rludlum-shelby.thecassandracompact-第15章

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　Howell　raised　his　thimbleful　of　grappa。　〃Salute；　Franco。〃
　Franco　Grimaldi…　one…time　member　of　the　French　Foreign　Legion；　now　a　professional　smuggler…　put　down　his　cigarette　and　lifted　his　glass。　He　had　to　do　this　because　he　had　only　his　right　arm；　having　lost　the　left　one　to　a　Tunisian　rebel's　sword。
　The　two　men　tossed　back　their　drinks　and　Grimaldi　jammed　the　cigarette　back　between　his　lips。
　〃So；　old　friend。　What　brings　you　to　my　parlor？〃
　〃The　Rocca　brothers。〃
　Grimaldi's　fleshy　lips　creased　into　what　might　have　been　misconstrued　as　a　smile。　〃I　hear　things　did　not　go　well　for　them　in　Venice。〃　He　looked　at　Howell　shrewdly。　〃And　you　just　came　from　there；　didn't　you？〃
　〃The　Roccas　executed　a　contract；　then　someone　executed　them；〃　Howell　replied；　his　voice　hard；　flat。　〃I　want　to　know　who　that　was。〃
　Grimaldi　shrugged。　〃It's　best　not　to　inquire　too　closely　into　the　Roccas'　dealings…　even　if　they　are　dead。〃
　Howell　slipped　a　roll　of　American　dollars　across　the　table。　〃I　need　to　know；　Franco。〃
　The　Sicilian　palmed　the　money　like　a　magician。
　〃I　heard　that　there　was　a　special　contract；〃　he　said；　cupping　the　side　of　his　mouth　as　he　held　his　cigarette。
　〃Specifics；　please；　Franco。〃
　〃I　cannot　tell　you。　Usually　the　Roccas　made　no　secret　about　their　contracts…　especially　after　a　few　drinks。　But　they　were　very　quiet　about　this　job。〃
　〃And　you　knew　about　it　because。。。？〃
　Grimaldi　smiled。　〃Because　I　sleep　with　their　sister；　who　kept　house　for　her　brothers。　She　knew　everything　that　went　on　within　those　walls。　She　is　also　highly　excitable　and　loves　to　gossip。〃
　〃Do　you　think　you　might　use　your　charms　to　get　a　few　more　details？〃
　Grimaldi's　smile　became　even　wider。　〃It　would　be　difficult　work；　but　for　a　friend。。。　Maria…　that　is　her　name…　probably　hasn't　heard　the　news　yet。　I　will　break　it　to　her；　then　let　her　weep　on　my　shoulder。　Nothing　like　grief　to　lubricate　the　tongue。〃
　Howell　gave　him　the　name　of　the　penzione　where　he　was　staying。
　〃I　will　call　you　later　this　evening；〃　Grimaldi　said。　〃Meet　me　at　the　usual　place。〃
　As　Howell　watched　Grimaldi　slip　his　way　around　the　tables　and　out　the　door；　he　noticed　a　pair　of　men　sitting　at　one　of　the　smaller　tables　near　the　bar。　They　were　dressed　like　locals；　but　their　bodybuilder　physiques　and　close…cropped　haircuts　betrayed　their　true　identities。　Soldiers。
　Howell　was　familiar　with　the　big　American　base　outside　Palermo。　During　his　days　with　the　SAS　he'd　had　occasion　to　use　it　as　a　staging　ground　for　joint　operations　with　U。S。　Navy　SEALs。　For　security　reasons；　most　of　the　personnel　stayed　within　the　base　perimeter。　When　they　ventured　out；　it　was　usually　in　groups　of　six　or　more；　and　then　only　to　the　popular　clubs　and　restaurants。　There　was　no　reason　for　these　strapping　specimens　to　be　here　unless。。。
　C…12。
　The　explosives　used　to　kill　the　Rocca　brothers　were　an　American　creation。　Tightly　controlled。　But　certainly　available　at　one　of　the　largest　U。S。　bases　in　Southern　Europe。
　Had　the　Roccas'　paymaster…　possibly　the　individual　who　had　hired　them　to　kill　Danko…　also　been　the　one　to　booby…trap　the　gondola？
　As　he　rose　from　the　table；　Howell　took　another　look　at　the　two　Americans。
　Or　had　it　been　a　soldier's　mission　from　the　very　beginning？
　
　Just　before　midnight；　the　penzione's　sleepy　porter　knocked　on　Peter　Howell's　door　to　inform　him　that　he　had　a　phone　call。　He　was　surprised　to　discover　that　his　guest　was　dressed　as　though　ready　to　go　out。
　Howell　spoke　briefly　on　the　phone；　tipped　the　porter；　and　disappeared　into　the　night。　The　moon　rode　high　in　the　sky；　illuminating　the　shuttered　shops　of　the　Vuccira　market。　Howell　crossed　the　empty　square　to　the　Piazza　Bellini；　then　drifted　along　the　Via　Vittorio　Emannuele；　the　city's　major　thoroughfare。　At　the　Corso　Calatofini；　he　turned　right；　now　just　a　hundred　yards　shy　of　his　destination。
　Dominating　the　Via　Pindemonte　is　the　Convento　dei　Cappuccini…　the　Convent　of　the　Capuchins。　While　a　striking　example　of　Middle　Ages　architecture；　the　monastery's　real　attraction　lies　below　ground。　In　the　catabs　that　surround　the　convento　are　buried　over　eight　thousand　bodies；　belonging　to　both　lay　and　religious　persons。　Preserved　through　various　chemical　processes；　they　are　placed　in　the　niches　along　the　corridors；　and　are　dressed　in　the　clothes　the　interred　themselves　had　provided　prior　to　their　death。　Those　bodies　that　aren't　lined　up　along　the　cold；　sweating　limestone　walls　rest　in　glass　coffins；　stacked　floor　to　ceiling。
　Although　open　to　the　public　during　the　day；　the　catabs　had　been　a　favorite　hiding　place　of　smugglers　for　centuries。　There　were　a　dozen　ways　in　and　out；　and　Peter　Howell；　who　had　studied　the　catabs　carefully；　knew　them　all。
　As　he　approached　the　gates　that　fronted　the　parklike　entrance　to　the　monastery；　Howell　heard　a　low　whistle。　He　pretended　not　to　notice　Grimaldi　slip　out　of　the　shadows　until　the　smuggler　was　only　a　few　steps　away。　The　moonlight　created　dancing　pinpricks　of　light　in　Grimaldi's　gray　eyes。
　〃What　have　you　found　out？〃　Howell　demanded。
　〃Something　worth　getting　out　of　bed　for；〃　the　smuggler　replied。　〃The　name　of　the　man　who　hired　the　Roccas。　He's　frightened。　He　thinks　that　after　the　Roccas；　he's　next。　He　wants　money　to　get　off　the　island　and　hide　on　the　mainland。〃
　Howell　nodded。　〃Money　isn't　a　problem。　Where　is　he？〃
　Grimaldi　motioned　the　Englishman　to　follow　him。　They　skirted　the　tall　wrought…iron　fence；　moving　into　the　shadows　created　by　the　monastery's　high　walls。　The　smuggler　slowed；　then　crouched　by　a　small　gate　cut　into　the　fence。　His　fingers　were　busy　working　the　lock　when　Howell　spotted　the　anomaly。
　The　lock　was　already　open！
　Howell　moved　like　a　wraith。　As　soon　as　Grimaldi　pushed　open　the　gate；　he　delivered　a　blow　meant　to　stun；　not　kill；　to　the　side　of　the　head。　Grimaldi　let　out　a　soft　sigh　and　dropped；　unconscious。
　Howell　didn't　pause。　Slipping　through　the　gate；　he　made　his　way　along　the　hedgerow　that　formed　a　corridor　to　the　entrance　of　the　catabs。　He　spotted　nothing；　which　meant…
　The　trap　was　outside　the　perimeter；　not　inside！
　Just　as　he　whirled　around；　Howell　heard　the　creak　of　the　gate's　hinge。　Two　shadows　hurtled　toward　him。　In　the　split…second　that　the　moonlight　caught　their　faces；　he　recognized　the　soldiers　from　the　tavern。
　Instantly　the　knife　appeared　in　his　hand。　Howell　held　his　ground　until　the　last　possible　second；　then；　like　a　matador；　pivoted　to　allow　the　first　soldier　to　rush　past　him。　He　swung　the　blade　up　and　across；　its　cutting　edge　drawing　across　the　man's　midsection。
　Howell　didn't　wait　to　see　the　killer　drop。　Feigning　right；　he　moved　left；　but　that　didn't　fool　the　second　soldier。　He　heard　a　soft　shut！　as　a　silenced　automatic　spat。　The　hot　breath　of　the　bullet　almost　kissed　his　temple。　Howell　dropped　low；　kicked　out　with　his　legs；　and　drove　his　heel　into　his　assailant's　kneecap。
　Instantly　Howell　grabbed　the　pistol；　but　before　he　could　train　the　weapon　on　the　soldier　he　saw　Grimaldi　stagger　to　his　feet。　The　bullet　meant　for　the　soldier　tore　through　Grimaldi's　throat；　dropping　the　smuggler。　As　the　second　soldier　fled；　Howell　tucked　the　gun　into　his　waistband；　ran　over　to　Grimaldi；　and　dragged　him　inside　the　gate　up　to　the　entrance　of　the　catabs。　As　he　expected；　this　door　was　also　unlocked。
　A　few　minutes　later；　Howell　was　deep　inside　the　monastery's　tunnels。　The　light　from　a　lamp　he　had　found　revealed　his　catch　for　the　night：　Grimaldi　lay　next　to　a　large；　concrete…lined　ring　whose　cover　had　already　been　pried　off。　The　wounded　soldier；　the　front　of　his　jacket　covered　with　blood；　was　propped　up　against　the　three…foot…high　concrete　ring　as　well。
　〃Name。〃
　The　soldier's　breathing　was　ragged；　his　face　turning　gray　from　the　blood　loss。　Slowly　he　raised　his　head。　〃Screw　you！〃
　〃I　went　through　your　clothes；〃　Howell　said。　〃No　wallet；　no　identification；　not　even　labels　on　your　shirts。　Only　people　with　a　great　deal　to　hide　go　to　those　lengths。　So　what　are　you　hiding？〃
　The　soldier　spat；　but　Howell　was　too　quick。　Standing；　he　hauled　his　captive　up　to　the　lip　of　the　ring。
　〃Did　you　kill　the　monastery　watchmen？〃　he　demanded。　〃Is　that　where　you　disposed　of　them？〃
　Grabbing　the　soldier　by　the　neck；　he　forced　him　halfway　over　the　concrete　ledge。
　〃Is　that　where　you　were　going　to　throw　me？〃
　The　soldier　screamed　as　Howell；　holding　him　by　his　jacket　collar；　forced　him　over　the　yawning　black　hole。　From　fifty　feet　below　rose　the　stench　of　brackish　water。
　Howell　looked　down　at　the　red　dots　that　darted　at　the　very　bottom。
　〃Rats。　There's　probably　enough　water　down　there　so　that　the　fall　won't　kill　you。　But　they　will。　Slowly。〃　He　jerked　the　man　back。
　The　soldier　licked　his　lips。　〃You　wouldn't。。。〃
　Howell　stared　at　him。　〃You're　wounded。　Your　partner　is　long　gone。　Give　me　what　I　need　and　I　promise　you　won't　suffer。　Listen。〃
　Howell　pushed　him　to　the　ground；　then　went　over　and　picked　up　the　inert　form　of　Franco　Grimaldi。　He　carried　him　to　the　well　and　without　the　slightest　hesitation　heaved　him　over　the　side。　A　second　later　there　was　a　terrific　splash　followed　by　the　high…pitched　chatter　of　rats　embracing　their　victim。
　The　soldier's　eyes　rolled　in　terror。
　〃Name？〃
　〃Nichols。　Travis　Nichols。　Master　Sergeant。　My　partner　is　Patrick　Drake。〃
　〃Special　Forces？〃
　Nichols　groaned　as　he　nodded。
　〃Who　sent　you　after　me？〃
　Nichols　stared　at　him。　〃I　can't。。。〃
　Howell　grabbed　him　and　jerked　him　close。　〃Listen　to　me。　Even　if　you　live　you'd　be　nothing　more　than　a　loose　thread　that　needs　cutting。　Especially　when　they　discover　that　I'm　not　dead。　The　only　chance　you　have　is　to　tell　me　the　truth。　Do　that　and　I'll　do　what　you　need。〃
　Nichols　slumped　against　the　concrete　ring。　His　words　stumbled　out　on　bright　red　bubbles。
　〃Drake　and　I　were　part　of　a　special　squad。　Wet　work。　munications　by　cutouts　only。　One　of　us　would　get　a　phone　call…　a　wrong　number；　only　it　wasn't。　Then　we'd　go　to　the　post　office　where　we　had　a　rented　box。　The　orders　would　be　waiting。〃
　〃Written　orders？〃　Howell　asked　dubiously。
　〃On　flash　paper。　Nothing　more　than　a　name　or　a　place。　After　that；　we'd　meet　a　contact　and　he'd　fill　us　in。〃
　〃In　this　case；　the　contact　was　Grimaldi。　What　were　your　orders？〃
　〃To　kill　you　and　get　rid　of　the　body。〃
　〃Why？〃
　Nichols　looked　up　at　Howell。　〃You　and　I　are　the　same。　You　know　nobody　gives　reasons　for　things　like　that。〃
　〃Who　is　'nobody'？〃
　〃The　orders　could　have　e　from　any　one　of　a　dozen　sources：　the　Pentagon；　army　Intel　in　Frankfurt；　the　NSA。　Take　your　pick。　But　with　wet　work；　you　know　that　the　source　had　to　be　right　up　there；　real　high。　Listen；　you　can　throw　me　to　the　rats　but　that's　not　going　to　get　you　a　name。　You　know　how　these　things　work。〃
　Howell　did。
　〃Does　the　name　Dionetti　mean　anything　to　you？〃
　Nichols　shook　his　head。　His　eyes　were　glassy。
　Howell　knew　that　no　one　except　Marco　Dionetti…　the　man　who　had　opened　his　home　and　extended　him　his　friendship…　knew　that　he　was　traveling　to　Palermo。　Dionetti。。。　with　whom　he　would　have　to　have　a　little　chat。
　〃How　were　you　to　report　that　this　mission　was　successful？〃　Howell　asked　Nichols。
　〃Drop　off　a　message　at　another　post　office　box…　no　later　than　noon　tomorrow。　Number　sixty…seven。　Someone　will　e　by。。。。　Oh；　Christ；　it　hurts！〃
　Howell　brought　hi