The Pigeon Project

by Irving Wallace

  Dr. Scarpa looked up. “I believe you, Tim.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  The nurse had entered the office carrying MacDonald’s X-rays. She placed them before Dr. Scarpa and left.

  Picking up the X-rays, Dr. Scarpa came to his feet. “Now we shall see what shape your fugitive is in.” He carried the negatives to the far end of the room, hung them before a light box, and turned on the light. In less than a minute he was through studying them.

  He made his way back to his swivel chair. “Good news, Tim. No fractures. Nothing of a serious nature. Most likely just a pulled ligament. It will take care of itself in a matter of days. Maybe three days or so. He should stay off his feet as much as possible.”

  “Well, that brings up something else.”

  “Yes?”

  “Considering what you’ve done already, I don’t know how much further I can impose upon you. I am seeking a means of getting the professor out of the city. I need some safe, quiet place to keep him until I complete my plans. I was wondering if you’d mind keeping him for two or three days—we’d see that he gets meals—in one of your rooms in the rear?”

  A buzzer sounded, and Dr. Scarpa lifted the receiver of his phone. “Yes?” he said in Italian… “The mayor?” He glanced at Jordan and then said, “Of course, I’ll speak to him. Put him on.” He waited, listened, said, “And good day to you, Your Honor. What can I do for you?” He listened again. “Well, I’m sorry she’s feeling that way. But don’t be concerned. It sounds like no more than a touch of the flu. But I’ll certainly want to see her. You tell your wife I’ll come by in an hour, in two at the most… It is quite all right. Margot is one of my favorite patients. Tell her to keep warm, and to expect me.”

  He hung up and swung back to Jordan. “That was our Mayor Accardi. I take care of his wife. Now, wouldn’t he like to know whom else I’m taking care of today?” With hardly a pause, he went on. “As to your last question. Yes, you may leave Professor MacDonald with me. We’ll fix a comfortable place for him in a back room.”

  Effusively, Jordan reached across the desk to shake his friend’s hand. “Giovanni, you’re a godsend.” He jumped up. “I’ve got to run now. I’ll be back—bringing him some food at dinnertime.”

  * * *

  This was a trip, Tim Jordan thought, he had never taken before with a serious purpose. It was a trip he had taken several hundred times—although not lately—for pure relaxation and pleasure.

  The crossing from the Hotel Danieli to the Hotel Excelsior on Lido island opposite always took about eleven minutes. Now Jordan’s watch told him seven minutes had passed, with the island of San Lazzaro, so deceptively placid in the sunlight, already receding behind them. Up ahead was his destination, the Lido. Shortly, they would ran alongside it. Then their CIGA motor launch, or motoscafo, would swing left into a short dead-end canal, move under two bridges, and slide up to the awninged pier at the rear of the Hotel Excelsior.

  As they made their approach to the Lido, he was reminded, once again, that Alison Edwards, beside him in the open back of the launch, had never made this trip before.

  “We’re almost there,” he told her, and pointed to the land and canal entrance ahead.

  She leaned against him, toward the side of the boat, for a better look. The warm touch of her body made him tingle, and he was instantly aroused. He understood immediately the impulse that had inspired him to invite her along to the Lido. It was simply that he wanted to be near her all the time. Until now, it had only been the bottle he wanted near. But now it was a living woman, the first since Claire of long ago, and it seemed unbelievable to him that it was happening. Especially unbelievable that it was happening in a time of such turmoil and danger.

  He realized that the day was only half done, and it had been packed with more incident and excitement than the entire year preceding it. After leaving Professor MacDonald safely with Dr. Scarpa, Jordan had returned to the Hotel Danieli, where Alison had been waiting for him in his suite as instructed. She had been filled with anxiety, wondering what had taken place after Jordan had left her with Don Pietro and raced off to rescue MacDonald from Bishop Uberti and the party of priests taking him to Rome.

  Coke in hand, Jordan had sat down and allayed all of Alison’s fears. MacDonald was safe, he had assured her. Briefly, he had recounted the events of the busy morning. He had intercepted MacDonald at the train depot in the nick of time. They had gone to Dr. Scarpa’s undetected. The problem there had not been MacDonald’s knee—his injury had been superficial—but the fact that the physician had recognized the professor from the posters he had seen. Happily, Jordan had reported, he had convinced his friend of the professor’s innocence, and the doctor had agreed to provide a hideout until Bruno came through with his bribed guard.

  Then Alison had asked the unexpected. “What if Bruno doesn’t come through? What if the guard won’t be bribed?”

  Until this moment, Jordan had been so fixed on Bruno as the means of Professor MacDonald’s liberation that he had not faced the possibility of failure. Alison had forced him to face it.

  “You’re right,” he had told her. “I must find an alternative way out, just in case.”

  “Any ideas?”

  “Not this second. But I’d like to look into some of the different routes out of Venice, find out how thoroughly they are being patrolled. The Lido, for one—the island across the lagoon—it stands between Venice and the open sea, the Adriatic—it is the best escape hatch aside from Mestre. I think I’d better get over there, find out what’s going on.”

  He had meant to go by himself. He travels fastest who travels alone, etcetera. But he had been looking at Alison—gamin bob, oversized lavender glasses, absolutely ravishing pert profile—and on impulse he had asked, “Want to come along?”

  “If I won’t be in the way.”

  “Of course not. In fact, forgot to tell you, but I keep a cabana on the Excelsior beach the entire season. Although I haven’t used it lately, it’s there. You can use it while I poke around and make inquiries on the security setup. You can take a sunbath.”

  “It sounds too indolent and hedonistic, considering poor Davis’s situation.”

  “You’ll be seeing him between six and seven. I promised Dr. Scarpa we’d look in and bring the professor a bite. There’s nothing you can do for him by sitting and fretting. But on the Lido, I might come up with something. And you can come up with a tan.”

  She had smiled, devastatingly. “You’re persuasive, Mr. Jordan. Okay, I’m coming with you.”

  He was jolted back to the present moment by the contact of the motor launch against the wide Hotel Excelsior pier. After the pilot’s assistant had secured the craft, Jordan helped Alison off the boat, then led her between the gaily striped poles that held up the awning into the cavern of the hotel arcade stretching beneath the upstairs lobby. He continued to lead her past the variety of display cases, until they reached the outdoor bar and restaurant.

  As they faced the green Adriatic, Jordan indicated the rows of beach cabanas to the right and left of them. The cabanas, white canvas and brown-trimmed, each with a decorative glass ball on top, were as picturesque as ever.

  Alison was enthusiastic. “Absolutely charming,” she said. “Where do we go?”

  “Mine’s to the left,” he said. “Libra 5.”

  He started her down a sidewalk running behind the row of cabanas directly on the waterfront, turned off into the sand between cabanas, and brought her under the awning that extended in front of his cabana.

  “Here we are,” he said. “A cot in the sun, a beach chair in the shade, a porch furnished with table, chair, tub of water to get the sand off your feet, and inside behind the flap a private dressing room.”

  “So this is how the rich live.”

  “On a special discount,” he said. “Now let me tell you what I’m going to be doing, and suggest what you should be doing. For myself, I’m going off to see a friend of mine who works here, a lifeg
uard named Dante. He’ll know the situation. You see, he lives near the Porto di Lido, and he’ll know the security setup. He…”

  Jordan could see that she was bewildered, and he decided to take a moment to explain.

  “Let me give you an idea of the layout. There are two strips of land—islands, actually—that stand between Venice and the sea. To go from Venice to the open sea, you have to get past these two strips of land, you have to go through narrow channels. A person wanting to get out of Venice by sea would cross the main lagoon, go through one of these channels. On the north side of the Lido, at the farthest end, is a channel called Porto di Lido, where our Venice Must Live Committee set up the hydraulic inflatable dam that is supposed to keep seawater out of the lagoon and city, although it’s never been used yet. At the opposite end of the Lido is a channel called Porto di Malamocco. And at the farthest end of the next strip of land, Pellestrina, is a third channel called Porto di Chioggia. Can you picture this, Alison?”

  “I-I think so,” she said hesitantly.

  “These three channels, outlets to the sea, would be further means by which, through which, a person might escape by water. Just as the Piazzale Roma and its causeway is a means by which a person might escape by land. Well, we know the Piazzale Roma is being closely guarded. Now I’ve got to find out how carefully these three water outlets are being guarded.”

  “I understand.”

  “My lifeguard friend, Dante, will have a good idea. So that’s what I’m going to be doing now. Looking for him. As for you, that’s easy. While I’m gone, you’re going to be getting some sun or water.”

  “In the nude?”

  “They don’t allow it, but even if they did, it’s not necessary. There are two women’s swimsuits in the cabana.”

  “How convenient.”

  “I told you I had a Venetian girl friend I see occasionally. She uses the cabana and keeps her swimsuits here. I think…” He ran his eyes down the curves of Alison’s figure. “They just might fit you. Anyway, put one on and take a dip. I won’t be gone long.”

  He was wrong. He was actually gone for over an hour.

  He had tried to find Dante on the nearby pier, but a new lifeguard was in Dante’s place and had no idea where he had gone. Jordan had then visited the beach office under the Excelsior and learned that Dante had gone into the town of the Lido for lunch. Jordan was told that the lifeguard might be found in one of three restaurants. Jordan had then mounted the flights of stone steps to the immense Excelsior lobby, hurried through it out the front entrance, and hailed a taxi to the town. He had visited all three restaurants and found Dante in none of them.

  Returning to the hotel, he had left word for Dante to call on him at his cabana when he came back, and then he had started off to rejoin Alison.

  At first, he did not recognize her and thought he had stopped at someone else’s cabana. He had never seen her almost nude, had only imagined it, and the naked contours were all new to him. She was lying stretched out on the beach cot in the sun, on her back, eyes closed behind her oversized sunglasses, a ribbon of white bikini covering her nipples but not her breasts, and a wisp of matching bikini drawn tightly at her pelvic area.

  Momentarily, Jordan became acquainted with this lithe, slender female body he had not seen before—the bony shoulders, overflowing breast tops, slash of navel, slim hips accentuating the rising curve of the vaginal mound, firm thighs, and shapely long legs.

  He sat gently on the edge of the beach cot, awakening Alison.

  He said, “I see one of her bikinis fitted you.”

  “Oh, you, Tim. I must have been asleep.” Her hand went down to the string securing her bikini bottom on one side. “Actually, no, hers did not fit. She has too much hip for me. I went into the hotel, and they sent me to a women’s shop a block away. I found my size.” She started to get up. One breast began to slip free, and she caught and covered it, and finally managed to sit upright. She looked down at the bikini bottom. “Maybe it’s not my size. I feel naked.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “Well, it is if you’re the only one of two.”

  “Then I’ll strip down, get into my trunks.” He stood up. “Let’s go in the water.”

  He had started for the cabana when she called out, “Tim, did you see your friend?”

  “He was out to lunch. I left a message for him to come here when he gets back… See you in a minute.”

  He went through the cabana door, ducked past the curtain, and began to take off his clothes. When he was naked, he pulled his blue Italian swim shorts off a hook and stepped into them. Then he looked down at himself, and did not like what he saw—or rather, what she would see. He was definitely flabby and would look twice her age. The damn shorts stuck to the skin like adhesive, forcing his stomach to protrude and hang down slightly. At his chest, too much fat. Oh, well, he decided, none of this could determine what she really thought of him. Inhaling, he sucked in his breath—and his stomach—and stepped outside.

  She was standing in the sun, waiting for him. He felt her eyes on him as he approached her. He felt all belly.

  “You don’t look like the most dangerous man in Venice,” she said, “but you’re definitely cute.”

  Relieved, he stopped holding in his stomach. “A woman of exquisite taste,” he said, taking her hand. Together, they started across the blistering sand toward the water.

  As they went into the water, over the shoreline pebbles and stones, it was unexpectedly cold. But as they waded farther out, until the water reached their thighs, it began to seem warmer. Not until they were thirty or forty yards from the shore did the water cover her bosom.

  “This is as far as I go,” Alison said. “I can’t swim.”

  “Okay.” He fell back in the water and, using a splashy backstroke, circled her twice. When he came upright once more, he wiped his eyes and grinned at her. There was no response. Her mind was elsewhere, and her face crossed with concern.

  “What’s the matter, Alison?” he asked.

  “I’m worried. Here we are out here, playing around, when the professor’s in such deep trouble. I feel we should be doing something more.”

  “I’m doing everything I can.”

  “I know, I know you are, Tim. But it is just that—well, Bruno and his bribe are our only prospect, and it’s not enough. As you said before, we’ve got to come up with another possibility.”

  “Believe me, Alison, I don’t stop thinking of it. I’m sure we’ll hit on another idea.”

  “We must. Every day they are closing in on Professor MacDonald. If this continues for even a week more, they’ll have to catch him. He and his discovery will be lost to the world forever.”

  “All right, Alison. Let’s go in now and see if Dante has turned up.”

  When they emerged from the water and started back to the cabana, Jordan saw the squat, muscular figure in straw hat, T-shirt, and red trunks. Dante was standing before the cot, signaling to him.

  “Is that your lifeguard friend?” asked Alison.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll go inside and change while you talk to him.”

  She ran on past Dante into the cabana, while Jordan shook hands with his friend.

  Dante jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I see you got a new girl friend.” He smiled broadly. “Or another one.”

  “Neither,” said Jordan good-naturedly. “Let’s just say she’s a business associate.”

  “They told me you were looking for me at lunchtime.”

  “I even went into town to try to find you at one of your regular eating places.”

  “I was invited to lunch at a lady’s apartment. Those lunches always take longer.”

  “I bet they do… Actually, Dante, what I wanted to find out from you wasn’t all that important. Just something I was curious about. You still living out near the Porto di Lido?”

  “As always.”

  “In light of the present emergency, what’s the action out there?”
r />   “Action?” Dante was plainly puzzled.

  “I’m talking about the situation in Venice,” said Jordan, “the way the police have surrounded and locked up the city. I wondered if they bothered about your area or the channel—the Porto di Lido.”

  “Have they bothered? In all my years I have never seen anything like it. On the water, from far in the lagoon right up to the channel, it is swarming with police boats on patrol.”

  “So it is sealed tight?”

  “No one is let through. Everyone is turned away. I can’t believe all of this is for a mere spy. There are so many spies. No one fusses about the others.”

  “But this one stole Italy’s top military secret.”

  “Don’t you believe it, Tim. Someone told me it’s a thief they are after, one who has stolen a Titian.”

  “I read it was a spy,” said Jordan. “What about steamer traffic—all those cruise ships that come into the lagoon this time of the year?”

  “No more. None has even appeared. They have all been informed by wireless not to approach Venice, because they will be turned away. There is only one outside ship in the lagoon, I heard. It was here for sudden repairs, a Greek cruise ship. It will be allowed to leave in the next week, since none of the poor passengers have been permitted to go ashore. Everyone is confined to the ship, except some officers.”

  Jordan’s mind had seized on the last. A Greek cruise ship leaving Venice in a week. But if no one, except officers, was authorized to board or leave the vessel, there seemed almost no chance to smuggle MacDonald onto it. Still, it was something to keep in mind.

  “Well, Dante, my curiosity is satisfied,” Jordan said. “I wanted to take my lady friend on a short excursion to sea, through the Porto di Lido, but I guess I’ll have to postpone it.” He nodded toward the Adriatic. “Unless we just tried to swim out from this beach.”

  “You wouldn’t get far, my friend. The carabinieri are posted on the end of each of those piers armed with rifles with telescopic sights.” He shrugged cheerfully. “We must face it. Our Venice is now a prison.”