The Last Don - Mario Puzo [118]
But he knew. He yearned for the beauty of Athena Aquitane. It wasn’t just for the loveliness of her face, her eyes, her hair, her legs, her breasts. He yearned to see the look of intelligence and warmth in her eyes, in the very bones of her face, in the delicate curve of her lips. He felt that if he could know her, be in her presence, the whole world would take on a different light, the sun a different heat. He saw the ocean behind her, rolling green and capped with white flume, like a halo around her head. And the thought strayed into his mind: Athena was the woman his mother had dreamed of becoming.
Astonished, he felt a well of longing to see her, to be with her, to listen to her voice, to watch her move. And then he thought, Oh shit, is this why I’m doing this?
He accepted it and was pleased that finally he knew the real reason for his actions. It made him resolute and it made him focus. At the present time the main problem was operational. Forget Athena. Forget the Clericuzio. There was the difficult problem of Boz Skannet, a problem that had to be solved quickly.
Cross knew he had put himself in too naked a position, another complication. To publicly profit if anything happened to Skannet was dangerous.
Cross resolved on the three people he needed for the planned operation. The first was Andrew Pollard, who owned Pacific Ocean Security and was already involved in the whole mess. The second was Lia Vazzi, the caretaker of the Cleri-cuzio hunting lodge in the Nevada mountains. Lia headed a crew of men who also served as caretakers but were on call for special duties. The third man was Leonard Sossa, a retired counterfeiter on Family retainer to do odd jobs. All three came under Cross De Lena’s control as the Western Bruglione.
It was two days later that Andrew Pollard got the phone call from Cross De Lena. “I hear you’re working too hard,” Cross said. “How about coming to Vegas for a little vacation? I’ll comp you RFB—room, food, beverage. Bring the wife. And if you get bored pop up to my office for a chat.”
“Thanks,” Pollard said, “I’m pretty busy right now, but how about next week?”
“Sure,” Cross said. “But then I’ll be out of town, so I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll come tomorrow then,” Pollard said.
“Great,” Cross said and hung up.
Pollard leaned back in his chair, pondering. The invitation had been a command. He would have to walk a very thin line.
Leonard Sossa enjoyed life as only a man reprieved from a terrible death sentence can enjoy life. He enjoyed the sunrise, he enjoyed the sunset. He enjoyed the grass growing and the cows who ate the grass. He enjoyed the sight of beautiful women and confident young men and clever children. He enjoyed a crust of bread, a glass of wine, a knob of cheese.
Twenty years before, the FBI had arrested him for making hundred-dollar bills for the now-extinct Santadio Family. His confederates had copped a plea, sold him out, and he had believed the flower of his manhood would wither in prison. Counterfeiting money was a far more dangerous crime than rape, murder, arson. When you counterfeited money, you attacked the machinery of government itself. When you committed the other crimes you were only some scavenger taking a bite out of the carcass of the huge beast that composed the expendable human chain. He expected no mercy and was given none. Leonard Sossa was sentenced to twenty years.
Sossa did only a year. A fellow inmate, overcome with admiration for Sossa’s skills, his genius with ink and pencil and pen, recruited him for the Clericuzio Family.
Suddenly he had a new lawyer. Suddenly he had an outside doctor he had never met. Suddenly there was a hearing for clemency on the ground that his mental capacity had deteriorated to that of a child and he was no longer a menace to society. Suddenly Leonard Sossa was a free man and an employee of the Clericuzio Family.
The Family had a need for a first-rate forger. Not for currency, they knew that to the authorities counterfeiting was an unforgivable crime. They needed a forger for far