The Matarese Countdown (72 page)

It was shortly past dawn and one by one the six limousines arrived at the estate in the hills of Porto Vecchio above the waters of the Ligurian Sea. A seventh vehicle was missing, for no one could locate the final guest, a Cardinal Paravacini of Rome. Under threats of exposure and severe punishment, the two revived Corsicans met each car and escorted each guest to the banquet hall. Upon entering, the guests were met by the armed Pryce and Considine, who proceeded to strap them to the chairs and gag them with silver duct tape, the ropes and the tape found in the gardener’s shack. Once everyone—five well-attired men and one fashionably dressed woman—was in place, Cameron and Luther briefly disappeared through a door in the left wall only to return moments later. Between them they carried a dining-room chair; in it sat the wounded Jan van der Meer Matareisen, his legs bulging from the bandages under his trousers. Like the guests, ropes bound him to the chair and two layers of tightly wound duct tape secured his mouth.

The leader of the Matarese was placed at the head of the table, his maniacal gaze darting back and forth at the others in fury. Suddenly, Scofield, in civilian clothes, walked through the door and stood behind Matareisen.

“Gentlemen,” he began, “and, of course, the lady, I’m here because I probably know more about your organization than anyone else alive. To call it a monstrous horror would
be a vast understatement. The good side is that it’s finished,
you’re
finished. Your brilliant gaucho here blew it. He was caught with the whole computerized ball of wax right in his avaricious little hands. Some brilliance, huh? Fortunately for our side, we put together a team of the best brains in the world and broke his computer codes.… As I stand here, government agents, the police, and military personnel in several dozen cities in the industrial nations are fanning out, taking people into custody, including an
Eagle
at Langley, caught dialing too many numbers for a call made from a pay phone. It’s called sterile access; he’s toast. Also, not incidentally, courts and legislatures everywhere are being convened in emergency sessions to take measures against a potentially destructive global economic virus. As for the fires in the Mediterranean, the maestro in this chair has managed to do what few diplomats and statesmen have been able to accomplish. Hostile countries and warring factions have come together to put those fires out.

“Speaking of chairs, you’ll note that your seating arrangements are identical to those of your mentor. That’s not merely to provide you a level playing field with the man who has destroyed you, it’s for your own safety. You see, some men have arrived to escort you away from Corsica, away from the land of the Matarese. Should any of you have been tempted to run or display firearms, you would have been shot. We wanted to spare you that embarrassing and egregious possibility.”

“
Egregious?
” mumbled Pryce to Considine. “Harvard lace.”

“Tuskegee bullshit,” whispered Luther.

“
Gentlemen!
” called out Beowulf Agate in a loud voice. “You may come in now.”

The double doors in the north wall opened and the squad of uniformed French commandos walked in in single file. They took up their positions surrounding the enormous banquet table as the bound and gagged guests writhed in their chairs, their heads whipping back and forth, their eyes fired in panic.

“I declare this conference closed,” said Scofield in exaggerated
formality. “Gentlemen, untie your prisoners and take them to your plane. If any offers you a bribe, I’d suggest you
whack
’em!”

It was ten o’clock in the morning, the sky dark, heavy rain imminent. The two Corsican servants had been promised leniency in return for their cooperation and were led away by the Bonifacio police. It remained for the three Americans, the two maids, and the chef to complete the task insisted upon oddly enough by Scofield. All portable valuables in the mansion, along with the cartons of food, many packed in ice, were to be placed in the gardener’s large shack. It took nearly four hours and enough sweat to fill up a small pool.

“
Okay
, Bray,” said a perspiring Pryce. “Now what the
hell
is this all about?”

“Closure, my young friend, simply closure,” replied Scofield, picking up a five-gallon can as he ran into the mansion.

Three minutes later the fires started, instantly billowing up from the drapes and the furniture. Within five minutes the flames began enveloping the house, accentuated by the progressively blackening sky. Cameron was alarmed—where was Scofield? He had not come out!

“
Bray!
” he yelled as he and Luther ran toward the engulfing fires. Suddenly, there was an enormous explosion. Pryce and Considine threw themselves on the ground as the entire front porch was blown away, fragmented marble, concrete, and glass flying in all directions. The rains then came, torrential, unrelenting, but still the flames continued to erupt as if challenging the storm, nature against nature, fire and water in combat. “
Scofield!
” roared Cameron, getting up unsteadily, as did Luther.

“Where did the son of a bitch
go?
” screamed Considine. “If he’s pulling some self-sacrificing crap, I’ll break his face!”

“What are you guys
doing
out here?” shouted Beowulf
Agate, rounding the west wing of the estate, running as fast as he could. “You’re too damned close, you idiots!”

“What are
you
doing?” asked Pryce as the three walked rapidly away from the burning building. “What have you
done?
”

“What I should have done nearly thirty years ago in Boston. Reduced the Matarese’s seat of power to ashes.”

“What difference does it make? This isn’t Boston, it’s Porto Vecchio, Corsica!”

“I’m not sure. A symbol maybe, a memory, a relic of destruction,
total
destruction. Hell, I don’t
know!
I just had to do it—for Taleniekov, perhaps. Anyway, I talked to the girls, the maids, first. I put them on notice.”

“About what, the fire?”

“Let’s say they’ll spread the word. First come, first served at the gardener’s stall. Some of that stuff will keep a number of families high on the hog for years at today’s market prices. Why should it be impounded as evidence? It’d be stolen anyway.” Scofield’s Comsat phone buzzed inside his jacket pocket. He removed it and spoke. “Sir Hog’s Butt, I presume.”

“I can’t even get angry at your provocative insolence, Brandon. Well done, my old friend, a splendid show.”

“Spare me your British kudos, just send money.”

“Actually, I expect you to submit certain expenses, but please, don’t be
too
creative.”

“I may want to buy a new island, or maybe a small country.”

“Antonia wants to know when you’re returning to London,” said Waters, overlooking Scofield’s reply.

“Within an hour or so. I want to sleep for a week.”

“We’ll check Heathrow, an auxiliary runway, and meet the plane. I’ll call Leslie as well. Incidentally, Frank Shields phoned. You’re to report to Washington as soon as possible.”

“I’m ‘to
report’?
” shouted Beowulf Agate. “
He
doesn’t give me orders!”

“Come, old chap, we’re going to require a debriefing as well. Official records, y’know.”

“That’s for
employees
, I’m a consultant! Let Pryce do it.”

“Do what?” interrupted Cameron.

“A debriefing, you jerk.”

“It’s standard, Bray. No big deal.”

“Then you and our lieutenant do it.”

“Your ‘lieutenant’ is now a commander, Brandon,” broke in Sir Geoffrey from London. “The papers from the Department of the Navy came through. And if Frank Shields and I had extolled his abilities much further, they’d probably have made him a rear admiral.”

“You’re a commander, Luther,” said Scofield, turning to the pilot. “Or maybe a rear admiral.”

“Pensacola, here I come!”

“One last thing, old friend,” added Sir Geoffrey. “Frank said the President asked for a personal meeting with you. He’s not only fascinated, but you’ll be highly decorated.”

“Why? I haven’t voted in years. Besides, young Cameron had as much to do with this enchilada as I did. Let the President talk to him.”

“That can’t be done, Brandon. Officer Pryce remains in deep cover. He can’t be part of any mop-ups.”

“Goddamn it, I want to go
home
. Our island’s probably grown over with every weed known to the Caribbean.”

“As I understand it, your Army Corps of Engineers has that problem under control.”

“I should be there to supervise!”

“Send Officer Pryce. He and Colonel Montrose certainly have some leave coming.”

“I’m being
sandbagged!
”

S
undown, Outer Brass 26, twenty-four nautical miles south of Tortola in the Caribbean Sea. Cameron and Leslie were in lounge chairs by the lagoon, Leslie on the portable satellite phone. “All right, dear, as long as you’ve thoroughly thought it out,” she was saying. “I wouldn’t want you to lose your place in Connecticut.”

“Not a problem, Mom,” came the young man’s voice from London. “The headmaster knows Roger’s school and spoke to the admissions proctor. I can enter as an exchange student at midterm, that’s next month. I’ll get full credit and the people I’ve spoken to both here and in Connecticut think it’ll be a great experience for me.”

“It will if you apply yourself, Jamie. The Brit schools can be tougher than ours.”

“Roger’s told me all about it. But I’ll be going into the grade he already finished, so he can help me through the rough spots.”

“That’s not exactly the solution I was hoping for. By the way, how
are
Roger and Angela?”

“Terrific! We really get along, even though Coleman moved into the house with us. He can be pretty strict.”

“That’s the most comforting thing you’ve said.”

“Gotta go, Mom. Coley’s taking us on another excursion.
He says if I’m going to go to an English school, and since I don’t really speak the language, I should learn as much as I can about the U.K. Say hello to Cam for me. I really like him.”

“It’s my turn to say ‘
Cam?’ Do
you mean
Mr
. Pryce?”

“Oh, get off it, beautiful lady, I’m not that young.”

“You’re a twit, as the British say.”

“Would you believe I have hormones?”

“
Jamie!
”

“Bye, Mom. Love you.” The line from London went dead.

“The little, big bastard,” mumbled Leslie, pressing the button that cut off the phone. “He said to say hello to you and that he really likes you.”

“I like him, too. Why did you yell at him?”

“He had the temerity to tell me that he had hormones.”

“He’s what? Fifteen? I can assure you, it’s true, and they’re racing around like crazy.”

“I’m his
mother!
”

“Does that disqualify you from knowing the truth?”

“No, but certain realities are best treated with taste.”

“I gather he’s staying in London, going to school in England.”

“Yes, but while they’re in Belgravia, Coleman’s moved into the house.”

“Not a bad idea.”

“A glorious one.”

“Now what about us?” asked Pryce, sitting up and reaching for his drink on the Lucite table next to his chair. “We haven’t really faced that, have we?”

“Does anything have to change? I’m comfortable, you’re comfortable.”

“I want more, if I can have it, Leslie. I’ve always known there was a void in my life. I identified it and could live with it, but I don’t think I can any longer. I don’t want to live alone anymore, I want to live with the woman I love very much.”

“Why, Officer Pryce, are you asking me to marry you?”

“I am, Colonel Montrose.”

“I’m touched, Cam, really I am,” said Leslie, reaching for his hand and holding it gently. “But I think you’re forgetting, I’m carrying a fair amount of baggage. I’m career Army, and it can post me wherever and whenever it likes. I’m not ready to give up that career, I’ve worked and studied too long and too hard to get where I am. Then there’s my son; he could be a responsibility you may not care to assume.”

“Why not? I think he’s a wonderful boy—hell, I don’t have to think it, he’s proved it! You said he likes me and I like him, that’s a pretty good beginning.”

“What about the Army?”

“I’m a career intelligence officer and Frank Shields can send me to Outer Mongolia and I’d have to go. Just think how great our reunions would be.… Look, Leslie, considering our backgrounds, neither one of us would be ecstatic in sedentary jobs. Jets can fly people from Tokyo to New York over the pole in thirteen hours, from Beijing in seventeen. Traveling salesmen have to travel, women executives, too; actors, actresses, and models go everywhere for work. It simply depends on the work you do. I think we can handle it.”

“You’re very persuasive, my darling.”

“Score points for the lady,” said Pryce enthusiastically. “Scofield says that if a woman uses the term ‘my darling,’ keep her around.”

“How generous of him.… But you
are
persuasive and I’m being rather short-sighted.”

“Am I gaining ground?”

“Yes, I believe you are.”

Suddenly, from the sky, came the roar of approaching rotors. A helicopter was arriving from downwind, accounting for the abrupt thunderous sound. They looked up through the palms; a pontooned chopper was circling to land on the beach beyond the photoelectric cells. Together, Cam and Leslie, hand in hand, got up and ran down the path toward the sandy cove. As delicately as possible, considering its mass and the tonnage, the enormous helicopter
touched down on the edge of the beach, the palms in an uproar at the intrusion.

The door of the chopper opened and the first to step out was Scofield. He turned, helping Antonia into the knee-deep water. They waded to shore as the clattering rotors came to a stop, and as women tend to do, Leslie and Toni embraced.

“Antonia, this place is paradise!” exclaimed Montrose. “No wonder you adore it so.”

“It has its points, my dear. Good heavens, the Corps of Engineers did a wonderful pruning job. The palms have been cut back beautifully.”