by Roy Lewis
Finally, some two hours later, Carmela leaned back in her chair and placed her hands on the table in front of her. ‘I think that concludes the reports on current activity.’ Almost instinctively, she glanced towards the silent figure of Colonel Messi, as though expecting that at this point he would take his leave. But he seemed distracted, gazing out of the window, and after a few moments she turned back to face the group. ‘Thank you for the discussion, and the reports. I think we are all now up to date with progress.’ She paused, glanced at Arnold. ‘As I explained to you all before we convened today I invited Mr Landon to join us as an observer in order that he should become acquainted with our existence and the range of the work that we have undertaken. It’s my intention to have a further discussion with him in private, after this meeting, but meanwhile, before we bring an end to business, I need to inform you on matters on which I shall be concentrating personally during the next period. It involves Peter Steiner.’
There was a rustle, a movement among the group members. It was clear the name was well known to everyone there. Arnold caught a movement out of the corner of his eye: Colonel Messi had given up his window gazing.
‘Peter Steiner has been in contact with my office at Piazza Sant’Ignazio. I have spoken to him. He was not explicit in the phone call, but it seems he has some information that he would like to transmit. I have arranged a meeting with him, in two days’ time.’
There was a short silence, then McMurtaghy leaned forward, his mouth twisting in distaste. ‘I can’t imagine what Steiner might have to say that would assist us in our work.’
Carmela shrugged an expressive shoulder. ‘That remains to be seen. The fact is, it was he who contacted me. And it seems he wants to discuss some kind of terms.’
‘Terms about what?’ McMurtaghy almost exploded. ‘The man was a thief! He was arrested, found guilty, and was sentenced to imprisonment! You are now telling me he has been released? And he wants to talk to you? Do we really need to deal with scum like him? When we’ve more than enough to absorb our time and energy already?’
Heads nodded around the table. All eyes were on Carmela. The committee members were all clearly in agreement regarding an opinion about Peter Steiner.
Carmela remained calm, unflustered. ‘The call I took was a curious one. We all know that during his trial Steiner denied vehemently all the charges levelled against him.’
‘But was found guilty!’ Alienor Donati snapped. There was an unforgiving contempt in her voice.
‘That is so. But while he was not exactly forthcoming during the phone call he insisted that I would find what he has to say of interest.’
‘And what is he asking in return?’ McMurtaghy demanded harshly.
Carmela hesitated. ‘Nothing, it seems.’
There was a brief silence. It was at that point, in an atmosphere that was beginning to crackle with intensity, that Colonel Messi rose to his feet. He came forward, leaned over Carmela’s shoulder. ‘You will forgive me, Miss Cacciatore. May I tender my thanks to you for allowing me to sit in on this meeting. Most instructive. I am delighted to hear of the progress that is being made with regard to so many initiatives. I congratulate all members of this group. I shall be able to report to my department, and the government thereafter, on the wisdom of their financing this activity. And meanwhile I would also like to ask the representatives here to thank their respective governments for the support they are providing in this important endeavour. We work together for the benefit of all. So, meanwhile, if you will permit me I shall withdraw at this point, and attend to the other duties that demand my attention.’
He bowed, rather stiffly, and walked out of the room. The door closed quietly behind him.
Carmela took a deep breath, as though she was relieved at his disappearance. She glanced around at the tight faces confronting her. She shrugged. ‘So, back to business. I hold the same view of Peter Steiner as each of you. But the phone call was so … unexpected. And I have a feeling … well, I suspect there is a seething anger in the man which might be turned to our advantage. I intend meeting him for a private discussion.’
McMurtaghy glanced around the group, then shrugged. ‘It must be your decision, Carmela. I think it will be a waste of time. The man is scum. But, as we are each responsible for our own area of activity, so you must be. But I’m sure we’ll all be very keen to hear what you think you might achieve by talking to this man.’
There was a subdued murmur of agreement. Carmela rose, plump knuckles on the table and smiled somewhat tensely. ‘That remains to be seen. I think it is worth while listening to him. What do we have to lose? Meanwhile, I think we can bring this session to an end. As to other matters …’ Her glance flicked towards Arnold briefly. ‘I will be able to make a further report to each of you in due course.’
Each of the group shook hands with Arnold before they left. When he was alone with Carmela she gathered up her papers and smiled at him. ‘I believe you have managed to obtain several days’ leave?’
‘As you suggested, Carmela.’ Arnold frowned. ‘But why am I here? I found the meeting most interesting, and am amazed by the amount of valuable work you’re all doing. But what does it have to do with me?’
Carmela took a deep breath: her magnificent bosom swelled as she smiled at him. ‘Enough for the moment. I suggest that you accept my invitation to dinner this evening, and I will explain everything to you. Including the reason for my request that we have a … conversation.’
4
SHE CALLED FOR him at seven. The evening was warm so he was able to dress casually in light slacks and an open-necked shirt. Carmela wore a thin summer dress that was cut low over her magnificent breasts. As they entered the restaurant she had chosen, male heads swivelled in their direction: Arnold had the impression that several ankles were kicked under tables as female companions reminded their escorts of their social responsibilities. Carmela seemed unfazed by the attention.
They were led to a table in a secluded corner of the room, beside a window that gave them a view of the narrow street and the river beyond, glittering under the late evening sun. Arnold ordered a Bourgeuil red which Carmela sipped and pronounced delicious. She began her meal with coquillages, and ordered a steak Bearnaise to follow. Arnold followed her example: he was not particularly interested in the food anyway. He was still curious to know why Carmela had invited him to Albi.
‘So, this group,’ he said, ‘and this meeting. It seems to me you’ve pulled it together in order to pursue the cordata more efficiently. But Colonel Messi seemed to suggest that it’s supported by governments other than Italy. That’s quite an achievement bearing in mind the kind of blocks that’ve been put in your way over the years you’ve been hunting down the tombaroli.’
Carmela nodded, finished her shellfish, and leaned back in her chair. ‘Not just the tomb robbers,’ she murmured. ‘Today we were talking about their activities but the group, well, it is concerned with much more than the cordata …’ She smiled warmly. ‘It is so good to see you again, Arnold.’
‘And I’m delighted to meet you again, Carmela,’ Arnold admitted. ‘But I’m still at a loss as to why you’ve paid for me to join you here in Albi, for the meeting of this committee.’
She smiled. ‘I thought perhaps if I explained over the phone you would be reluctant to come. So I have been … deliberately vague. But now I satisfy your curiosity, n’est ce pas, as they say in France?’
‘I compliment you on your command of languages,’ Arnold replied drily.
‘And my English is now so much better,’ she remarked in delight. ‘Do you not admit it? And you will have noted that the discussions in committee were conducted in your language. That was for your benefit, Arnold.’
‘So tell me why I’m here,’ he insisted.
She took a deep breath and he tried with difficulty to drag his glance away from her bosom. ‘You rightly say, Arnold, that over the years our work in the recovery of looted antiques has been … what is the word …
best with difficulties.’
‘Beset,’ he corrected her.
‘Of course. The response of various countries who subscribe to the UNESCO policy has been varied. But at last, some six months ago, agreement was reached. The idea of an international group has been discussed for some time, of course: it is now a reality. It has at last been recognized that if we are to trace so many items – looted from Iraq, Turkey, Italy, Nigeria, Syria, so many locations – a great deal of international co-operation is required.’ She reached for her glass and sipped at the red wine; a hint of pride crept into her tone. ‘I am glad to say that because of our work in Italy, in which you yourself have participated, Arnold, we have been recognized as a logical centre for the coordination of such international activity. But we cannot employ merely Italians. The idea of the group was thus agreed: America agreed to send us a representative person … which is the reason for the presence of Mr McMurtaghy here … and after that other countries fell into line. A co-ordinating committee was established: apart from myself, Alienor Donati, Joachim Schmidt and Michael McMurtagh, we also have corresponding members, Señor Fernando from Spain, my old friend Oscar Domingo from Brazil, Herr Kreutzer from Bonn, and certain other contacts within Europe to assist us. A separate sub-group has been established in South America, which reports to us at intervals.’
‘Why so much assistance from Latin America?’
‘The result of the last great international conflict: the Second World War. All conflicts throw up opportunities for looting. The Nazis who fled to Brazil, Chile and Venezuela after the end of the war did not go empty-handed. We know that we will be much exercised in tracing such loot and claiming its return. Our representatives in Chile and Brazil are active in that regard. Now we have established sound networks, stretching throughout the western world. Sadly, Iran, Iraq, Saudi Arabia … they have refused to support our endeavours, but that is perhaps understandable in view of their political situations.’
‘When you say support …’
‘It is not just personnel.’ She smiled, gestured to the room in which they sat. ‘We all have to live. Funds have therefore been made available by the co-operating governments, administered here in Italy. These funds supply us with logistical support as well as to provide salaries for what we may call the front-line troops. Which include ourselves, but also the contacts we have in offices in other countries.’
‘So where exactly do I come into all this?’
‘I have explained that we have received support from the US and other countries, but, sad to say, the British Government has been slow to support our efforts. But a breakthrough was finally made, just recently, and funding has at last been promised to the group. But there has been a sticking point when I have requested representation. Discussions have been ongoing with regard to personnel. It seems in London there is a particularly fixed mindset among your civil service. What is it you call them, these high-ups. Chinese…?’
‘Mandarins,’ Arnold laughed.
‘That is it. So talks have been difficult. When funding agreements were finalized the next problem seemed almost intractable. Several names have been put forward to us as potential members of the group which I lead, but these people, they are notable for being pensioned-off academics, failed politicians or civil servants who are seeking an easier life after the stresses of Whitehall and Westminster. Our group has resisted the opportunity to work with these people: they are not all suitable.’ She inspected him over the rim of her glass. There was the glint of mischief in her eyes. ‘Which is the reason for inviting you to come to Albi, to sit in at the meeting, and to have this discussion.’
‘The reason?’
‘We wish you to join the group, to become involved in our activity.’
Arnold stared at her. ‘Why me?’
‘As I have explained at length to those … mandarins in Westminster, first, because I have confidence in you: I have personal experience of your passion and desire to see ancient artefacts saved from damage, destruction or burial in rich men’s vaults, and we have worked well together these last few years. Second, your curriculum vitae … you have a remarkable history in the discovery of artefacts and a sound knowledge of the likely provenance to be determined in respect of some areas, in particular where we ourselves have little or no experience. Third… let me put it to you like this. We have known each other for two or three years now, and everything I know about you convinces me that what is often said about you in respect of the search for ancient artefacts is true: you are lucky.’
‘My job in Northumberland—’
‘Can surely be done by another.’ Carmela spread her hands wide and smiled broadly. ‘First of all, you already have a capable deputy. It is Signor Spedding, is it not, as I recall? A museum director, an academic, a past Fulbright scholar and a man who has been at many important digs. He can … how do you say … hold the fort in your absence. And as for your salary, it will be matched and indeed upgraded were you to join us. Courtesy of the British Government who will be funding your presence.’
Arnold frowned. This was an unexpected development. Carmela sensed his concern and continued, ‘We do not foresee this committee as a … what is the words … fly-by-night operation. We will be in business for the foreseeable future. There is much work to be done. It is my belief that you can help us greatly in that work. And the members of my committee agree.’
‘You’ve persuaded them,’ Arnold growled.
‘It was not difficult.’
‘You say funding is provided by participating governments. Whitehall will pay my salary, if I join you. But from what you’ve told me, you’ve turned away other suggestions, names offered by the British Government. I presume they would need to approve my name. What makes you think they will agree to my joining your group? I am not well known in Whitehall.’
‘Better known than you imagine,’ she replied almost soothingly, putting out a hand to caress his. ‘But you are correct. There have been reservations expressed. My making the proposal to you, it is the first step in a process. So, if you agree to join us, you will enter into a discussion with an official from London. So that you may be vetted.’ She made an impatient, dismissive gesture with her left hand. ‘I imagine it will be a formality, since we press our case so strongly on your behalf.’
The main course had arrived. She attacked her steak with gusto. ‘So, Arnold, what do you think?’
He hesitated. ‘I’m flattered, of course.’ He considered for a few moments, before he went on. ‘The proposal is also one that I find attractive. As you say, Spedding is a man who can handle the work in Northumberland. And I have been … unsettled, of recent months.’
Carmela nodded. She knew him better than he realized. ‘You do not enjoy the … the pen-pushing, is it not so? On the other hand, if you join us, will you miss the beautiful Miss Stannard? Or perhaps I can take her place in your longings?’
Arnold still did not know quite what to make of Carmela Cacciatore: he thought he detected a certain serious undercurrent in her mocking tone. ‘Karen already knows I’m not too happy. That won’t be a problem.’
‘In which case,’ Carmela announced happily, ‘let us take some steps. You are on leave. Enjoy Albi. But in two days’ time come with me, to interview Peter Steiner. As a amuseé bouche, a taster of the work. Then, if you so decide, you can take your interview in London. And if all goes well, you will join us as a representative.’ She raised her glass. ‘Agreed?’
There seemed no reason why Arnold should not agree.
5
THE FLY BUZZED self-importantly, wandering uncertainly above the stone table on the terrace, attracted by the fruit displayed on the plate. It settled on the rough stone, crawled over the warm raw flesh of the ripe green fig and hesitated, nervous. Some red wine had earlier been spilled on the table and Sam Byrne watched as the insect buzzed away from the fruit, approached the red stain, then dropped, folded its wings, investigating, twitching its proboscis inquisitively.
He raised his hand, fingers curled. It was all about hand-eye co-ordination. Approach from the rear. The multi-lensed, swivelling eye of the fly would see the danger, but he knew that in flight flies took off backwards. That split second gave him the opportunity. As split seconds always did.
As he snatched, he knew immediately that he had succeeded. There was a faint tickling in his fist. He kept his fingers clenched for a few seconds, then slowly opened his hand. He was not in a killing mode today. The fly took off with a relieved buzz and vanished beyond the bougainvillea which clung to the villa wall.
Not in killing mode.
That had been the case for almost three years now. Not that it mattered a great deal. He was confident that the old skills would not have deserted him. His body was still as finely toned as it had been on his resignation from his commission. Here, at his villa on the Costa Blanca, he was able to swim most days in the pool; the surrounding hills gave him the opportunity to run and climb, and among the deserted, decaying olive-tree plantation that extended behind the villa he was able to keep his eye in with regular target practice.
He had no need to continue his earlier activities, of course. After leaving the army he had made himself available for certain mercenary duties that had been extremely well paid: it was only a short step beyond that to take up the various contracts that had been offered him. And the system had been simple. There would be no connection to be traced between him and the target. Payment was made into a discreet bank account in Madrid, and the people who employed him were not known to him. A phone call, a code word, and instructions delivered by e-mail, ostensibly innocuous, to give him the coded details he required. His bank balance had grown impressively.
But, perhaps inevitably, once the commissions dried up he had become bored at his existence. An edge had gone from his life however much he might dispute the fact mentally. Consequently, when the latest message had appeared on his personal computer he had responded in spite of the fact that it had not arrived in the usual coded form. The target, as was always the case, was not known to him personally and there would be no way in which Sam Byrne could be linked to the individual identified. On the other hand there had been a surprise: this time the person commissioning the hit was known to him.
