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"That's the point, we'll never find them. Only one man knows, the one who gives the orders, Matareisen. He's buried them so deep I suspect he's the only one who has the information we desperately need."
"I have a hunch so strong it's eating a hole in my gut."
"What do you mean?"
" You see, one of those huge scrapbooks was devoted entirely to the ruins of the old Matarese fortress or castle, as in the Baron of Matarese.
There were dozens of photographs, from every angle of the inside ruins and the grounds outside. At least thirty big pages, and the pictures weren't old, I mean they weren't grainy or yellowed, but could have been taken yesterday. On the last page, there was a small handwritten note. Negatives per J. V.M."
"Negatives for J.V.M.," said Cameron.
"Jan van der Meer Matareisen, the one who gives the orders."
"Exactly. And why would Matareisen want an extensive photographic record of the old place-because they were ruins."
"The answer is obvious," Togazzi again interrupted.
"For reconstruction."
"That's what I figured," said Scofield.
"The genesis of the Matarese, the original seat of power. I'm not much for psychobabble, but we know Matareisen is a fanatic to the core, a brilliant basket case, but certifiable. Where would such a man go but to his roots when he's about to pull off a worldwide catastrophe?"
"But you don't know that, Bray."
"We will tomorrow."
"What?"
"I called Geof in London on one of Silvio's private lines, and got Considine's code name and hotel number. At first light he'll take off from Milan and fly to the unmapped airstrip near Lake Maggiore-he said he knows it because he picked up you and Leslie there."
"He does and he did."
"His tanks will be full and we'll head for the southeast coast of Corsica. It's roughly two hundred forty air miles, four-eighty with a return; that's no problem for his aircraft. We'll fly below Solenzara to Porto Vecchio, north of Bonifacio. Using the coordinates from Paravacini's maps, we'll pass over the Matarese ruins."
"Is that smart?" asked Pryce.
"At twelve thousand feet it is. Among the equipment I asked for was a high-altitude photo-television scope that penetrates cloud cover.
With a few passes, we'll be able to determine if there's any activity down there. If there is, we'll go into Phase Two."
"What's that?"
"There's an airfield in Senetosa, about twenty minutes from the old Matarese fortress. We'll deplane, trek over, and see what we can find."
"Good God, why no backups? Why this secrecy, which amounts to a blackout?"
"Because I don't trust anybody; we're all penetrated. If I'm right, Matareisen will be there in all his simulated glory. But if he has even the inkling of a suspicion that we've centered in on Porto Vecchio, he'll either hightail it out of there or call in enough firepower to blast an army away."
"Reality check, Bray," said Cameron sharply.
"Suppose you're wrong and he's not there?"
"So I'm wrong. London's working like hell, Squinty's working, the Keizersgracht is working, they're all working. We're not in this alone, for Christ's sake. All we've lost is our time."
"Suppose he is there and he's already got his guards, his firepower?"
"Hey, young fella, this isn't my first run. I was here when you were sucking tits."
"That's not an answer, Brandon."
"All right, it's in the equipment Geof provided. A Comsat mobile link phone, direct satellite transmission to London. If what you suggest is the reality, as you put it, there's a unit of French commandos at the airport in Marseilles. By jet, they can be in Senetosa in a matter of minutes."
"So your secrecy isn't exactly total-" "The hell it isn't. Those guys haven't a clue, just that there might be an incursion on an island in the Mediterranean. Once I give Geof the word, he relays it to the Deuxieme Bureau and the jet takes off for Senetosa. I'll meet the unit on the road and issue the orders. If I ever call them."
"That would assume you've done some reconnoitering."
"I assume we will have. That part's in the equipment, too.
Camouflage outfits, binoculars, two machetes, knives, guns with silencers, boots, wire cutters, gas canisters-all the usual stuff."
"The usual "stuff?"
They flew down the Corsican coast at eight thousand feet until they reached Solenzara, where Luther ascended to twelve thousand. The sophisticated high-altitude camera was in place, clamped to the floor of the fuselage, the opening part of the Bristol Freighter's multipurpose design.
"Map coordinates coming up two minutes plus," said Considine over the loudspeaker.
"Are you prepared?"
"Everything's ready," replied Scofield, hovering over the camera whose ten-inch screen magnified the ground below a thousand fold while photographs were taken roughly every half second.
Two minutes later Luther spoke again.
"Start your lead-ins and check for focus. Refine."
"I gather you've done this before, Lieutenant," said Pryce into his throat microphone.
"You gather right, spook. It's called Iraqi flybys Very relaxing duty, except when the idiots get missile-happy."
"Rolling," cried Brandon, peering down at the screen.
"Look at that, Cam! You'd think those trees were only a couple of hundred feet away, not two miles."
"Approaching target," exclaimed Considine.
"Good luck, bombardier."
"There it is!" yelled Scofield.
"Only it isn't. Those aren't ruinsTogazzi and I were right, the whole place has been rebuilt! Turn around and make another pass, Luther."
"Peeling," said the pilot as the aircraft veered to the left.
The second, third, and fourth passes revealed a total of five figures at various times on the grounds of the Matarese estate. Two of the people appeared to be women; one male apparently was a gardener, as he was in the middle of a cluster of flowers, and two other men were climbing into an automobile.
"That's enough for me," said Beow
ulf Agate, "we go to Phase Two.
Senetosa, Luther! Can you find it?"
"I found it before we took off, ye elder spook."
On the ground at the Senetosa airfield, Scofield and Pryce opened the crate of supplies, dividing up the equipment among them. Bray threw Considine a camouflage suit complete with a full cartridge belt and a silenced pistol.
"What the hell are these for?" asked the pilot.
"I've already got new clothes without any labels."
"Just in case we need assistance, and it would only be under extreme circumstances."
"If they're not in the air, I don't like extreme circumstances. I fight in the sky, man."
"I doubt any such thing would be required. However, there's a possibility that a small contingent of French commandos will be arriving-" "French commandos!" exploded Luther.
"You white clowns are playing fast and loose with this black ass."
"No, no, Lieutenant, you misunderstand. There's only one road from here to Porto Vecchio and if they're required, I'll meet them halfway and I'll give them their orders. It's just that they'll feel more confident if you're dressed in combat gear."
"I won't feel more confident."
"Pensacola, Luther, Pensacola," said Cam quietly.
"I don't know whether that's a promise or an albatross."
"He's a very clever young man," observed Scofield.
"Come on, fellas, strip and get into the gear."
Outside the aircraft, Brandon and Pryce, in full guerrilla regalia, and Considine, self-conscious in his camouflage fatigues with the cartridge belt, stood by the plane while the traffic controller from the small tower approached. He spoke in broken English.
"You most welcome to Senetosa, signori, although I have never seen you. You are to proceed with your operation. Our crew will cover your plane with nets."
"Is that necessary?" asked Luther.
"Orders from London. Proceed, piacere, the airstrip will be closed until we receive additional orders."
"Good enough," said Scofield.
"Stay by your radio, Lieutenant.
We'll keep in touch."
"You do that."
Bray and Cameron started down the road from the airfield cut out of the hills. It was now late morning and they stayed on the edge of the coarse pavement, prepared to race into bordering woods at the first sight or sound of humans or vehicles. Twice it was necessary to do so;
