by Stuart Woods
“Yes, Don Leonardo,” and he beat a retreat.
Strangely, Casselli felt relieved that the girl was out of his house. He hadn’t known what to do with her.
The man was back in fifteen minutes. “There is no sign of the girl anywhere near the road.”
“Could she have climbed down the rock face to the parking area?”
“In the dark? Impossible, I think. I believe she must have got to the village or beyond, though I would not wish to attempt the path in the night, without an electric torch.”
“She could go to the police, but they would call here, wouldn’t they?”
“Of course, Don Leonardo. They are in your pocket. Do you have further instructions for me?”
“No, no, get out.”
“It is a good thing,” his secretary said. “The girl was a pain in the ass. I hope she fell down the ravine and broke her neck.”
“From your lips to God’s ear.”
“The flowers and extra liquor have been ordered and will be delivered in due course,” the woman said. “The tableware and glasses are being delivered today. It’s going to be a wonderful party.”
“Yes,” he said, “wonderful. I’m looking forward to seeing everybody. I’ve been cooped up for too long.”
—
Hedy passed the afternoon napping. She tried her cell phone again, but it was truly dead. When it got dark, she would go back into the house for some food. Maybe she would find a flashlight, too; she could make it along the path in the dark with a flashlight.
48
Stone called Arthur Steele, in New York.
“Have you news, Stone?”
“Good news,” Stone replied. “Hedy is alive and well, and we have a location for her.”
“Why haven’t you retrieved her?”
“She is in a house built into a cliff face on the Amalfi Coast,” Stone said. “The only way to take it immediately would be by a military attack, and that would be very dangerous for Hedy. The police have elected to infiltrate instead. On Saturday night the owner is throwing a housewarming. The police are placing people on the catering staff and as musicians and will take it from inside, after having secured Hedy.”
“God, I’m glad I haven’t told her mother about this,” Arthur said.
“I think you were right not to. Casselli has made a halfhearted attempt to extort money in exchange for Hedy.”
“How much is he asking?”
“Fifty million euros. That’s how we know he’s not serious.”
“You were right not to agree to that, Stone.”
“If you can hang on until Sunday, I think we’ll have good news.”
“I’ll do my best.” The two men hung up.
“How are Arthur and his wife holding up?” Dino asked.
“Arthur hasn’t told his wife, so she’s just fine. Arthur is well-named—he’s a steely guy.”
Jim and Dante got off the elevator.
“Any progress?” Stone asked
“We’ve located the businesses that are supplying the catering and music, and my people are working on them now,” Dante said. “We should have everything wrapped up this morning, with any luck at all.”
“Have these people dealt with Casselli before?”
“They’ve dealt with his secretary, who is making the arrangements.”
“Do they know that if we’re successful Saturday night, they’ll lose a customer?”
“I’ve authorized my people to offer very attractive financial incentives—the minister has approved the money.”
Dante’s phone rang, and he stepped aside to answer it. Shortly, he returned. “A small problem,” he said. “The jazz group that was being furnished for Casselli’s party has agreed to a buyout for the evening.”
“Then what’s the problem?” Stone asked.
“Casselli is expecting a quartet. We need a drummer.”
“So, hire a drummer.”
“We can’t take a civilian musician in there. Anyway, the agent says nobody’s available on short notice. I don’t want you to show up there with a smaller group than has been paid for.”
“So what do we do?” Stone asked.
“We’re all out of ideas.”
“Relax,” Dino said, “I play drums.”
Stone stared at him. “That’s a joke, right?”
“It is not.”
“You just want to go along on this raid. You’ll embarrass us with your ham-handed efforts.”
“How well do you play?” Jim asked.
“About as well as Stone plays piano,” Dino replied. “I played in the high school band and the dance band, too. Oh, and I’m not a civilian like Stone, and I’m good with being armed.”
“Stone? Shall we take a chance on Dino’s drumming?”
“I want him to audition,” Stone said.
“Oh, come on!” Dino yelled.
“I had to audition, I want Dino to audition, too. I think his high school story is fishy—he’s never said anything to me about playing drums.”
“Okay,” Dino said, “get me some drums.”
“I play with a drummer on Saturday nights,” Jim said,” but he’ll be using his drums.”
“Ask him where we can rent or buy a set in Rome,” Dino said.
Jim made the call, then hung up. “There’s a place called Drum City, out in the burbs to the south.”
“Let’s go, then,” Dino said.
“Dante, are drums in the budget?”
“I’m not sure how to explain that to the minister.”
“What the hell,” Dino said, “I’ll buy them and take them home with me.”
“No, you will not!” Viv said. “I’m not living with a drummer!”
“I’ll find the money,” Dante said.
—
Two hours later, Dino was all set up in Marcel’s living room, next to the piano. He sat down behind the set and played a roll, followed by a cymbal crash. “Okay,” he said, “let’s do it.”
“How much did he make you spend?” Stone asked Dante.
Dante winced. “Twelve hundred euros, and change. Dino insisted on the best stuff—said his reputation was at stake.”
“God,” Viv said, “I’m glad you’re not taking them home.”
49
Arthur Steele put the phone down and buzzed his secretary.
“Yes, Mr. Steele?”
“Get me Cardinal Prizzi at the Vatican.”
“Yes, sir.” She came back after a minute. “The cardinal is on the line.”
“Arturo! How are you?”
“Not as good as I should be, Pietro.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that. How can I be of help?”
“I’m very sorry to have to come to you with this, Pietro.”
“Nonsense! Anything, anything I can do. You have only to ask.”
“My wife’s daughter has been kidnapped in Italy.”
“I am astonished! How has this happened?”
“A mafioso named Casselli has taken her and demanded a ransom.”
“Leo Casselli? That one?”
“That one.”
“But how do you come to be in business with this man?”
“I am not in business with him. I have had nothing to do with him. A friend and associate of mine met Hedy in Rome. Perhaps you know Marcel duBois?”
“You are doing business with Marcel?”
“No, with Marcel’s partner, a very fine man named Stone Barrington.”
“Spell.”
Arthur spelled.
“He and Marcel are building a hotel in Rome, and Casselli is trying to extort money from them, promising to pave their way. They need no help in that regard.”
“Shocking!”
“Hedy is being held
at a property belonging to Casselli on the Amalfi Coast. Casselli is demanding a ransom of fifty million euros.”
“No! You must not pay it, Arturo, this will not guarantee the return of your daughter. Have you spoken with the police?”
“Yes, and they are trying very hard to help, but they are afraid to go in there for fear that Hedy will be killed in the assault.”
“Infamous! How can I help?”
“I confess I don’t know, Pietro. I have no ideas. My wife will take her own life if anything happens to her daughter. I am distraught.”
“Arturo, I will call you back in an hour.”
“All right.”
—
The cardinal buzzed his secretary, and the young priest entered his office. “Yes, Your Eminence?”
“That invitation I told you to decline—do you still have it?”
“I made the call—I think it must still be in my wastebasket.”
“Find it.”
The priest left and returned after a moment. The cardinal stared at it. “Call this number and get Leonardo Casselli on the phone immediately.” He sat, tapping his finger, for perhaps a minute.
—
Mr. Casselli, Cardinal Prizzi of the Vatican Bank is on the line.”
“You’re shitting me!”
“I am not. Will you speak to him?”
“Of course I will speak to him, you stupid bitch!” Casselli shouted, snatching the phone from her. “Yes, Your Eminence?”
“Hold for the cardinal,” the priest said.
Leo Casselli was not a religious man, but he was a superstitious one. He feared the Church as a teenager might fear zombies. He was instantly terrified.
—
The phone buzzed, and the cardinal picked it up. “Yes?”
“Casselli on line one.”
Prizzi picked up the phone. “Casselli?”
“Yes, Your Eminence,” Casselli oozed. “What an honor to hear from you personally!”
“What do you know of honor, you pig?”
Casselli made a gulping noise. “I’m sorry, Your Eminence? Have I somehow . . . inadvertently . . . offended you?”
“You offend the human race by belonging to it,” the cardinal spat. “I will damn you to hell!”
“Oh, Your Eminence,” Casselli said, his bowels turning to water, “how have I offended you?”
“You have kidnapped the daughter of my friend Arturo!”
Casselli remembered the name. Could the girl not have been lying? “Oh, Your Eminence, I would never do such a thing, I swear to you. The girl was a guest in my home—it was all very proper.”
“Was? Have you harmed the girl?”
“Oh, no, Your Eminence! I would never harm her. She is such a sweet girl.”
“Let me speak to her.”
Casselli gulped again. “I am so sorry, she is not here. She left my house late last night, of her own free will!” At least that was not a lie, he thought.
“Where is she?”
“I think she might have returned to Rome.”
“If you kidnapped her, she would not have a car.”
“Ah, um . . . perhaps she hitchhiked?”
“You find that girl, and you return her to her father at once!”
“But, Your Eminence, I have no idea where she is.”
“You have harmed her, haven’t you? Hedy would not leave there in the middle of the night in that awful storm we had. What have you done with her?”
“If you wish, Your Eminence, I will send my people out to find her.”
“You had better do that, and fast. If you have not found the girl by tomorrow, your soul will be in mortal danger. Call my office!” The cardinal slammed down the phone.
—
Casselli was astonished to find that he had peed in his pants.
50
Arthur Steele’s phone rang at home. “Hello?”
“Arturo, it is Pietro.”
“Pietro, thank you for calling.”
“I have good news: your daughter is alive and, presumably, well.”
“Thank God.”
“I spoke to this swine Casselli myself, and he assured me that she left his house last night.”
“Where is she now?”
“Casselli believes she is hitchhiking to Rome. There was a line of thunderstorms over most of western Italy last night, so she may have taken shelter someplace, but Casselli has promised to send out his men to find her. When that happens, I will see that she is promptly returned safely to you.”
“Thank you, Pietro.”
“You owe me no thanks, I am simply helping a father in distress. It will no doubt help if you will pray to God for her safe return, as will I.”
“I’ll do that, Pietro.”
“I’ll call you as soon as I hear something. Good night.” The cardinal hung up.
Instead of immediately praying for God’s help, Arthur called Stone Barrington.
—
Stone picked up his phone. “Hello, Arthur?”
“Yes, Stone. I have heard that Hedy is alive and well and that she is hitchhiking to Rome.”
Arthur is breaking under the pressure, Stone thought.
“I heard this directly from Cardinal Prizzi.”
“Cardinal Prizzi? How the hell do you know him?”
“I met him on his last visit to New York. We played golf—he is a fanatic—and I gave him a couple of investment opportunities. We’re thinking of collaborating on something.”
Stone’s mind reeled.
“The cardinal spoke directly to Casselli.”
“How did he do that?” Stone asked. “Did he have a direct line?”
“I don’t know, but Prizzi knows everybody.”
“What did Casselli say?”
“He said that Hedy left his house last night and was hitchhiking to Rome.”
“We had awful weather last night,” Stone said, remembering the rain beating against his window.
“Prizzi postulates that she may have taken shelter along the way. Casselli told him he would send his men out to look for her.”
First, the good news, then, the bad. “I’ll alert the Italian police,” Stone said. “And I’ll get back to you when there is news.”
“I’ll look forward to hearing from you.” Both men hung up.
Stone went into the living room, which had become a command post for the DIA and the CIA, and reported the call to Jim and Dante.
Jim stared at him blankly. “Cardinal Prizzi from the Vatican Bank?”
“He’s apparently a personal friend of Arthur’s.”
“So Hedy wasn’t lying when she said that Arthur knew the Pope?”
“I doubt that. If Arthur knew the Pope, believe me, he would have called him instead of the cardinal. Dante, is there anything in your file on Casselli that connects him with the Vatican? In particular, with the Vatican Bank?”
Dante turned to his computer and began doing searches. “I have the two of them at the consecration of a private chapel that Casselli’s company built for a prominent Napoli Catholic layman. That’s it.”
Jim spoke up. “The question here is: Who’s hallucinating? Arthur? The cardinal? Everybody?”
“Arthur is not the sort to hallucinate,” Stone said, “and from what I’ve heard of Prizzi, neither is he. Casselli, on the other hand . . .”
“No, Jim,” Dante said. “The question is: Are we still going to run this infiltration thing, if Hedy isn’t in the house anymore?”
“Of course we are,” Jim said. “We’re not going to rely on Casselli’s word that she’s left his house.”
“And if she is gone, we’re going to run this elaborate operation, in order to arrest Casselli for dealing in stolen chocolate? I don’t think I could expla
in that to the minister.”
“There is the matter of the kidnapping of both Hedy and Baron Klaucke,” Stone pointed out. “And we would have . . . at least one of them to testify.”
“Hedy could be dead in a ditch somewhere,” Dante said, “and there’s little doubt that Casselli could get to Klaucke before he could talk.”
“I think we have to stick to best-case scenarios,” Jim said, “unless we get more information to the contrary. Dante, can you alert the police between Amalfi and here to be on the lookout for an American woman?”
“Of course,” Dante said, picking up his phone.
“And we’re still on for tomorrow night?” Stone asked.
“Yes,” Dante said, “we’re still on, God help us.”
51
Hedy kept an intermittent watch on the trail and the house all day, and there was much foot traffic, people and donkeys delivering crates of wine, food, flowers, and anonymous cartons. She managed to snatch two oranges from another donkey, but she was very, very hungry.
Night came, but activity still continued in the kitchen, at the rear of the house, until after midnight. Finally, at around two AM, the house went quiet. Hedy crept out of her hiding place and padded down the trail to the rear deck, where she peered through the available windows for signs of life. Nothing.
She used her key to let herself in the rear door, leaving it unlocked for a quick escape; there was a night-light in the kitchen, which allowed her to see her way. She snatched a canvas shopping bag from a counter, went to the refrigerator and filled it with salami, ham, and cheeses and a bottle of San Pellegrino sparkling water, tucking a loaf of bread in with them.
She turned to go and spotted something that made her heart leap: an iPhone on the counter, plugged in and charging. She got out her dead phone and unplugged the other. Her heart sank: it was an older model, with the multiple pin connector. Hers was new and used the smaller plug. She turned on the phone and tried to use it, but she didn’t have the password. Sadly, she plugged it back in again and tucked away her own phone.
In the back hall she found cases of wine stacked up. She grabbed a bottle of red, let herself out of the house, locked the door behind her, and returned to her hideaway, where she opened the wine with the corkscrew in her pocket and washed down cheese, bread, and meat until she was replete and more than a little drunk.
