Day of Confession Part 21

Hercules' eyes flashed angrily. "That's not a very good idea."

Harry ignored his protest. "Before, you said you wanted to see what I could do. How far my wits and courage would take me. This is how far, Hercules. In a big circle, right back to you.... I tried, it just didn't work..." Harry's voice softened, and he looked at Hercules for a long moment, then ever so slowly gave him back his crutch.

"I can't do it alone, Hercules.... I need your help."

Harry's last words were barely out when the cellular phone rang in his jacket pocket, its shrill intrusion startling them both.

"-Yes... ," Harry answered warily, his eyes darting around the park, as if this were a trick, the police on to him.

"Adrianna!" Quickly Harry turned away, covering his free ear against the sound of the traffic on the boulevard.

Hercules swung up on his crutches, watching intently.

"Where?" Harry nodded once, then twice. "-Okay. Yes! I understand. What color?-Okay, I'll find it."

Snapping off the phone, Harry slid it into his pocket, at the same time looking to Hercules.

"How do I get to the main railroad station?"

"Your brother-"

"He's been seen."

"Where?" Hercules could feel the excitement.

"In the north. A town on Lake Como."

"That's five hours by train through Milan. Too long. You would risk being-"

"I'm not going by train. Someone has a car waiting for me at the railroad station."

"A car..."

"Yes."

Hercules glared at him. "So, suddenly you have other friends and don't need me."

"I need you to tell me how to get to the station."

"Find it yourself."

Harry stared at the dwarf, incredulous. "First you want nothing to do with me, now you're mad because I don't need you."

Hercules said nothing.

"I will will find it myself." Abruptly Harry turned and walked off. find it myself." Abruptly Harry turned and walked off.

"Wrong way, Mr. Harry!"

Harry stopped and looked back.

"You see, you do do need me." need me."

The wind picked up Harry's hair, and dust danced past his feet. "All right. I need you!"

"All the way to Lake Como!"

Harry glared. "All right!"

In an instant Hercules was up and swinging toward him. Then he was past him, calling over his shoulder.

"This way, Mr. Harry. This This way!" way!"

62.

Lake Como, Italy. Monday, July 13, 4:30 P.M P.M.

ROSCANI TURNED TO LOOK AT SCALA AND Castelletti in the seats behind him, then with a glance at the jet-helicopter's pilot, turned back to stare out the window. They had been flying for nearly three hours, north along the Adriatic coast, over the cities of Ancona, Rimini, and Ravenna, then inland toward Milan, and finally north again to drop down over the high hills and sweep across Lake Como toward the town of Bellagio.

Below, he could see the tiny white wakes of pleasure boats cutting the deep blue of the lake's surface like decorations on a cake. To his left, a dozen opulent villas surrounded by manicured gardens dotted the sh.o.r.eline, and to his right, the steep hillsides dropped sharply to the lake itself.

They'd been still in Pescara at the scene of the apartment house fire when he'd taken an urgent call from Taglia. A man thought to be Father Daniel Addison had been brought to a private villa on Lake Como by chartered hydrofoil the night before, Gruppo Cardinale's chief had said. The hydrofoil captain had seen the broadcast of the continuing public appeal messages on television and was all but certain who his pa.s.senger was. Yet he'd been reluctant to say anything because the villa was very exclusive and he was afraid he might lose his job if he was wrong and accidentally exposed a celebrity of some kind. But then sometime this morning his wife had convinced him he should notify the authorities and let them make the decision.

Celebrity, Roscani thought as the pilot banked sharply left and dropped lower over the water; who the h.e.l.l cared who got exposed if they were on the right track? Time was more critical than ever.

The body found in the rubble had been that of Giulia Fanari, the wife of Luca Fanari, the man who, records had shown, had rented an ambulance from the slain proprietors of the ambulance company in Pescara. Signora Fanari had been dead before the fire began. Killed by a sharp instrument, probably an ice pick, inserted into the skull at the base of the brain. For all intents she was "pithed," the way a biologist might dispatch a frog he was about to dissect. Cold blooded Cold blooded wasn't a description. From the way it had been done, it appeared to Roscani to have been an act performed almost pa.s.sionately, as if, with each involuntary squirm and muscular jolt the victim gave as her brain was slowly and deliberately crushed inside her skull, the killer was enjoying it. Maybe even s.e.xually. If nothing else, the sheer inventiveness of the act told him the perpetrator was a person with absolutely no concept of conscience. A true sociopath who had complete indifference to the feelings, pain, or well-being of other people. A human being truly evil from birth. And if this sociopath was their illusory wasn't a description. From the way it had been done, it appeared to Roscani to have been an act performed almost pa.s.sionately, as if, with each involuntary squirm and muscular jolt the victim gave as her brain was slowly and deliberately crushed inside her skull, the killer was enjoying it. Maybe even s.e.xually. If nothing else, the sheer inventiveness of the act told him the perpetrator was a person with absolutely no concept of conscience. A true sociopath who had complete indifference to the feelings, pain, or well-being of other people. A human being truly evil from birth. And if this sociopath was their illusory third person third person, Roscani could eliminate the "they" of it, because everything told him the murder had been done by one person alone, and he could eliminate the "she" as well, because it would have taken enormous strength to kill Giulia Fanari the way it had been done, meaning, almost without doubt, the creature who did it was a man. And if he had been in Pescara on the trail of Father Daniel and, through his doings there, had learned where he had been taken, it would mean he was a great deal closer to finding Father Daniel than they were.

Which was why, as Roscani watched the ground come up quickly, abruptly becoming obscured in a cloud of dust as the helicopter set down at the edge of a thick woods near the lake, he prayed to G.o.d that the injured man delivered to the villa was indeed the priest, and that they would get there first-before the man with the ice pick.

63.

THE SCOPE WAS A 1.54.5 ZEISS DIAVARI C, and through it Thomas Kind watched the dark blue Alfa Romeo come down the hill toward Bellagio. The crosshairs cut Castelletti in the middle of his forehead, and a slight shift to the left took Roscani the same way. Then, after a glimpse of a carabiniere carabiniere at the wheel, the vehicle pa.s.sed, and he stood back. He was uncertain if today he should once again call himself at the wheel, the vehicle pa.s.sed, and he stood back. He was uncertain if today he should once again call himself S S, because he was not sure whether logistics or circ.u.mstance would present him with his target.

S for for sniper sniper. It was a designation he gave himself when he prepared, mentally and physically, to kill from a distance. It had begun as a self-promotion to an elite corps after his first kill, shooting a fascist soldier from an office window in Santiago, Chile, in 1976, as the troops opened fire on a gathering of Marxist students.

Moving the Zeiss down and to the right, he saw the carabinieri carabinieri command post set up just outside the long formal drive leading to the palatial lakeside estate known as Villa Lorenzi. A move to the right again, and the scope picked up the three police patrol boats idle in the water, a quarter of a mile apart and a hundred yards offsh.o.r.e. command post set up just outside the long formal drive leading to the palatial lakeside estate known as Villa Lorenzi. A move to the right again, and the scope picked up the three police patrol boats idle in the water, a quarter of a mile apart and a hundred yards offsh.o.r.e.

Through Farel, Kind had learned that Villa Lorenzi was owned by the renowned Italian novelist Eros Barbu and that Barbu was traveling in western Canada and had not been at Villa Lorenzi since the previous New Year's Eve, when he had given his annual ball, one of the most famous events in all of Europe. In Barbu's absence, Villa Lorenzi was managed by a black South African poet named Edward Mooi, who lived free of charge, saw after the buildings, and directed the staff of twenty full-time house help and gardeners. And Mooi, at Eros Barbu's order, had given the police permission to search the grounds.

A formal statement from Barbu's attorneys maintained that neither Barbu nor Edward Mooi ever knew or had heard of a Father Daniel Addison, and that neither they nor any of the staff were aware of anyone coming to Villa Lorenzi by boat. Most certainly not someone with a medical staff of four tending him.

Easing back from his craggy perch on a wooded hill overlooking the villa, Thomas Kind lifted the scope again and saw Roscani's Alfa Romeo pull up to the command post just as Edward Mooi came down from the main house at the wheel of a battered three-wheel maintenance vehicle that looked like an old Harley-Davidson motorcycle towing the bed of a small dump truck.

Kind smiled. The poet was wearing a khaki shirt, western jeans, and leather sandals. His long hair, tied in a ponytail that dropped to his shoulders, had touches of gray at the temples and gave him the appearance of a distinguished hippie or an aging biker.

For a moment Mooi and Roscani chatted, then the poet climbed back on his vehicle and led Roscani's car and two large trucks filled with armed carabinieri carabinieri back up the driveway and onto the grounds of the villa proper. Thomas Kind was certain the police would find nothing. But he was equally certain that his target was somewhere there, or at a place close by. So he would wait and watch, and then make his move. Patience was everything. back up the driveway and onto the grounds of the villa proper. Thomas Kind was certain the police would find nothing. But he was equally certain that his target was somewhere there, or at a place close by. So he would wait and watch, and then make his move. Patience was everything.

Hefei, China. The Overseas Chinese Hotel.

Tuesday, July 14.

Li Wen rolled over, restless. It was hot and still, and he was unable to sleep. Thirty seconds later he rolled over again and looked at the clock. It was twelve-thirty in the morning. In three hours he would have to get up. In four he would be at work. He lay back. This night, more than any, he needed to sleep, but it didn't come. He tried to erase thought from his mind, not think of what he was about to do, or what Hefei would be like twenty-four hours from now after he had introduced the deadly product of American hydro-biologist James Hawley's formula to the water supply at the treatment plant's clear-water outflow wells. Polycyclic unsaturated alcohol was not a monitored const.i.tuent in the water systems, nor could it be detected visually or by taste or odor in the drinking water. Introduced in frozen s...o...b..ll-like form to melt in the already-treated water, the effect would be to cause severe digestive-system cramping, followed by intense diarrhea, and, ultimately, intestinal bleeding and death within six to twenty-four hours. The amount introduced, calculated at ten-parts-per-million concentration in a gla.s.s of drinking water, would have sufficient fatal contamination for one hundred thousand individuals.

Ten parts per million.

One hundred thousand deaths.

Li Wen tried to stop his mind from working, but he could not. Then, in the distance, he heard the crackle of thunder. At almost the same time he felt a breeze and saw the curtains billow slightly at the open window. A front was approaching, and with it would come wind and warm rain. By the time he got up it should have pa.s.sed, and tomorrow would be muggy and even hotter. Not-so-distant lightning flashed, for an instant lighting up his hotel room. Eight seconds later there was a clap of thunder.

Li Wen moved up on an elbow, alert, his gaze crossing the room. In the corner next to his suitcase was a small refrigerator. Few hotels in China had room refrigerators, especially hotels in the smaller cities like Hefei, away from the major centers, but this one did. It was the reason he had chosen this hotel and asked for this room. Not only was there a refrigerator, but the appliance itself had a freezer, which was even more important because it was where he had frozen the polycyclic "s...o...b..a.l.l.s" after he had blended the formula. And where they would remain until he left for the treatment plant in something over three hours.

Again lightning flashed. For an instant the lights illuminating the hotel sign outside his window went out, then they came back on. Li Wen was wide awake now. Staring in the dark. The last thing he needed was to have the electricity go out.

64.

Como, Italy. Still Monday, July 13. 7:00 P.M P.M.

A TROUBLED AND ANXIOUS ROSCANI WORKED his way across a jammed, hastily set-up communications room deep inside Como's central carabinieri headquarters. A dozen uniformed officers manned phone banks set on desks in the middle of the room, while as many others hacked at computer terminals plopped down haphazard, wherever they could fit into the too-small quarters. Others still-anxious, smoking, drinking coffee-moved in between. It was a war room set up in hours to coordinate an all-out manhunt after a search of Villa Lorenzi turned up no sign of the fugitive priest.

Roscani's destination was an enormous map of the Lake Como area that covered one entire wall. On it, pinpointed with small Italian flags, were the locations of roadway checkpoints where heavily armed Gruppo Cardinale personnel were stopping and searching every vehicle pa.s.sing through-a major undertaking, considering the variety of terrain and the number of roads that could be used as escape routes.

Bellagio was at the northern tip of a landma.s.s triangle that jutted northward into the lake. The lake itself extended farther north, while at the same time spilling, in long fingers, down either side of the triangle to Lecco on the southeast and Como on the southwest, with Chia.s.so and the Swiss border just inland and northwest of it.

Because of its location, Chia.s.so was the most obvious exit point and was heavily manned, but there were other places still within Italy where the fugitives might hole up and hide to wait out a search. The towns of Menaggio, Tremezzo, and Lenno across the lake to the west. Bellano, Gittana, and Varenna to the east. And then those, like Va.s.sena and Maisano, within the triangle and still others to the west.

It was a ma.s.sive and intense operation that disrupted almost every household and business in the region; a condition exacerbated by an all-out invasion of the media. They were betting that the alleged a.s.sa.s.sin of the cardinal vicar of Rome was on the brink of capture and were broadcasting it live to the world.

Roscani was hardly new to large operations, and the disruptive circus atmosphere was part of it. But no matter how well things were organized, their very size made them c.u.mbersome. Things rushed at you, decisions had to be made quickly and by any number of people. Mistakes were inevitable. Under fire you didn't have the a.s.soluta tranquillita a.s.soluta tranquillita to be quiet and think things through properly, try to find the logic and approach that could make the difference between success and failure. to be quiet and think things through properly, try to find the logic and approach that could make the difference between success and failure.

A sudden noise at the back of the room made Roscani look up. For an instant he saw a gaggle of media people in the hallway outside shouting questions as Scala and Castelletti came in with the captain and two members of the hydrofoil crew who had allegedly ferried Father Daniel and his medical entourage to Bellagio and Villa Lorenzi.

Roscani followed them across the room and into an alcove where a carabiniere carabiniere pulled a sliding curtain to give them privacy. pulled a sliding curtain to give them privacy.

"I am Ispettore Capo Otello Roscani. I apologize for the disorder."

The hydrofoil captain smiled and nodded. He was probably forty-five and looked fit. He wore a dark blue double-breasted naval jacket over the same color trousers. His crewmen wore light blue short-sleeved shirts with epaulettes on the shoulders and the same dark blue pants.

"Would you like coffee?" Roscani asked, at their obvious nervousness. "A cig-" Roscani caught himself, then grinned. "I was going to offer you a cigarette, but I have just quit smoking. In all this bedlam, I'm afraid that if I let you smoke, I might give in and join you."

Roscani smiled again and he could see the men relax. It was a calculated gesture on his part, designed for the effect it had, yet he wasn't so sure it wasn't the truth. Still, his admission had put the men at ease, and over the next twenty minutes he learned the particulars of the voyage from Como to Bellagio and was given detailed descriptions of the three men and the woman who had accompanied the man on the gurney. He also learned one other singular piece of information. The hydrofoil had been hired the day before the trip. It had been done through a travel agency in Milan at the behest of a Giovanni Scarso, a man claiming to represent the family of a man badly injured in an automobile accident who wanted him transported to Bellagio. Scarso had paid cash and left. It was only when they had approached Bellagio that one of the men accompanying the sick man had directed them away from the main landing and farther south, to the dock at Villa Lorenzi.

When the session had finished, there was no doubt in Roscani's mind that he had been told the truth and that the patient the crew of the hydrofoil had brought to Villa Lorenzi had indeed been Father Daniel Addison.

Turning to Castelletti and asking him to go over the details once more, Roscani thanked the captain and his crewmen and then left, pushing out from behind the curtain and walking back into the clamor of the war room. Then, as quickly, he left it.

Walking down a narrow corridor, he entered a lavatory, used the urinal, washed his hands, and splashed water on his face. And then, certain it was impossible in this situation to think without a cigarette, he pressed two fingers against his lips and inhaled deeply between them. Sucking in the phantom smoke, feeling the imagined rush of nicotine, finally he leaned back against the wall and used the a.s.soluta tranquillita a.s.soluta tranquillita of the rest room to think. of the rest room to think.

This afternoon he and Scala and Castelletti and two dozen carabinieri carabinieri had scoured every inch of Villa Lorenzi. Yet they had found nothing. Not a trace of Father Daniel or the people with him. That an ambulance might have been waiting somewhere on the villa's grounds and the party simply loaded their patient onboard and escaped was not possible, because Villa Lorenzi had only two access ways, the main driveway and a service road, and both were gated, with the gates operated from inside the villa. A vehicle could not enter or leave without the knowledge and a.s.sistance of someone inside. And, according to Mooi, this had not happened. had scoured every inch of Villa Lorenzi. Yet they had found nothing. Not a trace of Father Daniel or the people with him. That an ambulance might have been waiting somewhere on the villa's grounds and the party simply loaded their patient onboard and escaped was not possible, because Villa Lorenzi had only two access ways, the main driveway and a service road, and both were gated, with the gates operated from inside the villa. A vehicle could not enter or leave without the knowledge and a.s.sistance of someone inside. And, according to Mooi, this had not happened.

Of course, as cooperative as Mooi had seemed, he could have been lying. Moreover, there was always the possibility someone else had helped Father Daniel escape without Mooi's knowledge. And then there was the last, the possibility the priest was still there and hidden away and they had missed him.

Once again Roscani inhaled phantom smoke through his fingers, dragging deep into his lungs. At dawn, he and Scala and Castelletti along with a select force of carabinieri carabinieri would go back to Villa Lorenzi unannounced and search again. This time they would take dogs, and this time they would leave nothing unturned, even if they had to dismantle the villa stone by stone to do it. would go back to Villa Lorenzi unannounced and search again. This time they would take dogs, and this time they would leave nothing unturned, even if they had to dismantle the villa stone by stone to do it.

65.

"CHIa.s.sO... ," HERCULES SAID AS THEY MOVED away from Milan and up the A9 Autostrada in heavy summer traffic, his eyes intent on Harry at the wheel of the dark gray Fiat Adrianna had left parked across from the railroad terminal in Rome, the keys tossed under the left rear wheel as she'd promised.

Harry didn't respond. He was watching the road in front of him, his mind focused on getting to the city of Como, where he was to meet Adrianna; and then, somehow, across the lake to the town of Bellagio, where Danny presumably was.

"Chia.s.so," he heard Hercules say again, and he looked over abruptly to see the dwarf staring at him.

"What the h.e.l.l are you talking about?"

"Did I help you get this far, Mr. Harry? Find your way out of Rome. Onto the Autostrada. Making you go north when you wanted to go south.... Without Hercules you would be coming up on Sicily, not Como."

"You were magnificent. I owe you everything I am today. But I still don't know what the h.e.l.l you're talking about."

Harry suddenly cut right and in behind a fast-moving Mercedes. The drive was taking much too long.

"Chia.s.so is on the Swiss border.... I would like you to take me there. It's why I came."

"So that I would drive you to Switzerland?" Harry was incredulous.

"I am wanted for murder, Mr. Harry..."