"This must be him," Brown rumbled.
A Ferrari sports car had lurched to a halt just beyond the door. Rudolfi got out and stood beside it, gazing speculatively at the tour bus. He left the Ferrari's door standing open and walked around for a look at the front of the bus, then entered the chateau through the main entrance.
Roxanne excused herself and went through the passageway to the entrance hall. She reacted visibly at sight of Rudolfi. His right hand was bandaged and his hat was pushed back to clear the forehead where an angry circular blister marred the handsome features. Some sort of medicated ointment had been applied to the burn, only adding to the ugliness of it. Silently Rudolfi removed the hat and gave it to the woman. A small area of scalp atop his head had been shaven clean and an adhesive bandage applied there. His eyes were wild.
Roxanne asked no questions, but announced, "The Americans are in the game room."
He said, "Yes, and encamped upon the grounds. I do not want to..."
"Their mood is nasty and their patience is gone."
"I will be down in a moment. I must..."
Lavagni stepped in and said, "Ay, Monzoor. Where the hell you been?"
"At the hospital," he snapped. "An accident. I am not feeling well, Lavagni. Can we talk in the morning?"
"It's already morning," Lavagni declared. He could see that the Monzoor was not his usual suave self, but this was no time for tea and tears. "And we already lost four hours too many. We better talk right now. I got a message for you. From th' council." Lavagni spun about and returned along the passageway to the game room.
Roxanne whispered, "These men are extremely dangerous. I would recommend that we conclude our business and permit them to leave."
Rudolfi nodded gloomily and followed Lavagni toward the game room. Roxanne stopped him and helped him out of his overcoat. He groaned as the bandaged hand passed through the sleeve. She hissed, "What happened?"
"Bolan," he sighed, and went on.
Roxanne carried the coat and hat to a closet, neatly put them away, then sank into a chair and lowered her face into her hands.
Lavagni was introducing "the boys" to their host. Rudolfi murmured a polite greeting and went to the bar. Lavagni said, "Accident, eh?"
He replied, "Yes," and filled a tumbler with bourbon.
The Washington Caporegime withdrew a notebook from his breast pocket. "That message, Monzoor. You prob'ly can't read my scratchings, so I'll read it to you. This is a directive, and it's straight from you know where. Thomas J. Rudolfi, Paris. Extend every co-operation and assistance to Anthony P. Lavagni and his touring party. Spare no expense and/or personal inconvenience toward assurance of a successful tour. Assure that all official and legal arrangements are both adequate and conducive to continued goodwill. Undertake no independent actions or activities which could conflict with the schedule for this tour. It's signed Better Trade Council. You'll get a copy by cablegram, so don't get no ideas of laughing it off."
Rudolfi sighed and sipped at the bourbon. "Why should I wish to laugh it off? Orders from the top are orders from the top. Of course we will provide every necessity for your tour, Anthony P. Lavagni."
"That burn on your forehead. It looks like somebody branded you."
"Perhaps."
"With a red hot barrel."
"How many members of your party?"
"Fifty-seven. We chartered a jet. We'll be going back the same way, same jet."
"When?"
"When the tour is completed. We expect to have fifty-eight goin' back. I gave all the stuff to Roxanne. You see to it we don't have no problems at the airport when we decide to leave. Also I don't know that I dig those Interpol credentials. They look phony."
"The real article often does. I assure you that they are entirely genuine and will be respected by any policeman in France."
"Well allright but you better be damn sure. I ain't leaving no boys of mine in no bastille, Monzoor. It's a lot easier keepin' them out than it is gettin' them out. You remember that."
"Pray that you do not leave any in a grave."
"You let me worry about that. What've you been doing to get yourself all bunged up like that? Arnie told you to lay off."
"Arnie does not command France," Rudolfi haughtily replied.
"The hell he don't. He's got a seat, remember that, and that seat says he commands."
"But that seat does not command the lion, eh?"
"What lion?"
"The lion called Bolan."
Lavagni snickered. "Bolan ain't no lion. Except maybe around pussy cats."
Rudolfi's lips curled back in a sneer. "He has killed twenty good men this day, and they were not pussy cats!"
Quick Tony whistled softly and said, "Twenty? Last count I heard was seven or eight."
"It is now twenty."
"And one branded," Lavagni added solemnly. "Okay, you better tell me about it. No wait that can wait. I wanta get the boys busy. They're goin' nuts." He swiveled about and whistled at the men at the billiard table. They straggled over to the bar, hard looking men who obviously were not easily excited.
Lavagni began issuing instructions. "Mario your crew gets the airport personnel. Track down every one of 'em that was on duty when that plane came in last night. You know what to ask and how to handle it. Don't pass up anything, I mean not the littlest hint. We wanta know exactly what happened after that plane landed, right up until two hours afterward. Okay, Sammy your crew takes the airline bunch, th' plane crew. I don't care where you have to go to find 'em Rome or Timbuctu you find 'em. Pilot, copilot, hostesses, the whole smear. You know what we want. Angelo, I want you..."
"I can save you all this trouble," Rudolfi interrupted.
"You ain't savin' us nothing," Lavagni growled. "We're startin' at the start and we're going through with a sieve. Angelo your crew gets the cabbies, the subway people, the car rental places, airport buses, you know what. Don't overlook the littlest possibility. If somebody farted on a subway, you better know what it smelled like.
"Zinger and Littlefingers, you two divvy up the hotels. There's a lot of 'em, I know, but we gotta hit 'em all. Make it a quick skim, you can't spend too much time on each one or we'll be here a month. Start over on th' crummy side o' town, you know where, and fan through there solid.
"Now you all know what we're after, and I don't have to tell you again how Mr. Castiglione feels about this whole thing. He don't want Bolan's empty sack, he wants the guy hisself so you know how to play it. Yon don't go jumping the guy, no matter how easy it looks, you don't go making no direct moves at all. We all check in every hour on the hour, you know where I'll be. When we get a sniff, we don't wanta go chasing lost crews around. It's a big town and we wanta be in close touch. Now remember you play it cool. You spot the guy, you lay off and let me'n Wils go in and work the snatch. It's gonna be that simple, so there's no sense anybody gettin' hisself hurt or in law trouble.
"Monzoor has us all covered with the legal stuff, so don't get bashful neither. Throw your weight around on th' frogs if you need to, threaten 'em with arrest, anything you need to get cooperation but listen you all know this we don't dare go home without this Bolan in our mitts. Yon know?"
The hardmen knew. They went out and gathered their crews into the bus and departed. Wilson Brown came inside, went to the bar, and carried a bottle to a couch and made himself comfortable.