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The English Assassin :: Silva Daniel
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“What happened to him?”
The Englishman looked into the fire.
Orsati murmured, “Poor devil.”
“I asked nicely once.”
“The question is, why? Why did you betray me, Christopher? Haven’t I been good to you?”
The Englishman played the tape he’d taken from Emil Jacobi in Lyons. Then he gave Orsati the dossier he had prepared based on his own investigation and went into the kitchen to clean up the dishes from lunch. The Corsican was a notoriously slow reader.
When he returned, Orsati was finishing the dossier. He closed the file, and his dark gaze settled on the Englishman. “Professor Jacobi was a very good man, but we are paid to kill people. If we spent all our time wrestling with questions of right and wrong, no work would ever get done.”
“Is that the way your father conducted his business? And his father? And his?”
Orsati pointed his thick forefinger like a gun at the Englishman’s face. “My family is none of your affair, Christopher. You work for me. Don’t ever forget that.”
It was the first time Orsati had spoken to him in anger.
“I meant no disrespect, Don Orsati.”
The Corsican lowered his finger. “None taken.”
“Do you know the story of the signadora and what happened to her husband?”
“You know much about the history of this place, but not everything. How do you think the signadora keeps a roof over her head? Do you think she survives on the money she makes chasing away evil spirits with her magic oil and holy water?”
“You take care of her?”
Orsati gave a slow nod.
“She told me that sometimes a taddunaghiu can dispense justice as well as vengeance.”
“This is true. Don Tomasi certainly deserved to die.”
“I know a man who deserves to die.”
“The man in your dossier?”
“Yes.”
“It sounds as though he’s very well protected.”
“I’m better than any of them.”
Orsati held his glass up to the fire and watched the light dancing in the ruby-colored wine. “You’re very good, but killing a man like that will not be easy. You’ll need my help.”
“You?”
Orsati swallowed the last of his wine. “Who do you think climbed Don Tomasi’s mountain and slit his evil throat?”
50
COSTA DE PRATA, PORTUGAL
CARLOS THE VINEYARD KEEPER was the first to see him arrive.
“What happened to him?”
The Englishman looked into the fire.
Orsati murmured, “Poor devil.”
“I asked nicely once.”
“The question is, why? Why did you betray me, Christopher? Haven’t I been good to you?”
The Englishman played the tape he’d taken from Emil Jacobi in Lyons. Then he gave Orsati the dossier he had prepared based on his own investigation and went into the kitchen to clean up the dishes from lunch. The Corsican was a notoriously slow reader.
When he returned, Orsati was finishing the dossier. He closed the file, and his dark gaze settled on the Englishman. “Professor Jacobi was a very good man, but we are paid to kill people. If we spent all our time wrestling with questions of right and wrong, no work would ever get done.”
“Is that the way your father conducted his business? And his father? And his?”
Orsati pointed his thick forefinger like a gun at the Englishman’s face. “My family is none of your affair, Christopher. You work for me. Don’t ever forget that.”
It was the first time Orsati had spoken to him in anger.
“I meant no disrespect, Don Orsati.”
The Corsican lowered his finger. “None taken.”
“Do you know the story of the signadora and what happened to her husband?”
“You know much about the history of this place, but not everything. How do you think the signadora keeps a roof over her head? Do you think she survives on the money she makes chasing away evil spirits with her magic oil and holy water?”
“You take care of her?”
Orsati gave a slow nod.
“She told me that sometimes a taddunaghiu can dispense justice as well as vengeance.”
“This is true. Don Tomasi certainly deserved to die.”
“I know a man who deserves to die.”
“The man in your dossier?”
“Yes.”
“It sounds as though he’s very well protected.”
“I’m better than any of them.”
Orsati held his glass up to the fire and watched the light dancing in the ruby-colored wine. “You’re very good, but killing a man like that will not be easy. You’ll need my help.”
“You?”
Orsati swallowed the last of his wine. “Who do you think climbed Don Tomasi’s mountain and slit his evil throat?”
50
COSTA DE PRATA, PORTUGAL
CARLOS THE VINEYARD KEEPER was the first to see him arrive.