him. The guy’s a real crazy.”
Cortlandt gazed at Peter Walters. He seemed to be way ahead somewhere and thinking of other things.
“That’s just the point,” he said. “Homaidi’s far from a crazy. He’s a brilliant fanatic with a cause he’s willing to kill
and die for. He’s never alone. He has better security than most heads of state. And he’s already cost us two good men who
were just as gung ho as you for a go at him.”
“You mean I’m the
third
choice for this?”
“You might not even be that. I haven’t decided yet.”
“You really know how to build up a guy’s confidence.”
“The first two weren’t mine. They came from other stations. You were my ace in the hole. I didn’t want to use you unless I
had to.”
“Why the devil not?”
“Pure self-interest. Homaidi’s such a dangerous longshot, I didn’t want to risk losing my best.”
Cortlandt leaned toward the gunman, studying him, intruding into every corner with his eyes. “And also because I know you’ve got a wife and little boy who need you even more than
I do.”
Peter sat there with it, unmoving. A light breeze came off the Pyrenees and he breathed it in, but its scent was that of a
freshly opened grave.
When he spoke, his voice was flat. “How long have you known?”
“Almost as long as I’ve known you. Which makes it close to eight years. I could never entirely trust a man I knew nothing
about, a man who had no human ties. So I stuck a beeper on your car when we met one day near Rome, and followed you back to
Positano.”
Tommy paused. “You needn’t worry. That was solely for my own needs. No one else has ever known.”
Peter just stared at him, his eyes were cold, chipped glass.
“It’s been all these years,” said Cortlandt. “If I meant you harm, it would have happened a long time ago.”
“What else do you know?”
“Your real name.”
“Say it for me.”
“Vittorio Battaglia.”
Just hearing it from someone else’s mouth after nine years brought a chill.
“How did you find out?”
“I lifted a set of prints from a car door and checked them when I was in Washington. You don’t have to worry about that, either.
I hit the computer buttons myself. No one else saw.”
Peter’s automatic was suddenly in his hand, its muzzle against Cortlandt’s throat.
“If no one else saw it,” he said coldly, “why shouldn’t I do you right now and not have to worry at all?”
If Cortlandt showed any expression, it was one of total absorption in Peter Walters’ question. “You mean you want reasons?”
“Damn right.”
“Because for one thing,” said Cortlandt, “you know by now I’m your friend, and it’s not your nature to shoot friends.”
“If I feel my wife and son’s lives are threatened, I can change my nature and find another friend.”
“I don’t believe you really think I’d betray you and your family.”
“Maybe not willingly. But when our balls are in a wringer, we’d all happily sell our own mothers.” Peter’s gun was tight against
Tommy’s throat. “Go on.”
“Well, you do have to be wondering why I’d suddenly be idiot enough to tell you all this after eight years of silence. You
know there has to be a reason, and you’re certainly not going to do me without hearing what it is.”
Something stirred in the car, and Peter lowered his automatic. He had been watching Tommy’s eyes all the way, and they hadn’t
blinked once.
“I guess I’m ready to hear.”
“It happened the other day,” said Cortlandt. “It was in one of those bulletins Interpol is always circulating to consulates,
embassies, and police stations. It said Vittorio Battaglia was wanted by the FBI on assorted counts of murder and kidnapping.”
He paused, waiting for Peter Walters to react, to say something. But Peter just sat gazing off somewhere, with the automatic
in his lap.
“There was a picture, too,” said the COS. “But it didn’t look anything
Cortlandt gazed at Peter Walters. He seemed to be way ahead somewhere and thinking of other things.
“That’s just the point,” he said. “Homaidi’s far from a crazy. He’s a brilliant fanatic with a cause he’s willing to kill
and die for. He’s never alone. He has better security than most heads of state. And he’s already cost us two good men who
were just as gung ho as you for a go at him.”
“You mean I’m the
third
choice for this?”
“You might not even be that. I haven’t decided yet.”
“You really know how to build up a guy’s confidence.”
“The first two weren’t mine. They came from other stations. You were my ace in the hole. I didn’t want to use you unless I
had to.”
“Why the devil not?”
“Pure self-interest. Homaidi’s such a dangerous longshot, I didn’t want to risk losing my best.”
Cortlandt leaned toward the gunman, studying him, intruding into every corner with his eyes. “And also because I know you’ve got a wife and little boy who need you even more than
I do.”
Peter sat there with it, unmoving. A light breeze came off the Pyrenees and he breathed it in, but its scent was that of a
freshly opened grave.
When he spoke, his voice was flat. “How long have you known?”
“Almost as long as I’ve known you. Which makes it close to eight years. I could never entirely trust a man I knew nothing
about, a man who had no human ties. So I stuck a beeper on your car when we met one day near Rome, and followed you back to
Positano.”
Tommy paused. “You needn’t worry. That was solely for my own needs. No one else has ever known.”
Peter just stared at him, his eyes were cold, chipped glass.
“It’s been all these years,” said Cortlandt. “If I meant you harm, it would have happened a long time ago.”
“What else do you know?”
“Your real name.”
“Say it for me.”
“Vittorio Battaglia.”
Just hearing it from someone else’s mouth after nine years brought a chill.
“How did you find out?”
“I lifted a set of prints from a car door and checked them when I was in Washington. You don’t have to worry about that, either.
I hit the computer buttons myself. No one else saw.”
Peter’s automatic was suddenly in his hand, its muzzle against Cortlandt’s throat.
“If no one else saw it,” he said coldly, “why shouldn’t I do you right now and not have to worry at all?”
If Cortlandt showed any expression, it was one of total absorption in Peter Walters’ question. “You mean you want reasons?”
“Damn right.”
“Because for one thing,” said Cortlandt, “you know by now I’m your friend, and it’s not your nature to shoot friends.”
“If I feel my wife and son’s lives are threatened, I can change my nature and find another friend.”
“I don’t believe you really think I’d betray you and your family.”
“Maybe not willingly. But when our balls are in a wringer, we’d all happily sell our own mothers.” Peter’s gun was tight against
Tommy’s throat. “Go on.”
“Well, you do have to be wondering why I’d suddenly be idiot enough to tell you all this after eight years of silence. You
know there has to be a reason, and you’re certainly not going to do me without hearing what it is.”
Something stirred in the car, and Peter lowered his automatic. He had been watching Tommy’s eyes all the way, and they hadn’t
blinked once.
“I guess I’m ready to hear.”
“It happened the other day,” said Cortlandt. “It was in one of those bulletins Interpol is always circulating to consulates,
embassies, and police stations. It said Vittorio Battaglia was wanted by the FBI on assorted counts of murder and kidnapping.”
He paused, waiting for Peter Walters to react, to say something. But Peter just sat gazing off somewhere, with the automatic
in his lap.
“There was a picture, too,” said the COS. “But it didn’t look anything
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