“Soon?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Well, we’ll just make ourselves comfortable. You don’t mind if we look around, do you?” They opened their jackets, exposing their guns.
“N—no.”
They fanned out, moving through the house.
Mama walked in from the kitchen. “Who are these men?”
“They are friends of Mr. Jones,” Pier said. “They have come to see him.”
Mama beamed. “Such a nice man. Would you like some lunch?”
“Sure, Mama,” one of the men said. “What are we having?”
Pier’s mind was in a turmoil. I have to call Interpol again, she thought. They said they would pay fifty thousand dollars. Meanwhile, she had to keep Robert away from the house until she could make arrangements to turn him in. But how? She suddenly remembered their conversation that morning. “If there’s trouble you pull one shade down…to warn someone away.” The two men were seated at the dining room table eating a bowl of capellini.
“It’s too bright in here,” Pier said. She rose and walked into the living room and pulled down the window shade. Then she went back to the table. I hope Robert remembers about the warning.
Robert was driving toward the house, reviewing his plan of escape. It’s not perfect, he thought, but at least it should get them off the trail long enough to buy me some time. He was approaching the house. As he neared it, he slowed down and looked around. Everything appeared to be normal. He would warn Pier to get out and then take off. As Robert started to park in front of the house, something struck him as odd. One of the front shades was down. The others were up. It was probably a coincidence, but still…An alarm bell sounded. Could Pier have taken his little game seriously? Was it meant to be a warning of some kind? Robert stepped on the accelerator and kept driving. He could not afford to take any chances, no matter how remote. He drove to a bar a mile away and went inside to use the telephone.
They were seated at the dining-room table when the telephone rang. The men tensed. One of them started to rise.
“Would Bellamy be calling here?”
Pier gave him a scornful look. “Of course not. Why should he?” She rose and walked over to the telephone. She picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Pier? I saw the window shade and—”
All she had to do was say that everything was all right, and he would come back to the house. The men would arrest him, and she could demand her reward. But would they merely arrest him? She could hear Robert’s voice, saying, “If the police find me, they have orders to kill me.”
The men at the table were watching her. There was so much she could do with fifty thousand dollars. There were beautiful clothes to buy, cruises to take, a pretty little apartment in Rome…And Robert would be dead. Besides, she hated the goddamned police. Pier said into the telephone, “You have the wrong number.”
Robert heard the click of the receiver and stood there, stunned. She had believed the tall tales he had told her, and it had probably saved his life. Bless her.
Robert turned the car around and headed away from the house toward the docks, but instead of going to the main part of the port that serviced the freighters and ocean liners leaving Italy, he drove to the other side, past Santa Lucia, to a small pier where the sign over a kiosk read: “Capri and Ischia.” Robert parked the car where it could easily be spotted, and walked up to the ticket seller.
“When does the next hydrofoil leave for Ischia?”
“In thirty minutes.”
“And for Capri?”
“Five minutes.”
“Give me a one-way ticket to Capri.”
“Si, signore.”
“What’s this ‘si signore’ crap?” Robert said in a loud voice. “Why don’t you people speak English like everybody else?”
The man’s eyes widened in shock.
“You goddamn guineas are all alike. Stupid! Or, as you people would say, stupido.” Robert shoved some money at the man, grabbed the ticket, and walked toward the hydrofoil.
Three minutes later he was on his way to the island of Capri. The boat started out slowly, making its way cautiously through the channel. When it reached the outer limits, it surged forward, rising out of the water like a graceful porpoise. The ferry was full of tourists from a variety of countries, happily chattering away in different tongues. No one was paying any attention to Robert. He made his way to the small bar where they served drinks. He said to the bartender, “Give me a vodka and tonic.”