“Thank you for that, Greg,” said Blume. “What about him?”
“He wrote a book about his experience here, called Mission Italy. It came out a few years ago,” said Kristin. “It’s a pretty good book. Well written, elegant, polite, learned-a bit like Gardner himself.”
“Well, that’s nice,” said Blume.
“Yes, it is. It reflects well on the embassy, and gives a lucid and straightforward account of US policy in Italy during the Moro kidnapping and murder.”
“What was the policy?”
“To be helpful without getting too involved. Hands-off. Our Chief Security Officer, a guy called Arthur Brunetti, wrote a sort of bible on the Red Brigades and the Moro murder. The US administration sent over a guy called Steve Pieczenik, a hostage negotiator; see if he could help the Italian government by speaking with all sides. Turns out he couldn’t, so he went home.”
“Couldn’t what, speak?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. He spoke French, Russian. He spent fifty-five days in the company of Cossiga and a few Carabinieri.”
“Including Farinelli?”
“Possibly.”
“Is Pieczenik still alive?”
“Yes. He’s over seventy now. You know Tom Clancy, the writer? Well, Pieczenik is his co-author. He co-writes all those Net Force and Op-Center thrillers.”
“How do you spell Pieczenik?”
Kristin spelled out the name. “One of his books is about the Moro kidnapping,” she said. “He couldn’t get it published with a real publisher…”
“If he writes with Tom Clancy, but couldn’t get this published, the only reason is someone stopped him.”
“He couldn’t find a mainstream publisher, so he self-published, and that should be enough to dispel your conspiracy ideas about some agency trying to suppress his revelations. His book is called Terror Counter Terror. And it may have lightly fictionalized versions of real people in it.”
“This is just a can-of-worms situation?”
“Basically. We far prefer Gardner’s and Brunetti’s elegant narratives of those years to any other. If Farinelli gets back in the news and starts reminiscing about his days with the forgers Treacy and Chichiarelli, it might force us into a position where we have to issue damage limitation statements. We can do that, but we would prefer not to.”
“No problem. I think Colonel Farinelli shares the embassy’s opinion that the less said the better.”
“As a matter of fact, he does. But a man died last night who may have written a draft of a book that talks about precisely those things the embassy, Farinelli, the government, and most of the opposition parties would prefer to forget about.”
“How do you know this?” asked Blume.
“By funny coincidence, not long after you called about the Colonel, the Colonel called about you. He seems convinced you might have these writings in your possession. Do you?”
Greg decided it was his turn. “It’s not like we want to suppress anything, we’re not… Iran or China. But it would be nice if we could see what sort of stuff to expect.”
“Prevention is better than cure, even for a minor chill,” said Kristin.
“This could mean suppressing publication?” asked Blume.
“No way,” said Greg. “That’s just not us.”
“Who says anyone would want to publish the ravings of a discredited art forger anyhow?” said Kristin. “By the way, it sounds to me like you do have them, Alec.”
Blume stood up, went into the kitchen, opened the window, and leaned out, scanning the courtyard gate and the street three floors below. The blue car was still there.
He turned back from the window, picked the notebook off the refrigerator, and returned to his guests.
“Hey, Greg,” he said pleasantly, “let me read you a bit from the notebooks, tell me what you think.”
He located the passage on Moro he had seen earlier and read it out.
“In May that year, the two American students J. had been talking to found a leather bag in the back of a taxi. It contained a Beretta pistol, an unopened packet of Muratti cigarettes, the brand that the assassinated Prime Minister used to smoke, eleven 7.65 bullets, the same number as were pumped into Moro’s body, an ink-stained golf ball, a key ring and keys, a false driving license, camera flashcubes, a piece of paper, a packet of Paloma tissues, the same make stuffed into the bullet holes on Moro’s body, and a map showing the Vigo lake area and several pages in code… The two students brought the bag to the Carabinieri barracks of Podogora, and were interviewed by Captain Farinelli. Farinelli never laughed, but even he must have smiled sardonically to see the evidence he and Tony had so carefully planted in the taxi come straight back to his own desk. If those American kids had only brought the evidence to another station, or better still, to the Polizia. Instead, it all came back like a boomerang, and suddenly everyone was suspicious of Farinelli. A lot of people suspected the two American kids were in on the plot, but they weren’t.”
Greg looked stunned. “Eleven 7.65 bullets. The same number as were in Moro’s body… it’s all there!” He looked up at Kristin and said, “I don’t get the bit about the golf ball, though.”
Blume answered for him. “A golf ball from an electric typewriter, not one you hit.”
“Oh shit, yeah. I knew that,” said Greg.
“You can’t be expected to remember everything you learn, Greg,” said Blume. “Tell me, did you come here on your own, or were you accompanied by Kristin?”
Kristin arched her eyebrows at him.
“Is this like a jealousy thing?” asked Greg. “Because there’s no way…”
“Yes or no?” said Blume.
“Of course I came in my own car. Kristin phoned and we agreed to meet here.”
Blume held up his hand. “That’s fine. That’s all I needed to know. Well, that and your cell number.”
“What d’you need it for?” Greg sounded worried.
“You’ll see. You got mine?” Greg hesitated, and Blume said, “I see you have. Good. Call me.”
Greg picked up his phone and a few seconds later Blume’s rang in his pocket.
“OK. I’ll save that number in a minute.”
“Alec, please tell me what you’re doing,” said Kristin.
Blume pulled the notebook out of Greg’s lap. “This is just one,” he said. “The other two are in the study.”
He went into his parents’ study, hid Treacy’s notebooks under the horsehair sofa. He pulled down three of his father’s blank notebooks, dropped them into a plastic bag he found in the kitchen, and brought them into the living room. He gave Greg a flash of the contents of the bag.
“I don’t want to have these anymore,” he said. Greg began to pull them out of the bag to look, and Blume said, “No, seriously. I’ve had enough of this ancient history. As I’m sure you two already know, the Questore has taken me off the case. This is something that is useful for my country, I’m glad to be able to help. But those notebooks are also part of an inquiry I had begun, and-well, let’s just say I’d like to see them again someday.”
“We appreciate you doing this, Alec,” said Greg. “It’s very helpful.”
“What are you playing at, Alec?” asked Kristin.
“I am being helpful. Is that so hard to understand?”
“Yes, actually. It is,” said Kristin.
“Greg,” said Blume. “I’m breaking Italian law here, but I’m sure the Colonel won’t object if he knows they are in safe hands. But your hands must be safe. These notebooks cannot go missing, is that clear?”
“Sure, I’ll look after this.”
“No, Greg. I need a solemn promise from you. I want you to take these notebooks and put them in a safe place in the embassy. Right now. It can be your room, but it’s got to be in the US Embassy. It’s about the most guarded place in the city. Can you do that for me?”
Greg hesitated, sensing a trap but unable to see what it might be.
