After the three leave, Rocco leans over and in a low, animated tone says, "Adrianna, how about the Salza?"
She squeals in delight, "Oh, yes! Yes. I passed there today while shopping and was tempted."
The Salza is the Bar Pasticcerice Salza. It is known for tempting people off Borgo Stretto for sugar-induced wickedness. It's been here for over fifty years. The desserts are delicious unlike the English dessert trays that look wonderful but lack taste.
As they get up to leave, Rocco clasps his hands together in a rubbing motion and says, "Wonderful. And we can walk from there to the hotel to work off our over-indulgence. Come, that taxi is ours," and he leads Adrianna from the Restauranti. Inside the cab, on the way, Rocco adds, "We'll go to Rapallo later tomorrow for a few days or more. Yes?"
"Yes. Oh, yes, yes, yes. Wonderful. I will have to shop in the morning."
"If you can walk."
"Ohhhhh, well now." Then mischievously, "We'll see who says 'Oh pleasa stoppa' first."
Rocco laughs, roaring like a tiger in his haunt.
The taxi driver continues along, saying nothing but glancing into the rear view mirror from moment to moment to watch the gestures while listening to the verbal foreplay that continues. He has no reason to notice the car that has been lagging a full three-car lengths behind since leaving Vecchio Dado's.
Muldoon sits at a far corner table of the pub. His customary spot, always unofficially reserved for him although it is not necessary this rainy Monday night. There is a meager crowd on hand. His son, the Pit Bull, is his shadow as always. The two of them watch as the Shanahan lads wind their way toward them through and between the tables and past the bar. When they arrive, the elder Muldoon nods at the two empty chairs across from him. Danny and Sean sit and say nothing. Not a greeting, just a stare from both. In seconds, Danny thrusts his arms and hands outward shrugging his shoulders, as if saying, "We're here, what say you?"
Colin Muldoon's face begins to color. "Not even a 'Hello' or a 'Good Evening' is it?"
Danny replies, "Where is Paddy?"
Conor Muldoon stirs in his chair. His father Colin's face ripens to the color and look of a tomato. He too stirs uneasily in his hard-back wooden chair. He clasps his hands in front of his body, resting them on the tabletop. Grimaces, and says in a hushed voice, "My contact's report is that the girl is dead. Paddy did his job. Saints bless the lad. And that ..."
"What about Paddy? Where the devil is he?"
"I'm about to say, lad. 'Tis not easy. It appears that Paddy fell down a steep canyon and died from the fall. The U.S. Federals are involved. That is all we have. My contact is staying there to dig up more. He will ..."
"Paddy is dead, snarls Danny. "My brother is dead. And you say ..." The lad stops in mid sentence slamming his fist on the table. Then gripping the edges of the table with both hands he barks, "Paddy Shanahan did not die by falling down. Shanahans don't die by tripping or stumbling or falling down. Perhaps Muldoons do, but not a Shanahan. Someone pushed him and killed him." He pauses, breathing heavier. "Who?" Then louder and red-faced, "Who, damn you, who?"
The Pit Bull starts to stand but is pushed back in his seat by the elder Muldoon's arm. Colin Muldoon's face is still red, not as deep as before, but the mixed expression of anger and frustration is still waxed over his jowls. "You listen to me, Danny, me lad. This is all I know for now. I will have more in a few days. Until then, remain calm." He pauses, leans over close to the Shanahan brothers and in a whisper says, "You have a duty tonight, lads."
"We'll be havin' no duty tonight, nor any other night, until you tell us all there is to know, or Paddy is back here, in his home. And speakin' of that, if he is gone, what of his body? What then?"
Muldoon drops his head to his chest. Raises it as slowly as a curious turtle coming to the surface. His beet colored face has faded to his natural ancestral potato farming Irish hue. He unclasps his hands. They remain on the table but in closed fists as huge and craggy as rocks on an Irish meadow's stone wall. "All right now, lads. I'll be givin' ya a night or two off. But you will stay in touch and be where I can reach you when I have more word. And if Paddy is truly dead, I and the Army will arrange to have him returned home to rest whenever they release his blessed heroic Irish body. Are you clear on this?"
"We are clear. And when you get all your information." Danny's distinct pause between his comments emphasizes his anger. "All your ducks in order. We'll be wantin' to know what the Army will be doin' about his death? His killer? 'Cause Shanahans don't die by falling down. And Shanahans don't take lightly the killin' of one of our own." Danny pauses, glowering at the elder Muldoon. "Am I clear?"
Conor Muldoon does stand now, pushing his father's hand aside. "You two be doin' what me father says or I'll be breakin' the both of you in two like the rotten little twigs ya be ... like I've been wantin' to do for years."
The father puts his arm across his son's body. With the other points a finger at the two Shanahan lads and says, "Nary a word. No more talk. Go and wait. Now. Be good, lads."
Danny and Sean stand for a moment staring at the younger Muldoon, fists clenched and veins bulging in their arms. "You're right, Master Muldoon. There will be no more talk." Danny turns, shoving Sean before him, and both stride towards the exit not caring about who they bump on the way out and in fact do shove some noisy pint drinkers aside.
The elder Muldoon yanks his son down into his chair by his belt. The old man stares after the two Shanahans. Then says, "There's goin' to be trouble from those two. If it comes to that, we'll have to make the good little Mrs. Shanahan a true childless widow." He stops to get his breath and allow his blood pressure to drop. His color goes from that of a beet to that of a peeled potato. He raps his knuckles on the table top, and says to his son, "Now get that full breasted barmaid that gave you the clap over here so we can have a pint or two."
"Pa?"
"Shut up and get me a pint. I'm stressed out enough."
"Yes, sir."
Hunter finishes his morning run. The first in several days and it shows. He went up Arcola to Jutland, down the hill to Moreno, then south to the intersection of Balboa Boulevard. Turnaround and back north on Moreno to the end and circle back to the bottom of Jutland. Up Jutland to Atwell, and down the one block of Atwell, finishing in front of his house. The patrol car is still there. Earlier one other had "picked him up" on Moreno and trailed along, about a hundred yards back. With his M39 tucked in the waistband of his shorts, the contingent of him and the squad car are well prepared. For what, no one knows, certainly not the patrolman.
Hunter waves goodbye to the patrol car behind him on Atwell and to the parked cop on Arcola. He enters his house to the sound of clattering dishes, the aroma of fresh coffee and the scent of a woman smelling like a field of wild flowers.
He sees Dee and says, "I thought I told you to ..."
"I know. I know. You did. But we're not enemies. We're partners, and I just thought you would like some cereal with fresh cold milk, juice, coffee, and have your partner join you for the start of the day. If you would have invited me, I'd run with you. Now go get cleaned up and come back and sit down. And no fussing. I'm just going to have some coffee and toast myself. I've fixed you a healthy breakfast. Good, Lord." She exhales, "It won't ..."
"You're doin' it again."
"I am. You're right. Go, get cleaned up."
"Gone." Hunter turns and heads down the hall towards his bedroom and a quick shower.
Dee's eyes follow him, not watching his stride instead consuming his body. She murmurs, "What a waste." Shakes her head. Clueless.
Hunter and Dee finish breakfast with little conversation. Idle chatter at best. As they wrap up putting things away, Bobby and Richard, the two handymen arrive. They immediately go to work installing new windows. They have a truckload of windows since they cleverly contracted to do the house across the street and a few others in the neighborhood also damaged by the blast. They also brought along split rails to mend the fence in
front.
Hunter and Dee adjourn to the patio for a discussion in privacy. Once there, she says, "I promise to be good."
He starts the conversation with, "Good. Now then, let's get down to business."
Hunter explains the plan. She will be going with him. An author and his secretary slash editor. First to her parents' home in Napa Valley where she can visit her kids and family."
Dee injects, "Children."
Hunter frowns and goes on announcing it will look good, natural and will set things up to cover her absence. Then back to Frisco and fly to D.C. They will leave here this afternoon. Leave Napa Tuesday morning, he'll meet with Joe in D.C., and leave there that night for London. She'll precede him to England, not being with him when he meets with Zachary. They'll be in London only to check a lead. Then on to Geneva for cash, ID changes if necessary, and on to Pisa via Rome. In Pisa he, and only he, will find and meet with this Antonio Rizzo, and then both he and Dee will visit the recently deserted villa of Roberto Muscarella, aka, Pisces. From there, it will be dead reckoning navigation to wherever Pisces has alit.
At the end, Dee starts to ask a question but stops as Hunter raises his hand. "Just a minute. I've already talked to Joe early this morning. The D.C. briefing won't take long. I told him I didn't want the colossal mass of information that he, his analysts, and all the other alphabet agencies will have. Don't want the hoards of briefers and side-kicks. I just want the hard facts from him for the chase. Leads. A picture of Pisces and an agency sketch of him as he might look today. Who he has around him and who else is looking for him. Anyway it will be short. All I need is one good sniff and I'll track him, tree him, and waste him. If possible, make him hurt first ... for my parents." This vengeful statement in view of the fact that Pisces murdered his father and mother in London years ago when Hunter's father was about to expose Pisces as a turncoat, double agent. Both were with the agency in those years. He ends with, "Now, any questions?"
Dee registers an astonished look reacting to the merciless statement at the end of his monologue. She collects herself and says, "Mister Zachary isn't going to like, nor let me go along to Europe. The facade here is fine, but not there."
"I'm not telling him you're going. As far as he knows, you'll be staying with your kids in Napa on vacation and ..."
"Children."
"Dammit. Now where was ... ahhh, yes. We'll just have to get Maria and your father to cover for you. You'll always be out. They can take calls, messages. Just BS and miscommunication. In a few days we'll send Maria to Italy, the Isle of Capri, and tell anyone that asks that you and Maria are on vacation. She being there will be proof enough. By the time anyone knows different, it'll be too late, and if I'm as good as I believe I am, Pisces will be history and I'll be back here writing my novel."
"Okay, hence I won't be at the meeting in D.C."
"Nope. On an earlier flight to London. We'll meet there."
"Where?"
"At The Ritz in London. On Piccadilly. Hop a taxi from Heathrow. I'll take care of the arrangements."
"Look, since I'm supposed to be the secretary, I'll do that. And all other arrangements. It will look better. Look real."
"You're right. Do it. I'll give you the info, you look 'em up and tell me the arrangements. As we travel, I can always look clueless."
She smiles, tempted to respond but only affirms. "Wilco."
He returns the burnt biscuit stare, "Wilco? Will copy. I'll be damned. You need to use 'Roger' also, and often."
"I know your military jargon."
He grunts. Two burnt biscuits staring.
There are other questions by both. And, Hunter gives her the necessary travel and lodging information she needs. At the end he asks, "Do you know your other neighbor well?"
"Roger."
"Good, smart ass. Go there to make the calls. My phone is tapped. Possibly yours as well. The whole place might be bugged. Bottom line, I don't want to screw with it now." He shrugs, says, "I'll give you some cash. Pay her more than it costs. Just tell her your phone is out of order and you need to hurry."
"I know what to do, besides, she's not home but I know where she leaves a key."
"Better."
When Dee returns to Hunter's house she's toting a clothing bag and a small box-like matching case. The windows are finished, and Frick and Frack are working across the street. Hunter is sitting in his office, a clothing bag hanging over a chair. He looks at Dee's baggage, says, "Too much gear. Take only one. We can get anything else we need as we go."
"The clothing bag is a small, simple bag with bare necessities in it, and the other is my make-up bag. Every woman carries one."
"Put the make-up in a brief case. Anything that won't fit, stuff it in the clothing bag. We'll buy what you need. May have to leave in a hurry and leave stuff behind. Possibly running, therefore face cream, perfume, sprays and powder puffs won't help."
"Okay. Got the point. We're travelin' light. Should I go braless and only wear pantyhose?"
"You're a real smart ass." He hesitates, then, "I'm surprised the airlines don't charge you for excess baggage with those ..."
"You won't think they're excess if you ...come to think of it we have a few hours before we leave." Her grins turns to a frown, "Ahhh, never mind. What's next? "
"My slip of the lip. My fault. Let's go out to the patio. I have something else to tell you. You need to know."
"Oh yes. The scene of the crime, the Jacuzzi."
Hunter shakes his head. Dee laughs. They head for the patio. Hunter grabs two glasses and brings along the pitcher of iced tea Dee made earlier. They sit at the "everybody-has-one" round patio table with an umbrella in the middle. Matching chairs of course. He pours the tea.
Dee says, "Thanks. That was nice. You actually have manners. Now, what else?"
Hunter leans forward in the chair. "Please don't interrupt until I'm finished. I had a dream Friday night, or to be more precise, early Saturday morning. I mean, after I, we, I mean Sam...whatever. After I fell asleep."
"Look, Hunter, let's not ..."
"No, listen. Please. It's important. Important to this mission. Possibly to our lives." His tone, and the simple words "mission" and "lives" change her disposition. Hunter tells Dee of his nightmare. Mueller being killed in Pisa by Pisces. His meeting and killing of Antonio. The meeting and working with Devorah, the Israeli Mossad agent. And later her brutal assassination. He leaves out the matter of the relationship the two had. The assault at Pisces' villa first in Pisa, then later in Amalfi. The East German agents' attacks on him in Pisa and London. His and her involvement and stay in Tuscany at Dee's grandparents' winery, and before that right here, pointing at the spa and the house.
Here she does interrupt, gasping, "Tuscany? But how? They haven't been there in years. This is weird. Hunter, I ..."
"Yeah, I know. Hush. Listen." He continues on with the clues, the killings of three of his former girlfriends here in California, and the collusion between Samantha, Joe and MacBeer. The killings of Samantha and Joe. The killings in Johannesburg that coughed up clues of MacBeer's deceit and collusion. And his finding of Pisces on the Isle of Capri, and the strange death of Pisces arranged by him but completed by the Israeli's. Finishing with, "An entire mission, only it was a dream." Shakes his head then continues, "A one-time nightmare. Can you imagine? All that in one dream ... nightmare. Dreams take seconds. This went on and on, forever, or seemed like it, I guess." He pauses again, continually shaking his head.
After a moment, says, "Now, Sam is dead. By the PIRA. They shouldn't be involved, but the bastards will become more so. The Mueller killing, in Pisa, turns out to be real. And, there is an Antonio Rizzo. Oddly, I am supposed to track him down and question him because the agency believes he knows where or how to find Pisces. There is a villa in Pisa where Pisces lived. Empty now, but he did live there. Like in my dream. And your grandparents. They don't live there now, but they did. And they are in the winery business. And your father does live in Napa V
alley like he did in my nightmare. And you have a sister named Maria that ..." He doesn't finish his thought. "God, I don't even want to go into that part." He puts his hand up stopping Dee from reacting. Then goes on, "And the part about you and me. Our relationship. I mean we were doin' it here, in Italy, and in your grandfather's guest house, for Pete's sake. And the stuff about your grandfather and his apricot brandy. I mean, this is way off the page. Is it a dream, a nightmare, or is it a premonition? What?"
Dee sits staring at Hunter. Starts to take a sip of iced tea but puts the glass back down. Looks into Hunter's eyes, searching for a moment, then says, "Hunter, it's a premonition if you want it to be. To me, it's a dream. Nothing more. A little weird but a dream and we, you, should treat it as such."
"Dee, it doesn't make any ..."
"Okay, it's a premonition, and we'll treat it as that. And if it isn't. No harm done. The only people that will know will be the two of us. We just go execute your plan. An author and his secretary, writing a book. We follow any leads we have or get. We follow your nose and mind what the dream is telling us as we go. It or something that's connected will lead us to this man, Pisces, or whatever his name is today, or tomorrow."
They both sit back in their chairs, legs stretched out and touching under the table, staring out over the fence. Lost in their thoughts for the moment. He thinking of the one-time nightmare. Her, what else. She nudges his leg with hers, grins and says, "I'm better in real life, even with excess baggage. Wanta' make a dream come true?"
Before Hunter can respond, a voice from behind them with a distinct Boston accent says, "Pardon me, but a reporter from the local paper told me..."
Hunter is up, spins around, leaps at the man before the sentence is complete. His deliberate left arm swing has shoved Dee off the chair, arse over teakettle and into the Jacuzzi. His right hand clamps on the man's neck while his left foot sweeps the man's feet from beneath him. The intruder lands hard on the concrete patio. Hunter is on top of him like a hawk on a plump rabbit, pinning him down. His right hand digging into the man's neck grasping the Adam's apple.
Ded Reckoning Page 11
