Mission to Siena

by James Hadley Chase

  The sight of the negro, moving across the moonlit lawn with the speed of a black panther, would have unnerved most people, but Don refused to give way to nerves. He ducked down behind a shrub and waited.

  The negro entered the shrubbery fifty yards or so from the point where Don crouched. He paused to listen.

  Out into the moonlight came the thick-set man and the wolfhound. He caught sight of the negro and stopped, dragging the straining dog back on to its haunches. The dog was snarling and barking-and trying to get off its chain. Three other men appeared from around the back of the house, each with a struggling wolfhound on a chain.

  The negro waved to them, motioning them to wait. Then he began to walk very slowly towards the spot where Don was hiding.

  Through the shrubs, Don could see the four men and the dogs,-standing in a line looking towards him. He could hear the gentle swish of leaves, as the great, muscular body of the negro came towards him. Peering up, he caught sight of the negro, now within six feet of him, his brutal black face alert, the knife gripped between his thick fingers.

  Don held his breath and waited. There was a long pause. He could hear the wind sighing in the trees, the heavy breathing of the negro and the snarling of the dogs as they strained on their chains. Then he heard the negro move on, passing him by a few yards. Still Don waited. He guessed his slightest move would be heard by the negro.

  The negro covered several yards of the shrubbery before it occurred to him that he was wasting time. If anyone were hiding here, the dogs would hunt him out. He stood up to his full height and shouted, “Let the dawgs in here.”

  Even before the four men could unfasten the chains from the collars of the dogs, Don was running for dear life through the shrubbery towards where he thought the wall must be. He ran as if the devil was at his heels, crashing through shrubs, his only thought to reach the wall and grab at Harry’s welcoming hand. He could hear the savage barking of the dogs as they streaked across the lawn after him. With a gasp of relief, he blundered out of the shrubbery onto the path he had been looking for. He hurtled down the path, running as fast as he could.

  He could hear the dogs coming up. Their low savage snarls sent a chill up his spine. They were close, too close and he realized he was losing the race. In another few yards they would be on him, dragging him to the ground and savaging him. Just off the path and ahead of him was a big tree. One of the dogs came rushing up alongside him. It sprang up and snapped at his sleeve. Don’s fist slammed against its head, sending it rolling over, yelping but he knew the race was over. He swerved, spun around and set his back against the tree.

  The other dogs swerved away, pulled up and then with the precision of sheep dogs, they spread out, crouching down and completely encircled him.

  Breathing heavily, Don looked at them. He knew if he made a move in any direction the nearest dog would spring at him. He took out his handkerchief and wiped his face. The dogs growled at the movement and edged closer.

  The soft pad-pad of feet made him look beyond the dogs. The negro came running down the moonlit path, the glittering knife in his hand. He stopped short when he saw Don.

  Don took out his cigarette case, selected a cigarette and put it between his dry lips. Then imitating the negro’s slow drawl, he said, “Got a match on you, bud?”

  Chapter VIII

  ALSCONI

  Simon Alsconi, known to the police in Europe and America only as the Tortoise, sat in a padded armchair before a blazing log fire, his feet resting on a footstool, a large black Persian cat on his lap, the picture of domesticity.

  His round, fat, swarthy face, his small full-lipped mouth, his blunt fleshy nose, his deep-set dark eyes were deceptively nondescript. He could have been fifty, but in actual fact he was well past sixty. He was in evening dress and between his long, well-shaped fingers he held a cigar. With his other hand, he stroked the cat’s glistening fur while he stared into the fire.

  Felix stood opposite him. He was telling Alsconi of Don’s capture.

  Although Felix was responsible for running Alsconi’s organization and was in a position of power and control, he never entered Alsconi’s private suite without a feeling of uneasiness that bordered on fear.

  He had repeatedly told himself that so long as he made no mistakes and carried out his orders he had nothing to fear from Alsconi, but he could not entirely convince himself of this. He could not get rid of the uneasy knowledge that he was dealing with a ruthless and dangerous lunatic who .might at any moment turn on him and wipe him out as other members of the organization in the past had been wiped out.

  “Don Micklem?” Alsconi said. “How very extraordinary.”

  “You know of him then?” Felix said. “Crantor says he is one of the richest men in England…”

  “Of course I know of him,” Alsconi said. “He is worth two million pounds sterling. Astonishing.” He put his finger on the cat’s silky nose and rubbed it gently. “What have you done with him?”

  “I’ve put him in the cave.”

  “Was he alone?”

  That was the question Felix hoped Alsconi wouldn’t ask.

  “His chauffeur was with him. He got away.”

  Alsconi’s ringers paused in their rhythmic stroking of the cat’s nose.

  “Why did he get away?”

  “We didn’t know he was there. Willie spotted him driving away in Micklem’s car.”

  Alsconi continued to stare into the fire. His expression was still benign, but his fingers remained still and from experience Felix knew this was a sign of danger.

  “He shouldn’t have been allowed to get away,” Alsconi said at last. “No doubt you will take the necessary disciplinary action. However, no damage has been done. The chauffeur will, of course, go to the police. It would seem we have now reached a phase in the progress of our organization that was bound to be reached sooner or later. For the past three years I have been preparing for such an emergency. It will be interesting to see if the yearly donations I have made to the church, the police and to the various charity organizations will now bear fruit. It will be the chauffeur’s word against mine. You will take all necessary precautions. I shall invite the police to search the house: in fact, I shall insist on them doing so. Make sure you don’t cause them any embarrassment. They must not find anything: you understand?”

  “Yes,” Felix said.

  Alsconi looked at him.

  “A visit from the police doesn’t alarm you?” he asked.

  “Of course not,” Felix said.

  “That is as it should be,” Alsconi said, nodding his head. “You and Lorelli will not be seen. But it is possible that she might be alarmed. She is highly strung. It might even occur to her that this is the end of the organization. You will see she doesn’t panic?”

  “Yes,” Felix said stonily, his mouth turning dry.

  “She is an attractive young woman,” Alsconi went on. “I have known her longer than you and I know her weaknesses.

  She is inclined to lose her nerve in an emergency.”

  “The Pasero girl’s death has upset her,” Felix said, trying to keep his voice steady. “She’ll get over it.”

  Alsconi nodded.

  “Yes. Since you and she have formed an alliance perhaps you will make yourself responsible for her actions ?”

  “She’ll be all right,” Felix said, feeling sweat on his face.

  Alsconi looked at him.

  “Or perhaps you would prefer me to talk to her? I hesitate to interfere between the two of you. A man should be able to control his mistress.”

  “I can take care of her,” Felix said curtly.

  “That is as it should be. Enjoy women, Felix; they are given to men to enjoy, but don’t let them control you. It is quite fatal. I found it necessary to give up the pleasures of women years ago. They have a dangerous way of sapping one’s will power, diverting one’s aim in life and causing trouble.”

  Felix didn’t say anything.

  “We have rathe
r lost sight of Micklem, haven’t we?” Alsconi said, after a pause. “Did he say why he was in the garden?”

  “Carlos was a little rough with him. He hasn’t yet recovered consciousness.”

  “Not too rough, I hope? He represents a very valuable investment.”

  “I’ve asked Englemann to have a look at him. He’ll be all right.”

  “So he asked Pedoni about the Tortoise ward?” Alsconi went on.

  “Yes. He also mentioned Genga and Vaga to Pedoni.”

  “Did he? Now how-did he get on to that? Have you any ideas?”

  “Crantor says Micklem was a close friend of Guido Ferenci.”

  “Ah! So that’s it. You should have told me before. That would explain why Micklem has been making inquiries. He is a persistent busybody. He has too much money and too little to do. Never mind, we have him now, and we can turn that to our profit. I will see him at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning. In the meantime you must find out where he is staying and who his companions are. The police are certain to visit us, but can handle that.” He ran his fingers through the cat’s fur. “Crantor appears to be quite a discovery, doesn’t he?” he went on. “I like the way he handled the Ferenci affair. A ruthless man: a man after my own heart.” His deep-set black eyes rested on Felix’s face.

  “You must be ruthless too, Felix. Up to now you have had an easy, comfortable time here. Don’t let it soften you. You have known hardship; you have an impressive reputation. Don’t let the two years you have spent here spoil that reputation.”

  “If you’re not satisfied with my work,” Felix said, stung to reckless anger, “say so.”

  Alsconi smiled at him.

  “That is not my method, Felix. You should know that by now. I expect the people I employ to give me their best; if they don’t I get rid of them.” He waved his hand towards the door in a gesture of dimissal. “Bring Micklem to me at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  Felix went out of the room. He took with him a sick feeling of fear.

  The dull, throbbing ache in his head jogged Don back to consciousness. He half opened his eyes and shut them again as the hard, bright light from an overhead lamp dazzled him.

  He lay still for some minutes, then his mind began to function again. He remembered the swift rush of the negro towards him and his own body swerve. He remembered punching at the negro’s throat as the great hands reached for him and the professional way the negro had shifted to avoid the punch. Then something that felt like a hammer had smashed against the side of his head and the ground on which he had been standing seemed to split open and he dropped into darkness.

  He touched his aching head and felt dried, hard blood just above his right ear. He thought it was a wonder the negro hadn’t broken his skull.

  He made an effort and forced open his eyes. He blinked around in the hard light. He seemed to be in some sort of cave: the walls were of rock and they were damp. He found himself lying on a concrete floor on which was a thin covering of straw. When he moved he heard a rattle of a chain and looking down, he saw he was chained by the ankle to the wall.

  He rested his back against the wall and waited until the pain in his head receded.

  What had happened to Harry? he wondered. He had told him to remain on the wall, and Hairy would obey orders. By now he was certain to have gone for help. But how would he make himself understood to the Italian police? Would he think of telephoning Dicks? If he had already done so, the police might be on their way to look for him. Did the gang know that Harry had been with him? That was an important point. If they did, they must realize that sooner or later the police would raid the building. He looked around the cave again. The single hard light in the roof of the cave shone down on him, but the rest of the cave was in heavy shadow. Was he under the house or had they moved him to another hideout?

  He looked at his watch and was surprised to see it was half-past ten: presumably half-past ten in the morning. Although the blow he had received from the negro had been a violent one, Don was sure it alone would not have kept him unconscious for so long. He pushed back his right sleeve. On his forearm he could just make out the tiny scar from a hypodermic needle and he grimaced.

  He now turned his attention to the band around his ankle that was fastened to a chain that was stapled into the face of the rock. The band around his ankle was of steel. It fitted tightly and was fastened by a snap-lock that didn’t look to Don particularly complicated. He was an expert on locks and he was sure that if he could find a piece of wire, the lock wouldn’t present any difficulties. There was time for that, he decided. Even if he was free of the chain, it didn’t mean he could get out of the cave.

  He was suddenly aware of a light that seemed to be far off, coming towards him, out of the shadows of the cave and it was only then that he realized that across the far side of the cave was the mouth of a tunnel. It was only by the length of time it took Carlos, the negro, to come into the cave that Don could judge how long the tunnel was. He guessed it must be at least a hundred and fifty yards long.

  The negro came into the light and looked down at him: his thick lips peeled off his teeth in a jeering grin.

  “How are you, bud?” he said. “You and me are going for a little walk. Take it easy. Don’t start anything you can’t finish.”

  Don looked beyond Carlos to the mouth of the tunnel. He caught sight of two of the wolf-hounds standing in the shadows watching him.

  Carlos looked over his shoulder and grinned.

  “Those dawgs are cute,” he said. “They’ll have your throat out in a flash if you start something. They’re real smart.

  They’ll walk along as quietly as a couple of lambs, but start something and see the trouble you’ll be in.”

  He came over and kneeling beside Don, he unlocked the band around his ankle. Don could have taken him in a ju-jitsu hold, but the dogs were too much of a handicap.

  “Come on, bud,” Carlos said. “Doc wants to look you over, then the boss wants to talk to you.”

  Don got to his feet. He felt shaky and he realized he was in no condition to start anything even if the dogs weren’t there to guard him.

  “Maybe you and I can get together without the dogs to help you,” he said. “I have an idea for all your size you can hand it out a lot better than you can take it.”

  Carlos laughed, showing pink gums.

  “Don’t kid yourself, bud,” he said. “You ain’t got nothing I couldn’t take.” He snapped his fingers at the dogs who moved into the cave, looking at Don. “Come on; straight ahead.”

  Don walked into the tunnel, the dogs at his heels. Carlos sent the beam of his powerful flashlamp ahead so Don could see where he was going.

  “Turn left ahead, bud,” Carlos said and directed the beam of his light on to a narrow opening that had been hacked out of the rock.

  Don found himself on a narrow ramp that led steeply upwards. He climbed the ramp and came to a steel door.

  “Shove it open, bud,” Carlos said.

  Don pushed against the door that swung inwards. He came out into a narrow, brightly lit corridor, the walls painted a glistening white.

  A door faced him; another- door was a few yards down the corridor.

  “In there bud,” Carlos said, reaching over Don’s shoulder and pushing open the first door. “Go ahead and tidy yourself up. I’ll wait here for you.”

  Don entered the luxuriously equipped bathroom. He first attended to the broken skin on his forehead, then, using the electric shaver, he shaved himself smooth again. Stripping off his clothes, he took a shower, and twenty minutes later he stepped out of the bathroom, feeling and looking a lot better, to find Carlos lolling against the opposite wall, smoking.

  “You look more like your old self, bud,” the negro said.

  “Now come and see the Doc. Don’t get snooty with him. He can be tricky if he doesn’t like you.”

  He ambled down the corridor, rapped on the further door, turned the handle and pushed it open. He jerk
ed his head at Don and stood aside.

  Don walked into a large room that was equipped as an operating theatre. He could see at a glance that the equipment was up-to-date, extensive and expensive.

  A tall, elderly man, wearing a white coat, sat at a desk. His lean grey face was lined and coldly impersonal. He looked up at Don and there was something in the washed-out blue eyes that sent a prickle crawling up Don’s spine.

  “I am Dr Englemann,” the man in the white coat said and got to his feet. “The wound you have is superficial, but it should be dressed. Sit down, Mr Micklem.”

  “No, thanks,” Don said. “I’ve fixed it. It is fine as it is.”

  Englemann shrugged his shoulders.

  “You must please yourself,” he said and his eyes travelled over Don. “Would you like me to give you something for your headache?”

  “No, thanks,” Don said.

  Englemann sat down at the desk.

  “Then I won’t detain you, Mr Micklem. We shall be meeting again I understand; only next time you won’t be a voluntary patient.”

  “What does that mean exactly?” Don asked.

  “It will be explained to you’ Englemann said and waved his hand at Carlos who had moved into the room. “Take Mr Micklem away.”

  Carlos touched Don’s arm.

  “Come on, bud,"” he said.

  Don went into the passage. Carlos followed and closed the door. The two wolf-hounds got to their feet, their ears pricked.

  “The boss’ll see you now,” Carlos said. “Watch your step with him: he’s another guy who can get tricky if anyone treads on his toes.”

  “What a fascinating bunch of crackpots you seem to house here,” Don said.

  Carlos laughed.

  “Boy! you never said a truer word.”

  He led the way down the corridor. He paused outside a massive steel door, touched a rubber-headed button on the wall and waited. After a few moment’s delay the door swung open. Facing them was a flight of stone steps that led upwards.

  Carlos stood aside.

  “Go on up, bud.”

  Don mounted the steps. He counted them as he climbed. When he reached the thirty-second step, he came to another steel door.