Chapter 18

 

The gun was trained on Herbie, not on me. Carla said, "Drop the gun or he dies." She knew I would have gambled if it had been just my neck on the line, but I couldn't be sure that the guy with the shotgun wouldn't pull the trigger reflexively, the way Savario had. And if he did he would tear Herbie in half.

I dropped the gun and said, "Okay, now what?" still watching the shotgun, waiting for the guy holding it to get careless and lower the muzzle. I could have dived for my gun and put a hole through him before he could lift his aim again. But I didn't get the chance. Scavuzzo said something in Italian and Carla translated.

"Try anything funny and we shoot you. You got that?"

"Yeah. I've got that. But what about the boy?"

She smiled, first at Scavuzzo, who looked at her like a proud father watching a bright two-year-old, his ugly face splitting in a grin. "We want to thank you for getting him back for us," she said.

"You mean you knew he was in here but you didn't come in for him?"

"We had no way of getting into this place without starting a small war. So we waited around and when you came in, I used my key and saw what you'd done. You're good. D'you know that?"

"Thank you fair lady. Now let me take the kid and go home."

I don't know how much English Scavuzzo spoke but he heard that. He dropped his grin like a dirty handkerchief and clattered out a quick sentence in Italian that Carla didn't need to translate. But she did. "He says you can go when the ransom is paid, not before."

I felt a little surge of relief. I didn't believe my survival was high on their list of priorities, but at least they weren't going to kill me out of hand. I had the chance to come up with something between now and zero hour.

Scavuzzo put his own gun away and spoke to Carla again. She answered in Italian then told me. "Come on. Come with us. Do as you're told and you live."

"That sounds like the kind of offer you can't refuse," I said and nodded to Scavuzzo to let him know I was knuckling under. If I was really lucky they wouldn't frisk me and find Carla's gun.

She pointed down the hall to the office. "Come on in, both of you and we'll make that phone call."

"What phone call?" I was acting dumb, waiting for the shotgun to waver, but it didn't. If I stepped out of line, Herbie was meat.

I unlocked the study door and went in. Savario was coming around, holding his head with both hands. The others came in behind me and he straightened up when he saw Scavuzzo, trying to stand up but passing out again with the effort. Carla stepped over him and picked up the phone. She held it for a moment and then turned and looked through me, her focus far away as she worked out what she wanted me to do.

"I'm going to ring the Rega and get through to the room. Then you take over. You tell them you've found the boy, then let the boy speak to them for a moment, then you ask for the ransom. Tell them to hold off on any arrangements they've made so far and wait for more instructions. You got that?"

"Sure. You want it to look as if the new ransom demand is my idea. You want me pegged as the kidnapper, right?"

"Now you're catching on," she said. "But remember, if you do anything cute like telling them where we are right now, we shoot the kid, then you. So don't try anything." She waited for my nod before she began to dial.

My head was racing. I knew that incoming calls would be taped. Any clue I could give would be analyzed and used. But how far could I go? I would have to say something Carla didn't understand but which was obvious to Capelli and Kate Ridley. I had to translate the words "Fifty-four Via dell Angelico" into a code they could work out before Carla did.

Carla spoke into the phone then handed it to me. Kate Ridley answered, speaking Italian. I cut in, as breezily as if I'd bumped into her at a party. "Hi, Kate, John Locke here. Good news. In fact this has been a good day all around, hasn't it? I mean, did you see the paper? The Blue Jays clobbered Los Angeles 5-4 yesterday." I hoped I'd put enough emphasis on the score to catch her attention. I was hoping Capelli would be well enough trained to analyze every word I said. An anti-terrorist agent would have been—but maybe not a city cop. And I already knew they weren't as sophisticated as they are in the States—there they would have used a computer phone that printed out the number from which every incoming call was dialled. Capelli didn't have that kind of backing—but could he take a clue when I gave him one? We'd see. In any case, my words sailed right by Kate Ridley.

"For God's sake John, what are you talking about?" Her voice was ragged with tension. My code had whistled over her head unnoticed.

"Oh, well, more important, I have someone here to speak to you. Herbie, say hello to your mother."

He took the phone and said, "Mom?" and then the tears gouted from his eyes and he chattered like a child for ten seconds before Carla pulled the phone away from him and handed it back to me.

Kate Ridley was saying, "Herbie, Herbie, are you there?"

"He's here and he's safe and sound. I'll have him back to you very soon. But there's just one holdup. The people who have him want the cash."

"The cash? You mean the ransom?" Her voice ran up the scale almost to a scream. "You said he was safe, that you had him."

"I do. The only problem is, some people have me and they want the money. They said you were to discount any instructions you've had already and to wait for new orders about the money. In the meantime, don't worry, I'm with Herbie, looking after him."

Carla's hand reached out and depressed the button on the phone. She was looking at me carefully. "What was that about baseball?"

"I'm a Blue Jays fan, so is Kate Ridley. I just wanted to act natural, that's all."

She looked at me carefully, the ice in her eyes thick enough to sink another Titanic. "Just don't screw me around, Locke," she breathed, "or you're a dead man."

I held both hands up, palms towards her. "Believe me, I want to get out of this alive and well." Nothing like the truth for sounding sincere. I just didn't bother adding that I wanted to see Scavuzzo and the rest of his scumbags in jail first. And it still might happen, if I was lucky, if we would stay put, right here, and Capelli could work out my code and come riding to the rescue. I wasn't holding my breath but I'd tried. They could put that on my tombstone.

Scavuzzo spoke to his gunman, then took the shotgun off him, still training it on Herbie. Carla told me, "Turn around and put your hands behind your back." I did it, there was no arguing with her tone. The gunman moved in and clicked a pair of cuffs on my wrists. Then he patted me down, gingerly as if he didn't want to offend me. That was a bad sign. It meant my reputation had gotten around. He was scared and he would be extra careful. Careful enough to find Carla's gun and my knife.

Carla took the gun back but he kept the knife, playing with it happily. It's a good Buck clasp knife with a catch you have to depress before the blade will open. It impressed the hell out of him and he chuckled to himself and played with it, like a kid on Christmas morning.

I smiled at him and said, "Take care of it, I want it back later." Carla looked at me disbelievingly and laughed. It was my death sentence. There wasn't going to be any later for me, I had to get out of this as best I could. I guess my part was over. I'd rescued Herbie for her. Now I had to die. It made me wonder about the way she had savaged me all night in that farmhouse. Did she get a charge out of making love to condemned men? Had she been as violent with her husband, the night before his car blew up?

Scavuzzo ejected the two shells from the shotgun and broke it down into three pieces. That meant we were leaving. More bad luck. I might have had a chance if we'd stayed here. Capelli might just have cracked my code. Now it wouldn't help. I watched as Scavuzzo handed the pieces of the gun to the man who had been holding it on Herbie earlier. He went outside to the hall, coming back with a briefcase. Marvelous, just the present for the hood who has everything. I wondered if it had a calculator and a calendar built in.

Carla said, "Listen up, Locke. We're going out the back door. All three of us will have guns trained on you. If you try anything fancy one of us will kill you. If the boy runs we will shoot you first, then him."

Herbie said, "I'm not going to run. You don't have to shoot John."

I turned and winked at him, it was all I could do. He looked grim but not afraid. I think his terror had burned itself out over the last twenty-four hours. He was a soldier, milk-faced and untried but angry enough to be an ally if we got the chance to do something. I hoped they put us together, without company. I had an idea.

In the meantime I played dumb. "Look, I'm not going to try anything. My job's done, I've found Herb, he's all right. As soon as you get the money we go home. Right?"

Carla glanced at me, then away quickly. "Of course," she lied.

She led the way, out of the office and down the hall.

Carla turned at the back door. "You're going outside now, Herb. I'm going to walk behind you, I want you to go nice and easy and get into the red car that's parked right ahead of the door. Get in the back seat and sit in the middle. Okay?" He nodded.

Now she turned to me. "You're going to sit in the front where I can keep my gun on the back of your head. One move I don't like and I'll blow it off, you got that?"

"Is it my mouthwash? What?" I asked her but she swore. I checked over my shoulder. Scavuzzo and his soldier had guns in their hands, Scavuzzo's under the flap of his suitcoat, the soldier's under the briefcase. Both guns were cocked, both pointed at me. That made the odds too long. I would have to wait for a better chance. Maybe in the car. I might be able to roll out of it, especially if we went through the middle of town. In heavy traffic I could maybe attract some cop's attention. Maybe.

And maybe I would win the lottery. The odds were no longer. This bunch was taking no chances on losing me, or Herb. Their car was right against the door. They kept me covered all the way. Carla concealed the fact that I was handcuffed by pretending to lean against me, one arm around me, the other down low, holding the gun in my ribs. She was smiling and talking. We looked like a lover and his lass. With a hey-nonny-no. Hah!

They moved out and into the car like soldiers carrying out a drill movement. Herbie in the middle at the back, Scavuzzo on one side of him, Carla on the other. The gunman got in the driver's seat with me beside him. Just to put an end to my daydreaming he pulled the seatbelt across me and clunked it in. I was trapped until he decided to let me go.

Carla leaned over the back of my seat, craning around the neck rest, one hand holding her gun in my temple. I wished she would take it away. Perhaps I would have a chance to goose the gas pedal in traffic and get us into an accident. It would give Herbie a shot at freedom. If there were enough cops around, I might even make it myself. I tried to talk her down. "You can put that gun away, sweetheart, the name is Locke, not Houdini."

"Let's say I feel happier like this," she said. "Just so that you don't get any ideas."

"Spoilsport," I said and sat quiet, waiting for us to get started. Only we didn't. Scavuzzo spoke to the gunman and he nodded and went back into the house. I wondered what he was planning to do. Then I heard the first faint bang, the flat authoritative bang of my Walther. Then there was the sound of a man's voice shouting and a second bang, and a third. Then a thirty-second pause, and a fourth.

"Now you're really in trouble," I said but Carla laughed shortly.

"Not me, you. That was your gun he used. You'll have some more things to explain now, won't you?"

"I look forward to getting the opportunity."

Herbie said, "What's going on, John? Please tell me." His voice was hoarse and strained as if he had sung too many verses of "ninety-nine bottles of beer" around the camp fire. I hoped he would get to do it some time. Right now I didn't like his chances.

"You have to learn from this experience," I told him. "Never judge a book by its cover. This pretty lady with her gun in my ear isn't a movie star. She's a hot-pants Mafia princess."

That was as far as I got before she rammed the muzzle of the gun into my ear, trying to force it all the way through my thick head. Then Herbie said, "Stop that. Stop hurting him," and the pressure came off my ear as he tugged at her gun hand. I just hoped he wouldn't squeeze the trigger for her.

I craned around as far as I could in my harness and saw Scavuzzo holding his gun silently to Herbie's head. No wrestling, no sweat, just the immediate promise of death if he didn't stop fighting. He did.

"Nice going Herb," I told him and Carla rewarded me with another jab in the head. It hurt but I only said, "All right Carla, I promise I'll take you to the school formal."

"You bastard. I'm going to smash your teeth out," she promised. Then their boy got back into the driver's seat. I noticed that he was wearing gloves. Damn. My gun would have only my prints on it. And its bullets were in three dead men. How do you explain this, Signor Locke? Drink your nice castor oil and let's go over it again.

The driver backed out of the alleyway, moving very slowly, doing everything with pinpoint precision, like a man who has just realized that he is drunk; I knew what was happening. His memory was playing back the images he had created inside that house, men pleading, cursing, dying, rolling away from him with their mouths round with surprise as their lives seeped away.

He drove by the book, giving way when he had to, going for the breaks when they came. We stayed away from the center of town, out among streets of low houses, as ordinary as they get in Florence, which means they've been around for only a few centuries. For about a minute I watched every move, checking for street names, landmarks, directions, anything to guide me. Then Scavuzzo said something to Carla and she took off her scarf and flipped it around my eyes, doing her best to crush them out of the sockets. I didn't say anything. The mood she was in she could have blinded me without a second thought. I just hoped Herbie would keep looking. He was coming out of this a better, tougher guy than he had gone in.

We stopped at last. Everyone got out of the back seat, then the door on my side opened and the driver unclicked my seat belt and Carla tugged my arm until I half fell out of the car. I could tell it was her from the presence of her perfume but her hands were as strong as a man's.

She jerked me upright and I felt concrete under my feet, or old stone possibly. In Florence you couldn't be sure. Then someone slammed the car door and it echoed. We were inside something. I wondered what.

Carla shoved me, steering by the pressure of the gun in my back. If I hadn't been blindfolded I would have swung at her, Herbie could have distracted Scavuzzo and I might have had a kick at the other guy. But if we were inside something, then someone outside the car had closed the outer door after us and if he was still present, the odds were too long.

I heard a door being opened ahead of me, then Herbie said, "What, in there?" in a surprised tone and the next moment I was shoved against a door jamb and inside some smaller space. I could tell it from the echoes, that was all. Herbie was still with me, that much was good.

"Stay there quietly," Carla said, and a door shut behind us.

I stood, listening carefully for about thirty seconds. Then I asked Herb. "Can you take this blindfold off me?"

"Sure." His fingers were trembling but he untied the knot and I could see again. There wasn't a lot to look at. We were inside an unlighted, windowless shed about thirty by twenty feet. Three walls were wood, the other was stone. I guessed we were up against some ancient wall, inside a tool shed of some kind. Only there were no tools or useful objects around that I could see.

Herbie's face was just visible, pale in the gloom. "What are they going to do to us?"

"They're going to sell you back to your folks. Don't worry," I told him cheerfully but he didn't reassure so easily.

"I don't think so. They're talking like they're going to kill us." His voice was trembling but I overrode it, heartily. Let's hear it for military command training.

"We're not dead yet. Now come here and feel carefully into the left lapel of my jacket."

"What am I feeling for?" He was bright enough to start looking before he started asking questions. That was a good sign.

"You're looking for a darning needle, about an inch and a half long. I stuck it there earlier on today, I know it's there."

He prodded the lapel until he found it, the hard way, the point in his finger. He hissed annoyance but didn't beef.

"I've got it. Now what do I do with it?"

"Hang on to it. If you drop it we'll never find it in this gloom." I turned around so that my handcuffed wrists were towards him. "This is difficult, so take your time."

"What do I have to do? Pick the lock?"

"No. Take the right cuff, now, can you see, or feel, which way the ratchet is working?"

He could and slowly I coached him through sliding the needle down into the ratchet, flipping the catch up so that he could unfasten the cuffs, one painful click at a time. It took us about one minute per tooth and my hand was only halfway to freedom when we heard the sound of voices outside.

"Stick the needle back in my lapel, out of sight," I whispered and he did. "Right, now stand behind me, in case only one of them has a gun. I can take a run at him."

He wanted to protest but there was no time. A lock clattered and the door swung open. Carla was there, with the gunman. She stood in the doorway and called to us. "Herb, come out from behind Locke."

He didn't move and Carla shrugged and said, "Have it your own way, I'll just tell Pietro to shoot Locke in the legs."

I wasn't sure whether she meant it but I didn't argue when Herbie walked to one side of me. She didn't seem to have a gun. That meant we had a chance if Herbie could hold her while I kicked Pietro's lights out. Not a good chance, but a chance.

He was too careful for me. Carla told us, "Come on out, Herbie, keep your hands on your head." And as we came to the doorway he backed off, out of striking range but plenty close enough for his gun to do its job.

"Sit down," Carla said. "You don't have to come all the way out." I was close enough to the door to see that we were inside a covered courtyard, old but not distinctive in any way. It was paved with flagstones. I couldn't see any doorway but when I sat down on the ground, like a good little prisoner, I could see the inside of the roof which was covered with the familiar baked tiles of the region. That meant that if we could climb up the wall we could break out. Good news.

Carla was carrying a purse and she opened it and took out a tiny Phillips tape recorder. "Time to say your lines," she said, smiling as if she meant it. She was wearing a light blouse and skirt and a whisper of perfume and I could feel Herbie yearning for her as we both waited to see what new nastiness she had dreamed up.

"I've written out what you're to say, don't make any mistakes with it," she said. She held out the paper to Herbie. "Read it through, then read it into the machine."

He read it to himself, frowning, then nodded and Carla handed him the machine. "You talk into there," she said, then pressed the Record button and motioned to him to begin.

"Hi, Mom and Dad. I am well and safe as long as you pay the money like the people tell you to. Please don't try to catch them or anything because they're going to kill me if you do."

He handed her the recorder and she switched it off and said, "Good. Now let's see how your kidnapper can handle his part."

She was crouching to be at our level and she pivoted on the ball of her foot so that she was facing me, her perfect breasts on a level with my eyes. She held out the piece of paper for me to read and I glanced through it and looked up into her wonderful brown eyes. "This is pretty smart, think of it yourself?"

"Just read it, and don't add anything," she snapped.

She held out the tape recorder and I read the words from the paper. "This is John Locke. Herbie will be fine as long as the money is delivered safely. We want five million dollars in United States one hundred dollar bills. Put the money into your matching leather suitcases, Mrs. Ridley, and go with the bellboy, out to the street with the moneybags on a baggage trolley. A car will drive up and the driver will ask if this is the Ridley luggage. You will say yes and get into the car. The money will be put into the trunk and the car will leave. Tell the police not to follow the car or to plant bugs or try any tricks of any kind. You and the boy will be released twelve hours after the ransom is paid."

Carla pulled the tape recorder away and rewound the tape and crouched listening to it like a teenager grooving on a Mick Jagger offering. Then she stood up, frowning as she noticed the cuts on my ear, still bleeding from her efforts with the gun barrel.

"Your ear's a mess," she said almost indignantly as if it was my fault she was obliged to notice.

"The bullet hole you're planning to put through it will be even more untidy," I said.

"Don't jump the gun. We made our bargain last night," she said. "Nothing's changed. I'm sorry about the ear."

"I'll remember that."

Suddenly she grinned. "Did you ever read Alice in Wonderland when you were a kid?" she asked.

"Of course. And since. Are you going to send me a white rabbit to steer me out of this mess?"

"No." She shook her head, smiling like Miss World. "No. But I guess you remember the Caucus Race."

I frowned and nodded. "I think so. 'All have won and all must have prizes.'"

"You're not just a pretty face, are you?" She laughed and shut the door on us.

In the darkness Herbie's calm evaporated. His voice was nervous as he asked, "What was that all about?"

"It means she's playing games with us, Herb. Maybe it's all in fun but I'm not sure I know the rules."

Herb was learning. He didn't waste time complaining or wondering why Carla was playing around. He asked, "Want me to have another go at your handcuffs?"

"Right on." I let him take the needle then turned for him to pick away at the cuffs. He freed one tooth almost immediately and was saying, "Now we've got it," when I heard the tiny click of the needle snapping.