Six Graves to Munich - Mario Cleri [30]
Rogan looked at him thoughtfully for a long moment. It was impossible to doubt the man’s sincerity and warm friendliness. “Fine,” he said at last. “You can start off helping me by telling me where to find Genco Bari.” He offered the lean American a drink.
Bailey sat down, relaxed, and sipped his Scotch. “Sure, I can tell you that,” he said. “But first you have to promise that you’ll let me help you all the way. After Genco Bari you’ll go after Pajerski in Budapest and then von Osteen in Munich, or vice versa. I want you to promise to follow my advice. I don’t want you caught. If you are, you’ll wreck Intelligence contacts it’s taken the United States years and millions of dollars to set up.”
Rogan didn’t smile or act particularly friendly. “OK. Just tell me where Bari is—and make sure I get a visa for Budapest.”
Bailey sipped his drink. “Genco Bari is living in his walled estate just outside the village of Villalba in central Sicily. The necessary Hungarian visas will be waiting for you in Rome whenever you’re ready. And in Budapest I want you to contact the Hungarian interpreter at the United States consulate. His name is Rakol. He’ll give you all the help you need and arrange your exit from the country. Fair enough?”
“Sure,” Rogan said. “And when I get back to Munich do I contact you, or will you contact me?”
“I’ll contact you,” Bailey said. “Don’t worry. I’ll be able to find you.”
Bailey finished his drink. Rogan saw him to the elevator and Bailey said casually, “After you killed those first four guys, that gave us enough of a lead to break your Munich Palace of Justice case wide open. That’s how I know about Bari, Pajerski, and von Osteen.”
Rogan smiled politely. “That’s what I figured,” he said. “But since I found them by myself, it doesn’t matter what you found out. Right?”
Bailey gave him an odd look, shook hands, and just before getting into the elevator said, “Good luck.”
As Bailey knew the whereabouts of Genco Bari, Rogan realized that everyone else must have known too—the police chief, the private detectives, probably even the hotel manager. Genco Bari was one of the big Mafia leaders of Sicily; his name was no doubt known throughout the country.
He rented a car to drive the fifty-odd miles to Villalba. It struck him that he would quite possibly never leave this island alive, and that the last criminals would remain unpunished. But that didn’t seem to matter so much now. As it did not matter that he had made up his mind not to see Rosalie again. He had arranged for her to receive money from his estate once she had been in touch with the office. She would forget about him and make a new life. Nothing mattered at the moment except killing Genco Bari. And Rogan thought about that man in the Italian uniform. The only man of the seven in the high-domed room in the Munich Palace of Justice who had treated him with any genuine warmth. And yet he, too, had taken part in the final betrayal.
On that final terrible morning in the Munich Palace of Justice, Klaus von Osteen had smiled in the shadows behind his great desk, as Hans and Eric Freisling had urged Rogan to change into his “freedom clothes.” Genco Bari had said nothing; he’d merely looked at him with gentle pitying eyes. Finally he had crossed the room and stood in front of Rogan. He had helped Rogan knot his tie, had patted it securely inside Rogan’s jacket. He had distracted Rogan so that Rogan had never seen Eric Freisling slip behind him with the gun. Bari, too, had taken a hand in the final humiliating cruelty of the execution. And it was because of Bari’s humanity that Rogan could not forgive him. Moltke had been a selfish, self-serving man; Karl Pfann, a brutal animal. The Freisling brothers were evil incarnate. What they had done could be expected, springing as it did out of their very natures. But Genco Bari had exuded a human warmth, and his taking part