'Do you vote?' Annee asked.
The young man, distracted, said, 'What?' His girlfriend stretched out her hand for the bag. Annee took the girl's hand, then swung her around as a shield, at the same time using her other hand to hit the girl full in the face with her ringed other hand. An incredible amount of blood splashed Tiffany's elegantly dressed window, causing passersby to stop in amazement.
Annee said coolly to the young man, 'You've got a gun, shoot.' By this time he had swung his body around away from where he held the gun in his pocket.
The fool had seen that move in gangster movies. He didn't know it was a completely useless stance unless the victim froze. But to be on the safe side she grabbed the man's other arm and pulled it out of its socket. As the young man screamed in agony his hand came out of the pocket and a screwdriver clanged against the pavement. Of course, Annee thought, stupid adolescent cunning. She walked away from them.
At this point it would have been prudent to return to her apartment, but out of some territorial imperative she continued her stroll. But then, right on Central Park South, lined with its expensive luxury hotels, guarded by its uniformed doormen, and limousines parked along the street with burly chauffeurs, she was surrounded by four black youths.
They were handsome high-spirited fellows that she liked on sight. They were very much like the youthful rascals in Rome who felt it their duty to accost women in the streets. One of the youths said to her playfully, 'Hey, baby, take a walk in the park with us. You'll have a good time.'
They barred her path, she could not move forward. She was amused by them, she did not doubt she would have a good time. It was not they who angered her, it was the doormen and the chauffeurs who deliberately ignored her plight.
'Go away,' she said, 'or I'll scream and those doormen will call the police.' She knew she could not scream, could not afford to do so because of her mission.
One of the youths, grinning, said, 'Go ahead and scream, lady.' But she could see them poised on their toes ready to flee.
When she did not scream, another of the youths understood immediately that she would not. 'Hey, she won't scream,' he said. 'You hear her accent? I bet she has some drugs. Hey, lady, give us some.'
They all laughed with delight. One of them said, 'Or else we'll call the police.' And they laughed again.
Before leaving Italy, Annee had been briefed on the dangers of New York.
But she was a highly trained operational agent and had absolute confidence in that training. So she had refused to carry a gun, fearing that it might compromise the mission. However she wore a specially designed zircon ring that could do a great deal of damage. And in her handbag was a pair of scissors more lethal than a Venetian dagger. So she did not feel herself in any danger. She only worried about the police becoming involved and being questioned by them. She was sure that she could escape without any fuss.
But she had not taken into account her nervousness and natural ferocity.
One of the youths reached out a hand to touch her hair and Annee hissed, 'Get out of my way, you black bastard, or I'll kill you.'
All four went quiet, their good humor gone. She saw the hurt brooding look come into their eyes and she felt a pang of guilt. She realized that she had made a mistake. She had called them black bastards out of no racial prejudice. It was merely a form of Sicilian invective, where when you quarreled with a hunchback you called him a hunchback bastard, if you quarreled with a cripple you called him a cripple bastard. But how could these young men know this? She almost apologized. But it was too late.
One of the youths said, 'I'm gonna punch this white cunt in the face.'
And in that moment Annee went out of control. She flicked her ringed hand into his eye. A hideous slit appeared that seemed to detach the youth's eyelid from his face. The other youths stared in horror as Annee calmly turned a comer and then ran.
That was enough even for Annee. Back in her apartment she was filled with remorse for having been so rough, for endangering the mission with her willfulness. She had actually sought out trouble to relieve her own attack of nerves.
She must take no further risks, she must not leave the apartment except for the duties necessary to complete the mission. She must stop calling up her memories of Romeo, control her rage at his murder. And most important of all she must make a final decision. If all else failed, would she turn this into a suicide mission?
Christian Klee flew to Rome to have dinner with Sebbediccio. He noted that Sebbediccio had almost twenty bodyguards, which did not seem to affect his appetite.
The Italian was in high spirits. 'Wasn't it fortunate that our Pope killer took his own life?' he said to Klee. 'What a circus the trial would have been with all our left-wingers marching in support. It's too bad that fellow Yabril wouldn't do you the same favor.'
Klee laughed. 'Different systems of government. I see you're well protected.'
Sebbediccio shrugged. 'I think they are after bigger game. I have some information for you. That woman, Annee, that we've let run loose. Somehow we lost her. But we suspect that she's now in America.'
Klee felt a thrill of excitement. 'Do you know what port of embarkation? What name she is using?'
'We don't know,' Sebbediccio said. 'But we think she is now operational.'
'Why didn't you pick her up?' Christian said.
'I have high hopes for her,' Sebbediccio said. 'She is a very determined young lady and she will go far in the terrorist movement. I want to use a big net when I take her. But you have a problem, my friend. We hear rumors that there is an operation in the United States. It can only be against Kennedy. Annee, as fierce as she may be, cannot do it alone. Therefore, there must be other people involved. Knowing your security for the President, they will have to mount an operation that would require a goodly number with material and safe houses. On that I have no information. You had better set to work.'
Klee did not need to ask why the Italian security chief had not sent this information through regular channels to Washington. He knew Sebbediccio did not want his close surveillance of Annee made part of an official record in the United States; he did not trust the Freedom of Information Act in America. Also, he wanted Christian Klee in his personal debt.
In Sherhaben, Sultan Maurobi received Christian Klee with the utmost friendliness, as if there had never been the crisis of a few months before.
The Sultan was affable but appeared on guard and a little puzzled. 'I hope you bring me good news,' he said to Klee. 'After all the regrettable unpleasantness, I am very anxious to repair relations with the United States and, of course, your President Kennedy. In fact, I hope your visit is in regard to this matter.'
Klee smiled. 'I came for that very purpose,' he said. 'You are in a position, I think, to do us a service that might heal the breach.'
'Ah, I am very happy to hear that,' the Sultan said. 'You know, of course, that I was not privy to Yabril's intentions. I had no foreknowledge of what Yabril would do to the President's daughter. Of course, I have expressed this officially, but would you tell the President personally that I have grieved over this for the past months. I was powerless to avert the tragedy.'
Klee believed him, that the murder had not been in the original plans. And he thought how all-powerful men like Sultan Maurobi and Francis Kennedy were helpless in the face of uncontrollable events, the will of other men.
But now he said to the Sultan, 'Your giving up Yabril has reassured the President on that point.' This they both knew was mere politeness. Klee paused for a moment and then went on. 'But I'm here to ask you to do me a personal service. You know I am responsible for the safety of my President.
I have information that there is a plot to assassinate him. That terrorists have already infiltrated into the United States. But it would be helpful if I could get information as to their plans and to their identity and location. I thought that with your contacts you might have heard something through your intelligence agencies. That you might give me some scraps of information. Let me emphasize that it will only be between the two of us. You and 1. There will be no official connection.'
The Sultan seemed astonished. His intelligent face screwed up into an expression of amused disbelief. 'How can you think such a thing?' he asked.
'After all your destruction, after all our tragedies, would I get involved in such dangerous activities? I am
