Her thoughts are all over the spectrum of recent events. She knows others were onto Rocco. Probably for the same reason: Pisces. She wonders where are the Irishmen and what do they know and if they, and others, particularly the Americans, are far behind. And where is the American that was last seen in London and did not arrive with the lady? Or were the Russians and Germans only following the woman, and if so, why? Her thoughts return to the present as, up ahead, the Mercedes slows and eases off onto a side road with signs announcing Taormina.
Marnee mutters, "Now, big man, lead me to your master and payback time."
Alfonse Battaglia, Hunter, joins the tourists on another warm, sunny afternoon, taking a walkabout in Taormina which for him includes watching and strolling by Pisces' villa. His timing is opportunistically lucky as Rocco arrives. The sedan parks in the villa's drive adjacent to the garage and servants quarters. Tour map in hand, baseball cap and sunglasses masking his face, Hunter sees Rocco emerge from the car. Big man. But a dead man walking.
The old man caretaker and his wife the cook, housekeeper and maid, huge smiles spread across their faces, rush to greet him. The young man is holding the car door open. There are hugs, more smiles, and chatter. Greetings over, Rocco strides away toward the villa's patio stretching his arms outward and upward, twisting his neck to relax, the old woman at his side, chattering and gesturing. Rocco nods. Stops, says something to the cook and maid. She turns and heads toward the kitchen. He continues to a veranda table and sits. Legs stretched out in front and hands and arms reaching skyward. Then recoils into a shoulder hunching sitting position of home at last. Worry free.
Okay, one down. Bet the other is not far behind. Hunter folds the map and responds to one of the couples wandering about. He takes their camera, along with a few animated instructions, then positions them so the villa is in the background. He takes their picture, and another facing out toward the Mediterranean, as requested. Politely refuses one with them at their request. As they thank him profusely, a faded black Fiat, woman driving, rounds the corner, approaches, slows to a crawl at the villa. Nearly stops, then speeds up and goes on its way. Hunter takes in the action in his slow-motion like mind. Beat-up car in a posh neighborhood and the face of the woman driving I've seen before.
He pauses, watches the car until it turns at the end of the street, then smiles and nods to the picture-taking couple again and strolls away from the villa like a wandering tourist.
Know that woman. He takes two strides down the hill toward the corner and stops quick as a jackass hit by a two by four. He mutters, "Devorah. Can't be. Can't be."
He shakes his head. Why not. It's another friggin' omen. I gotta get this over with.
Hunter hurries on his way back to the hotel.
Done. And out.
Marnee pulls up to the first and closest hotel she finds after passing the villa. It's the Ataholtel Capotaormina. Turns the car over to the valet who at least feigns surprise when he asks to take her bags and she tells him she has none. He shakes his head and takes the rental heap away. Marnee stands for several moments looking at the pools below, and beyond them to the Bay of Naxos and the Mediterranean. Beautiful, but it's going to get sullied.
She strides into the hotel and up to the registration desk. While registering for a classic room, expensive but least so, she asks the clerk in her best Italian, "Where are the closest lady's shops? In the hotel? Elsewhere if necessary. But close."
The response is that there are two in the hotel shopping concourse. He points the direction. And adds, "There is another shop but a few blocks away. The remainder are below, in town."
Marnee smiles, nods, takes her key and strides, hips swaying, toward the hotel's shops. She, like Rocco, is traveling light, although she does have exceptional personal baggage. The clerk is fascinated by the walk and the baggage, as is the valet who has returned and entered to tell the idle bellhops of the dark haired, busty and leggy lady with the cheap Fiat and no bags.
Hunter trails the valet through the front door and catches the end of the matinee performance. He too stares until the lady is out of sight, however for different reasons. He questions the clerk and jokes with the young lads. It's her or a twin.
He nods to all and whisks through the lobby and returns to his room to take mental stock, call Zachary, clean up and eat later. Need to make another recon of the villa and somehow check out the lady.
He gets an overseas line and dials Joe "Z". Waits through the clicks, static and buzzes for the ring.
"Zachary."
"Joe, it's me. Give me an update on the Israelis in Pisa."
"Interesting you ask. Outwardly they are enraged, but dreadfully quiet inside. Three dead and one, a female, is missing and presumed KIA. They are angrier than a swarm of hornets. A lot of cries of outrage to the Italian government, but deep inside not saying much, and that ought to be worrisome to some folks. Why the question?"
"She's not missing and is sure enough, simon-pure, bona fide alive. She's here. Saw her today."
"Enough with your vast dialect, Champ. How do you know it's her?"
"You remember my nightmare? Well, ..."
"Don't start that again."
"Well then, trust me, she's here. I know. And you can bet her pals are finding out just about now. How long do you figure before they'll have help here?"
"If what you say is true, Hawk, possibly a day, maybe a two." A slight pause, then, "No. They always work in teams. Experienced together. They'll send a team. A good one. So that may well take three days."
"Well, Joe. She knows where the villa is. Tailed the big guy there from wherever. Probably, Pisa."
"So, what's your plan?"
Hunter sighs. "To end this, now ... as soon as the target arrives. Those two only I hope, but I'm geared to take the house and staff down around their ears."
"What about her?"
"Am going to check her out, Joe. This evening if I can. Need to see how close to the ground she's crawling. Oh, what about Brad and the group?"
"They should arrive late tonight.
"Okay, partner, and her name is Marnee but looks exactly like Devorah." Click.
As the sun is setting, Pisces has the crew bring the Sorridenta into the Marina Poseidon in Milazzo. The evening is beset with beauty; the sun leaving the day and travelers behind, but all believe it will push up in the sky tomorrow and give another day of life and sunshine. And it is said in this country that Milazzo is like a beautiful woman. The saying goes, "Let's not know if she has gotten married to a good husband." It is also a historic city, laden with myth, tradition, and legend. Legends like the beautiful Helen Baele; of St. Anthony from Padua; of St. Stefano Protomartire, Patron of Milazzo and so many more, and dozens of treasures to visit and festive days to celebrate.
After docking, Estella, Chiarina and Roberto sit on the afterdeck, have a glass of wine and discuss what the evening will hold. The ladies are tired of their seafaring. They decide after finishing their drink, they all will clean up, go into town, have dinner at Al Pescatore ristorante. It's famous for its Swordfish Roulade stuffed with breadcrumbs, however perhaps not its service. And after, a stroll around the harbor visiting shops, perhaps stopping for an after-dinner drink before coming back aboard the Sorridenta. Pisces agrees. The return to the boat is the portion of the evening of most interest to him.
The evening goes as planned. The swordfish is wonderful Better, it's superb. The service is fine except the waiter staff seem to argue amongst themselves in their attempt to provide. Perhaps it's part of the ambiance. An act. Whatever, the cast of waiters have all the gestures and animation to make it believable.
The after-dinner stroll goes well and serves several purposes. It's refreshing; it works off the pasta that accompanied the swordfish; it tones the body; and it provides the time for the ladies to purchase tantalizing lingerie; and time for imaginings of the remainder of this evening.
Once back on board the Sorridenta, Roberto and Chiarina play together in Robe
rto's shower. Estella alone in hers. However, when Pisces and Chiarina enter his bedroom, Estella is lying, half-curled in the middle of the bed wearing her newly purchased sheer nightie. Her head is propped on her arm and cocked seductively to one side. She coos, "I thought we could play, perhaps one last time?"
Chiarina drops her towel, steps lively to the bed and slithers next to Estella. She pushes Stell over on her back and embraces her in a long, gasping open-mouthed kiss. Estella's legs separate, her knees raise. Chiarina looks over her own shoulder; Estella lifts her head a few inches and whispers, "Roberto, come join us."
Chiarina smiles, nods, motioning Roberto to them while Estella slips out of her shorty gown.
He drops his towel, crawls onto the bed, sighs, "Life is good," as he nestles between Estella's legs.
Estella pulls Chiarina's head to her breast and with the other hand grasps Pisces' hair. Squirms, murmurs, "Ti piace?"
"Mi piace davvero."
Hunter, rested, mind clear and showered sits in the hotel's Bar Svevo, fingers casually holding a glass of Carricante. The bar sets on a panoramic terrace with a poster-like, twilight view of the bay and the Calabria coast with the light houses of the small harbor in sight across the strait. He's richly dressed in leather sandals, off-white linen slacks and a silk navy blue long-sleeved shirt opened at the collar. The couple with the camera from this afternoon stop at his table to say hello as they leave for dinner. They are chatting with Hunter as Marnee enters the bar, glancing but not noticing him as she passes the table and is seated at the far end of the terrace. As the couple continues their tête-à-tête, Hunter watches the Israeli sit, order and glance around the bar. Their eyes meet for a split moment. Then she looks to the bay and settles in her seat.
Hunter keeps her under subtle observation as he tells this lovely American couple of sights they should visit tomorrow, seemingly struggling with his English from time to time, and loud enough for his voice to carry several tables. The couple leaves as the waiter returns. Hunter orders another Carricante in faultless Italian. Then adds, "And one, whatever she having, for the," pointing, "lady." The waiter nods, smiles and leaves.
Several minutes pass until the waiter returns with Hunter's glass of wine. Serves it, and with a smug grin departs with his tray and the lady's Chianti.
Hunter watches the delivery and the momentary dialogue. The woman turns enough to meet his eyes, accepts the drink from the waiter and nods to Hunter. No smile, more of a shrug.
When the waiter leaves her table, Hunter stands, drops more than enough lira on the table, and heads for Marnee's table with glass in hand. He shakes his head. She's trouble. But, better together than tripping over one another.
Hunter bows slightly, hand on the back of a chair at her table. Says in perfect Italian, "May I join you?"
In good, but not perfect Italian, Marnee replies, "You're here."
"Join you?"
She nods toward the chair across from her, still with one hand in her lap out of view beneath the table.
Hunter sits, clasps his hands in front of him on the table, and whispers in Hebrew, "Let's cut to the quick." He sees a glint of shock in her eyes with the language change. "I'm going to mention two names. If you nod, I stay and we talk. If you don't, I leave and you accept this as an insult or a warning." He removes his hands, putting one on the stem of his glass and the other in his lap. He hisses, "Pisces." He stares, watching her eyes, and hands. Always watch the hands.
Marnee nods, asks in Hebrew. "Have you eaten? And we can do this in Italian or English."
Hunter responds in Italian. "Italian is best for now. English, later."
"Fine. Do we eat or watch each other's hands?"
Hunter smiles, leaves his hands where they are but says, "Eat. At The Scogliera, here. It's extraordinarily good. And an a la carte menu based on the catch of the day." He shrugs. "Not mine. I don't fish."
"For anything?"
They both laugh, remove their lingering hand from their laps and shake hands gently. She asks, "How long have you been here?"
"Before Pisa ... and before you drove past the villa this afternoon."
"Well, my name is Marnee. Yours?"
"Alfonse Battaglia."
Marnee gags on her sip of wine at his answer. Laughs. "Sure. Let's finish our wine and we'll leave for dinner but only when you tell me your name. I don't dine with strangers."
Hunter does. They finish the last of their wine as they stand and leave the bar for the restaurant as a couple, her arm on his. Both with one hand free.
CHAPTER 28
"Two rules of unarmed combat.
First, never go unarmed. And second, bringing a
Jewish girl won't hurt."
A special gunfighter's rule
"Yes, Mister President. I'm positive. He's gone, disappeared." Joe Zachary listens carefully while nodding and replying with the required "Yes, sirs," and "No, sirs," for the Commander-in-Chief during the telephone exchange.
Then after the silence of listening, a firm, "Yes, sir. He is on target. On site, and has sent photocopy proof. And he will bring the original papers when he completes his task." Another pause.
"Yes, sir. He's fine." Zachary listens intently.
"Yes, sir. There will be two down and the Hawk will return. I'd bet on it." A short pause, then, "I know we both are, sir. And yes, he still likes to be called Hawk." Joe listens carefully then replies, "I'll find MacBeer. He's where the money is, or will be, I'm certain."
Several moments pass, then, "Yes, sir, I will as soon as it's completed," and Joe looks at the now silent red phone in his hand. He's been in MacBeer's office and steps out into the reception area, says to the agent waiting. "Change the locks. Bring me the only key. The 'only' key." And returns to his office and calls MacBeer's secretary giving her strict instructions to follow at home and when she arrives at the headquarters building.
Then he calls home. Waits for several rings. "Ruth, has your gift arrived yet?" He listens, then, "Well, please don't leave until it does. Or until I arrive home. This is important, Ruth." There is more to her response than 'yes sir, no sir, two bags full sir'. He listens, then responds. "Yes, he is. Just fine, now do as I ask. I have to go." Click.
He leans back in this chair. Hands clasped behind his head, thoughts wandering as he thinks about all the years he worked for John MacBeer. I'll find your traitorous ass.
Hunter and Marnee sit on the terrace of one of the hotel's restaurants. Perhaps its finest. The Scogliera. Most gorgeous women seem to resemble someone. A Sophia Loren, a Liz Taylor, or a Gina, or a Jane or a Rita. Someone. Marnee however has a beauty all her own. An olive or perfectly tanned complexion and she is wearing soft, pink make-up. Her beige slacks and matching lightweight jacket, which is now hanging on the back of her chair, accentuate her skin tone. The sheer, white sleeveless blouse her bountifulness. Her mouth is everything. Large, full lips but not too much, and the perfection and whiteness of her teeth enhance every murmur, word, grin or full smile. And although she projects the softness of a woman, she is toned, athletic, hard. When she first walked in Hunter noted her buns. Inflated soccer balls. One could grip them but not leave even a momentary indention. May even injure the hand.
They've ordered, and are waiting for the waiter to return with their bottle of Malvosia, an amber colored local wine. Marnee has allowed Hunter to do the ordering to include the dinner. It will be Taranto Oysters in Trella, an antipasto, basically baked oysters. And for the entree it will be a Sicilian classic, Tonna Ammuttunatu which is tuna filets, delicately seasoned with mint and served with fresh peas.
The wine arrives, and the server pours a taste for Hunter. He takes a sip, savors it, and nods to Marnee. The wine waiter smiles, pours Marnee only a taste at Hunter's urging. She does the same, smiles and says to Hunter and an anticipatory waiter, "Lovely". The attendant pours for both, sets the Malvosia in a bucket and leaves, wringing his hands in delight. The Malvosia was Hunter's idea, the brand and vintage, the wine wai
ter's suggestion. And damn expensive.
The two chat conversationally in Italian, meandering through meaningless topics. Like a dating couple in love might or two strangers that are struggling not to fall into that abyss but feel themselves hurtling at near terminal velocity. The restaurant has a trio that plays soft, mellow dinner music throughout the evening. During the short wait between the antipasto and the entree, Hunter leans close and says, "Although it's difficult under the circumstances, perhaps for the moment we can follow a Hebrew Proverb."
"My goodness. You and your Hebrew. What next?"
"Well, the proverb says, 'when you're in a strange city, adopt its manners'. Familiar with it?"
"Yes," and Marnee gathers herself some, "and many others such as 'when a life is at stake, don't follow the majority.' It is difficult to release one's self and forget, shall we say, one's job."
"Yeah, you're right. But you see, I know that we're safe; safe here tonight. Perhaps not so tomorrow or the next day, or a lifetime. Whatever ours is to be."
Marnee now relaxes from her gathering episode and slips her hand on top of his on the table. Glances around out of habit, then smiles and says, "Music washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life. I heard that or read it somewhere. Listening to this music, and aware of our situation, brings it to mind." Hunter jerks his hand away as the waiter arrives with the tuna dish. Marnee leans back, head slightly cocked to her left, wondering.
They eat in more or less silence. A few words are exchanged about the excellence of the dish and the wine. When finished the waiter is there to whisk away the dinnerware, then begins to make a suggestion when Marnee says to Hunter. "I would like a Limoncello."
Ded Reckoning Page 28
