He steadied himself with his cane and scanned the room. Aviation magazines lay on the table near the four pea-green chairs where customers presumably waited. Aviation charts of southern Italy and the islands covered the walls.
The door opened and a man in shirtsleeves appeared. The secretary was visible behind him, nervously smoothing her dress. “Prego.” He gestured and Qazi entered his office, steadying himself several times by touching the wall for support. He carefully lowered himself into the armchair across the desk from the manager. The secretary took three steps toward the door, then stopped and stood, shifting from foot to foot, twisting her hands.
“Grazie, Maria.” The manager nodded toward the door. He was at least twenty years older than the woman, bulging badly at the waist. His complexion was mottled, as if he had a heart condition. “I am Luchesi,” he said.
Qazi opened his attaché case. He extracted three large manila envelopes and tossed them on the desk. “Count it.”
“There is no need, signore.” The perspiring manager spread his hands and tried to smile. “I trust …”
Qazi took the Walther from the case and laid it on the desk. Then he closed the case firmly and snapped the latches. “Count it.”
The manager ripped open the first envelope and shuffled through the bills.
“Count it slowly.”
Luchesi’s head bobbed and his lips began to move silently. The light from the window reflected on the moisture on his bald pate. When he finished with the third envelope, he said, “Fifty million lire, grazie. I will do as promised …”
Qazi opened the case and put the pistol back in.
“You may rely …”
The colonel lifted himself from the chair. He opened the door and shuffled past the secretary, who sat at her desk chewing her nails. He could feel her eyes boring into his back.
Ali drove through the gate and proceeded toward the heart of Naples.
“He took the money. He’s a nervous, silly little man. He’d better plan on making a fast departure from Italy. He’ll confess everything within an hour under interrogation.”
“Why won’t he leave now?”
“Because Pagliacci arranged this. If he runs without earning the money, he’ll be a walking dead man. He knows that.”
“Perhaps he’ll panic and betray us before the time comes.”
“Not unless he’s suicidal. And his secretary was hovering all over him. He had to tell her to leave the room.” Qazi grimaced. “She’ll clean him out in weeks. Ah well, every man should learn such a lesson with someone else’s money.”
Ali drove down the Via Medina past the Vittorio and double-parked in front of the fountains in the Piazza Municipio. Once again, he helped Qazi from the car, then handed him a folded newspaper that lay on the front seat.
The colonel made his way across the sidewalk, inched over the curb, and crossed the grass to the fountains, where he seated himself on the edge of the circular water basin and watched the children kicking a ball on the grass. Dogs drank from the fountains and growled at each other. Soccer balls went awry and were chased diligently while mothers chatted with other mothers and tended infants in strollers.
Occasionally Qazi glanced behind him at the entrance to the Municipal Building. The policemen on duty there ignored the people streaming in and out of the building through the high archway and smoked cigarettes while they talked to each other.
Down the street, past the parking area where Ali had stopped the car, Qazi could see the gate to the passenger terminal and fleet landing at the end of the short boulevard. To the right were the stark ramparts of the Castel Nuovo.
A man in his sixties clad in baggy trousers and a sleeveless undershirt sat down beside him. The man hadn’t shaved for several days. He glanced at the two-day-old copy of Il Mattino that protruded from under Qazi’s left arm.
“Have you finished with your paper?”
“I’ve only read the front page.”
The man nodded absently and rested his elbows on his knees. A child on crutches sank to the grass in front of him. He grinned at her.
“Your daughter?” Qazi asked.
“At my age? I wish. She’s my granddaughter.”
“Why did you agree to help us?”
The man turned his head and looked straight at Qazi. “I need the money.”
Qazi laid the newspaper between them.
“Grazie!” The man never looked at the paper.
Qazi used the cane to get upright. He was almost bowled over by a kicked soccer ball as he made the step down to the sidewalk, but the ball bounced off his legs and shot down the sidewalk toward Ali, who caught it and tossed it back.
Jake Grafton stood on the quarterdeck by the officers’ brow and watched Callie step from the launch to the float and climb the long ladder. After the officer-of-the-deck greeted her, he stepped forward with a smile. “Hi, beautiful.”
“Hello again, sailor man,” she grinned. “What a big ship you have here!” She put her hand on his arm and he led her through the large open watertight door into the hangar bay.
“Did you have a good ride out?”
“Oh yes. The junior officers whispered and told each other that I was your wife. I haven’t felt so privileged or admired in ages.”
Jake laughed. “Did a junior officer stop by the hotel today to see you?”
Her eyes twinkled mischievously. “One did. He said you had suggested that he ask my help in a romantic matter.”
Jake told her about Toad’s visit to his office as they walked across the hangar bay and climbed toward the O-3 level, the deck above the hangar, where his office was located. “So did you get ol’ Toad fixed up?”
“He and Judith have a dinner date this evening.”
“Now that’s what I call service.”
“He is head over heels about her. It’s very interesting. For a moment when I spoke to her, I sensed her hesitation, but she agreed immediately to dinner.”
“Maybe she’s just lonely, like Toad.”
“Perhaps, but …” She broke off as they entered the CAG office and Farnsworth snapped to his feet.
“Farnsworth, you remember my wife?”
“I most certainly do. It’s a pleasure seeing you again, Mrs. Grafton.”
“Farnsworth looks after me when you’re not around, Callie.”
Jake slipped into his office, leaving the door open, and let the two of them talk. In the three or four minutes they sat chatting, she elicited almost his entire life history. The man positively blossomed under her attention, Jake noted as he dialed the telephone. The admiral’s aide answered his call and suggested he could bring Callie to the flag wardroom at his convenience.
Cowboy Parker’s taut, angular face cracked into a large grin as Callie entered the wardroom. The chief of staff, Captain Harold Phelps, and the admiral’s aide were there, and Callie called each of them by name as she was introduced. Captain Phelps and the aide, Lieutenant Snyder, chattered through dinner, basking in the glow of her attention. Jake was once again amazed at the grace and wit of his wife, who could make anyone she met feel as though they were one of her lifelong friends. After dessert, Phelps and Snyder excused themselves, leaving the Graftons and the admiral alone.
“Callie, it really is great to see you again,” Cowboy said. “This is the most pleasant evening I’ve spent in quite a long time.”
Toad Tarkington was leaning back in his chair, a sappy smile on his face, watching delightedly as Judith Farrell talked about her job on the International Herald Tribune. Similar conversations were going on at other tables and their waiter was whisking away the dessert dishes, but Toad didn’t notice.