“I’ve given that some thought,” Momma said, a concerned parent helping solve a child’s problems. “If Jason would sign on to just investigate this matter … Well, there’s no reason for him to get involved in the actual operation but he — and you if you wish — would be working from a safe and secure base.”
“Like I said, I’m retired. Besides, there are a lot of places on the face of the earth I haven’t seen yet.”
Momma switched directions as quickly as an unsuccessful base-stealer caught in a rundown. She stood. “Well, don’t say I didn’t try, Jason. After our long relationship, it seemed fitting to offer you safe haven when you needed it, but you have always been an independent soul.”
“Wait,” Maria had a hand on Momma’s massive arm. “Exactly where did you have in mind?”
“For the moment, Iceland, of course.”
11
“Iceland?” Maria asked, her excitement obvious.
“What’s with Iceland?” Jason asked.
Momma looked at him. “I thought I said that: It’s where Boris is now. In a hospital, not talking to police.”
“Perfect!”
They both tuned to Maria.
“It’s perfect,” she said again. “About one hundred and thirty volcanoes, including Eyjafjallajökull, its monster eruptions shut down European air travel for nearly two months in 2010.”
She made it sound like an accomplishment.
“Thermal volcanoes, too, like Yellowstone in the United States. I haven’t been there in years.” Her enthusiasm ebbed as she turned to face Jason. Why can’t we go?”
Both Jason and Momma were staring at her.
Jason noted Momma’s eyes narrow slightly, a sure sign something devious was going on behind them. “Excellent! If you and I can persuade Jason to manage to find out what happened to Boris, your expertise will be very helpful. Maybe my company might sponsor a trip down inside this, er, big volcano. How many people would that involve?”
Jason was instantly suspicious. “How?”
“Well,” Momma said sweetly, “you know I can’t divulge a confidence, but I can say Boris was in Iceland on a matter related to the geology of the place.”
Jason was having a hard time seeing anyone getting shot over the study of rocks, plus Momma’s penchant for scheme and intrigue was as indigenous to her nature as heat and rain to her native Haiti.
“Exactly what would you expect Jason to do?” Maria wanted to know, obviously enticed by the prospect of a funded expedition.
Momma studied thin air for a theatrical moment. “Well, honey, he’s already indicated he doesn’t want to be directly involved in anything risky. All I’m asking him to do is find out what happened to an old friend, come back, and tell me.”
“You wouldn’t expect him to participate in anything if there’s trouble, anything violent?”
Momma gave her head a slight shake. “He’s far too valuable to risk.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
Jason felt like a goat being haggled over in some Middle Eastern bazaar.
“You’re sure?”
“Of course, sweetie.” Momma had on her most innocent face, a sure sign of deception.
“No violence, no killing?”
Momma shrugged, a human earthquake. “Just information gathering.”
Momma’s voice had taken on that musical lilt of Haiti’s patois again, an indication she was pleased with the way things were going.
“But you don’t intend to initiate violent action, and if it does happen, Jason won’t be involved.” A statement, not a question.
“Of course not.”
Was Maria’s objection to violence personal rather than generic, practical rather than altruistic? Or was the possibility of being able to fully explore a recent volcanic eruption too inviting to pass up?
Maria was silent, thinking.
Momma rose again, this time motioning to Semedi. “It’s been wonderful to meet you, Maria. I hope you can find a safe place. I know you and Jason will be happy together there. But I’ve got a crisis to handle.”
The ploy worked.
Maria also stood. “No, wait! If you can fund an exploration of the volcanic activity and you are sure Jason will only be involved in gathering facts …”
A fish that had swallowed the bait whole could be less securely hooked.
Narcom’s operations had as much chance of being nonviolent as an NHL hockey game did.
Jason started to remind both women that it was, after all, his decision, then stopped. He could protest, decline to participate. And then? He was still going to have to move, disrupt his life again to escape his enemies, having to look over his shoulder again here in the Bay of Naples or somewhere else. Going to Iceland wasn’t going to put an end to that, but it would be better than the running and hiding. Besides, his whole life had been a series of actions until three years ago. The brief encounter in Africa had reminded him how much he missed the excitement, the rush of life-and-death decisions.
In any event, he and Maria could not stay here, not with today’s attack. It would be followed by others.
He kept his mouth shut and listened before asking questions.
12
From the outside door of the upstairs loggia, Jason and Maria watched Momma’s departure until Jason checked his watch.
“We’re gonna have to move if we’re gonna make the hydrofoil. Momma might change her mind about letting us use the Gulfstream out of Naples.”
Maria took a long look around. “You plan on leaving today?”
“You heard what the lady said: whoever made the try this afternoon isn’t going to quit, and I’d just as soon not be home when they try again. Gianna can take care of the house as well as Pangloss and Robespierre. I’d suggest you start packing.”
“I’ve hardly unpacked.”
“So much the better, but you’d better add some warm clothes. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to throw a few things into a suitcase.”
Once alone in the bedroom, Jason locked the door. If Maria tried to get in, he would have to think of an excuse. Kneeling before an eighteenth-century chest on a stand, he felt along the bottom until his fingers found what he was probing for. There was the sound of tearing tape and he sat back on his heels, unwrapping an oilskin package. The rich smell of Hoppe’s Elite Gun Oil filled his nostrils as he unwrapped his special double-edged knife in its special sheath with two straps, which he bound to his right leg just below the knee. Next, he gently unfolded the cloth from around a Glock 18 9 mm pistol and two extra clips, fully loaded. The gun was a version of the Glock 17 but with an automatic-fire option. With a thirty-three-shot double-stack clip, its firepower made up for the lack of accuracy of a barrel just short of four and a half inches. You could fill the air with a lot of lead very quickly.
Sliding back the action, he verified that the automatic already had a magazine in it. The gun went into a holster he clipped to his belt at the small of his back.
Momma was not all generosity. She knew better than to mention in front of Maria that use of her private aircraft meant not only convenience, but also an opportunity to carry weapons, a subtle way of telling him he might well need them. Hardly the peaceful intelligence gathering she had promised Maria.
Finally, Jason selected several CDs from a stack in a bedside table and placed them in a special container. He toyed with the idea of taking a few brushes and tubes of pigment before discarding the thought. No matter how alluring the possible subjects, he wouldn’t have the time to paint.
He stood, looking around the room. Three of his paintings hung on the walls, depicting various scenes of Isola d’Ischia. Over the bed hung a pair of capriccios he had picked up in Rome. Imaginary scenes of architectural landscapes, they had been popular decoration in eighteenth-century Italy. In unusually shaped frames, one depicted a view of what might have been the ruins of Venice had the city fallen into decay. The other was a fanciful view of ancient Rome, also in ruins as suggested by cattle grazing before the three remaining columns of the temple of Saturn, arbitrarily juxtaposed next to what might have been the Arch of Titus, which, in reality, was at the other end of the Forum. Both paintings were topped by a sky of the rose-tinted clouds that always adorned the genre.