Arta.”
“So the news is good.”
“Mostly.”
“What do you mean?”
The Corsican turned, looked at Harry’s posture, and smiled sympathetically. “It seems that these fishermen worry about pirates, too. In fact, there seems to be an unknown fishing ship working these waters. Except they don’t think it is a fisherman at all.”
“A pirate?”
The Corsican shrugged. “They do not know. They do not want to find out. But they fear it is. Boats do not travel from afar to fish these waters. The catch in them is good enough, but they are not, how you say, with fish in teams.”
“You mean, ‘teeming with fish’?”
“ Si; what you have said. So a new boat in these waters-a big llaut, carrying over twenty men-that stays five, even ten miles out?” The Corsican shook his head. “They are right; it sounds like a pirate.”
“Lying off-shore while a small landing party looks for, and gathers intelligence on, some easy targets.”
“ Si. What else?”
Miro was waving farewell to the fishermen who at first refused a real as a token of his appreciation, but then, seeing he was not trying to press it on them, relented and accepted it when he offered it again. He moved back to the stern and smiled sadly, “You may urinate soon, Harry.”
“That’s the best news yet, Estuban. So, can we get into the caves, as planned?”
“Well, we can get into the caves. But not as planned.”
“Huh? Whaddya mean?”
“According to these fellows, when pirates prepare for a quick raid, they land shore parties in advance. Those shore parties usually conduct their reconnaissance at night, and spend their days hiding out in the caves.”
“So you mean we’re not just going to be able to stroll into the caves and set up our first staging area and camp.”
“I can’t tell, but the odds are good that we shall find the Caves of Arta occupied.”
“So if we go in and take the caves, will the pirates waiting off-shore just leave, or come to the caves, looking for their missing buddies?”
Miro shrugged. “They will probably not abandon their shore party without making some attempt to contact them.”
Harry noticed that his left knee had begun to bob vigorously. “So, how long do you figure we have before the off-shore pirates arrive?”
“There’s no way to even make a guess. If there is a scouting party in the caves, it may have put ashore today, or a week ago. And how long are they supposed to survey the area? A day? A week? Or perhaps there is no prearranged time; perhaps they will summon the completion of their reconnaissance with a small signal fire at the peak of the headland, Cap Vermell, and wait elsewhere.”
“So once go to the caves, everything that comes next is a crap shoot.”
“I do not know what firing guns at feces would achieve, but if you mean that subsequent events are uncertain, then yes, that is so.”
“Good. Just one more thing, Estuban.”
“Yes, Harry?”
“Are those guys far enough away that I can take a piss, now?”
Thomas North threw up his hands in exasperation and suddenly realized he had started reprising his father’s trademark gestures. He dropped his hands quickly and glared at Miro instead. “First you go crawling around in these damn caves with Harry and almost get yourself killed, showing him where to find the pirates.” North turned to Lefferts. “Good clean, job, that. Wish we could have taken a prisoner to get some intelligence on their ship.”
Harry shrugged. “They weren’t cooperative.”
“I’ll bet not.” Turning back to Miro, North continued his gripes. “And now you propose to stroll to one of these little, one-eyed hamlets, these, these-”
“ Alqueries,” furnished Miro calmly.
“Whatever. You propose to stroll into one, get a ride on the back of a wagon into Manacor where-with luck, as you say-you hope to find a horse for hire, and so ride on to Palma.”
“That’s the plan. About which you have questioned me at length, Thomas.”
“Well, I have one more question.”
“Which is?”
“Which is-are you stark raving mad, Estuban?”
The no-longer-ex-patriate xueta smiled. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, I do. You are in charge of this operation. You are the one operating at the direct behest of Ed Piazza to accomplish the military and political objectives of the USE here and in Italy. And now you are going to just toddle off into the night, without so much as an escort?”
“Yes, Thomas, that is exactly what I’m going to do.”
“Well, that is-”
“Thomas you asked me a question; hear my answer.”
North silenced himself with an effort, but kept glowering.
“I am home, Thomas. I know this land and this people better-far better-than any other. I know where trouble lurks and where it does not. I have a hundred possible identities and stories at my fingertips to explain my presence here, and the odds are good that I know some of these peoples’ distant relatives. An escort would only ruin my disguise.” He smiled. “My greatest protection is that I belong in this place, am native to it, and everyone who meets me will know that immediately. My gear and dress announce I am a man with friends and not to be treated lightly, and that harm done to me will result in pointed-or, better yet, pointy-inquiries by those same friends.
“So be at ease, Thomas. My return will be much more swift than my journey to Palma, so I think you should see me again in five days, a week at most.”
“At which point we will come looking for you, Estuban.”
“At which point you will visit this man in Manacor,” Estuban extended a written note to Thomas North. “He is a family friend-but his association with us is not known outside of a very small circle of us xuetas. If anything happens to me, he will already know what happened, where, and when.”
“How?”
“Because this is an old island, with old communities, and ties that were ancient before the Spanish ever set foot here. There are people who will know to watch over me once I step into their shops. They will pass word by channels swift, subtle, and still utterly unsuspected by the Spanish. They will be powerless to help me, but they will know everything that befalls me. Now, I must go if I am to be in Son Frai Gari by dawn.” He turned to Lefferts. “Harry, in my absence, yours is the definitive word of the USE. You are in official charge, but-as I have done-you must allow Colonels North and O’Neill to command the operations you order or authorize.”
“Yeah, sure. You just get your ass back here in one piece, Estuban-and hurry up doing so, okay?”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
The soft, constant whirr and creak of the windmills lining the shores east of Palma had a soothing sound when mixed with a brisk wind, such as was blowing outside now. The cries of the gulls-distant grace notes, not raucous intrusions-added just enough variety to make it seem like a composition of God’s own design, a subtle symphony to enjoy as Miguel Tarongi waited for “Hello, Miguel.”
Miguel kept himself from starting as a figure brushed past him, evidently emerging from the supposedly secure rear rooms of the tavern. The figure drew out a chair at Tarongi’s table-already laden with red wine, olives, salt sardines, and bread-and turned to face him.
Miguel nodded. “And hello to you, Estuban Miro.” For, against all probabilities, it was he: the best-aspected son of the xuetas who had, for years, been their conduit to, and watchful eyes amidst, the commercial world beyond
