The Ghosts of N-Space - Barry Letts [0]
OF N-SPACE
Barry Letts
First published in Great Britain in 1995 by Doctor Who Books
an imprint of Virgin Publishing Ltd
332 Ladbroke Grove
London W10 5AH
Copyright © Barry Letts 1995
The right of Barry Letts to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
'Doctor Who' series copyright © British Broadcasting Corporation 1995
ISBN 0 426 20440 9
Cover illustration by Alister Pearson Typeset by Galleon Typesetting, Ipswich Printed and bound in Great Britain by Cox & Wyman Ltd, Reading, Berks
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
One
Don Fabrizzio had great hopes that it would not be necessary to kill Max Vilmio. But he was very angry with him.
There had been a long period of peace amongst the Mafia Families of northern Sicily. The long drawn-out feuds of the fifties had been settled largely by respect for the supremacy of Don Fabrizzio (established with a ruthlessness unmatched by the toughest of his rivals). The areas of control and the parcelling out of the various enterprises were as he had decreed; and the result had been a time of amity – and prosperity for all concerned.
And then the upstart Vilmio had bought this island –
always understood to be within the Fabrizzio domain, although it was of little account in his extensive business empire – and used it as a base to make forays onto the mainland which were becoming more than could be tolerated.
From the moment he had arrived from the States, importing a small army of followers, it was clear that a 1
takeover was his ultimate aim. But now he had gone too far, running the Don’s emissaries off the island as if they were the chicken-shit bully-boys of a Main Street Boss from the Mid-West.
His arrogance was beyond reason, thought the old man.
Although the purpose of this visit was quite clear, he had not even bothered to provide himself with bodyguards.
He gazed thoughtfully at the massive figure before him
– and at the man in the monk’s habit standing discreetly in the background by the great open fireplace. Vilmio had addressed him as Nico. Not a priest, then. A lay brother, some hanger-on. Well, he needn’t think having him present would save him if the decision had to be taken.
‘You understand, my boy,’ said the Don gently, ‘that it is out of the love and respect I bear for your father, may his soul rest in peace, that I come to see you personally.’
The giant Max smiled a little too readily back at the old man. ‘It gives me great pleasure to welcome you to the Isola di San Stefano Maggiore, Don Fabrizzio. All of you,’ he added, giving a glance to the cold-faced aide carrying a document case who stood at the capo-mafioso’s shoulder and to the two bodyguards behind.
He politely gestured to the nearest armchair with his stiff gloved hand. His whole right arm was artificial, so the Den’s consigliere had reported after the first abortive visit.
2
The result of a Mafia quarrel? Possibly. Yet Don Fabrizzio’s enquiries had indicated that Vilmio had always held himself apart from the business of his adopted Family in New York.
‘In order that there might be no possibility of misunderstanding,’ the Don said, as he tried to settle his bones into the corners of the starkly fashionable chair, ‘it seemed advisable for me to make quite sure that you realize the help that we can give you – not only in my little corner, or indeed in Sicily as a whole, but throughout Italy. Rome has been known to frown on enterprises such as yours. The more friends you have the better.’
The large face