Ded Reckoning (37 page)

The city is unique in itself, and is menacing as it relates to Rocco's family name.  Reggio Calabria is beautiful although being ruined by a crime war, bordering on revolution, which if one thinks of its history is not necessarily surprising. Sixty-six years ago the city, and a huge percentage of its population, were destroyed by an earthquake at 5:21AM in the morning which incidentally is about the time of day Marnee and Rocco arrived from Pisa today.  However, the earth is tranquil at this moment in history, ostensibly not hungry although across the strait Etna belched and regurgitated its innards just a few months ago.  However, in 1905 some 25,000 souls perished from the quake here.  Most of them as they rushed to the sea for safety and were met by a ten foot tsunami.  Three other tsunamis hit finishing Mother Nature's reminder.  Also, the same quake killed more than twice as many in the town of Messina, across the strait.  Reggio Calabria was rebuilt of course, but again destroyed not by nature, instead by a British air raid in 1943.  Raised from rubble once again and certainly more modern it flourished for years, however now it's being ravaged by a political war and crime wave.  The
'Ndrangheta
, a mafia-type crime organization is the cause.  The city is home to
'ndrine
, such as
Condello-Imerti
and the
DeStefano-Tegano
clans, warring against one another.  Marnee is aware of the
DeStefano
name in the latter clan and is keen to leave, although to remain hidden on the ferry ride to Messina will be difficult. However, she does it well, mingling with the tourists, visiting mainlanders and the home-bound Sicilians.

In Messina, Rocco is met by a young man driving a black, '71 Mercedes-Benz 280 SEL 3.5 sedan. Marnee is hard pressed to lease a rental car and get on the road hoping to catch-up to the southbound black, 4-door 280 within 50 miles.  There are dozens upon dozens of possible destinations.  She has no time to call Mossad headquarters but has caught glimpses of the TV news in terminals and overhears worried conversations on the ferry.  She knows firsthand, of course, of the killings outside the hotel, and now knows something of the carnage inside.  She knows of Itzak and Namir's murders.  She is enraged, so the problem is not just staying with Rocco hoping it'll lead to Pisces, but to reclaim her calm and business-like attitude and approach.  This is more than difficult since it was Pisces that assassinated her uncle, a highly respected member of the Knesset, a few years ago in Jerusalem.  

The mind games are intense for Marnee.  Now in a strange location.  Destination unknown.  No back-up.  No plan other than to terminate two men and any that interfere.

She drives south and catches up to Rocco's Mercedes as they travel through Santa Teresa di Riva.  She supposes the young man driving, with Rocco lounging in the rear seat, is making it a leisurely and relaxing trip for the "gentleman" returning home.  She passes the sedan so as not to create any suspicion for coming-up on them so rapidly.  Marnee keeps tabs in the rear view mirror from less than a half kilometer ahead for several minutes, then slows and  allows the Mercedes to pass her.  As it does she holds a road map between her head and the side window pretending to check and navigate as she drives.   Only the youngster driving gives her a glance.  After this she follows, hanging back a quarter of a kilometer or more when possible.

Her thoughts are all over the spectrum of recent events.  She knows others were onto Rocco.  Probably for the same reason: Pisces.  She wonders where are the Irishmen and what do   they know and if they, and others, particularly the Americans, are far behind.  And where is the American that was last seen in London and did not arrive with the lady?  Or were the Russians and Germans only following the woman, and if so, why?  Her thoughts return to the present as, up ahead, the Mercedes slows and eases off onto a side road with signs announcing Taormina.

Marnee mutters, "Now, big man, lead me to your master and payback time."

 

 

Alfonse Battaglia, Hunter, joins the tourists on another warm, sunny afternoon, taking a walkabout in Taormina which for him includes watching and strolling by Pisces' villa.  His timing is opportunistically lucky as Rocco arrives.  The sedan parks in the villa's drive adjacent to the garage and servants quarters. Tour map in hand, baseball cap and sunglasses masking his face, Hunter sees Rocco emerge from the car.  
Big man.  But a dead man walking.
 

The old man caretaker and his wife the cook, housekeeper and maid, huge smiles spread across their faces, rush to greet him.  The young man is holding the car door open.  There are hugs, more smiles, and chatter.  Greetings over, Rocco strides away toward the villa's patio stretching his arms outward and upward, twisting his neck to relax, the old woman at his side, chattering and gesturing.  Rocco nods.  Stops, says something to the cook and maid.  She turns and heads toward the kitchen.  He continues to a veranda table and sits.  Legs stretched out in front and hands and arms reaching skyward.  Then recoils into a shoulder hunching sitting position of home at last.   Worry free.

Okay, one down.
 
Bet the other is not far behind.  
Hunter folds the map and responds to one of the couples wandering about.  He takes their camera, along with a few animated instructions, then positions them so the villa is in the background.  He takes their picture, and another facing out toward the Mediterranean, as requested.  Politely refuses one with them at their request.  As they thank him profusely, a faded black Fiat, woman driving, rounds the corner, approaches, slows to a crawl at the villa. Nearly stops, then speeds up and goes on its way.  Hunter takes in the action in his slow-motion like mind.  
Beat-up car in a posh
neighborhood and the face of the woman driving I've seen before
.

He pauses, watches the car until it turns at the end of the street, then smiles and nods to the picture-taking couple again and strolls away from the villa like a wandering tourist.

Know that woman.
  He takes two strides down the hill toward the corner and stops quick as a jackass hit by a two by four.  He mutters, "Devorah.  Can't be.  Can't be."  

He shakes his head.  
Why not
.  
It's
another friggin' omen
.  
I gotta get this over with.    
 

Hunter hurries on his way back to the hotel.

Done.  And out.

 

 

Marnee pulls up to the first and closest hotel she finds after passing the villa.  It's the
Ataholtel Capotaormina
.  Turns the car over to the valet who at least feigns surprise when he asks to take her bags and she tells him she has none.  He shakes his head and takes the rental heap away.  Marnee stands for several moments looking at the pools below, and beyond them to the Bay of Naxos and the Mediterranean.  
Beautiful, but it's going to get sullied
.

She strides into the hotel and up to the registration desk.  While registering for a classic room, expensive but least so, she asks the clerk in her best Italian, "Where are the closest lady's shops?  In the hotel? Elsewhere if necessary.  But close."

The response is that there are two in the hotel shopping concourse.  He points the direction.  And adds, "There is another shop but a few blocks away.  The remainder are below, in town."

Marnee smiles, nods, takes her key and strides, hips swaying, toward the hotel's shops. She, like Rocco, is traveling light, although she does have exceptional personal baggage.  The clerk is fascinated by the walk and the baggage, as is the valet who has returned and entered to tell the idle bellhops of the dark haired, busty and leggy lady with the cheap Fiat and no bags.

Hunter trails the valet through the front door and catches the end of the matinee performance.  He too stares until the lady is out of sight, however for different reasons.  He questions the clerk and jokes with the young lads.  
It's her or a twin
.

He nods to all and whisks through the lobby and returns to his room to take mental stock, call Zachary, clean up and eat later.  
Need to make another recon of the villa and somehow check out the lady.
 

He gets an overseas line and dials Joe "Z".  Waits through the clicks, static and buzzes for the ring
.
 

"Zachary."

"Joe, it's me.  Give me an update on the Israelis in Pisa."

"Interesting you ask.  Outwardly they are enraged, but dreadfully quiet inside.  Three dead and one, a female, is missing and presumed KIA.  They are angrier than a swarm of hornets.  A lot of cries of outrage to the Italian government, but deep inside not saying much, and that ought to be worrisome to some folks.  Why the question?"

"She's not missing and is sure enough, simon-pure, bona fide alive.  She's here.  Saw her today."

"Enough with your vast dialect, Champ.  How do you know it's her?"

"You remember my nightmare?  Well,  ..."

"Don't start that again."

"Well then, trust me, she's here.  I know.  And you can bet her pals are finding out just about now.  How long do you figure before they'll have help here?"

"If what you say is true, Hawk, possibly a day, maybe a two."  A slight pause, then, "No.  They always work in teams.  Experienced together.  They'll send a team.  A good one.  So that may well take three days."   

"Well, Joe.  She knows where the villa is.  Tailed the big guy there from wherever.  Probably, Pisa."

"So, what's your plan?"

Hunter sighs.  "To end this, now ... as soon as the target arrives.  Those two only I hope, but I'm geared to take the house and staff down around their ears."

"What about her?"

"Am going to check her out, Joe.  This evening if I can.  Need to see how close to the ground she's crawling.  Oh, what about Brad and the group?"

"They should arrive late tonight.

"Okay, partner, and her name is Marnee but looks exactly like Devorah."  Click.
 
 

 

 

As the sun is setting, Pisces has the crew bring the
Sorridenta
into the Marina Poseidon in Milazzo
.  
The evening is beset with beauty; the sun leaving the day and travelers behind, but all believe it will push up in the  sky tomorrow and give another day of life and sunshine.  And it is said in this country that Milazzo is like a beautiful woman.  The saying goes, "Let's not know if she has gotten married to a good husband."  It is also a historic city, laden with myth, tradition, and legend.  Legends like the beautiful Helen Baele; of St. Anthony from Padua; of St. Stefano Protomartire, Patron of Milazzo and so many more, and dozens of treasures to visit and festive days to celebrate.

After docking, Estella, Chiarina and Roberto sit on the afterdeck, have a glass of wine and discuss what the evening will hold.  The ladies are tired of their seafaring.  They decide after finishing their drink, they all will clean up, go into town, have dinner at
Al Pescatore
ristorante.  It's famous for its Swordfish Roulade stuffed with breadcrumbs, however perhaps not its service.  And after, a stroll around the harbor visiting shops, perhaps stopping for an after-dinner drink   before coming back aboard the
Sorridenta.  
Pisces agrees. The return to the boat is the portion of the evening of most interest to him.

The evening goes as planned.  The swordfish is wonderful   Better, it's superb.  The service is fine except the waiter staff seem to argue amongst themselves in their attempt to provide.  Perhaps it's part of the ambiance.  An act.  Whatever, the cast of waiters have all the gestures and animation to make it believable.  

The after-dinner stroll goes well and serves several purposes.  It's refreshing; it works off the pasta that accompanied the swordfish; it tones the body; and it provides the time for the ladies to purchase tantalizing lingerie; and time for imaginings of the remainder of this evening.

Once back on board the
Sorridenta,
Roberto and Chiarina play together in Roberto's shower.  Estella alone in hers.  However, when Pisces and Chiarina enter his bedroom, Estella is lying, half-curled in the middle of the bed wearing her newly purchased sheer nightie.  Her head is propped on her arm and cocked seductively to one side.  She coos, "I thought we could play, perhaps one last time?"

Chiarina drops her towel, steps lively to the bed and slithers next to Estella.  She pushes Stell over on her back and embraces her in a long, gasping open-mouthed kiss.  Estella's legs separate, her knees raise.  Chiarina looks over her own shoulder; Estella lifts her head a few inches and whispers, "Roberto, come join us."

Chiarina smiles, nods, motioning Roberto to them while Estella slips out of her shorty gown.

He drops his towel, crawls onto the bed, sighs, "Life is good," as he nestles between Estella's legs.

Estella pulls Chiarina's head to her breast and with the other hand grasps Pisces' hair.  Squirms, murmurs,
"Ti piace?"
 

"Mi piace davvero."

 

 

Hunter, rested, mind clear and showered sits in the hotel's Bar Svevo, fingers casually holding a glass of Carricante.  The bar sets on a panoramic terrace with a poster-like, twilight view of the bay and the Calabria coast with the light houses of the small harbor in sight across the strait.  He's richly dressed in leather sandals, off-white linen slacks and a silk navy blue long-sleeved shirt opened at the collar.  The couple with the camera from this afternoon stop at his table to say hello as they leave for dinner.  They are chatting with Hunter as Marnee enters the bar, glancing but not noticing him as she passes the table and is seated at the far end of the terrace.  As the couple continues their tête-à-tête, Hunter watches the Israeli sit, order and glance around the bar.  Their eyes meet for a split moment.  Then she looks to the bay and settles in her seat.