"Hopefully we won't be here that long. That's where you come in."
"Where to?"
"I don't know yet. And I won't until Amani gets it all together. He starts making his phone calls this afternoon."
"My first thought is still to get the hell out of this."
Carter shrugged. "Your choice, but I can sweeten the pot."
"With Uncle Sam's money or Amani's?"
"Amani's."
Henry finished his brandy and took a long pull on his cigar. "Then I'm in. The number I gave you is here at the château. "You still have it?"
"Yes."
He stood. "Keep me posted."
"I will."
Celeste Rombouard met them at the front door. "Ah, Monsieur Carter, you must leave us so soon?"
"Yes, I'm afraid I must, Countess," Carter said. "The lunch was excellent."
"Merci," she replied with a graceful nod, then placed her hand lightly on his arm. "We are planning a small get-together this weekend — a few passe nobles, some politicians, an American millionaire or two. It will be wonderful laughs. Please come!"
Carter hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. "I'm terribly sorry, Countess, but I fear I will be abroad… on business."
She threw up her hands in mock despair. "Ah, business is such a bore! I keep telling Jason to retire, but he says he doesn't want to be a gigolo and live on my money!"
Carter grinned. "Perhaps, Countess, if our business goes well, Monsieur Henry will be able to retire on his own money."
Nick Carter drove leisurely back to Paris. Carlotta was playing Italian mama when he arrived at the apartment, in the kitchen, elbow-deep in pasta.
He heard the shower running in the bath.
"Amani?"
She nodded. "It's the second shower he's taken since we got back. He says it's necessary to get the scum of Montferrato off his skin."
"He's a many-sided old man," Carter mused.
"He's a revolutionary terrorist with an ego that will allow him to do anything," Carlotta said icily. "I see only one side of him. I've seen his victims."
"Touché. How went the afternoon?"
"Well, I think. He made four calls, each lasting at least fifteen minutes. From the amount of coins I saw him drop, at least three of them were out of the country.
"What was his mood after the last one?"
"Absolutely jovial. We had a drink and lunch, and he treated me like a long-lost daughter."
"Then he trusts you?"
"Completely, I think. But then he should. I laid the groundwork well."
"Did he mention…?"
"…when we leave?" It was as if she read Carter's thoughts. "Yes, the day after tomorrow."
"But not where?"
"No. But I've warned him that if the distance is great, extra tanks must be installed on the plane. We must know ahead of time."
"Ah, Kashmir, my friend!"
Carter turned. Amani was lumbering through the living room, vigorously rubbing his now much shorter gray hair with a towel.
"Amani," Carter said.
"I want you to get me a number of flight maps. The list is there, on the phone table. Ah, Carlotta, pasta! Tonight we feast!"
Carter read the list: Switzerland, France, Italy, Spain, North Africa.
My God, Carter thought, it could be anywhere.
Pietro Amani had wasted no time recementing his control over the Liberta.
The next morning's Paris dailies, as well as the International Herald Tribune, carried the story of Nicolo Palmori's assassination. It had taken place in a cellar under a cafe and apartment house in Florence.
Nordo Compari and two underlings had been killed along with him.
After reading the accounts, Carlotta had a single, terse comment. "That leaves Pocky, Wombo, and Sophia Palmori… all of them more dangerous than the old man himself."
"And with revenge added to their bloodlust," Carter said, "they'll be even deadlier."
A half hour later, Amani emerged from the inner sanctum of his bedroom and beamed over the news stories.
"Retribution is sweet" was his only comment.
Carlotta retreated to the kitchen. Carter steeled himself.
"If we re leaving tomorrow night, Amani, I'm going to need some information today."
"You will have it. First, here are the cables I want you to send this morning."
Carter took them, gave them a quick read, and nodded noncommittally.
They were gobbledygook; all resembled letters of no consequence to friends or old family members. They were signed "Father," and their destinations were Bern, Rome, Frankfurt, and Cordoba.
"I'll get them off right away," Carter said. "I hope the one to Switzerland is my money."
"It is," Amani replied. "The account number is encoded within the text of the cable."
Carter was surprised. Amani's fingers still reached a lot farther than the boys in the AXE think tank had surmised.
"What else?"
"Signore Henry's plane is still hangered in Orleans?"
Carter nodded. "A private — very private — strip just south of the town."
"Excellent."
The old man smoothed a large piece of onion skin between them.
It was an intricately drawn flight plan from Orleans to X. It had altitudes, distance, approximate flight time, and codes for international clearance.
The only problem was X. There were no identifying landmarks, or names of cities or villages, to give Carter a hint as to the direction in which they'd be flying.
"What about coordinates and landing facilities?" Carter ventured.
The old man's smile was impish, with one eye blinked shut. "I will give you those when we are safely in the air."
"You're a careful man, Amani," Carter said.
"Very. I was lax and trusting just once in my life. It cost me the years in Montferrato. I won't be so foolish again."
Carter shrugged. "It's your party. I'll need seed money today."
"I called in a letter of withdrawal to my Geneva bank. You can pick the funds up anytime today at Credit Suisse here in Paris."
"Under the DuBain name?"
"Yes."
Eric DuBain was on the new passport Carter had picked up the previous evening, courtesy of the Paris AXE office. He also had acquired passports under new names for Carlotta and Amani.
"That's it then. I'll get to Henry."
"And I'll make my final calls."
Amani retreated to the bedroom, and Carter joined Carlotta in the kitchen.
"Watch him like a hawk. He's a smart old bird, and there's no telling what he might try to pull."
"I will."
"If anyone — I mean anyone — gets close enough to pass him something, or even whisper to him, get a picture!"
"You can count on it."
"I'm ready!" Amani called from the living room.
"Good luck," Carter murmured as Carlotta moved through the kitchen door.
They were barely out the door, when Carter was at the phone, dialing.
"Oui?" It was Celeste Rombouard's musical voice.
"Countess, I would like to speak to Jason, please."
"Ah, Monsieur Carter, I recognize your voice. It is like basso at the opera! Jason is sleeping at the moment. Is it important?"
"It is."
"Then I shall awaken him. One moment."
It was about five minutes before Jason Henry's raspy, sleep-filled voice came on the line. "Yeah?"
"How'd you do?" Carter asked.
"Cars and guns are ready. The plane is set. All I need to know about are the tanks and clearances. Also, I should file a flight plan for Customs by tonight. Where the hell are we going?"
"That's still in the dark." Carter sighed heavily. "I need to see you this afternoon. Where can we meet?"