overpowering him."
"Then what happens?"
"He does as he's told like a good boy and has your stepson brought to his house. Then we all leave by the front gate nice and quietly in Masmoudi's car. Drive straight to Gela and embark. At that time of night the tunny boats are out in force about ten miles off shore. One or two nets draped from our mast is all we need and we'll be lost in the crowd."
There was a lengthy silence while Stavrou looked at the map. I helped myself to Zibibbo. Finally, he turned to Barzini. "What do you think?"
"I'm going, aren't I?" Barzini pointed out.
"I don't know." Stavrou shook his head. "There are too many ifs."
"You're right," Barzini said cheerfully. "The plain truth is that if everything falls right for us, we can't fail, but if even one single item goes wrong then the whole house of cards comes tumbling down."
Stavrou nodded, looking at the map. "Justin has a point to make."
"And what might that be?" I said.
Langley grinned. "You're not going to like this, old stick, but it's a fact. Imagine you're walking across the courtyard of the prison wearing Libyan uniforms, making straight for Masmoudi's house."
"So what?"
"What happens when the sergeant of the guard or an officer, or even just a stray soldier calls out good night or asks you what you're doing?"
"Simple," Barzini said. "I'd say I'm on a special detail for the colonel."
"Oh, I see," Langley said. "I didn't realize you spoke Arabic."
There was a heavy silence and I said, "That's what's called not seeing the wood for the trees."
"You mean you don't speak Arabic either, old stick?" Langley said. "Never mind. I do."
Which was what the whole damned thing had been leading up to, of course. I saw it all now, just as I saw with equal certainty, that he was right.
"Okay," I said. "Welcome aboard." I turned to Stavrou. "Happy now?"
He smiled delightedly. "That's what I like about you, sir. You're a sport."
"Who's hot and thirsty and badly in need of a shower," I said. "Which is exactly what I'm now going to have," and I left them there and moved up through the garden to my room.
I took my time over the shower, going over the whole thing in my mind Stavrou was right--there were too many ifs, but I couldn't help that any more than I could help the business with Langley. He was right there also. The inability to make some sort of response in Arabic if required was just the sort of detail on which the whole thing could fail. Most Libyans spoke Italian, that was true, a relic of Mussolini's dreams of Empire, but not among themselves.
So, Langley would have to go, as Stavrou had obviously intended all along, to keep a watching brief. I didn't like the idea, but it was something we'd have to put up with.
I pulled on a bathrobe and went out into the living room towelling my hair. Simone was sitting on the terrace gazing out to sea. She didn't turn round so I draped the towel around my neck, went to the drinks trolley and mixed two large gin and tonics.
I put one on the wall in front of her and took the other chair. "Well?" I said.
She turned her head slowly to look at me. Her face was as calm, as enigmatic as usual, but there was something in the eyes. Some kind of personal hurt.
She said, with a kind of anger, "What do you expect me to do?"
"I don't expect you to do anything."
She picked up the gin and tonic, swallowed about half of it, then sat staring down into the glass, holding it in both hands. When she spoke it was obviously with great difficulty.
"Your sister--she's a nice person."
"I would have thought I'd made that plain enough to you a long time ago."
Somewhere not too far away, Hannah started to play. Ravel-- Pavane on the death of an Infanta. Infinitely beautiful in the still heat of the garden, touching something deep inside. Life itself, perhaps at the very center of things.
She was crying now, slow, heavy tears, and when she spoke her voice was hoarse and broken. "I suppose what I'm really trying to say is that
"Then what happens?"
"He does as he's told like a good boy and has your stepson brought to his house. Then we all leave by the front gate nice and quietly in Masmoudi's car. Drive straight to Gela and embark. At that time of night the tunny boats are out in force about ten miles off shore. One or two nets draped from our mast is all we need and we'll be lost in the crowd."
There was a lengthy silence while Stavrou looked at the map. I helped myself to Zibibbo. Finally, he turned to Barzini. "What do you think?"
"I'm going, aren't I?" Barzini pointed out.
"I don't know." Stavrou shook his head. "There are too many ifs."
"You're right," Barzini said cheerfully. "The plain truth is that if everything falls right for us, we can't fail, but if even one single item goes wrong then the whole house of cards comes tumbling down."
Stavrou nodded, looking at the map. "Justin has a point to make."
"And what might that be?" I said.
Langley grinned. "You're not going to like this, old stick, but it's a fact. Imagine you're walking across the courtyard of the prison wearing Libyan uniforms, making straight for Masmoudi's house."
"So what?"
"What happens when the sergeant of the guard or an officer, or even just a stray soldier calls out good night or asks you what you're doing?"
"Simple," Barzini said. "I'd say I'm on a special detail for the colonel."
"Oh, I see," Langley said. "I didn't realize you spoke Arabic."
There was a heavy silence and I said, "That's what's called not seeing the wood for the trees."
"You mean you don't speak Arabic either, old stick?" Langley said. "Never mind. I do."
Which was what the whole damned thing had been leading up to, of course. I saw it all now, just as I saw with equal certainty, that he was right.
"Okay," I said. "Welcome aboard." I turned to Stavrou. "Happy now?"
He smiled delightedly. "That's what I like about you, sir. You're a sport."
"Who's hot and thirsty and badly in need of a shower," I said. "Which is exactly what I'm now going to have," and I left them there and moved up through the garden to my room.
I took my time over the shower, going over the whole thing in my mind Stavrou was right--there were too many ifs, but I couldn't help that any more than I could help the business with Langley. He was right there also. The inability to make some sort of response in Arabic if required was just the sort of detail on which the whole thing could fail. Most Libyans spoke Italian, that was true, a relic of Mussolini's dreams of Empire, but not among themselves.
So, Langley would have to go, as Stavrou had obviously intended all along, to keep a watching brief. I didn't like the idea, but it was something we'd have to put up with.
I pulled on a bathrobe and went out into the living room towelling my hair. Simone was sitting on the terrace gazing out to sea. She didn't turn round so I draped the towel around my neck, went to the drinks trolley and mixed two large gin and tonics.
I put one on the wall in front of her and took the other chair. "Well?" I said.
She turned her head slowly to look at me. Her face was as calm, as enigmatic as usual, but there was something in the eyes. Some kind of personal hurt.
She said, with a kind of anger, "What do you expect me to do?"
"I don't expect you to do anything."
She picked up the gin and tonic, swallowed about half of it, then sat staring down into the glass, holding it in both hands. When she spoke it was obviously with great difficulty.
"Your sister--she's a nice person."
"I would have thought I'd made that plain enough to you a long time ago."
Somewhere not too far away, Hannah started to play. Ravel-- Pavane on the death of an Infanta. Infinitely beautiful in the still heat of the garden, touching something deep inside. Life itself, perhaps at the very center of things.
She was crying now, slow, heavy tears, and when she spoke her voice was hoarse and broken. "I suppose what I'm really trying to say is that
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