See Naples and Die (21 page)

Megan Penhaligon was the first to wake. Her
eyes opened slowly, as if lifting a huge weight, and then closed. The warm
touch of the duvet consumed her and for those few brief moments of half sleep
she believed that this was her own bed in her own room, and that the craziest
of dreams had taken up a part of the night. Then as her eyes opened again and
the surroundings began to spell out the truth she had a wave of panic, and a
burning desire to sit up and scream … But it passed, and instead she looked
around for Chrissie and Brenda.

They were in a bedroom at the back of
the house with one small window that was covered by a rolled blackout blind,
which was hiding the morning. Megan got up and lifted the blind, which allowed
a supernova of sunlight to engulf them. The other two girls were shocked into
alertness, and almost leapt out of bed.

“What time is it, Meg?” asked Chrissie.

Megan looked at her watch. “God, it’s
ten thirty.”

“Oh, no,” said Chrissie. “We’re late for
work,” and ran to the bathroom.

“She’s done it again,” said Brenda.
“Always gets in there first, and we fall for it every time …” and then added,
“Come on, Chrissie. We all need to go, you know.”

Forty-five minutes later, having all had
their turn in the bathroom, they trotted downstairs to Luigi’s hostel for
wayward girls and fugitive Mafiosi. They breezed into the living room, and were
met by a stony silence. Mafia men don’t laugh much in the mornings – or any
other time – but no one was around. Claudio stood by the door in his usual ‘Border
collie at the farmyard gate’ way, always ready to snap at the legs of any
intruder. But other than this guardian of Asgard the room was empty.

“Where’re Roberto and the boys?” asked
Chrissie.

Claudio appeared not to hear.

Chrissie was about to ask again when
Luigi entered with a plate of hot buttered fruit loaf.

“They’ve gone to see Angelo Tardelli,”
he said.

Sunday mornings in hospitals – like
Sunday mornings anywhere else – are quiet times. No routine admissions, and
depleted weekend staff, create empty corridors and minimal activity.

In a private ward on the fourth floor of
Chadsworth Green Royal Infirmary Angelo Tardelli sat in bed, with grapes and
olives by his side. He had no appetite but these were gifts, and he did his
best to suck on a grape so as not to be disrespectful to his visitor.

The past two days had been a bag of
surprises for Angelo. Firstly he’d felt a painless paralysis when the shaft of
cold steel penetrated his body … and then the weightlessness as a floating sensation
took his inner soul high into the air and then released its grip, sending him spiralling
to the floor … and the sight of his assailant’s face, twisted and triumphant in
the murky glow of the night … and his own disbelief as he recognised the
assassin. He had fragmented flashbacks of doctors barking orders and bright
lights, and himself as a boy running through never-ending fields of wheat. But
the greatest surprise of all was the visitor who now sat by his bedside. Roberto
Vialli … What the hell was he doing here?

Angelo didn’t fear Roberto – in the
order of things they were almost equals – but he was suspicious of the motives
that brought him here. It was a long way from Naples, and whatever Vialli
wanted it certainly wasn’t to enquire about his health … and how did he know
about the stabbing? Angelo’s body was weak, but he was on full alert. Although
his mind was dealing with the effects of controlled medication he was still
able to rationalise, and he was wary of the presence of a rival Mafia don.

For ten minutes Roberto talked of the
weather and other hospital visitor chit-chat, and then he got down to the real
business in hand. He told Angelo that he knew about the Manchester development
and all the other controlling companies the Scarpones had set up. He stopped
short of explaining how he knew these things, but made it abundantly clear that
Zico Scarpone was finished.

It was all going to come crashing down,
and Angelo could be crushed in the debris and die a broken man … or he could
switch allegiances. First and foremost Roberto was a businessman, and he valued
Angelo. These deals were happening, and the infrastructure was in place.
Roberto made his offer, and it was tempting.

They asked each other some pertinent
questions, and both men were frank with their answers. Then Roberto rose and,
with hand on heart, offered his best wishes. Angelo watched the head of the
Vialli family leave the ward, and as the door closed he stared at the ceiling.
He’d always been a loyal employee – he was well known for it – but he wasn’t a
fool, and business is business.

He considered what had transpired.
Vialli knew a lot, but he didn’t know everything. He didn’t know about the gold,
and he didn’t seem to know about the assassins. It was a lot to digest for a
man who had been in intensive care twenty-four hours earlier. He looked at the
clock and found relief and a short-term solution. He would review what had been
said later. Now it was time for tea and tablets.

Beppe and Armando had been loitering
outside the ward, and now the three men left the hospital and walked towards
the multi-storey car park. They pulled their sunglasses closer to their eyes
and walked in silence, absorbing the English sun … not as hot as back home, but
pleasant all the same. They took the lift to level two and strolled towards the
black Mercedes. Armando and Beppe went to the driver and front passenger doors
while Roberto stood to the rear, waiting for the door to be opened for him.

Then, as if from nowhere, they came.
Four men surrounded the car, and Beppe and Armando were felled by karate blows
to the temple. Roberto went for his gun, but as his fingers touched the butt of
the Smith & Wesson Colt his arms were dragged behind his back and the gun
remained in its holster. He heard handcuffs lock, and a white Transit van
screeched to a halt. He was pushed towards the rear doors and almost fell over
the prostrate Beppe, and was bundled inside. The doors slammed shut and the van
drove away.

The four remaining men looked at the
unconscious Italians, and one of them took out a long curved knife that could
have been mistaken for a short Saracen sword. He grabbed Beppe by the hair,
lifted his head, and put the knife to his throat. The muscles in his upper arm
tensed and the blade shone like a shark’s tooth, primeval and deadly in its
intent … and then redemption came with a sudden sharp command.

“No,” said the largest of the
assailants. “Let them be.” The man with the blade didn’t question this order. He
would have preferred not to leave any loose ends – mistakes like that have a
habit of coming back to haunt you – but he was a professional, and did as he
was told. The four jumped into another car and drove quickly away, the whole
abduction having been completed in less than two minutes.

It was lunchtime at Luigi’s, and the
girls were eating pizza and watching an episode of
Only Fools and Horses
on UK Gold. They’d seen it before, probably more than a dozen times, but it was
a classic and you can’t get too much of a good thing. The room was warm, the
coffee strong, and Del Boy was in full swing, with brilliant one-liners
tumbling with superb comic timing. In one of those weird coincidental
happenings Del Boy shouted from the television screen, “There’s someone at the
door,” and at that precise second the front door burst open and they heard the
frantic steps and urgent voices of Beppe and Armando, who careered into the
living room and – along with Claudio and Luigi – began a mad Italian dialogue.

As usual they all spoke at the same time,
with no one appearing to be listening to anyone else. Shoulders were raised and
hands held up, with actions saying more than words. Even so, the girls were at
a total loss as to what was going on. It was serious – they could see that – and
where was Roberto? Finally the commotion subsided and the four men moved to
different parts of the room, like actors in a play. The girls were looking for
answers but the men were stroking their chins, as if they were four thinkers in
a Greek tragedy.

Someone had to break the silence, and it
had to be Chrissie. “Come on, Luigi. What’s going on? What’s happening?”

Luigi took his hand from his face, “It’s
over. They have Mr Vialli.”

“Who has?” asked Megan.

“We don’t know for sure, but it’s
probably the Scarpones. They were ambushed leaving the hospital. Beppe and
Armando were knocked unconscious and Don Roberto has been taken.”

Chrissie began to pace the floor. In a
room full of macho men she was the one with the coolest head. “If it was Zico’s
men then why didn’t they just kill everyone? Why didn’t they put bullets into
their brains and dump the bodies in the river, or whatever you guys do? It
doesn’t seem the Mafia style to knock people out and leave them to fight
another day.”

Suddenly they were all listening.

“It may have been the Scarpones, it may
not – but I won’t believe anything has happened to Roberto until I see a body.
It could have been that bent copper, Chan. It could be those London villains we
were told about. It could have been an alien abduction. Well, okay, forget the
last one … the point is until we know for sure we keep our options open. What
was going to be our next move?”

“We were going to contact Zico and
arrange a meeting,” said Armando. “Don Roberto was going to tell him we have
the data, and would exchange it for a share of the Scarpone enterprises. This
would never happen, of course, but we wanted to get Zico to England and give
our people time to infiltrate his operations and begin to dismantle his power.”

“And when we did meet the devil face to
face we were going to slay him,” shouted Luigi.

Chrissie looked to Armando for confirmation,
and he simply shrugged. The Italians have different shrugs and facial
expressions and she’d learnt that this particular one meant ‘Yes’.

“Well, we still have the data so we can
still bargain,” said Chrissie.

Armando shook his head. “Not without the
don. He would be the reason for Zico to leave Naples. There is hatred between
them, and the Scarpones would want to resolve this by retrieving their
information and at the same time eliminating their biggest threat. That is the
purpose which would draw them here.”

“So hatred is the key?” said Chrissie.

Armando again did the ‘Yes’ expression.

Chrissie gritted her teeth, “Then we’ll
do it,” she said. “Zico Scarpone hates us as much as anyone, and I’m sure he
would love to do a deal that gave him the opportunity to get back his data and
personally finish us off. In fact this way is better because if Roberto
contacted him then Zico would know that he had seen his secrets and understood
their significance, whereas we only want to trade. We don’t really comprehend
any of it.

“This was how it was always going to end:
the three of us staring into the eyes of our tormentor. It could never be
concluded any other way … but, before we go any further, could the three of us
– she pointed to Megan, Brenda, and herself – have a few minutes alone?”

The Italians understood and left the
room, closing the door quietly as if leaving a sleeping child.

Chrissie looked as sombre as they’d ever
seen her – near to tears, or worse.

“It’s all right, Chrissie,” said Brenda.
“We’re with you on this. We know it’s the only way.”

“Yes. Power to the sisters and all
that,” echoed Megan. “One for all and all for one.”

“It’s not that,” said Chrissie, her
voice racked with emotion.

“Then what?” asked Brenda.

“You know that Auntie Rose has the gift
– the all-seeing eye – and that it runs in the family. And although I’m not on
the same plane as Auntie I do have something. I’ve definitely been touched.”

Brenda was about to make a joke of the
last bit, but she could see the anguish in Chrissie’s eyes and thought better
of it.

“So what have you seen?” asked Megan.

Chrissie flopped down into the armchair
and covered her head with her hands. “This morning in the bathroom I came out
of the shower, and through the steam I saw Lime Street station – and we were
back in Liverpool.”

“That was a good vision, wasn’t it?”
said Megan.

“No, it wasn’t, Meg. It was bad.”
Chrissie took her hands away from her face. “The figures were fuzzy, like a bad
photograph, yet the rest of the scene was crystal clear. Other people were
running up and down the steps, but we were shadowy shapes. I couldn’t make out
the faces, but our auras were bathed in sadness. It was all over and we’d come
through it, but … there were only two of us.”

Megan and Brenda looked at each other,
and eventually Brenda asked the burning question. “Which two?”

“I couldn’t be sure,” said Chrissie.
“The faces were obscured for a reason. I was being shown what the future may
hold, but I was only allowed so much. Now it might be a load of old rubbish,
and the after-effects of a bad dream … but you know I’m serious about these
things, so it’s something you have to consider before we make any decision.”

They stood rooted to the spot, looking
at each other but seeing nothing. The grandfather clock in the corner was the
only sound. The ticking was like a drummer boy’s refrain before a battle, beating
a monotonous rhythm in time with the pounding of men’s hearts … not really
helping to alleviate anyone’s fears, but more sending a message of intent to
the enemy. They listened to this beat for several minutes, lost in thought and
testing their own resolve.

If they met with the Scarpones then two
of them would get their lives back … but one could lose hers. None of them were
thinking of being the lucky ones. There were no lucky ones. They had a bond
that couldn’t be broken, and a love that would never fade. It was beyond
heartbreak to think of something that awful, and yet if the meeting didn’t go
ahead chances were they were all going to die in the very near future anyway.

The grandfather clock paused for a few
seconds as it hit the hour mark. The chime had been removed, and for five
seconds the larger finger moved without sound. Before it had chance to start
its beat again Brenda answered Chrissie.

“It seems like your mind is made up. You
want to go.”

“Yes, I do. I’m tired of this stupid
situation. Living in constant fear isn’t living at all, and I’ve had enough of
it.”

“And so have we,” said Brenda and Megan.
“Bring the guys back in, and let’s hear the plan.”

Chrissie shouted for Armando, and all
four Italians took up their previous positions around the room.

“Make the call, Armando. Fix up a time
and place, and we’ll bring the wolf to your door. Go back to our original
thoughts. Tell him we approached you with information the Scarpones want
returned. You are only acting as a go-between. Say you want to win favour with
Zico and are happy to double-cross us. Just as before, he won’t believe any of
it. But it will be enough to get him here, and that’s what we want.”

A determined Armando left the room and
Chrissie turned to Luigi. “Make a brew, love,” she said. “You can’t make decent
tea to save your life, so some of that extra strong coffee would go down a
treat.”

Luigi smiled and scurried off. He was
happiest when he was busy.

Chrissie looked at Beppe. “What do you
think has happened to Roberto?”

Beppe’s mouth and shoulders were about
to crunch up when Chrissie stopped him.

“Don’t do that shrugging thing. Just
answer the question.”

Beppe’s English wasn’t good, but he got
the gist of it and managed to say, “The don is good at surviving.”

“Yes, he does give that impression,”
said Chrissie.

She turned to Claudio, who understood
most things and who was once considered a sage in the small village he grew up
in. He had been a boy wonder thought to be destined for a career in the
sciences – until he started killing people, and then he wasn’t revered or
consulted as much, and went to seek fortune and fame in Naples.

“Are more of your people coming to help
us?”

Claudio spoke with no emotion. “We have
to be careful not to alert the Scarpones. They monitor our movements – as we do
theirs – but we have allies in Europe, and they have been asked to assist us.
But I don’t know who they may be. Only the don knows these things.”

“So the cavalry are riding, but they
don’t know where the Indians are?”

Even the mighty Claudio was lost on this
metaphor, so Chrissie made it simple.

“So we have to assume it’s just us: three
tough guys, three innocent girls, and a crazy pizza man.”

Claudio did the shrug.

“It will be enough,” yelled an excited
Luigi, as he returned with biscuits and cake. “Good always prevails over evil.”

Chrissie looked at Claudio and Beppe,
“And we are the good?”

“Yes, of course,” cried Luigi.

Chrissie sighed and took a biscuit. The
coffees came and they drank and nibbled and made small talk until finally
Armando sauntered back in.

“Well?” asked Chrissie.

“I spoke directly to Zico, and a meeting
is arranged for tomorrow.”

“Where?” asked Brenda.

“Lincolnshire.”

“Lincolnshire?” everyone repeated.

“I have the coordinates. Apparently this
is flat land. We are to meet in a field with no hiding places so there can be
no tricks, but also no escape. The Scarpones will land in a small aeroplane,
and business is to be concluded in the open.”

“So the cavalry are no use anyway,”
murmured Chrissie.

“Did he mention having Roberto?”

“No,” said Armando. “He thinks Beppe and
I want to defect, and that we are bringing you and the missing data to prove
our sincerity. If he had the don I’m sure he would have told us.”

“Then who did take him?” asked Brenda.

“It doesn’t matter now,” said Armando.
“We cannot allow ourselves to think about it. We have a new plan, and we must
concentrate on what happens next.”

“And what will happen when we are face
to face in this field of destiny?” asked Chrissie.

“We have a straightforward shoot-out,”
answered Claudio. “Close-quarter conflict … to the death.”

“That’s it,” said Brenda. “No cunning
plan, no eleventh-hour saviour. It’s all a bit Neanderthal-like, isn’t it?”

“It is what it is,” said Armando.

“Do you have the exact positions of the
meeting place?” asked Megan, and Armando put a piece of paper on the table.

“We have a postcode and an ordnance
survey reference, and the road directions say it is north-east of a place
called Spalding.” Luigi went to get a map.

“I wonder why Lincolnshire?” said
Brenda.

“I suppose because it’s remote and flat,
so you can land a plane. And you can have a good gun battle without being
disturbed … no other reason,” replied Chrissie.

“I still think it’s a strange place for
someone who rarely leaves Naples to pick,” persisted Brenda.

“One place is as good as another,” said
Armando, and everyone except Brenda nodded agreement.