Bonello reacted differently. He talked a lot, much more than usual. The rest of the meeting was his anyway, so he disguised his nervousness with a lot of words. He showed us photographs of Alcamo and Castellamare - picking out features here and there told us to remember this and that. The same with the maps - roads, landmarks, churches. After an hour of it I had a good idea of what to expect.
And Jack stopped objecting to the plan. I suppose he had no alternative, once I accepted it. He listened carefully to Bonello. The geography lesson was mainly for him anyway. I would never have a chance to use it - but Jack might, if he got lucky. So he concentrated and stopped bickering with Kaufman, which helped - we had enough on our plate, without fighting each other.
But Lucia never said a word. She held my hand without shyness, staying close beside me - lighting my cigarettes, pouring my coffee, ministering to my needs like a nurse in a sick bay.
The Miranda dropped anchor at eleven o'clock and Bonello went ashore. He had changed his clothes and shaved. We wished each other luck and I waved him goodbye from the rails - a slightly built, narrow shouldered little man, sitting bolt upright in the prow of the tender as it spluttered across the bay. Lucia had been on the verge of tears when she kissed him goodbye and Bonello had trembled himself.
We ate a light lunch, served under a canopy on deck. Conversation was minimal and what there was sounded stilted and false. Kaufman discussed the list of names but eventually he gave up and went off to check the radio equipment. Perhaps Jack thought he was playing gooseberry too, because he took himself off for a nap in his cabin, or so he said, though I doubted he would sleep. I made no attempt to stop him. The truth was we felt awkward with each other, our Englishness got in the way of words - so we said nothing and hoped the other understood.
It should have been soothing sitting there, watching the sunlight play on the water - just Lucia and me. We smoked a couple of cigarettes and pretended not to have a care in the world - but finding the right thing to say was a strain. We had no shared past to remember and neither of us dared talk about the future. Finally I went to my cabin - saying I needed to change into the clothes I would wear ashore - but it was an excuse and we both knew it.
Oddly enough I wasn't afraid. At least not of death. Perhaps I couldn't envisage it - nobody thinks he is going to die. But I wished to God I had never seen that film. I could imagine that cellar only too well - and I was afraid of that.
I sat there for an hour, hoping to find a way out - a way to save Maria and Jack, and me as well. But Kaufman was right - we had to do it his way, and I was reconciling myself to the fact when the door opened and Kaufman came in. He clutched a sheaf of radio messages in one hand and wore an excited look on his face.
"We found out the name of Douglas's partner," he said, "the one in the hotel business." He sat on the end of the bunk and offered his cigarettes, "Are you sure you never knew?"
I shook my head and wondered why he was so excited.
"You were the one to suggest we find out," he said, watching me carefully.
I accepted a light and waited for him to get on with it.
"Are you still saying you never knew?" he asked sarcastically.
"I don't know. I said so, didn't I?"
"Come on Sam - quit stalling-"
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"You knew all along."
"That's rubbish and you know it."
He shook his head. "I said you knew - I always said it was your story."
"What the hell are you on about?"
"Douglas's partner - that's what I'm on about."
I stared at him. Clearly he expected me to know. The shadowy idea which had come to me in the middle of the night haunted the back of my mind. I hadn't been able to crystallise it - maybe that's why I came back to the cabin - not just to think about Kaufman's plan but to mull it all over - the whole damn business, everything, all that had happened.
I took another look at his expression and said, "It's someone we know, isn't it?"
"It's someone you know. You know who he is - you know who the Ferryman is."
A shudder ran up my spine. I think I did know - then - in that split second. I had never believed Edgar guilty - never, not once but if not Edgar, who? I had thought non-stop about that, ever since Kaufman put it to me at the big house.
"You damn well know," Kaufman hissed.
Suddenly the words just spilled out. "I know what Bonello's agent was trying to say," I said, "when he was shot down in that hotel room. He was trying to tell Bonello about the tankers. Hardman's Wine is what he would have said - if he had time."
Kaufman nodded excitedly.
"The tankers never belonged to Hardman," I said in a rush. "He subcontracted transport to his haulage contractor."
Kaufman's agitation was infectious. Now I was shaking suddenly I was certain. I laughed aloud, but the sound rang sour like the taste in my mouth. "My God! Of course - even the name the Ferryman!"
"Douglas's partner-"
"Christ! They set me up, didn't they? Way back. All those years ago. And I thought I was my own man - Sam Harris doing his own thing."
"Easy boy-"
"Easy!" I boiled over with temper. "What a blind, stupid bastard I've been. Kay said I was - but even she couldn't know how blind, how stupid-"
"Sam-"
"What a schmuck! That's what you called me, isn't it? Sam Harris - being what he always wanted to be - someone important in London. Bloody agony-"
"Take it easy, will you?"
"Take it easy! Christ Almighty!" I was trembling all over. Every nerve in my body twitched. Kaufman mistook it for fear but he was wrong. It was anger. Like the fit of shakes I had after reading Edgar's letter. Finally I said, "That's why Corrao was told to pay almost any price - I understand now. They must have laughed their heads off. Make it a good pay day for Winner Harris. That's what they said - right? A good day for me - but a bloody sight better one for them."
"Wait a minute-"
"Don't you see? We had a chance until poor old Edgar played right into their hands. Once he guaranteed a price for their shares they were safe. They could send the heavy mob in then. It even saved them money. All they had to do was wreck Apex and pick up the pieces from the receiver, for sweet damn all. They didn't have to pay Edgar - or me - or old Darlington's bank-"
"You're reaching, Sam."
"Like hell."
"And Lew Douglas?"
"Sold off the hotels and pulled out of the UK." I was sure I was right. Suddenly it all made sense. I said, "Once they'd got the night clubs and casinos from the receiver, they no longer needed places like the Fisherman. They had far better outlets-"
"And Douglas didn't die."
"That's what I'm saying. It was a smokescreen. Your boys were nosing around by then so Douglas fakes a heart attack-"
"Your ex-wife must have guessed," he said. "Maybe when Hardman told her about that meeting of his - when he put the squeeze on Charlie Weston and threatened to cancel the wine shipping contracts-"
I laughed bitterly. "Christ, I bet that frightened them. Remember Edgar's letter? That bit where he said even Lew Douglas tried to think of ways to save Apex."
"That's why she went to Malta," Kaufman said quickly. "She guessed something. She must have known Douglas was in the drugs racket. Maybe she issued an ultimatum - either Douglas supported her Pa against the receiver or she blew the whistle-"
"She did it for me," I said bleakly. "And that bastard Douglas murdered her."
"And this Tusker crowd in Cardiff-"
"Charlie Weston actually started in Cardiff. And Tuskers started in Cardiff. Serracino hid out in Cardiff. I bet they met there and ..." I clasped my hands together in an effort to stop trembling. I swear to God that I would have killed with my bare hands at that moment. I couldn't get over it - but I knew I was right. Kaufman knew too - he knew when he came into the cabin - he must have and after that the floodgates opened in his mind just as they did in mine.
I sat shivering on the edge of the bunk, swearing over and over again, until Kaufman passed me another cigarette.
He lit it first. "Stay here," he said, then he went out, shutting the door after him.
I looked at the radio messages he had left on the bunk. The top one read:
'The Rif Hotel at Sousse - owned by Solus Investments, registered office, Republic Street, Valletta, Malta. Majority shareholders Onyx Securities, registered in the Bahamas. Onyx Securities jointly owned by Charles Wesley Weston and Lewis Arthur-Douglas - both British citizens.' "Charlie Fucking Weston," I said aloud, "alias the Ferryman. You prize bastard."
And I was saying that over and over again when Kaufman came back with a large brandy. "Here - drink this." "I'd rather have a scotch."
"Drink it - don't enjoy it. Lucia's organising some coffee." I took a sip and handed the glass back. I kept seeing my past life in my mind's eye. I remembered so much. For instance, having dinner with Jack and Maria years ago, with a girl named Ziggi who had moved in with me. It was the day Charlie Weston had called with the proposition to merge our businesses. The day he set me up. Jack thought I was mad even to consider it. "What's in it for you?" he wanted to know. "You've already got everything you want - your own business - money - the good life. What more do you want?" And I had answered, "I've got to think about it. This could be big - the biggest there is."And it had all led to this”
Kaufman cleared his throat. "Charlie Weston's not at his London office, or his home - or his office in Cardiff."
"Charlie Weston is in Alcamo," I said positively, "with Lew Douglas and Serracino - waiting for me."
"With Maria," he said quietly.
"Sure, with Maria. They're good at hurting women. Serracino with Maria's mother and Lucia. Douglas with Kay."
The excitement had returned to his voice. "We've cracked it, Sam. We've cracked the Pipeline. We know who runs it - how they shift the heroin - everything."
But I was hardly listening. It was as if part of my mind had seized up. "They set it up right at the start," I said, to myself as much as to him, "when Charlie Weston came to see me. He knew everyone he proposed the board of directors and the other investors - it was all planned out then. I was to be the front man - the fall guy - me and Edgar. Talk about lambs to the slaughter."
"Knock it off, Sam."
"What a fool - what a blind, stupid fool! It's all thanks to me all this. You realise that, don't you? Kay, Edgar, Maria-"
"Crap! You can't make a martyr of yourself."
"I might have saved them-"
"Rubbish! Will you stop that. The point is we've cracked the Pipeline. We've cracked it from here - that's what I'm saying. Will you listen to me?"
I looked at him.
"We can smash the Pipeline without you even setting foot in Sicily."
I stared until the colour crept up his neck and into his face. "What about Maria?" I asked.
He avoided my eye. "All I'm saying is - well, most people would say you've done enough. Understand? Nobody would blame you if-"
I had my hands at his throat before he could move. Not too tightly, but hard enough to be uncomfortable. "Listen, Kaufman, I won't give you all that it's a far, far better thing crap - because it's not like that. I want those bastards. So bad it hurts. I want Maria out of there, then wham! Understand? Forget taking them to trial you get Maria out, then put a gun in my hands because-"
"Okay, Sam, I've got my own score to settle. But I'll make you a promise ... Serracino will never see the inside of a courtroom."
There was a lot of pain in his eyes, but not because of my hands around his throat. The pain was still there five minutes later, when Lucia arrived with the coffee and I was wondering what Kaufman meant about his own score.
Chapter Sixteen
It was almost six o'clock when the tender took us ashore - Jack and me in the middle of the boat, Alexis's man at the tiller. Bonello was right - Castellamare was like a picture postcard. The full sweep of the bay was revealed as the outboard carried us across the wide expanse of sheltered water towards the shoreline - spits of sand set against a background of lush green vegetation topped by purple mountain peaks. The pink and white houses at the foot of Monte Bonifata looked like a pile of gambling chips faded by the sun.
The Miranda fell astern, Castellamare drew nearer. I picked out the wine warehouses on the far side of town. Nearer at hand a few fishing boats bobbed at rest. Fishermen sat repairing nets on the cobbled quayside. Apart from them and a solitary dog nosing through the lobster pots the place looked deserted. The end of siesta time. Soon the shops would re-open, traffic would flow, people would take the air, fill the cafes and spill into the streets. I remembered Malta. How quiet when we arrived...how noisy later.
There was air on the water, but it would be humid and sticky inland. A man could breathe out here and enjoy the sun on his face - whereas he might suffocate ashore, or meet death in any number of ways.
We reached the steps at the end of the quay - there were more a hundred yards away, wider than these and easier to climb - but they were close to the fishermen so this was as far as we went. The man cut the engine and slid the boat smoothly alongside old stones. I scrambled ashore just as Alexis's man spoke to Jack, "I'll wait here for you later. Fix this spot in your mind. It will be dark when you return."
Jack nodded. I watched in silence, doubting I would return, not caring much - only one thing mattered - to get Maria out before taking my revenge on Weston and Douglas. Serracino could be left for others, Weston and Douglas were mine.
Jack leapt onto the steps. The man pull-started the engine. He shouted good luck over the noise, avoiding my eye. He didn't expect me to return either.
We turned right at the top of the steps, away from the town. The road climbed gently, parallel to the shoreline - but only for a mile, then it turned inland - at least it did on the map.
Jack eased the pack on his shoulders. We were dressed alike: strong shoes, faded blue trousers, white shirts - makeshift outfits scrounged from the Miranda, designed to disguise us as hikers. We each carried a backpack - mine had a red blanket strapped to the top, Jack's dangled a tin mug. We were both uncomfortable in the role - twenty years too old for it and even in our youth the open air life had never appealed.
"Bloody Kaufman," Jack grumbled, "right little boy scout - I half expected him to tell us to start a fire with two sticks of wood."
"It's not for long. Come on, walk in the shade."
The road was flanked with trees on the inland side - olives and pines twisted into bizarre shapes by the wind. The olive trees were stunted but the pines provided some shade.
"You've changed your mind, haven't you," Jack asked, "about Kaufman?"
I shrugged. It was true in a way. Kaufman had done all he could - now it was up to me - and Jack of course.
Climbing that hill was like crossing a chess board - black shade one moment, blazing white heat the next. The sun was still high in the sky. A cricket startled me by its sudden noise, there were a lot of flies about and a bird rose from a thicket with a flurry of wings.
"Suppose he's wrong?" Jack demanded, "Suppose there is no farmhouse? Suppose Maria is in the cafe after all?"
"Then you take her hand and get the hell out of there," I said. But Jack was whistling in the dark. Kaufman would not be wrong. Maria would not be in the cafe.
We paused to look back after two hundred yards. The bay shimmered blue and white and the place looked as quiet as a ghost town. But I suddenly stiffened when I saw the fishermen. Three had watched us come ashore - now there were two!
"So what?" Jack said. "He's probably gone for a leak or something."
I squinted into the sunshine. No movement - not even under the trees. What had Kaufman said - "Assume everyone's Mafia - you won't be far wrong!" I cursed and stepped up the pace, so that we breasted the hill like soldiers on a forced march. But then I slowed down. Kaufman had warned us not to travel too fast - "Don't arrive early...you'll have to hang ar
ound...that would look suspicious."
So much to remember!
The trees thinned out, there was less shade, my shirt clung to my back. I wiped sweat out of my eyes, sucked my sore lip and resisted the impulse to light a cigarette.
"We should be armed," Jack grumbled, "Kaufman carries a gun all the time. See that shoulder holster? He's armed, and we're out here with fuck all."
The track dragged inland, stumbling from one pot-hole to the next, less than a couple of yards wide in places. Our breath rasped as our feet scuffed the dirt. Then I heard the bells, the air was suddenly full of them. Not church bells, a thin tinkling sound, like Chinese chimes jangling in the wind. But there was no wind! Then we rounded the bend and goats were everywhere - all over the track. They gave ground grudgingly, pushing their snouts against us, staring with flat, malevolent eyes. There were a lot of them - at least a couple of dozen. I wondered why someone wasn't tending them - a goatherd? Then I saw him. Brown-faced, sharp-eyed, a man in his middle years - watching us with the same unblinking gaze as his animals. He sat on an outcrop of rock thirty yards away and never even raised a hand in greeting. I wondered how long he had been there? It was high ground - he could see for miles perhaps he had seen us come ashore? Perhaps he had watched the tender return to the Miranda?
We pushed the goats from our path and continued on. I could feel the goatherd's eyes on my back, but I said nothing to Jack. What was the point?
We reached the cemetery early. We wandered around, pretending to be interested in the tombstones - so many stark blocks of marble, the shimmering blue sea in the background. Many headstones were split down the middle like decayed teeth - the customary way to mark the grave of a murdered man. No need to speak Italian to read the inscriptions - even I understood Da maso assassina. Some graves bore faded photographs - sad-eyed young men sporting thin moustaches grown with the first hair on their upper lips - the first and the last. Many men were murdered in Alcamo. Jack counted six in one year.
Ian St James Compendium - Volume 1 Page 76