“Can it, Ant, he's serious,” Luger admonished.
“About what?”
“About both.”
“So what do you need?” Ant asked, all the teasing gone.
“I need some C-4 devices, and some suggestions. I may have to get into a villa that's tighter than Spandau Prison. The man's had so many assassination attempts on his life, his place is damn near impregnable.”
“Never,” Ant said softly.
“I was hoping you'd say that.”
“When do you need this stuff?”
“As soon as possible… with some weapons for long-range attack and contact weapons, Luger. Whatever you think I can use.”
Behind Luger's office was a small room concealed by his bookcase of insurance yearbooks. Inside he had what he called his “hobby equipment”-a collection of state-of-the-art weapons he'd assembled with a passion he reserved exclusively for them. He had contact with the weapons specialists of the world and prided himself on knowing the market.
“I have a couple TOW missiles you can practically carry in a suitcase, and a new Beretta with a state-of-the-art silencer. How much can you carry?”
“Probably only a backpack. I may have to go in over the roof. Just what I can carry comfortably and move fast.”
“Who's the unfriendly?”
“Shakin Rifat.”
“Oooeee,” Ant softly exclaimed. “The killer king of the banditos. What's he done to you?”
“He's been shaking down my ex-brother-in-law, and the kid can't take it. Right now Egon's about dead in a Miami hospital. One of Rifat's shooters used him for a target.” Carey put down his chopsticks and pushed his plate away. “I had a lot of time to think, sitting at the hospital, and I thought maybe someone should send Rifat on that last fine mile.”
“It's been tried before,” Luger said.
“I know.”
“So how you getting in when others haven't?”
Carey lifted one shoulder slightly in a faint shrug. “I'll take a look when I get there.”
Ant glanced at Luger and grinned. “Sounds like this guy needs some professional help along.”
“No… no way. It's my vendetta. I just came here for the equipment.”
“As it happens, I've a delivery to make in Liverpool for the Provo boys,” Ant went on, as though Carey hadn't spoken. “Then on to Switzerland to brown bag the cash. I'll be pretty damn close to Rome by that time. Maybe I'll take a run down to check out the women, now that I'm available again.”
“You're always available,” Luger said between chews of pork lo mein.
Ant picked up a spun-sugar apple slice. “Someone's got to pick up the slack for you faithful guys who stay off the market. I look at it,” he said, the glittering confection lifted to his mouth, “as equalizing the universal equation.”
“Fucking is what it is,” Luger said matter-of-factly, shoveling a shrimp into his mouth.
Ant assumed an expression of mock pain. “The man has no poetry in his soul.”
“Cut the crap, Ant,” Luger remarked, his tone good-natured and mild. “You don't have a soul.”
“Nor do any of us,” Carey said with a smile. “As I recall, we all sold ours to the devil if he'd produce a woman out in the bush after two weeks on patrol.”
“And then those nurses on a fact-finding tour for the dickheads at the command center showed up in three Hueys. You're right. We lost our souls, fair and square.”
“But with a smile on our faces.”
“Every part of me smiled for the next week. Even my toes. As I recall even Luger cracked a grin once or twice that week.”
“Shit,” Luger disclaimed, but his harsh features were transformed by the faintest of smiles.
“So when do we leave?” Ant inquired.
“You don't.”
“It almost sounds as though he doesn't want us along, Luger.”
“And I've never been to Rome. Selfish, if you ask me.”
“Wants all the fun for himself.”
“He always was selfish. If I remember he kept two of those nurses for himself and the rest of us had to make do with one apiece.”
“You're right. And now that Shakin Rifat's the target, he wants all the glory.”
Carey leaned back in his chair and looked at his friends who were grinning like they'd drunk too much rice wine. “Rifat's about ten-to-one odds-against.”
“Then you need us bad.”
“This is the least rational thing I've ever done.”
“No-flying that Phantom you stole out from under Colonel Drake's nose was. He'd have shot you on the spot if he'd found you.”
“Okay,” Carey said, “one of the least rational.”
“So we'll come along to stabilize your gyro.” Ant's voice softened, and his eyes lost their amusement. “We're going, right, Luger?”
Luger continued pouring his cup of tea, as though a mission against the bloodiest terrorist in the world was like answering his secretary's request for a new stamp meter. “Right,” he said.
Ant spread his hands wide and looked at Carey, “There you go, John Wayne… you got yourself a posse.”
Carey gazed at the men he'd lived through the hell of Vietnam with, whose friendship hadn't faltered or lapsed like so many once they'd landed back in San Diego. They were no longer young boys with a reckless courage; they were older now, more pragmatic. And more skilled. “Thanks,” he said, his deep voice hushed. “Thanks a lot.”
CHAPTER 40
W ith his Brazilian buyer anxiously awaiting delivery of the prototypes, Rifat was setting his alternate plan in action. He'd recently received verification that Sylvie remained at her brother's bedside in Miami. If he died, she would no doubt return with the body to Germany. But while Egon lived, Sylvie was fixed in Miami, He would need a few days to put together another team.
Timur had flown Ceci home. He was recuperating now in his suite on the second floor of Rifat's villa, feeling remorseful and depressed.
Shakin Rifat, much older than Ceci, was less daunted by failure. Had he been, he never would have survived the coup which ousted him from power and made him an exile from his country.
“Regroup, my boy,” Rifat had explained to Ceci, his fondness for the young officer genuine. “If every general gave up after being outflanked, the map of the world would be considerably altered. Simply attack again, immediately, while the jubilant cheering is still echoing in the enemy camp. We'll merely take the Countess von Mansfeld in Egon's stead. And you may entertain her in her detention.” Rifat's background relegated women to a limited number of functions, the majority of which pertained to service to men. He would offer Sylvie to Ceci as a present. “How is your arm healing?”
The bulletproof vest had saved his life, but Ceci looked very unhappy, his pride buffeted by his failure. Dressed in a silk robe of deep forest green, he lounged on an oversized Renaissance sofa, his left arm bandaged and in a sling. “Well enough, sir,” he replied, unable in the depths of his depression to appreciate the surgeon's skill which had repaired damage so severe, a lesser expertise would have meant the loss of his arm.
“Good. Now, enough self-reproach. I expect you to be fit enough by the end of the week to welcome the countess.”
They landed in Rome near midnight, a day later. Jess had piloted and they unloaded the boxes of tack and saddles themselves. Customs officials barely glanced at the equipment, since Carey was known by reputation and had been coming over for competitions since he was a boy.
He was playing in a polo match, too, he told them, which accounted for his extra gear. His jumpers and polo ponies would be flown over in a few days.
Ant remarked to Luger as they entered the limousine waiting for them: “Don't get too used to this preferential treatment they give counts, Luger. When you get back to Taylorsville, you're going to have to take out the garbage, same as ever.”