Robert Ludlum - The Parcifal Mosaic.txt

by The Parcifal Mosaic [lit]

  quiet knife.*

  "I can take care of myself."

  ~You are not only stupid, you are very stupid. I own 11 Tritone, they

  respect me at II Pinguino. You'll be safer with me. You pass money too

  quickly."

  "rm in a hurry."

  "Prestol Lees get on with it. It's a bad morning here. Not like the old

  days when men knew that half a chestful was enough. You taste it in your

  throat, you know. These assholes mix up comfort with wanting no memory.

  Vienif'

  The caf6 five blocks away brought back memories, remernbrances of a life he

  had thought was over-he had been in too many such places in that other

  life. If Il Tritone catered to the garbage of humanity, 11 Pinguino took

  the dregs and considered it clientela scelta. The smoke was thicker, the

  shouting louder; men did not lurch, they lunged at nothing and everything,

  intent only on the violence in their minds. These were men who found

  amusement in the sudden exposure of anothers weakness or a semblance of

  weaknesswhich they construed as an absence of manhood-and then attacked.

  They had nothing else. They challenged the shadows of their own deepest

  fears.

  The owner of 11 Tritone was greeted by his counterpart within seconds of

  ushering Havelock through the door. The Pinguino's proprietario matched his

  establishment, having few teeth and arms that hung like huge, hairy

  cheeses. He was not as large as Michael's newfound friend, but there was

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  a sense of violence about him that made one think of a boar that could be

  quickly stirred to anger.

  The greetings between the two men were spoken rapidly, perfunctorily. But

  there was respect, as Il Tritone's owner had said there would be, and the

  arrangements were made swiftly, with a minimum of explanation.

  'Ile American looks for a woman. It is a inalinteso, and not our business,"

  said the owner of 11 Trftone. "She may be sailing with the Elba, and one of

  these thieves may have seen her. He's willing to pay,"

  "He'd better hurry," replied the sullen boar. "The oilers left an hour ago;

  they're sweating piss-green by now. The second mate will be here any minute

  to gather up the rest of the deck."

  "How many are there?"

  "Eight, ten, who knows? I count lire, not faces."

  "Have one of your people go around and ask quietly, find them, and tell me

  who they are. Clear a table for my companion. III bring each one to him."

  "You give orders , as though the Pinguino were the Tri

  tone."

  "Because I would accord you the same courtesy, even as my tongue thickened

  as yours does now. One never knows. You could need my help tomorrow....

  Each pig from the Elba is worth ten thousand lire to you."

  'Bene." The Pinguino's owner walked away toward the bar.

  "Do not give these men any excuse for talking to you as you did the

  Fortoghese,- said Michael's companion. "For them it was good thinking, but

  not for these. There~s no time, and in their drunkenness they could find

  the wrong meaning. Bottles are broken easily in here."

  'Men what am I going to say? I've got to separate them, give each a reason

  for talking to me alone. I caet go up to all of them at once. One may know

  something, but he's not going to tell me in front of the others."

  'Agreed. So tell each you trust only him. The others-you were told-are not

  to be trusted. You spoke with them only for appearance, because your

  business concerns the Elba. It will be enough."

  "I'm a stranger. Who would tell me something like that?"

  "A man who knows his clientele-the one you paid. The

  68RoBLmT LunLum

  owner of Il Pinguino." The owner of Il Tritone grinned. "By the time they

  reach port again, he'll be covered with stink HeT need the carabinieA every

  night."

  Separately, warily, in varying phases of stupor, the remainIng crew of the

  Elba sat down and listened to Havelock's increasingly fluent Italian as he

  repeated the same question. And with each he studied the man's face, the

  eyes, looking for a reaction, a glint of recognition, a brief straying of

  a glance that covered a lie. With the sixth man he thought he found it; it

  was in the lips-a sudden stretching unrelated to the sagging muscle tone

  induced by whisky, and in the clouded eyes, dulled further by an

  instinctive desire not to listen. The man knew something.

  "You~ve seen her, haveWt you?" said Michael, losing control, speaking in

  English.

  "Ascoka~" interrupted the owner of 11 Tritone. "In italimio, *twe.w

  "Sorry." Havelock repeated the question, which was more an accusation, in

  Italian.

  The sailor responded with a shrug, shifted his position, and started to get

  up. Michael reached over quickly and clamped his hand on the seaman's arm.

  The response was now ugly; the sailor squinted his rheumy, red-veined eyes,

  his mouth like that of an angry dog, lips parted, stained yellow teeth

  showing. In seconds he would lunge-41runkenly, to be sure, but

  nevertheless, attack was imminent

  ordered the owner of Il Tritone, then spoke rapidly under his breath

  in English. "Show him money. Quicklyl This pig will grab your throat,

  and they'll be all over us and you will learn nothing. You are right.

  He's seen her."

  Havelock released the man7s arm, reached into his pocket and took out the

  thick pack of awkwardly small lire notes. He separated two bills and placed

  them in front of the sailor; they totaled 40,000 lire, a day's pay on board

  ship.

  "As you can see," he said in Italian, "there7s more here. You can't take it

  from me, but I can give it to you. On the other hand, you can walk away and

  not tell me anything." Michael paused, leaned back in the chair, staring at

  the man, his expression hostile. "But I can make trouble for you. And I

  will."

  "In che modoil' The crewman was as angry as he was bo.

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  wildered, his eyes darting between Havelock's face, the money, and the owner

  of Il Tritone, who sat impassively, his rigid posture showing that he was

  aware of the danger in Michaers tactic.

  "How?' Havelock leaned forward, his fingers pulling the lire toward him, as

  though retrieving two vital cards in a game of baccarat. "I'll go over to

  the Elba and find your captain. Whatever I say to him about you hes not

  going to like.-

  "Che cosa? What? . . . What can you say to him in riguardo a me that he

  would credere?" The sailoes sudden use of English words was unexpected. He

  turned to the owner of 11 Tritone. "Perhaps this pig will grab your throat,

  old man. I need no help from others. For you or this ricco americano." The

  man unzipped his coarse wool jacket; the handle of a knife protruded from

  a scabbard strapped to his belt; his head swayed from the effects of the

  whisky. A very thin line was about to be crossed.

  Abruptly, Michael settled back in his chair and laughed quietly. It was a

  genuine laugh, in no way hostile or challenging, further confusing the

  seaman. "Benel" said Michael, suddenly leaning forward again, removing two

  more 5,000lire notes from the
loose packet of bills. "I wanted to find out

  If you had balls, and you told me. Goodl A man without balls doesn't know

  what he sees. He makes things up because he!s afraid, or because he sees

  money." Havelock gripped the man7s hand at the wrist, forcing the palm

  open. It was a strong if friendly grip, indicating a strength the sailor

  had to acknowledge. "Herel Fifty thousand lire. There!s no quarrel between

  us. Where did you see her?"

  The abrupt changes of mood were beyond the man's comprehension. He was

  reluctant to forgo the challenge, but the combination of the money, the

  grip and the infectious laugh made him retreat. "Are you ... go to my

  captain?" be asked in English, eyes swimn-dng.

  'What for? You just told me. It has nothing to do with him. Why bring that

  farabutto into it? Let him earn his own money. Where did you see herr

  "On the street. Ragazza bionda. Bella. Cappello a larga tesa.-

  "Blond, attractive . . . wide hatl Where? Who was she with? A mate, a shies

  officer? Un ufficialer

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  "Not the Elba. The next ship. Nave tnercantile~'

  "There are only two. The Crist6vdo and the Teresa. Which one?"

  The man glanced around, head bobbing, eyes only half focused. "She was

  talking to two men ... one a capitano."

  "Mich one?"

  "A de-stra," whispered the sailor, pulling the back of his hand across his

  wet lips.

  "On the right?" asked Michael quickly. "The Santa Tet%esa?"

  The seaman now rubbed his chin and blinked; he was afraid, his eyes

  suddenly focused to the left of the table. He shrugged, crushing the money

  in his right hand, as he pushed back his chair. 'Non so niente. Una puttana

  del capitano .

  "Mercantile italiano?" pressed Havelock. "The Italian freighter? The Santa

  Teresa?"

  The sailor stood up, his face white. "S1 Nol Destra ... sinistral" The

  man~s eyes were now riveted somewhere across the room; Michael angled his

  head unobtrusively. Three men at a table against the wall were watching the

  crewman from the Elba. "Il capitano. Un marinaio superiorel 11 migUorel"

  cried the seaman hoarsely. "I know nothing else, signorel" He lurched away,

  shouldering a path through the bodies gathered at the bar toward the alley

  door.

  "You play dangerously," commented the owner of 11 Tritone. "It could have

  gone either way."

  "With a mule-drunk or otherwise-nothing's ever replaced the carrot and the

  whip," said Havelock, his bead still tamed slightly, his concentration

  still on the three men at the table across the room.

  "You could have had blood on your stomach and have learned nothing at all."

  "But I did learn something."

  "Not a great deal. A freighter on the right, on the left VVUch?"

  "He said on the right first."

  "Coming off the pier, or going on to it?"

  "From his immediate point of view. Going on. Destra. The Santa Teresa.

  Shell be put on board the Teresa, which means I have time to find her

  before she's given the signal. Shes somewhere within sight of the docl-c"

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  'I'm not so sure," said Il Tritone's owner, shaking his head. "Our mule was

  specific. The captain was un maiinaio superfore. MigUore. The best, a great

  seaman. The captain of the Teresa is a tired merchantman. He never sails

  past Marseilles."

  "Who are those men at the table over therer asked Michael, his question

  barely audible through the din. "Don!t turn your head, just shift your

  eyes. Who are they?"

  "I do not know them by name."

  "What does that mean?'

  'Itallano," said the owner of Il Tritone, his voice flat.

  "The Santa Teresa," said Havelock, removing a number of bills and putting

  the rest of the money back into his pocket. "You've been a great help," he

  said. "I owe the proprietario. The rest is for you."

  Grazie." "Prego.

  'I will see you down the alley to the waterfront. I still do not like it.

  We don't know those men are from the Teresa. Something is not in

  equilibrio."

  "The percentages say otherwise. It's the Teresa. Lees go."

  Outside the noisy caf6 the narrow thoroughfare was comparatively silent;

  naked light bulbs shone weakly, enveloped in mist above intermittent

  doorways, and cenbuies-old smooth cobblestones muffled the sound of

  footsteps. At the end of the alley the wide avenue that fronted the piers

  could be seen in the glow of the streetlamps; until one reached it the

  alley itself was a gauntlet of shadows. One walked cautiously, alert to the

  spaces of black silence.

  "Eccol" whispered the Italian, his eyes up ahead. "Someone's in that

  doorway. On the left Do you have a weaponr

  "No. I haven~t had tim&--."

  "Then quicklyl" The owner of Il Tritone suddenly broke Into a run, passing

  the doorway as a figure lurched out-a stocky man with arms raised, hands

  poised for interception. But there was no gun in those hands, no weapon but

  the thick hands themselves.

  Havelock took several rapid strides toward the prowler, then spun into the

  shadows on the opposite side of the alley. The man lunged; Michael spun

  around again and, grabbing his assailanes coat, hammered his right foot up

  into the maiYs midsection. He pivoted a third time, now yanking the

  72 ROBERT LUDLUM

  man off the ground, and hurled him into the wall. As the man fell, Havelock

  sprang downward, his left knee sinking into the man's stomach, his right

  hand gripping the face and clawing at the eyes.

  'Bastal For favorl Se Deus quiserl" choked the prowler, holding his groin,

  saliva dribbling from his mouth. The language was Portuguese, the man one

  of the crew of the CrW6vdo. Michael yanked him up against the wall, into

  the dim light, he was the seaman who had spoken a few words of English at

  the table in 11 Tritone.

  "If you~re going into theft with assault and battery, yoere not doing it

  very wellf"

  "No, senborl I wish only to talk, but I cannot be seent You pay me, IT tell

  you things, but not where I can be seen with youl"

  "Go on."

  "You payl"

  Havelock clamped the sailor's neck against the brick with his forearm,

  reached into his pocket and took out his money. Shoving his knee into the

  man's ehest and freeing his hand, he removed two bills. "Twenty thousand

  lire," he said. "Talkl"

  "Ies worth more. Much more, senhorl You will see."

  'I can take it back if ies not... Thirty thousand, that's it. Go onl"

  "The woman goes aboard the Crw6vao . . . sete seven minuto-9 before we

  sail. It is arranged. She comes out the east warehouse door. She is guarded

  now; you cannot reach her. But she must walk forty meters to the cargo

  boarding plank."

  Michael released him and added another note to the three in the seamares

  hand. "Get out of here," he said. "I never saw you."

  "You must wvar to it, senhorl" cried the man, scrambling to his feet.

  "Sworn. Now get out."

  Suddenly voices were beard at the end of the alley; two men came running

  out of the light.

  'Americarwl Americanot" It was the ow
ner of Il Tritone; he had returned

  with help. As the Portuguese started to race away they grabbed him.

  "Let him gol" yelled Havelock. "Ies all rightl Let him gol"

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  Sixty seconds later Michael explained to the owner of 11 Tritone. "It's not

  the Teresa. It's the Cris*do."

  "ieswhat was missingl' cried the Italian. "The knowledgeable capitano, the

  great seaman. It was there and I did not see it. Aliandro. jogo Aliandrol

  The finest captain in the Mediterranean. He could work his ship into any

  dangerous coastline, dropping off cargo wherever he wished, wherever the

  rocks and shoals called for no observers on shore. You have found your

  woman, signore."

  He crouched in the shadows of a stationary crane, the open spaces of the

  machinery allowing him unobstructed sight lines. The freightees cargo had

  been loaded; the teams of stevedores dispersed, swearing as they went their

  various ways across the wide avenue and down the narrow alleys into caf6s.

  Except for the four-man cast-off crew the pier was deserted, and even those

  men were barely visible, standing motionless by the huge pilings, two men to

  a line, fore and aft.

  A hundred yards behind him was the entrance gate, the obsequious guard

  inside his glass booth, his figure a gray sflhouette in the rolling

  early-morning fog. Diagonally to the left in front of the crane some

  eighty-odd feet away was the ribbed, weather-beaten gangplank that went up

  to the CrW6vdo's forward deck. It was the last physical connection to the

  ship to be hauled on board before the giant hawsers were slipped off the

  pilings, freeing the behemoth for the open water.

  On the right, no more than sixty feet from the crane, was the door to the

  piees warehouse office; it was locked, and all lights were off inside. And

  beyond that door was jenna Karas, a fugitive from her own and others'

  betrayal-his love, who had turned on that love for reasons only she could

  tell him. . . . In moments now, the door would open and she would have to

  walk from that door to the gangplank, then up the cracked wooden causeway

  to the deck. Once on board, she would be free; giant lines would be thrown

  over the pier, whistles would blow, and the gangplank would be whipped in

  the air, sucked up on deck and stowed. But until then she was not free; she