The Pigeon Project (23 page)

“On a special discount,” he said. “Now let me tell you what I’m going to be doing, and suggest what you should be doing. For myself, I’m going off to see a friend of mine who works here, a lifeguard named Dante. He’ll know the situation. You see, he lives near the Porto di Lido, and he’ll know the security setup. He…”

Jordan could see that she was bewildered, and he decided to take a moment to explain.

“Let me give you an idea of the layout. There are two strips of land—islands, actually—that stand between Venice and the sea. To go from Venice to the open sea, you have to get past these two strips of land, you have to go through narrow channels. A person wanting to get out of Venice by sea would cross the main lagoon, go through one of these channels. On the north side of the Lido, at the farthest end, is a channel called Porto di Lido, where our Venice Must Live Committee set up the hydraulic inflatable dam that is supposed to keep seawater out of the lagoon and city, although it’s never been used yet. At the opposite end of the Lido is a channel called Porto di Malamocco. And at the farthest end of the next strip of land, Pellestrina, is a third channel called Porto di Chioggia. Can you picture this, Alison?”

“I-I think so,” she said hesitantly.

“These three channels, outlets to the sea, would be further means by which, through which, a person might escape by water. Just as the Piazzale Roma and its causeway is a means by which a person might escape by land. Well, we know the Piazzale Roma is being closely guarded. Now I’ve got to find out how carefully these three water outlets are being guarded.”

“I understand.”

“My lifeguard friend, Dante, will have a good idea. So that’s what I’m going to be doing now. Looking for him. As for you, that’s easy. While I’m gone, you’re going to be getting some sun or water.”

“In the nude?”

“They don’t allow it, but even if they did, it’s not necessary. There are two women’s swimsuits in the cabana.”

“How convenient.”

“I told you I had a Venetian girl friend I see occasionally. She uses the cabana and keeps her swimsuits here. I think…” He ran his eyes down the curves of Alison’s figure. “They just might fit you. Anyway, put one on and take a dip. I won’t be gone long.”

He was wrong. He was actually gone for over an hour.

He had tried to find Dante on the nearby pier, but a new lifeguard was in Dante’s place and had no idea where he had gone. Jordan had then visited the beach office under the Excelsior and learned that Dante had gone into the town of the Lido for lunch. Jordan was told that the lifeguard might be found in one of three restaurants. Jordan had then mounted the flights of stone steps to the immense Excelsior lobby, hurried through it out the front entrance, and hailed a taxi to the town. He had visited all three restaurants and found Dante in none of them.

Returning to the hotel, he had left word for Dante to call on him at his cabana when he came back, and then he had started off to rejoin Alison.

At first, he did not recognize her and thought he had stopped at someone else’s cabana. He had never seen her almost nude, had only imagined it, and the naked contours were all new to him. She was lying stretched out on the beach cot in the sun, on her back, eyes closed behind her oversized sunglasses, a ribbon of white bikini covering her nipples but not her breasts, and a wisp of matching bikini drawn tightly at her pelvic area.

Momentarily, Jordan became acquainted with this lithe, slender female body he had not seen before—the bony shoulders, overflowing breast tops, slash of navel, slim hips accentuating the rising curve of the vaginal mound, firm thighs, and shapely long legs.

He sat gently on the edge of the beach cot, awakening Alison.

He said, “I see one of her bikinis fitted you.”

“Oh, you, Tim. I must have been asleep.” Her hand went down to the string securing her bikini bottom on one side. “Actually, no, hers did not fit. She has too much hip for me. I went into the hotel, and they sent me to a women’s shop a block away. I found my size.” She started to get up. One breast began to slip free, and she caught and covered it, and finally managed to sit upright. She looked down at the bikini bottom. “Maybe it’s not my size. I feel naked.”

“Is that bad?”

“Well, it is if you’re the only one of two.”

“Then I’ll strip down, get into my trunks.” He stood up. “Let’s go in the water.”

He had started for the cabana when she called out, “Tim, did you see your friend?”

“He was out to lunch. I left a message for him to come here when he gets back… See you in a minute.”

He went through the cabana door, ducked past the curtain, and began to take off his clothes. When he was naked, he pulled his blue Italian swim shorts off a hook and stepped into them. Then he looked down at himself, and did not like what he saw—or rather, what she would see. He was definitely flabby and would look twice her age. The damn shorts stuck to the skin like adhesive, forcing his stomach to protrude and hang down slightly. At his chest, too much fat. Oh, well, he decided, none of this could determine what she really thought of him. Inhaling, he sucked in his breath—and his stomach—and stepped outside.

She was standing in the sun, waiting for him. He felt her eyes on him as he approached her. He felt all belly.

“You don’t look like the most dangerous man in Venice,” she said, “but you’re definitely cute.”

Relieved, he stopped holding in his stomach. “A woman of exquisite taste,” he said, taking her hand. Together, they started across the blistering sand toward the water.

As they went into the water, over the shoreline pebbles and stones, it was unexpectedly cold. But as they waded farther out, until the water reached their thighs, it began to seem warmer. Not until they were thirty or forty yards from the shore did the water cover her bosom.

“This is as far as I go,” Alison said. “I can’t swim.”

“Okay.” He fell back in the water and, using a splashy backstroke, circled her twice. When he came upright once more, he wiped his eyes and grinned at her. There was no response. Her mind was elsewhere, and her face crossed with concern.

“What’s the matter, Alison?” he asked.

“I’m worried. Here we are out here, playing around, when the professor’s in such deep trouble. I feel we should be doing something more.”

“I’m doing everything I can.”

“I know, I know you are, Tim. But it is just that—well, Bruno and his bribe are our only prospect, and it’s not enough. As you said before, we’ve got to come up with another possibility.”

“Believe me, Alison, I don’t stop thinking of it. I’m sure we’ll hit on another idea.”

“We must. Every day they are closing in on Professor MacDonald. If this continues for even a week more, they’ll have to catch him. He and his discovery will be lost to the world forever.”

“All right, Alison. Let’s go in now and see if Dante has turned up.”

When they emerged from the water and started back to the cabana, Jordan saw the squat, muscular figure in straw hat, T-shirt, and red trunks. Dante was standing before the cot, signaling to him.

“Is that your lifeguard friend?” asked Alison.

“Yes.”

“I’ll go inside and change while you talk to him.”

She ran on past Dante into the cabana, while Jordan shook hands with his friend.

Dante jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I see you got a new girl friend.” He smiled broadly. “Or another one.”

“Neither,” said Jordan good-naturedly. “Let’s just say she’s a business associate.”

“They told me you were looking for me at lunchtime.”

“I even went into town to try to find you at one of your regular eating places.”

“I was invited to lunch at a lady’s apartment. Those lunches always take longer.”

“I bet they do… Actually, Dante, what I wanted to find out from you wasn’t all that important. Just something I was curious about. You still living out near the Porto di Lido?”

“As always.”

“In light of the present emergency, what’s the action out there?”

“Action?” Dante was plainly puzzled.

“I’m talking about the situation in Venice,” said Jordan, “the way the police have surrounded and locked up the city. I wondered if they bothered about your area or the channel—the Porto di Lido.”

“Have they bothered? In all my years I have never seen anything like it. On the water, from far in the lagoon right up to the channel, it is swarming with police boats on patrol.”

“So it is sealed tight?”

“No one is let through. Everyone is turned away. I can’t believe all of this is for a mere spy. There are so many spies. No one fusses about the others.”

“But this one stole Italy’s top military secret.”

“Don’t you believe it, Tim. Someone told me it’s a thief they are after, one who has stolen a Titian.”

“I read it was a spy,” said Jordan. “What about steamer traffic—all those cruise ships that come into the lagoon this time of the year?”

“No more. None has even appeared. They have all been informed by wireless not to approach Venice, because they will be turned away. There is only one outside ship in the lagoon, I heard. It was here for sudden repairs, a Greek cruise ship. It will be allowed to leave in the next week, since none of the poor passengers have been permitted to go ashore. Everyone is confined to the ship, except some officers.”

Jordan’s mind had seized on the last. A Greek cruise ship leaving Venice in a week. But if no one, except officers, was authorized to board or leave the vessel, there seemed almost no chance to smuggle MacDonald onto it. Still, it was something to keep in mind.

“Well, Dante, my curiosity is satisfied,” Jordan said. “I wanted to take my lady friend on a short excursion to sea, through the Porto di Lido, but I guess I’ll have to postpone it.” He nodded toward the Adriatic. “Unless we just tried to swim out from this beach.”

“You wouldn’t get far, my friend. The carabinieri are posted on the end of each of those piers armed with rifles with telescopic sights.” He shrugged cheerfully. “We must face it. Our Venice is now a prison.”

“Casanova escaped it.”

“Ah, Casanova. That one was something special. Now we speak of mere mortals.”

“I suppose we do. Anyway, I appreciate all your information. I’d better be heading back to the main prison.”

“And I’d better get back on duty,” said Dante. “See you soon.”

Jordan watched the sturdy lifeguard leave. His thoughts went back to the plight of Professor MacDonald. He wondered whether MacDonald was still safely in the care of Dr. Scarpa. Then he was sure of it Few men in Venice were more trustworthy or loyal to their word than Dr. Scarpa.

* * *

In the huge, ornately furnished upstairs bedroom of Mayor Accardi’s Renaissance-style home, not far from the Rialto Bridge, Dr. Giovanni Scarpa had finished his examination of Margot Accardi and was tucking his stethoscope into his small leather bag.

“Then you assure me I will live,” said Margot Accardi, rising with difficulty from the chaise longue, securing her tentlike dressing gown around her. “The last time I had the flu—”

“It is not the flu, Margot,” Dr. Scarpa said somewhat testily. “I have told you. It is no more than a mild cold that has settled in your chest. You may have a little discomfort, but if you stay indoors, keep warm, drink plenty of liquids, you should be your old young self in two or three days.”

“Are you prescribing anything?”

“Not necessary,” said Dr. Scarpa. He did not believe in promoting pills, even as a placebo, when they were not warranted. He believed in the natural restorative powers of the human body, especially when it came to minor ailments. “Just avoid overexertion. And, I repeat, take liquids.”

Dr. Scarpa closed his bag, observed Margot Accardi lumbering to the bell rope next to the bedroom door. He remembered when she had married the future mayor. She had been a big-boned, handsome young woman with some pretension toward a career in opera. She had been too lazy to pursue singing seriously and had settled into a soft life of eating, shopping, charities. In the last two decades she had gained two chins, and her person was a mountainous monument to uncounted eclaires and products of Perugina.

“Speaking of liquids,” she said, “we will begin now.” She tugged at the bell rope. “I told Anna to have tea ready for us. Surely, it won’t hurt you to spare a few minutes for tea, Giovanni.”

Dr. Scarpa sighed. Tea and gossip was the unfailing routine after every house call at the Accardis’. Dutifully, Dr. Scarpa brought a gilt chair to a position across from the chaise longue as Margot Accardi settled down on it and began to recount a rumor of Deputy Mayor Santin’s wife and her flirtation with a virile young assistant bartender twenty years her junior.

In a few minutes, the tea cart was rolled in between Dr. Scarpa and his portly Scheherazade. He noted that the cart carried only a tiny pot of tea and a great heap of chocolate-covered cookies.

As Margot Accardi concluded her first gossip, poured the tea, and then served herself a plateful of cookies, Dr. Scarpa decided it was time to divert the conversation to something more topical.

“And how is your husband?” he inquired politely. “How is he coping with the emergency he declared?”

“I was just coming to that. We must both have ESP.”

“Well, it is a problem that has affected everyone in the city,” said Dr. Scarpa drily.

Margot Accardi’s eyes brightened, and she came forward on the chaise longue, chins jiggling, and lowered her hoarse voice. “But the problem is not what everyone thinks it is,” said the mayor’s wife. “It is of much greater importance. Of world importance, really.” Her voice dropped another octave. “This is absolutely confidential, Giovanni. You are the only person on earth I’d confide in. After all, you are my doctor.”

“You can trust me, Margot,” Dr. Scarpa said with a show of indifference.

“And I do. I’m bursting to tell someone. Guess what?” She made a dramatic pause. “Venice has not been closed down because Cutrone and his police are trying to catch a spy.” Another pause. “In fact, there is no spy.”

“Oh, no?”

“No spy whatsoever,” Margot Accardi said with firmness. “They made that up because they can’t let the world know the truth. There is someone loose here they are trying to catch—and will catch—but he’s not a spy—he’s an internationally famous scientist.”