Mission to Siena

by James Hadley Chase

  As he drove down the narrow, bumpy road, he saw, in the distance, the flares were alight, and he heard the roar of the aircraft’s engine. He pushed down the accelerator, nearly swerving on to the grass. Then he saw the lights of the aircraft and he cursed. The aircraft was taking off, and as he drove on to the landing ground, the lights of the aircraft went out and the machine disappeared into the darkness.

  He pulled up, sweating and furious. Now he had the long run down to Villa San Giovanni ahead of him. It would mean the loss of at least twenty-four hours before he could board the Nettuno. It was infuriating, but not a disaster. Felix and Lorelli were the only two who knew about the yacht, and they were dead by now. But he would have to be careful.

  Although the police would have no idea which way he would be heading, they would be on the lookout for him.

  Crantor, carrying a large suitcase, came out of the shadows and approached the car.

  “Signor Alsconi?” he asked softly.

  “Don’t mention my name, you fool!” Alsconi snarled. “Have you the money?”

  “Yes.” Crantor paused by the car, trying to see Alsconi’s face. This was a big moment for him.

  “We’re going to Palermo,” Alsconi said. “I’ll tell you the way as we go. You drive.” He moved his bulk across the bench seat.

  “Palermo?” Crantor said, startled. He opened the car door and slid under the steering wheel. “That’s in Sicily, isn’t it?”

  “Where else, fool, could it be?” Alsconi snapped. “I wish to get there quickly. Will you stop making obvious remarks and get me there as quickly as you can?”

  Crantor flushed. His own vicious temper stirred. He started the engine and drove down the bumpy road at a speed that made Alsconi’s small eyes widen.

  “Turn left at the bottom of this road,” he said. “Then straight on.”

  He huddled down in the comfortably padded seat and stared bleakly through the windshield as the car swayed and banged down the road and swung on to the main road with a squeal of tortured tyres.

  Crantor felt the car’s great surge of power. He liked to drive fast, and he sent the car roaring down the road with the speedometer needle touching 98 miles an hour.

  What did this mean? he asked himself. Why Palermo? What was inside the wooden boxes that were stacked on the back seat? Why this urgency to get to Sicily? Had something gone wrong? Was Alsconi pulling out?

  He glanced at the fat, huddled form at his side. The light from the dashboard showed up the slack, worried face, the bleak, screwed-up eyes and the black shadow of a careless shave.

  He found Alsconi disappointing. After all he had heard of him, he had expected to find someone iron-hard instead of this fat, petulant, elderly man.

  Alsconi felt Crantor’s searching gaze and he in turn looked at him and inwardly shuddered. What a face! If he had known Crantor looked like this he would never have planned to make use of him. It was a face as easily recognized as Carlos’s giant body. It was a face once seen couldn’t possibly be forgotten. But the man could drive. If they continued at this speed they would be in Naples by the morning. He straightened a little in his seat.

  “Very soon now,” he said, “we shall come to the hill road into Siena. You will have to drive more slowly, but don’t go too slow. It is essential I should be in Palermo as soon as you can possibly get me there.”

  “Will Felix be in Palermo? I understood he was in Siena,” Crantor said as he edged up the speed of the car.

  “Don’t bother me with small talk,” Alsconi said irritably. “I have things to think about.”

  Crantor drove on, his mind seething with rage at the snub. And it wasn’t until they began to climb the twisting hill road and when he had to slacken speed, that he began to consider his position.

  Alsconi had said there was to be a change. He had told him to come out immediately. Could that mean he was now to work closely with him? Did he want to? If Alsconi treated everyone in this way was it worth while working with such a man?

  Crantor suddenly thought of the fifteen thousand pounds in five-pound notes he had brought out of England and that were now lying on the floor of the car. If he had known Alsconi was going to be like this, he would have taken the money for himself and dropped out of sight. It wouldn’t have been easy, but it could have been done. It was not too late to do it now. Again he thought of the wooden boxes. What did they contain? More money?

  His mind was so preoccupied with these thoughts that he came upon Don’s Bentley without seeing it until it was too late. He swept around the curve in the road, then suddenly realized he was too far over to the left. He saw the Bentley’s dipped headlights, and he slammed his foot down on the brake pedal.

  He felt the violent impact and heard the front tyre burst. For one nerve-racking moment as the car swung broadside on, he thought it was going to crash down into the valley. He heard Alsconi cursing as he wrestled with the wheel, then the car came to a standstill. Shaken and furious with himself, he opened the car door and got out.

  Lorelli looked beyond Crantor and recognized Alsconi’s bulky figure. She felt herself turn cold.

  Crantor said, “What are you doing here with Micklem?” He had lowered the gun. There was a puzzled expression on his face. “What is this?”

  “Crantor! Bring her here! “Alsconi barked. “Don’t let her get away.”

  Lorelli looked around wildly for a means of escape as Crantor caught hold of her wrist. She tried to jerk free, but he held her and pulled her across the road to where Alsconi was standing, covering Don with the gun.

  In the reflected light from the Cadillac’s headlamps, Alsconi looked white and flabby. His mouth twitched and there was fear in his eyes.

  “Watch this man: shoot him if he moves,” he said, then he caught hold of Lorelli’s arm and pulled her into the light so he could see her clearly. “So you got away? And you have been talking, haven’t you? You’ve been giving away my secrets.” He dropped the gun into his pocket and caught hold of her by her throat, shaking her. “Haven’t you?” he shouted at her.

  Lorelli buckled at her knees, her hands pulled at Alsconi’s wrists, trying to break his vicious grip.

  “You’ve told him about my yacht, haven’t you?” Alsconi snarled. “Haven’t you?”

  “Take your hands off her!” Don exclaimed. “You can’t get away. The police are on the yacht now, waiting for you.

  They’re at the Bazzoni villa as well.”

  Alsconi threw Lorelli from him so she sprawled in the road. He dragged out his gun, his face murderous. Stepping back so he could still watch Don, Crantor aimed a quick slap at Alsconi’s wrist, knocking the gun out of his hand.

  Alsconi staggered back, his face livid.

  “Wait!” Crantor said sharply. “What is this? What’s happening?”

  “Happening?” Alsconi cried, his voice shrill. “She’s betrayed us! That’s what’s happening! She’s given us away to the police.”

  “What’s this about a yacht? What yacht?”

  “How can I get away unless I use the yacht?” Alsconi snarled. “The police have a description of me.” Fear made his face slack and ugly. “There’s money in the villa. How am I going to get away now?”

  This news, came as a shock to Crantor. So Alsconi was on the run and the police had a description of him! Crantor’s brain worked quickly. They hadn’t a description of himself, he thought, but if he were caught with Alsconi… What a mug he had been! He should have taken the fifteen thousand and dropped out of sight. Then he had a sudden idea.

  “What about the motor launch?” he asked. “Have you still got it?”

  Alsconi blinked, then clapped his hands together.

  “Of course!” He had forgotten the motor cruiser in the harbour of Civitavecchia: the cruiser that was used to smuggle French currency into Italy. “That’s it! It had gone out of my mind. While the police wait for me in Palermo, I’ll take the launch to Monte Carlo. We will go at once to Civitavecchia.”

  H
e picked up the gun that Crantor had knocked out of his hand. Lorelli had got to her feet and was now standing by Don, her face white. She watched Alsconi fearfully.

  “Is Micklem’s car damaged? Look and see,” Alsconi said to Crantor. “I’ll watch these two.”

  Crantor went over to the Bentley: apart from a buckled rear wing there seemed nothing the matter with the big car. He opened the door, slid under the driving wheel and started the engine. He shifted the gear lever and moved the car a few yards, then cut the engine and came back. “It’s all right.”

  “Then we’ll use it. It will be safer, and they will go with us. The police won’t think of looking for me in a British car with three other people in it. Get those boxes out of the Cadillac and put them in his car. Then get the Cadillac off the road. Hurry!”

  While Alsconi continued to cover Lorelli and Don, Crantor transferred the boxes into the boot of the Bentley. He put his and Alsconi’s suitcases in beside them.

  He returned to the Cadillac, released the parking brake, then going around to the front of the car, he leaned his weight against the bonnet. The car moved, its back wheels dropped off the road, and it crashed down the steep bank and ended up some fifty yards down the hill against an olive tree.

  “You will drive, Mr Micklem,” Alsconi said. “You will take me with all possible speed to Civitavecchia.” He looked at Lorelli. “You will sit beside him. If either of you make a move to attract attention, I shall shoot you. Do you understand?”

  “You’re not going to get far,” Don said. “You’re just kidding yourself if you think you’re going to get away.”

  Listening, Crantor thought the same.

  “Get in the car!” Alsconi snarled.

  Don and Lorelli walked over to the Bentley; the other two followed. They got in the car and Don started the engine. He turned the car and headed back to Siena.

  The time was now a few minutes to one o’clock. They had a hundred and twenty miles to cover to reach the port. The roads would be deserted. Alsconi reckoned they should arrive by half-past three.

  “Lombardo should be sleeping on board,” he said to Crantor, “but if he isn’t we will not be able to wait for him. Can you handle the boat?”

  “I can try,” Crantor said doubtfully. “I haven’t handled a big motor-boat before, but I’m pretty good with engines.”

  “Don’t talk like a fool,” Alsconi snarled. “You would have to navigate the boat. Could you get me to Monte Carlo?”

  “No,” Crantor said. “I don’t know anything about navigation.”

  Alsconi thought for a moment: this could be a disaster if Lombardo wasn’t on board and it was unlikely that he would be.

  He leaned forward and tapped Don on his shoulder.

  “Can you handle a boat? If you can and if you can get me to Monte Carlo I will refrain from shooting you when we reach Civitavecchia.”

  “That’s comforting news,” Don said dryly. “I’ll take you there on condition that Lorelli and I take the boat back after I’ve landed you.”

  “Certainly,” Alsconi said and smiled in the dark. “You would of course give me your word not to tell the police that you have landed me at Monte Carlo?”

  “Of course,” Don said gravely, knowing Alsconi would never let him go free.

  “Then let’s get on,” Alsconi said and sat back.

  It was striking three o’clock as Don drove along the sea road into Civitavecchia.

  “Stop for a moment,” Alsconi said. “There are a few details to be arranged.”

  Don pulled up.

  “There is the guard at the harbour who may ask questions. I know most of the guards,” Alsconi said, “but we may be unlucky.

  Have your gun ready.” He looked at Crantor. “I will open the window and speak to the guard. If he seems suspicious, shoot him. You have a silencer?”

  “No,” Crantor said.

  “I have. Take my gun and give me yours.” As Crantor appeared to fumble for his gun, he said, “There may be more than one guard.” “There won’t be at this hour.”

  Crantor had slipped his gun out of sight by his side and now with one hand, and it wasn’t easy, he was unloading the gun.

  “Give me your gun!” Alsconi snapped. “Why are you keeping me waiting?”

  “It is caught in the lining of my pocket.” “You shouldn’t have kept it in your pocket, you fool!” Alsconi snarled.

  “Hurry!”

  You won’t be calling me a fool much longer, Crantor thought savagely as he jacked the bullet out of the breech. He handed the empty gun to Alsconi and took the .45 that was equipped with a silencer.

  “You two in front say nothing,” Alsconi said, snatching Crantor’s gun from his hand. “I shall shoot Lorelli through the head if you make a false move. Now, drive to the harbour entrance. It’s straight ahead, and across the railway lines.”

  Don engaged gear. During the drive to Civitavecchia, he had been trying to think of a way to catch these two off their guard, but as long as they had guns in their hands, there was nothing he could do. He was confident his chance would come when he got on the motor launch. Crantor, he decided, was the dangerous one for he was active and his movements were quick. He was sure he could take Alsconi by surprise, but not Crantor.

  He slowed down to pass over the railway track, then his headlights picked out the red and white bar that guarded the entrance to the harbour. By the bar was a sentry box. A man in khaki uniform with a rifle in his hand, stood by the bar and blinked in the glare of the lights. “Be ready,” Alsconi said. “I will sit well back. You will have to shoot him through the window.”

  The guard ducked under the bar and came up to the car.

  “It is all right,” Alsconi muttered. “I know this man.” Raising his voice, he called, “Is that you, Bellini? I haven’t seen you for months. How are you?”

  The guard grinned.

  ” II signor Tampato!” He came up to the window. “This is a pleasure! You are going perhaps to Rome? Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “We are going to Rome,” Alsconi said, “but as we were so near, I wished my friends to see the boat. Is Lombardo on board?”

  “No, signore,” the guard said. “He no longer sleeps on the boat. He married three weeks ago.”

  Alsconi’s fat face tightened.

  “Never mind,” he said. “We will not be long. I just want them to see it.”

  “I am sorry, signore, but the harbour is closed. Less than an hour ago I had instructions from the police to let no one enter. There is some bandit attempting to escape.”

  Alsconi laughed.

  “Do I look like a bandit? Come now; I shall not be long: a half an hour perhaps.” His fingers dipped into his pocket and he took out a thousand lire note. “Here, buy yourself something to remember me by. You musn’t keep my friends waiting.”

  “Thank you, signore, but please be as quick as you can. I will get into trouble if you are seen.”

  He went to the bar arid lifted it. Don drove under it.

  “To the left,” Alsconi said and waved to the guard.

  They drove past a big shed that hid them from the guard.

  “Stop here,” Alsconi said. “Turn off the engine and give me the ignition key.”

  Don obeyed.

  “I will remain in the car,” Alsconi said to Crantor, “and watch these two. Put the boxes and our cases on board.”

  Crantor got out of the car. He looked for a moment at the powerful motor cruiser that was moored nearby, then he opened the boot of the car and carried the boxes across the quay and on to the boat. He returned for the suitcases, and having put them on board, he came over to the car.

  “Get out, you two,” Alsconi said.

  Crantor stepped back and watched Lorelli and Don, followed by Alsconi, get out of the car.

  “Now, Mr Micklem, I’ll be obliged if you will go on board with Crantor and get the boat ready,” Alsconi said.

  Don took hold of Lorelli’s arm.


  “You’re coming with me,” he said, not liking the cold, vicious expression on Alsconi’s face.

  “No!” Alsconi said sharply. “Just you, Mr Micklem. She stays here.”

  “If she doesn’t come with us, then I don’t take you to Monte Carlo,” Don said quietly.

  “She is not coming!” Alsconi said violently. “You will do what you’re told or you will be shot!”

  “That won’t get you to Monte Carlo,” Don said, watching Alsconi closely. The look of maniacal rage in Alsconi’s eyes warned him that he might shoot.

  “Wait!” Crantor barked. He had moved away so that he could cover the three of them with the .45.

  Alsconi looked at him, saw the gun was pointing at him, and his small eyes widened.

  “Don’t point that thing at me!” he rasped. Crantor smiled.

  “You shouldn’t have told me the police have a description of you. Tortoise,” he said. “It’s my turn now to call you a fool! They haven’t a description of me. She’s going on this trip, but you aren’t. I have money, a boat, a navigator and a clear field. You’d only complicate…”

  Alsconi swung up the .38 and pulled the trigger, his lips curling off his teeth in a vicious snarl. The faint click of the hammer told him the gun was empty. He looked down at the gun, his face slack, his eyes staring.

  Crantor shot him three times in the body. The gun made three sharp plops like someone clapping his hands. Alsconi buckled at the knees, took two staggering steps forward, the .38 falling from his hand, then he spread out face down on the cobble stones.

  Neither Don nor Lorelli moved.

  Crantor swung the gun to cover them.

  “Get on board!” he said harshly. “Hurry!”

  Don moved to the edge of the quay and dropped down on to the deck. He held out his hands to Lorelli and swung her down beside him.

  Crantor scrambled aboard, keeping away from them.

  “Get the engine started,” he said.

  Don went down into the cockpit.

  Lorelli said to Crantor, “What are you going to do with me? Why didn’t you let him kill me?”