Sidney Sheldon - The Doomsday Conspiracy

“Very well, signora. Yes. We will agree to pay you …”

Robert came through the door, moving toward her.

Pier said into the telephone, “We should be there in time for dinner, Mama. You will like him. He is very nice. Good. We will see you later. Ciao.”

Pier replaced the receiver and turned to Robert. “Mother is dying to meet you.”

At Interpol headquarters, the senior official said, “Did you trace the call?”

“Yes. It came from a filling station on the Autostrada del Sole. It looks like they’re on their way to Naples.”

Colonel Francesco Cesar and Colonel Frank Johnson were studying a map on the wall of Cesar’s office.

“Naples is a big city,” Colonel Cesar was saying. “There are a thousand places for him to hide there.”

“What about the woman?”

“We have no idea who she is.”

“Why don’t we find out?” Johnson asked.

Cesar looked at him, puzzled. “How?”

“If Bellamy needed a woman companion in a hurry, as a cover, what would he do?”

“He would probably pick up a whore.”

“Right. Where do we start?”

“Tor di Ounto.”

They drove down the Passeggiata Archeologica and watched the streetwalkers peddling their wares. In the car with Colonel Cesar and Colonel Johnson was Captain Bellini, the police supervisor of the district.

“This is not going to be easy,” Bellini said. “They’re all in competition with one another, but when it comes to the police, they’re like blood sisters. They won’t talk.”

“We’ll see,” Colonel Johnson said.

Bellini ordered the driver to pull over to the kerb and the three men got out of the car. The prostitutes were eyeing them warily. Bellini walked up to one of the women. “Good afternoon, Maria. How’s business?”

“It will be better when you leave.”

“We’re not planning to stay. I just want to ask you a question. We’re looking for an American who picked up one of the girls last night. We think they are travelling together. We want to know who she is. Can you help us?” He showed her a photograph of Robert.

Several other prostitutes had gathered around to listen to the conversation.

“I can’t help you,” Maria said, “but I know someone who can.”

Bellini nodded approvingly. “Good. Who?”

Maria pointed to a store-front across the street. A sign in the window read: “Fortune Teller – Palm Reader”. “Madam Lucia might help you.”

The girls laughed appreciatively.

Captain Bellini looked at them, and said, “So you like jokes, do you? Well, we’re going to play a little joke I think you’re going to love. These two gentlemen are very anxious to have the name of the girl who went off with the American. If you don’t know who she is, I suggest you talk to your friends, find someone who does know, and when you have the answer, give me a call.”

“Why should we?” one of them asked defiantly.

“You’ll find out.”

One hour later the prostitutes of Rome found themselves under siege. Patrol wagons swept the city, picking up all the women working the streets, and their pimps. There were screaming protests.

“You can’t do this … I pay police protection.”

“This has been my beat for five years …”

“I’ve been giving it to you and your friends for free. Where’s your gratitude …?”

“What do I pay you protection for …?”

By the following day, the streets were virtually empty of prostitutes, and the jails were full.

Cesar and Colonel Johnson were sitting in Captain Bellini’s office. “It’s going to be difficult to keep them in jail,” Captain Bellini warned. “I might also add that this is very bad for tourism.”

“Don’t worry,” Colonel Johnson said, “someone will talk. Just keep the pressure on.”

Their break came late in the afternoon. Captain Bellini’s secretary said, “There’s a Mr Lorenzo to see you.”

“Send him in.”

Mr Lorenzo was dressed in a very expensive suit, and wore diamond rings on three fingers. Mr Lorenzo was a pimp.

“What can I do for you?” Bellini asked.

Lorenzo smiled. “It’s what I can do for you gentlemen. Some of my associates inform me that you are looking for a particular working girl who left town with an American, and since we are always eager to cooperate with the authorities, I thought I would give you her name.”

Colonel Johnson said, “Who is she?”

Lorenzo ignored the question. “Naturally, I’m sure you would want to express your appreciation by releasing my associates and their friends.”

Colonel Cesar said, “We are not interested in any of your whores. All we want is the name of the girl.”

“That is very gratifying news, sir. It’s always a pleasure to deal with reasonable men. I know that …”

“Her name, Lorenzo.”

“Yes, of course. Her name is Pier. Pier Valli. The American spent the night with her at the L’Incrocio Hotel, and the next morning they took off. She is not one of my girls. If I may say so …”

Bellini was already on the telephone. “Bring up the records on a Pier Valli. Subito!”

“I hope you gentlemen are going to show your gratitude by …”

Bellini looked up, and then said into the phone, “And cancel Operation Puttana.”

Lorenzo beamed. “Grazie.”

Pier Valli’s records were on Bellini’s desk five minutes later. “She started streetwalking when she was fifteen. She has been arrested a dozen times since then. She …”

“Where does she come from?” Colonel Johnson interrupted.

“Naples.” The two men looked at each other. “She has a mother and brother living there.”

“Can you find out where?”

“I can check it out.”

“Do that. Now.”

They were approaching the suburbs of Naples. Old apartment houses lined the narrow streets, with laundry hanging out of almost every window, making the buildings look like concrete mountains flying colourful flags.

Pier asked, “Have you ever been to Naples?”

“Once.” Robert’s voice was tight. Susan was sitting beside him, giggling. I heard Naples is a wicked city. Can we do a lot of wicked things here, darling?

We’re going to invent some new things, Robert promised.

Pier was watching him. “Are you all right?”

Robert brought his mind back to the present. “I’m fine.”

They were driving along the bay of the Castel Dell’ Ovo, the old abandoned castle near the water.

When they arrived at Via Toledo, Pier said, excitedly, “Turn here.”

They were approaching Spaccanapoli, the old section of Naples.

Pier said, “It’s just up ahead. Turn left onto Via Benedetto Croce.”

Robert made the turn. The traffic here was heavier, and the noise of horns deafening. He had forgotten how noisy Naples could be. He slowed the car down to avoid hitting the pedestrians and dogs that ran in front of the car as though they were blessed with some kind of immortality.

“Turn right here,” Pier directed, “into Piazza del Plebiscite.” The traffic was even worse here, and the neighbourhood more run down.

“Stop!” Pier cried out.

Robert pulled over to the kerb. They had stopped in front of a row of seedy shops.

Robert glanced around. “This is where your mother lives?”

“No,” Pier said. “Of course not.” She leaned over and pressed the horn. A moment later, a young woman came out of one of the shops. Pier got out of the car and raced to greet her. They hugged each other.

“You look wonderful!” the woman exclaimed. “You must be doing very well.”

“I am.” Pier held out her wrist. “Look at my new bracelet!”

“Are those real emeralds?”