But Devereaux had been on Marie’s trail in that business that finally led to Rome and the old cardinal in the Vatican. Devereaux had saved her life when the old priest wanted to kill her. Devereaux never knew that he had given Henry a gift by saving Marie’s life. And Marie would never know it was Henry who had killed Devereaux in Washington.
Devereaux was finally dead.
Henry McGee smiled.
Saw the fire engines roll up at the hotel and then the cops and then the FBI car. They carried Devereaux’s body out on a stretcher and put it in an ambulance, but that hadn’t bothered Henry McGee. No one was going to survive that blast.
He couldn’t tell Marie about it. She had some affection for Devereaux because he had saved her life. Just as well not to tell Marie because he had three or four more uses for her before he was set up and could get rid of her. He liked a gal with guts. Marie had stolen for him in Berlin those terrible six months of hiding. She had fed him, housed him, clothed him with her thefts. And she had gone to bed with him every time, even if the bed was the dresser or the kitchen table.
“We don’t have to steal now,” Henry said. He sipped his cappuccino. Life strutted along the Veneto as it did in every quarter of Rome, living in the streets, shouting from morning until past midnight, using the ancient buildings as mere props for a street opera.
“Then what do we have to do?” Marie said.
“I spent time in the States learning about what we got to do,” Henry McGee said. “You read the papers, honey? You know what’s going on in the world?”
“What am I supposed to know?”
“People dancing on the Berlin Wall. Hungary going queer for the West. And just this week, they had a conference in Washington District of Columbia to talk about antiterrorism. That was KGB and CIA. Imagine the day ever would come when the whole world would be putting on a happy face?”
“I’m not political, Henry,” Marie said. “I know about Berlin but, believe me, nothing like that lasts.”
“Terror, honey. It’s all disorganized and doesn’t turn a profit. There’s no real point to it if it doesn’t make money. Take the IRA. Been fighting in Belfast for twenty years and all they got to show for it is this ragtag rebel army, a few jobs, a few millions in arms… why, it hardly seems worth the trouble.”
She waited. She knew Henry was only thinking out loud, not really talking to her. She understood some of it and her instincts took over on the rest of it.
“I been on both sides of politics, honey. Right now, it isn’t paying very well. Not for me. You got the goddamned chief of the American armed forces touring Soviet missile facilities. The cold war has lost its Freon.”
Her eyes were closed, head tilted up. The sun felt good on her face.
“You gonna get a suntan, honey?”
“It feels good,” she said, opening her eyes. He was smiling in his nasty way.
“You know, we ain’t down here for pleasure.”
“I wondered about that.”
“This is the place to be you want certain things. Weapons. Ole Italy sticking down into the Mediterranean like a finger waiting to poke North Africa in the ass. That’s why we’re here. North Africa is full of nasty folks making nasty stuff for terrorism.”
“Is that right?”
“I did my research in the States. Made contacts. Met people behind the terrorists. Money people, arms dealers, all that monkey stuff. It’s interesting but it’s limited.”
“Do they make bombs in Africa?” Marie said.
Henry grinned again, shook his head. “You’re closer, honey, but you ain’t there yet.” He sipped the milky coffee and licked a trace of the honey-brown liquid off his lips. Marie — hell, who even knew if that was her name but that’s what she called herself most of the time — Marie was a good one, never seemed shocked by anything, but he wondered if she was just crazy enough to go along with everything.
“Honey, trouble with bombs is they don’t really scare the shit out of anyone anymore. And then there’s all the personnel involved. And getting the goddamned bomb through to the right target. You and I ain’t got time to organize all that, train people.”
“What do you want in this part of the world?”
Henry let a smile lighten his dark features. He ignored the question. “Terror has territory. Take Britain. I like Britain as a place to set up operations. Speak the language, know the customs, all that. I just gotta get me the right target, that’s what I ain’t found yet. But I know who the mule is gonna be when I do find it.”
“Who?”
“Some boys from the IRA. Irish Republican Army. Do any kind of terror in Britain and the first patsy you think of is the IRA. And the thing is, they’re hurting now for weapons and stuff, now that Czechoslovakia is going straight and not sending them the arms like they used to. IRA is definitely what I got in mind when I find the target.”
“You are going to make a new terror,” Marie said in her Berlin-accented voice. She made it so simple and clear. Henry gaped at her a moment. He was truly amazed. In fact, he admired her for a second or so and that had the odd effect of arousing him. She might have just licked the inside of his ear, coming up with an answer like that.
“A new terror,” he repeated. “Exactly it. I never put a name on it but that’s what it is. It’s going to operate in Britain and when it’s over, I’ll have three, four million and the Brits will have their usual suspects and you and me are home free.”
Marie stared at him with her tawny eyes. She was young but there was something a hundred years old about her as well. “And what will I have?”
“Me, honey, I thought you understood that.”
“You don’t fool me much, Henry. And I never fool myself. I don’t think you’ve even thought that far.”
Henry McGee shook his head. “You’re right. I can’t fool you.”
“Oh, try,” she said. “I hid you in Berlin when the Russians were looking for you. I could have sold you but you knew I liked you. I get used to a man. You’re good in bed, Henry.”
“And every other place we do it.” He put his hand on her bare leg and squeezed the inside of her thigh. She closed her eyes a moment and then looked at him again.
“Are we going to kill many people?”
“Does that bother you?”
“I can kill people. I killed my father.”
“You tell me that but I think that’s one of your stories. You got your stories all mixed up with dreams.”
“Maybe I just want you to think that.”
“You don’t do no killing if it comes to killing. I need you, another hand, eyes-and-ears, courier, someone to handle the phone. I ain’t a one-man band. When we make it, you can come with me. Or take a share, whatever you want.”
She thought about it. She tried not to let the money get in the way of her judgment. Like most people, she failed. It was a lot of money.
“I don’t know,” she said. She knew.
“Think it over.” Henry saw he had her. “We’re being checked by certain people right now. To see who we are, to see if we are bona fides. That’s why we’re waiting here in the splendid capital of Italy. We might have to move just like that when the setup is made. Naples, probably, but maybe even Morocco. We just sit and wait and let them look us over.”
“Who are they?”
“People who got something I want. I told you, this is the part of Europe to be in when you’re looking for new and exotic weapons.”