Luciano's Luck (10 page)

walked along the passage. He looked Detweiler over calmly, then moved into the entrance of the cell. 'Now listen to me,' he said in his bad Italian. 'This man doesn't lie down, doesn't sit, gets no rest whatsoever. And he isn't to sleep when standing. You take turns to make sure my orders are carried out. If you fail me, no water, no food for one week. Just each other.' He nodded to Suslov who shoved Detweiler down into the cell and slammed the door. Detweiler fell over a prostrate body, aware of the stench of the place and kicked out frantically. There were hands everywhere, crawling all over him, pulling him to his feet. Someone said hoarsely, 'I don't know who you are, friend, and we couldn't care less. It's dog eat dog in here. That means we do what that Gestapo bastard wants and you do what we want.' Detweiler stood there in the darkness, suddenly terribly afraid. 'Listen to me, for God's sake,' he began. The same hoarse voice said, 'God has nothing to do with it, so be a good boy and do exactly as you're told.' In late spring and early summer, when the first real heat begins, violent thunderstorms are common in the Sicilian high country. It started to rain again as Savage and Rosa followed a track along a ridge between two mountain peaks. He said, 'Does it always rain this much in Sicily?' She laughed. 'No, this is not usual.' Not that Savage minded. Some people were rainwalkers by nature. It gave them a lift just to be out in the stuff. The rainstorm which broke over the Cammarata that morning worked its usual magic on him. The earth came alive and there was a freshness to everything. She took his arm. 'One thing I don't understand. Last night when you were making love to me.' i6g 'Which time was that.' He tried to keep his face straight. 'The third or fourth?' 'No, early this morning, when you woke from sleep. You kept apologizing for being no good. You said you were much better at shooting people.' 'I don't remember,' he lied. 'But you are a wonderful lover. You pleased me many times.' He was thoroughly embarrassed. 'You shouldn't talk like that.' 'Like what?' she demanded. 'What did I say that was so terrible?' 'Let it go,' he said. 'Just let it go.' She pulled him round and looked up at his face, grave beneath the peak of the old tweed cap. 'I don't know what they've been telling you all these years, but you are not the man they think you are.' She reached up and touched his face gently. 'Or the man they have told you to be.' He put an arm around her and pulled her close. 'How come all this wisdom in one so young?' 'Because I was a whore,' she said harshly. 'In Palermo. But you knew this about me, I think?" He was filled with a sense of overwhelming affection, leaned down and kissed her gently. 'Come on,' he said. 'We'd better make tracks for the monastery and find out what's happened to the others.' Luciano and Maria walked quietly together through the morning rain. She said, 'I wish I hadn't had to leave that child.' 'You've provided one miracle to start with,' he said. 'It'll survive. Bound to after such a start. Anyway, I thought you were in the faith business?' 'And you're not?' 'I deal in facts.' 163 'You don't hate the Germans?' 'Do you?' 'I hate some of the things they've done.' 'Life's a whole lot simpler than that for me.' 'You reject any kind of personal commitment.' Luciano shrugged. 'I know what I am. That tells me who I am. I like you, so I'm on your side.' 'And the Germans?' 'I haven't even seen one yet.' 'It's a game to you, all of it, isn't it, Mr Luciano, just like Mafia?' She shook her head. 'With your rules like some game for schoolboys. Your omerta. Manliness, honour, solve your own problems and kill your enemy face-to-face.' 'Everyone plays games,' he said. 'It helps you get by in life, haven't you noticed that? Flickering candles, medieval robes, plainsong, a man dressed in a woman's robe to wash your spirit clean at frequent intervals? Now what in hell am I supposed to make of that?' Before she could reply they emerged from the trees and saw a small village in the valley below. 'The place Solazzo mentioned,' she said. 'Viterba.' Luciano nodded. 'Okay, let's go down and take a look. See if I can find this guy, Verda, that Solazzo spoke of.' It was a poor sort of place. Several streets slanted down to a square, mainly open sewers if the stench was anything to go by. Thin children played listlessly in the dirt, stopping to gaze apathetically as Luciano and Maria went by. There was a wine shop, an awning stretched over a few tables outside, rain pouring over the edge. Luciano said to Maria, 'Wait here, I'll see if he's inside.' She sat at one of the tables and he went in. It was very dark, a few tables only and a cracked marble bar with bottles behind. There were no customers, only a short, thick-set man in open-necked shirt and soiled white apron, who leaned on the bar reading a magazine. l64 iM^ He looked up warily. 'Yes?' 'Mario Solazzo sent me.' �So?' 'I'm trying to get to the Franciscans at Crown of Thorns. He said you'd put us on the way.' 'Us?' 'I have a woman with me.' There was a long pause and Luciano said patiently, 'You are Verda, aren't you? I was told you were of the Society.' Verda stared at him blankly and his hand was under the bar now. 'So?' Luciano said, 'I'm going to take something out of my right hand pocket so don't shoot me. It isn't a gun.' He produced a yellow silk handkerchief and unfolded it. Verda looked down at the black L and his eyes widened. His hand emerged, holding a Beretta automatic of the type issued to Italian officers, and he placed it carefully on the bar. 'L for Luciano.' He looked up slowly. Luciano stood there, head back, a hand on his right hip. Verda whispered. 'You've come, just like they said you would.' He went round the bar and raised Luciano's hand to his lips and at the same moment, Maria cried out in pain. Luciano turned and ran for the door. She was pressed back against one of the tables. The two men crowding her were typical of the young men of the region: shabby clothes, broken boots, features brutalized and coarse from a life of toil. One of them had his arms around her, hands moving over her buttocks, a cruel smile on his face. He whispered some obscenity in her ear, and she slapped his face. To a Sicilian, a woman is there to be used, to do as she is told. To be publicly humiliated by one is unthinkable. The young man raised his hand to strike. Luciano grabbed him by the wrist and spun him round. 165 They stared at each other, face to face. Already, the other man's expression was changing, first to dismay, then fear. It was not that he recognized Luciano, but what he saw clearly in that implacable face was the self-sufficiency, the quiet arrogance, the power of the mafioso. Luciano slapped him. The man didn't say a word; simply stood there. His friend touched his arm and they walked backwards, faces blank, turned and hurried away. Verda said, 'Don Salvatore, what can I say? And you, Signorina.' 'This good lady is one of the sisters of Pity,' Luciano informed him. 'There are reasons for her being dressed like this. She is also Don Antonio Luca's grand-daughter.' Verda turned in astonishment to look at her then caught her hand and kissed it before she could prevent him. 'Please come in. Eat with me and then I'll see you on the road to the monastery.' Savage and Rosa went over a rise and paused. There was a village about half a mile to the right and below them, in the side of the valley. 'What's that place?'he demanded. 'Viterba, but we keep going this way, where the track climbs up beyond the church to the ridge. The monastery is five miles on the other side.' As they started down the track he said, 'A strange place to have a church, out here on its own.' 'Not really. The villages in the high country are not large enough to have their own church and priest. People walk from many places to this one. It is served by the Franciscan.' As they approached, Savage was aware of the sound of an engine close at hand and turned to see a kubelwagen emerge from the trees in the valley below. It carried three men, one of them sitting behind a heavy machine gun. 166 He raised his fieldglasses and examined them quickly. 'Germans.' 'No,' he said, 'Ukrainians - members of the SS Special Group run by a man called Meyer. He's a Gestapo major operating out of Agrigento.' She grabbed his arm and hurried him along. 'Heh,' he said, 'What is this?' 'The church - we'll hide in the church.' She was right, of course. They had really no other choice for the track carried on for hundreds of yards across bare mountainside. Before they could get anywhere, they were certain to be spotted. There was a donkey tethered outside. They moved past it and Rosa opened the door and led the way in. It was very quiet, only the candles, incense heavy on the damp morning air. Down by the altar, the Virgin seemed to float out of darkness, a light fixed smile on her face. Three people waited by a confessional box, a boy, an old man, an even older woman who wore the usual black headscarf and a decaying sheepskin coat against the cold. She looked at Rosa and Savage curiously. Savage peered through the partially open door as the kubelwagen braked to a halt. The Ukrainians got out and stood beside the fieldcar lighting cigarettes and talking, then all three of them started up the path to the church. They were casual enough, obviously expecting no trouble. The corporal who led the way carried a sidearm at his belt and the other two had Schmeissers. Savage un-slung his Mi, evaluating his chances of taking all three before they knew what was happening. Rosa said softly, 'You might get the corporal, but not the other two.' 'So what do we do?' 'Give me that.' She pulled the Mi from his hands. 'And now the pack.' He did as he was told and she quickly 167 stowed them away behind the confessional box. The two old people and the boy watched impassively. 'We're here to see the priest to discuss our marriage plans.' She pulled him over to a pew in the shadows behind the others. 'No trouble, I can handle it.' 'Like you have before?' 'Sure,' she said. 'They're men, aren't they? German, Russian - what's the difference?' 'I'm the difference, damn youl I'm the difference! * He took off his cap and slipped a Browning automatic out of his right hand pocket. He held it in his lap, covered by the cap, without Rosa being aware of the fact and waited. There was silence, the murmur of the priest's voice in the confessional mingling with the suppliant's. The door opened and steps approached, boots ringing on the flagstones, i 'So, what have we got here?' the corporal said in bad; Italian. He paused at the old people before moving on to Rosa and Savage. He stood looking down at them and the other two moved up beside him. Tough, brutal men who looked as if they'd seen everything and experienced most things. 'What are you doing here?' he demanded. 'Waiting to see the priest,' Rosa said. 'What for? To confess your sins.' Their laughter had an ugly ring to it. She smiled ingratiatingly. 'We're getting married next week and need to see the good father to make the arrange* ments.' 'Married, eh?' He moved round behind her. 'Nice?' the corporal appealed to the other two and slipped a hand inside the bodice of her dress, cupping the left breast. 'Virgin, are you?' ; 'Yes.' : 168

'"I 'We'll have to do something about that.' He yanked her to her feet and pulled Savage's head back by the hair at the same time. 'I'm doing you a favour, son, you do realize that?' He took her by the arm and she twisted, pleading with Savage. 'Please, no trouble. It's nothing. I can handle it.' As the corporal propelled her up the aisle one of the others called, 'Don't forget your friends.' He turned, grinning. 'If I know him, he'll have her on the altar.' The other put one foot on the pew beside Savage and leaned over him. 'You don't mind, do you? Like he says, he's doing you a favour. In fact, we're in such a generous mood today, we've all decided to do you a favour.' Savage fired through the cap, shooting him in the heart at point-blank range, killing him instantly. He shoved the body away, the Browning arching towards the other man who was frantically trying to unsling his Schmeisser. Savage's second bullet caught him in the left shoulder, spinning him round. The third shattered his spine, driving him headfirst across the back of one of the pews. As Savage turned, the corporal already had Rosa in front of him and was jerking the Walther from his holster. He rammed it into her side. 'Drop it or she dies now.' But exactly this kind of situation had been a feature of OSS training. Savage's arm swung up and he shot him through the head instantly, the top of the corporal's skull fragmenting as he was hurled back against the altar rail. Savage rushed for Rosa's hand. He pulled her away and, turning, found the old couple and the boy already making for the door fast followed by another old woman who had just emerged from the confessional box with the priest. He was about fifty, bearded, and wore the brown robes of the Franciscans. He came forward, his face strangely calm considering the circumstances. Without a word he 169 proceeded to check the three Ukrainians. 'All dead. Who are you?' 'We were on our way to Crown of Thorns to see Padre Giovanni,' Rosa said. 'I am Vito Barbera's niece and this is an American officer, Captain Savage.' 'I am Brother Lucio,' the Franciscan said. Savage retrieved his rucksack and Mi and moved to the door quickly. 'The donkey is still there.' 'Mine,' said Lucio. 'Those people? What about them?' 'AH they want to do is get home and forget this ever happened. They're too old and frightened to want to be involved.' He turned to survey the carnage. 'But we'll have to do something about this.' 'What do you mean?' Savage asked. 'If the corpses are found here, it would mean heavy reprisals for Viterba. Much better they disappear all together. Help me and we'll take them out to the fieldcar.' 'I'll clean up in here,' Rosa said. She found a bucket in the vestry, filled it with water from the spring outside the door, went back inside and started to mop the blood from the stone floor with a rag as Savage and Lucio returned for another body. When they came back for the corporal, she was cleaning the altar beside his body. Savage said, 'Are you okay?' ( 'You think I'm worried about a pig like that?* *; She stirred the corpse with her toe and Savage said* 'Okay, you needn't act so tough. We'll be back in a little while.' He and Lucio put the corporal in the rear of the kubel-wagen with the other two, then Savage and the Franciscan got into the front and Savage drove away, following his instructions. They left the track further down the slope towards the village and turned into the forest, bumping over rougti ' 170 r ground between trees. Finally, Lucio tapped Savage on the shoulder and he braked to a halt at the top of a short slope above a dark and stagnant pond. 'Here, I think.' They got out and together, put their shoulders to the fieldcar. It ran forward, gathering momentum, ploughed through a screen of young firs and plunged into the pond. One of the bodies was pitched out and the fieldcar turned over on top of him, the other two still inside. It didn't take long to disappear. 'Right,' Savage said. 'A moment, Captain, please.' Lucio folded his hands and recited in a firm voice the prayers for the dying. Go, Christian Soul, from this world, in the name of God the Father Almighty who created thee. By the time he was finished, the surface mud had settled* He crossed himself and said gravely, 'And now we go, I think.' They hurried back up the slope through the trees and along the track to the church. Rosa was waiting outside by the donkey. Brother Lucio said, 'You've cleaned up thoroughly?' 'Of course.' He swung a leg over the donkey, adjusted his robe and set off. Savage and Rosa followed behind. 'Are you all right?' he asked her. 'Sure.' She took out her old tobacco tin and lit a cigarette, inhaled a couple of times and passed it to him. 'There was no need. I could have handled it.' 'No,' he said violently. 'Never again. You understand me?' 'Sure I do. I think maybe you like me, Savage.' T think maybe you're right.' 'Good,' she said calmly. 'Perhaps I make you a little bit crazy again tonight.' Savage, hopelessly and genuinely in love for the first 1 'I I �h _ -i � s � time in his life, pulled her into his arms and kissed her, then they hurried after Brother Lucio. Maria knelt in prayer in front of the altar of the chapel at Crown of Thorns, at peace again for the first time in days, once more a part of a calm and ordered world that she understood. Luciano and Padre Giovanni stood in the shadows by the door. 'Have you heard from Don Antonio yet?' Luciano asked. 'Not a word.' 'What do you think he'll make of her?' Luciano nodded down towards Maria. The old man smiled faintly. 'A very remarkable young woman. A whiff of holiness would not come amiss in Don Antonio's life, but frankly, I think the fact that Maria is a nun will have little effect on him. He is a strange, stubborn man. Quite unique. Himself alone.' The door opened, a young brother entered and whispered in his ear. Padre Giovanni said to Luciano, 'It appears that your friends have arrived.' He turned and led the way out to the terraced cloisters. Luciano looked over the rail and saw Savage and Rosa crossing the courtyard. 'Heh, you two,' he called. 'What kept you?' i| Padre Giovanni led the way down the winding stone stair to the crypt of the monastery. He was preceded by a young monk carrying a couple of lanterns on a pole. Savage and Luciano followed behind. 'These cellars, more than anything else, have made Crown of Thorns famous all over Sicily,' Padre Giovanni told them. The young monk raised the pole high and Savage saw that the place was a charnel house, the bones of the dead visible on every hand. Ribs, pelvises, hands, feet, femurs, tibulas, all cemented into the architecture. There were skulls piled everywhere. The most horrifying aspect was the bodies, some lying down, some seated, others hanging from pegs. Many were total skeletons, but others retained skin and hair, even eyes and tattered vestiges of clothing. 'What in the hell goes on here?' Savage asked in horror. 'Who were these people?' 'Only the best, Captain Savage, I assure you,' Padre Giovanni told him. 'Sicilian aristocrats over the ages have taken it as a privilege to make this their final resting place. You will find much the same thing in the catacombs of Cappuchin Zita Church in Palermo.' The remains of a child in a tattered velvet suit hung from a peg nearby and Savage shuddered and turned away. Luciano said, 'To the Sicilian, death is ever present and always important. In some villages on All Souls Day, �73 families make pilgrimages to the graves of the departed, taking their favourite food. They sit around the graves at midnight by candlelight. They leave presents for the dead in church.' 'And why not?' Padre Giovanni said. 'It reminds us that we all come to the same end. But I didn't bring you down here to find a suitable setting for a sermon. Over here, gentlemen.' In one corner of the crypt was an ancient wooden throne in black oak, shaped as a Norman arch and set into the stone. A decaying figure was enthroned in the seat, attired in a Franciscan robe, the hood drawn over the skull. 'Padre Leonardo, prior of the monastery at the end of the last century.' He turned a carved wooden rose in the top right hand corner and pushed and the throne swung back with its macabre burden, revealing a dark tunnel. 'This dates from Saracen times,' Padre Giovanni said. 'A way of retreat if things become too hopeless. For you also, I think, which is why it seemed sensible I show it to ? you.' 'Have the Germans given you much trouble here at the monastery, Father?' Savage asked. 'On occasion. Colonel Koenig and his paratroopers were here three weeks ago. They searched the monastery most thoroughly.' 'Were they looking for somebody?' 'No, I think Koenig wished to familiarize himself with the situation here. A strange young man. Courteous and decent in the extreme. Not like those Ukrainians of Major Meyer. We've had them here too.' Luciano said, 'So this tunnel emerges somewhere outside the walls?' j 'About a quarter of a mile down the slope. Too far fof . my old legs to walk, but Filippo will show you the way.?' He reached up and took one of the lanterns from the pole. 'I'll see you later.' He turned and walked back through the crypt. Brother Filippo started into the tunnel. Savage glanced sideways at the ghoul in the hooded robe on the wooden throne and hesitated, unwilling to pass him. Luciano said cheerfully, 'He reminds me of a judge I once knew, but that's another story. Come on, let's get moving.' He gave Savage a push and they moved on into the tunnel, following Brother Filippo. Detweiler leaned against the wall in a daze. He had never been so tired in his life and every limb, every muscle in his body seemed to ache. Conditions in the cell were appalling. The place stank like a sewer and he was weak and light-headed. He had no idea how long he had been there just as he had lost count of the number of times he had attempted to slump down to the ground and had been kicked and beaten back on to his feet. A man could only take so much, training or no training, that was apparent. There was a rattle of bolts, the door opened and a shaft of yellow light flooded in. He stood under a warm shower washing himself, watched by one of the Ukrainian guards. Standing in the passage outside, Meyer and Suslov peered in through the small glass window in the door. Meyer said, 'I've just received word that Koenig's been detained in Palermo by General Guzzoni. He won't be returning until tomorrow.' 'An interesting situation,' Suslov said. 'Fraught with possibilites, especially where our friend in there is concerned.' 'Exactly.' 175 Meyer opened the door and went in followed by Suslov. Detweiler turned, instinctively covering his private parts with his hands. Meyer said, 'I've considered your case and I've now decided you can go.' Detweiler said stupidly, 'Go?' Meyer ignored him and said to Suslov 'Give him his clothes, see he gets something to eat, then kick him out.' He walked out. Suslov said, 'You're bloody lucky, my friend. If I had my way. Still...' He nodded to the guard. 'Get him dressed, then take him to the canteen.' He went out and the guard threw Detweiler a towel. Detweiler dried himself quickly, then dressed in his clothes which had been piled neatly on the bench. It was incredible. His story had actually worked. The bastards were going to let him go. In the canteen, he worked his way through a large plateful of some kind of spaghetti. There was black bread, cheese in plenty, real coSee. He was beginning to feel almost human again. There was no one else in the canteen. The guard said, 'Had enough?' 'Sure,' Detweiler told him. 'Okay, follow me.' They went out and along the corridor and the guard opened a door leading into a small whitewashed cell with a bunk bed with a mattress on it. He gave Detweiler a cigarette and lit it for him. 'Wait here. I'll tell Lieutenant Suslov you're ready to go-' He went out, closing the door behind him and Detweiler relaxed, inhaling deeply on the cigarette. The next stage was the important one now. How to make contact with Carter and the others. And with Suslov out of the way... 176 J .1 There was a sudden hideous clamour. He looked up and saw that an electric bell jangled above the door. TTien the door burst open and they rushed in, four of them, and flung themselves on him. He was kicked and beaten all the way along the passage, dragged by the ankles down a flight of stone steps, ending up in a corner, arms raised against the flailing truncheons. When they finally stopped he looked up fearfully and found Meyer and Suslov looking down at him. Meyer said, 'Now you know exactly where you stand. Have you anything to say to me?' To Detweiler, in spite of his weakened state, one thing was obvious. The slightest hint of his true identity and God alone knew what they might do to him. So, he stayed in character. 'Please, Major, I'm a poor man/ he whined. 'I know nothing.' Meyer turned to Suslov. 'He's all yours.' As he walked away, Suslov nodded to his men. They pulled Detweiler to his feet and made him stand against the wall braced on his fingertips, legs apart. One of them placed a bag of some black material over his head leaving him in total darkness. The pain in his lingers was already intense. He groaned, moving slightly and a truncheon flailed across his kidneys. Maria leaned on the battlements, staring out across the mountains to the Cammarata rising almost six thousand feet into the sky. The side of the valley was carpeted with flowers, fresh because of the rain. Red poppies, anemones, blue iris, spreading in the distance. Padre Giovanni came up the steps to join her. 'So, here you are.' He nodded out over the land. 'Well, what do you think?' 'Nothing changes,' she said. 177 He nodded. 'There are caves up there that used to hide Roman slaves two thousand years ago.' He sat down. 'Are you glad to be home?' 'Home?' she said. 'This isn't home, Father. Not to me. We are taught that to hate is a mortal sin and yet I believe, with all my heart, that I hate this place.' 'And your grandfather?' 'Antonio Luca,' she said. 'Capo Mafia in all Sicily. Lord of Life and Death. Does the church permit me to love such a man?' 'My child,' Giovanni said, 'it was not your grandfather who killed your mother. It was evil men who plotted his death.' 'He was responsible/ she said, 'because of what he was. If you defend him, you defend Mafia. How can you, a priest, defend that?' 'I don't,' he said tranquilly. 'I defend no one. I deal in human souls as instructed by our Lord Jesus Christ in the Gospels.' The gate opened and before she could reply Carter and Barbera entered the courtyard below, riding on mules. Barbera said, 'As far as we know Detweiler was arrested and taken to the barracks at Agrigento.' 'How did they find him?' Savage demanded. 'An informer. He'll be taken care of.' They were seated at one of the refectory tables where meals were eaten;
Savage and Rosa and Barbera on one side, Luciano, Carter and Maria on the other. Padre Giovanni was at the head of the table. He poured red wine into his glass and passed the bottle to Luciano. 'Even if Major Meyer is unaware of Sergeant Detweiler's true identity, he will still, I fear, be subjected to considerable brutality.' He turned to Savage. 'How strong would you say he is, Captain?' 'Oh, he's tough enough,' Savage said. 'Once during a 178 commando raid on the French coast, he walked twenty miles to our rendezvous with a bullet in the foot.' Barbera said, 'Most men have their breaking point. Once Detweiler opens his mouth, they'll be looking for us.' 'Which means we must see Luca as soon as possible,' Carter said. Brother Filippo entered, holding a pigeon in his hand. He stroked it soothingly while Padre Giovanni unfastened the tiny capsule from its left leg. He prised it open with a finger nail, took out the paper it contained and unrolled it. He examined it, looked up and smiled. 'In the morning, my friends. He will see you in the morning.' There were two additional members of the district committee replacing Mori and Russo. They were waiting in the living rom at the back of the mortuary when Barbera entered with Harry Carter and Luciano. Barbera made the introductions. 'Father Collura, you know, Harry, representing the Christian Democrats. Mario Verga who runs the inn here speaks for the Separatist movement.' 'Father.' Carter shook hand. 'Signor Verga. Good to see you again.' He turned to the other two men. 'And these gentlemen?' 'Zizzo and Valachi,' Barbera said, 'Of the Communist Party. There have been changes in that respect.' Zizzo, a small, dark man in gamekeeper's leggings and corduroy suit said angrily, 'Stuff the pretty talk, Barbera. Pietro Mori murdered in his own home and Ettore Russo, our leader, vanished off the face of the earth. A direct attack on the whole Communist movement and we know who is responsible.' 'You make me sick,' Carter said. 'All of you. Nearly two years since I first came to Sicily and you haven't changed �79 a bit, like boys, stoning each other on the way home from school for no good reason. I couldn't care less who rules Sicily after the war. You can sort that out amongst yourselves. For the moment, the question isn't, do you want rid of Mussolini and the Fascist Party. It's, do you want rid of the Germans?' Father Collura said mildly, 'I agree with Colonel Carter. First, we get rid of our enemies. Afterwards, when Sicily is free again, we discuss our future democratically amongst ourselves.' The two Communists reacted angrily. Valachi said, 'Fine words which mean nothing. Why should we listen to Carter anyway? Is he one of us? No - a stranger, interested only in the needs of his own people. The English and Americans don't give a damn for Sicily or its people. We're just another pawn in the Capitalist imperialist struggle.' Carter was tired. There was that pain in his lung again. When he breathed it hurt. More than that, he was weary. Tired of the scheming, the feuds, the personal vendettas. He was about to turn away in disgust when suddenly, Luciano was beside him. 'Why should you listen? I'll tell you why, you stupid bastards.' He tore open Carter's shirt with one quick movement, exposing the livid, raised scars left by his chest wounds. 'He's made his bones, the Professor. Two months ago, they carried him out of here in a coffin with a bullet in the lung. How much has that taken off his life at the other end? Why do you think he's come back - for the good of his health?' Carter said, 'You're talking into the wind, my friend, and the words blow back unheard.' He went out. There was a heavy silence. Zizzo said, 'What in the hell has it got to do with you, anyway?' He turned on Barbera. 'Who is this guy?' Luciano took his time over lighting a cigarette. 'An in- 180 teresting point,' he said. 'To the priest who baptized me I'm Salvatore Lucania, but to most people I'm simply Luciano.' His smile was terrible to see. 'Lucky Luciano. Would you like me to tell you why?' Both Zizzo and Valachi recoiled in horror and Father Collura moved in quickly. 'Please, Don Salvatore, no harm was intended, no offence, I'm sure.' There was a wooden, hand-painted icon of Our Lady and the Holy Infant on the far wall. Luciano's hand came out of his pocket holding the ivory Madonna, there was a click, he swung underhand and the point of the stiletto buried itself in the icon. 'You see, Father, the knife in the heart of the Virgin, something we Sicilians understand.' There was a dreadful silence. He dominated the room now 'Cards on the table. Come with me, all of you.' He nodded to Barbera, who led the way through the waiting mortuary into the preparation room. Two bodies lay side by side covered by sheets. Barbera pulled back the first one to disclose the thin aesthetic features of Pietro Mori. The face had been carefully made up, the lips touched with carmine. He even wore his glasses. 'And here?' Barbera uncovered the other corpse and exposed Ettore Russo. 'We came at great personal risk to help the cause,' Luciano said. 'But these two used the occasion to work off some personal grudge against Mafia. Russo was the instrument. He and the misguided youth with him paid the price, but it was Mori who stood behind the deed. He made the worst mistake of his life, not in attacking me, but in exposing to danger of her life the grand-daughter of Don Antonio Luca who was with me at the Villa Bellona at the time.' "Holy Mother of God!' Zizzo whispered. 'Please, Don Salvatore,' Valachi had his cap off now. 'Such a thing- was infamita and never intended. You must 181 believe this.' He turned to Barbera. 'Vito, you can surely make plain to the good Don Antonio that this was none of our doing.' 'Of course,' Barbera said. 'Although in Don Antonio's eyes, deeds speak louder than words. The fact that the district committee speaks with one voice in future; that we work together against the common enemy in the coming invasion, would impress him as an earnest of your good faith.' Zizzo said eagerly. 'You may rely on us of the Communist Party.' 'Politics are politics,' Valachi said. 'But we're all Sicilians first.' Luciano moved to the window and lit another cigarette. Barbera said, 'So, the invasion will come and very soon now. You and your people must hold yourselves ready with all weapons at your command and when the time comes, you take your orders from Colonel Carter. You understand this?' 'Yes,' Zizzo said. Father Collura said, 'The co-operation of we of the Christian Democrats Party goes without saying.' Luciano turned. 'AH in order now?' Barbera nodded. 'So it would appear.' 'Good. So long as we understand each other.' He stood there waiting, left hand on hip, head thrown back. Zizzo and Valachi shuffled forward in turn and kissed his right hand. Savage couldn't sleep. There wasn't much room in the small bed with Rosa squeezed in beside him. The old shirt she wore instead of a night shift had rucked up so that her breasts were warm against him and her hand had fallen across his stomach. In sleep she looked not so much young as vulnerable. Lying there with an arm about her seemed the most 182 natural thing in the world. He felt warm, secure and content. He managed to turn up the lamp with one hand, lit a cigarette and reached for a small tattered volume on the bedside locker. It was the poetry anthology his grandfather had given him on his thirteenth birthday. He had read it a thousand times and the contents never bored him. Rosa stirred and opened her eyes. She said sleepily, 'What are you doing?' 'Reading.' 'But what?' 'Poetry.' She touched his ear with her tongue and heT hand slid down his stomach to hold him. 'Is it better than me, this poetry?' 'You can't compare the two things.' 'So?' she pouted. 'This is how much you love me?' 'No,' he said. 'Sometimes the poetry can say how much, far better than I can.' 'I don't believe you. Show me what you're reading now.' 'I don't need to. I know it by heart. It was written a long time ago by a very great Englishman. Sir Walter Raleigh. He was just about everything a man could be. A gentleman in the true sense of the word, a fine soldier, musician, writer, poet.' 'What happened to him?' 'They chopped off his head. The king was jealous of him.' She said, 'The poem? What about this poem?' He said aloud in English, quietly and softly, "But true love is a durable fire In the mind ever burning: Never sick, never old, never dead. From itself never turning.' She hardly understood the meaning of the words, but the poignancy was there. She started to weep, deeply and bitterly, as if mourning that lost innocence and everything that had ever happened to her. Savage, out of some strange perception, knew exactly what was taking place here. He held her close, thinking about Boston and his mother and the whole Savage clan and Rosa. Suddenly he felt unaccountably cheerful. If they don't like it, he thought, they can do the other thing. She was asleep again now and he held her dose, listening to the rain outside the open window. In the cubbyhole at the back of the coffin room, Barbera sat at the radio while Carter and Luciano drank coSee and waited. Finally, Barbera took off his headphones and turned, his face suffused with excitement. 'They come,' he said. 'The day after tomorrow.' Carter got to his feet and paced nervously across the room. 'It doesn't give us much time.' 'Come on, Harry,' Luciano said. 'We see Luca tomorrow. One meeting is all it takes. Afterwards, he sends messages all over Western Sicily and how long does that take? A few hours only.' Barbera had already taken a bottle and three glasses from a cupboard. He filled them quickly. 'A drink, I think, would be in order.' He turned and twiddled the dial on the receiver. 'Let's see what the British Forces radio has to offer from Cairo.' The music was distant and far away and the voice of the man singing was strangely compelling, something of the night in it. 'I like that,' Luciano said. 'Who is it?' 'Al Bowlly,' Carter told him. 'One of my weaknesses. Did I ever tell you I play a very fair jazz piano? He was an English crooner, South African originally. Number One in the hit parade for years. He was killed in the Blitz UR forty-one. That's "Moonlight on the Highway", probably the best thing he ever did. Recorded with the Lew Stone orchestra in March, 1938. The haunting melody filled the room. Luciano said, �What a way to go.' 'His own choice. He was walking down Brewer Street when a bomb fell and the blast went the other way. From then on he believed in his luck, so when the siren sounded and other people went to the shelters, he stayed in bed.' 'And paid for it with his life?' Barbera said. 'Exactly.' Carter smiled. 'But this is getting morbid. A toast, gentlemen. Now, what shall we drink to?' 'Why, to all three of us,' Luciano smiled. 'And to Luciano's luck. May it hold.' They left just after nine the following morning in Bar-bera's old truck; Luciano, Carter and Savage in the rear while Maria sat up front with Barbera. It had stopped raining and it was already apparent that it was going to be a hot day. The truck climbed the dusty road into the mountains, passing through a medieval landscape, one wretched village after another, most of the houses windowless, the doors opening into dark caverns which in most cases housed livestock as well as people. Luciano said, 'What a bloody country. 1907, when my people took us to America to get away from this and thirty-six years later, nothing's changed.' 'Was the east side of New York any better?' Carter asked. They passed a long line of gaunt women, baskets on their heads, dressed in black as if mourning their daily existence, shoulders bowed as they struggled up the steep road. 'Professor,' Luciano said with deep conviction. 'Anything would be better than this, even the backside of hell.' After an hour and a half of travelling they came into a small decaying village and Barbera pulled up outside the wine shop. He climbed down and a small, fat man came out, wiping his hands on a soiled white apron. 'Heh, Rafael,' Vito hailed him. 'How goes it?' 'Fine - everything's ready for you. Leave the truck here. I'll take care of it.' 'Okay,' Barbera called, 'All outl' 186 He followed Rafael round to the rear of the wine shop. Half-a-dozen mules waited in a small corral, saddled and bridled and a dark-haired youth with a shotgun slung across his back, leaned against the rail. 'This is Nino. He'll take you the rest of the way. A couple of hours' ride up into the mountains, that's all.' Luciano turned to Carter. 'You really think of everything, don't you, Professor?' 'Better than walking,' Carter said. Luciano moved across to Maria and helped her up on to the broad wooden saddle of the lead mule. She sat sidesaddle and he took his time over adjusting her stirrup. 'Are you worried?' he said. 'About meeting your grandfather?' 'Should I be?' His enquiry had been one of genuine concern and the coldness of her reply angered him. 'What is it with you?' he said. 'What happened to the Christian charity bit, the human concern? Did you peel it off along with the robes?' Nino, the young muleteer, had passed her a riding switch and in a sudden reflex action, she raised it as if to cut Luciano across the face. 'Now you're talking,' he said. 'Now I know there's some Luca blood in those veins.' 'Damn you!' she said in a low voice. 'Harsh words,' he said. 'Three Hail Marys and two Our Fathers.' She slashed the mule across the rump and it cantered away. Detweiler was almost completely disorientated. The pain in his fingers and arms was not so terrible any more because he had passed through some sort of pain threshold, but every so often the Ukrainians took turns to belabour 187 the bucket they had placed over his head with truncheons. It was a technique Suslov had picked up during a spell of duty at Auschwitz concentration camp. The constant clangour had such an effect on the brain and ear drums that it usually produced total alienation within a matter of hours. Detweiler had lost control of his bladder and his trousers were soaked with urine. Suslov, standing there watching, calmly said, 'Hose him down, then throw him in a cell. I'll deal with him when I've eaten.' They took Detweiler out between them, feet trailing, Suslov walked after them. Maria guided her mule through a stream following Nino. As she started up the slope on the other side, Luciano rode up alongside her. They were moving through trees now, cork-oak and holly-oak, and above them the ridge was scattered with pines. Luciano said, 'I've decided to forgive you.* She smiled in spite of herself. 'You have the Devil's insolence, Mr Luciano.' 'Oh, there's a lot to be said for the Devil,' he said. 'He was, after all, a fallen angel.' 'A debatable point.' 'True, but if the Bible is to be believed, still a force to be reckoned with. Has it