They checked out of the Marriott and got a cab to the Greyhound bus station. There were only two flights a week to St Louis and they decided it would be better to get on their way rather than stay in New York for another three days. Taking the bus would get them to St Louis a day sooner even after a stopover in Cleveland. It was the quickest way to get there.
In Cleveland, they booked into a simple motel adjoining the bus station and went shopping in a local mall. There were no questions asked, and no identification or paperwork required in the land of the free. Harry Male left Cleveland with a shoulder holster and a Colt M1911 nestling under his linen jacket and box of twenty forty-five calibre rounds.
“It’s America,” he’d said when Lucia challenged him. “Everybody’s got one.” But he could see she wasn’t convinced.
“You are going to have a shoot-out with Kessler? This is crazy, Harry.”
“I know. But if he turns up he’s bound to be armed and we can’t go without some protection.”
“Why don’t we just call the police?”
“And tell them what, precisely? They’ll either throw me in jail, lock me up in a mental institution or simply kick me out of the country.”
“It frightens me, Harry.”
He’d hugged her and tried to reassure her. “It’s now more important than ever we find the Montis. We have to assume Kessler has the same information as us. Even if he’s lost interest in me, he’s bound to try to contact them. We have to warn them.”
“And tell them what, precisely?” She parodied his own words, but unlike him, hers were rooted in fear.
He wanted to say “the truth” but he knew it was not that simple. “That there’s a possibility a crazy German believes their daughter Catalina…”
“Giuliana.”
“… Giuliana is actually his daughter and he’s likely to turn up at any time. He’s highly dangerous, he’s wanted for several murders in Europe and they should warn the police and the FBI. Interpol will have already circulated the details and they can check the case back to Berlin and Rome.”
“And why can’t we do that?”
“Do what?”
“Tell the FBI.”
“I told you, they’d think we’re lunatics. You know the Montis and they know you, or at least they’ll remember you. They’ll believe you and if we can convince them, then together we have a better chance of convincing the police. They’re US citizens; we’re not. The police will have to act on a threat to their own people.”
Harry had already come to the conclusion that Kessler had to be apprehended or killed. It was the only way the Montis could be safe and the only way he could keep Lucia safe. None of them could hope for a safe and secure future while Kessler was on the loose.
He hated himself for putting Lucia and the Montis in danger; that had never been his intention. But in pursuing his reckless quest, his foolish attempt to vanquish his own imaginary demons and bring closure to the nightmare of Solano, he’d opened a Pandora’s box. The only glimmer of hope he could draw from the whole sorry mess was that the knowledge Kessler now had would bring him out into the open and, finally, he could face justice. Harry had unwittingly set the shark bait. He now had responsibility to ensure the shark couldn’t bite.
***
The Greyhound had pulled into St Louis bus station at ten minutes past eight the previous night and a cab had taken them, at the driver’s recommendation, to the Chase Park Plaza Hotel overlooking Forest Park. The bus ride had been long and tedious, but it had given them both time to think and they’d shared their thoughts over a late dinner and drinks in the hotel.
It was Lucia’s idea and they’d debated it at length. Harry was reluctant to make any further contact with Arthur Rowland, but Lucia had eventually persuaded him. He was still profoundly disturbed at the notion the old lawyer was conspiring against him and although he knew the evidence was purely circumstantial, it remained, in the absence of any alternative, the most likely explanation. His instinct was to remain incommunicado but he knew he couldn’t stay like that for long, not least because Arthur Rowland still controlled the distribution of his father’s estate. There was no escaping the fact; he would have to be confronted eventually.
But for the moment, the balance of advantage was with them. If Arthur was indeed one of the enemy, avoiding contact might create suspicion and be counter productive, whereas keeping in touch might even prove useful to them. He called Arthur the next morning straight after breakfast.
“I wondered where you’d got to, young man,” he said. “I tried to leave you a message at the Hilton but they said you’d checked out.” Harry tried to spot the duplicity and deceit in the voice of Arthur Rowland but the old boy sounded just the same as normal. He was either an expert in mendacity or had been unduly and unwittingly maligned. For his part, Harry had to make his own words and tone of voice sound casual, which he found difficult, knowing what he knew; or thought he knew.
“Sorry Arthur, we did a bit of sightseeing around New York and then jumped on a bus to St Louis.”
“And why not?” he said in his typically avuncular fashion. He’s good, is Arthur. “How did you get on with the Montis?”
It was the first question he’d been waiting for and they’d already worked out the answer. “They’re not in Belleview any more.”
“Really? I don’t understand. Martin Kopelsky had it in black and white.”
“They moved three months ago. We’ve been there and spoken to the neighbours. They’ve gone to Las Vegas.”
“Nevada?”
“Yes. Gino got a job out there, apparently.”
“Well then, I shall get on to Kopelsky and make a complaint.”
“I’d leave it, Arthur. It could simply be Gino hasn’t got round to reporting in to the immigration authorities. We don’t want to rack up any more fees.” Harry put his hand over the mouthpiece and whispered to Lucia, “This’ll clinch it.”
“Do you have an address?” said Arthur. Harry nodded at Lucia in satisfaction. It was the obvious next question and they were ready for that too.
“Yes. 1545 Paradise Road.” They’d seen a tourist leaflet in the foyer advertising trips to Vegas and its attractions. The address was a Mexican restaurant. “We’re heading there now. It’s a four-hour flight.”
“Goodness, you are covering the miles. Make sure you let me know when you get there.”
Harry looked at Lucia and raised his eyebrows. “Of course.”
“Oh, by the way, Harry. There’s a chap trying to get in touch with you. Name of Johnny Bristow. Says he’s an old colleague.”
Harry was suddenly thrown. He thought he’d been in control of the conversation and now Arthur had deliberately, or otherwise, lobbed in a grenade. He had to think quickly.
“Did you tell him?” he said, suddenly guarded.
“Of course not!” Arthur sounded a little indignant and with good reason. “Client confidential, my boy, even if I knew, which I didn’t. Unless, of course, you’d like me to?”
“Did he leave a number?”
***
Harry steered the Ford Falcon off Memorial Drive, onto Eads Bridge and across the Mississippi River into the state of Illinois. Lucia sat beside him, tracking their progress on the map provided by the hire company and issuing Harry directions as they navigated their way out of the city of St Louis. He was confident their strategy to steer Arthur away from Belleview had worked and, if they were right, the message would get to Kessler and send him on a wild goose chase to Las Vegas. The German would never give up, but it would buy them some time. But he was totally perplexed by the message from Johnny.
“So now we have another spy to worry about,” said Lucia, her bronzed arm resting on the open window, catching the evening sun. “Is he really a friend or is he working with Arthur?”
“He was a sort of friend. We were never bosom buddies, but we got on okay.”
“He is the one who likes the grasshopper.”
“Grasshopper?”
“That stupid game the inglese play.”
“Cricket.”
“Sì! Cricket!”
They crossed the bridge into Illinois. It was only twenty miles or so to Belleview but it was after five and the commuter traffic was heavy, so progress was slow along the three-lane freeway. The news bulletin on the car radio featured reports of tensions building between the two superpowers as the Russians continued to build missile bases on Cuba. It made Harry think immediately of West Berlin.
“He is the other man,” said Lucia, breaking his concentration.
“What other man?”
“I still do not believe your lawyer is a criminal. I said there was someone else.”
“And I don’t believe it either, but…”
“The cricket man, Johnny Bristow is the someone else. He works in the same place where you worked. He is a spy like you were a spy and he has lost you and is trying to find you. Arthur does not know him or he would not have mentioned his name.”
“Arthur may not know Johnny, but how does Johnny know Arthur?”
“I don’t know everything!” she said in frustration. He loved it when she got a little wound up. It was pure Italian, a passion for everything – something he could learn from. Eventually they reached Belleview and pulled over to ask directions from a passer-by.
“Take this here road out of town for about a mile heading east towards Scott Air Force Base and you take a left into Cedar.”
Cedar Boulevard turned out to be a pleasant tree-lined avenue with an array of timber-clad houses arranged on each side, all situated in generous grounds with block-stone driveways and double garages. Harry pulled the Falcon over under a tall cedar tree and switched off the engine.
“This is it. Four-seven-five. Are you ready?”
“I feel sick, Harry. I am not sure this is right.”
Harry felt a wave of apprehension. He was uncomfortable too but he knew they had no choice. “Would you like to stay in the car?”
She shook her head and grabbed the door handle.
He took her hand and led her up the driveway towards an impressive bungalow with a well-kept lawn and white picket fence. Gino Monti had done well for himself, he thought. But the house seemed quiet. There was no car on the drive and no sign of activity. He pressed the doorbell, hearing it ring inside and they both stepped back, hearts beating in their ears. He tried again, but there was no reply. No one was home.
“Can I help you folks?”
They turned together, feeling instantly guilty, as if caught doing something wrong, which in a way they were. The man was six-four or six-five, late forties with a shock of silvery dark hair greying at the temples and a white bushy moustache. He wore a heavy checked shirt with rolled-up sleeves, faded blue jeans fastened by a thick leather belt with a bronze buckle in the shape of an eagle and, on his feet, tan cowboy boots that looked like a size twelve. He stood on the lawn twenty feet away, legs apart with his hands on his hips, eyeing them closely, like a cowboy ready to draw.
“Evening,” said Harry, trying to sound cheerful, but the cowboy’s face was unsmiling. “We were looking for Mr and Mrs Monti.”
“And who might you be?”
“We’re family,” he said, but he sounded flustered and unconvincing. “Well, Lucia here is family, and I’m a friend.” It sounded lame although loosely based on truth.
“They know you were comin’?”
“No. It was supposed to be a surprise.”
“Is that so?” The cowboy was clearly not impressed. “Folks ain’t here. On vacation.”
“Ah, I see. Do you know when they’ll be back?”
“Yep.”
They waited a moment for clarification that clearly wasn’t on offer and Lucia tugged his arm. “Harry, I think we should go.”
“You Italian?” said the tall guy and she nodded nervously. He looked at Harry. “You Italian too… Harry?”
“No, English.”
“Don’t get many limeys round here.”
“No. I imagine not. Look, we’re sorry to trouble you.”
“Who shall I say called?”
Harry was suddenly nervous about giving the guy their full names but wary it might make him even more suspicious if he refused.
“Just say Harry and Lucia.” The guy nodded but didn’t respond. “And you are?”
“Just bein’ neighbourly. Looking after the place while the folks are away. I’ll say Harry and Lucia came by. Maybe next time you should call ’em first and tell ’em you’re comin’?”
“Thanks.”
Lucia grabbed Harry’s hand and led him back down the drive.
“What do we do now?”
“I don’t know.”
***
The next morning after breakfast, Harry dialled the number Arthur had given him. He recognised it and the code for West Berlin and after a lot of hissing, popping and crackling he heard the ringtone. It was answered in three.
“Department for International Policy Development, how may I be of assistance?”
Harry could visualise the switchboard, all four girls with headphones and banks of connections and plugs, pulling them here and there. He thought he recognised the voice, but decided to skip pleasantries. Lucia sat with him on the bed, watching and listening intently.
“Johnny Bristow, please.”
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“Arthur Rowland.”
“And may I ask what is the nature of your call?”
“Mr Bristow left a message for me to call him. I’m calling from Coventry.”
“One moment please, Mr Rowland.”
The line clicked, leaving only a background hiss to indicate he was still connected. Harry began to get nervous; the longer the delay, the more suspicious he would get. He looked at his watch. He’d give her thirty seconds before he hung up. She was back in twenty.
“Mr Rowland, so sorry to have kept you. Mr Bristow is in a meeting and asks if he may call you back? He says he has your number.”
“No. I’m leaving the office,” said Harry, saying the first thing that came into his head. “I’ll call again in one hour.”
“As you wish.”
“He’s busy,” he said to Lucia as he replaced the handset.
“Do you think they are playing games?”
“Possible.”
“Did you used to play games like that?”
“All the time.”
“Then what would you do?”
“She says he has Arthur’s number so that means they’ve spoken; that much is true. And if he thought it was urgent, he’d have broken off his meeting. So it’s too relaxed to be a trick. Maybe he just wants to be sure who he’s talking to.”
“What do we do about the Montis?”
“We keep driving back to Belleview every day until we see a car parked in the drive or some signs of life. Trouble is, the cowboy will eventually call the police if we keep snooping around. But we can’t waste any time.”
“If you are right about Arthur, then Kessler is on his way to Las Vegas.”
They both knew what would happen if he was wrong. If Arthur wasn’t the source of Kessler’s information, then somehow, he would turn up in Belleview, Illinois. The irony was not lost on him; he now needed Arthur to be the enemy in order to stay in control. He looked at his watch and made a quick calculation.
“It’s nine thirty. That makes it four thirty in Berlin. If I know Johnny he’ll knock off soon so I can’t wait an hour if I’m going to speak to him today.”
“What is ‘knock off’?” she said, looking genuinely puzzled. He laughed and put his hand behind her neck, pulling her towards him.
“I love you, Lucia Girardi,” he said, kissing her and dragging her backwards onto the bed. He started to unbutton her blouse from the bottom up and she wriggled under him.
“What is ‘knock off’?” She giggled as his hand tickled her flesh but then suddenly, he stopped. He sat up and lifted the handset. He dialled the number again and waited. This time, he skipped the preamble.
“I have important information regarding Major Harry Male.” It took fifteen seconds.
“Transferring you to a secure line,” said the operator.
Another pop and crackle and then a familiar voice.
“Arthur! Good to hear from you. What news?”
“It’s Harry.” There was a pause on the line while it sank in.
“Harry? Is that you? Where the hell are you?”
“Never mind that, Johnny, why are you trying to trace me?”
“I’m not trying to trace you, old man, just wanted to give you some news, that’s all.”
Johnny sounded like his old self and Harry desperately wanted to believe he was still a friend, still on his side and not another one of the enemy. That would be too much to bear.
“How do you know Arthur Rowland?” he said, brusque and detached. There was another pause. Johnny trying to think up a lie?
“Well, that’s part of the news. I don’t really know him, but I have spoken to him.”
“Do you know him or don’t you?”
“Harry, listen. You know the last day you were here, just before the suits interrogated you and then put you in jail?”
“Go on.”
“There was a letter on your desk.” The letter from Arthur about his father. “They’d already read it and copied it. They’d been through all your stuff. They’d already come to the conclusion you weren’t involved in the Bergmann thing but then you resigned suddenly and they thought they’d better keep an eye on you, just in case.” Harry said nothing, his mind whirling with possibilities. “They got the spooks in London to tap Arthur Rowland’s phone, so they knew where you were all the time. We have transcripts of all your calls and loads more besides.”
His mind went into overdrive. Arthur’s phone had been tapped, all his calls recorded and put down on paper. They’d been read, reviewed, discussed and assessed, all presumably, in interests of national security. Discussed with whom?
“Who read them, Johnny?”
“Er, I did.”
“And who did you tell?”
“No one!”
“Come off it!” Harry felt the heat rising in his neck.
“No. No, honest to God, Harry. I didn’t tell anyone because there was nothing to tell. It was all routine stuff. The suits weren’t really interested and I reported to Webb that you were just on holiday, which was the truth. They just got filed and forgotten.” Johnny sounded peeved he had to defend himself. If only you knew.
Harry exploded. “Well, someone knew, Johnny, because while you morons over there had your heads up your arse playing with your phone taps pretending you were looking for a mole, I was being pursued by a fucking psychopath who knew where I was every step of the way!”
“What psychopath?”
“Kessler, dammit!”
“What? The bloke who killed Bergmann?”
“Yes!”
“Kessler’s trying to rub you out?”
“Charmingly put, Johnny. Yes, Ernst Kessler has already tried once and he’s likely to try again! So who’s giving him the gen?”
“That’s why I’m trying to get hold of you. To tell you you’re in the clear. We found the mole, Harry. We got him!”
Harry Male would have punched Johnny Bristow if he hadn’t been four thousand miles away. His erstwhile friend and colleague sounded more enthusiastic about finding the mole than he was about Harry’s safety.
“Who?”
“Military attaché at the embassy. Stuffed shirt called Travers.” Harry knew him vaguely. Travers was on the JIC and they’d met twice, once at an embassy function and again at an official briefing a couple of years ago. Pompous. Arrogant. But it still made no sense.
“So how did Travers get the intel about Bergmann and me?”
“Well, he knew all about Bergmann through the JIC, but he got the rest through Roger Simpson.”
“Who the bloody hell is Roger Simpson?” Harry was losing it but he felt Lucia’s arms around his waist and it calmed him.
“Spotty kid. In the tech section. Stripy tank top.” Roger. The young man who’d showed him the film. “He was just the courier. The stooge. Travers was the main man. He was a double for years, we now think.”
“Was?”
“They’re dead, Harry. Assassinated. Bullets in the brain, naked in Roger’s flat. Coitus-not-quite-interruptus if you get my drift.”
“They were homosexuals?”
“Faggots. Yes indeed. Roger was feeding Travers the stuff about you. We found a sheaf of your transcripts covered in blood and, er, you know what, together with a dossier on Travers, photos of his indiscretions, details of his Swiss bank and the codes for his handlers. It’s been a big, big win.”
“Well, bully for you, Johnny. I couldn’t be more pleased.” Harry was fuming but he was also worried. How much of the transcripts had they found? “When did this happen?”
“Yesterday.”
“So you got straight on the phone just to tell me I was being monitored but now I was in the clear?”
“Not just that, old chap.”
“Then what?”
“Webb wants you back.”
“Say again?” Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Webb. He wants you back. He said he always knew you were innocent and a valuable member of the department. He’s cleared it with the suits and he wants you to have your old job back. Thought it would sound better coming from me.”
Harry had to fight hard to suppress his anger. “Tell him I’m a bit busy at the moment, old chap. Ernst Kessler just assassinated Travers and Simpson and thanks to you bloody idiots, he’s coming after me.”
***
They sat in a restaurant that had a veranda overlooking the Mississippi River, picking at their food and sipping their Budweisers.
“What is this they call pizza? It has everything on it at the same time. Not made by Italians. It should be thin and crispy at the edge with tomato sauce and mozzarella and maybe a little herbs,” she said, picking off lumps of ham, green pepper and mushrooms and eating them separately. “They have given me two meals on the same plate!”
“The Americans try to make everything bigger and better.”
“Not better!” she said, outraged at the suggestion anyone could improve on Italian pizza. Passionate as ever. “When do we go to Belleview?”
“We go straight after lunch. If they’re travelling back from somewhere they won’t arrive till later in the day. We can have a couple of runs past and if they’re not there by seven we can come back and try again tomorrow.”
“What if the big cowboy is there?”
It was a risk, he knew. If their neighbour saw them again he’d probably call the police and Harry would be forced to explain what they were doing there. He’d wanted to speak to the Montis first but the sands were shifting again and he wasn’t certain in which direction. He had already made an assessment and there could be no doubt.
“I last spoke to Arthur yesterday afternoon their time. The recordings wouldn’t have reached Berlin until yesterday evening and transcribed this morning at the earliest. Travers and Simpson were already dead by then so there is no way Kessler could have got our fake intel that the Montis are in Las Vegas. As far as he’s concerned, they’re still here in Belleview. So if he got a flight to New York today and another to St Louis tomorrow, he could be here in a couple of days.”
“Waiting with us for the Montis to come back from their vacation,” she said, chewing on a thick lump of pizza dough.
“Which means we may have to go to the police sooner rather than later.”
“Are you going back to your job?” she said casually, but she’d averted her eyes and he could tell she was worried. He reached out a hand and squeezed it.
“Not a chance in hell. That’s over. My new life started with you. There’s no going back for either of us.”
She smiled weakly and he knew why. The final chapter was about to be played out and he had no idea how it would end.