Before Adrian could answer, Maria came out of the house, lighting a cigarette. Clare's ban on smoking applied uniformly.
Chapter Twenty-three
Office of Aero Tyrrhenian
Aeroporto Calabria
At the same time
The two men were not from Sicily. Their Italian was unlike any Enrico had ever heard. Or, rather, the Italian of the one who spoke. Guttural and harsh, with little distinction between the soft and hard Cs, as though he had learned the language from a book without speaking it.
There was something about them that made Enrico uncomfortable. Perhaps the bandage that covered the whole right side of the face, including the eye, of the man doing the talking, the mispronouncing. He must have been in some sort of accident recently, because bloody splotches were showing through the gauze.
Enrico was also uncomfortable about what the man wanted: information concerning a woman and an American man who might have chartered one of Aero Tyrrhenian's planes.
Had they?
Where?
When?
Although no actual threat was made, Enrico got the feeling that the consequences of withholding information might be unpleasant. Very unpleasant.
Enrico had struggled for six years to establish his flying business, his one true love (besides Anna, his wife at home, and Calla, his secretary and mistress, of course). He had built the company up from one four-seat Cessna to a fleet of four aircraft, including the turbo-prop, twelve-seat Islander. Someday he would be able to afford a used jet.
He ran a business, not an information agency. To give out the information these men sought seemed like a betrayal of a customer. If a man had no integrity, he had nothing.
Enrico's resolve was solidifying when the man with the bandaged face put a stack of hundred-euro notes on the counter.
The resolve became a little mushy around the edges.
' Mille,' the man said.
There was no problem understanding the number. A thousand euros.
The old Beech 18E, the radial-engine twin he used to haul cargo, was going to need the number two overhauled after a few more hours of flight time, and Enrico was fairly certain it would require one or more new pistons, very expensive pistons. A thousand euros wouldn't cover the cost, but it would sure make it less painful.
Still, there was the matter of integrity.
The man with the bandage doubled the number of bills on the counter.
' Due.'
Enrico could feel Calla's eyes burning into his back from her desk behind him. Two thousand euros would not only cure the Beech's problem; it would pay for the dress Calla had seen in the window of the shop just off the Quattro Canti in Palermo last week.
The bills disappeared into Enrico's pocket.
Chapter Twenty-four
Silanus, Sardinia
1840 Hours (6:40 P.M.)
The same day
Adrian shared Jason's taste in both music and drink. The two men sat in front of the empty fireplace, glasses of single-malt whiskey in hand. Violins were singing the first movement of Handel's Second Symphony. The only thing preventing Jason's serenity was the odor coming from the kitchen. Whatever Clare and Maria were preparing for dinner smelled suspicious enough to make him verify that Jock, the dog, was still alive and well.
'Haggis,' Adrian commented, obviously aware of his friend's apprehension. 'For you, we've killed the fatted calf. Or, in this case, the fatted sheep.'
'You really shouldn't have.'
Jason could not have been more sincere.
The thought of a sheep's heart, liver, and lungs minced with suet, onions, and oatmeal and boiled in the animal's stomach was less than appetizing.
Adrian licked his lips in anticipation. ' 'Tis the dish of the Highlands, of all Scotland, for that matter.'
And Jason had always thought it was Scotland's abysmal weather that had caused centuries of Scottish incursion southward.
Maria came in from the kitchen and sat beside Jason. 'Clare does not need any more help.'
The expression on her face betrayed feelings similar to Jason's regarding the impending meal.
' 'Tis a complicated dish,' Adrian said, fishing his pipe from his pocket. 'Sometimes it's easier to do it yoursel' rather than teach another.'
Like mixing a Borgia poison.
'I am sure I was more hindrance than help,' Maria offered, her tone unable to conceal gratitude at being released from the experience.
Forbidden to light up, Adrian was making sucking noises on the pipe. 'So, tell me exactly what it is you seek, Jason. You mentioned that the poor sods on that fishing boat appeared to have traces of sulfur and various hydrocarbons, including ethylene, in their blood, and that Maria here says the mineral samples are linked to the area of the Bay of Naples.'
'I'm to find out exactly what this 'Breath of the Earth' business is all about, see what these extreme nuts have come up with, where they got it.'
Adrian took another sucking draw from the pipe, removed it from his mouth, and regarded the empty bowl sadly. 'Damn nuisance, having to go outside to light a pipe I've been smoking thirty years. Things we do to please the womenfolk.'
Jason was tempted to remind his friend of his comment about demonstrating who was boss, but said, 'So far, only thing I've learned is that this guy Eglov takes keeping a secret very seriously.'
'Bad sport, that lad.' Adrian tapped the pipe's stem against his teeth. 'You think the sailors were gassed?'
'Only way I can think of to get those chemicals into the body short of an injection.'
'And if th' bleedin' Ecos were that close, they bloody well didn't need all those chemicals.'
'Exactly.'
Pipe temporarily forgotten, Adrian stared into space for a moment. 'Y' know archeology is my passion.'
Puzzled as to the connection, Jason leaned forward in his chair. 'Yes, but-'
'Subscribe to the magazines, popular and some academic.' Adrian stood and went to kitchen. 'Clare, where've you been puttin' me archeological journals 'n' stuff?'
'Try lookin' in th' shed,' came the disembodied answer.
Adrian turned away, grumbling. 'Shed, indeed! All my valuable research material in a leaky auld building…'
'If it's leaky,' came Clare's voice, 'it's not because I haven't asked you a score of times to see to th' roof!'
Adrian was still griping as he walked out of the door.
