Читать книгу The Golden Keel / The Vivero Letter - Desmond Bagley, Desmond Bagley - Страница 28

Early next morning I went to find the Three Fishes. It was just an ordinary dockside café, the kind of dump you find on any waterfront. Having marked it, I went for a stroll round the yacht basin, looking at the sleek sailing yachts and motor craft of the European rich. A lot were big boats needing a paid crew to handle them while the owner and his guests took it easy, but some were more to my taste – small, handy sailing cruisers run by their owners who weren’t afraid of a bit of work.

After a pleasant hour I began to feel hungry so I went back to the Three Fishes for a late breakfast and got there on the dot of nine. She wasn’t there, so I ordered breakfast and it turned out better than I expected. I had just started to eat when she slid into the seat opposite.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said.

‘That’s O.K.’

She was wearing slacks and sweater, the kind of clothes you see in the women’s magazines but seldom in real life. The sweater suited her.

She looked at my plate and said, ‘I had an early breakfast, but I think I’ll have another. Do you mind if I join you?’

‘It’s your party.’

‘The food is good here,’ she said, and called a waiter, ordering in rapid Italian. I continued to eat and said nothing. It was up to her to make the first move. As I had said – it was her party.

She didn’t say anything, either; but just watched me eat. When her own breakfast arrived she attacked it as though she hadn’t eaten for a week. She was a healthy girl with a healthy appetite. I finished my breakfast and produced a packet of cigarettes. ‘Do you mind?’ I asked.

I caught her with her mouth full and she shook her head, so I lit a cigarette. At last she pushed her plate aside with a sigh and took the cigarette I offered. ‘Do you know our Espresso?’ she asked.

‘Yes, I know it.’

She laughed. ‘Oh, yes, I forgot that it must have penetrated even your Darkest Africa. It is supposed to be for after dinner, but I drink it all the time. Would you like some?’

I said that I would, so she called out to the waiter, ‘Due Espressi,’ and turned back to me. ‘Well, Mr Halloran, have you thought about our conversation last night?’

I said I had thought about it.

‘And so?’

‘And so,’ I repeated. ‘Or more precisely – so what? I’ll need to know a lot more about you before I start confiding in you, Contessa.’

She seemed put out. ‘Don’t call me Contessa,’ she said pettishly. ‘What do you want to know?’

I flicked ash into the ashtray. ‘For one thing, how did you intercept Metcalfe’s message? It doesn’t seem a likely thing for a Contessa to come across – just like that.’

‘I told you I have friends,’ she said coldly.

‘Who are these friends?’

She sighed. ‘You know that my father and I were rebels against the Fascist Government during the war?’

‘You were with the partisans, I know.’

She gestured with her hand. ‘All right, with the partisans, if you wish. Although do not let my friends hear you say that – the Communists have made it a dirty word. My friends were also partisans and I have never lost contact with them. You see, I was only a little girl at the time and they made me a sort of mascot of the brigade. After the war most of them went back to their work, but some of them had never known any sort of life other than killing Germans. It is a hard thing to forget, you understand?’

I said, ‘You mean they’d had a taste of adventure, and liked it.’

‘That is right. There was plenty of adventure even after the war. Some of them stopped killing Germans and started to kill Communists – Italian Communists. It was dreadful. But the Communists were too strong, anyway. A few turned to other adventures – some are criminals – nothing serious, you understand; some smuggling, some things worse, but nothing very terrible in most cases. Being criminals, they also know other criminals.’

I began to see how it had been worked; it was all very logical, really.

‘There is a big man in Genoa, Torloni; he is a leader of criminals, a very big man in that sort of thing. He sent word to Savona, to Livorno, to Rapallo, to places as far south as Napoli, that he was interested in you and would pay for any information. He gave all your names and the name of your boat.’

That was the sort of pull Metcalfe would have. Probably this Torloni owed him a favour and was paying it off.

Francesca said, ‘My friends heard the name – Coertze. It is very uncommon in Italy, and they knew I was interested in a man of that name, so I was told of this. When I also heard the name of Walker I was sure that something was happening.’ She shrugged. ‘And then there was this Halloran – you. I did not know about you, so I am finding out.’

‘Has Torloni been told about us?’

She shook her head. ‘I told my friends to see that Torloni was not told. My friends are very strong on this coast; during the war all these hills belonged to us – not to the Germans.’

I began to get the picture. Francesca had been the mascot and, besides, she was the daughter of the revered leader. She was the Lady of the Manor, the Young Mistress who could do no wrong.

It looked also as though, just by chance, Metcalfe had been stymied – temporarily, at least. But I was landed with Francesca and her gang of merry men who had the advantage of knowing just what they wanted.

I said, ‘There’s another thing. You said your father doesn’t know anything about this. How can that be when Alberto Corso wrote him a letter?’

‘I never gave it to him,’ she said simply.

I looked at her quizzically. ‘Is that how a daughter behaves to her father? Not only reading his correspondence, but withholding it as well.’

‘It was not like that at all,’ she said sharply. ‘I will tell you how it was.’ She leaned her elbows on the table. ‘I was very young during the war, but my father made me work, everyone had to work. It was one of my tasks to gather together the possessions of those who were killed so that useful things could be saved and anything personal could be passed on to the family.

‘When Alberto was killed on the cliff I gathered his few things and I found the letter. It was addressed to my father and there were two pages, otherwise it was unfinished. I read it briefly and it seemed important, but how important it was I did not know because I was very young. I put it in my pocket to give to my father.

‘But there was a German attack and we had to move. We sheltered in a farmhouse but we had to move even from there very quickly. Now, I carried my own possessions in a little tin box and that was left in the farmhouse. It was only in 1946 that I went back to the farm to thank those people – the first chance I had.

‘They gave me wine and then the farmer’s wife brought out the little box and asked it if was mine. I had forgotten all about it and I had forgotten what was in it.’ She smiled. ‘There was a doll – no, not a doll; what you call an … Eddy-bear?’

‘A Teddy-bear.’

‘That is right; a Teddy-bear – I have still got it. There were some other things and Alberto’s letter was there also.’

I said, ‘And you still didn’t give it to your father. Why not?’

She thumped the table with a small fist. ‘It is difficult for you to understand the Italy of just after the war, but I will try to explain. The Communists were very strong, especially here in the north, and they ruined my father after the war. They said he had been a collaborationist and that he had fought the Communist partisans instead of fighting the Fascists. My father, who had been fighting the Fascists all his life! They brought up false evidence and no one would listen to him.

‘His estates had been confiscated by the Fascist Government and he could not get them back. How could he when Togliatti, the Vice-Premier of the Government, was the leader of the Italian Communist Party? They said, ‘No, this man was a collaborator, so he must be punished. But even with all their false evidence they dared not bring him to trial, but he could not get back his estates, and today he is a poor man.’

Francesca’s eyes were full of tears. She wiped them with a tissue and said, ‘Excuse me, but my feeling on this is strong.’

I said awkwardly, ‘That’s all right.’

She looked up and said, ‘These Communists with their fighting against the Fascists. My father fought ten times harder than any of them. Have you heard of the 52nd Partisan Brigade?’

I shook my head.

‘That was the famous Communist Brigade which captured Mussolini. The famous Garibaldi Brigade. Do you know how many men were in this so-famous Garibaldi Brigade in 1945?’

I said, ‘I know very little about it.’

‘Eighteen men,’ she said contemptuously. ‘Eighteen men called themselves the 52nd Brigade. My father commanded fifty times as many men. But when I went to Parma for the anniversary celebrations in 1949 the Garibaldi Brigade marched through the street and there were hundreds of men. All the Communist scum had crawled out of their holes now the war was over and it was safe. They marched through the streets and every man wore a red scarf about his neck and every man called himself a partisan. They even painted the statue of Garibaldi so that it had a red shirt and a red hat. So my friends and I do not call ourselves partisans, and you must not call us by that word the Communists have made a mockery of.’

She was shaking with rage. Her fists were clenched and she looked at me with eyes bright with unshed tears.

‘The Communists ruined my father because they knew he was a strong man and because they knew he would oppose them in Italy. He was a liberal, he was for the middle of the road – the middle way. He who is in the middle of the road gets knocked down, but he could not understand that,’ she said sombrely. ‘He thought it was an honourable fight – as though the Communists have ever fought honourably.’

It was a moving story and typical of our times. I also observed that it fitted with what Coertze had told me. I said, ‘But the Communists are not nearly as strong today. Is it not possible for your father to appeal and to have his case reviewed?’

‘Mud sticks, whoever throws it,’ she said sadly. ‘Besides, the war was a long time ago – people do not like to be reminded about those times – and people, especially officials, never like to admit their mistakes.’

She was realistic about the world and I realized that I must be realistic too. I said, ‘But what has this got to do with the letter?’

‘You wanted to know why I did not give the letter to my father after the war; is that so?’

‘Yes.’

She smiled tightly. ‘You must meet my father and then you would understand. You see, whatever you are looking for is valuable. I understood from Alberto’s letter that there are papers and a lot of gold bars. Now, my father is an honourable man. He would return everything to the Government because from the Government it came. To him, it would be unthinkable to keep any of the gold for himself. It would be dishonourable.’

She looked down at the backs of her hands. ‘Now, I am not an honourable woman. It hurts me to see my father so poor he has to live in a Milan slum, that he has to sell his furniture to buy food to eat. He is an old man – it is not right that he should live like that. But if I can get some money I would see that he had a happy old age. He does not need to know where the money comes from.’

I leaned back in my chair and looked at her thoughtfully. I looked at the expensive, fashion-plate clothing she was wearing, and she coloured under my scrutiny. I said softly, ‘Why don’t you send him money? I hear you made a good marriage; you ought to be able to spare a little for an old man.’

Her lips twisted in a harsh smile. ‘You don’t know anything about me, do you, Mr Halloran? I can assure you that I have no money and no husband, either – or no one that I would care to call my husband.’ She moved her hands forward on the table. ‘I sold my rings to get money to send to my father, and that was a long time ago. If it were not for my friends I would be on the streets. No, I have no money, Mr Halloran.’

There was something here I did not understand, but I didn’t press it. The reason she wanted to cut in didn’t matter; all that mattered was she had us over a barrel. With her connections we could not make a move in Italy without falling over an ex-partisan friend of hers. If we tried to lift the gold without coming to terms with her she would coolly step in at the right time and take the lot. She had us taped.

I said, ‘You’re as bad as Metcalfe.’

‘That is something I wanted to ask you,’ she said. ‘Who is this Metcalfe?’

‘He’s up to the same lark that you are.’

Her command of English was not up to that. ‘Lark?’ she said in mystification. ‘That is a bird?’

I said, ‘He’s one of our mutual competitors. He’s after the gold, too.’ I leaned over the table. ‘Now, if we cut you in, we would want certain guarantees.’

‘I do not think you are in a position to demand guarantees,’ she said coldly.

‘Nevertheless, we would want them. Don’t worry, this is in your interest, too. Metcalfe is the man behind Torloni and he’s quite a boy. Now, we would want protection against Metcalfe and anything he could throw against us. From what you’ve said, Torloni carries a bit of weight, and if he hasn’t got enough, Metcalfe can probably drum up some more. What I want to know is – can you give us protection against that lot?’

‘I can find a hundred men, any time I want,’ she said proudly.

‘What kind of men?’ I asked bluntly. ‘Old soldiers on pension?’

She smiled. ‘Most of my wartime friends live quietly and go about their work. I would not want them to be mixed up in anything illegal or violent, although they would help if they had to. But my …’ she hesitated for a word, ‘… my more unsavoury friends I would willingly commit to this affair. I told you they are adventurous and they are not old men – no older than you, Mr Halloran,’ she ended sweetly.

‘A hundred of them?’

She thought a little. ‘Fifty, then,’ she compromised. ‘My father’s hill fighters will be more than a match for those dockland gangsters.’

I had no doubt about that – if they fought man to man. But Metcalfe and Torloni could probably whip up every thug in Italy, and would do for a stake as large as this.

I said, ‘I want further guarantees. How do I know we won’t be double-crossed?’

‘You don’t,’ she said meagrely.

I decided to go in for some melodramatics. ‘I want you to swear that you won’t double-cross us.’

She raised her hand. ‘I swear that I, Francesca di Estrenoli, promise faithfully not to trick, in any way, Mr Halloran of South Africa.’ She smiled at me. ‘Is that good enough?’

I shook my head. ‘No, it isn’t enough. You said yourself that you were a dishonourable woman. No, I want you to swear on your father’s name and honour.’

Pink anger spots burned on her cheeks and I thought for a moment that she was going to slap my face. I said gently, ‘Do you swear?’

She dropped her eyes. ‘I swear,’ she said in a low voice.

‘On your father’s name and honour,’ I persisted.

‘On my father’s name and on his honour,’ she said, and looked up. ‘Now I hope you are satisfied.’ There were tears in her eyes again.

I relaxed. It wasn’t much but it was the best I could do and I hoped it would hold her.

The man from behind the counter came over to the table slowly. He looked at me with dislike and said to Francesca, ‘Is everything all right, madame?’

‘Yes, Giuseppi, everything is all right.’ She smiled at him. ‘Nothing is wrong.’

Giuseppi smiled back at her, gave me a hard look and returned to the counter. I felt a prickle at the back of my neck. I had the feeling that if Francesca had said that everything was not all right I would have been a candidate for a watery dockside grave before the week was out.

I cocked my thumb at the counter. ‘One of your soldier friends?’

She nodded. ‘He saw you had hurt me, so he came over to see what he could do.’

‘I didn’t mean to hurt you,’ I said.

‘You shouldn’t have come here. You shouldn’t have come to Italy. What is it to you? I can understand Coertze and Walker; they fought the Germans, they buried the gold. But I cannot understand you.’

I said gently, ‘I fought the Germans, too, in Holland, and Germany.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’

‘That’s all right. As for the rest …’ I shrugged. ‘Somebody had to plan – Coertze and Walker couldn’t do it. Walker is an alcoholic and Coertze is all beef and no – subtlety. They needed someone to get behind and push.’

‘But why is it you who has to push?’

‘I had a reason once,’ I said shortly. ‘Forget it. Let’s get some things straightened out. What about the split?’

‘The split?’

‘How do we divide the loot?’

‘I hadn’t thought of that – it will need some thinking about.’

‘It will,’ I agreed. ‘Now, there’s the three of us, there’s you and there’s fifty of your friends – fifty-four in all. If you’re thinking along the lines of fifty-four equal shares you can forget about it. We won’t have it.’

‘I can’t see how we can work this out when we don’t know how much money will be involved.’

‘We work it on a percentage basis,’ I said impatiently. ‘This is how I see it – one share each for the three of us, one share for you and one share to be divided among your friends.’

‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘That’s not fair. You have done nothing about this, at all. You are just a plunderer.’

‘I thought you’d take that attitude,’ I said. ‘Now, listen, and listen damned carefully because I’m not going to repeat this. Coertze and Walker are entitled to a share each. They fought for the gold and they disposed of it carefully. Besides, they are the only people who know where it is. Right?’

She nodded agreement.

I smiled grimly. ‘Now we come to me whom you seem to despise.’ She made a sudden gesture with her hand and I waved her down. ‘I’m the brains behind this. I know a way of getting the stuff out of Italy and I’ve arranged a sale for it. Without me this whole plan would flop, and I’ve invested a lot of time and money in it. Therefore I think I’m entitled to an equal share.’

I stabbed my finger at her. ‘And now you come along and blackmail us. Yes, blackmail,’ I said as she opened her mouth to protest. ‘You’ve done nothing constructive towards the plan and you complain about getting an equal share. As for your friends, as far as I’m concerned, they are hired muscle to be paid for. If you don’t think they’re being paid enough with one-fifth between them you can supplement it out of your own share.’

‘But it will be so little for them,’ she said.

‘Little!’ I said, and was shocked into speechlessness. I recovered my breath. ‘Do you know how much is involved?’

‘Not exactly,’ she said cautiously.

I threw discretion to the winds. ‘There’s over £1,500,000 in gold alone – and there’s probably an equal amount in cut gem-stones. The gold alone means £300,000 for a fifth share and that’s £6,000 each for your friends. If you count the jewels you can double those figures.’

Her eyes widened as she mentally computed this into lire. It was an astronomical calculation and took her some time. ‘So much,’ she whispered.

‘So much,’ I said. I had just had an idea. The gems had been worrying me because they would be hot – in the criminal sense. They would need recutting and disguising and the whole thing would be risky. Now I saw the chance of doing an advantageous deal.

‘Look here,’ I said generously. ‘I’ve just offered you and your friends two-fifths of the take. Supposing the jewels are worth more than two-fifths – and I reckon they are – then you can take the lot of them, leaving the disposal of the gold to the three of us. After all, gems are more portable and easily hidden.’

She fell for it. ‘I know a jeweller who was with us during the war; he could do the valuation. Yes, that seems reasonable.’

It seemed reasonable to me, also, since I had been taking only the gold into my calculations all the time. Coertze, Walker and myself would still come out with half a million each.

‘There’s one other thing,’ I said.

‘What’s that?’

‘There’s a lot of paper money in this hoard – lire, francs, dollars and so on. Nobody takes any of that – there’ll be records of the numbers lodged with every bank in the world. You’ll have to control your friends when it comes to that.’

‘I can control them,’ she said loftily. She smiled and held out her hand. ‘It’s a deal, then, as the Americans say.’

I looked at her hand but didn’t touch it. I shook my head. ‘Not yet. I still have to discuss it with Coertze and Walker. They’ll take a hell of a lot of convincing – especially Coertze. What did you do to him, anyway?’ She withdrew her hand slowly and looked at me strangely.‘Almost you convince me that you are an honest man.’

I grinned at her cheerfully. ‘Out of necessity, that’s all. Those two are the only ones who know where the gold is.’

‘Oh, yes, I had forgotten. As for Coertze, he is a boor.’

‘He’d be the first to agree with you,’ I said. ‘But it means something different in Afrikaans.’ I had a sudden thought. ‘Does anyone else know what you know – about Alberto’s letter and all that?’

She started to shake her head but stopped suddenly, deciding to be honest. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘One man, but he can be trusted – he is a true friend.’

‘O.K.,’ I said. ‘I just wanted to be sure that no one else will try to pull the same stunt that you’ve just pulled. The whole damn’ Mediterranean seems to be getting into the act. I wouldn’t tell your friends anything you don’t have to – at least, not until it’s all over. If they are criminals, as you say, they might get their own ideas.’

‘I haven’t told them anything so far, and I’m not going to tell them now.’

‘Good. But you can tell them to watch for Torloni’s men. They’ll be keeping an eye on Sanford when they get round to finding where she is.’

‘Oh, yes, Mr Halloran; I’ll certainly tell them to keep a watch on your boat,’ she said sweetly.

I laughed. ‘I know you will. When you’ve got things organized drop in and see us anytime – but make it quick, there’s a time limit on all this.’

I got up from the table and left her. I thought she might as well pay for the breakfast since we were partners – or, as she had put it, ‘in association’.