve made arrangements to monitor all communication to and from the Halcyon,” Cesar said. “As soon as Bellamy steps aboard, we’ve got him.”
Chapter Forty-Three
The more Carlo Valli thought about it, the more certain he was that he was about to make a big score. Pier’s fairy tale about the American running away from his wife was a joke. Mr Jones was on the run, all right, but he was running from the police. There was probably a reward out for the man. Maybe a big reward. This had to be handled very delicately. Carlo decided to discuss it with Mario Lucca, the leader of the Diavoli Rossi.
Early in the morning, Carlo got on his Vespa motor scooter and headed for Via Sorcella, behind the Piazza Garibaldi. He stopped in front of a run-down apartment building, and pressed the bell on a broken mailbox marked “Lucca”.
A minute later a voice yelled out, “Who the fuck is it?”
“Carlo. I have to talk to you, Mario.”
“It better be good at this hour of the morning. Come on up.”
The door buzzer sounded, and Carlo went upstairs.
Mario Lucca was standing at an open door, naked. At the end of the room Carlo could see a girl in his bed.
“Che cosa? What the hell are you doing up so early?”
“I couldn’t sleep, Mario. I’m too excited. I think I’m on to something big.”
“Yeah? Come in.”
Carlo entered the small, messy apartment. “Last night my sister brought home a mark.”
“So what? Pier’s a whore. She …”
“Yeah, but this one is rich. And he’s in hiding.”
“Who is he hiding from?”
“I don’t know. But I’m going to find out. I think there might be a reward out for him.”
“Why don’t you ask your sister?”
Carlo frowned. “Pier wants to keep it all for herself. You should see the bracelet he bought her – emeralds.”
“A bracelet? Yeah? How much is it worth?” “I’ll let you know. I’m going to sell it this morning.” Lucca stood there, thoughtful. “I’ll tell you what, Carlo. Why don’t we have a talk with your sister’s friend? Let’s pick him up and take him over to the club this morning.” The club was an empty warehouse in Pascalone Quartiere Sanita, with a room that was soundproof.
Carlo smiled. “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 jewellery 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.