Marinello shrugged. "They couldn't. The Regents, with the grand council, appoint all the officials who aren't elected."
"Men can be bought or blackmailed. There are many ways."
"Here that is impossible."
"But what would you do about it?"
"The Italians would help us."
"But only if they were officially asked, right?"
"Yes. What are you getting at?"
I thought I'd been making myself clear. I decided to hit him over the head with the whole package. "I think somebody's already taken over San Marino."
John put his glass down. His cheeks were still flushed, but his eyes cleared a little. "You're not making any sense."
"For openers, your chief of police at the moment is a mafioso who was supposed to have been locked up by the Italians. There are hired guns all over the place. You've got no phone service, and the country's sealed off. It seems to me that you've got a problem."
"There's sickness in the country," John said weakly. "That's why we've been isolated."
"Really? Do you know of one single individual who's come down with this sickness?"
"I took it for granted."
"Like everybody else in San Marino."
Marinello put the cork back in the jug of cognac and pushed it away. "I read in the paper where a new chief had been appointed, but I didn't give it much thought. It was a new appointment, and it was made by Albert Vaicona himself."
"There's a second Regent, Arturo Bonatelli. He's supposed to be on vacation. Can Vaicona make appointments by himself?"
"Yes, but the Grand Council has to approve."
"And the Grand Council approved a mafioso?"
John shook his head. "Even if what you say is true, why would anybody want to take over San Marino? Our country is a joke to most people."
"I don't know. But I'm convinced that the brains behind it is a man by the name of Victor Fordamp. The circus comes into it somewhere, but I don't know how. It doesn't make any sense for a man like Fordamp to take over San Marino just to give your police chief a place to hide. Petrocelli is a big gun, but I don't think he rates a whole country. In any case, the big question is why your government is going along with it."
"That's assuming this whole plot isn't in your imagination."
"A man was killed while he was talking to me over the telephone, from here, asking for my help. That wasn't my imagination."
John mulled it over, then frowned. "We will have to fight."
"A lot of people could be killed."
Marinello flushed. "We are not cowards."
"Of course not. But I hope you're not fools either. Fordamp and his men probably have enough firepower to outfit a battalion. They haven't used it because they haven't had to. That doesn't mean that they won't start firing if they're pressed. You can't fight bullets with your bare hands. How many guns do you have in San Marino?"
"We have a few hunters with rifles. And the police have their pistols."
"The men I've seen would eat you for breakfast, and all the police are playing follow the leader to Fordamp's men. Somebody has to go for the Italian authorities. It's risky, but not that bad. I got up here by walking through a vineyard. There's no reason someone can't go down the same way."
"I'll gladly do that."
"Not yet. We'll need more to go on than my suspicions. With the way things are in the world today, the Italian government probably won't be too anxious to send troops up the mountain unless we can prove there's a good reason."
John's eyes were cloudy with barely controlled anger. "I will take this man Petrocelli myself. And Fordamp."
"And you'll get yourself killed. You sit tight until you hear from me."
"Where are you going?"
"To look for something to back us up."
I slipped back onto the circus grounds and headed for Nell's trailer. The door was slightly ajar. I knocked on it three times.
"Run, Mongo! They're waiting-"
Nell's voice was cut off by the obscene sound of metal striking flesh. I heard Nell groan, then the sound of a man cursing and running toward the door. I crouched down, my back against the trailer, and waited for him. The door burst open and I caught a quick glimpse of Nell huddled by the door, her hand pressed to a deep gash on her cheek where the man standing above me had pistol-whipped her. Nell's beard was matted with blood.
Marshmallow Mouth started down the three steps leading to the ground. I caught him on the second step, grabbing his left ankle and lifting it. The somersault he executed wouldn't have won many diving points, but it looked beautiful to me. Marshmallow Mouth flipped and landed on his back with a delightful smack as the breath went out of him. The automatic pistol he was holding popped out of his hand and landed harmlessly a few feet away.
He was helpless, his eyes glazed, so I didn't follow up with anything fancy; I stepped forward and kicked him in the jaw hard enough to put him on a liquid diet for about three months. The remaining lights in his eyes clicked out.
I picked up the gun and turned to go into the trailer. I froze in a crouch as three men emerged from around the side. The tallest one had hawklike features and bright, cocaine eyes. He was wearing a four-hundred-dollar sharkskin suit that clashed with the dusty circus grounds and the bulky vest he wore beneath it. The two men on either side were wearing guns, both of which were pointed at me.
"Drop your gun, Dr. Frederickson," Fordamp said. "You have a reputation for speed and cleverness. I assure you that my men will not underestimate you. If you even breathe funny you will be shot full of holes."
"And have the whole circus down on your neck?"
Fordamp didn't blink an eye. "Perhaps. But you will be dead. It will be an unfortunate situation for both of us."
I dropped the gun and straightened up. The two gunmen flanked me. I kept my eyes on Fordamp. The expression on his face might have been a grin.
"Dr. Robert Frederickson," Fordamp said in the tone of voice of a man who was about to give a lecture. "Mongo the Magnificent, famous circus headliner, college professor, criminologist, private detective extraordinaire."
"You have good sources."
"Of course. A businessman can never know too much about those who might stand in his way. I don't suppose you've come to ask for your job back?"
"I'm here to find out why my partner sold my half of the circus out from under me."
Fordamp smiled again. "How much would you consider taking for your half of the business?"
"I'm not in the mood to sell out. I'd as soon stay partners with you. My guess is that this circus is suddenly going to start making a lot more money that it has been. What's the deal, Fordamp? What do you want with a circus?"
Fordamp made a clucking sound with his tongue. "That's a disappointing ploy coming from someone with your reputation, Dr. Frederickson. I've seen the ownership papers, so I know that you do not own any part of the circus. Still, you are here. My guess is that you've come to interfere in my affairs."
"Why did you kill Roscoe, Fordamp?"
Fordamp absently touched the rectangular bulge in his vest, but said nothing.
"Where's Statler? Did you kill him, too?"
This time I got a reply of sorts; another clucking sound from Fordamp, and a gun barrel on the top of the head from one of Fordamp's goons who had slipped behind me. The pain shot like a lightning bolt from the top of my head to my toes. The ground opened up beneath me, then closed over my head.
I clawed my way back up the sides of a hole that smelled like ether, crawled over the edge, and found myself propped up against a stone wall, staring into the grizzled face of Phil Statler. He had a dead cigar in a mouth framed by a stubble of steel-gray beard that had managed to foil every technological advance in razor blades. He had a look in his pale eyes that he usually reserved for sick elephants. I grinned.