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The Doomsday Conspiracy :: Sheldon Sidney
Страница: 179 из 213He drove to a bar a mile away, and went inside to use the telephone.
They were seated at the dining-room table when the telephone rang. The men tensed. One of them started to rise.
“Would Bellamy be calling here?”
Pier gave him a scornful look. “Of course not. Why should he?” She rose and walked over to the telephone. She picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Pier? I saw the window shade and …”
All she had to do was say that everything was all right, and he would come back to the house. The men would arrest him, and she could demand her reward. But would they merely arrest him? She could hear Robert’s voice saying: If the police find me, they have orders to kill me.
The men at the table were watching her. There was so much she could do with fifty thousand dollars. There were beautiful clothes to buy, cruises to take, a pretty little apartment in Rome … and Robert would be dead. Besides, she hated the goddamned police. Pier said into the telephone, “You have the wrong number.”
Robert heard the click of the receiver and stood there, stunned. She had believed the tall tales he had told her and it had probably saved his life. Bless her.
Robert turned the car around and headed away from the house, toward the docks, but instead of going to the main part of the port that serviced the freighters and ocean liners leaving Italy, he drove to the other side, past Santa Lucia, to a small pier where the sign over a kiosk read: “Capri and Ischia”. Robert parked the car where it could easily be spotted, and walked up to the ticket seller.
“When does the next hydrofoil leave for Ischia?”
“In thirty minutes.”
“And for Capri?”
“Five minutes.”
“Give me a one-way ticket to Capri.”
“Si, signore.”
“What’s this ‘si signore’ crap?” Robert said in a loud voice. “Why don’t you people speak English like everybody else?”
The man’s eyes widened in shock.
“You goddamn guineas are all alike. Stupid! Or, as you people would say, stupido.” Robert shoved some money at the man, grabbed the ticket and walked toward the hydrofoil.
Three minutes later he was on his way to the island of Capri. The boat started out slowly, making its way cautiously through the channel. When it reached the outer limits, it surged forward, rising out of the water like a graceful porpoise. The ferry was full of tourists from a variety of countries, happily chattering away in different tongues. No one was paying any attention to Robert.
They were seated at the dining-room table when the telephone rang. The men tensed. One of them started to rise.
“Would Bellamy be calling here?”
Pier gave him a scornful look. “Of course not. Why should he?” She rose and walked over to the telephone. She picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Pier? I saw the window shade and …”
All she had to do was say that everything was all right, and he would come back to the house. The men would arrest him, and she could demand her reward. But would they merely arrest him? She could hear Robert’s voice saying: If the police find me, they have orders to kill me.
The men at the table were watching her. There was so much she could do with fifty thousand dollars. There were beautiful clothes to buy, cruises to take, a pretty little apartment in Rome … and Robert would be dead. Besides, she hated the goddamned police. Pier said into the telephone, “You have the wrong number.”
Robert heard the click of the receiver and stood there, stunned. She had believed the tall tales he had told her and it had probably saved his life. Bless her.
Robert turned the car around and headed away from the house, toward the docks, but instead of going to the main part of the port that serviced the freighters and ocean liners leaving Italy, he drove to the other side, past Santa Lucia, to a small pier where the sign over a kiosk read: “Capri and Ischia”. Robert parked the car where it could easily be spotted, and walked up to the ticket seller.
“When does the next hydrofoil leave for Ischia?”
“In thirty minutes.”
“And for Capri?”
“Five minutes.”
“Give me a one-way ticket to Capri.”
“Si, signore.”
“What’s this ‘si signore’ crap?” Robert said in a loud voice. “Why don’t you people speak English like everybody else?”
The man’s eyes widened in shock.
“You goddamn guineas are all alike. Stupid! Or, as you people would say, stupido.” Robert shoved some money at the man, grabbed the ticket and walked toward the hydrofoil.
Three minutes later he was on his way to the island of Capri. The boat started out slowly, making its way cautiously through the channel. When it reached the outer limits, it surged forward, rising out of the water like a graceful porpoise. The ferry was full of tourists from a variety of countries, happily chattering away in different tongues. No one was paying any attention to Robert.