They were approaching the suburbs of Naples. Old apartment houses lined the narrow streets, with laundry hanging out of almost every window,making the buildings look like concrete mountains flying colorful flags.Pier asked, “Have you ever been to Naples?”“Once.” Robert’s voice was tight. Susan was sitting beside him, giggling. I heard Naples is a wicked city. Can we do a lot of wicked things here,darling?We’re going to invent some new things, Robert promised.Pier was watching him. “Are you all right?”Robert brought his mind back to the present. “I’m fine.”They were driving along the bay of the Castel Dell’ Ovo, the old abandoned castle near the water.When they arrived at Via Toledo, Pier said, excitedly, “Turn here.”They were approaching Spaccanapoli, the old section of Naples.Pier said, “It’s just up ahead. Turn left onto Via Benedetto Croce.”Robert made the turn. The traffic here was heavier, and the noise of horns deafening. He had forgotten how noisy Naples could be. He
Naples, ItalyIn the morning, as the pale light was coming through the window, Robert awakened. He held Pier close in his arms and whispered, “Thank you.”Pier smiled mischievously. “How do you feel?”“Wonderful,” Robert said. And he did.Pier snuggled against him. “You are an animal!”Robert grinned. “You’re good for my ego,” he said.Pier sat up and said seriously, “You are not a drug smuggler, are you?”It was a naive question. “No.”“But Interpol is after you.”That hit closer to home. “Yes.”Her face lit up. “I know! You’re a spy!” She was as excited as a child.Robert had to laugh. “Am I?” And he thought, Out of the mouths of babes.“Admit it,” Pier insisted. “You’re a spy, aren’t you?”“Yes,” Robert said gravely. “I’m a spy.”“I knew it!” Pier’s eyes were glowing. “Can you tell me some secrets?”“What kind of secrets?”“You know, spy secrets … codes and things like that. I love to read spy novels. I read them all the time.”“Do you?”“Oh, yes! But they’re just made-up stories.
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 runningaway 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 rundown 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
Robert went back to the funicular station at the Piazza Umberto, and took the tram down, quietly mingling with the other passengers. When thefunicular 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 Spanishaccent, Robert asked, “A que horn sale el barco an 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 huntfor 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 toget 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 a change from the owner of the bar and used the telephone. It took the marin
At the fairgrounds, five miles outside of Civitavecchia, were a dozen large, colourful balloons spread across the field, looking like round rainbows.They were moored to trucks while ground crews were busily filling their envelopes with cold air. Half a dozen chase cars stood by, ready to track theballoons, two men in each car, the driver and the spotter.Robert walked up to a man who seemed to be in charge. “It looks like you’re getting ready for the big race,” Robert said.“That’s right. Ever been in a balloon?”“No.”They were skimming over Lake Como and he dropped the balloon down until it touched the water. “We’re going to crash,”Susan screamed. Hesmiled. “No, we’re not.”The bottom of the balloon was dancing on the waves. He threwout a sandbag and the balloon began to lift again. Susanlaughed and hugged him and said …The man was speaking. “You should try it sometime. It’s a great sport.”“Yeah. Where is the race heading?”“Yugoslavia. We have a nice easterly wind. We’ll be ta
Day Twenty-OneEarly in the morning Robert was on deck, looking out over the calm sea. Captain Simpson approached him. “Good morning. It looks like theweather is going to hold, Mr Smith.”“Yes.”“We’ll be in Marseilles by three o’clock. Will we be staying there long?”“I don’t know,” Robert said pleasantly. “We’ll see.”“Yes, sir.”Robert watched Simpson stride off. What was there about the man?Robert walked back to the stern of the yacht and scanned the horizon. He could see nothing, and yet … In the past, his instincts had saved his lifemore than once. He had long ago learned to rely on them. Something was wrong.Over the horizon out of sight, the Italian Navy cruiser Stromboli was stalking the Halcyon.When Susan appeared for breakfast, she looked pale and drawn.“Did you sleep well, darling?” Monte asked.“Fine,” Susan said.So they didn’t share the same cabin! Robert felt an unreasonable sense of pleasure from that knowledge. He and Susan had always slept in thesame bed, her
He stole a car in Marseilles. It was a Fiat 1800 Spider convertible, parked on a dimly lit side street. It was locked and there was no key in theignition. No problem. Looking around to make sure he was not observed, Robert made a rip in the canvas top and shoved his hand inside tounlock the door. He slid inside the car, reached under the dashboard, and pulled out all the wires of the ignition switch. He held the thick red wire inone hand while, one by one, he touched the other wires to it until the dashboard lit up. He hooked two wires together and touched the remainingones to the two wires hooked together until the engine began to turn over. He pulled out the choke and the engine roared to life. A moment later,Robert was on his way to ParisHis priority was to get hold of Li Po. When he reached the Paris suburbs, he stopped at a phone booth. He telephoned Li’s apartment andheard the familiar voice on the answering machine: Zao, mes amis … Je regrette que je ne sois pas chezmoi m
It was the lightning streak that saved Robert’s life. The instant that Li Po started to squeeze the trigger, the sudden flash of light outside thewindow distracted him for a moment. Robert moved, and the bullet hit him in his right shoulder instead of his chest.As Li raised the gun to fire again, Robert gave a side-thrust kick, knocking the gun out of Li’s hand. Li spun forward and punched Robert hard in hiswounded shoulder. The pain was excruciating. Robert’s jacket was covered with blood. He lashed out with a forward elbow smash. Li grunted withpain. He riposted with a deadly shut chop to the neck, and Robert evaded it. The two men circled each other, both of them breathing hard, lookingfor an opening. They fought silently in a deadly ritual older than time, and each knew that only one of them would come out of this alive. Robert wasweakening. The pain in his shoulder was increasing, and he could see his blood dripping to the floor.Time was on Li Po’s side. I’ve got to end th