He crossed the room and looked out toward Bagnaia, a village to the east. He went back downstairs and saw the telescope on a tripod in the main room in front of a window. He didn't notice it before. He went over and looked through the lens, turned it to the left and saw them, two figures he recognized as McCabe and Angela, a couple hundred meters away, at least, running along the road. Mazara didn't see anyone pointing a gun at her, or forcing her to run. It looked like she wanted to go with McCabe. Seeing this confused him. He grabbed his crotch for good luck, told himself she was just doing what she was told, a prisoner, waiting for an opportunity to escape.
McCabe went upstairs to get his backpack, looked out the bedroom window and saw them starting up the hill in front of the villa. Further to the right he could see the rear fender of the Opel parked on the side of the road. Howd they find him? He ran downstairs. Angela was in the kitchen, pouring a cup of coffee. "They're here," McCabe said.
"What?"
"Coming up the hill."
They went out the front door and over the wall and down the eastern slope toward the road, stopped a couple of times and took cover behind stands of oak and sycamore trees. Sisto and Mazara were coming up the hill toward the villa as they were going down. At one point they were only about twenty yards away. McCabe also saw Joey drive up in the Opel, but by that time they were walking along the road. Angela had her thumb out and a car was stopping.
Angela got in front and McCabe in the rear seat behind her. The driver was a thin middle-aged guy, hair going gray, looked like an accountant, white shirt and tie. He smiled at Angela and said something in Italian.
Angela glanced at him, her expression seductive and innocent. It was the same look she'd given McCabe at the wine bar the afternoon they met, and now the man was hooked just as McCabe had been. He said something to Angela in Italian. She turned her head and looked back at McCabe.
"He wants to know where we are going. What should I tell him?"
"Soriano nel Cimino."
Angela told the driver and he glanced at her and said something in Italian. She looked back at McCabe and said, "He's going to Montecampano. Soriano is out of his way, but he said he would take us."
"I think he likes you," McCabe said. And on cue the accountant looked at Angela again, and smiled. She was good-looking, but there was something down-to-earth and approachable about her that gave even a middle-aged accountant the confidence to hit on her.
Angela said, "He wants to know if you play football."
"Tell him no, I kidnapped you and the bag is filled with ransom money."
She did, and he laughed.
They went through Bagnaia and passed the sculpted Renaissance gardens of Villa Lante. After that, the driving became more difficult and the views more spectacular as they climbed the steep grade into the mountains. The driver kept glancing at Angela, grinning and talking. His name was Dante Lanzetta and he worked in the Palazzo del Plebiscito. How was that for coincidence? Dante told them they had to see the Sasso del Predicatore. McCabe remembered reading about it, a huge stone monument called the Preacher's Rock. He'd like to see it but didn't think they'd have a chance to do any sightseeing on this particular trip.
Thirty minutes later they drove into Soriano nel Cimino, a hill town with a population of about eight thousand. It was 3:30, sun hanging on top of the mountains. He could see the narrow shape of the clock tower and the walls and batdements of Orsini Castle. They were on Via Santa Maria, approaching the town center. McCabe told Dante he could let them out anywhere along there, and he pulled over.
"Where they at?" Joey said to the three Italians. They gave him blank looks. What else was new? "I don't believe it. We don't find them, I've got to tell the don his little girl's been kidnapped and you bozos let it happen." He grinned, couldn't hold it back. They were in the villa kitchen.
Mazara said he'd seen Angela and McCabe get in a tan Fiat and drive off in the direction of Bagnaia. Sisto went out to the car and came back with a map. He unfolded it and spread it out on the table. Roberto pointed to where they were. He traced a line with his index finger.
Joey said, "Okay, genius, so where they going?"
"I think to the autostrada and back to Roma."
Joey couldn't disagree with him. Jesus Christ, there was nothing around them except for small towns scattered through the hills. Would McCabe risk checking into a hotel? Joey doubted it. The carabinieri would be looking for him too. "Let's go. You can drop me off in Mentana, talk to the don yourself, tell him what happened to Angela, and where his money's at. I'm sure he'll be anxious to see you."
Then Mazara surprised him, looked up from the map and said, "You want McCabe? I have a way."
"Is that right?" Joey said. "What do you got? Let's hear it."
Mazara told him, laid out his plan and it sounded good, sounded realistic and doable.
Joey said, "Now you're talking." He agreed not to say anything to his Unk, let it play out a little longer. What difference would another day make?
Chapter Thirty-three
"Do you know where McCabe is?" Arturo looked at his eyes, believing after twenty-eight years with the carabinieri he could see dishonesty in a man's eyes.
"No," Chip Tallenger said. "I have not seen or talked to him since Thursday evening."
If he was lying, Arturo could see no evidence of it. He did not look down or look away or even blink, his eyes calm and steady. "What time did McCabe come to the room?"
"Nine, nine-fifteen. Picked up a couple things and left," Chip said.
"I must've seen him a few minutes later," Signor Rady said.
"Per favore," Arturo said to him. "If you please. I want to find out what happened."
"McCabe's no longer a student at this university," Signor Rady said. "I'm telling you this because he's no longer our responsibility or concern."
"Yes, but Signor McCabe is still my concern, so if you will indulge me."
"Okay," Signor Rady said, "but I don't see-"
Arturo had contacted Signor Rady about meeting with Chip Tallenger, a confidential discussion, but Rady insisted on being there, imposing his authority. This was university property and Signor Tallenger was a student, registered and enrolled, so Rady had to be present. They were in his office, once again, at the small table.
"I can't help you," Chip Tallenger said, although his eyes seemed to be saying he wanted to.
"You see the automobile, the Fiat rented by Signor McCabe?"
"Not till it was on TV."
"If you know something," Signor Rady said, flashing an angry look at Chip, "you better tell him. By protecting McCabe you're only going to make it worse."
Chip looked at Arturo. "Who's after him?"
"Signor Rady, give us a moment," Arturo said.
"I can't do that, Captain. If this matter involves one of my students, it involves me."
Now he was concerned. Arturo could feel the blood pressure rising. "Why was McCabe in Lazio?"
"No idea," Chip said.
"Why was McCabe at Signor Carsella's villa?"
"Who's Signor Carsella?"
"The man who owns Cucina da Pietro, the restaurant you walk out the gate is one hundred meters down Via Trionfale."
"I didn't know his last name," Chip Tallenger said.
"You know his villa?"
"That he has one in the country somewhere in Lazio, that's all. McCabe mentioned it. Pietro said he could use it. I've never been there. Never seen it. Why don't you ask the man who owns it?"
As it happened, Signor Carsella had contacted the carabinieri after seeing a live broadcast from the crime scene. Police were looking for an American student named William McCabe. Two days before McCabe had asked if he could use Signor Carsella's villa, saying he was with a woman, making the situation all the more intriguing. Arturo had asked Chip Tallenger who this mysterious woman might be. Chip had no idea. She was not a girl from the school or they would know. Now McCabe was in trouble or worse and Arturo had no motive, and no evi
dence beyond the rental vehicle. It was a coincidence Arturo was involved at all. He had gone to his office that morning to finish filing a report. He was planning to take the day off, his first in some time, months.
Luciano had seen him and said, "Captain, you remember the American student who was kidnapped?"
Of course he remembered. His name was McCabe.
"Someone tried to kill him."
And just like that Arturo was phoning his wife to cancel plans to spend the afternoon and evening, first shopping with her, which he did not care about missing, and then dinner at Colline Emiliane, which he did.
Luciano drove and they arrived at the scene on Viale Fiume, two kilometers east of Viterbo, at 3:15. There were four state police, and a television news crew from Rome already there, a reporter broadcasting live. How did they hear about it so quickly? Arturo was surprised the local police had been so careless. It was a crime scene after all.
Luciano told everyone to move back away from the vehicle until they had time to complete their investigation. Arturo studied the damaged Fiat resting at the edge of the woods. There was blood on the airbag that had deployed, and blood on the gray-and-blue cloth front seats, and bloody fingerprints on the passenger side door.
"Captain, you believe someone could walk away from this?"
"I don't know that someone did." He glanced up the hill past the tree line and saw a house. "Stay here, I'm going to check something."
He walked through the woods, looking for McCabe on the way, breathing hard, feeling the climb in his fifty-year-old legs. A man came out of the house as Arturo appeared coming out of the woods, crossing the yard, Arturo in jeans and a black tee-shirt under a sport jacket, his carabinieri badge on a lanyard around his neck.
The man's face was brown and wrinkled from the sun, and he wore a dark-blue beret. Arturo asked if he had seen what happened earlier and the man said no, but his wife had. The man called her name and she emerged from the house, a plump round woman wearing dark stockings and a black dress with an apron over it.
She told Arturo she was outside hanging laundry, right there, she said, pointing to a rope strung between two trees. There was a noise like an engine backfiring, and she looked down at the road, telling him about the car spinning out of control. Telling him about the men with guns getting out of another car, and about the man coming up the hill through the woods.
Arturo showed her the photograph of McCabe taken the night he was arrested.
The wife nodded. "It is him."
"Was there a woman with him?"
She shook her head. "No, but there was a man with a shotgun following him."
Later they had gone to investigate Signor Carsella's villa a few kilometers from the crime scene. On the way Arturo said, "So how is everything with Carmen?"
"Don't ask, Captain," Luciano said.
"Another argument?"
"This might be the end. We have not spoken for two days."
"If you were married you would have to work things out," Arturo said. "This is what I have been trying to tell you."
They drove up the steep hill toward the villa.
"I don't want to work things out."
Arturo said, "What do you want?"
"If I knew that," Luciano said, "it would be a lot easier."
Luciano parked next to the main house. "Have a look," Arturo said, pointing at the outbuildings.
Arturo got out of the car and entered the villa, walking into the kitchen. Yes, clearly someone had been here. There were wine glasses on the counter with wine still in them, and food in the refrigerator. There was a bloodstained towel in the sink, evidence of a possible crime, but not much to go on.
He checked the cellar, well stocked with wine but nothing else. He checked the main room and the salon and the toilet room. Went outside, stood on the portico, gazing at the lush countryside.
He went back inside and up the stairs. In one room a bed was unmade, sheet and blanket folded back. There was a backpack on the floor. Arturo opened the compartments and found clothes and a pocketknife. In the bathroom there was a shaving kit and a toothbrush next to the sink, signs McCabe had been there, but no sign of McCabe. He heard Luciano come up the stairs and said, "Did you find something?" "Nothing. Now what, Captain?" Arturo was wondering the same thing.
Chapter Thirty-four
"It's over," Angela said, relief in her voice. She was stretched out on one side of the queen-size bed. "I can't believe it."
They were in a small hotel on the outskirts of Soriano. It had been two hours since they had escaped from Pietro's villa. McCabe felt relieved too until he dumped the money out next to her, and counted it twice, getting?437,000 both times. "Sixty-three thousand's missing."
"You really thought you were going to get it all back?" Angela said. "I'm surprised they didn't spend more. Only three thousand."
"What're you talking about?"
"Mazara gave sixty thousand to my father. He was supposed to give him thirty per cent, 150,000, and thought he could get away with it. So my father will be looking for him if he isn't already."
She explained how it worked, how Don Gennaro received a share of everything, all of the criminal activity in Rome. McCabe had busted his ass to get the money and now this. "Where's he live?"
"What are you going to do?"
"I don't know," McCabe said.
"You think my father is going to give you the money? Are you crazy?"
McCabe said, "I tell him I've got you. He wants you back, he gives me the sixty thousand euros."
"I think he would prefer the money," Angela said. "You know I want you to have it, but listen to me, this is not going to work. I am trying to help you, give you some advice. Don't go anywhere near my father. Listen, I don't want anything to happen to you."
That's how they left it. He put the money back in the bag, and ordered room service, appetizers and a couple bottles of Peroni. They'd spend the night in Soriano, and try to get a ride in the morning. He took out Angela's cell phone and dialed Chip's number, heard it ring and heard Chip say hello.
"I need you to do me a favor," McCabe said.
"I don't believe it," Chip said. "Spartacus, you're a popular guy. I saw you on TV, your yearbook picture, and the car you rented that looked like somebody had taken a sledgehammer to it. Captain Ferrara stopped by school a little while ago and asked me what I knew."
It was good to hear his voice. McCabe said, "What'd you tell him?"
"My roommate's lost his mind and disappeared."
"That's probably not too far from the truth." McCabe told him what happened, what he'd done.
Chip said, "You didn't really kidnap the Mafia don's daughter? Tell me you're making this up."
"It does sound strange," McCabe said, "doesn't it?" He looked out the window, saw a half moon lighting up the sky over Orsini Castle.
"That's an understatement," Chip said. "I don't want to rain on your parade, but maybe she's playing along, that ever occur to you?"
"No, Dr Phil," McCabe said.
"That's your ego talking," Chip said.
"What do you know about it?"
"I've watched a lot of TV, seen a lot of movies. Girls like that are used to getting what they want. They're used to the good life. What do you have to offer?"
"I'll ask her."
"But I think you've got a bigger problem," Chip said. "These guys you've gone up against are bad. You read about them in the paper, remember? They're not just going to give up. They're not going to go away. I hope you know that."
Yeah, he knew it.
"Can the Mafia princess talk to her father on your behalf, put in a good word for you?"
McCabe said, "From what she tells me they don't get along too well."
"I'd give it a try," Chip said. "That, or call Captain Ferrara. The way I see it those are your options."
"Or I could take the money and leave the country," McCabe said.
"How're you going to get it through customs and airport security?"
He had a good point.
Chip said, "Or I guess you can always shoot your way out."
"That's a possibility," McCabe said. "We'll talk about it when you get here."
Chip said he'd pick them up at ten the next morning.
Chapter Thirty-five
Ray had driven back to Mentana, and rented a room in a small hotel with a view of the countryside and Mount San Lorenzo. He needed a place to hang out and wait. He sat on the bed, thinking about Sharon, going over what he knew. According to Teegarden, the FBI had tracked her to Rome, arriving October 12th.
He also knew that if you were a foreigner staying at an Italian hotel your passport had to be recorded with the police, and there was no record of a Sharon Pope checking in any hotel in Rome. And there was nothing at all about Joey. His name had not appeared on any airline or cruise ship manifest, arriving in Italy or any European country in the past ten days. But he could've come here another way: by chartered yacht or jet. Or maybe he was traveling under an alias.
Ray's gut told him Joey was in Italy and he was staying at his uncles estate. No proof, not much to go on, but he was going to exhaust that possibility before he did anything else.
At seven he went to a small cafe with white tablecloths, and had grilled coniglio that tasted like chicken, roast potatoes, green salad, bread and a glass of house red. He was the only customer at that early hour and finished his meal, had his coffee and paid the bill before anyone else came in. It was 8:15 and dark when he went outside. He walked back to the hotel to lie down for a couple hours.
He yawned and closed his eyes, but couldn't sleep and laid there in the dark, mind racing, thinking about Sharon. At midnight he got up, went in the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face, and brushed his teeth. He put on a black sweater and black jeans and a dark-blue jacket. He put the two extra magazines in his jacket pockets and slid the SIG Sauer in his jeans behind his back.
He walked down two flights of stairs, went through the lobby, and handed his key to the night clerk. He went outside and got in his car and drove back toward Don Gennaro's villa, 3.7 kilometers from Mentana. He'd clocked it coming and going the first time. When he'd gone 3.5 kilometers he slowed down and looked for a place to pull in the woods and did, backing in so he had a clear view of the road, and a fast way out. He heard a car approaching, and saw the flash of headlights as it zoomed past him.
All He Saw Was the Girl Page 20
