Luciano's Luck (21 page)

The haunting melody filled the room. Luciano said, ‘What a way to go.’

‘His own choice. He was walking down Brewer Street when a bomb fell and the blast went the other way. From then on he believed in his luck, so when the siren sounded and other people went to the shelters, he stayed in bed.’

‘And paid for it with his life?’ Barbera said.

‘Exactly.’ Carter smiled. ‘But this is getting morbid. A toast, gentlemen. Now, what shall we drink to?’

‘Why, to all three of us,’ Luciano smiled. ‘And to Luciano's luck. May it hold.’

15

They left just after nine the following morning in Barbera's old truck; Luciano, Carter and Savage in the rear while Maria sat up front with Barbera.

It had stopped raining and it was already apparent that it was going to be a hot day. The truck climbed the dusty road into the mountains, passing through a medieval landscape, one wretched village after another, most of the houses windowless, the doors opening into dark caverns which in most cases housed livestock as well as people.

Luciano said, ‘What a bloody country. 1907, when my people took us to America to get away from this and thirtysix years later, nothing's changed.’

‘Was the east side of New York any better?’ Carter asked.

They passed a long line of gaunt women, baskets on their heads, dressed in black as if mourning their daily existence, shoulders bowed as they struggled up the steep road.

‘Professor,’ Luciano said with deep conviction. ‘Anything would be better than this, even the backside of hell.’

After an hour and a half of travelling they came into a small decaying village and Barbera pulled up outside the wine shop. He climbed down and a small, fat man came out, wiping his hands on a soiled white apron.

‘Heh, Rafael,’ Vito hailed him. ‘How goes it?’

‘Fine everything's ready for you. Leave the truck here. I'll take care of it.’

‘Okay,’ Barbera called, ‘All out!’

He followed Rafael round to the rear of the wine shop. Half-a-dozen mules waited in a small corral, saddled and bridled and a darkhaired youth with a shotgun slung across his back, leaned against the rail.

‘This is Nino. He'll take you the rest of the way. A couple of hours’ ride up into the mountains, that's all.’

Luciano turned to Carter. ‘You really think of everything, don't you, Professor?’

‘Better than walking,’ Carter said.

Luciano moved across to Maria and helped her up on to the broad wooden saddle of the lead mule. She sat sidesaddle and he took his time over adjusting her stirrup.

‘Are you worried?’ he said. ‘About meeting your grandfather?’

‘Should I be?’

His enquiry had been one of genuine concern and the coldness of her reply angered him.

‘What is it with you?’ he said. ‘What happened to the Christian charity bit, the human concern? Did you peel it off along with the robes?’

Nino, the young muleteer, had passed her a riding switch and in a sudden reflex action, she raised it as if to cut Luciano across the face.

‘Now you're talking,’ he said. ‘Now I know there's some Luca blood in those veins.’

‘Damn you!’ she said in a low voice.

‘Harsh words,’ he said. ‘Three Hail Marys and two Our Fathers.’

She slashed the mule across the rump and it cantered away.

Detweiler was almost completely disorientated. The pain in his fingers and arms was not so terrible any more because he had passed through some sort of pain threshold, but every so often the Ukrainians took turns to belabour the bucket they had placed over his head with truncheons. It was a technique Suslov had picked up during a spell of duty at Auschwitz concentration camp. The constant clangour had such an effect on the brain and ear drums that it usually produced total alienation within a matter of hours.

Detweiler had lost control of his bladder and his trousers were soaked with urine. Suslov, standing there watching, calmly said, ‘Hose him down, then throw him in a cell. I'll deal with him when I've eaten.’

They took Detweiler out between them, feet trailing, and Suslov walked after them.

Maria guided her mule through a stream following Nino. As she started up the slope on the other side, Luciano rode up alongside her. They were moving through trees now, corkoak and hollyoak, and above them the ridge was scattered with pines.

Luciano said, ‘I've decided to forgive you.’

She smiled in spite of herself. ‘You have the Devil's insolence, Mr Luciano.’

‘Oh, there's a lot to be said for the Devil,’ he said. ‘He was, after all, a fallen angel.’

‘A debatable point.’

‘True, but if the Bible is to be believed, still a force to be reckoned with. Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps people turn to God when the Devil no longer has a use for them?’

‘No,’ she said, pain on her face. ‘I can't accept that. I could never accept such a thing.’

They came through the pine trees and Nino reined in on the ridge. On the slope below was an old and rambling farmhouse amongst olive trees. There was a man seated at a table on the terrace and when Nino whistled, he stood and looked up towards them, tall with broad shoulders, grey hair.

‘Don Antonio,’ the boy said simply.

Luciano waited, but she said nothing, simply sat there for a moment, her face very calm, then urged her mule forward and down the slope.

Luciano turned to Carter and Savage who crowded up behind him. ‘Professor,’ he said. ‘You know how Luciano's survived all these years?’

‘No, but I'm sure you'll tell me,’ Carter said.

‘It's simple.’ Luciano patted his stomach. ‘I get this feeling in my gut and it's never wrong.’

‘And what does it tell you now?’

‘That this is all one hell of a waste of time. Five gets you ten that old buzzard down there isn't going to play.’

In Palermo at command headquarters, General Guzzoni was in conference with his staff officers when Koenig knocked on the door and entered.

Guzzoni said, ‘Ah, there you are.’

The weather forecast couldn't be worse, but reconnaissance planes have located a considerable armada of allied ships south of Pantellaria.’

‘The feint which Intelligence has been expecting?’ Koenig said.

‘So it would appear. One would expect the bulk of the force to move on to Sardinia.’ He nodded to the Italian staff officers. ‘That will be all for now, gentlemen. I'll call you if I need you.’

He waited until the last one had gone before offering Koenig a cigarette, then poured cognac into two glasses.

‘Suddenly we have the allied airforces back in strength. Messina bombed twice in twenty-four hours. Harbour installations, airbases, all under attack once more. I don't like it and neither does Field Marshal Kesselring. I've just spoken to him in Rome.’

‘General?’ Koenig was guarded.

‘The Field Marshal never did really buy this idea that Sicily would be only a sideshow and Sardinia the main target. And then there's the weather.’

‘I must confess I was wondering about that myself. A strange time to choose.’

‘The forecast for tomorrow is terrible and for the day after. Storms, gales, rain. The only reason for coming in such weather would be because it was not expected.’

‘And why go to all that trouble if the attack on the Sicilian shore is only a feint, is that what you're thinking, General?’

‘Exactly.’

Koenig sipped his cognac thoughtfully. ‘If it wasn't a feint… If it was the real thing after all, then coming in the weather which has been forecast would make excellent sense.’

Guzzoni put down his glass. ‘You intend to return to Agrigento this afternoon?’

‘Yes, General.’

‘I think I'll come with you. See for myself what the situation is on the coast.’

Luca sat at the table on the terrace, leaning on his stick something regal about him, a true Don, Katerina at his side, and waited as they dismounted and came up the steps to the terrace. He had eyes for no one, but Maria. Katerina, with both hands resting lightly on his shoulders, could feel that he was trembling slightly.

Barbera kissed his hand. ‘Don Antonio. This is Colonel Carter whom I've spoken of before and Captain Savage, an American officer. Don Salvatore, you know.’

Luca ignored him, ignored all of them.

‘Leave us,’ he said hoarsely. ‘All of you. Katerina, see they get fed.’

She squeezed his shoulders, then smiled at the others. ‘Gentlemen, if you'd come this way.’

Carter was reluctant to go, but Barbera pulled at his sleeve and they followed Katerina inside.

Maria stood there, very tired, her hands folded in front of her. Her black dress was covered with dust and she took off her headscarf and ran her fingers through the cropped hair.

‘So, it is true,’ Luca said. ‘You are a nun.’

‘For four years now.’

‘Wandering the mountain like a lost soul delivering babies that by all the laws should have died. To Solazzo and his friends you are a saint already.’

‘Is there nothing you don't know?’

‘Nothing that happens in these mountains,’ he said flatly.

There was lemonade in a jug on the table and she helped herself and sat down. ‘Nothing changes. Antonio Luca is still Lord of Life and Death in all Sicily.’

‘I am of the Society,’ he said. ‘I have no shame in that. Mafia made me. It is what I am.’

‘It also killed my mother.’

‘It was meant for me, that day. Those responsible paid the bill.’

‘Does that make the dead walk?’

He sat there, frowning, hands on the handle of his walking stick. ‘For a servant of God, you are singularly lacking in charity. I know what I am, but what are you, Maria? The nun in white robes, struggling with the sick in hospital or on your knees in the candlelight praying to the Virgin to save the soul of Antonio Luca?’

Her face was pale, her hands gripping the arms of the chair so tightly that the knuckles gleamed white.

He said softly, ‘Or could it be that your prayer is to the Devil to take me straight to hell?’

She jumped to her feet, upsetting the jug of lemonade, turned and hurried down the steps into the garden. Katerina came out through the open window and joined him.

‘Does it give you satisfaction, this thing? Are you happy now?’

‘No,’ Luca said. ‘But then I never expected to be.’

He went down the steps and walked along a path that finally brought him out on one of the terraces of olive trees above the valley, where he found her sitting on a stone wall.

He sat down beside her and took a cigar from his pocket. ‘Remember the summer house at Trevese? What times we had there. How old were you when I bought your first pony? Nine?’

‘I broke my left arm in two places trying to jump the boundary wall,’ she said.

‘And we had to shoot the pony.’ He sighed. ‘Life walks towards death. The human condition.’ There was silence for a while and then he said. ‘You're happy? As a nun, I mean?’

‘Perfectly. I'm a trained nurse. I spend most of my time in hospitals.’

‘A strange life,’ he said. ‘Celibacy, for example. I could never understand that.’

She laughed, unable to help herself. ‘The vow of chastity is a contract with God entered into voluntarily. Because I gave up any thoughts of a sexual life doesn't mean I don't feel any desire for it. We are human beings, flesh and blood like anyone else.’

‘True enough if you're my granddaughter,’ he said. ‘So, the line ends here. No more Lucas when I'm dead and gone.’

‘So it would appear.’

And then he saw it or thought he did. ‘Was that it, girl? Was that the intention? To cut off the flow of tainted blood?’

‘Perhaps. I don't know.’ She was confused and struggled against it. ‘The woman?’

‘Katerina? What about her?’

‘Is she your wife?’

‘No.’

There was another awkward silence. He said, ‘Spit it out, whatever it is they wanted you to say. You didn't come all this way for love of your grandfather.’

She folded her hands in her lap. ‘It's simple enough. The invasion will come soon now and the Americans need your help. One word from you and all over Sicily…’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I will not do it.’

‘Because you hate Americans?’

‘I will not do it because you have asked me.’ He got to his feet. ‘Even Christ only had to carry his cross so far,’ and he turned and walked back along the terrace through the olive trees.

Meyer was working over some papers in his office when there was a knock and Suslov entered.

‘Well, what is it?’ Meyer demanded impatiently ‘I'm busy.’

‘Several interesting new developments as regards this present case,’ Suslov said.

Meyer sat back. ‘Go on.’

‘Well, the old villain who sold him out to us was discovered on a dung heap outside the local village this morning.’

‘Dead?’

‘And his tongue had been cut out.’

‘The traditional way the Mafia deal with an informer,’ Meyer said.

‘And one of our patrols has found a parachute caught in a tree not a mile from the farm where we picked up our friend yesterday.’

‘A supply chute?’

Suslov shook his head. ‘No, very definitely the other variety. British. The kind their paratroopers use.’

Meyer's eyes glittered. ‘This could be important. He must be made to talk. He must.’

‘What would the Major suggest?’

‘I give you one more chance your way. If that doesn't work, then we'll try scopalomine.’

‘Very well.’ Suslov turned to the door and opened it. ‘One other thing. We've a patrol very much overdue.’

‘The same area?’

‘Yes.’

Meyer nodded. ‘Then get to work. It would appear there are a great many questions to be answered and our friend may provide the key to all of them.’

Luca sat at the table on the terrace drinking Zibibbo, an anis-flavoured wine from the island of Pantellaria which was a particular favourite of his. Carter sat opposite him and Luciano and Savage watched from the other end of the terrace.

Carter said. ‘The invasion comes tomorrow or the day after, depending on the weather. I make no secret of this. I trust you as a man of honour.’

‘Colonel, I salute you as a soldier and as a scholar, but you're a rotten salesman.’