rludlum-shelby.thecassandracompact-第5节

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　〃Yuri…〃
　〃It's　all　right；　Jon。　I　wasn't　followed。　I'm　clean。〃　Danko　leaned　back　in　his　chair　and　stared　at　the　pianist。　〃Wonderful；　isn't　it？　The　music；　I　mean。〃
　Smith　leaned　forward。　〃Are　you　all　right？〃
　Danko　nodded。　〃I　am　now。　Getting　here　wasn't　easy；　but…〃
　Danko　broke　off　as　the　waiter　brought　his　coffee。　〃It　was　very　difficult　in　Yugoslavia。　The　Serbs　are　a　paranoid　bunch。　I　was　carrying　a　Ukrainian　passport　but　even　that　was　closely　checked。〃
　Smith　was　straining　to　still　the　hundreds　of　questions　swirling　in　his　mind；　trying　to　focus　on　what　had　to　be　done　next。
　〃Is　there　anything　you　want　to　tell　me；　or　give　me…　right　now？〃
　Danko　appeared　not　to　have　heard　him。　His　attention　was　on　a　pair　of　carabinieri…　Italian　militiamen…　who　were　walking　slowly　among　the　tourists；　their　submachine　guns　slung　across　their　chests。
　〃Lots　of　police；〃　he　murmured。
　〃It's　the　holidays；〃　Smith　replied。　〃They　always　add　extra　patrols。　Yuri。。。〃
　〃I　have　something　to　tell　Mr。　Klein；　Jon；〃　Danko　leaned　across　the　table。　〃What　they're　going　to　do…　I　never　would　have　believed　it。　It's　insanity！〃
　〃What　are　they　going　to　do？〃　Smith　demanded；　trying　to　control　his　tone。　〃Who's　they？〃
　Danko　looked　around　nervously。　〃Have　you　made　the　arrangements？　Can　you　get　me　away　from　here？〃
　〃We　can　leave　right　now。〃
　As　Smith　dipped　into　his　pocket　for　his　billfold；　he　noticed　the　two　carabinieri　moving　between　the　café　tables。　One　laughed　as　though　the　other　had　made　a　joke；　then　motioned　in　the　direction　of　the　sandwich　bar。
　Smith　counted　out　some　lire；　placed　the　bills　under　a　plate；　and　was　about　to　push　back　his　chair　when　the　universe　exploded。
　〃Jon！〃
　Danko's　scream　was　cut　short　by　the　brutal　sound　of　automatic　weapons　fired　at　point…blank　range。　After　passing　the　table；　the　two　carabinieri　had　whirled　around；　guns　blazing。　Death　spat　from　the　two　barrels；　riddling　Danko's　body；　the　force　of　the　bullets　slamming　him　into　the　back　of　his　chair；　then　flinging　it　over。
　Smith　had　barely　enough　time　to　register　the　carnage　before　he　threw　himself　in　the　direction　of　the　small　grandstand。　Bullets　stitched　the　stone　and　wood　around　him。　The　pianist　made　the　fatal　mistake　of　trying　to　stand　up；　a　fusillade　cut　him　in　half。　Seconds　seemed　to　move　as　though　trapped　in　honey。　Smith　could　not　believe　that　the　killers　were　taking　so　much　time；　working　with　deadly　impunity。　What　he　did　know　was　that　the　grand　piano；　its　glossy　black　frame　and　white　keys　horribly　splintered；　was　saving　his　life；　absorbing　burst　after　burst　of　military…grade　bullets。
　The　killers　were　professionals；　they　knew　when　they　had　run　out　of　time。　Dropping　their　weapons；　they　crouched　behind　an　overturned　table　and　ripped　off　their　military　jackets。　Underneath；　they　wore　gray　and　tan　windbreakers。　From　the　pockets；　they　pulled　out　fishermen's　caps。　Using　the　bystanders'　panic　as　cover；　they　broke　and　raced　toward　the　Florian　Café。　As　they　burst　through　the　front　doors；　one　of　them　yelled：　〃Assassini！　They　are　killing　everyone！　For　the　love　of　God；　call　the　polizia！〃
　Smith　raised　his　head　just　in　time　to　see　the　killers　plunge　into　the　screaming　crowd　of　café　patrons。　He　looked　back　at　Danko；　lying　on　his　back；　his　chest　shredded。　A　low　animal　growl　rose　in　Smith's　throat　as　he　leaped　off　the　grandstand　and　elbowed　his　way　into　the　café。　The　herd　swept　him　away　to　the　service　doors　and　into　the　alley　at　the　back。　Gasping；　Smith　looked　frantically　in　both　directions。　On　the　left；　he　caught　a　glimpse　of　gray　jackets　disappearing　around　a　corner。
　The　killers　knew　the　area　very　well。　They　cut　down　two　twisting　alleys；　then　reached　a　narrow　canal　where　a　gondola　was　tied　to　a　pier　post。　One　jumped　in　and　grabbed　the　oar；　the　other　slipped　the　rope。　In　seconds　they　were　moving　down　the　canal。
　The　killer　who　was　oaring　paused　to　light　a　cigarette。
　〃A　simple　enough　day's　work；〃　he　said　to　his　partner。
　〃For　twenty　thousand　American　dollars；　it　was　almost　too　simple；〃　the　second　replied。　〃But　we　should　have　killed　the　other　one　too。　The　Swiss　gnome　was　very　specific：　the　target　and　any　contact　with　him。〃
　〃Basta！　We　fulfilled　the　contract。　If　the　Swiss　gnome　wants…〃
　His　words　were　cut　off　by　the　oarsman's　exclamation。　〃The　devil's　own！〃
　The　second　gunman　twisted　around　in　the　direction　his　friend　was　pointing。　His　mouth　fell　open　at　the　sight　of　the　victim's　partner　pounding　down　the　walkway　alongside　the　canal。
　〃Shoot　the　figlio　di　putana！〃　he　screamed。
　The　oarsman　brought　out　a　large…caliber　handgun。　〃With　pleasure。〃
　Smith　saw　the　oarsman's　arm　e　up；　saw　the　pistol　waver　as　the　gondola　rocked。　He　realized　the　insanity　of　what　he　was　doing；　chasing　armed　killers　without　so　much　as　knife　to　protect　himself。　But　the　image　of　Danko　kept　his　legs　churning。　Less　than　thirty　feet　and　closing；　because　the　oarsman　could　not　steady　himself　to　take　the　shot。
　Twenty　feet。
　〃Tommaso…〃
　The　oarsman；　Tommaso；　wished　that　his　partner　would　shut　up。　He　could　see　the　demented　one　closing　in；　but　what　did　it　matter？　Obviously　he　had　no　weapon；　otherwise　he　would　have　used　it　by　now。
　Then　he　saw　something　else；　partially　exposed　beneath　the　floor　planks　of　the　gondola：　a　hint　of　a　battery　and　multicolored　wires。。。　the　kind　he　himself　had　used　often　enough。
　Tommaso's　scream　was　cut　off　by　the　explosion　and　the　fireball　that　consumed　the　gondola；　heaving　it　thirty　feet　into　the　air。　For　an　instant；　there　was　nothing　but　black；　acrid　smoke。　Hurled　against　the　brick　wall　of　a　glass　factory；　Smith　saw　nothing　after　the　flash；　but　he　smelled　the　burning　wood　and　blackened　flesh　as　they　began　to　rain　down　from　the　sky。
　
　Amid　the　terror　and　fearful　uncertainty　that　gripped　the　square；　one　man；　hidden　behind　the　pillar　supporting　one　of　the　granite　lions　of　St。　Mark's；　remained　calm。　At　first　glance；　he　appeared　to　be　in　his　early　fifties。　But　possibly　it　was　the　mustache　and　goatee　that　made　him　look　older。　He　wore　a　French…cut　sport　coat　in　window…pane　check　with　a　yellow　rosette　in　the　lapel。　A　paisley　cravat　was　nestled　against　his　throat。　To　the　casual　observer；　he　appeared　a　dandy；　perhaps　a　tenured　academic　or　a　genteel　retiree。
　Except　that　he　moved　very　quickly。　Even　as　the　echoes　of　gunfire　caromed　around　the　piazza；　he　was　already　heading　in　the　direction　of　the　fleeing　gunmen。　A　choice　had　to　be　made：　follow　them　and　the　American　who　was　in　pursuit；　or　go　to　the　wounded　man。　He　didn't　hesitate。
　〃Dottore！　Let　me　pass！　I'm　a　doctor！〃
　Cowering　tourists　responded　instantly　to　his　perfect　Italian。　In　seconds；　he　was　kneeling　by　the　bullet…ridden　body　of　Yuri　Danko。　One　glance　told　him　that　Danko　was　beyond　anyone's　help　except　perhaps　God's。　Still；　he　pressed　two　fingers　to　the　man's　throat　as　though　feeling　for　a　pulse。　At　the　same　time；　his　other　hand　was　busy　inside　Danko's　jacket。
　People　were　beginning　to　stand　up；　look　around。　Look　at　him。　Some　were　moving　his　way。　As　shell…shocked　as　they　were；　they　would　still　ask　questions　that　he　would　rather　avoid。
　〃You　there！〃　the　doctor　said　sharplv；　addressing　a　young　man　who　looked　like　a　college　student。　〃Get　over　here　and　help　me。〃　He　grabbed　the　student　and　forced　him　to　hold　Danko's　hand。　〃Now　squeeze。。。　I　said　squeeze！〃
　〃But　he's　dead！〃　the　student　protested。
　〃Idiot！〃　the　doctor　snapped。　〃He's　still　alive。　But　he　will　die　if　he　doesn't　feel　any　human　contact！〃
　〃But　you…〃
　〃I　must　get　help。　You　stay　here！〃
　The　doctor　pushed　his　way　through　the　crowd　gathering　around　the　slain　men。　He　was　not　concerned　about　the　eyes　that　darted　to　meet　his。　Most　witnesses　were　notoriously　unreliable　under　the　best　of　circumstances。　Under　these　conditions；　not　a　single　person　would　be　able　to　describe　him　accurately。
　The　first　hee…haw　of　police　klaxons　reached　him。　Within　minutes；　the　entire　square　would　be　overrun　by　carabinieri　and　cordoned　off。　Potential　witnesses　would　be　rounded　up；　the　interrogations　would　go　on　for　days。　The　doctor　could　ill　afford　to　be　caught　in　the　dragnet。
　Without　seeming　to；　he　moved　swiftly　to　the　Bridge　of　Sighs；　crossed　it；　went　past　the　stalls　where　hawkers　peddled　souvenirs　and　T…shirts；　and　slipped　into　the　lobby　of　the　Danieli　Hotel。
　〃Good　afternoon；　Herr　Doktor　Humboldt；〃　the　concierge　said。
　〃A　good　day　to　you；〃　replied　the　man　who　was　neither　a　doctor　nor　Humboldt。　To　the　few　who　needed　to　know；　his　name　was　Peter　Howell。
　Howell　wasn't　surprised　that　word　of　the　massacre　hadn't　yet　reached　the　august　oasis　of　the　Danieli。　Very　little　of　the　outside　world　was　permitted　to　penetrate　this　fourteenth…century　palace　built　for　the　Doge　Dandolo。
　Howell　turned　left　into　the　magnificent　living　room　and　headed　for　the　small　bar　in　the　corner。　He　ordered　a　brandy　and；　when　the　bartender's　back　was　to　him；　closed　his　eyes　for　an　instant。　Howell　had　seen　his　share　of　dead　men；　had　initiated　and　been　on　the　receiving　end　of　extreme　violence。　But　the　cold；　stark　killing　in　St。　Mark's　still　managed　to　sicken　him。
　He　drank　half　the　brandy　in　a　single　swallow。　When　the　liquor　hit　his　bloodstream　and　he　felt　himself　relax；　he　reached　into　his　coat　pocket。
　Decades　had　passed　since　Howell　had　been　taught　the　pickpocket's　skill。