by Bill Cariad
“Let me guess,” he interjected, “as fast as possible, right?”
“As fast as possible,” she confirmed, gifting him a smile.
“This is one book I’m definitely going to read,” he said, returning her smile with a look that told her he had long ago ceased to believe her cover story. “Hang on to whatever, here we go.”
Maria closed her eyes, and resumed her indispensable planning. She ascended the stairs of the Upper West Side townhouse at just after four in the afternoon of her third day in New York. Albright again answered her summons in person, nodded his greeting with an impassive expression on his face, and she followed him as he spoke over his shoulder, telling her that Mrs Albright was still out buying up Manhattan. A surprising addition to the items on his study desk, was the silver coffee pot standing alongside its necessary companions.
“After you called me from the ‘Village’,” he began, looking pleased with himself, thought Maria with amusement, “I estimated your journey time and figured you might be ready for some coffee when you got here.”
“That was thoughtful of you,” she said, smiling her appreciation.
“I’ve done the hard part,” he said, “so you can be mother.”
Maria moved to pour them both coffee from the pot, smiling again with the thought that he was sounding like her uncle again. Coffee cups duly filled, she sat down in front of his desk and took in more caffeine as she composed herself.
“I didn’t expect to see you again today,” said Albright, “but here you are, four hours after you walked out of here with a headache, still looking as cool as a cucumber fresh out of the fridge. So, if I may ask, what have you been up to that brings you back so soon?”
Maria grounded her coffee cup on the desk and began talking him through her movements since she had last occupied the chair in which she again faced him, reading his body language as she spoke. At the start of her recital he looked suitably attentive as he listened, and even appeared impressed by the speed with which she had covered ground, then he just looked agitated as she reached her account of the second meeting with Doyle, and he became expectedly confrontational when she finally outlined her plan to take down Calendar.
“That’s the craziest plan I’ve ever heard,” he said without hesitation.
“The devil is in the detail,” she responded calmly, “You’ve only heard the outline.”
“Then give me the detail,” said Albright.
Fifteen minutes and one more coffee later, Albright sat back in his chair and laced his hands behind his head as he spoke.
“Well, Maria Orsinni, what can I say?” he began, the scepticism clearly heard in his voice as he continued, “It’s imaginative, I’ll give you that.” He paused, frowning as he resumed, “How can you even sound, let alone be, so sure about Welbeck agreeing to the request?”
“Right from the start,” replied Maria, patiently, “a combination of two factors will be in play. The first of those will be speed; everything will happen very quickly. The second factor is training. Welbeck has been trained to react quickly to anything that happens quickly, so it’s just a matter of directing that reaction towards where we want it to go.”
Albright’s response was scathing in its delivery. “The speed factor is where your plan falls apart, right from the start,” he said, “Okay, I readily admit to having been impressed by what Doyle told me you had managed to pull off on that Chinatown business. And I can still hardly believe what he said you did to those guys in Kimoto’s dojo. Because of all that, I had actually started to think you would come up with an answer to my sixty-four thousand dollar question which would blow my mind. But you haven’t. I have listened to your plan, and heard you talk about speed, but nobody is that fast. Nobody,” he emphatically ended.
Maria silently conceded that Albright was some way off being convinced, but she knew that years had passed since he had seen any kind of action at first hand, or even planned it, so she wasn’t thrown by his reaction. “Close your eyes,” she said, “and picture the scene in your head. They’ve just checked in, with hours to kill before their man will appear in the public arena, and suddenly you’re in Welbeck’s space with a request. But it’s not a request from just anybody,” she reminded him, “you were the London Station Chief who briefed him on Calendar and knew what kind of nightmare assignment he had been given. You’re the man he invited to the Plaza, so your presence is to be expected. You’re the man he still felt able to mention his Melcher problem to. You’re still CIA in Welbeck’s mind, so the request for privacy isn’t going to faze him.”
Maria was pleased to see that Albright’s eyes were obediently closed, and smiled with the thought that perhaps he just wanted to stop seeing the person telling him things he didn’t believe. “You said yourself,” she continued, “that you thought he just wants to unburden his woes to a former colleague with no axe to grind. I think he will be relieved to be offered an unexpected opportunity to unburden himself more than he would be able to in a room full of scientists. And his professional mind will find no fault with the requested venue, because it’s right next door to the two people he needs to stay close to. He will reassure himself with the fact that he’s only a few quick strides away from Calendar, and his babysitter, Melcher.”
Maria watched as Albright opened his eyes and stared at her. Seconds ticked away in her head before he spoke.
“Let’s say you’re right,” he began, “which would get me into Welbeck’s room. What makes you think he’d let you tag along?”
“Is he homosexual?” she asked, concealing her delight. Albright was now thinking along more positive lines. His surprise at her question was there in the brown eyes and his voice.
“No,” he spluttered.
“Then he’ll be a man who won’t object to my close proximity,” said Maria, “I will be irresistible on the day, and don’t ask me how because I don’t intend to elaborate.”
Maria saw Albright’s eyes narrow in the head he was shaking with evident disbelief, and she thought that he might be trying to visualise the image she had sketched in his mind.
“How is he going to feel that he can talk freely, if you’re there listening?” asked Albright.
“I won’t be listening,” replied Maria, “I’ll only be in his room for two seconds.”
Albright just stared at her, then sounded exasperated when he spoke again.
“Okay, Maria, let’s just say it all goes down like you say. But then, while I’m cosying up to Welbeck, Melcher is chopping you up into mincemeat before he comes in to tell his boss some dame just tried to take out their baby? How the hell do I explain to Welbeck that Melcher’s mincemeat is the guest I brought with me to the hotel?”
Maria thought for a moment, then feigned indignation with her reply, “You could at least pretend to be less concerned about what you might have to say to Welbeck, than the fate you describe for me at the hands of Melcher.”
Albright looked at her with undisguised astonishment for a second, then smiled.
“Hell, you’re a cool one, Maria Orsinni, I’ll give you that. Deluded, maybe, but cool.” He paused, frowning as he went on, “But you can’t just joke your way round a valid reservation. If you turn out to be slower than you think you are, and the speed thing, pardon my language, bites you in the ass, what, do you imagine, happens then?”
“One of the facts about my speed,” said Maria, “upon which you can rely, is that it will be unlike anything Melcher has ever experienced. So he won’t be saying anything to Welbeck.”
“He won’t?”
“Melcher won’t be saying anything to anybody.”
“He won’t?”
“He won’t,” repeated Maria, “So you won’t have to explain anything to Welbeck.”
“I won’t?”
“No, you won’t. When I’ve finished, Welbeck will hav
e his hands full and will just want you gone, along with myself, of course.”
“Is that so?” responded Albright, frowning as he continued, “Okay, you’ve given me the detail, as I asked, but only up to the point where you leave me with Welbeck. Up to the point where you lose me with the speed thing. Which I still think is impossible. So if I go along with your plan, there’s a crucial part of it you’re asking me to commit to in blind faith. I’ve read Melcher’s personnel docket. In my opinion he’s a psychopath, but I know he’s highly dangerous.”
“You have to trust my ability, yes,” confirmed Maria, watching him closely now, “Would you care what happens to Melcher?”
“When Melcher’s time comes,” replied Albright, shaking his head, “I doubt anyone will mourn his passing. As I doubt you being the instrument of his deserved fate.”
“Welbeck won’t believe it either,” said Maria, “nor will any other officer of your CIA.”
Maria saw that her closing words had registered their point, but also saw his glance to the framed photograph of his family just before he sounded off again.
“You’ll never pull it off. Nobody can be that fast.”
Maria regarded him steadily for a moment, and Tanaka’s voice was in her head.
“Are you familiar,” she began, selecting her pleasant tone of voice, “with the word Sensei, Signore Albright?”
“Of course I am, it’s the word used to denote....”
“My first Sensei,” interjected Maria, “was a Japanese-born American citizen. He often would use your country’s idioms of speech to convey things to me.” She paused, injecting the steel into her voice as she continued, “Perhaps you will pardon my language, Signore Albright, because one of those idioms my Sensei taught me was, Piss or get off the pot.”
Maria saw the colour flare in the man’s face. Then she saw his habitual glance to the walls displaying his past career achievements, and she sensed he was remembering his own earlier words about what he should have done when he had had the chance. She saw the decision in his brown eyes before he spoke, and he had mustered up a smile.
“I deserved that. Okay, Maria Orsinni, count me in. We’ll go to the Plaza hotel together.”
Maria spent her remaining time with Albright running him through some of the finer points of her plan. His responses were mixed, ranging from amusement to amazement. She then detailed the required transport arrangements for the morning of the 30th... When she finally left him at his desk, to make her way back to the taxi, Harry Albright was looking decidedly paler in the face, she thought.
Maria looked at her watch when she settled herself back in the taxi. Five thirty!
“Back to the Waldorf now, please, Tony.”
“Research done and dusted?” asked her driver, letting her see his grin in the rear-view mirror.
“Just about,” replied Maria, “but I would like you to pick me up at nine tomorrow morning. I need to purchase a few things, and you’ll know where I can get some of them.”
“Sure thing,” responded Tony, suddenly sounding his horn to convey his opinion of a fellow driver, “What kind of things?”
“We can talk about it in the morning, Tony,” replied Maria, closing her eyes.
At 7-25pm precisely, in the Waldorf Hotel, on the evening of her third day in New York, Maria Orsinni entered the dining room and began turning male heads. Styled back to show the pearl-drop earrings, her gleaming dark hair was held by a clasp inlaid with mother-of-pearl stones which sparkled as she turned her head in search of her uncle’s table. It was as she walked to where she had spotted Canizzaro, that those attracted males increased in number. Obviously drawing in turn, realized Maria, the less than enamoured looks she was receiving from the female companions of her admirers. Ignoring the testosterone-fuelled looks, and the envious ones, fully aware that her figure was enhanced by the shimmering silk of her Royal blue evening dress, she continued weaving her way through the dining room. Maria dismissed the unwanted admirers from her thoughts when she saw the figure of Signore Tommaso Kennedy moving towards her.
Maria could feel the heat on her face and hoped her blush was invisible to the Englishman who stood now blocking her progress to Canizzaro’s table. She saw him smile as she allowed him to take her unresisting hand and raise it to brush his lips. And she saw the twinkle in his green eyes as he surprised her with the sound of his opening words.
“You’re in the right bleedin’ place Signorina Orsinni, Cos’ you look right bleedin’ tasty.”
Maria’s startled response began as a wide-eyed stare, quickly becoming a giggle before ending with the laughter which her smiling Englishman had obviously sought to produce.
“Where did you get that accent?” she asked him.
“From the East End of London,” he replied in his normal voice, still smiling, “It’s called Cockney. I use it sometimes to break conversational ice. Laughter is a great nerves-breaker.”
“Do I look nervous?”
“You should. Every other woman in this dining room is directing homicidal looks at you. But they have reason to,” he added, and his green eyes were twinkling again, “because you look stunning in Royal blue and that Gina Bacconi dress would be wasted on any of them. But fear not, fair maiden, Sir Thomas will escort you to your table and keep you safe from harm.”
Amused by his performance, thrilled that he liked her dress, and impressed by his having recognized its designer, Maria smiled and allowed him to lead her to her uncle’s table.
“I thought maybe you two were standing there waiting for a bus,” said Donald Stanhope, rising alongside Claudio Canizzaro at the table.
Maria kissed her uncle’s cheek, and shook hands with the grinning Stanhope. She masked her thoughts on the man’s appearance; comprising a suit which clashed with his shirt which clashed with his tie.
“Maria, my child,” said Canizzaro, “you look wonderful. But come, let us all sit down.”
Maria smiled at her uncle and tried not to think of Sergio as Kennedy stood behind her chair and saw her seated before taking his own place at the table.
“I did offer, Signorina,” said Stanhope, “to rush to your side and escort you to the table, but killer Kennedy stood on my foot to prevent my gallantry.”
“Killer Kennedy will break your neck if you don’t stop blabbering,” said Kennedy, quietly.
“Well, Maria,” said Canizzaro, beaming his smile to where she sat, “this promises to be a lively table we find ourselves sharing, does it not?”
Shared laughter followed that, interrupted by the appearance of a waiter who turned their attention to the study of menus. For her main course, Maria chose a pasta dish, wondering if she would ever again be able to order a carbonara without thinking about Sergio. Which in turn reminded her that the Carabiniere officer was scheduled to arrive in New York in five days time. Further thoughts on Sergio were brought to a halt by her companions, with the usual dining-table-small-talk requiring her contribution. In the midst of those exchanges, she was surreptitiously studying the now surprisingly quiet Englishman with the green eyes.
Kennedy’s lightweight suit was, saw Maria, fashioned from a pale brown material, under which was a cream-coloured shirt. His plain wool-tie was dark brown, his hair was cut short and revealing some greying, and he had long eyelashes above the green eyes which looked out from a good looking face which probably needed to be shaved twice a day. There was definitely no wedding band on the relevant finger and he had strong looking wrists....
“You are enjoying New York, I imagine” said Kennedy, “what sights have you seen so far?”
Unbidden images immediately conjured themselves in Maria’s mind : Forza dead at her feet; Forza in a basket; John-John’s strip bar; Chinatown encounters and dojo battles....
“Not a lot, really,” replied Maria, smiling, “I may have lost myself a
few times in one or two of the Big Apple’s department stores.”
“Shop till you drop,” said Kennedy, “was my grandmother’s motto.”
Maria chuckled at that before replying, “My uncle gifted me this holiday,” she explained, wondering why he had said grandmother instead of mother, “and I will be in... how do you English say?... hot water?... if I don’t see more than just shops.”
“President Reagan’s wife,” responded Kennedy, “said that a woman is like a teabag. Only in hot water do you realize how strong she is. I’m free tomorrow afternoon,” he casually added, “Would you like me to show you some different sights?”
“Grazie,” replied Maria, sure that Kennedy could see her blushing, wondering why such a simple question should be producing such an embarrassing reaction, “that is very kind of you, but I’m not sure if my uncle....”
“But you must accept Signore Kennedy’s kind offer, Maria,” said Canizzaro, obviously having heard it being made and met by her hesitation, “I myself will be indisposed, I’m afraid.”
“Sorry, Signorina,” chimed in Stanhope, “That’s my fault. I will be monopolising your uncle for another day or two,” he said.
“But I will be happier, Maria, my child,” said Canizzaro, “knowing that you are in the safe hands of Signore Kennedy and will not be bored with more of your own company.”
Maria could scarcely believe where her thoughts were going, and could feel the heat in her face again at the thought of being in the safe hands of the Englishman with the green eyes. She was saved from having to respond to her uncle by the arrival of the waiter bearing their starters, and was glad of the small talk which occupied the table whilst the course was consumed. Not much later, the main meal was similarly accompanied by conversation which posed little difficulty for her, apart from the fact that she was ravenous but needed to eat at a pace which didn’t draw attention to that fact. Throughout the meal Maria had been aware of the subtle glances thrown in her direction by Kennedy, thoughtful looking stares from Stanhope, and the fact that her uncle was looking tired. The coffee stage of the evening revealed the reasons for some of those things. Into a brief but unworrying silence left by a conversational lull at the table, Donald Stanhope, his tone no longer jocular, dropped his social hand-grenade.