James Chase - Mission to Siena

Don finished his coffee. He glanced towards the negro who had suddenly risen to his feet. As he raised his great bulk to its full height of over seven feet, he seemed to enjoy the sensation he caused. The party of American tourists all stopped talking to stare at him. Even the Italians paused in their wrangling to gape. Slowly and with a jeering expression, the negro put a white slouch hat on his massive head, shot the cuffs of his cream silk shirt and strolled off into the crowd.

Head and shoulders above the crowd, it was easy to watch him cross the Campo until he disappeared through one of the dark archways that led into the labyrinth of the city’s streets. Don signalled to the waiter, and while he was paying for his coffee, he asked casually, “Who was that negro? He looked like a prize fighter.”

“For six months now,” the waiter said, “every night without fail, he comes here to eat ice-cream. He works at one of the villas, so I am told. Some American perhaps employs him. He never speaks and I take care not to ask questions. To me he is a bad man.”

Don grinned.

“You could be right,” he said and got to his feet.

Deciding to explore the back alleys of the city, he left the Campo. He wandered through the narrow, crowded streets for an hour or so; aware that he was wasting time and that he should return to the villa and finish the book he was reading, but he was reluctant to leave the fascination of the pinched alleys, the massive Gothic-styled buildings that frowned down on him and the aimless, congested throng of people who surged around him like a sluggishly moving river.

It was nearly eleven o’clock when he began to make his way to where he had parked the Bentley. Cutting down a side alley to get away from the crowd, he came upon a steep dark hill that led to the Cathedral.

He walked up the hill, relieved to find that he had the place to himself. Ahead of him was a solitary street lamp that made a pool of yellow light on the cobbled road. Out of the shadows and into this pool of light a girl suddenly appeared.

Fifty or sixty yards behind her, Don was surprised to see her. He guessed she must have been moving ahead of him, but keeping to the dark shadows made by the high massive buildings. He had a brief glimpse of her as she walked through the pool of light before she disappeared again into the shadows.

Brief as the glimpse was, he recognized the Venetian red hair and the compact slim figure in its white sweater and black slacks. With his heart thumping with excitement, he lengthened his stride, his rubber-soled shoes making no sound.

Although he couldn’t see the girl now, he was sure she was still.ahead of him and unaware he had recognized her.

At the top of the hill was an arch through which Don could see the lights of the piazza, del Duomo. Moving out of the darkness the girl passed under the arch and once again in the light from the piazza, Don caught the glint of her red hair.

She turned left and disappeared from Don’s sight. He broke into a run, covering the last yards in five long strides. As he entered the archway, an enormous figure stepped squarely in his path and brought him to an abrupt standstill.

Steady as Don’s nerves were, the sudden appearance of the giant negro startled him. He took a step back and looked up at the shadowy colossus who loomed before him.

“Got a match on you, bud?” the negro drawled.

Knowing that the girl was slipping through his fingers, Don attempted to sidestep the negro, but the negro moved the same way, again blocking his path.

Don had an alternative. He could give the negro a light and probably lose the girl or he could hang a punch on his jaw.

It occurred to him that he might easily break his fist against that massive jaw and there was no guarantee that he would knock the negro out. He decided to accept the situation. He took out his lighter and flicked up the flame.

The negro dipped a brown cigarette into the flame that lit up his face. His eyes looked like knobs of ebony dropped into the white of an egg.

“Thanks, bud,” he said and chuckled. “Sorry if I held you up.” His chuckle was the ugliest sound Don had ever heard.

Moving to one side, the negro went past Don and down the hill into the darkness.

As Don drove up the narrow lane towards the villa, his headlights picked out two figures sitting side by side on a low wall that overlooked the moonlit hills surrounding Siena.

He slowed down and leaned out of the window.

“Isn’t it time you two were in bed?”

“Miss Rigby’s got something,” Harry said, an excited note in his voice. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

He came over with Marian to the car.

“And I’ve got something too,” Don said. “Hop in and let’s get back. Where’s Cherry?”

“We left him coping with his blood pressure,” Harry said, as they got into the car. “I reckon he doesn’t know his own age.”

“Not entirely a bad fault,” Don said and sent the car racing up the lane and to the villa.

A few minutes later, he pulled up outside the villa. “Go and get him,” he said as they got out of the car. “This calls for a general conference.”

As Harry hurried away, Don went on to Marian, “Have you really found something?”

“Yes, and just when I was giving up.”

Cherry, looking hot and flushed and breathing heavily, came out on to the veranda, followed by Harry.

“Let’s all sit down,” Don said, sinking into a lounging chair. Seeing Cherry was about to prop himself up against the balustrade, he patted a chair near him. “Sit down here, Cherry.”

“If you say so, sir,” Cherry said and lowered his bulk into the chair, his back stiff with disapproval.

“Okay, Marian. Let’s have it. What have you found?”

“I’m hoping this will be the lead we’re looking for,” Marian said. “The information I found is very scrappy, but it seems that in 1465 there were two powerful and rich families living in Siena. The heads of these two families were Niccolo Vaga and Jacopo Genga who were bitter enemies. They were chosen as candidates for the leadership of the Tortoise ward. The election was carried out with violence and hatred — I’m quoting from the book. Vaga won by a narrow majority. Genga plotted against him, and by some means not explained, succeeded in disgracing Vaga who was thrown into prison, his money and lands confiscated and his family exiled. Genga took over the leadership of the ward and had Vaga brutally murdered. Vaga’s eldest son, Daniello, who had taken refuge with the other members of the family in Florence, vowed that neither he nor any male member of his family for generations to come would rest until his father’s death had been avenged, the family fortune restored, and — and I think, this is important — the name of his family had become so powerful that it would strike terror into the heart of every Italian.”

“Yes,” Don said. “That could be it. It’s just the kind of background a crackpot might pick on. If the Tortoise is related to the Vaga family,this could be his idea of levelling old scores . What happened to the family, Marian?”

She shook her head.

“I can’t find any other reference to them in any of the other books.”

“Well, okay, tomorrow we’ll try the Records office and see if we can trace the Vaga family further.” Don lit a cigarette and went on. “Lorelli is in Siena. I’ve seen her.” He told them about the negro preventing him from going after Lorelli.

“I can’t make up my mind, if he is one of them or if it was a coincidence that he appeared as he did. I think it is likely he is one of them, but we’ve got to make sure. This is where you two come in.” He looked over at Cherry and Harry. “From now on, the villa is going to look after itself and we’re going to take our meals out.”