Robert Ludlum - Road To Gandolfo.txt

by The Road To Gandolfo [lit]

  "They freeze people for welching on

  their bookies! They think nothing

  about paying for the biggest funeral

  in town for a paisan who held out on a

  skim! I.know. I'm from Boston."

  "You're overreacting again. Mr.

  Dellacroce won't do anything like

  that. He knows where he stands which

  is roughly in twenty feet of lye if he

  doesn't behave. That account in

  Geneva. He stole from his own people."

  Grudgingly, suspiciously, Devereaux

  stared at Mac in the moonlight.

  "You're sure of that?"

  "It was all in the G-two files.

  Trouble was nobody put it together. I

  don't think they wanted to;-

  Dellacroce's crowd are big Pentagon

  supporters, what with government con-

  tracts and union affiliations . Now,

  will you listen to me?"

  With a reluctance born of fear, but

  with an assent formed in necessity,

  Sam nodded. The Hawk helped him up and

  the two men walked into the rough off

  fairway six. There was a large oak

  tree whose leaves filtered the

  moonlight. Sam sat down against the

  trunk; Mac fell to 100

  one knee in front of him, the line

  officer clarifying orders at a fire

  base.

  "Remember a couple of weeks ago my

  telling you how I was looking into

  things I hadn't thought much about

  before? God and the church and things

  hike."

  "I remember saying I wouldn't laugh

  " Devereaux's reply was flat, wary. A

  monotone.

  "That was very thoughtful, boy.

  Well, I was doing some thinking, but

  not quite in the way you maybe

  considered. You and I know that

  ninety-nine percent of all Commie

  propaganda is horseshit; everybody

  knows that. Ours is only say, fifty to

  sixty percent, so we're way ahead on

  that score. But that one percent of

  the Bolshie feedback got me to

  wondering. About this Catholic

  situation. Not what people believe,

  that's their business. But how the

  organization operates. And it seemed

  to me that these Vatican fellows got

  such a good thing going they should

  spread a little more around. I mean,

  they got investments, son. When the

  stock market goes up a couple of

  points anywhere in the world, they

  make zillions." v

  "And if it goes down, they lose

  zillions."

  "Not sol The brokers get 'em out in

  time or they get canned from the

  Knights of Malta. It's part of the ar-

  rangement. And they can't get their

  pictures taken with the pope.

  "That is horseshit."

  "If it is, why do all the Catholic

  brokers on Wall Street have all those

  initials after their names. You know

  of any college degrees that start with

  the leper K? Malta, Columbus, Lourdes.

  And the saints! Jesus! Knights of

  Assisi, Knights of Peter, Matthew it

  goes on for pages. It's kind of a

  social order. The more a fellow on the

  stock exchange does for the Vatican,

  the better the K after his name. And

  Wall Street's only one example. It's

  the same all over the place."

  "I think you've been reading some

  pretty strange books. The Ku Klux

  Klanne'; maybe. Nineteen twenty

  edition."

  "Hell, no. I don't cotton to that

  shit. A man's got a right to believe

  anything he likes. I'm only talking

  about the financial part. Then there's

  real estate. Do you know the sort of

  real estate the Vatican boys have? I

  swear they pick 101

  up rent from the Ginza to the Gaza

  strips and most places in between.

  They own the prime properties in New

  York Chicago, Hartford, Detroit 'most

  every place where the micks, the wops,

  the Polacks and all those kind of

  people migrated. They always do it the

  same way. They go in early before all

  the ethnics get settled and buy up

  land and build a big church.

  Naturally, all these Ellis Islanders

  are nervous being in a strange place

  and all, so they build their houses

  near the church. In a generation or so

  their kids are lawyers and dentists

  and own automobile dealerships. So

  what do they do? They move out to the

  suburbs and go to work where they once

  lived, which is now the center of

  town, the business district. And the

  church property skyrockets! It's a

  regular pattern, boy!"

  "I'm trying to find something

  negative here and I can't," said Sam,

  staring in the shadows at the excited

  Hawkins. "What's wrong with the

  pattern?"

  "I didn't say it was wrong. I said

  it made for one hell of a centralized

  portfolio."

  "'Centralized portfolio'? You've got

  a new vocabulary."

  "Like you said, I've been reading.

  And not such strange books as you

  might think. You see, Sam, the product

  these Vatican boys manufacture that's

  not meant disrespectfully, only in a

  business sense doesn't change. It may

  have to adjust a mite now and then,

  take a tuck here or a nip there, but

  the basic merchandise stays the same.

  That reduces a major cost factor and

  allows for a continuous profit figure

  with no chance of negative entry "

  "'Negative entry'?"

  "That's an accounting term."

  "I know it's an accounting term. How

  do you know don't tell me. Your

  reading material."

  "Maggie's drawers, son."

  "What?"

  "Never mind. You're on target,

  that's all. Now, you take an economic

  situation where the stock exchanges

  and the real estate markets hold firm,

  and that means you got the banks,

  because you control both money and

  land. Prime economic resources. And

  you add to that a product that

  requires minimum assembly alterations

  with maximum purchase growth hell,

  boy, it's a worldwide gold mine." 102

  ..T

  l

  "You have been reading. But if

  you're right, why's there's so much

  hassle over the parochial schools and

  their costs?"

  "That's services Sam. That's an

  entirely different entry column. I'm

  talking about basic portfolios, not

  annual operating expenditures; they

  fluctuate with economic conditions.

  Anyway, it's mostly blackmail."

  "That's succinct. They wouldn't like

  you in Boston."

  The Hawk shifted his weight and

  spoke a little more softly, but with

  no loss of emphasis. "You mentioned

  before about something wrong. Well, I

  don't lik
e to mention it because it

  only applies to the pricky-shit high

  brass and not the troops, but there is

  something that's got a bit of stink to

  it."

  "You found a moral position?"

  "Morality and economics should be

  more related than they have been;

  everybody knows that. You take this

  political thing. Nobody's traded fire

  power with the Reds any better'n I

  have. Goddamn, nobody's going to bury

  me! But it strikes me.that these

  Catholic fellas in the Vatican and

  that means all the powerful

  dioceses use the Bolshie excuse a mite

  too freely to oppose a lot Of reforms

  that could make things easier for the

  peasant slobs scratching a life out of

  very tough ground."

  Devereaux eyed Hawkins skeptically.

  "That position's a little dated. A

  great many changes are taking place in

  the Church. This new pope is opening

  a lot of windows. Like John the

  Twenty-third did."

  "Not quick enough, Sam. What the

  Vatican brass needs is a good shake-up

  in commandI" '

  "You can't change a two-thousand-year

  pattern over

  .. ..

  nlgflt .

  "Oh, I understand that," interrupted

  the Hawk. "And I'm glad you brought up

  this new pope. This Francesco. Because

  he's a very popular fellow. Even those

  who hate his guts for doing what he's

  doing know he's the biggest asset

  they've got in the whole damn church

  that's not meant in a religious sense,

  of course. I don't take positions that

  way."

  "What positions? What sense?"

  '1his Francesco," continued Mac,

  overlooking Devereaux's 103

  questions, "is more than just the

  pope, which is enough to begin with.

  He's a beloved individual, you know

  what I'm driving at?"

  "I wish you wouldn't say that."

  "He's the sort of person every man

  jack of a Catholic would really

  sacrifice for, you see what I mean?"

  "I don't like that phrase, either."

  The Hawk changed knees rapidly; it

  was good to redistribute weight as

  often as possible when in an immobile

  position. "Do you know the estimated

  total communicant membership of the

  Catholic Church?"

  "The what?"

  "How many Catholics there are in the

  world? Never mind, 111 tell you. Four

  hundred million. Now, taking the

  median figure of one American

  dollar setting a specific date for the

  rate of exchange; some giving more,

  most less that comes to four hundred

  million dollars."

  "What does?"

  "The projected gross."

  "What projected gross?"

  "Of the Shepherd Company's business

  services. This here 'brokering the

  acquisition of religious artifacts.'

  It's a clear ratio of ten to one in

  terms of capitalization, but naturally

  the profit ratio, as opposed to the

  gross figure, will be affected by the

  necessary outlay for equipment and

  support personnel."

  "What the hell are you babbling

  about?!"

  "We're going to kidnap the pope, Sam."

  "WhaotI"

  "I've got a trunkful of books, boy.

  I've really-.been studying the

  tactical problems and I think I've got

  'em licked. You see, there's this

  place called Chiesa di San Tommaso di

  Villanova in Gandolfo pardon my lousy

  Italian and the route from the Vatican

  is over a kind of country thoroughfare

  called the Via Appia Antica. It's the

  road to this here Gandolf~Castel

  Gandolfo, they call it. These

  Italians, they never use one word when

  they can use two."

  "Whaant?!"

  "Now, don't go overreacting. You'll

  wake up Dellacroce." "Whaaet?"

  "But first we have to corral the

  remaining capitalization. 104

  There's thirty million more coming. I

  believe I've almost narrowed down the

  three investors, but I've still got

  some refining to do." The Hawk clapped

  his hand over Devereaux's open mouth.

  "Now, don't start that again. You keep

  repeating yourself."

  Devereaux's eyes bulged above

  MacKenzie's spread hand, but the rest

  of his body was frozen. Sort of a form

  of comatose shock, thought Hawkins.

  He'd seen a lot of that kind of thing

  when raw recruits got their first

  taste of a fire fight. At least Sam

  wasn't screaming;. Or struggling. He

  was just plain still and kind of cold.

  The Hawk continued; he had only a few

  words left to say. The in-depth com-

  mand analyses would come later. In a

  way he was glad Devereaux~s

  overreaction was so extreme. In his

  enthusiasm he had nearly given Sam

  some tactical ink rmation he was not

  sure he wanted Devereaux to have.

  "I didn't choose you lightly. No

  superior-adjutant is an easy choice

  for a commander to make, for in many

  ways the SA is an extension of

  himself. You got it on merit, boy. I

  don't say you're ideal, you've got

  deficiencies. I've told you that. But

  goddamn, your assets outpoint your

  liabilities. I say that as an honest

  friend as well as a superior officer.

  "Now, there'll be certain executive

  orders that you'll be asked to carry

  out, not always knowing precisely why

  they're vital. You'll just have to

  accept them. Command is a lonely

  responsibility; there's not always the

  time to share the reasons for one's

  decisions. Ask any frontline officer

  who sends a battalion into fire. But

  you'll do splendidly I just know you

  will. And if by any chance you're

  tempted to question the orders of your

  superior officer, or feel that you

  cannot in conscience implement them,

  I think you should know that our

  investor, Angelo Dellacroce, believes

  that you alone, as the attorney and

  secretary-treasurer of the Shepherd

  Company, compiled that list of his

  illegal activities and furnished me

  with them. I believe that's why he

  didn't care to shake hands with you.

  Coupled with your G-two espionage

  violations, I'd say your position was

  somewhat untenable. But if I were you

  and had my druthers, I'd choose to

  fight the government treason charges

  rather than our investor, Mr.

  Dellacroce. I think that 105

  Mafia bastard would cut your balls

  off, grind 'em up in a blender, and

  serve 'em as a fancy pate at your

  funeral. Like you said earlier, it'd

  probably be an expensive funeral.

  There was no point
in the Hawk

  holding his hand over his

  superior-adjutant's mouth any longer.

  Sam had merfed and gleefed in a spasm

  of panic and passed out cold.

  The moonlight, filtering through the

  leaves of the large, sturdy oak in the

  rough off fairway six, cut shafts of

  yellow and white across Sam's young,

  peaceful, unmistakably strong

  features.

  Goddamn, thought MacKenzie, the

  boy's going to be fine! He just needed

  a little time to absorb the facts. Of

  course, if a person didn't know any

  better, he'd think the son of a bitch

  was dead.

  106

  CHATTIER TEN

  Sam Devereaux sank despondently into

  the hotel chair and wished he were

  dead.

  Well, not really, but it certainly

  would solve a lot of problems. Of

  course, it was entirely possible that

  the state of his demise might come

  about whether he desired it or not.

  Which brought his eyes back to the

  insane, unfired but filled-out limited

  partnership agreement between the

  Shepherd Company, MacKenzie Hawkins,

  President, and the North Hampton

  Corporation, Mrs. Angelo Dellacroce,

  President, Depository the Great Bank

  of Geneva, Switzerland. He held the

  legal document in his hand and

  wondered absently where his

  fingernails had gone.

  Prominently on the first page,

  directly under the title of president

  and above the line reserved for the

  secretarytreasurer, was his name.

  Mr. Samuel Devereaux,

  Counselor-at-law, Suite BEE The Drake

  Hotel, New York City.

  He speculated for a moment whether

  he could alter the Drake's registry

  and then abandoned the idea. What was