Foreign Affairs (A Stone Barrington Novel) Read online

  Finally, Casselli turned to a minion. “Bring the girl to me,” he said.

  Moments later, Hedy was marched into the living room. “Ah, Miss Kiesler,” Casselli said. “I won’t detain you long.” He held up a finger, then pressed the redial button on his phone.

  —

  Stone answered the call on speaker, so everyone in the room could hear the conversation. “Yes?”

  “You said you wished to speak to the girl,” Casselli said.

  Before Stone could reply, he heard Hedy’s voice, shouting, “Wow, what a view! I can see almost as far as Capri!”

  There were sounds of a scuffle.

  “Did you hear that?” Casselli asked.

  “Hear what?”

  “The voice of your lover.”

  “All I hear is you.”

  “You still wish to speak with her?”

  “Certainly.”

  Hedy came on. “Don’t do what he wants, Stone!” she shouted. “If he hurts me, Arthur will destroy him!”

  There were more sounds of struggle, then Casselli came back on. “There, did you hear that?”

  “Yes, and I will follow her instructions to the letter,” Stone said. “You don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into, Leo. She’s right about Arthur—he will destroy you.” Stone hung up.

  “Who the hell is Arthur?” someone asked.

  “Hedy’s stepfather, Arthur Steele.”

  “Who is he?”

  “He’s an insurance executive.”

  “Does he have the means to destroy Casselli?”

  “No, but Casselli doesn’t know that.”

  Everyone burst out laughing.

  —

  Kill her!” Casselli screamed at his men. “Cut her into pieces, and send them to Barrington!”

  “Yes, Don Leonardo,” one of them said, and the men began to drag her from the room.

  “Wait a minute!” Hedy yelled.

  Astonished, they stopped.

  “What?” Casselli shouted.

  “I want a priest.”

  “Are you insane?” Casselli asked.

  “I’m a good Catholic, I want to make my confession and have the last rites of the Church!”

  “I’m not going to get you a priest!”

  “Are you a Catholic?”

  “Of course!”

  “Then you can’t deny me a priest!” Hedy was not a Catholic, and she had no idea whether this was correct. “You will go directly to hell, no purgatory!”

  Casselli stopped talking; his jaw worked, but no sound came out.

  “And if you murder me, I will prepare the way for you to hell’s gates!” She groped for something else to say. “And Arthur is a friend of the Pope! He will ask him to excommunicate you immediately!” This was a bald-faced lie; Arthur was Jewish, and he had no acquaintances in the Vatican that she knew of.

  “You are worse than this Barrington!” Casselli shouted. He waved a hand. “Take her back to her room!”

  “Do you still want us to kill her, Don Leonardo?” one of the men asked.

  “No. Not yet! When I say!”

  The men dragged Hedy away. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with!” she shouted back at him.

  Casselli sank into a chair and mopped his brow. Perhaps she was right; maybe he didn’t know who he was dealing with.

  First, this Barrington, now this Arthur, who was a friend of the Pope! Casselli didn’t even know the Pope! He wasn’t much of a Catholic, but he feared the Church. If he killed this girl, she would precede him into the next world, and the Church’s wrath would be waiting for him.

  —

  She’s confirmed her location,” Stone said. “She said she could almost see Capri.”

  “Dante,” Jim Lugano said, “do we have enough on Casselli to raid this house on the cliff?”

  “Having enough is not the problem,” Dante replied. “It would require nothing less than a full-scale military assault to take the place, and the girl could die in the middle of that. We would be moving out of the world of criminal justice and into the world of politics, where anything could happen. Who knows who Casselli has bought?”

  “We’re just going to have to find another way,” Stone said.

  45

  Hedy was returned to her little room and locked in. But in the past minutes—the first time she had been let out of her prison—she had learned a few things. They were on the Amalfi Coast, she had been right about that. Now she had to start finding a way out of this room and then out of the house.

  She found a wire coat hanger in her closet and began trying to shape part of it into a lock pick. She didn’t know much about picking locks, but this one was large and old-fashioned and used a large key. She worked on it until dinner came, and at the scraping of the key in the lock she jumped back onto the bed.

  Lasagna this time; she ate it greedily, pouring the wine down the toilet, as usual. Maybe picking the lock had not been such a good idea. The woman who brought the food was a little smaller than she; maybe she could be overcome. She knew where the key was—in her apron pocket. She looked around for a weapon, should she need it. Nothing, only a rickety caned chair, very old. Nothing to tie the woman up with, either, and she would have to be gagged, too, and there was nothing for that, unless she started tearing up the sheets. She tried it, but without a cutting tool, she couldn’t make it work.

  She thought of bribing the woman, but she didn’t have any money to show her, and she was unlikely to accept a promise of funds later. She would also be afraid of her employer.

  Hedy went back to working on the coat hanger.

  —

  A couple of hours later, she began experimenting with the pick she had made. She had bent one end to a right angle by clamping it in a drawer and bending the long end. Then she made another, larger right angle at the other end to use as turning leverage. The whole thing was, maybe, four inches long. She was surprised once, when she heard the key scrape in the lock and barely had time to duck into the bathroom and flush the toilet before the woman came in and took her tray. When Hedy came out she was alone again and went back to work on the key. Finally, she got it placed inside the lock and thought she had found a sweet spot. Using both hands, she turned the other, larger end and felt something inside move. A moment later the door was unlocked.

  She cracked it open and listened. There was conversation in Italian from the kitchen between two women, who from the sound of their activity were cleaning up. She closed the door softly. She would wait until later, when the house was asleep.

  —

  It was well past midnight, she thought, when she opened the door and listened again. No voices, no pots clattering, just silence. She was in a hallway, and there were other doors like her own, numbered. She was in three. The household workers must be asleep in one, two, and four. No light shined from under the doors. She took off her shoes and, holding them in one hand, moved slowly and silently down the hall, emerging into a kitchen, large and commercial-looking. There she found a door that seemed to lead farther to the rear of the house. On her way she spotted a waiter’s corkscrew and stuffed it into her jeans pocket with the lock pick; she wasn’t sure why, but it had a blade that might come in handy. It occurred to her later that she could have found a proper knife in the kitchen.

  She opened the door, which led into another hallway and several storage rooms. She could see another door at the end, and she made her way to it. Locked. The top half was of glass panes, and she could see trees moving in the darkness and hear the wind blowing. She inspected the lock with her fingers. There was no thumbscrew; it must be locked with a key.

  She felt the ledge above the door: nothing. She ran her fingers along the inside wall, and found it: a teacup hook, with a key dangling from it. She felt her way back to the lock, slipped the key into it, and tur
ned. It opened. She removed the key and let herself out, locking it behind her. It would stop anyone chasing her, until they could find another key.

  She leaned against the door for a moment to let her heart slow its beating and her eyes become accustomed to the darkness. She fought the exhilaration that came with being free; she still had to be careful. She stood on the edge of a broad deck and saw an opening in the handrail ahead. She crossed the expanse quickly and stopped at the opening. There was a path, and it led upward.

  Then she heard a terrible sound: someone was trying to open the door behind her, and in a moment they would know the key was gone. Rain began to fall. She moved ahead quickly, feeling her way. The path began to narrow as she climbed. Then the clouds broke for a moment, long enough to let some moonlight through. She saw that the right side of the path was a sheer drop into a void, and there was only a rope handrail between her and that void.

  The moon vanished again, leaving her in pitch darkness, with only her memory of the scene to guide her.

  She plunged ahead into the black night, doing her best to stay to her left. Then she fell, stretching her arms out, trying to catch the rope. Instead, she caught a blow to the head.

  46

  Everyone seemed happier at dinner. They knew that Hedy was alive and well, and they knew where she was. As for rescuing her, nobody seemed to have a clue, short of a commando assault, and nobody wanted that.

  “How about a drone?” Stone asked. He had had a recent experience with drones that had frightened him with their capabilities.

  “We have access to drones,” Lugano said.

  “So have we,” Dante echoed.

  “What would you do with a drone?” Lugano asked.

  “I don’t know: spy on him? Get a closer look at the house? Maybe figure out where they’re holding her?”

  “We’ve got detailed plans of the house,” Lugano pointed out, “and as for where they’re holding her, my money’s on one of the maids’ rooms. From what we heard on the phone call, I don’t think Hedy’s bunking in with Casselli.”

  “If we could get Hedy out first,” Stone said, “I wouldn’t mind firing a Hellfire missile into the place. In fact, I’d be glad to pull the trigger.”

  “Overkill,” Dante said. “We wouldn’t have anyone left to try, and I very much want a trial.”

  A servant brought an envelope to Lugano. “This just came by messenger,” he said. “It’s addressed to you and Mr. Barrington.”

  Lugano opened it and found another envelope inside, along with a letter on handsome stationery with a crest at the top. “It’s from Baron Klaucke,” he said. He read from the letter. “‘This arrived today. It may have been intended ironically. Please add it to the evidence I am providing.’” Lugano opened the other envelope and extracted an invitation. He read it slowly. “It doesn’t say who it’s from, but there’s an ornate C at the top.” He read: “‘The pleasure of your company is requested for a housewarming. Drinks, dinner, and music.’ There’s an address on the Amalfi Coast road.”

  “When?”

  “Saturday, in three days, drinks at seven.”

  “Why would Casselli invite Klaucke to his party?”

  “Because he’s a baron? Maybe Casselli is a snob.”

  “I think we should accept on Baron Klaucke’s behalf,” Stone said, “but without an RSVP.”

  They moved to the living room for coffee and brandy.

  “We can’t attack,” Jim said, “but Stone’s right, we can infiltrate.”

  “Disguised as guests?” Stone asked. “I don’t think we could pass for Casselli’s friends.”

  “But,” Jim pointed out, “there will be a lot of other people in the house—staff, catering personnel, musicians.”

  Dante brightened. “On another occasion we smuggled our people into a large event as workers. It could work again.”

  “How would you manage it?” Stone asked.

  “The same way we did before: we find out who’s catering the affair and what sort of music is being provided. We substitute our people for some of theirs.”

  “I play bass,” Lugano said, raising his hand. “Most Sunday nights at a jazz club.”

  “One of my assistants plays very good jazz guitar,” Dante said, “in the manner of Django Reinhardt. All we need is a pianist who knows how to use a gun.”

  “Stone is likely to shoot himself in the foot,” Dino said, “but he plays pretty decent piano.”

  “Oh, no,” Stone said, “I’m the rustiest piano player you ever heard.”

  “Let’s hear something,” Lugano said, taking away Stone’s drink and pointing him at the piano in the corner.

  “Casselli’s file says he’s a music lover,” Dante said, “with a particular fondness for the Great American Songbook.”

  “All right,” Stone said, “I’ll play you some Rodgers and Hart, but it will sound a lot better if you’re all talking at the same time.” He sat down and played “My Romance,” and got a round of hearty applause from the group.

  “You’ll do,” Jim said. “Where have you played?”

  “I picked up spending money when I was at NYU, at a little club on Bleecker Street called the Surf Maid.”

  “I’ve been in there,” Jim said. “A nine-foot grand with stools around it and a bar.”

  “That’s the joint. I warn you, I don’t have the chops anymore for up-tempo stuff.”

  “Okay, we’ll keep it sedate.”

  “So we have ourselves a trio,” Dante said, taking out his phone. “I’ll get on the search for what agency is supplying the music and what caterer has the job, then we’ll start threatening them.” He walked to one side of the room and began speaking Italian into the phone.

  “Problem,” Stone said. “Casselli knows me—we had lunch, remember?”

  “Don’t worry,” Jim said, “one of the great skills harbored in our Agency is that we are masters of disguise. We have a guy who can turn you into Ray Charles.”

  “I don’t do blackface,” Stone said.

  “You could do George Shearing,” Viv contributed.

  “I don’t look anything like Shearing.”

  “Just the dark glasses. You can play blind—you just never look directly at anybody. If you’re talking to someone, you look over his shoulder somewhere. But you can’t look at your hands when you play.”

  “Dark glasses and a mustache might do it,” Jim said. “Maybe a better nose.”

  “What’s wrong with my nose?” Stone asked.

  “It’s too good,” Viv said. “Jim’s right. His makeup man could mess it up a little, give your face character.”

  “Casselli will never make you,” Jim said. “I promise.”

  47

  Hedy was stunned for a moment but quickly recovered. She could hear footsteps on the wooden deck behind the house. An outside light came on.

  Hedy got to her feet and climbed over a rock to her left. She cowered in a crevice as footsteps went past her on the path, then they retreated back to the deck.

  “Nobody out here,” a man said in Italian. “Where did the key go?” He went inside, and she heard the door lock behind him.

  Hedy discovered a niche under her rock and crawled into it. She was dry, if not warm, and she was in no mood to go blindly along that path in the rain. Soon she was asleep.

  When she woke the rain had stopped, and the sun shone intermittently, enough to warm the air comfortably. She was hungry, but she wasn’t ready to risk the trail in daylight. She’d wait until dark, and if it wasn’t raining, try it again. She crawled out of her shelter and looked around. A few feet away was the rope handrail on the path, which led along a sheer cliff face and seemed to narrow to almost nothing. In the other direction was a lovely view of the sea and mountains and, a few feet away, what seemed another sheer drop-off. She was trapped on a peninsula of stone,
with the path leading to the house, and in the other direction, God knew what awaited her.

  Then she heard something odd: the sound of hooves on stone. She peered over a rock and saw an old man picking his way along the path on the cliff face, leading a donkey, which was heavily laden. As he passed slowly toward the house she saw that the donkey was carrying groceries, and she managed to swipe two apples and a banana before he had passed her. She retreated to her hiding place and had the banana for breakfast. The apples would have to do for breakfast and lunch.

  Then she heard a woman’s voice shrieking, “Gone! The girl is gone!” People in the house rushed about talking loudly, then it got quiet again.

  —

  Casselli sat in the living room, going over a list. “I make it fifty-eight, with wives and girlfriends,” he said to his secretary.

  “Only the man Klaucke, from Germany, did not respond,” she said. “Everyone else accepted.”

  “We have the caterer from Rome, correct?”

  “Yes, Don Leonardo. And the musicians, a quartet of jazz.”

  “Good.”

  A man entered the room carefully. “Don Leonardo,” he said, “there has been an incident.”

  “What sort of incident?”

  “The girl is gone.”

  “Gone? Gone where?”

  “No one knows, Don Leonardo. When she was taken her breakfast, she wasn’t there. The door was locked, as usual,” he lied.

  “Have you searched the house?”

  “Yes, Don Leonardo, every room, closet, and corner. She is not here.”

  “How could she get out of the house?”

  “The only irregularity we have discovered is that the key to the rear door to the deck is missing. It was hanging on a hook in the hallway. But we have a spare key.”

  “You think she got out the rear door?”

  “It’s possible, Don Leonardo. I myself have walked the path to the village both ways, and she is nowhere to be found. It’s possible that she may have slipped on the path in the dark and fallen into the ravine, but we cannot see a body anywhere.”