At the fairgrounds, five miles outside of Civitavecchia, were a dozen large, colourful balloons spread across the field, looking like round rainbows. They were moored to trucks while ground crews were busily filling their envelopes with cold air. Half a dozen chase cars stood by, ready to track the balloons, two men in each car, the driver and the spotter.
Robert walked up to a man who seemed to be in charge. "It looks like you're getting ready for the big race," Robert said.
"That's right. Ever been in a balloon?"
"No."
They were skimming over Lake Como and he dropped the balloon down until it touched the water. "We're going to crash," Susan screamed. He smiled. "No, we're not." The bottom of the balloon was dancing on the waves. He threw out a sandbag and the balloon began to lift again. Susan laughed and hugged him and said ...
The man was speaking. "You should try it sometime. It's a great sport."
"Yeah. Where is the race heading?"
"Yugoslavia. We have a nice easterly wind. We'll be taking off in a few minutes. It's better to fly early in the morning when the wind is cool."
"Really?" Robert said politely. He had a quick flash of a summer day in Yugoslavia. We have four people to smuggle out of here, Commander. We must wait until the air is cooler. A balloon that can lift four people in the winter air can only lift two people in the summer air.
Robert noticed that the crews were finishing filling the balloons with air and starting to light the large propane burners, pointing the flame into the envelope opening, to warm the air inside. The balloons, which were lying on their sides, began to rise until the baskets stood upright.
"Mind if I look around?" Robert asked.
"Go ahead. Just stay out of everyone's way."
"Right." Robert walked over to a yellow and red balloon that was filled with propane gas. The only thing holding it to the ground was a rope attached to one of the trucks.
The crewman who had been working on it had wandered off to talk to someone. There was no one else near.
Robert climbed into the basket of the balloon, and the huge envelope seemed to fill the sky above him. He checked the rigging and equipment, the altimeter, charts, a pyrometer to monitor the temperature of the envelope, a rate of climb indicator, and a tool kit. Everything was in order. Robert reached into the tool kit and pulled out a knife. He sliced into the mooring rope, and a moment later, the balloon started to ascend.
"Hey!" Robert yelled. "What's going on here? Get me down!"
The man he had spoken to was gaping up at the runaway balloon. "Figlio d'una mignotta! Don't panic," he shouted. "There's an altimeter on board. Use your ballast and stay at one thousand feet. We'll meet you in Yugoslavia. Can you hear me?"
"I hear you."
The balloon was rising higher and higher, carrying him east, away from Elba, which was to the west. But Robert was not concerned. The wind changed direction at varying altitudes. None of the other balloons had taken off yet. Robert spotted one of the chase cars start up, moving to track him. He dropped ballast and watched the altimeter climb. Six hundred feet ... seven hundred feet ... nine hundred feet ... eleven hundred feet ...
At fifteen hundred feet the wind began to weaken. The balloon was almost stationary now. Robert dropped more ballast. He used the stair step technique, stopping at different altitudes to check the wind direction.
At two thousand feet, Robert could feel the wind begin to shift. It swayed in the turbulent air for a moment, then slowly began to reverse direction and move west.
In the distance far below, Robert could see the other balloons rising and moving east toward Yugoslavia. There was no sound at all except for the soft whispering of the wind. It's so quiet, Robert. It's like flying on a cloud. I wish we could stay up here forever. She had held him close. Have you ever made love in a balloon? she murmured. Let's try it.
And later, I'll bet we're the only people in the world who have made love in a balloon, darling.
Robert was over the Tyrrhenian Sea now, heading northwest toward the coast of Tuscany. Below, a string of islands stretched in a circle off the coast, with Elba the largest.
Napoleon had been exiled here, and he had probably chosen it because on a clear day, Robert thought, he could see his beloved island of Corsica. In exile, Napoleon's one thought was how to escape and get to France. Mine, too. Only Napoleon didn't have Susan and the Halcyon to rescue him.
In the distance, Monte Capanne suddenly loomed up, rising three thousand feet into the sky. Robert pulled the safety line that opened the valve at the top of the balloon to allow the hot air to escape, and the balloon began to descend. Below him, Robert could see the lush pink and green of Elba, the pink that came from the granite outcrops and Tuscan houses, and the green of the heavy forests. Below, pristine white beaches were scattered around the edges of the island.
He landed the balloon at the base of the mountain, away from the city, to attract as little attention to himself as possible. There was a road not far from where he had landed and he walked over to it and waited until a car came by.
"Could you give me a lift into town?" Robert called.
"Certainly. Jump in."
The driver appeared to be somewhere in his eighties, with an old, wrinkled face.
"I could have sworn I saw a balloon in the sky a little while ago. Did you see it, mister?"
"No," Robert said.
"Visiting?"
"Just passing through. I'm on my way to Rome."
The driver nodded. "I was there once."
The rest of the ride was made in silence.
When they reached Portoferraio, the capital and only city of Elba, Robert stepped down from the car.
"Have a nice day," the driver said in English.
My God, Robert thought, Califomians have been here.
Robert walked along Via Garibaldi, the main street, crowded with tourists, mostly families, and it was as though time had stood still. Nothing had changed; except (hat I've lost Susan, and half the governments in the world are trying to assassinate me. Otherwise, Robert thought wryly, everything is exactly the same.
He bought binoculars in a gift shop, and walked to the waterfront and sat at a table outside the Stella Mariner Restaurant, where he had a clear view of the harbour. There were no suspicious cars, no police boats, and no policemen in sight. They still thought they had him bottled up on the mainland. It would be safe for him to board the Halcyon. All he had to do now was wait for it to arrive.
He sat there sipping procanico, the delicate native white wine, watching for the Halcyon. He went over his plan again. The yacht would drop him off near the coast of Marseilles, and he would make his way to Paris where he had a friend, Li Po, who would help him. It was ironic. He heard Francesco Cesar's voice saying: I've heard you've made a deal with the Chinese.
He knew that Li Po would help him, because Li had once saved Robert's life, and according to ancient Chinese tradition, he had become responsible for Robert. It was a matter of win yu - honour.
Li Po was with the Guojia Anquanbu, the Chinese Ministry of State Security that dealt with espionage. Years earlier, Robert had been caught while trying to smuggle a dissident out of China. He had been sent to Qincheng, the top security prison in Beijing. Li Po was a double agent who had worked with Robert before. He managed to arrange for Robert to escape.
At the Chinese border, Robert had said, "You should get out of this while you're still alive, Li. Your luck won't last forever."
Li Po had smiled. "I have ren - the ability to endure, to survive."
One year later, Li Po had been transferred to the Chinese Embassy in Paris.
Robert decided that it was time to make his first move. He left the restaurant and wandered down to the waterfront. It was crowded with large and small boats leaving from Portoferraio.
Robert approached a man polishing the hull of a sleek motor boat. It was a Donzi, powered by a V-8 351 inboard engine.
"Nice boat," Robert said.
The man nodded. "Merci."
"I wonder if I could rent it to take a little cruise around the harbour?"
The man stopped what he was doing and studied Robert. "That might be possible. Are you familiar with boats?"
"Yes. I have a Donzi back home."
The man nodded approvingly. "Where are you from?"
"Oregon," Robert said.
"It will cost you four hundred francs an hour."
Robert smiled. "That's fine."
"And a deposit, of course."
"Of course."
"She's ready to go. Would you like to take her out now?"
"No, I have some errands to run. I thought tomorrow morning."
"What time?"
"I'll let you know," Robert said.
He handed the man some money. "Here's a partial deposit. I'll see you tomorrow."
He had decided it would be dangerous to let the Halcyon come into port. There were formalities. The capitano di porto - the harbourmaster - issued each yacht an autorizzazione and recorded its stay. Robert intended for the Halcyon to be as little involved with him as possible. He would meet it at sea.
In the office of the French Marine Ministry, Colonel Cesar and Colonel Johnson were talking to the marine operator. "Are you sure there has been no further communication with the Halcyon?"
"No, sir, not since the last conversation I reported to you."
"Keep listening." Colonel Cesar turned to Colonel Johnson and smiled. "Don't worry. We'll know the moment Commander Bellamy boards the Halcyon."
"But I want to get him before he's aboard."
The marine operator said, "Colonel Cesar, there is no Palindrome listed on the map of Italy. But I think we've pinned it down."
"Where is it?"
"It's not a place, sir. It's a word."
"What?"
"Yes, sir. A palindrome is a word or sentence that is spelled the same forward or backward. For example, 'Madam I'm Adam'. We've run some through our computers." He handed him a long list of words.
Colonel Cesar and Colonel Johnson scanned the list. "Kook ... deed ... bib ... bob ... boob ... dad ... dud ... eve ... gag ... mom ... non ... noon ... Otto ... pop ... sees ... tot ... toot ..." Cesar looked up. "It's not much help, is it?"
"It might be, sir. They were obviously using some kind of code. And one of the most famous palindromes was supposedly said by Napoleon: 'Able was I ere I saw Elba.'"
Colonel Cesar and Colonel Johnson looked at each other. "Elba. Jesus Christ! That's where he is!"
Day Twenty
The Island of Elba
It first appeared as a faint speck on the horizon, rapidly looming larger in the early morning light. Through the binoculars, Robert watched it materialize into the Halcyon. There was no mistaking the ship. There were not many at sea like it.
Robert hurried down to the beach where he had arranged to rent the motor boat.
"Good morning."
The owner of the boat looked up. "Bonjour, monsieur. Are you ready to take it out?"
Robert nodded. "Yes."
"How long will you want it for?"
"No more than an hour or two."
Robert gave the man the rest of the deposit, and stepped down into the boat.
"Take good care of it," the man said.
"Don't worry," Robert assured him, "I will."
The owner untied the painter, and moments later the boat was headed out to sea, racing toward the Halcyon. It took Robert ten minutes to reach the yacht. As he approached it, he saw Susan and Monte Banks standing on the deck. Susan waved to him and he could see the anxiety in her face. Robert manoeuvred the small boat next to the yacht and tossed a line to a deckhand.
"Do you want to bring it aboard, sir?" the man called.
"No, let it go." The owner would find it soon enough.
Robert walked up the ladder to the spotless teak deck. Susan had once described the Halcyon to Robert, and he had been impressed, but in actuality it was even more impressive. The Halcyon was two hundred and eighty feet long, with a luxurious owner's cabin, eight double suites for guests, and cabins for a crew of sixteen. It had a drawing room, a dining room, an office, a saloon and a swimming pool.
The ship was propelled by two 1250 horsepower sixteen-cylinder turbo-charged caterpillar D399 diesel engines, and carried six tenders. The interior design had been done in Italy by Luigi Stur-chio. It was a floating palace.
"I'm glad you made it," Susan said.
And Robert had the impression that she was ill at ease, that something was wrong. Or was it just his nerves?
She looked absolutely beautiful, and somehow, he was disappointed. What the hell had I expected? That she would look pale and miserable?
He turned to Monte. "I want you to know how much I appreciate this."
Monte shrugged. "Glad to help you out."
The man was a saint.
"What's your plan?"
"I'd like you to turn and head due west to Marseilles. You can drop me off the coast and ..."
A man in a crisp white uniform approached. He was in his fifties, heavyset, with a neatly trimmed beard.
"This is Captain Simpson. This is ..." Monte Banks looked at Robert for help.
"Smith. Tom Smith."
Monte said, "We'll be heading for Marseilles, Captain."
"We're not going into Elba?"
"No."
Captain Simpson said, "Very well." He sounded surprised.
Robert scanned the horizon. All clear.
"I'd suggest we go below," Monte Banks said.
When the three of them were seated in the saloon, Monte asked, "Don't you think you owe us an explanation?"
"Yes, I do," Robert said, "but I'm not going to give you one. The less you know about this whole affair the better. I can only tell you that I'm innocent. I'm involved in a political situation. I know too much, and I'm being hunted. If they find me, they'll kill me."
Susan and Monte exchanged a look.
"They have no reason to connect me with the Halcyon," Robert went on. "Believe me, Monte, if there were any other way for me to escape, I would have taken it."
Robert thought of all the people who had been killed because he had tracked them down. He could not bear to have anything happen to Susan. He tried to keep his voice light. "I would appreciate it for your own sakes, if you didn't mention that I was ever aboard this ship."
"Of course not," Monte said.
The yacht had slowly swung around and was heading west.
"If you'll excuse me, I have to have a word with the captain."
Dinner was an awkward affair. There were strange undercurrents that Robert did not understand, a tension that was almost tangible. Was it because of his presence? Or was it something else? Something between the two of them? The sooner I get away from here, the better, Robert thought.
They were in the saloon having an after-dinner drink when Captain Simpson came into the room.
"When will we reach Marseilles?" Robert asked.
"If the weather holds, we should be there tomorrow afternoon, Mr Smith."
There was something about Captain Simpson's manner that irritated Robert. The captain was gruff, almost to the point of being rude. But he must be good, Robert thought, or Monte would not have hired him. Susan deserves this yacht. She deserves the best of everything.
At eleven o'clock Monte looked at his watch and said to Susan, "I think we had better turn in, darling."
Susan glanced at Robert. "Yes."
The three of them rose.
Monte said, "You'll find a change of clothes in your cabin. We're about the same size."
"Thank you."
"Good night, Robert."
"Good night, Susan."
Robert stood there, watching the woman he loved going off to bed with his rival. Rival? Who the hell am I kidding? He's the winner. I'm the loser.
Sleep was an elusive shadow, dancing just out of reach. Lying in his bed, Robert was thinking that on the other side of the wall, only a few feet away, was the woman he loved more than anyone in the world. He thought of Susan lying in her bed, naked ... she never wore a nightgown ... and he felt himself beginning to get an erection. Was Monte making love to her at this moment or was she alone? ... and was she thinking of him and remembering all the great times they had had together? Probably not. Well, he would be out of her life soon. He would probably never see her again.
It was dawn before he closed his eyes.
In the communications room at SIFAR, radar was tracking the Halcyon. Colonel Cesar turned to Colonel Johnson, and said, "Too bad we couldn't intercept him at Elba, but we've got him now! We have a cruiser standing by. We're just waiting word from the Halcyon to board her."
Day Twenty-One
Early in the morning Robert was on deck, looking out over the calm sea. Captain Simpson approached him. "Good morning. It looks like the weather is going to hold, Mr Smith."
"Yes."
"We'll be in Marseilles by three o'clock. Will we be staying there long?"
"I don't know," Robert said pleasantly. "We'll see."
"Yes, sir."
Robert watched Simpson stride off. What was there about the man?
Robert walked back to the stern of the yacht and scanned the horizon. He could see nothing, and yet ... In the past, his instincts had saved his life more than once. He had long ago learned to rely on them. Something was wrong.
Over the horizon out of sight, the Italian Navy cruiser Stromboli was stalking the Halcyon.
When Susan appeared for breakfast, she looked pale and drawn.
"Did you sleep well, darling?" Monte asked.
"Fine," Susan said.
So they didn't share the same cabin! Robert felt an unreasonable sense of pleasure from that knowledge. He and Susan had always slept in the same bed, her naked, nubile body spooning into his. Jesus, I've got to stop thinking like this.
Ahead of the Halcyon, on the starboard bow, was a fishing boat from the Marseilles fleet, bringing in a fresh catch.
"Would you like some fish for lunch?" Susan asked.
Both men nodded. "Fine."
They were almost abreast of the fishing boat.
As Captain Simpson walked by, Robert asked, "What is our ETA to Marseilles?"
"We'll be there in two hours, Mr Smith. Marseilles is an interesting port. Have you ever been there?"
"It is an interesting port," Robert said.
In the communications room, at SIFAR, the two colonels were reading the message that had just come in from the Halcyon. It read simply: "Now."
"What's the Halcyon's position?" barked Colonel Cesar.
"They're two hours out of Marseilles, heading for the port."
"Order the Stromboli to overtake and board her immediately."
Thirty minutes later, the Italian Navy cruiser Stromboli was closing in on the Halcyon. Susan and Monte were at the fantail of the yacht, watching the warship racing toward them.
A voice came over the cruiser's loudspeaker. "Ahoy, Halcyon. Heave to. We're coming aboard."
Susan and Monte exchanged a look. Captain Simpson came hurrying toward them.
"Mr Banks ..."
"I heard it. Do as they say. Stop the engines."
"Yes, sir."
A minute later, the pulse of the engines stopped, and the yacht lay still in the water. Susan and her husband watched as armed sailors from the Navy cruiser were lowered into a dinghy.
Ten minutes later a dozen sailors were swarming up the ladder of the Halcyon.
The naval officer in charge, a lieutenant commander, said, "I'm sorry to trouble you, Mr Banks. The Italian government has reason to believe that you are harbouring a fugitive. We have orders to search your ship."
Susan stood there watching, as the sailors started spreading out, moving along the deck and going below to search the cabins.
"Don't say anything."
"But ..."
"Not a word."
They stood on the deck in silence, watching the search go on.
Thirty minutes later they were assembled again on the main deck.
"There's no sign of him, Commander," a sailor reported.
"You're certain of that?"
"Absolutely, sir. There are no passengers aboard, and we have identified each member of the crew."
The Commander stood there a moment, frustrated. His superiors had made a serious mistake.
He turned to Monte and Susan and Captain Simpson. "I owe you an apology," he said. "I'm terribly sorry to have inconvenienced you. We'll leave now." He turned to go.
"Commander ..."
"Yes?"
"The man you're looking for got away on a fishing boat half an hour ago. You should have no trouble picking him up."
Five minutes later, the Stromboli was speeding toward Marseilles. The Lieutenant Commander had every reason to be pleased with himself. Half the governments of the world had been pursuing Commander Robert Bellamy, and he was the one who had found him. There could be a nice promotion in this, he thought.
From the bridge, the navigation officer called out, "Commander, could you come up here, please?"
Had they spotted the fishing boat already? The Lieutenant Commander hurried up to the bridge.
"Look, sir!"
The Commander took one look and his heart sank. In the distance ahead, covering the horizon, was the entire Marseilles fishing fleet, a hundred identical boats returning to port. There was no way in the world to identify the one Commander Bellamy was on.