“Just a moment, Commander.” The secretary buzzed the intercom. “General, Commander Bellamy is on line three.”
General Hilliard turned to Harrison Keller. “Bellamy is on line three. Start a trace, fast.”
Harrison Keller hurried over to a telephone on a side table, and dialled the Network Operations Centre, manned and monitored twenty-four hours a day. The senior officer on duty answered. “NOC. Adams.”
“How long will it take to do an emergency trace on an incoming call?” Keller whispered.
“Between one and two minutes.”
“Start it. General Hilliard’s office, line three. I’ll hang on.” He looked over at the General and nodded.
General Hilliard picked up the telephone.
“Commander … is that you?”
In the Operations Centre, Adams punched a number into a computer. “Here we go,” he said.
“I thought it was time you and I had a talk, General.”
“I’m glad you called, Commander. Why don’t you come in and we can discuss the situation? I’ll arrange a plane for you, and you can be here in …”
“No thanks. Too many accidents happen in airplanes, General.”
In the communications room, ESS, the electronic switching system, had been activated. The computer screen began lighting up. AX121-B … AX122-C … AX123-C …
“What’s happening?” Keller whispered into the phone.
“The Network Operations Centre in New Jersey is searching the Washington, DC trunks, sir. Hold on.”
The screen went blank. Then the words: OVERSEAS TRUNK LINE ONE flashed onto the screen.
“The call is coming from somewhere in Europe. We’re tracing the country …”
General Hilliard was saying, “Commander Bellamy, I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I have a suggestion …”
Robert replaced the receiver.
General Hilliard looked over at Keller. “Did you get it?”
Harrison Keller talked into the phone to Adams. “What happened?”
“We lost him.”
Robert moved into the second booth and picked up the telephone.
General Hilliard’s secretary said, “Commander Bellamy is calling on line two.”
The two men looked at each other. General Hilliard pressed the button for line two.
“Commander?”
“Let me make a suggestion,” Robert said.
General Hilliard put his hand over the mouthpiece. “Get the trace working again.”
Harrison Keller picked up the telephone and said to Adams, “He’s on again. Line two. Move fast.”
“Right.”
“My suggestion, General, is that you call off all your men. And I mean now.”
“I think you misunderstand the situation, Commander. We can work this problem out if …”
“I’ll tell you how we can work it out. There’s a termination order out on me. I want you to cancel it.”
In the Network Operations Centre, the computer screen was flashing a new message: AX155-C Subtrunk A21 verified. Circuit 301 to Rome. Atlantic Trunk 1.
“We’ve got it,” Adams said into the phone. “We’ve traced the trunk to Rome.”
“Get me the number and location,” Keller told him.
In Rome, Robert was glancing at his watch. “You gave me an assignment. I carried it out.”
“You did very well, Commander. Here is what I …”
The line went dead.
The General turned to Keller. “He hung up, again.”
Keller spoke into the phone. “Did you get it?”
“Too quick, sir.”
Robert moved into the next booth and picked up the telephone.
Genera:! Hilliard’s secretary’s voice came over the intercom. “Commander Bellamy is on line one, General.”
The General snapped, “Find the bastard!” He picked up the telephone. “Commander?”
“I want you to listen, General, and listen closely. You’ve murdered a lot of innocent people. If you don’t call off your men, I’m going to the media to tell them what’s going on.”
“I wouldn’t advise you to do that, unless you want to start a worldwide panic. The aliens are real, and we’re defenceless against them. They’re getting ready to make their move. You have no idea what would happen if word of this leaked out.”
“Neither have you,” Bellamy retorted. “I’m not giving you a choice. Call off the contract on me. If there’s one more attempt made on my life, I’m going public.”
“All right,” General Hilliard said. “You win. I’ll call it off. Why don’t we do this? We can …”
“Your trace should be working pretty good, now,” Robert said. “Have a good day.”
The connection was broken.
“Did you get it?” Keller barked into the phone.
Adams said, “Close, sir. He was calling from an area in Central Rome. He kept switching numbers on us.”
The General looked over at Keller. “Well?”
“I’m sorry, General. All we know is that he’s somewhere in Rome. Do you believe his threat? Are we going to call off the contract on him?”
“No. We’re going to eliminate him.”
Robert went over his options again. They were pitifully few. They would be watching the airports, railroad stations, bus terminals and car rental agencies. He could not check into a hotel because SIFAR would be circulating red notices. Yet he had to get out of Rome. He needed a cover. A companion. They would not be looking for a man and a woman together. It was a beginning.
A taxi was standing at the corner. Robert mussed his hair, pulled down his tie, and staggered drunkenly toward the taxi. “Hey, there,” he called. “You!”
The driver looked at him, distastefully.
Robert pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and slapped it into the man’s hand. “Hey, buddy, I’m lookin’ a’get laid. You know what tha’ means? D’you speak any goddamn English?”
The driver looked at the bill. “You wish a woman?”
“You got it, pal. I wish a woman.”
“Andiamo,” the driver said.
Robert lurched into the cab, and it took off. He looked back. He was not being followed. The adrenalin was pumping. Half the governments in the world are looking for you. And there would be no appeal. Their orders were to assassinate him.
Twenty minutes later they had reach Tor di Ounto, Rome’s red light district, populated by whores and pimps. They drove down Pas-seggiata Archeologica, and the driver pulled to a stop at a corner.
“You will find a woman here,” he said.
“Thanks, buddy.” Robert paid the amount on the meter, and stumbled out of the taxi. It pulled away with a squeal of tyres.
Robert looked around, studying his surroundings. No police. A few cars and a handful of pedestrians. There were more than a dozen whores cruising the street.
In the spirit of “let’s round up the usual suspects”, the police had conducted their bi-monthly sweep to satisfy the voices of morality, and moved the city’s prostitutes from the Via Veneto, with its high visibility, to this area where they would not offend the dowagers taking tea at Doney’s. For that reason, most of the ladies were attractive and well dressed. There was one in particular who caught Robert’s eye.
She appeared to be in her early twenties. She had long, dark hair and was dressed in a tasteful black skirt and white blouse, covered by a camelhair coat. Robert guessed that she was a part-time actress or model. She was watching Robert.
Robert staggered up to her. “Hi, baby,” he mumbled. “D’you speak English?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Le’s you an’ me have a party.”
She smiled uncertainly. Drunks could be trouble. “Maybe you should go sober up first.” She had a soft Italian accent.
“Hey, I’m sober enough.”
“It will cost you a hundred dollars.”
“Tha’s okay, honey.”
She made her decision. “Va bene. Come. There is a hotel just around the corner.”
“Great. What’s your name, baby?”
“Pier.”
“Mine’s Henry.” A police car appeared in the distance, headed their way. “Let’s get outta here.”
The other women cast envious glances as Pier and her American customer walked away.
The hotel was no Hassler, but the pimply-faced boy at the desk downstairs did not ask for a passport. In fact, he barely glanced up as he handed Pier a key. “Fifty thousand lire.”
Pier looked at Robert. He took the money from his pocket and gave it to the boy.
The room they entered contained a large bed in the corner, a small table, two wooden chairs and a mirror over the basin. There was a clothes rack behind the door.
“You must pay me in advance.”
“Sure.” Robert counted out one hundred dollars.
“Grazie.”
Pier began to get undressed. Robert walked over to the window. He pushed aside a corner of the curtain and peered out. Everything appeared to be normal. He hoped that by now the police were following the red truck back to France. Robert dropped the curtain and turned around. Pier was naked. She had a surprisingly lovely body. Firm, young breasts, rounded hips, a small waist and long, shapely legs.
She was watching Robert. “Aren’t you going to get undressed, Henry?”
This was the tricky part. “… tell you the truth,” Robert said, “I think I had a little too much to drink. I can’t give you any action.”
She was regarding him with wary eyes. “Then why did you …?”
“If I stay here and sleep it off, we can make love in the morning.”
She shrugged. “I have to work. It would cost me money to …”
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of that.” He pulled out several hundred-dollar bills and handed them to her. “Will that cover it?”
Pier looked at the money, making up her mind. It was tempting. It was cold outside, and business was slow. On the other hand, there was something strange about this man. First of all, he did not really seem to be drunk. He was nicely dressed and for this much money he could have checked them into a fine hotel. Well, Pier thought, what the hell? Questo cazzo se ne frega? “All right. There’s only this bed for the two of us.”
“That’s fine.”
Pier watched as Robert walked over to the window again and moved the edge of the curtain aside.
“You are looking for something?”
“Is there a back door out of the hotel?”
What am I getting myself into? Pier wondered. Her best friend had been murdered, hanging out with mobsters. Pier considered herself wise in the ways of men, but this one puzzled her. He did not seem like a criminal, but still … “Yes, there is,” she said.
There was a sudden scream, and Robert whirled around.
“Dio! Dio! Sono venuta tre volte!” It was a woman’s voice, coming from the next room through the paper-thin walls.
“What’s that?” Robert’s heart was pounding.
Pier grinned. “She’s having fun. She said she just came for the third time.”
Robert heard the creaking of bed springs.
“Are you going to bed?” Pier stood there naked, unembarrassed, watching him.
“Sure.” Robert sat down on the bed.
“Aren’t you going to get undressed?”
“No.”
“Suit yourself.” Pier moved over to the bed and lay down beside Robert. “I hope you don’t snore,” Pier said.
“You can tell me in the morning.”
Robert had no intention of sleeping. He wanted to check the street during the night, to make sure they did not come to the hotel. They would get around to these small, third-class hotels eventually, but it would take them time. They had too many other places to cover first. He lay there, feeling bone-tired, and closed his eyes for a moment to rest. He slept. He was back home, in his own bed, and he felt Susan’s warm body next to his. She’s back, he thought, happily. She’s come back to me. Baby, I’ve missed you so much.
Day Seventeen
Rome, Italy
Robert was awakened by the sun hitting his face. He sat up abruptly, looking around for an instant in alarm, disorientated. When he saw Pier, memory flooded back. He relaxed. Pier was at the mirror, brushing her hair.
“Buon giorno,” she said. “You do not snore.”
Robert looked at his watch. Nine o’clock. He had wasted precious hours.
“Do you want to make love now? You have already paid for it.”
“That’s all right,” Robert said.
Pier walked over to the bed, naked and provocative. “Are you sure?”
I couldn’t if I wanted to, lady. “I’m sure.”
“Va bene.” She began to dress. She asked casually, “Who is Susan?”
The question caught him off guard. “Susan? What made you ask?”
“You talk in your sleep.”
He remembered his dream. Susan had come back to him. Maybe it was a sign. “She’s a friend.” She’s my wife. She’s going to get tired of Moneybags and return to me some day. If I’m still alive, that is.
Robert walked over to the window. He lifted the curtain and looked out. The street was crowded now with pedestrians and merchants opening up their shops. There were no signs of danger.
It was time to put his plan into motion. He turned to the girl. “Pier, how would you like to go on a little trip with me?”
She looked at him with suspicion. “A trip … where?”
“I have to go to Venice on business, and I hate travelling alone. Do you like Venice?”
“Yes …”
“Good. I’ll pay you for your time, and we’ll have a little holiday together.” He was staring out of the window again. “I know a lovely hotel there. The Cipriani.