Omerta - Mario Puzo [31]
She smiled at his passion, was touched by it.
“Don’t expect me to change,” she told him, smiling. “If what you say is true, we have no quarrel.”
“I don’t expect you to change,” Cilke said. “And if the FBI affects our relationship, I’ll just get another job.” He didn’t have to tell her what a sacrifice that would be for him.
But how many people can say that they are perfectly happy, that they have one human being they can absolutely trust? He took such comfort in his guardianship and faithfulness to her spirit and her body. She could sense his alertness every second of the day for her safety and survival.
Cilke missed her terribly when he was away on training courses. He never was tempted by other women because he never wanted to be a conspirator against her. He cherished his return to her, to her trusting smile, her welcoming body, as she waited for him in the bedroom, naked, vulnerable, pardoning him for his work, a benediction to his life.
But his happiness was haunted by the secrets he had to keep from her, the serious complications of his job, his knowledge of a world that festered with the pus of evil men and women, the stains of humanity that spilled over into his own brain. Without her, it was simply not worth living in the world.
At one time, early, still shaky with fear of happiness, he had done the one thing he was truly ashamed of. He had bugged his own home to record his wife’s every word, then listened in the basement to the tapes. He had listened to every inflection. And she had passed the test; she was never malicious, never petty or traitorous. He had done that for a year.
That she loved him despite his imperfections, his feral cunning, his need to hunt down fellow human beings seemed to Cilke a miracle. But he was always afraid that she would discover his true nature and then abhor him. And so in his work, he also became as fastidious as possible and acquired his reputation for fairness.
Georgette never doubted him. She had proved that one night when they were dinner guests at the director’s house, along with twenty other guests, a semiofficial affair and a signal honor.
At one point during the evening the director managed to secure a moment alone with Cilke and his wife. He said to Georgette, “I understand you are involved in many liberal causes. I respect your right to do so, of course. But perhaps you don’t truly comprehend that your actions could damage Kurt’s career in the Bureau?”
Georgette smiled at the director and said gravely,“I do know that, and that would be the Bureau’s mistake and misfortune. Of course, if it became too much of a problem, my husband would resign.”
The director turned to Cilke, a look of surprise on his face. “Is that true?” he asked. “Would you resign?”
Cilke didn’t hesitate. “Yes, it’s true. I’ll turn in the papers tomorrow if you like.”
The director laughed. “Oh, no,” he said. “We don’t come by men like you often.” Then he gave Georgette his steely aristocratic eye. “Uxoriousness may be the last refuge of the honest man,” he said.
They all laughed at the laborious witticism to show their goodwill.
CHAPTER 4
FOR FIVE MONTHS after the Don’s death, Astorre was busy conferring with some of the Don’s old retired colleagues, taking measures to protect the Don’s children from harm and investigating the circumstances of his murder. Most of all he had to find a reason for such a daring and outrageous act. Who would give the order to kill the great Don Aprile? He knew he had to be very careful.
Astorre had his first meeting with Benito Craxxi in Chicago.
Craxxi had retired from all illegal operations ten years before the Don. He was the man who had been the great consiglieri of the National Mafia Commission itself and had an intimate knowledge of all Family structures in the United States. He had been the first to spot