Serpent (NUMA Files 1)

Donatelli was studying him. The flickering light from the fireplace bathed the still handsome features of a man in his sixties. The thick head of wavy hair, combed straight back, was grayer than it appeared in the business magazine photo. In general Donatelli had aged well. He was still trim, and in the expensive-looking pale blue running suit and New Balance running shoes he looked as if he worked at keeping fit.

Cousin Antonio was the exact opposite. He was short and squat, with a shaved head and watchful eyes set in a face that looked as if it had been used for a punching bag. The nose was broken, the ears cauliflowered and the sallow skin covered with a lacework of scars. He was dressed in a black shirt and black slacks. He had reappeared carrying a tray with two brandy glasses and Austin's wallet on it. The waiter image was diminished somehow by the shotgun strapped onto his shoulder.

"Grappa," Donatelli said. "It will burn the dampness from our bones."

Austin tucked the billfold back into his pocket and tried the liquor. The Italian firewater seared Austin's throat. It felt good

Donatelli took a sip and said, "How did you find me here, Mr. Austin? I left strict instructions with my office not to tell anyone where I was."

"They said at the restaurant that you were on the island."

The older man smiled. "So much for my security measures." Donatelli took another sip and stared silently into the fire. After a minute he affixed Austin with, his penetrating eyes. "It wasn't a robbery," he said flatly.

"Did the newspaper get it wrong?"

"I called it that for convenience. In a robbery the thieves take something. These thieves took nothing except lives." With a sharp memory for detail and touches of humor, Donatelli related the events of that memorable night in 1956. Even after all these years his voice trembled during his description of the shifting of the dying ship as he made his way deeper in the flooded darkness. He told about the murder of the armored truck guards, his flight, and his eventual rescue. "You said the truck carried a stone," he mused "Why would people kill over a stone, Mr. Austin?"

"Maybe it's not just any stone."

He shook his head, uncomprehending.

"Mr. Donatelli, you said earlier that you thought I was one of 'them.' What did you mean?"

The restaurateur considered his words carefully. "In all the years since the ship went down I have said nothing about what happened. The newspaper article was a slip of the tongue. I have known in my heart there was a reason for keeping this secret. After the article appeared someone called and warned me never to say anything about that incident again. A man with a voice likee ice. He knew everything about me and my family. My wife's hairdresser. The names of my children and grandchildren. Where they lived. He said if I ever mentioned that night to anyone, I would be killed. But first I would see my family destroyed." He stared into the fire. "I come from Sicily. I believed him. I gave no more interviews. I asked Antonio to come and live with me. He was in, ah, difficulties with th

e authorities in his home and was glad to relocate."

From the battered looks of Tony's face and the ease with which he handled his weapon, Austin had a good idea of what Tony's difficulties might have been, but he didn't pursue the matter.

"I assume the man who called didn't tell you his name. Or who he was speaking for."

"Yes and no. That's right. No name. But he indicated that he was not acting alone, that he had many brothers."

"Brothers. Could he have said 'Brotherhood'?"

"Yes. I think that's what he said. You've heard of them?"

"There was an organization called the Brotherhood of the Holy Sword of Truth. They worked with the Spanish Inquisition. But that was hundreds of years ago."

"The Mafia had its start hundreds of years ago," Donatelli replied with an amused glance at his cousin. "Why is this different?"

"The Mafia's continued existence is pretty well established by its continuing activities."

"Yes, that is true, but even though people in the Old Country knew there was such a thing and that the Black Hand had moved with the immigrants to America, the police here never knew about La Cosa Nostra until they found somebody, by accident, who would break the code of muerto. Silence or death."

"You are saying that an organization might go on operating in secret for centuries?"

Donatelli spread his hands. "The Mafia had murders, extortion, robbery. Yet the FBI director, Hoover, swore there was no such thing as La Cosa Nostra."

As he pondered Donatelli's words, thinking he had a good point, Austin surveyed the room.

"You've come a long way since your waiter days," he said, taking in the luxurious wood paneling and brass fittings.

"I had help. After the wreck I decided I never wanted to set foot on a boat again." He chuckled. "There is nothing like the unholy terror of being caught in the hold of a sinking ship to take the romance out of the sea. The woman I tried to help unfortunately died of her injuries. When I went to the funeral her husband thanked me again and said he wanted to do something in return. I said it was my dream to have a small restaurant. He gave me some money for a place in New York on the condition that I take business and English courses which he would also pay for. I named the restaurant Myra, after Mr. Carey's wife. I have opened six more restaurants in large cities across the country. They've made me a millionaire and allowed me to live like this. I married a wonderful woman. She gave me four sons and a daughter, all in the business, and many, marry grandchildren." He sipped the last of his grappa and put the glass down on a table. "I built this paradise here for my family, but also I think because it is near to where the ship went down. On foggy nights like this it brings back memories. You see, Mr. Austin, the accident was bad for many people, like Mr. Carry. But it changed my life for the better:"

"Why are you telling me this now? You could have just sent me on my way."

"My wife died last year.' After I survived the Andrea Doria I thought I would live forever: I saw in her death a reminder that I am mortal like all men. I am not a religious man, but I began to think more about making things right. Those men who were killed in the ship's hold. Maybe the others you told me of, They need somebody to speak for them." His jaw hardened. "I will be the spokesman for the dead." Donatelli looked at the wall clock. "It is getting late, Mr. Austin. Do you have a place to stay?"