The Brotherhood Of The Holy Shroud

35

SLOWLY, MENDIB PACED BACK AND FORTH across the jail's narrow courtyard, enjoying the sunshine that warmed the morning. He had heard enough to know that he had to remain alert, and the psychologist's and social worker's nervousness had aroused his suspicions further.

He had passed the medical examination, he had been observed at length by the psychologist, and the warden had even sat in on one of those exhausting sessions in which the doctor made him react to those stupid stimuli they baited him with. At last, the parole board had signed the papers for his release, and all that was lacking was the final approval by the judge-ten days at most, and he would be free.

He knew what he was to do. He was to wander through the city until he was certain he wasn't being followed, and then he was to go to the Parco Carrara. He was to go there for several days, observe the community's contact Arslan from a distance, and not drop the note to set a meeting until he was sure that no one was watching.

He feared for his life. That policeman who'd visited him had not seemed to be bluffing-he'd threatened to do everything in his power to see that Mendib spent the rest of his life in prison. Then suddenly, the way was cleared for his release. The carabinieri, he thought, were preparing some trap.

They may think that if I'm released I'll lead them to my contacts. That's it, that's what they want, and I'm just the bait. I have to be carefid.

He continued to pace back and forth, back and forth, without realizing that he was being observed. Tall, dark-skinned, their faces blank and stupid from their time in jail, the two Bajerai brothers studied him surreptitiously through one of the windows that opened onto the courtyard as they talked quiedy about the murder they would soon commit.

In the warden's office, Marco Valoni was in the midst of an argument.

"I know it's unlikely that anything will happen, but we can't leave that to chance. We have to ensure his safety for the rest of the time he's here," he insisted to the warden and the head guard.

"Signor Valoni, the mute barely exists for the other inmates-he's of no interest to anyone. He doesn't speak, he has no friends, he communicates with none of them. No one will do him any harm, I assure you," the guard replied.

"We can't run that risk. Think about it-we don't know who we're dealing with. He may be some poor jerk, or he may not be. We haven't made much noise about releasing him, but it's enough to be heard by those who may be listening. Someone has to answer to me for his safety here."

"But Marco," the warden argued, "we haven't had any paybacks in this jail or killings among the prisoners-nothing like that-in years. I just don't share your concern here."

"I don't care. I am concerned. I want to talk to the capos here. Signor Genari, as head guard, I'm sure you know who they are."

Genari shrugged his shoulders. There was no way to convince this guy not to go sticking his nose into jail politics. The cop actually thought that he was going to tell him which prisoners gave the orders inside, as though Genari could do that without risking his own neck.

Marco picked up on Genari's reservations and rephrased his request.

"Look, Genari, there has to be one prisoner inside that the others respect, defer to, you know. Let's talk to him."

The warden shifted uncomfortably in his chair while Genari maintained a stubborn silence. Finally, he intervened. "Genari, you know this prison better than anyone -which one of the men fits the bill? Get him in here."

Genari stood up and walked out of the office. He knew he couldn't stonewall longer without arousing the suspicions of both the warden and this son of a bitch from Rome. His jail ran like a Swiss watch-there were unwritten laws that everyone followed, and now Valoni wanted to know who pulled the strings.

He sent one of the guards for the capo, Frasquello. At that hour he'd be on his cell phone, giving his sons instructions for running the drug-smuggling operation that had sent him to prison-a snitch had paid the price for that, but that was another story.

Frasquello swaggered into Genari's little office, looking pissed.

"What do you want? What the fuck is so fucking important?"

"There's a cop who wants to talk to you."

"I don't talk to cops."

"Well, you're going to have to talk to this one, because if you don't, he'll turn this prison inside out."

"There's nothing in it for me-talking to some fucking cop. If he's got a problem, he can solve it himself. Leave me out of it."

"No! I'm not leaving you out of it!" shouted Genari. "You're coming with me to see this guy, and you're going to talk to him. The sooner this shit is over the better, so let's go."

"What's he after? What does he want with me? I don't know any cop, and I don't want to know one. Just leave me the fuck alone."

The capo made a move to leave the office, but before he could open the door Genari had him against the wall, his arm twisted behind his back.

"Turn me loose, you fuck! Are you crazy? You're a dead man!"

Just then the office door opened. Marco stood there, staring hard at both men.

"Turn him loose!" he ordered Genari.

Genari released his grip on Frasquello, who turned around slowly, measuring the newcomer.

"I decided I'd come down myself. Looks like I got here just in time. Sit down," he ordered Frasquello.

The capo didn't move. Genari shoved him into a chair.

"I don't know who the fuck you are, but I know my rights, and I don't have to talk to any fucking cop," the capo spat. "I'll call my lawyer."

"You won't call anybody, and you'll listen to me and do what I tell you, because if you don't you'll be transferred to a place where your good friend Genari won't be looking after you."

"You can't threaten me."

"I'm not threatening you."

For no more than a few seconds, Frasquello considered that.

"Fuck it, what do you want?"

"Well, now that you're being reasonable, I'll tell you: There's a man here in this prison I want protected."

"Tell Genari-he's the boss. I'm just an inmate."

"I'm telling you because you're the one who's going to make sure nothing happens to him."

"Oh, yeah? And how am I supposed to do that?"

"I don't know, and I don't care."

"Supposing I agree, what's in it for me?"

"Some… perks here inside."

"Ha! That's funny, cop. My friend Genari already takes care of that. Who do you think you're dealing with?"

"All right, I'll look over your file and see if there's some way to reduce your sentence for cooperating."

"That's not enough-I need a guarantee."

"I'm not guaranteeing anything. I'll speak with the warden and recommend that the parole board take your behavior into account. But that's it."

"No deal."

"If there's no deal, then you're going to start losing some of the accommodations you've gotten used to. Your cell will be turned upside down every other day, and you'll follow the rules. Genari will be transferred, and then we'll move you too. To a place you won't find nearly as comfortable."

"Who's the man?"

"Will you do it?"

"Tell me who we're talking about."

"A guy that doesn't talk."

Frasquello began to laugh. "You want me to protect that poor jerk? Nobody pays him any attention, cop, nobody cares about him. You know why? Because he's nobody."

"I don't want anything to happen to him in the next week."

"Who'd be wanting to hurt him?"

"I don't know. But you need to keep it from happening."

"What do you care about him?"

"That's none of your business. Just do what you need to do and you'll continue to enjoy your little vacation at the state's expense."

"Okay. I'll baby-sit the son of a bitch."

Marco left the office, relieved. The capo was no fool. He'd do it.

Now came the tricky part-getting hold of the tennis shoes the mute wore, the only shoes he owned, and planting the transmitter. The warden had promised he'd send a guard to get the shoes in the next few days. He wasn't sure what excuse he'd make, but he'd get it done. John Barry was sending a colleague to Turin-an expert in microtransmitters who was able, John said, to slip a microphone into a fingernail. Well, Marco would see whether he was as good as he was reported to be.