Assignment - Palermo (19 page)

A small, slight figure stood just to one side of the haycock, crying softly in the night.

It was Gabriella.

SHE LOOKED at them with wonder as they came near and she swallowed a last sob and gave a small cry of gladness and ran toward them. O’Malley stiffened as her arms came up, outstretched. Then she flung herself at him.

“Frank! Oh, Frank!”

Durell saw O’Malley look at him over the girl’s head. His face reflected remorse and relief. O’Malley kissed her, murmuring, and stroked her long hair, while Durell turned and considered the dark farmhouse and the surrounding grounds. He saw no danger anywhere. “Cajun?” Gabriella whispered.

Her face shone with tears. She rubbed them away with the back of her hand, a child’s gesture. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here. I thought you’d never come.” Durell looked at O’Malley. “Satisfied now?”

“Like I apologize, Cajun.”

Durell turned to the girl. “What happened here?” “Those poor people the Uccelatti’s—are in the house, so beaten—”

“Still alive?”

“Y-yes, but—”

“No one else around?”

“I saw no one. But it must have happened just before I got here. They knew I was coming.” She turned. “O’Malley, there is terrible danger here. I hid in the shed for a time and then I heard a car and I waited, ready to run. But then I saw you and somehow—it was stupid of me—all I could do was stand here and cry.”

“Do you remember this place now?” Durell asked.

“Yes, it has all come back to me. The Fratelli headquarters is just over that rise.” She pointed. “But it is impossible—” She paused again, then smiled with wet, tear-stained lips. “No, nothing is impossible to you and O’Malley.” She kissed Durell briefly. Her face was salty against his mouth. He turned her gently back to O’Malley and said, “Let’s go see the old people.”

The house was clean, whitewashed, furnished with heavy Spanish chairs and tables, brass and copper cookware in the kitchen, thick rugs, ornately carved wood, and a coat-of-arms plaque over the stone fireplace. Footsteps scraped painfully toward them in the moonlit shadows, and a tall old man with white hair, stained with blood, appeared.

“Gabriella, child?”

“It is all right, barone. These are the American friends I told you about. How is the signora?”

“I have attended to her.” The man’s face was bruised, and he walked stiffly, but still with pride and defiance. “Do not concern yourselves with us. We are old, but we shall survive. Only Zio is important now.” He turned to Durell. “I have not been permitted to see Zio for a month. No one knows what is happening over there. We wrote to our son and asked for his help. It was a hard thing to do, for I never approved of the way he shaped his life. My years are too many to change my ways, and my wife and I have been satisfied in this rustic place. But it must be different for Gabriella. You must help her. And her only hope is to bring her face to face with Zio and ask his forgiveness.” “But I have done nothing wrong, barone.”

“Then, you must explain this and you must hurry,” “How can this be done?” Durell asked.

The old man told him. He coughed, and his voice faltered, and he shook like a tall old oak about to fall. Durell did not touch his proud figure. “They say it is impossible,” the old man said. “I do not know how you can get in. But you must try. There are wild horses, and—” He waved a thin, shaking hand. “Please. I must return to my wife. I have put her to bed. And may God help you all. It is not comprehensible how God arranged for you to pay for the sins of all the others.”

O’Malley looked savage. “You say it’s impossible, but maybe you know a way—”

Durell checked him. “Come along. Pick up Bruno and Joey. We’ll see what we can do.”

Beyond the side of the mountain the old Norman castle brooded darkly in the moonlight. Sangieri, Durell thought. Its square towers and strange Arab crenellations and airy arches floated beyond a steep gorge over which a narrow bridge led the way. Two men lounged against the stone wall near the bridge. A sentry box stood at the other end of the span, and another man stood there. The glow of his cigarette was like a firefly in the windy night.

Durell wondered how many others Kronin had to guard Zio against intrusions. He had Gabriella and his three sinners to put against an armed fortress. It seemed hopeless. But he could only take one step at a time. If he delayed to call for militia or the carabinieri, the birds would fly the coop, warned by other Brothers who undoubtedly had infiltrated the local law. They would only betray themselves by such an appeal.

To cross the bridge was only the first hurdle. “Frank?” he whispered. “We’ll take the wall.”

“I know what to do. The Congs in Vietnam were better in a place like this.”

The guards were alert, but the long wait had blunted their senses. Durell ran in a crouch behind the stone fence that curved toward the bridge over the gorge. O’Malley flitted to the other side. The sound of the stream rushing far below covered any noise they made. O’Malley showed his jungle tactics well. They timed their attack together, and in ten seconds the two guards were down. Durell chopped at the throat of his man, then looked at O’Malley across the open end of the bridge. O’Malley crouched like a beast of prey over the prone figure of his target.

Then Durell saw the chain. It stretched across the span with small bells attached, to warn the guard at the sentry box fifty feet away. A heavy padlock prevented them from lowering it.

“Call Bruno,” Durell whispered.

Bruno, Milan, and the girl came up behind the wall. Durell signaled the huge wrestler what had to be done. “It’s rusted,” he said. “Try to break it.”

“Like it’s paper,” the big man rumbled.

“Be careful. Don’t ring the bells.”

Brutelli’s strength was enormous and controlled. He felt carefully along the links until he found one that was more rusted than the others, then closed powerful hands on the old iron and twisted slowly. For some seconds it resisted him. His big face convulsed. The guard across the bridge threw away his cigarette; it arched far down into the stream at the bottom of the gorge. Then the guard stepped into the sentry box and was out of sight.

“Now!” Durell whispered.

Bruno grunted. There came a grinding click, another click as he bent the iron backward, and the chain snapped.

Durell caught one free end and lowered it with care to prevent the little bells from ringing. “All right. Joey?”

“Check.”

The jockey ran across the bridge like an alert chipmunk. The guard was stepping from his box when Joey hit him. A moment later they were all across, carefully stepping over the sentry’s sprawled figure.

“Now what?” O’Malley demanded.

“We’ve only just begun,” Durell said.

“Let’s leave Gabriella here until we get in.”

“No, we may need her.”

They were a team, Durell thought, precisely coordinated. He wondered wryly what General McFee, back at K Section in Washington, would think if he could see his sinners in action. Then he concentrated on the problem of getting into the fortress that loomed ahead.

It seemed impossible.

There was a sweep of moonlit lawn, a row of cypress bending in the mountain wind. Not a light shone; not a human was in sight. Durell signaled the others, and they circled wide behind the approach. The castle occupied a site on top of the dome of pasture and stone that commanded a view for miles around. It was a barren prospect. But the centuries since it had been a powerful medieval fortress had wrought changes. The old moat was filled in. On the north side there were small huts, fences and paddocks, a stone barn, and storage cribs. Durell and his companions filtered from one shadow to the next as they worked their way around to the back. Twice they had to halt while a patrolling guard passed.

O’Malley trembled like a hunting hound on leash. His tigerish eyes gleamed in the moonlight. “Two gets you five the old man is dead.”

“Then we’re finished. He’s the only one who can “give orders to keep Gabriella alive and the only one to give certain other orders I want given.”

“To wipe out the sabotage network?”

Durell nodded, and O’Malley said, “But maybe he’s for it. He took Kronin in, didn’t he?”

“We’ll answer that when we see Zio.”

The fortress walls were lower on this side. There was a wide wooden gate that did not yield an inch, even when Bruno put his massive weight against it. From behind the gate came a sudden neighing sound. “Uccelatti mentioned horses,” O’Malley said.

Durell nodded again. “Joey?”

“I can’t climb it,” Milan said.

“Gabriella?”

“Yes, I can do it. My years in the circus—”

“Go ahead. Up and over.”

“Now, wait, Cajun—” O’Malley objected.

“Shut up. We need all the special talent we have,” Durell said.

He made a stirrup of his hands and gave the girl a quick boost. She was like a small, lithe cat, scrambling up the stone wall with quick, sure grips, and in a moment she disappeared on the other side. Then there came the thunder of angry hooves, another wild neighing like a trumpet blast, and the muffled sound of the girl dropping to the other side of the gate.

Muscles twitched in Joey Milan’s face. “That horse is a nut. A kook. I know that sound. I been around horse farms long enough to recognize it. He’ll kill her.”

“You mean a wild stallion?” O’Malley asked thinly.

“No, no.” Joey spoke with authority. “You get a wild horse, he’s really as timid as a deer. They ain’t like in the movies, Frankie. But you take one with his wires crossed, like he’s been teased or just borned kookie, and you got trouble. They musta kept that one inside there just for somethin’ like this, like a guard.”

Suddenly the bars inside the gate rattled aside. Bruno heaved his weight against the massive portal and opened it enough for them all to slip through.

They almost met with disaster.

A huge black stallion reared and blotted out the moonlit sky with his enormous body and flashing hooves. His wild neighing shook the air. A hoof slammed down at Durell with a murderous blow, and he ducked aside. The gate shook as the heavy beast struck solid wood. Durell drew his gun.

“No, no!” Gabriella cried. “The poor thing—he is maddened, it is not natural, not his fault—”

Before he could check her, she slipped ahead with Joey Milan. They moved with perfect timing around the stallion, who backed, eyes rolling huge and wild. The great animal pawed the turf suspiciously. A light gleamed high in the black castle wall, and Durell thought he heard a man shout in alarm. Astonished, he watched the slight figure of the circus girl and the little jockey circle the enraged animal.

The stallion suddenly reared toward Gabriella; but with a single, lithe leap she was on his back. O’Malley swore in horror. Durell lifted his gun again and aimed at the animal’s head, and Gabriella cried out, “No, Cajun! No!”

With her weight upon him, the stallion lost interest in the others. He bucked and reared, and it seemed as if Gabriella must surely be thrown and trampled under his hooves. Somehow she hung on. Joey Milan slipped like a shadow under the great, black animal and tried for his head, talking in soothing, rapid Italian, in a manner Durell had not heard him use before. The animal backed away, distracted, pawing restlessly. His tail swished high in the air. Gabriella’s small fists remained tightly knotted in the animal’s great mane. Her voice, too, was soft and lulling, like Joey’s. The great horse suddenly shuddered, bucked, sunfished, and tried to turn and bite her. Joey scrambled out of the way, then darted in again. Step by step they edged the beast toward the stone stalls in the castle wall across the court. It was plain that the animal had been tormented or enraged, or perhaps simply allowed to develop a congenital feeling against people. But Gabriella and Joey were no strangers to horses. The great beast trembled, tossed his head, and backed into his stall. For another moment Gabriella clung to his broad back while Joey distracted him. Then, as smoothly as flowing water, she slid down and shut the stall door. At the same moment, Joey Milan slipped free.

The stallion was now safely penned.

O’Malley caught the running girl and held her in his arms. She laughed and said, “Oh, what a pity, such a beautiful horse!” She kissed him on the cheek and turned to Durell then. “Someone surely heard us and will look for us now.”

“How much of this place can you remember?”

“I remember this place well now.” Her long hair flowed over her shoulders, and her eyes gleamed with triumph. “What a magnificent animal! And Joey! Did you see him? Who would have thought he understood horses this way!”

More lights shone in the castle’s windows. A man shouted. Durell heard the dim thud of distant feet.

“Gabriella, in which room did you have your interview with Zio? Can you recall that, too?”

“It was on the other side.” She frowned in the gloom. “Near this place. We walked to a room that had windows that opened on a sheer cliff.”

“The other side,” Durell said. “Come on.”

The courtyard was walled with high, delicate arches. They ran to a flagged parapet, turned right, and hugged the fortress wall. Gabriella’s memory was correct. To the left, just beyond a ruined stone balustrade, was a sharp drop into the river gorge that looped around from the bridge. Durell paused to stare at the high wall of the ancient castle, which seemed to push them outward.

“Joey, was there any rope in the horse stalls?”

“I think so.”

“Run back and get it.”

While they waited Durell saw a buttress that had crumbled somewhat and offered footing a third of the way up. He pried loose a square block that was not too heavy, and when Joey returned with the rope, he tied the rock securely to the end of the line.

There was no alarm here yet. Durell clambered up the buttress, then heaved the rock and its attached line up and over the slanting roof tiles. His first attempt failed and the rock came down with the rope snaking after it. He tried again. This time it looped around an old chimney. He tugged hard, and it did not yield.

“All right, Gabriella. Up you go.”

“What can we do on the roof?”