Dee takes in a deep breath, pulls a tissue out of her purse and zips the bag closed. Inhales deeply again and steps out of the booth. Glances around, moves a few steps and sees that Hunter is still on the telephone. He signals her with his index finger. She nods, tugs at her purse looking about at the maze of people moving to and fro. Sees no one watching her. Wipes the perspiration from her brow. I can do it. I can.
In the other booth, Hunter continues his brief conversation. He's had two. The first with Joe Zachary who gave him a name, Roberto Catalano, and an address in Taormina. The new shipping address for the cigars, with a new surname but still Roberto. Still, Pisces. The die is cast.
This last call nears its end. Hunter says, "Listen, Maria, I'm sorry she hasn't called. For the kids' sake, and for your parents. More than sorry. But we knew it would be coming to this or worse someday. We know what she, they, are capable of doing. I want you to know I've got everything under control."
"I hope so. But, what about us? Am I weird for thinking there's an us?"
"Listen, there isn't. Just isn't. I thought I made that clear. I have a job to do. You do as well. You're either with us as planned or you're an accomplice. I realize this is perhaps your worst nightmare. Mine as ... never mind. It's a nightmare. Trust me, there is not an us except as a team. Now, I've gotta run. You'll have to leave for that vacation and go where I told you. Wait there until you hear from me. If you don't hear in a week, get Dee and go home. She'll be in Pisa.
"I ..."
"Go, I will be there within a week. I've got to go. Bye." Click.
"I will." She hesitates then whispers, "Hunter, I know in my heart we're goin' to do it someday." All this to the buzzing and clicking of a long distant line shutting down.
"He steps out of the booth, takes out a handkerchief and wipes his brow. Says to Dee, "Hot as a sauna in there. You get through okay?"
"Yep. Everything's fine. Folks, Maria, children. Want me home."
"Well, to be expected." Hunter smiles, "Let's go to the bank and get some monopoly money and spend it on Boardwalk or Park Place."
"What bank?"
"Rothchild's. Big bank. Is located in over thirty countries, and best, one is in D.C. Makes things easy for us. This one is on Rue du Rhone, not far from where we go after that. We'll take public transportation. Taxis are hard to find in this city and ..." abruptly whistles down a cab. Pumps his fist, "Our luck is changing. Now, don't forget. We'll speak French. If you're not comfortable, go to Italian. Some of that here too, and a little English. Prefer not to speak any English here. You can handle all this, right?"
"Oui, and the Italian like a native. A onea, twoa ..." accompanied with a coy smile.
Hunter only shrugs. Mr. and Mrs. Badeau, Aimee and Laurent, a happy, in-love French couple slide into the taxi. Hunter, using French, says to the driver, "Take us to the Rue du Rive. The best lady's clothing shop you know."
The driver smiles into the rear mirror, "Oui, Monsieur."
Laurent leans back, smiles at Aimee and says, "When we get there, you use the
Badeau credit card to shop. While you shop I'll take care of things at the bank and meet you back at a shop we choose. Say, two, two and a half hours?"
"I thought you said we were going to get some money?"
"You're right, I did say that. But on second thought, I don't want the bank officials to see both of us. And they will. I have to get into the safety deposit box set up there for me."
"What if something happens?"
"Like what?"
"Like anything."
"Well, use the credit card and go home ... to Maria, the kids, your family, whatever. They miss you, right?"
She stares at him. "Children. And, yes." She cocks her head to one side holding the stare.
Hunter reciprocates and when she looks away, he turns his gaze out the window, feigning taking in the sights.
Aimee sits quietly. Stares straight ahead over the front seat and out the windshield. I hope I can do this. I need to; I'm in too deep.
Laurent, both tired and refreshed. Continues to look intently out the window. Didn't even call. She's in on it. Again. And she's gonna' try to do me ... do me in. Been tryin' the other every other hour.
Maria DeLuca sits alone, staring at the cradled phone. Her pink cotton robe half open, but covering some of her sleep ware, a thigh-length tee shirt she purchased years ago at Yosemite with "A National Treasure" stenciled across the front. She remembers their first meeting. Arranged clandestinely and hidden from all except Hunter's old Marine buddy, Findlay, who was stuck at Headquarters Marine Corps tour for fast track Lieutenant Colonels. His place was a safe house, an apartment in Bailey's Cross Roads in Virginia. It was a terrifying meeting but she thought she struck a chord with Hunter. Wasn't any music but in her heart she heard notes. Discernibly not Hunter. Maybe it was Findlay. He kept vetting her.
Then her thoughts drift back to another time, a few months ago when on a routine business trip for the winery, she was picked up by agents and brought to another clandestine location for yet another secret meeting. Findlay met them and he escorted her to the same place. His. Hunter was there with Joe Zachary. At this meeting it was apparent they knew everything about Dee, her lover, about Angelo, and about her knowing and not disclosing everything. Hiding the truth, the facts from the family, from the law, and even from herself. Under the surface she was a head case. And Zachary had a plan, and she didn't have any options any longer, at least not affable ones. And, of course, they took her deposition. And what amounted to a plea bargain. Each distressful and yet a relief.
Maria's reflections persist as she continues to stare into nothingness. She visualizes and lives sensations of the day and especially the evening afterward with Hunter. An incongruity to the interrogatory meeting earlier. The seemingly connection at a non-business dinner. The contact, although only a handshake again, it was warm and seemed to linger. perhaps only to her. Then her yearning and craving held moderately in check by improbability but more so by Hunter's words and lack of action. Her life and comfort zone had changed, transcending into a region of petition and longing.
Maria gazes at the phone a moment longer. Tears trickle down her cheeks. Then the soberness and horror of reality strike once again.
My Lord, what has my sister done? What is she about to do?
She dials the first number, then bangs the phone back on the cradle.
I love him. I think.
She dials the number Hunter gave her. Exhales, relaxing as best she can.
What am I thinking? That's a dream. This is a nightmare.
The first ring startles her back to the moment.
CHAPTER 19
"Move away from your attacker.
Distance is your friend."
A gunfighter's rule
"Mr. Zachary, it's Maria DeLuca. Hunter asked me to call."
"Yes, he told me. Are you going where he suggested?"
"Yes. Tomorrow."
"Okay, go and come via D.C. A ticket will be waiting for you at American. If you're concerned about your safety or your family's I'll arrange for security. In addition, I'll have you met at the airport and brought to a safe house in Arlington." He pauses. "The city, not the cemetery."
"Understand. Let me think about your security offer. I haven't even talked with my parents yet. It's all so ..."
Joe lowers his voice to a more soothing, fatherly tone saying, "You have to do that. There is no good time, but not doing it or not doing it in time could be irreparable. Call me back when you've had that conversation and thought about the security issues. Then when you get here we'll go over things one last time. You can go over the deposition and add to it if you need. Okay?"
"I guess, Mister Zachary. I'm frightened."
"I understand. I do. And, it's Joe, if it'll help."
"Okay, Joe. I ... I'm deeply saddened and embarrassed about all this. Scared. Actually, terrified. For my father, my grandparents, the poor children. I'm ..." her voice cracks,
"scared skinny. Literally. I look like a scarecrow in the mirror. It must be noticeable to others. I want to do the right thing, but?"
"I know. You are doing the right thing. Hunter will be in touch and help if and when he can. If not, I'll put a person on it like I mentioned. Somebody that you can trust and that knows Hunter. Travel with you if necessary. To be close." He hesitates, then says, "Maria, this has to be done. If not, people are going to jail for a long time at the least. You are either with us on this now, or you're going to be with them. In jail or dead. This is not a game, it has to be done, and now."
"I suppose."
"Maria!"
"Yes, I know. I understand," Maria sighs, then, "You know I'm attracted to him. More than attracted. Those meetings, the dinner. I sense he knows, but he doesn't seem to be interested. It's like it's nothing but a job to him."
"Maria, he cares. Just not the way you want. This is a dirty business. You keep your mind on our business here. I can assure you, Hunter's is, and remember, he's an operative. He's not a nice person when he's working. Probably isn't when he's not, either. Now, hang tough and get on the way. In effect you don't have an option." Joe pauses once again searching for a clincher. "Maria, and keep in mind, Dee's children are going to need you. Perhaps as a mom."
She pauses, then, "You're right. I'll see you tomorrow, probably late. I'll call and confirm everything. And, Mr. Zachary, get me some support, and thanks for your wonderful reminders and tips."
"It's part of my job, and I'll get someone there, Maria."
Maria hangs up. The tears gone. The face thinner. The lines harder. Her eyes darker. She stands, starts for her living room where her dad and grandparents are relaxing. She knows that today will be a long day for her and the DeLuca family, and longer ones to follow.
Tragic, painful days ... And longer months ... Years, possibly.
As she nears the room and hears her grandfather speaking, she mutters to herself, "Better send someone good. I'm coming apart."
The driver lets Aimee off at the shop, Pivoine Su, on Cours de Rive. Laurent asks the driver to wait and he slips out with Aimee. Says, "I'll take care of my own clothes. Going to the bank first, then I'll get some duds, and after that, back here to meet you. Two hours. Enough time?"
"Oui." She smiles.
In French as well, Laurent says, "Yes, I remember. After here we will go back to the airport and leave for Rome and Pisa. I'll make the arrangements while I'm at the bank. We'll be leaving here as Leonardo and Caterina Frati. You've got 'em, right?"
"Oui." Another smile, this one feigned.
"Okay. Go crazy, but remember, only one bag and that has to be a carry-on."
Aimee, more exactly Dee, nods. No grin. Not even a smirk. No sarcastic remark. Only a hard stare.
He shrugs without caring, yet noticing, and slides back into the taxi he's been holding with the door closed. Says to the driver, "Sorry for the delay. Rothschild's. Near Rue du Rhone, 18 Rue de Hesse I think."
"Oui, Monsieur," and the taxi pulls away.
Aimee turns and looks up and down the Cours de Rive with feigned interest. Stares at her trembling hands. Mumbles, "I'm going to come apart. Talking and planning is one thing. This another."
Roberto Catalano has directed his crew chief to take his pride and joy, the Sorridenta, westward past the main port of Palermo, and further west past the point of Reserva Naturale Capo Gallo. Then southwest around the jut of land near Silno Orea and into the Gulf of Castellamumarl. This stretch of coast is a combination of sand and the vibrant blue of the Tyrrhenian Sea that contrasts the stark colors of Sicily's scorched earth. Here they anchor at the Marina di Mondello in Terrasini, and he will find a place in town to rest and freshen up before contacting the woman, Chiarina Romeo Russo. The crew will stay aboard. No shore leave.
After making the necessary anchorage arrangements with the Marina's old salt-like owner, Roberto follows the old man's advice and hikes the short distance to the Le Oasi B&B in the center of Terrasini. The B&B is an old family-owned and operated house, restored and remodeled recently.
The town is beautiful to anyone's eyes, but to the painter in Catalano, he focuses on the old sea-worn pastel colored buildings and the streets near sea level with their flowering trees, orange and palms. He takes in the edges of town where the Aloe Cactus and Fico di India, prickly pear cactus, hug the rocky coast. And from his study of this town before leaving his villa in Taormina, Pisces knows that Terrasini's name comes from the Latin, "Terraesinus", meaning coast filled with caverns.
He mutters, "Might stay awhile. Perhaps paint some of this." Then louder, as he stops in front of his destination. "But, first things first. Chiarina Russo." He claps his hands in anticipation. Then struts into his "peacocks roost" to be, at least for the moment, the Le Oasi.
Once in his room and settled with his face and hands freshened literally and his mind figuratively or at least painlessly readjusted, Roberto sits at the small desk with the telephone. He reaches for his wallet and removes the folded note page he transcribed when talking with Rocco. Dials the number, listens to the four rings, then hears, "Good afternoon, Signora Russo's residence." Roberto hesitates a moment, having a little difficulty with the greeting since it is in Sicilian. The Italian Meridionale-estremo language group is customary here, but Pisces has not lived here long enough to become comfortable with its use. In addition, all regions have their own dialects as well. Fortunately for Roberto, this woman's dialect is Messinese. From the Messina area, near his villa in Taormina. He's already become accustomed to its use. She must have moved here, which is not common. Most Sicilians remain in their regions.
Regaining his wits, Roberto replies in Italian, "Good afternoon. Can I speak with Signora Chiarina Russo? This is a friend, Roberto Catalano. The Signora and I have met."
The woman replies, "One moment, please," now in pure Italian.
After several instants, a voice on the line murmurs, "Signore Catalano, hello. What a pleasant surprise. So good to hear from you, and although you warned me that I had not seen nor heard the last of you, I thought perhaps I had."
Roberto keeps the conversation in Italian. "Well, hello. Yes, I always keep my word, especially to such an intelligent, beautiful woman and a patron of the arts as you. May I call you, Chiarina, as I did when we met?"
"Yes, certainly." She pauses. "Would you prefer we speak in English, although your Italian is exceptionally good? Incredibly natural, and no hint of Sicilian yet." She laughs softly.
Roberto switches to English. "Yes, that would make it easier for me, and I recall you speak English as well as any American, and several other languages as I recollect."
"Yes, well, English it will be apparently. Are you here, in Terrasini? If you are we must visit. See one another. Yes?"
This is too easy. Roberto responds, "As a matter of fact I am. Came here on my boat. She's moored at the marina and I am staying at a B&B in town that was recommended to me. The Le Oasi. I would be ..."
"Yes, that is a fine, old family-owned business. My husband, Giordano, God rest his soul, helped the owner finance the remodeling a few years ago. But, so much for that, we must get together. But you must be tired. It is a long trip in a boat."
"Well, it's more like a small ship. It has a crew of five although I often handle her myself. It's enormously comfortable. Anyway, I want to see you very much but I thought I might rest and clean up here, then perhaps we could have dinner in town at a ristorante you suggest."
"Yes, and no. You rest and freshen up. But we will have cocktails and dinner here, at my villa. I will have my cook prepare something special from the area, a fresh tuna dish. And some Cannoli with ricotta cheese." She lowers her voice to a husky whisper. "I recall that being a favorite of yours."
Roberto is taken back. This woman is more than I imagined. "Yes. Yes. It is. Sounds great. But, are you sure? It seems like a lot of trouble."
"No trouble. And bring your swim trunks. We will swim in my pool, and at sunset we'll gaze
out at the sea which is always a beautiful oil in the making. However, instead of painting we'll sip some of our local wine. As an artist and seaman you will like its flavor. It has wisps of the arid Sirocco winds and salt of the sea. And potent, I caution you." She emits a soft laugh. "The wine and a few sips of Limoncello can make one wobbly kneed and weak-willed."
"Hmmm, well then, I will be cautious. But are you sure, this seems so much?"
"Absolutely. You charmed me once. I want to see if that is a fact or just my lonely, untamed imagination galloping emancipated."
"Emancipated. Well, wow." He pauses, reflecting on his jubilant sounding response. Then quickly, "Listen to me. Like a wild, young man." He continues but with a smoother, more mature tone. "What time is best for you?"
"Five-ish. And bring both."
"Both?"
"Yes, Roberto. Bring wild, and the young man. I realize this sounds assertive but I have been hoping you would call, and this is better. You've come."
"I'm looking forward to it. I will rent a car and be ..."
"Nonsense. My driver will pick you up. Close to five. I am anxious to see you once again. My goodness, you came all this way in your boat. How romantic. Bye."
Roberto puts the phone back in its cradle and stares at this particular stylish and antiquated device, then through the window over a few roof tops and out to the Sorridenta resting peacefully at anchor less like the slave ship it's been. He gets up, takes the few steps to the bed and flops onto his back.
I think I'm going to need my rest.
As his master begins his respite, Rocco awakens from his. Adrianna is already up and dressed. She says, "Good afternoon, Rocco darling. You slept soundly. That must mean you were at least as satisfied as I."
"Ahhh, that I was. That I was. Why are you dressed?"
"I thought I would go look about, perhaps participate in my second favorite past time, shopping."
"Shopping? Do you ever tire of it? I will soon run out of money."
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