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    Robert Ludlum - The Parcifal Mosaic.txt

    Page 8
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      probably one of the last people you spoke to on that train. Slender, medium

      height, a wide-brimmed hat-you were in the vestibule."

      "Sil Naturalmente. Una beUa ragazzal I rememberl" The conductor took the

      money and drank some wine; he belched and continued. "She asked me if I

      knew where she could make connections for Civitavecchia.-

      "Civitaveechia? That's a town north of here, isn't itr

      "Si. A seaport on the Tyrrhenian."

      "Did you know?"

      'There are very few trains between Rome and Civitavecchia, signore, and

      certainly not at that hour. It is at best a stop for freight, not

      passengers."

      "What did you tell her?"

      "Just that. She appeared reasonably well dressed, so I suggested she

      negotiate a taxi for a flat rate. if she could find one. Rome is a

      manicomiol"

      Havelock nodded thanks, placed another bill on the table and went to the

      door. He glanced at his watch, it was twenty past one in the morning.

      Civitavecchia. A seaport on

      58 ROBERT LUDLUM

      the Tyrrhenian. Ships heading out to sea on a given day fnvariably left

      with the early light. At dawn.

      He had roughly three hours to reach Civitavecchia, search the waterfront,

      find a pier, find a ship-find an unlisted passenger.

      S

      He raced out of the marble lobby of the hotel in Bernint Circle and rushed

      blindly up through the winding streets until he reached the Via Veneto. The

      desk clerk at the hotel had not been able to help him but not for lack of

      trying; spurred by the thick folds of lire, he futilely punched the

      telephone bar and screamed numbers at the sleepy switchboard operator. The

      night clerles contacts were limited; he could not raise a rented car.

      Havelock stopped for breath, studying the lights on the Veneto. The hour

      was too late for the full array, but several caf6s and the Excelsior Hotel

      were illuminated. Someone had to help him-he bad to get to Civitavecchial

      He had to find her. He could not lose her. Not again, not ever againl He

      had to reach her and hold her and tell her that terrible things had been

      done to them tell her over and over again until she saw the truth in his

      e~es and heard that truth in his voice; and saw the love he felt so deeply,

      and understood the unendurable guilt that never left him-for he had killed

      that love.

      He began running again, first into the Excelsior, where no amount of money

      interested an arrogant clerk.

      "Yoieve got to help mel"

      "You are not even a guest, signore," said the man, glancing to his lefL

      59

      60 RoBEnT LUDLUM

      Slowly Michael angled his head. Across the lobby two policemen were

      watching the scene. They conferred; obviously, the night operation at the

      Excelsior was under open official scrutiny. Peddlers of capsules and pills,

      white powder and syringes, were working the world-famous boulevard. One of

      the uniformed men stepped forward. Havelock turned and walked rapidly to

      the entrance, once again running into the half-deserted street, toward the

      nearest profusion of light.

      The tired maitre & of the Caf6 de Paris told him he was a capo zuccone. Who

      would have an automobile to rent to a stranger at this hour? The American

      manager of a third-rate version of a Third Avenue bar told him to "pound

      sand."

      Again the winding streets, again the sweat drenching his hairline, rolling

      down his cheeks. The Hassler-the Villa Medicil He had used the name of the

      elegant hotel in the luggage shop by the Ostia...

      The night concierge at the Hassler's Villa Medici was accustomed to the

      vagaries of Rome's wealthiest hotel guests. Arrangements were made for

      Michael to rent a Fiat, one of the Hassler's staff vehicles. The price was

      exorbitant, but with it came a map of Rome and its environs, the most

      direct route to Civitavecchia marked in red.

      He reached the port city at three-fifteen and by threeforty-five he had

      driven up and down the waterfront, studying it until be decided where to

      park the car and start his search for Jenna Karas.

      It was a section common to most waterfronts where the floodlights washing

      the piers remained on all night and activity never stopped; where groupings

      of dockworkers and deckhands mingled like slow-moving automatons,

      crisscrossing each other-men and machinery meshed in volatile con-

      flict-loading the cargo holds and preparing the massive boilers and

      outdated engines of the larger vessels soon to head out into deep water.

      Where caf6s and coffeehouses fined the mist-laden alleys, punctuated by the

      diffused light of the streetlamps-places of refuge serving the harshest

      whisky and the most glutinous food.

      To the north and south were the smaller piers, halyards and masts swaying

      in silhouette against the moonlight; filthy marinas for the fishing boats

      and the trawlers that ventured no more than forty kilometers out to those

      watery places that decades of experience and tradition told the captains

      were

      THE PARsriFAL MosAic61

      where the catches were most plentiful. These piers did not begin to stir

      until the early light was closer, faint sprays of yellowish white inching

      their way over the southwest horizon, pushing the night sky upward. Only

      then did groaning, dull-eyed men walk down the wooden planks toward oily

      gunwales and the interminable, blinding day ahead. Jenna Karas would not be

      in these places where the boats cast off at dawn only to return home when

      the sun went down. She would be somewhere in that complex of larger piers,

      where ships looked to the tides and the charts and sailed to other ports,

      other countries.

      She was somewhere in this stretch of the waterfront where swirling pockets

      of mist rolled off the sea and across the docks, through intersecting pools

      of floodlights and the hammering tattoo of nocturnal labors. She would be

      hidden-not visible to those who should not see her: controllori of the

      piers, paid by the state and the shipping companies to be on the lookout

      for material and human contraband. Keep her out of sight; the moment will

      come when she can be taken on board, after a capo operaio has inspected a

      hold and signed the papers that state the ship in question is free to de-

      part, free from the taint of transgressing the laws of land and sea. Then

      she can walk swiftly out of the shadows and down a pier, controllori and

      opeM themselves out of sight, their duties finished.

      Which pier? Which ship? Where are you, lentO

      There were three freighters, all medium tonnage, berthed alongside each

      other at three of the four major cargo clocks. The fourth housed two

      smaller vessels-barge class-with conveyor equipment and thick piping

      machinery transporting and pumping bulk cargo up into the open holds. She

      would be taken aboard one of the freighters; the immediate thing to learn

      was the departure time of each.

      He parked the Fiat on a side street that intersected the viale fronting the

      four piers. He walked across the wide avenue, dodging several vans and

      trucks, to the first pier on the left, to the gate manned by a uniformed


      guard, a civil servant of questionable civility. He was unpleasant, and the

      nuisance of having to piece together Havelock's barely fluent Italian added

      to his hostility.

      "What do you want to know for?" asked the guard, filling the doorway of the

      gatehouse. "What's it to your

      62ROBERT LUDLUM

      "rm trying to find someone who may have booked passage," said Michael,

      hoping the words he used were close enough to his meaning.

      "Passaggio? Biglietto? Who buys a ticket on a Portuguese freighter?-

      Havelock saw his opening; he leaned closer, glancing about as he spoke.

      "This is the ship, then. Forgive my poor use of your language, Signor

      Controllore. It's unforgivable. Actually, Im with the embassy of Portugal

      in Rome. In my way an-inspector, as you are. We were told there may be

      certain irregularities with this vessel. Any cooperation from you could be

      duly conveyed to your superiors."

      The human ego when tied to opportunity was not affected by the lowliness of

      a civil service rating. The hostile guard was abruptly pleasant, moving

      aside to admit the straniero importante.

      "Scusatemi, signorel I did not understand. We who patrol those holes of

      corruption must cooperate with one another, noP And, in truth, a word to my

      superiors-in Rome, of course."

      "Of course. Not here."

      "Of course. Not here. 71ey are brutes down here. Come in, come in. It must

      be chilly for you."

      The Miguel CrW6v!w was scheduled to leave port at 5:00 A.M. Its captain was

      a man named Aliandro, who had been in the wheelhouse of the CrW6vtlo for

      the past twelve years, a skipper who knew every island, every shoal in the

      western Mediterranean, it was said.

      The two other freighters were of Italian registry. Ile guards at the gates

      were wearily cooperative, perfectly willing to give whatever information

      the oddly spoken foreigner requested. What be wished to know he could read

      in any newspaper under Navi Informazione-Civitavecchia, the pages of which

      were usually torn out and tacked to the walls of the various caf6s around

      the waterfront. They helped when crewmen got drunk and forgot their

      schedules.

      The Isola cFElba was leaving at flve-thirty, the Santa Teresa twenty

      minutes later, at five-fifty.

      Havelock started to walk away from the third gate. He looked at his watch;

      it was eight minutes past four. So little time.

      Jennal Where are youP

      Tim PARsrFAL MosAic63

      He heard the sound of a bell behind him. It was sudden, abrasive, eeboing

      in its own vibrations, an outside bell meant to be heard above the shouts

      and machinery of the piers. Alarmed, he tamed quickly. The guard had

      stepped inside the glass cubicle that was his gatebouse and was answering

      the telephone. The verbal flow of attentive Sis emphasized the fact that

      whoever was on the other end of the line was issuing orders that were to be

      thoroughly understood.

      Telephones and guards at checkpoints were sources of concern to Michael.

      For a moment he was not sure whether or not to run. The answer was given

      instantly. The guard hung up the phone and stuck his head out the door.

      'Youl You want to know so much about this stinking tub, here's something

      elsel The Teresa stays put. She doesn't sail until six godforsaken trucks

      get here from Torino, which could be eight hours from now. The unions will

      make those bastards pay, let me tell youl Then they'll fine the crew for

      being drunkl They're all bastardsl"

      The Teresa was out of the running, for a while at least. He could

      concentrate on the Elba and the Crist6vdo. If jenna was to be smuggled

      aboard the Teresa, he had hours, but not if it was one of the other two. If

      either was the case, he still had only minutes. He had to spend them wisely

      but swiftly, wasting as few as possible. There was no time for the subtle-

      ties of move and countermove, for circling the grounds of inquiry and

      selecting targets cautiously, being aware of whoever, might be watching

      him. There was time only for money~if takers could be found. And force---if

      those same takers tripped themselves on lies that meant they knew the

      truth.

      Havelock walked quickly back to the second gate, where the Isola crElba was

      berthed, altering his story only slightly for the weary guard. He wished to

      speak to a few of the vessers crew, those who might be on shore awaiting

      the ship's call. Would the cooperative civil servant, having shaken a hand

      with several thousand lire folded in the palm, know which of the waterfront

      caf6s were favored by the Elba's crew?

      "They stick together, no, signore? When fights break out, seamen want their

      friends around, even those they hate on board. Try Il Pinguino. Or perhaps

      La Carrozza di Mare.

      64 ROBERT LuDLum

      The whisky's cheaper at the first, but the food makes one vomit. ies better

      at La Carrozza."

      The once hostile, now obsequious guard at the gate of the CrW6vao was more

      than cooperative; he was effusively friendly.

      "There is a caf6 on the Via Maggio where, it is said, many things pass

      hands."

      "Would the CrW&do's men be there?"

      "Some, perhaps. The Portuguese do not mix well, of course. No one trusts

      them-Not you, signorel I refer only to the garbage of the sea. The same

      everywhere. Not you, may God forgive mel"

      "The name, please?"

      "11 Tritone."

      It took less than twelve minutes to disqualify 11 Trftone. Michael walked

      through the heavy doors, beneath the crude bas-relief of a naked creature

      half man and half fish, into the raucous squalor of the waterfront bar. The

      smoke was thick, the stench of- stale whisky thicker. Men shouted between

      the tables; others lurched, and not a few had collapsed, their heads

      resting on folded arms, small pools of alcohol surrounding hands and

      nostrils and bearded cheeks.

      Havelock chose the oldest-looking man behind the bar and approached him

      first. "Are there any here from the Ctlst6vdo?"

      Portoghese?-

      "Sr

      "A few-over there, I think."

      Michael looked through the smoke and the weaving bodies to a table across

      the room. There were four men. "What about the Isola dElba?" he asked,

      turning back to the bartender.

      "Porcil" replied the man. "Pigsl They come in here, I throw them outl

      Scuml"

      "They must be something," said Havelock, scanning the Tritone's -clientele,

      his throat trembling at the thought of jenna among such men.

      "You want crew from the Elba, go to 11 Pinguino. Over there, they don't

      care."

      Michael took out a 10,000-lire note, and placed it in front of the

      bartender. "Do you speak Portuguese? Enough to be understood?"

      THE PAItSrFAL MOSAIC65

      "Down here, if one cares to make a living one must be understood in half a

      dozen tongues." The man slipped the money into his apron pocket, adding,

      "They no doubt speak Italian, probably better than you, signore. So let us

      speak in English. What do you wish me to do?"

      "Tberes an empty table back there," said Havelock, reheved, changing

      lan
    guages, and gesturing with his bead toward the left rear comer of the

      caf6. 'I'm going over and sit down. You go to those men and tell them I

      want to see them-one at a time. If you think they won't understand me, come

      over with each and be my interpreter."

      Interprete?-

      "U"

      'Bene."

      One by one the four Portuguese sailors came to the table, each bewildered,

      two proficient in Italian, one in English, one needing the services of the

      interprete. To each, Michael said the same words:

      "I'm looking for a woman. ies aminormatter, nothing to be concerned about;

      call it an affair of the heart. Shes an impetuous woman; we've all known

      them, haven't we? But now she may have gone too far for her own good. I'm

      told she has a friend on the CrWvdo. She may have been around the pier,

      asking questions, looking for transport. Shes an attractive woman, average

      height, blond hair, probably wearing a raincoat and a wide-brimmed hat.

      Have you seen anyone like that? If you have, there could be a lot more

      money in your pocket than there is now."

      And with each man be gave an explanation for his summons that the sailor

      could take back to his companions, along with 5,000 lire: "Whatever you

      tell me remains between us. For my good more than yours. When you go back

      to your table, you can say the same thing Im telling everyone. I want rough

      sex with someone leaving Civitavecchia, but Im not going to take it from

      any son of a bitch who won't leave his papers down at a hotel desk.

      Released by me. Got it?'

      Only with the third man did the bartender, who insisted on being present at

      each interview, caution Havelock flrmly. "This one will leave his papers at

      a desk," he said.

      'Then be's not my type."

      oBener

      66 RoBERT LuDLum

      "Prego.

      Nothing. No such woman had been seen or heard of on the CrW6vdo pier. The

      four Portuguese crewmen resumed their drinking.

      Havelock thanked the perplexed older man beside him, and pressed another

      bill into his apron pocket. "Which way to 11 Pinguino?" he asked.

      "The Elba crew?" Thaes right.-

      "ni gowith you," said the bartender, removing his apron and the money in

      its pocket.

      Iny?"

      "You sound like a decent man. Also stupid. You walk into 11 Pinguino asking

      questions, your money's for everyone. All it takes is one sailor with a

     


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