The Scorpio Illusion (26 page)

T
he subdued string quartet played gracefully on a balcony above the outside terrace that overlooked the pool, sparkling blue from the underwater lights; altogether, it was an appropriate mise-en-scène for an early evening on Palm Beach’s Gold Coast. Three bars and twice as many buffet tables were placed around the large, manicured lawn, lighted by torches and manned by servants in yellow jackets who courteously dispensed food and drink to the resort’s elite, resplendent in their summer formal wear. It was a splendid picture of the good life, richly deserved by the privileged. And the center of attraction was a tall, bewildered, extremely handsome young man with a crested scarlet sash replacing his tuxedo’s cummerbund. He was not entirely sure what was happening to him, but it was far better than any attention he had ever received on the docks of Portici.

Following the reception line, during which his aunt, the
contessa
, acted as his interpreter, he was paraded around the large gathering by a possessive hostess with very white teeth too large for her mouth, and bluish-white hair. Amaya Bajaratt followed, never more than several steps behind her “nephew.”

“The one she’s bringing you to—you met him in the line—is a senator, and very powerful,” she whispered, hastening forward, as their hostess steered them toward a short fat man. “When you meet him now, rattle off whatever you like in Italian, and when he speaks, turn to me. That’s
all
.”

“All right, all
right
, signora.”

Reintroductions were made by the enthusiastic hostess. “Senator Nesbitt, the
barone di Ravello
—”

“
Scusi, signora
,” broke in Nicolo gently.
“Il barone-cadetto di Ravello.”

“Oh, yes, of course—I think. My Italian’s quite rusty.”

“If it was ever shiny, Sylvia.” The senator smiled good-naturedly at Nico and bowed his head at the
contessa
. “A pleasure, young man,” he continued, shaking hands. “You’re not your father yet, and I trust not for many years.”

“Si
?” replied the impostor, instinctively turning to Bajaratt, who translated in Italian.
“Non, per centi anni, Senatore
!” exclaimed Nicolo.

“He says he hopes not for a hundred years,” explained the Baj. “He is a devoted son.”

“Nice to hear that these days,” said Nesbitt, his eyes leveled at the presumed
contessa
. “Perhaps you might ask the young baron—forgive me, that’s probably not correct—”

“
Barone-cadetto
,” rejoined Bajaratt, smiling. “It simply means the next-in-line. The more common term is
baroncino
, but his father is of the old school, and believes
‘barone-cadetto’
is less diminutive, with more authority. Dante Paolo was simply clarifying his title, which is far less meaningful to him than learning whatever he can from such an experienced man as yourself, Senator.… You wished me to ask him what?”

“I read the newspaper account of his press conference yesterday—to be frank, my secretary pointed it out, as I’m not an avid reader of the society pages—and I was struck by his statement about loyalty and charity. How his family values the benefits of loyalty as highly as it values the satisfaction of charity.”

“Quite true, Senator Nesbitt. Both have served the family well.”

“I’m not from this state, madame—excuse me,
contessa
—”

“irrelevant, believe me.”

“Thank you … I suppose you could call me a country lawyer who went higher than he ever expected.”

“The ‘country,’ as I undesrstand you, is the true spine of any nation, signore.”

“That’s nicely phrased, nicely phrased indeed. I’m the senior senator from the state of Michigan, where in all honesty there are many problems, but in my judgment, an equal number of investment opportunities, especially at today’s prices. The future is in growth with a dedicated, skilled work force, and we have a great deal of both.”

“
Please
, Senator, reach us tomorrow. I’ll clear your call through the front desk and explain to Dante Paolo how impressed I am by your credentials and your expertise.”

“Actually, I’m on vacation,” said the gray-haired man, a diamond-encrusted Rolex his personal symbol of achievement as he raised it for a third time in four minutes to check the hour. “Have to get near a phone pretty soon—a call from those sleepless gnomes in Geneva, you do understand?”

“By all means, signore,” replied the Baj. “The
barone-cadetto
and I are most impressed by your suggestions—really remarkable investments.”

“I tell you, Countess, the Ravello family could realize sizable profits. My companies in California are literally supplying seven percent of the Pentagon’s allocations, and it can only grow. We’re high tech; all the rest are low tech by comparison, if you catch my meaning. Others will fall, but not us; we’ve got twelve former generals and eight admirals on our payroll.”

“Please, reach us tomorrow. I’ll clear your call.”

*    *    *

“You understand, ma’am, that I’m not at liberty to give you or the young royal fella here all the details, but
space
is where it’s at and we are
there
. We’ve got the ears of all the future-thinkin’ members of Congress—not a few of whom have invested heavily in our stock for research and development in Texas, Oklahoma, and Missouri—and the payoffs are goin’ to be stratospheric! I can put you in touch, kinda quietly, you understand, with a corral full of congressmen and senators.”

“Please, reach us tomorrow. I’ll clear your call.”

“Party politics are a national game,” said a grinning, red-haired man in his early thirties after shaking hands with the
barone-cadetto
and bowing lower than necessary to the
contessa
. “You’ll find that out if you’ve circulated without your hostess, our Madame Defarge with an overbite.”

“The evening’s getting late, and I think Sylvia gave up,” said the Baj, laughing. “She began to leave us several guests ago, having assured herself that Dante had met everyone of importance.”

“Oh, then she forgot about me,” countered the redhead. “She should know better; after all, I got a hurry-up invitation.”

“And who are you?”

“Only one of the brightest political campaign strategists in the country, but unfortunately my reputation hasn’t spread much beyond the state level—a number of states, however.”

“Then you are not really important,” concluded the
contessa
. “Except insofar as you received an invitation. How so?”

“Because my unique talents persuaded
The New York Times
to run my op-ed opinions on a fairly regular basis.
It’s lousy pay, but in my business, if you get your name in print enough times in the Big Mother, you’ve got a bigger paycheck down the road. Simple as that.”

“Yes, well, this has been a most charming and enlightening conversation, but I’m afraid the
barone-cadetto
and I are exhausted. We shall say good night,
Signor Giornalista
.”

“Please wait, Countess. You may not believe it, but I’m on your side, if you’re for real, if
he’s
for real.”

“Why would you think otherwise?”

“He’s right over there.” The young op-ed columnist nodded his head through the crowds at a medium-size, swarthy-faced man who stared at them through the passing figures. It was the reporter from
The Miami Herald
who spoke fluent Italian. “Talk to him, lady, not me. He thinks you’re both fakes.”

Hawthorne, his whole body aching from the furious activity on the smoldering hill, sat with Poole on the dark moonlit beach, both men stripped to their shorts, the wet suits discarded. They waited for Catherine Neilsen to emerge from the minisubmarine, secured by its weight in shallow water.

“How’s the leg?” asked Tyrell, his speech slowed by exhaustion.

“Nothing broken, just a bunch of damned painful bruises,” replied the lieutenant. “What about your shoulder? You got a mess of blood still oozing under Cathy’s bandage.”

“It’s stopping. She didn’t butterfly the tape, that’s all.”

“Are you criticizing my superior officer?” asked Poole, smiling.

“I wouldn’t dare—not in front of you, my
darling
.”

“Hey, that really grabs you, doesn’t it?”

“No, Jackson, it doesn’t grab me anywhere. Only I find it a touch mystifying in light of our previous conversation,
in which you made reference to unrequited affection.”

“I think I said ‘letch,’ Commander, nothin’ permanent.”

“Do I hear another Poole?”

“No, you hear a Louisiana husband-to-be whose bride didn’t get to the church on time.”

“I beg your pardon?” said Hawthorne, opening his sagging eyelids and staring at the half-grinning air force officer in the moonlight.

“Oh, I had to beg more pardons than you ever will—so many it became a joke, like ‘my darlin’.’ ”

“Would you care to fill me in?”

“Sure.” Poole smiled, then chuckled at the memory. “I got pissed and went bayou wild, that’s what happened. My intended and I lined up the finest Baptist church in Miami, which ain’t easy to locate in the better parts of that fair city, and my family and her family were there, and after two hours of waitin’, her maid of honor came screamin’ into the fuckin’ place with a note for me.… My bride had run off with a guitar player.”

“Good Lord, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be. Better then than after a couple of kids—but that’s when I went bayou.”

“Bayou?” Despite the crying need for sleep, Tyrell could not keep his eyes off Poole.

“I ran out of that place like a laser, got myself a couple of bottles of bourbon—and drove my honeymoon car, danglin’ cans and spray-painted windows and all, into downtown Miami and the roughest strip joints I could find. The more I drank, the more I figured I should at least get laid—oh, the pity.”

“For God’s sake, don’t stop there.”

“Well, Cathy, Sal, and Charlie figured I was goin’ bayou, so they came after me. They weren’t so goddamned smart like they thought they were; hell, that car was kinda outstanding you know what I mean?”

“It’s a given. What happened?”

“A riot, Commander, that’s what happened. They found me in a joint where I was slightly misbehavin’, like with the Cubano owner’s favorite chick-of-the-week. Now, Sal and Charlie were pretty proficient in hand-to-hand—not in my class, but adequate—and they convinced a number of the enemy to leave me alone, but the problem was to get me out of there.”

“Christ,
why
?”

“I still wanted to get laid.”

“Oh, my
God
.” Hawthorne dropped his chin, half in astonishment, half in fatigue.

“So Cathy wrapped her arms around my head and kept whispering into my ear, sorta loud, ‘my
darlin
’, my
darlin
’, my
darlin
’,’ as she dragged me out of there. That’s how it happened.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Silence. Finally, Tyrell spoke wearily. “You know, you really
are
lunatics.”

“Hey, Commander, who found you this place?”

“All right, you’re not dumb lunatics—”

“Listen up!” shouted Major Neilsen, climbing out of the tiny sub into the waist-high waves in her wet suit. “We’ve got our orders through the Brit hover, confirmed by Washington and Paris. A flyboat from Patrick will be here by dawn, in about three to four hours, and we get on board. Oh, and the pilot survived; a broken leg and half drowned, but he’ll make it.”

“Where are they taking us?” asked Hawthorne.

“They didn’t tell me. Just out of here.”

“What about the pups?” demanded Poole. In the distance the confused baying of the guard dogs could still be heard. “I ain’t leavin’ until they’re looked after.”

“A K-9 trainer will be on the aircraft to take care of the animals, as well as the gardener; he’ll accompany the investigating unit. They’ll stay here for a day or so.”

“I repeat, where is your plane from Patrick taking us?”

“I don’t know. Probably back to the base.”

“No way! I’m being dropped off on Gorda if I have to ’chute out. I’ve done it before.”

“Why?”

“Because two of my friends were killed there, and I want to know why and by whom! That’s the trail I intend to follow; it’s the only one that makes sense. That bitch psycho is operating from the islands.”

“Once we’re on board the aircraft, you can get in touch with anybody you like. You’ve already proven you can reach the people who make decisions.”

“You’re right,” Hawthorne agreed, lowering his voice. “I’m sorry, I’ve no right blowing up at you.”

“No, you don’t. You lost two friends, and in our own way so did we. I thought we were on the same side. You made a pretty good case for it a few hours ago.”

“I think what the major’s trying to say is that if you hop off in Virgin Gorda, we’re going with you,” said Poole. “We distinctly remember our orders. We were assigned to you, and we want to help,” he added, wincing as he raised his back against the concealed breakwall.

“You’re not going to be much help in your condition, Lieutenant.”

“That’ll change in a day with a couple of hot tubs and maybe some cortisone,” Jackson said. “Remember, I’ve got experience in the physical areas. I know when I’m hurt and when I’m
hurt
. I ain’t.”

“All right,” said Tye, fatigue overwhelming his resistance, “suppose I don’t send you back to your base, will you both accept the fact that I’m running the show? You do as I say?”

“Naturally,” said the major. “You’re in command.”

“That hasn’t made much impact so far.”

“What she means, Commander—”

“Will you
stop
telling him what I mean,” said the major, sinking cross-legged to the sand as she stared at Poole menacingly.

“Okay, okay,” Tye interrupted. “You’re on board. For what, God knows.”

“Talking about being on board,” said Neilsen, looking at Tyrell. “You don’t get along with Captain Stevens, do you?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not accountable to him.”

“He’s your superior officer—”

“The hell he is. I was hired by MI-6, London.”