"My uncle's top enforcer," Morgan whispered to Asta, "Marco Russo." He smiled and held out his hand. "Marco, it's been a long time. My daughter, Asta."
Marco managed a fractional smile. "A pleasure. Welcome to Sicily, Signorina, and nice to see you again, Signore. The Don isn't at the town house, he's at the Villa."
"Good, let's get moving then."
Luca's villa was outside a village at the foot of Monte Pellegrino, which towers into the sky three miles north of Palermo.
"During the Punic Wars the Carthaginians held out against the Romans on that mountain for three years," Morgan told Asta.
"It looks a fascinating place," she said.
"Soaked in blood for generations." He held up the local paper, which Marco had given him. "Three soldiers blown up by a car bomb last night, a priest shot in the back of the neck this morning because he was suspected of being an informer."
"At least you're on the right side."
He took her hand. "Everything I do is strictly legitimate, Asta, that's the whole point. My business interests and those of my associates are pure as driven snow."
"I know, darling," she said. "You must be the greatest front man ever. Granddad Morgan a General, you a war hero, billionaire, philanthropist, and one of the best polo players in the world. Why, last time we were in London, Prince Charles asked you to play for him."
"He wants me next month." She laughed and he added, "But never forget one thing, Asta. The true power doesn't come from New York. It lies in the hands of the old man we're going to see now."
At that moment they turned in through electronic gates set in ancient, fifteen-foot walls and drove through a semitropical garden toward the great Moorish villa.
The main reception room was enormous, black-and-white-tiled floor scattered with rugs, seventeenth-century furniture from Italy in dark oak, a log fire blazing in the open hearth, and French windows open to the garden. Luca sat in a high-backed sofa, a cigar in his mouth, hands clasped over the silver handle of a walking stick. He was large, at least sixteen stone, his gray beard trimmed, the air of a Roman Emperor about him.
"Come here, child," he said to Asta and when she went to him, kissed her on both cheeks. "You're more beautiful than ever. Eighteen months since I saw you in New York. I was desolated by your mother's unfortunate death last year."
"These things happen," she said.
"I know. Jack Kennedy once said, anyone who believes there is fairness in this life is seriously misinformed. Here, sit beside me." She did as she was told and he looked up at Morgan. "You seem well, Carlo." He'd always insisted on calling him that.
"And you, Uncle, look wonderful."
Luca held out his hand and Morgan kissed it. "I like it when your Sicilian half floats to the surface. You were wise to contact me on this Chungking business and Mori showed good judgment in speaking to you."
"We owe it to his grandson," Morgan said.
"Yes, of course. Young Tony is a good boy, an idealist, and that's good. We need our saints, Carlo, they make us rather more acceptable to the rest of the world." He snapped a finger and a white-coated houseboy came forward.
"Zibibbo, Alfredo."
"At once, Don Giovanni."
"You will like this, Asta. A wine from the island Pantelleria, flavored with anise." He turned to Morgan. "Marco took me for a run into the country the other day, to that farmhouse of yours at Valdini."
"How was it?"
"The caretaker and his wife seemed to be behaving themselves. Very peaceful. You should do something with it."
"Grandfather was born there, Uncle, it's a piece of the real Sicily. How could I change that?"
"You're a good boy, Carlo, you may be half American, but you have a Sicilian heart."
As Alfredo opened the bottle, Morgan said, "So, to the Chungking Covenant. What do you think?"
"We have billions invested in Hong Kong in hotels and casinos and our holdings will be severely damaged when the Communists take over in ninety-seven. Anything that could delay that would be marvelous."
"But would the production of such a document really have an effect?" Asta asked.
He accepted one of the glasses of Zibibbo from Alfredo. "The Chinese have taken great care to handle the proposed changes in the status of Hong Kong through the United Nations. These days they want everything from international respectability to the Olympic Games. If the document surfaced with the holy name of Mao Tse-tung attached to it, who knows what the outcome would be."
"That's true," Morgan agreed. "All right, they'd scream forgery."
"Yes," Asta put in, "but there is one important point. It isn't a forgery, it's the real thing, we know that and any experts brought in will have to agree."
"She's smart, this girl." Luca patted her knee. "We've nothing to lose, Carlo. With that document on show we can at least hold the whole proceedings up if nothing else. Even if we still lose millions, I'd like to mess it up for the Chinese and particularly for the Brits. It's their fault they didn't sort the whole mess out years ago."
"Strange you should say that," Asta told him. "I'd have thought that was exactly what Mountbatten was trying to do back in forty-four."
He roared with laughter and raised his glass. "More wine, Alfredo."
"What do you suggest?" Morgan asked.
"Find this silver Bible. When you have that, you have the Covenant."
"And that must be somewhere at the Castle at Loch Dhu according to what Tanner said," Asta put in.
"Exactly. There's a problem. I had my London lawyer check on the situation at the house the moment I received your fax. It's rented out at the moment to a Sheik from Trucial Oman, a Prince of the Royal Family, so there's nothing to be done there. He's in residence and he won't be leaving for another month. My lawyer has leased it in your name for three months from then."
"Fine," Morgan said. "That gives me plenty of time to clear the decks where business is concerned. That Bible must be there somewhere."
"I instructed my lawyer to get straight up there and see this Lady Katherine Rose, the sister, to do the lease personally. He raised the question of the Bible, told her he'd heard the legend of how all the Lairds carried it into battle. When he phoned me he said she's old and a bit confused and told him she hadn't seen the thing in years."
"There is one thing," Asta said. "According to Tony Jackson, he said to Tanner, 'So the Bible went back to Loch Dhu?' "
Morgan cut in, "And Tanner replied, 'You could say that.' "
Asta nodded. "And then Tony said he started to laugh. I'd say that's rather strange."
"Strange or not, that Bible must be there somewhere," Luca said. "You'll find it, Carlo." He stood up. "Now we eat."
Marco Russo was standing by the door in the hall and as they passed him, Luca said, "You can take Marco with you in case you need a little muscle." He patted Marco's face. "The Highlands of Scotland, Marco, you'll have to wrap up."
"Whatever you say, Capo."
Marco opened the dining room door where two waiters were in attendance. Back in the reception room Alfredo cleared the wine bottle and glasses and took them into the kitchen, putting them beside the sink for the maid to wash later. He said to the cook, "I'm going now," went out, lit a cigarette, and walked down through the gardens to the staff quarters. Alfredo Ponti was an excellent waiter, but an even better policeman, one of the new dedicated breed imported from mainland Italy. He'd managed to obtain the job with Luca three months previously.
Usually he phoned from outside when he wanted to contact his superiors, but the other two houseboys, the cook, and the maid were working, so for the moment he was alone. In any case, what he had overheard seemed important so he decided to take a chance, lifted the receiver on the wall phone at the end of the corridor, and dialed a number in Palermo. It was answered at once.