by Jack Higgins
Barzini passed him an ammunition clip. "The safety selector's on the left behind the slide. Semiautomatic in the center, automatic at the top."
Langley took careful aim and shot the first target through the head, then he fired five times rapidly and scored five hits in the heart area, three close together, the other two straying towards the edge.
"Not bad," he said, "but I think the trigger needs lightening."
He went on to automatic and shredded the second target with what was left in the magazine. He turned and handed the weapon to me without a word.
Barzini gave me another magazine and I reloaded, took aim and fired half a dozen times at the third target. I nicked the edge of the heart once and the rest were in the shoulder area except for one which seemed to have missed altogether.
Langley shook his head. "It just isn't your day, is it? Ah, well, I suppose I'd better wend my way."
He started for the door and Barzini said, "Heh, smart boy, aren't you forgetting something?"
Langley smiled, took the envelope from his inside breast pocket and threw it on the table. "I thought you'd never ask. I'll be seeing you, old stick."
He went up the steps whistling softly between his teeth. The door closed behind him. Barzini took out the bank draft and examined it.
I said, "I'd cash it first thing in the morning if I were you."
"Tell me," he said. "The business earlier in the car about being too old and now this? Letting Langley make a fool of you."
"So he thinks he has an edge." I shrugged. "What harm does it do if it makes him feel good."
I fired three times so rapidly that to anyone except an expert it must have sounded like one shot, putting a bullet between the eyes of each of the remaining targets.
I put the Stechkin down on the table and nodded, "Yes, that really is a most remarkable weapon. Remind me to take one along, will you?"
I moved past him and went up the stairs.
6
The Rules of the Game
We came into the horseshoe bay below the villa at Capo Passero just before noon on Wednesday. Having left Palermo at midnight, we'd had an excellent passage, taking the western route past Marsala through the Sicilian Channel and the Golfo di Gela.
The Cessna was moored to the two buoys in the center of the bay and as we moved in towards the stone jetty the Landrover came down the dirt road which hardly surprised me. I suppose we must have been under scrutiny from the ramparts for quite some time.
Barzini was in the wheelhouse and Nino and Angelo fended the Palmyra off as we bumped against the jetty and I went over the rail with a line. As I looped it round a bollard, Langley got out of the Landrover followed by Gatano and came toward me.
"Hello there, old stick. How's every little thing?"
Gatano's face was badly bruised and there were stitches in the left cheek, the whole combining to make him look uglier than ever.
"Who's your friend?" I asked.
Gatano was holding a Sterling sub-machine gun and the look on his face was such that for a moment I thought he might be tempted to use it.
"Still full of the joys of spring, I see," Langley said. "The old man wants to see you and Barzini. The others can stay here."
"Anything to oblige." I turned to look up at Barzini as he cut the engine and leaned out of the wheelhouse window. "Royal command, Aldo. We're going visiting."
"That's nice," he said and came out on deck.
He was wearing a Smith and Wesson .38 in a spring holster on his left hip, butt forward. Langley said, "You leave that down here."
Barzini shrugged, took the gun out of the holster, leaned inside the wheelhouse and dropped it on the chart table. Langley turned to me. "What about you?"
I raised my hands without a word. He searched me anyway, completely missing a favorite place for a concealed weapon in expert opinion--the small of the back tucked into the pants under the shirt. Not that I'd anything there this time as it happened, but it was a serious flaw and certainly gave me pause for thought where Langley was concerned.
He slipped back, apparently satisfied. "All right, old stick, let's go."
Gatano stayed on the jetty, sitting on a bollard, the Sterling across his knees. Barzini and I got into the rear of the Landrover and Langley took the wheel.
"How's my sister?" I asked him as we drove away.
"Fine, old stick." He smiled with what appeared to be genuine warmth. "Lovely girl. Practices the piano most of the day. Perfectly happy. And Simone's been spending some time with her."
"Plus Frau Kubel and her Doberman?" I said. "How nice. All we need to make up the party is Charles Lutwidge Dodgson and we're all set for an idyllic afternoon on the river."
"Dodgson?" Barzini looked puzzled. "Who in the hell is this Dodgson?"
"Better known as Lewis Carroll. Alice in Wonderland and all that," Langley said. "Not to worry. Our friend's feeling a little pensive this morning, that's all."
He braked to a halt in the courtyard; we got out and started up through the garden to the high terrace. Stavrou was standing at the wall peering down into the bay. For a moment there was a fugue in time and I was conscious of an irrational coldness. It was as if nothing had happened--as if it were still that first day when they'd brought me up from the Hole. The table laid for lunch, the bottles of Zibibbo in the bucket, the waiter at the ready, Moro and Bonetti in the same fisherman jerseys standing stolidly side by side, arms folded.
Stavrou swung around and looked at us. "So this is Mr. Barzini?" he said. "A well-found ship, sir. I congratulate you."
He lurched forward on his two sticks and the waiter eased him into the chair then poured him a glass of wine. He sampled some with a sigh of content and looked up at me.
"Well, sir, and how does it go?"
"I want to see my sister," I said. "Before anything else."
He nodded to Langley without the slightest hesitation. "All right, Justin. Five minutes."
Langley moved through the archway into the garden beyond and I went after him. This time there was no music playing, but I could hear laughter and a dog barked.
We paused by a small wall and looked down into a sunken garden. Hannah was seated on the ground on a rug, Simone beside her. She was throwing a rubber ball for the Doberman, who chased it eagerly and brought it back to her each time. Frau Kubel sat on a stone bench, knitting.
"Strange how that dog has taken to her," Langley said. "I just can't understand it."
Simone glanced up and saw us. The smile left her face and she stood. I heard Hannah quite distinctly ask her what was wrong.
Langley tugged at my sleeve. "All right, old stick. Better get back now. We don't want to upset him, do we?"
There didn't seem much I could say to that so I turned and led the way back to the high terrace where we found Stavrou and Barzini with their heads together over a British Admiralty chart for the Libyan coastline, Cap Bon to Tobruk.
Stavrou looked up. "Ah, there you are. Now you can tell me all about it."
"You got the permit from the Libyan Embassy for archaeological diving?" I asked.
Langley produced a large buff envelope from which he took out an imposing document with no less than four wax seals on it.
"This cost money," he said. "So watch it."
I leaned over the chart. "If we leave this evening we can be in Gela the same time on Thursday. All I need then is Zingari. If he lets us down we're finished."
"He won't," Stavrou said. "I'm paying him too much, but tell me everything from the beginning."
"All right. We sail into Gela posing as underwater archaeologists looking for a Roman wreck in the bay. We've got several amphorae with us which can go over the side under cover of darkness to be publicly recovered for the whole village to see the following day. That should keep everyone happy."
"And the assault on the prison?" Stavrou said. "What takes place there?"
"I presume Langley has told you about Angelo Carter?" Stavrou nodded and I carried on, "H
e gains access to the prison as indicated. Once inside his one aim is to get to the north wall and dispose of the two sentries there."
"That seems one hell of a tall order to me."
"But not to Carter. He was a Green Beret. He has a light line with him which he drops down. I'll be waiting on the rocks at the base of the cliff with Nino Barzini. We attach a climbing rope to the line, which Carter hauls up. Then Nino, who's an expert in these matters, climbs it, drops a body line to me and he and Carter haul me up between them."
"All right, supposing all that works."
"Carter changes, then we cross quite openly to the Commandant's house, passing ourselves off as soldiers. Colonel Masmoudi has a weakness for the ladies which means he tends to be very fully occupied on a Friday night. We shouldn't have too much trouble in overpowering him."
"Then what happens?"
"He does as he's told like a good boy and has your stepson brought to his house. Then we all leave by the front gate nice and quietly in Masmoudi's car. Drive straight to Gela and embark. At that time of night the tunny boats are out in force about ten miles off shore. One or two nets draped from our mast is all we need and we'll be lost in the crowd."
There was a lengthy silence while Stavrou looked at the map. I helped myself to Zibibbo. Finally, he turned to Barzini. "What do you think?"
"I'm going, aren't I?" Barzini pointed out.
"I don't know." Stavrou shook his head. "There are too many ifs."
"You're right," Barzini said cheerfully. "The plain truth is that if everything falls right for us, we can't fail, but if even one single item goes wrong then the whole house of cards comes tumbling down."
Stavrou nodded, looking at the map. "Justin has a point to make."
"And what might that be?" I said.
Langley grinned. "You're not going to like this, old stick, but it's a fact. Imagine you're walking across the courtyard of the prison wearing Libyan uniforms, making straight for Masmoudi's house."
"So what?"
"What happens when the sergeant of the guard or an officer, or even just a stray soldier calls out good night or asks you what you're doing?"
"Simple," Barzini said. "I'd say I'm on a special detail for the colonel."
"Oh, I see," Langley said. "I didn't realize you spoke Arabic."
There was a heavy silence and I said, "That's what's called not seeing the wood for the trees."
"You mean you don't speak Arabic either, old stick?" Langley said. "Never mind. I do."
Which was what the whole damned thing had been leading up to, of course. I saw it all now, just as I saw with equal certainty, that he was right.
"Okay," I said. "Welcome aboard." I turned to Stavrou. "Happy now?"
He smiled delightedly. "That's what I like about you, sir. You're a sport."
"Who's hot and thirsty and badly in need of a shower," I said. "Which is exactly what I'm now going to have," and I left them there and moved up through the garden to my room.
I took my time over the shower, going over the whole thing in my mind Stavrou was right--there were too many ifs, but I couldn't help that any more than I could help the business with Langley. He was right there also. The inability to make some sort of response in Arabic if required was just the sort of detail on which the whole thing could fail. Most Libyans spoke Italian, that was true, a relic of Mussolini's dreams of Empire, but not among themselves.
So, Langley would have to go, as Stavrou had obviously intended all along, to keep a watching brief. I didn't like the idea, but it was something we'd have to put up with.
I pulled on a bathrobe and went out into the living room towelling my hair. Simone was sitting on the terrace gazing out to sea. She didn't turn round so I draped the towel around my neck, went to the drinks trolley and mixed two large gin and tonics.
I put one on the wall in front of her and took the other chair. "Well?" I said.
She turned her head slowly to look at me. Her face was as calm, as enigmatic as usual, but there was something in the eyes. Some kind of personal hurt.
She said, with a kind of anger, "What do you expect me to do?"
"I don't expect you to do anything."
She picked up the gin and tonic, swallowed about half of it, then sat staring down into the glass, holding it in both hands. When she spoke it was obviously with great difficulty.
"Your sister--she's a nice person."
"I would have thought I'd made that plain enough to you a long time ago."
Somewhere not too far away, Hannah started to play. Ravel--Pavane on the death of an Infanta. Infinitely beautiful in the still heat of the garden, touching something deep inside. Life itself, perhaps at the very center of things.
She was crying now, slow, heavy tears, and when she spoke her voice was hoarse and broken. "I suppose what I'm really trying to say is that I'm sorry."
"Who for? Me, Hannah, or yourself?"
It was brutal enough, I suppose, but she took it well. Strange, but I was almost proud of her when she tilted her chin bravely and looked me straight in the face.
"All right, Oliver, I deserved that, but I'm not going to crawl. I've crawled enough in my time." She stood up. "I hear Justin is going with you."
"That's right."
"Watch him--there's more to this thing than you think."
Which didn't exactly surprise me. I said, "What, for instance?"
She certainly put on a good show of distress and uncertainty. "I don't know, I really don't, but there's something. I just wanted you to know that."
"All right," I said. "You've told me."
And now she was angry again, much more the old Simone I'd known and loved. The glass went sailing over the wall into space. "You bastard," she said, turned and walked rapidly away.
I sat there finishing my drink and thinking about what she'd said, and Barzini appeared. "Langley said I'd find you up here. Heh, I just passed a very angry young woman. When I asked her if I was on the right track for you she told me to go to hell."
"It's not one of her good days." I went back inside to the bedroom and started to dress.
Barzini leaned in the doorway. "Stavrou wants us to have lunch with him. Afterwards he'd like to look over the Palmyra."
"He can wait," I said. "I've more important things on my mind. The way things have turned out, Langley's going to be breathing down our necks from now on and I want a chance to talk to Nino and Angelo Carter alone while there's still time."
"And just how do we do that?"
I grinned. "Just stick with me. To the pure in heart all things are possible."
I moved out on to the terrace, Barzini at my heels, and took one of the back paths down through the garden, avoiding the high terrace where Stavrou was waiting.
The Landrover was standing in the courtyard, the gate was open and no one appeared to be around. Barzini scrambled into the passenger seat and I got behind the wheel. As we moved out through the gateway, Bonetti ran out of the garage shouting, but by then it was too late.
I drove very rapidly down the dirt road and pulled up on the jetty beside Palmyra. Nino and Angelo were lounging in the stern smoking and talking. Gatano was sitting in the prow, the sub-machine gun across his knees.
He stood up, scowling, as I jumped down on deck followed by Barzini. "Heh, what is this? Where's Mr. Langley?"
"Oh, he'll be along," I said. "Any minute now."
I crowded straight into him before he knew what was happening, close enough to get a grip on his shirt, turned my thigh in a simple hip throw that bounced him against the rail. He hung precariously for a moment and then went over, sub-machine gun and all.
We left him floundering and joined Nino and Angelo who were sitting up and taking notice. I squatted in front of them and Barzini said, "You haven't got long. Langley's coming."
I glanced up and saw a Mercedes on its way down and already at the turn in the dirt road. Nino said, "What is this?"
"I wanted a private word, that's all," I said. "T
here's been a slight change of plan. Langley's joining the team, apparently for the general good, but I'm not so sure about that. There's something else going on here--something a whole lot deeper, so watch him every minute of the day and night. He's the original slippery fish."
"He doesn't look much to me," Angelo observed.
"That's exactly what twenty-one men said about Billy the Kid," I told him. "And look where it got them."
Gatano floundered out of the shallows to the beach and the Mercedes turned onto the jetty and braked to a halt. Langley got out and Moro followed him clutching a Sterling.
Langley seemed amused. He watched Gatano make it to the end of the jetty then looked down at the rest of us. "What was all that about?"
"I bumped into him," I said. "Sheer accident."
"I'm sure it was. Anyway, if you've said what it is you didn't want me to hear, Mr. Stavrou would be pleased to see all of you up on the high terrace for lunch."
Gatano chose that precise moment to arrive at a shambling trot, those great hands of his ready to grab at my throat. Langley tripped him deftly, Gatano went sprawling. He tried to get up, sobbing with rage and Langley put a foot on his left hand.
"That's all--understand?"
Gatano looked up at him, eyes glazed, and then he subsided like a hurt dog.
"You'd think he'd have had enough by now," I said.
"Ah, but then some people never learn, do they, old stick?" He smiled beautifully. "Now, if you'd like to join me in the Merc, the others can follow in the Landrover."
Which I did. When I looked down at the turn in the dirt road, Gatano was on his own, walking.
* * *
The meal was pretty much a repetition of the one I'd had with Stavrou and Simone on that first night Once again he drank a great deal of wine, ate huge quantities of food and talked incessantly on every subject under the sun.
There was no sign of Simone who, I presumed, was with Hannah, but in any event Stavrou made no mention of her. When the meal was finished he announced his intention of looking over the boat although it was obvious to everyone there that he couldn't even negotiate the companionway.
Langley took him down in the Mercedes and the rest of us followed in the Landrover. He actually did get out, but conducted his inspection from the quayside, discussing the Palmyra with Barzini in a considerable amount of technical detail, showing a surprising knowledge of small sea-going craft in general.
