take a run down to check out the women, now that I'm available again.”
“You're always available,” Luger said between chews of pork lo mein.
Ant picked up a spun-sugar apple slice. “Someone's got to pick up the slack for you faithful guys who stay off the market. I look at it,” he said, the glittering confection lifted to his mouth, “as equalizing the universal equation.”
“Fucking is what it is,” Luger said matter-of-factly, shoveling a shrimp into his mouth.
Ant assumed an expression of mock pain. “The man has no poetry in his soul.”
“Cut the crap, Ant,” Luger remarked, his tone good-natured and mild. “You don't have a soul.”
“Nor do any of us,” Carey said with a smile. “As I recall, we all sold ours to the devil if he'd produce a woman out in the bush after two weeks on patrol.”
“And then those nurses on a fact-finding tour for the dickheads at the command center showed up in three Hueys. You're right. We lost our souls, fair and square.”
“But with a smile on our faces.”
“Every part of me smiled for the next week. Even my toes. As I recall even Luger cracked a grin once or twice that week.”
“Shit,” Luger disclaimed, but his harsh features were transformed by the faintest of smiles.
“So when do we leave?” Ant inquired.
“You don't.”
“It almost sounds as though he doesn't want us along, Luger.”
“And I've never been to Rome. Selfish, if you ask me.”
“Wants all the fun for himself.”
“He always was selfish. If I remember he kept two of those nurses for himself and the rest of us had to make do with one apiece.”
“You're right. And now that Shakin Rifat's the target, he wants all the glory.”
Carey leaned back in his chair and looked at his friends who were grinning like they'd drunk too much rice wine. “Rifat's about ten-to-one odds-against.”
“Then you need us
“This is the least rational thing I've ever done.”
“No-flying that Phantom you stole out from under Colonel Drake's nose was. He'd have shot you on the spot
“Okay,” Carey said, “
“So we'll come along to stabilize your gyro.” Ant's voice softened, and his eyes lost their amusement. “We're going, right, Luger?”
Luger continued pouring his cup of tea, as though a mission against the bloodiest terrorist in the world was like answering his secretary's request for a new stamp meter. “Right,” he said.
Ant spread his hands wide and looked at Carey, “There you go, John Wayne… you got yourself a posse.”
Carey gazed at the men he'd lived through the hell of Vietnam with, whose friendship hadn't faltered or lapsed like so many once they'd landed back in San Diego. They were no longer young boys with a reckless courage; they were older now, more pragmatic. And more skilled. “Thanks,” he said, his deep voice hushed. “Thanks a lot.”
CHAPTER 40
W ith his Brazilian buyer anxiously awaiting delivery of the prototypes, Rifat was setting his alternate plan in action. He'd recently received verification that Sylvie remained at her brother's bedside in Miami. If he died, she would no doubt return with the body to Germany. But while Egon lived, Sylvie was fixed in Miami, He would need a few days to put together another team.
Timur had flown Ceci home. He was recuperating now in his suite on the second floor of Rifat's villa, feeling remorseful and depressed.
Shakin Rifat, much older than Ceci, was less daunted by failure. Had he been, he never would have survived the coup which ousted him from power and made him an exile from his country.
“Regroup, my boy,” Rifat had explained to Ceci, his fondness for the young officer genuine. “If every general gave up after being outflanked, the map of the world would be considerably altered. Simply attack again, immediately, while the jubilant cheering is still echoing in the enemy camp. We'll merely take the Countess von Mansfeld in Egon's stead. And you may entertain her in her detention.” Rifat's background relegated women to a limited number of functions, the majority of which pertained to service to men. He would offer Sylvie to Ceci as a present. “How is your arm healing?”
The bulletproof vest had saved his life, but Ceci looked very unhappy, his pride buffeted by his failure. Dressed in a silk robe of deep forest green, he lounged on an oversized Renaissance sofa, his left arm bandaged and in a sling. “Well enough, sir,” he replied, unable in the depths of his depression to appreciate the surgeon's skill which had repaired damage so severe, a lesser expertise would have meant the loss of his arm.
“Good. Now, enough self-reproach. I expect you to be fit enough by the end of the week to welcome the countess.”
They landed in Rome near midnight, a day later. Jess had piloted and they unloaded the boxes of tack and saddles themselves. Customs officials barely glanced at the equipment, since Carey was known by reputation and had been coming over for competitions since he was a boy.
He was playing in a polo match, too, he told them, which accounted for his extra gear. His jumpers and polo ponies would be flown over in a few days.
Ant remarked to Luger as they entered the limousine waiting for them: “Don't get too used to this preferential treatment they give counts, Luger. When you get back to Taylorsville, you're going to have to take out the garbage, same as ever.”
“They like horses,” Carey noted. “Every time I come over to compete, they remember my last win.”
“What happens when the horses don't come over?”
“Plans change. A horse isn't sound enough for a race. You cancel out. They understand. Hell, with this ungodly hot weather, I'd decide not to bring my horses over, anyway.” A sultry blanket of heat lay over Rome, even at two in the morning.
When they arrived at the apartment Carey had rented, they quietly unloaded the heavy boxes and carried them up to the second-floor sitting room. After parking the car in the courtyard, Jess joined them at the table where they all sat studying a map of the city.
Ant was to reconnoiter the area immediately adjacent to Rifat's villa, while Luger explored the environs of Rifat's office building. Neither man was familiar to Rifat, and with tourists at their peak, two more men with guidebooks and cameras shouldn't attract notice. Jess and Carey worked on a timetable of escape routes back to the airport, in the event heavy weapons were required. Explosions of that magnitude would attract attention… and the carabinieri. They would have to exit the area swiftly.
When Ant and Luger returned with the details of the buildings, grounds, access points, and security system, they drew up floor plans and argued about methods of attack.
Luger favored his TOW missile fired from the back of a truck parked a block away from Rifat's office. “There's enough heavy traffic near the square so a truck wouldn't be conspicuous. If I can get the angle right, I can blow Rifat and his car to hell.”
“What about the risks to innocent pedestrians?” Carey remarked. “His office is on a busy square, and I'm not out to get anyone but Rifat.”
They discussed the possibility of planting a C-4 bomb in the office, but decided there was no guarantee it would kill only Rifat. Again, innocent people would be endangered.
Everyone knew almost at the onset what would be required, but first they methodically eliminated the less risky procedures. Even if they could plant a bomb on his car, they'd have to wait for a day he was alone to detonate it, increasing the risk of its discovery. In any event, Carey didn't want to wait.
Carey subscribed to Rifat's methodology of attack. He believed in a rapid offensive, for personal as well as logistical reasons. He wanted Rifat dead, and he didn't want time to dwell on the danger to himself and his friends.
