Читать книгу Bloody Passage - Jack Higgins, Justin Richards - Страница 7

The bathroom was a trifle too baroque for my taste. Water gushed from a golden lion’s mouth into a black marble tub – that sort of thing, but it was good and hot and there was plenty of it. I lay there for an hour or more, soaking away the stink of the Hole and thinking about things.

My immediate impulse was to try and get Hannah out of there by any means possible, but that was easier said than done. Stavrou had granted me an apparent freedom of movement, but what that meant in actuality was something else again.

By the time I’d shaved, I was beginning to feel almost human. I put on a robe and went into the bedroom, towelling my hair. There was a Sicilian peasant woman in a crisp white overall laying clothes out on the bed who actually curtseyed on the way out.

Underwear, slacks, shirt, shoes – everything fitted perfectly which was impressive enough until I remembered Simone. Such minor details must have been easy enough for her to provide. I thought of her briefly as I dressed and with some bitterness, but only for a moment. There were, after all, more important things to think about.

When I went out on the terrace, there was a drinks trolley that even included a couple of bottles of Irish gin. Stavrou, or Simone, obviously thought of everything. Even more interesting was the fat manilla folder on the ironwork table, so I sat down and started to explore the contents with the aid of a large gin and tonic.

The prison itself was at a place called Râs Kanai and had quite a history. The Italians had built it originally as a military fortress in colonial times. During the war the Germans had had it and then the British. Since independence, the place appeared to have been well stocked with opponents of the government of Colonel Gaddafi or those who were suspected of falling into that category.

I was halfway through when the outer door of the bedroom opened and Langley appeared followed by a small man in a shabby white-linen suit. He had tiny anxious eyes, a pale, translucent skin that seemed perpetually damp and the merest whisper of a moustache.

Langley said, ‘And this little worm is one Benito Zingari, who may or may not be of use to you.’

Zingari bobbed his head, fingering an old straw hat nervously in both hands. Langley said, ‘Ah, well, if nobody’s going to offer me a drink, I’d better try elsewhere.’

‘Why don’t you do just that?’

He smiled amicably and went out. I lit a cigarette and looked Zingari over. He smiled nervously and started to sweat.

I said, ‘They tell me you run a bar in Zabia.’

‘That’s right, signor.’ His English was really very good indeed.

‘What else do you do?’

‘A little of this – a little of that.’ He shrugged. ‘A man must make out the best way he can.’

‘Cigarette smuggling?’ I said. ‘Heroin? Women?’

He didn’t reply, but there was an edge to him and a kind of cunning in his eyes. It was as if we understood each other and that fact in itself gave him confidence.

‘All right,’ I said. ‘Help yourself to a drink and let’s talk. Have you read this file?’

‘I don’t need to, signor.’

‘Okay, tell me about it.’

‘The prison is about fifteen miles away from Zabia, signor, on the coast high above the cliffs. Râs Kanai, they call it. Cape of Fear. It was originally an Italian fortress.’

‘Yes, I know all that,’ I said impatiently. ‘How many prisoners does it hold?’

‘Five hundred.’

‘And guards?’

‘Since Gaddafi’s time it has been guarded by the military. Usually around six hundred troops under the command of Colonel Masmoudi.’ He shook his head. ‘A very bad man, signor. He has been known to beat prisoners to death personally.’

I thought about it for a while and it didn’t look good. The ratio of guards to prisoners, for example, was better than one for one, which was incredible.

‘You’re sure of those figures?’

He nodded. ‘A great many political offenders, signor. Some of them are very important people or were. Security is most strict. Colonel Masmoudi is a fanatical supporter of the Gaddafi regime. He would execute every prisoner in the place if ordered to.’

Something else which didn’t make the overall situation look any brighter. I said, ‘Stavrou’s stepson, this Stephen Wyatt. He’s twenty years old and they’ve given him life. What are his chances?’

‘The average time served by those sentenced to life is three years, signor, because at the end of that time they are usually dead. They spend most of their time working in the chain gang in the salt marsh and Masmoudi allows no rest during the heat of the day. Men die like flies.’

There was a plan of the fort in the folder and a map of the surrounding area. I unfolded them on the floor and we started to go over them. The walls on the land side were forty feet high, well protected by floodlighting and heavily guarded. On the side facing the sea, the fortifications were much simpler, the cliffs being a hundred and fifty feet high at that point and quite unclimbable, or so Zingari insisted.

‘You’re certain of this?’ I asked him.

‘Oh, yes, signor, I have been inside many times on business. I supply the officers’ mess with wine and spirits.’

I frowned. ‘Aren’t they all Muslims? Isn’t alcohol forbidden?’

‘Not at Râs Kanai. Not since Masmoudi turned Communist and has ceased to practice his religion.’

Which was interesting. Supplies were brought in by a military train, another relic of Italian Imperialism.

I said, ‘Does this thing unload inside the fortress?’

He nodded. ‘Oh, yes, signor, but believe me, there is no hope there. The train is searched most thoroughly with the aid of dogs each time it enters. In any event, it only carries military personnel or new prisoners.’

I frowned down at the plan. ‘Doesn’t anyone other than the military get into the damned place? Aren’t there any civilian workers?’

‘The military handle everything, signor,’ he said firmly and then pulled up short as if at a sudden thought and chuckled. ‘Of course, there are the women, signor. The Friday-night women. I was forgetting those.’

‘And which women would those be?’

‘Another innovation of Colonel Masmoudi’s. He’s fond of the ladies and reasonable enough to realize that plenty of his men are in the same boat, so every Friday night they bring in a couple of truckloads of women from Zabia.’

‘Whores?’

‘But of course, signor.’ He looked bewildered. ‘They must, after all, be capable of serving more than one man. It requires very special talents.’

‘I bet it does,’ I said. ‘And who supplies these ladies?’

He contrived to look suitably modest. ‘Why, I do, signor, and it is no easy matter, I can tell you. After a month or two a change is looked for. I have to bring girls from as far away as Tripoli.’

‘And the trucks?’ I said. ‘Are they allowed in?’

‘Oh, no, signor.’ He shook his head. ‘The women have to dismount outside and are checked in through the gate.’

I sat there for two or three minutes, staring into space and he waited patiently. After a while he said, ‘Is there anything else, signor?’

I shook my head. ‘If I need you again, I’ll send for you.’

He moved to the French window and hesitated. ‘I have been of help, signor?’

‘Oh, yes,’ I said. ‘I think you could say that.’

He went out quietly and I lay back, eyes closed, going over it all in my mind and after a while, I dozed.

When I awakened it was evening and just before dusk. It was heavy and oppressive, a hint of rain in the air. I crossed the terrace and took the steps down into the garden. Palms swayed in the slight wind, their branches dark feathers against the evening sky that already showed a star here and there.

I moved on, taking a flight of steps up to the ramparts and found Simone leaning over the wall, staring down at the sea, outlined against a sky the colour of brass. Perhaps she’d noticed me out of the corner of her eye down there in the garden as I approached, but she certainly gave no sign.

I lit a cigarette and flicked the match far out into the darkness. ‘Well?’

‘Well what?’ she said. ‘If you think I’m going to apologize, you’ve come to the wrong shop.’

‘No apologies needed,’ I said. ‘But a few facts would be appreciated.’

‘Such as?’

‘Why you did it would do for starters.’

‘All right, Oliver.’ She turned to face me. ‘It was a job, that’s all. Just another assignment.’

‘Well, you’re a great little actress. I’ll say that for you. You were particularly good at simulating orgasms, by the way. I’ll be happy to give you a reference to that effect any time.’

She struck out at me furiously, but I got a hand up to block the blow. ‘Damn you!’ she said. ‘And just how honest were you with me, anyway?’

‘A fair point,’ I said. ‘Strangely enough I can forgive you nearly all of it, but not Hannah. Never that. That was unforgivable and that was one side of me you did know about. One side of me I never hid from you.’

Which hit home rather satisfactorily. Her shoulders sagged a little and she turned away to look out to sea. ‘Why Stavrou, for God’s sake?’ I said.

‘Because I owe him,’ she replied. ‘Because he’s been good to me. About three years ago I was in love with a man in Paris who trafficked in heroin. I didn’t know it at the time, but when the police moved in, they were going to pull me down with him. I could have got ten years.’

‘And Stavrou saved your hide?’

‘That’s about it.’

‘Oh, I see it now,’ I said. ‘We’ve all misjudged him. Presumably he’s like the toad in the fairy story. One kiss from your delicious lips and he’ll change into a handsome young prince. Now that I can’t wait to see.’

She turned away angrily and we were suddenly hailed by Stavrou. ‘Over here, you two.’

He was on the high terrace and as we went up the steps, someone switched on floodlighting. The table was laid for three only and Stavrou sat at the far end, the waiter standing behind him.

‘Come and join me,’ he said jovially.

I pulled out a chair, Simone hesitated briefly, then sat down. The waiter doled out a local soup made with goat’s cheese and served ice-cold. There was champagne to help things along.

‘And where’s friend Langley tonight?’ I inquired.

‘Entertaining your sister; naturally,’ Stavrou shrugged. ‘After all, one must keep the pretense up.’ I stiffened, which is putting it mildly, and he added good humouredly, ‘No need to fret, I assure you, sir. The idea of any young woman being in danger where Justin is concerned is really quite amusing.’

Which was something, and I continued with the meal with as good a grace as possible under the circumstances. It was excellent and he obviously had a first rate local chef. We had narbe di San Paolo, which is ravioli filled with sugar and cheese and fried, and cannolo to follow and more champagne.

During the entire meal he kept up a running conversation. Everything from politics to art and most things in between. I didn’t say much and neither did Simone.

It was only when I stood up to leave that he suddenly said, ‘You read the file? You’ve seen Zingari? What do you think?’

I said, ‘It’s possible. It could be done with the right organization and workforce.’

There was genuine astonishment on his face. ‘You mean you’ve found a way in?’

‘There’s always a way in if you think hard enough.’ I helped myself to more champagne. ‘Even the Bank of England. In fact a long time ago someone did just that.’

He nodded slowly. ‘All right, how?’

‘That comes later. First I have to see a man called Aldo Barzini.’

‘Why?’

‘Because for this kind of job he’s the best there is.’

He reached for a cigar and the waiter lit it for him. ‘And what does he do when he isn’t working, this Barzini?’

‘Runs a funeral business in Palermo among other things.’

He laughed helplessly, his whole body shaking. ‘By God, but you’re a rogue, sir. I knew it the minute I clapped eyes on you.’ He wiped his face with a napkin. ‘All right, go to Palermo and see this man. Justin can fly you up there in the Cessna in the morning.’

‘I want Barzini and probably two others. I’m hoping he’ll be able to provide specialists. That kind of thing comes expensive.’

‘How much?’

‘That depends how rich he is these days.’ I shrugged. ‘Sixty, maybe seventy-five thousand dollars for the team. This is a knife-edge proposition, remember. One step and we all go down.’

‘I will honour any agreement you make,’ he said calmly. ‘Justin will have my personal draft for twenty-five thousand dollars in his pocket as a down payment. Will that satisfy this Barzini?’

‘I should think so.’ I stood up. ‘I don’t want Langley getting into my hair. Is that understood?’

‘Perfectly.’ He raised his glass and smiled beautifully. ‘Goodnight to you, Major Grant.’

I left them to it and moved back through the garden toward my own room. It started to rain, a fine spray blowing in on the wind, but enough to freshen the heavy atmosphere and to perfume the night with the scent of flowers.

I lay on the divan by the open French windows gazing out into the night and smoked a cigarette. After a while, I must have dozed because I came awake suddenly and was instantly aware of two things. That it was raining very heavily indeed and that my sister was playing the piano somewhere not too far away.

It was a Bach Prelude, scintillating, ice-cold stuff, perfectly played and perfectly in keeping with the circumstances. I found an old raincoat in the wardrobe, draped it over my shoulders and went out on the terrace.

Sheet lightning flickered far out to sea, thun-der rumbled menacingly overhead and the rain increased into a solid drenching downpour as I moved through the garden, following the sound of the piano.

I mounted to the high terrace and approached the library where I had first seen her, but she was not there. I moved on, climbing steps to another terrace, conscious of the murmur of voices.

Shutters stood partially open to the night, a white gauze curtain billowed in the wind. When I peered inside, Dimitri Stavrou was seated on the edge of a large four-poster bed. Simone was standing in front of him and his hands were busy. I could see her face reflected in the mirror on the far wall and she looked about as wretched as any human being could. In other circumstances I might have felt sorry for her, but Hannah was my only consideration now.

I moved on through the rain, following the sound of music and mounted some marble steps to another broad terrace protected by a striped canvas sun awning from which rain dropped steadily. French windows stood open to the night, and inside Hannah sat at a grand piano.

I approached cautiously. There seemed to be no one else around and I was filled with a sudden wild hope that I might grab her and be out of there before Stavrou and his friends realized what had hit them.

And then thunder rumbled menacingly in the distance again, only it was deep down in the dog’s throat this time, and the Doberman stood up beside the piano stool, stiff-legged, and eyed me coldly.

Hannah turned to stare out into the rain toward me. ‘Is anyone there?’ she called.

Frau Kubel stepped into view and saw me at once. A hand disappeared inside her white apron and reappeared clutching an automatic with a six-inch silencer on the end. To my horror, she pointed it at the back of Hannah’s skull and stared fixedly toward me, not saying a word, the same grim expression on her face.

My blood ran cold and I hastily raised both hands, palms toward her. She lowered the automatic, but still held it against her thigh, gazing toward me.

A hand tugged at my sleeve, I turned and found Langley at my elbow. ‘Very naughty, old stick,’ he whispered cheerfully. ‘I mean, there could have been a very nasty accident there.’

‘You go to hell,’ I said and I brushed past him and moved back through the garden to my room.

I stripped off my wet clothes and lay on the bed thinking about things, thoroughly angry with myself for being so stupid. I didn’t hear her enter, but when lightning flickered out to sea, it pulled Simone out of the darkness by the window. I didn’t say a word; simply stood up and walked toward her. Her dress was soaked and clung to her body like a second skin. I started to unbutton it.

‘What were his orders?’ I said. ‘Anything I wanted? Anything to keep me happy?’

‘Damn you to hell!’ She struck me across the face, struggling in my grasp. ‘Justin came and told him what happened a little while ago. She could have been killed. Your sister could have been killed. He means it, you fool. Every word of it. Don’t you understand that?’