"Yes?"
"One of the men in the courtyard today… Anzio…?"
"What about him?"
"He is in the infirmary. They say he bleeds bad inside. They say be will die."
"So?"
The little man shrugged and smiled, showing crooked and broken teeth. "It matters no more to me than to you if the pig dies, but he has friends."
"And that means that I need friends, right?"
The smile grew wider and uglier. "That is right. In here, there are only two kinds of men, signore… common pig criminals like Anzio and political prisoners such as myself."
"Headed by Pietro Amani."
True. Since you already have some affiliation with the Liberta, it would be wise for you to seek out Signore Amani and request his protection."
"For a price, no doubt."
Again the shrug. "Signore Amani respects the fact that you were aiding the Liberia when you were arrested, but in here you roust earn your own way. A man like you, with your talent, could be very useful to our side."
"No, thanks."
"Signore Kashmir. Signore Amani does not take no for an answer. He is a boss, and bosses must control."
"Not me."
The grin faded. "This is the only offer that will be made."
"Tell Signore Amani to stick his offer up his ass."
It was about midnight when Carter beard a key being inserted in his cell door. Through one slitted eye he saw Amani's emissary, little Ferret Face, sliding the door to the side.
He was expecting it. If they wont join you, do away with them. It was the rule. It maintained discipline. No one is supposed to buck the bosses.
The little man moved like a cat on soft-soled shoes through the door. Carter saw his hand move to his belt, then down to his side.
It would either be a makeshift stiletto or an ice pick. Probably the latter, they were easier to come by. As for the key to his cell, any inmate could get it, with the right bribe to the right guard.
It was the quickest way to solve a problem: an ice pick in the ear and a quiet burial outside the walls.
Carter waited until he saw the arm start down before he reached up with his left hand and locked his fingers around the man's wrist. At the same time, he kicked out and scissored his legs around the man's middle.
When his feet were locked behind the other's back, Carter pulled him in. Carter twisted the wrist around and filled his right hand with the man's greasy hair.
It was an ice pick, and now its sharp needle point was just drawing blood under the man's upthrust, stretched chin.
"Amani sent you."
Silence.
"You're going to die anyway."
"No… no…"
"Yes."
Carter rammed his shoulder against his left hand, sending the ice pick through the man's throat and up into his brain.
After shutting and locking the cell door, he stuffed the body under the cot. Then he lay down and set the alarm in his head at four hours.
A few seconds after four A.M., he awoke. Ten minutes later the guard passed by, making his last round before dawn.
Carter waited until his footsteps had completely faded before rolling from the cot. He unlocked the door, then hoisted the corpse in a fireman's lift to his shoulder.
On stocking feet, he padded to the end of the corridor and down to the second level. At this time of the morning, sleep was deepest. Not a single head came up from a pillow nor was one snore interrupted as Carter passed the cells with his grisly burden.
Amani's cell was number fourteen on the second level. As silent as death. Carter slid the man's arms through the bars of Amani's cell and secured them with the corpse's own belt.
Five minutes later he was back in his own cell, sound asleep with the door locked and the key hidden in one leg of the cot.
Near the end of the exercise period that afternoon, Pietro Amani groaned into a bench beside Carter.
He was a big man, well over six feet, with a once powerful athletic body that was now going to fat. Carter knew him to be just past his sixtieth birthday, but he looked ten years younger.
"You are a very relentless man, Kashmir." He spoke without turning his head toward Carter, and his lips barely moved.
"Am I?"
"Removing Guido's body without a report to the warden cost me a great deal."
"Did it now?" Carter dropped the cigarette from his lips and ground it under his boot.
"I don't wish to have a private war with you, and I don't want to see you on the other side."
"You won't."
"Good. I didn't think so. Power is everything in here, don't you agree?"
"I do."
"You and I, we have many years yet behind these walls. You would do me a great favor if you would help me save face by at least nominally giving me your allegiance. I will ask no more of you, and I promise that in the years to come I can help you."
"I don't think so."
Amani's neck began to redden, and his body grew tense. Carter hastened to explain.
"You can do very little for me, Signore Amani, in the years to come, because I won't be here."
"What?"
"I plan on escaping."
The big Italian laughed, a low, rumbling laugh from deep in his gut. "Many have tried, Kashmir, many. And none have succeeded. With bribes we can do practically anything we want in here, but even with bribes we cannot get out."
"I can and without bribes."
Slowly the mane of gray hair moved until Carter was staring directly into the man's clear blue eyes.
"I think you mean it, Kashmir."
"I do," Carter replied. "If you're a gambling man, you can make book on it."
"When?"
"Within the week."
Carter practically saw the little light bulbs go on behind the man's eyes.
Within a week.
If he could escape, he could usurp Nicolo Palmori's authority and take over the Liberia again. He could meet with the Russians and begin again his reign of terror that would topple the Italian state.
"Tonight, please, come to my cell after lights out."
"Why?"
"Because, Signore Kashmir, if you can get me out of this pigsty and to a certain part of the world in nine days' time, I can put you in touch with certain people who, in your line of work, can make you a very rich man."
Nine
The apartment was in a building that was exactly like its neighbors in the hills above Montmartre. It contained a living room, two small bedrooms, a tiny kitchen, bathroom, and an entrance hall. The furniture was modern and cheap but comfortable.
It was perfect in every way, including privacy and security. Carlotta Polti had checked it out herself in every detail.
It would provide the perfect safe house after the break for herself, Carter, and Pietro Amani, until the old man dictated the next move.
The buzzer rang from five flights below, and Carlotta pressed the button. "Yes?"
"My name is Justin."
"Come up."
She buzzed the voice in and lifted her skirt. Attached to her right inner thigh with a soft chamois harness was a six-inch tube that looked like no more than a chrome pipe with a small plunger on one end. Actually, it was a single-shot pistol that carried a .44 dumdum slug.
From five feet or less, it could tear a man's side out.
Carlotta checked the load, dropped her skirt, and moved to answer the rap on the door.
She gazed through the peephole and then muttered in a low voice, "Move aside, please."
"I am alone."
"I said, move aside."
He did. When she was satisfied that he was indeed alone, she opened the door and moved back into the living room.
Jason Henry was a king-size man with a florid face that sported a habitual grin and a gleam in the eye that could only be described as mischievous.
Well, well," he said, moving to within a foot of Carlotta and letting his eyes enjoy what they saw.