Omerta - Mario Puzo [50]
With great effort, his mind came together. Instinctively, he called his wife to make sure she was OK. He told her nothing. Then he called the FBI duty officer for a special forensic team and a cleanup squad. They would have to get rid of all the bedclothes, the mattress, the rug. He did not notify the local authorities.
Six hours later the FBI teams had left and he wrote a report to the director. He poured himself a regular-sized glass of brandy and tried to analyze the situation.
For a moment he considered lying to Georgette, concocting a story about the dogs running away. But there were the missing rug and bedsheets to be explained. And besides, it wouldn’t be fair to her. She had a choice to make. More than anything, she would never forgive him if he lied. He would have to tell her the truth.
The next day Cilke flew first to Washington to confer with the director and then down to Florida, where his wife and daughter were vacationing with his in-laws.
There, after having lunch with them, he took Georgette for a walk along the beach. As they watched the glimmering blue water he told her about the dogs being killed, that it was an old Sicilian Mafia warning used to intimidate.
“According to the papers you got rid of the Mafia in this country,” Georgette said musingly.
“More or less,” Cilke said. “We have a few of the drug organizations left, and I’m pretty sure who did this.”
“Our poor dogs,” Georgette said. “How can people be so cruel? Have you talked to the director?”
Cilke felt a surge of irritation that she was so concerned about the dogs. “The director gave me three options,” he said. “That I resign from the Bureau and relocate. I refused that option. The second was that I relocate my family under Bureau protection until this case is over. The third is that you remain in the house as if nothing has happened. We would have a twenty-four-hour security team guarding us. A woman agent would live in the house with you, and you and Vanessa will be accompanied by two bodyguards wherever you go. There will be security posts set up around the house with the latest alarm equipment. What do you think? In six months this will all be over.”
“You think it’s a bluff,” Georgette said.
“Yes. They don’t dare harm a federal agent or his family. It would be suicide for them.”
Georgette gazed out at the calm blue water of the bay. Her hand clasped his more tightly.
“I’ll stay,” she said. “I’d miss you too much, and I know you won’t leave this case. How can you be certain you’ll finish in six months?”
“I’m certain,” Cilke said.
Georgette shook her head. “I don’t like you being so certain. Please don’t do anything awful. And I want one promise. When this case is over, you’ll retire from the Bureau. Start your own law practice or teach. I can’t live this way the rest of my life.” She was in deadly earnest.
The phrase that stuck in Cilke’s head was that she would miss him too much. And as he so often did, he wondered how a woman like her could possibly love a man like him. But he had always known that someday she would make this demand. He sighed and said, “I promise.”
They continued their walk along the beach and then sat in a little green park that protected them against the sun. A cool breeze from the bay ruffled his wife’s hair, making her look very young and happy. Cilke knew he could never break his promise to her. And he was even proud of her cunning in extracting his promise at the exact proper moment, when she risked her life to stay on his side. After all, who would want to be loved by an unintelligent woman? At the same time Agent Cilke knew his wife would be horrified, humiliated by what he was thinking. Her cunning was probably innocent. Who was he to judge it? She had never judged him, never suspected his own not-so-innocent cunning.
CHAPTER 6
FRANKY AND STACE STURZO owned a huge sporting-goods store in L.A. and a house in Santa Monica that was only five minutes from the Malibu beach. Both of them had been married