AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"By the time they come back, next time, you'll be dead," said Don Carlo as his guard began spraying Pryce and Montrose with an aerosol can.
"Why?" asked Cameron.
"Because you're dead meat, I believe is the phrase. The smell on you guarantees it. Dogs can be immobilized with darts and bullets, but my birds devour corpses until there's nothing left."
"It's time for a McAuliffe, Colonel!" yelled Pryce as the maniacal birds flew back through the window, screeching and screaming their horrific caws. As the deadly flock flew in, Montrose, yelling "Nuts, crashed herself into Carlo Paravacini, rubbing her dress around his own clothes as Cameron sent a deadly chi sai chop into the startled guard, grabbed the aerosol can and sprayed it over him, then aimed it at Paravacini.
"Leslie, let's go!" shouted Pryce.
"I want his weapon!" yelled Montrose as the birds circled around her.
"He probably doesn't have one, you idiot! Come on!"
"Yes, he does, you moron! It's a small twenty-two. Get these goddamned birds off me!"
Pryce fired two shots with the guard's automatic. The vicious birds flew in circles, collisions everywhere, as he grabbed Leslie's hand.
They raced out the door and down the marble hallway.
"Are you all right?" asked Cam as they ran to the grass parking area.
"I've got pecks all over my neck-" "We'll call Togazzi and get you to a doctor."
They reached their rental car. It would not start.
"They must have pulled out the plugs," said Leslie, exhausted.
"There's a Rolls," said Pryce.
"Do you mind going first class? I know how to hot-wire a Rolls. Come on!"
"This soon-to-be-middle-aged mother," cried Montrose, chasing after Cam to the elegant brown-and-tan automobile, "is not going to question a maniac who says he can hot-wire a car while I'm running for my life from a bunch of flesh-eating birds! My God!"
They opened the doors and jumped in, Pryce behind the wheel.
"I
love the rich!" he exclaimed.
"They leave their keys in their fancy automobiles. What's a Rolls or two? We're out of here!" The powerful engine roared as Cameron shifted into gear and sped over the lawn and out to the lake road, tires screeching and grass flying.
"Where to?" asked Leslie.
"I don't think the hotel is a very good idea."
"It couldn't be worse. We'll head for Togazzi's, if I can find it."
"There's a phone," said Montrose, pointing it out below the dashboard.
"Only if I really get us lost. Those things are sieves."
After several wrong turns in the narrow streets of Bellagio, Pryce found the steep hill that led to the long mountain road paralleling the lake far below. Twice they missed the hidden entrance to Silvio Togazzi's equally concealed house. Finally, the orderly pavane at the guardhouse over with, the exhausted, still-in-shock Cameron and Leslie sat with the don on his screened-in balcony overlooking the lake. Stiff drinks were brought to the couple; they were gratefully received.
"It was all so horrible!"" said Montrose, shuddering.
"Those dreadful, screaming birds, augh!"
"Many have believed that Carlo Paravacini's obsession with his creatures would one day be his death," said the old man.
"And so it was this day."
"What?" interrupted Pryce.
"You haven't heard then?" asked Togazzi.
"You didn't turn on that lovely automobile's radio?"
"Hell, no, I didn't want to touch anything more than I had to."
"All Bellagio knows, tomorrow all Italy."
"Knows what?" insisted Leslie.
"I shall relay it as delicately as possible," continued Don Silvio.
"The door to Carlo's aviary had been left open and soon the guests began to notice many different birds soaring in the sky. At first it amused them until strips and pieces of human flesh began falling over the lawns and the yacht. Apparently, there was pandemonium and servants rushed into the mansion. What they found caused many to vomit, others to faint, and all to wail and shriek in horror."
"The bodies," said Cameron, making a quiet statement.
"What was left of them," agreed Togazzi.
"The shredded clothing was the principal means of immediate identification. As with the seagulls over beached fish, the eyes were the first to go."
"I think I'm going to be sick," mumbled Montrose, turning away.
"What do we do now?" asked Pryce.
"You stay here, of course."
"What clothes we have, and a great deal of money, are at the hotel."
"I will take care of the Villa d'Este, the concierge is in my employ."
"He is?"
"As well as the ambitious sous-chef, a thoroughly dislikable fellow but invaluable to me in so many ways."
"Such as?"
"Powders in a wine, if I care to have my people interrogate an individual-or poison to a Paravacini slave who has killed once too often. Remember, I am a Scozzi."
"You're really something-" "I' was a brother of the best. He's called Beowulf Agate, and I learned so very much from him."
"So I hear," said Cameron.
"But back to my first question. What do we do next?"
"I have a scrambler code to Scofield, and I should be hearing from him shortly, unless he's had too much to drink. Even so, the lovely Antonia will shake him up."
"If he's drunk?" yelled Pryce.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Beowulf Agate is far more perceptive, drunk or sober, than any intelligence officer who hasn't touched liquor in twenty years."
"I don't believe this!"
Togazzi's telephone rang. He picked it up from his white wicker table.
"You old scoundrel!" he cried.
"We were just talking about you."
"What in blazes has that kid been doing?" yelled the voice from New York.
"Forgive me, Brandon, but I'm going to put you on speakerphone, so you may address us all." Togazzi pressed a button on his white telephone.
"Pryce, are you there?" shouted Scofield over the amplified instrument.
"I'm here, Bray. What do you know?"
"State-the State Department, in case you've forgotten-tries to keep its rotten ears to our activities."
"I remember all too well. So what?"
"Their man in Rome called Washington, and State called Shields, asking if we had a black operation going in northern Italy. Naturally, Squinty denied any involvement. Is that true?"
"No, it isn't. We were at ground zero."
"Oh, shit! How come?"
"Because we were about to be killed."
"That's a good answer. How's Leslie?"
"Still shaking, Brandon," said Montrose.
"Did you know that our associate, Officer Pryce, can hot-wire a Rolls-Royce?"
"That thief could probably wire a tank."
"What do we do now?" Cameron broke in.
"Get out of Italy, and fast! .. . Silvio, can you arrange it with Rome?"
"Of course, Brandon. And what is my reward?"
"If and when this is over, Toni and I will grab a plane and buy you the biggest dinner on the Via Veneto."
"I probably own most of the restaurants, you bastardo."
"I'm glad neither of us has changed, you son of a bitch!" "Grazie!" roared Togazzi, laughing.
"Prego!" shouted Beowulf Agate, doing the same.
"Where do you wish to go?" asked the don of the Bellagio hills, hanging up the phone.
"Back to the States," replied Pryce.
"We might have enough now to strike."
"Please, Cam, an hour or so with my son? He's so young and he's been through so much," pleaded Leslie.
"I'll check with London," said Pryce, gripping her hand.
"And I have to warn Geoffrey!"
Luther Considine banked the renovated Bristol Freighter to the left in his final approach to the private field near Lake Maggiore, tw
enty-eight miles from Bellagio. Waiting on the ground at the far end of the designated airstrip were Pryce and Montrose; they were in Togazzi's shabby-looking limousine. It was four o'clock in the morning, the night sky made darker by the cloud cover, the landing lights on the single strip the only illumination. As the plane landed and taxied to within thirty yards of the car, Leslie and Cameron got out of the backseat, nodded to the driver-guard, and ran to the aircraft. Pryce carried their two suitcases, retrieved by one of Don Silvio's staff from the Villa d'Este. Luther flipped a switch and the side loading door snapped up.
Cameron threw in the luggage and helped Leslie inside, jumping in after her.
"Lieutenant," shouted Montrose over the roar of the engines, "you'll never know how happy I am to see you!"
"Good to see you, too, Colonel," replied Considine, closing the door and reversing the aircraft to taxi back for takeoff.
"How's the spook business, Cam?"
"A little hairy-or I guess I should say feathery."
