Bloody Passage - Jack Higgins [13]
I'd last seen her at the Festival Hall in London nine months previously playing the final movement of Rachmaninoff's Third Piano Concerto in a Royal College of Music student's concert. There was the same look of total concentration on her face now.
The far door opened and a woman entered, a black and tan Doberman at her side. The animal crossed to Hannah, who stopped playing for a moment to fondle it.
"Amazing," Stavrou said. "Usually Frau Kubel is the only one who can even get near the beast."
Langley said, "His favorite trick is pulling people's arms off. I'd advise you to remember that, old stick."
Frau Kubel looked about sixty with a grim, bleak face, hair drawn back tightly into a bun. She wore a black bombazine dress and white apron and her legs were slightly bowed. If she'd ever been in a concentration camp it could only have been as a guard.
She said something to Hannah who stood up. Frau Kubel took her arm and they walked to the door and went out.
I said slowly, "How did you get her here?"
"She's supposed to be spending a holiday with you. It was easy enough to arrange. A phone call to your grandmother with a message from you. She saw the girl off at Heathrow and when she landed at Palermo yesterday, Justin at his most charming was there to greet her with a tale of your having been delayed." He smiled gravely. "You get the picture now, sir?"
The anger, the black, killing rage rose inside me like a living thing, but I fought to control it. "I think so."
"So long as we understand each other. From those ramparts down to the beach is all of four hundred feet. A long way to fall." He put a cigar in his mouth and Langley lit it for him. "Yes, a dangerous place." He blew out smoke in a long column. "Especially for someone with your sister's difficulties."
I tried to get at him, tripped over those damned chains and found myself on my hands and knees in front of him again. By some small miracle, Langley had an automatic in his right hand and screwed the muzzle into the side of my neck.
Stavrou gazed down at me dispassionately and I was aware of Simone standing behind him, hands on the back of the wheelchair, face wiped clean of all expression.
Stavrou said slowly, "All right, Grant, you were right. I've been in the rackets all my life. Al Capone, O'Bannion, Frank Nitti, Legs Diamond. I knew them all, only they're long gone and I'm still here. You know why? Because when I say it, I mean it. I always carry it through, no matter how rough."
He stopped talking for a moment and it was very quiet and then he continued, "My wife, Major Grant, was a lady, and I mean a lady. Boston Society and all that kind of stuff. When she said she'd marry me, I couldn't believe it. And the years we had together...."
He ran a hand wearily over his face. "This son of hers was always trouble, but before she died I promised her I'd see him through." He sighed, a brief ironic smile on his mouth. "I'm going to tell you something. That kid hates my guts, but it doesn't matter a damn. I'm going to get him out of that place for her sake, and you're going to see to it for me. Understand?"
To which there was little I could say--for the moment. He swung the wheelchair round in a circle and said to Langley, "All right, bring him along."
Gatano pulled me to my feet, the two characters in the fisherman sweaters got an arm each and we all went back through the garden to the terrace. Someone positioned him at the table and filled a glass with more wine.
He sipped a little and looked up at me. "I'll make the point again. If you even attempt to step out of line, your sister takes a fall. You understand me?"
"Perfectly."
"Good." He nodded to Gatano. "Unchain him."
Gatano did as he was told without a word. I stood there flexing my wrists, feeling curiously unsteady. "What happens now?"
"That's up to you. You can have anything you want. Money, equipment, men. Just ask. As for this place where they're holding the boy--plans, maps, every scrap of information we could get hold of--you'll find all that in your room. And a man called