‘Listen to that,’ said Tanner, to Sykes and Trahair. ‘And you know what? I can’t hear any guns.’
Sykes grinned. ‘Feels like we’ve come home.’
Tanner stretched and smiled as he looked at Francesca’s house, but then the front door opened and Captain Masters appeared, his brow furrowed. Trouble. What’s happened?
‘Good to see you, sir,’ said Masters, hurrying towards him.
‘What is it, Jerry?’ said Tanner. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘It’s Francesca,’ he said, ‘and Cara.’
Please no. ‘What’s happened?’
‘They’ve disappeared. Two days ago. They were going to the baker’s, were seen crossing the square and then they just disappeared.’
‘Oh, Jesus,’ said Tanner. ‘What’s he done to them?’
‘Camprese?’ said Sykes.
‘Of course it’s bloody Camprese,’ snapped Tanner.
‘We think we know where they might be,’ said Masters. ‘Sergeant Lavery has found out from the priest that Camprese has a farm a couple of miles west of the town. Apparently, he owns most of the citrus groves around here and these buildings are where they harvest the crop.’
‘This is about revenge, ain’t it?’ said Sykes. ‘If you come after him, he’s on his ground and has Francesca and Cara. If you don’t, he’s still got the most beautiful girl in town.’
Tanner stepped away from them, tapping his clenched fist into the palm of his other hand, trying to think. Sykes was right, he was sure of it. Why else would Francesca and Cara disappear like that? If Camprese had wanted them dead, he’d have simply killed and dumped them. And the priest had told Lavery where he thought Camprese ‘might’ be. If Camprese hadn’t wanted them to know, the priest would not have said a word. No one would. Keeping mum was part of the Mafia code.
Think, think.
‘Sir?’ said Sykes.
‘We need to think clearly,’ said Tanner, turning back towards his friend. ‘Camprese is cunning, but he’s ignorant. He knows how to do things the Sicilian way, but he doesn’t know much about us.’
‘And he’s no soldier.’
‘No, and nor are his men. Most of them will be older blokes – men the same sort of age as he is.’
‘It’s true, there are hardly any young men in Motta,’ said Masters.
‘But we can’t go in there in force. Do that and he’ll kill them both. I’m afraid this is something I’m going to have to do on my own.’
‘No,’ said Sykes. ‘I’m coming with you. You can’t do this entirely on your own. We need a small group – ask Browner and ask Mr Shopland too. They’re both good men who know how to look after themselves. It’s a shame we haven’t got Mac. He’d have been ideal.’
Tanner nodded. ‘All right, Stan, if you’re sure.’
‘I am. You’re not the only one fond of those girls, you know.’
‘Just four of us, then.’
‘Sir, I’m really not sure this is a good idea,’ said Masters.
‘We’ll be fine, Jerry,’ said Tanner. ‘I’m not going to be beaten by a little jumped-up Eyetie like Camprese.’
They found the farm on aerial photographs and, after studying it in detail, set out soon after. It was just past seven o’clock. The land to the west of the town undulated, rolling in long ridges, than ran roughly north–south, so they could reach the first ridge overlooking Camprese’s farm on the rising ground beyond without being seen.
It was dusk by the time they were on the first ridge, but it was not until the sun had disappeared behind the mountains to the west that they dared bring out their binoculars and peer at the farm.
The buildings were little more than barns: one two-storey structure, then three sides of others, built around a square courtyard. There was no wall, no fence; the buildings themselves were the defence.
‘So, what’s the plan?’ asked Sykes.
‘I’m not entirely sure,’ said Tanner. ‘But I think early morning, don’t you? There’s almost a full moon tonight. We’ll be able to see clearly enough but there’ll still be plenty of shadows. We’ll have to be quiet, so if there are any guards, we can take care of them and get into the buildings. Mr Shopland and Browner provide cover, nothing more.’
‘Won’t they hear any shots, though?’ asked Brown, clutching his Thompson.
‘Hopefully there won’t be any, Browner. We’ll use knives.’ He pulled out the commando dagger that his friend Major Vaughan had given him.
‘What about any distractions?’ asked Sykes.
‘Not unless I say so,’ said Tanner. ‘We’ve got to get them out alive, remember?’
They moved off again at midnight and by a quarter to one were in position, lying low in the groves that grew all around the farm. From their position they could see sentries, two men standing by the main entrance into the courtyard, which was a roofed archway.
‘Shall I have a scout around the place?’ whispered Sykes.
‘Good idea,’ replied Tanner.
They watched and waited. There were no windows facing out from the main building on the ground floor, but a series of four higher up, all shuttered. Sykes reappeared about twenty minutes later.
‘There’s no one else outside.’
‘Did you spot anything?’ asked Tanner.
‘There are lamps on in the building to the left. The windows are shuttered, but I could see a faint glow.’
They waited a bit longer, then Tanner looked at his watch. ‘It’s ten to two.’
‘Dead man’s hour,’ said Sykes.
‘All right, so this is what we’ll do,’ said Tanner. ‘Stan, you and I will get the guards, then we’ll signal to you two to move up. Take up position in the archway. If we need you, I’ll shout, but otherwise don’t do anything. Just cover us. All right?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Shopland.
‘Right, Stan, let’s go.’
They moved off, circling around the edge of the groves and approaching the farm from the left. As they stood flat against the wall of the left-hand barn, Tanner said, ‘You go all the way around.’ He looked at his watch again. ‘It’s nearly two now. In five minutes be ready.’
Sykes gripped Tanner’s shoulder and hurried off. Tanner waited, watching the minutes on his watch.
Now. His heart was beating fast as he squeezed his finger and thumb together, pressed them to his lips and blew, making a short, low-pitched squeal, like that of a rabbit.
Forty yards away, the Italian guards muttered something.
Good.
He made the noise again, slightly louder this time, and crouching low in the shadows, saw both men turn and look towards the sound. Then one of walked towards him. Tanner made the noise a third time, and the first man paused, then walked forward again, his Beretta in his hands. Tanner waited, watching him approach closer. Ten yards, six, four – within touching distance almost – and then the man paused.
A muffled sound from behind made him turn. At that moment, Tanner leaped up, pressed his hand tight around the man’s mouth and thrust his knife deep into the Italian’s side, piercing the kidney and killing him instantly. Taking his weight, he dragged him around the corner, then scampered to the archway, where he saw Sykes. Good. His friend had obviously dealt with the other guard.
They waved towards Shopland and Brown, saw them emerge from the shadows of the groves, then together they walked under the archway to the edge of the courtyard. The far side and the long, low building to the right were in darkness, but there were lamps on in the building to the left, as Sykes had warned. A low loggia extended out from this structure, while above there was an open corridor, with a flight of outdoor stone steps leading up to it at either end. Moonlight shone on this building but, Tanner thought, if they could reach the upper corridor, they would be in shadow once more.
He whispered his plan to Sykes and was about to move, when a door opened in the corner closest to them and two more men emerged. They paused, lit cigarettes, said something to one
another in low voices, then walked towards the archway.
Tanner signalled to Sykes – You take the right, I’ll take the left. Then, as the two men turned the corner, they pounced again, leaping from behind out of the shadows and killing them before they could utter more than a muffled exclamation of surprise.
‘That’s two less to worry about,’ whispered Sykes.
‘Yes, but when the others don’t come back, they’ll know something’s up. We need to move fast, Stan. Really fast.’
He darted straight across the yard, keeping low, past the circular millstone at the centre of the courtyard, and reached the steps, paused, waited for Sykes, then hurried along what he now realized was an open store, stacked with boxes and equipment. Where was the staircase leading down to the ground floor? Come on, come on. Ahead was a wall and then, yes, there it was, a stone staircase that turned ninety degrees against the back wall of the building and led to the lower floor. Tanner could see the glow of light reaching up it, and now, suddenly, he could hear voices too. Camprese? Yes. Two men – or was it three? – talking, the tone urgent. Then outside, beneath them, a door opened and a man stepped out.
‘Fredo! Vito!’ he called.
Tanner could hear Camprese again. Then another door opened and he was shouting, ‘Andiamo! Alzati, alzati!’ He heard a scream – Francesca – and Cara too, as she began to cry.
Sykes was watching the courtyard, and pointing.
‘Fredo! Vito!’ the man called again. Tanner stood beside Sykes and watched. The man had a pistol in his hand and was cautiously approaching the archway. Then he switched on an electric torch.
‘Fredo?’ he called again.
He disappeared from view. A moment later they heard a muffled cry.
Sykes made a line across his throat, then whispered, ‘I’m going back down. If I go to the door, I can distract them while you get down the stairs.’
Tanner nodded, then carefully began stepping down the stone steps, taking out his Colt as he did so and silently pulling back the catch. At the corner, he paused and listened.
Camprese was talking in a low voice to just one other man. Where were the girls? In the room?
He waited there, listening, then heard Francesca say something.
‘Sta ’zitto!’ said Camprese. A loud slap.
‘Bastardo!’ Francesca shouted.
‘Sta ’zitto! Sta ’zitto!’ hissed Camprese.
But the exchange had told Tanner what he wanted to know: they were in the room, but away to the left, underneath the store. It meant he could go down the staircase without being seen.
He was about to move when from outside he heard a scrape of stone. Stan.
Camprese called something, and then someone was moving towards the staircase. It was too late to move and a moment later Tanner saw the man’s shadow edging up the wall and then he turned. For a split second, the Italian stared at Tanner open-mouthed, and then Tanner lunged, this time towards the heart, and the man gasped and fell towards him, dropping his Beretta. Tanner tried to grab it, but it was dark, the man was falling heavily, and suddenly the weapon was clattering down the steps.
‘Elio?’ called Camprese. There was panic in his voice now, Tanner could tell. He wondered what to do. There was only Camprese left, he was certain. No doubt he was standing by the girls, a weapon in his hand. Tanner moved down the staircase and saw now that the bottom of it faced out towards the door, and that in the doorway, a few steps back and out of sight, was Sykes.
Tanner raised his pistol and pretended to fire, then pointed at Sykes, who nodded. Holding up three fingers, Tanner counted. One, two, three.
26
As Sykes fired his Thompson, the girls screamed and Tanner sprang clear of the staircase, both hands clutching the grip of his Colt.
‘Jack!’ cried Francesca.
‘Cessare!’ shouted Camprese, his head turning rapidly back towards Tanner. Good, thought Tanner. Sykes’s burst of fire had done the trick, distracting Camprese for a brief moment.
Just as Tanner had guessed, Camprese had Francesca, with his arm around her neck and a pistol pressed against her temple. He could see no sign of Cara.
The fool. Tanner moved a step closer.
Francesca’s eyes were wide with fear.
‘Non venire più vicino o mi ucciderla!’ said Camprese, his eyes darting between Tanner and the door.
‘All right,’ said Tanner, stopping. ‘Here will do fine.’ He was about twelve yards away, he reckoned. Camprese’s head was well clear of Francesca’s – six inches at least. Closing his left eye, he lined up the sight on Camprese’s forehead.
‘Francesca,’ he said, ‘keep calm and don’t move.’
She blinked, then closed her eyes, as Tanner breathed in and gently squeezed the trigger.
With still-staring eyes, as though stunned to discover a bullet had hit his head, Camprese fell backwards with a crash, as Francesca shrieked.
‘Are you all right?’ Tanner asked her, hurrying over to take her in his arms. ‘Did he hurt you?’
She shook her head. ‘Not really. Cara!’
Sykes was beside them now. ‘Where is she?’ he asked.
Francesca broke free and hurried to a door at the far end of the room, opened it and Cara ran out, crying, and flung herself at her mother.
‘Get her out of here! Both of you, get out quick!’ Tanner told Francesca, as he glanced down at the rapidly widening pool of blood and brain spreading across the stone floor.
Francesca picked up her daughter, pressed Cara’s head to her chest, and then they were all outside, in the courtyard, where Brown and Shopland were waiting for them.
‘Thank God, sir,’ said Shopland, seeing Francesca and Cara.
‘It’s over,’ said Tanner. ‘Now let’s get them home.’
The following night, Tanner turned in early. He was exhausted. The fighting in Sicily was over, Francesca had been rescued, and the thought of a few days of doing very little had made realize how tired he was. In any case, his head hurt, throbbing oppressively. For a while he lay on the bed, staring through the open window at the milky night sky, thinking that the sooner he left this place the better. He needed to get to a proper camp before Don Calogero’s network caught up with him. He would, though, be sorry to leave Francesca. He’d met a few girls over the years. There’d been a brief love affair on Crete, a longer relationship with Lucie in Cairo, and others in between, but always the war got in the way, taking him – and often them – far away. He supposed it would be the same with Francesca. She was possibly the most beautiful woman he had ever known: the almond eyes, the fair, sun-bleached hair, and the wide, full lips that lit up her whole face when they broke into a smile; he was sure he would never tire of looking at that.
He felt sorry for her. She felt trapped, he knew, and although Camprese was dead, there would others. Another Mafia-backed mayor, and more suitors. Francesca’s future did not look good. He thought about the previous night, about how, before she had gone to bed, she had thanked him and kissed him, not on the cheek, but on the lips. It was only brief, but he wished it had lasted longer. He must do something for her, he told himself. The thought of leaving her here to her fate depressed him deeply. Perhaps, he thought, he could get her a job translating at AMGOT in Syracuse. She would be paid, she would be safe. Perhaps that might be a way out for her. Perhaps. He would ask.
Tanner drifted off to sleep, then awoke as he heard a light knock on his door.
‘Yes?’ he said.
‘Jack?’
Francesca.
‘Come in.’
She opened the door, closed it behind her, then walked to his bed, pulled off her nightgown and stood there, naked, in the moonlight, before climbing onto the bed beside him.
‘Francesca,’ he murmured.
‘I am in love with you, Jack,’ she breathed, kissing him.
Tanner smiled. ‘And do you know, Francesca? I think I’m in love with you too.’
As the sun rose over the sea
to the east, Francesca lay with her head on his chest. ‘If only every day could start like this,’ she said. ‘But soon you’ll be gone, won’t you?’
Tanner looked down at her, kissed her head, then said, ‘Marry me.’ He’d not thought of it until a moment before, but now it seemed so obvious.
Francesca raised her head and looked at him.
‘Marry me,’ he said again.
‘Don’t tease me, Jack.’
‘I’m not. I’m being serious.’
‘But how can you?’
‘Francesca,’ he said, ‘you told me you loved me.’
She lowered her head again and held him more tightly. ‘I do. God knows, I do.’
‘I love you too. So let’s get married. If you marry me, I can get you a job in Syracuse working for us. You’ll be safe there. I’ve got some money put away, so you can leave the house and sell it later if you wish. When I’m posted home, which will happen eventually, you can come too, with Cara. If anything should happen, you’ll get my pension and you’ll get my money and you’ll still be entitled to live in Britain if you want to. After the war, we can get a little farm somewhere in Dorset or Devon – it’s beautiful there. Not so hot, mind, but lovely. There’s no Mafia, it’s calm and peaceful, and I’d look after you and Cara. We could be happy. I’ve no other family, you know. It would be just us. Orphans from the war. Survivors, you and I, living happily ever after.’
Francesca said nothing.
‘I’m serious, you know,’ he said at length. ‘Please say yes. You’d make me very happy. I’m not a Catholic, it’s true, but you said you weren’t sure you believed in God.’
She lifted her head and he saw now that there were tears running down her cheeks.
‘I think I might have begun to believe in Him again,’ she said, laughing through the tears.
‘I know it would be a big step, but you said you wanted to escape. You can escape with me.’
She laughed and kissed him again, repeatedly. ‘I want to, Jack, I really do, but you must give me a little time. I need to talk to Cara. She likes you, I know, but …’ She let the sentence trail.
The Devil's Pact (2013) Page 35
