level。
Settled by Greeks； invaded by Romans； Arabs； Normans； and Spaniards； Sicily has been a waystop for soldiers and mercenaries for centuries。 As one of the breed； Howell had been on the island both as a visitor and a warrior。 After stepping off the hydrofoil； he went into the heart of the city… the Quattro Centri； or Four Corners。 There he found acmodations in a small penzione where he had stayed before。 It was well away from the tourist traffic yet within walking distance to the places Howell needed to go to。
As was his habit； Howell reconnoitered those areas of the city he intended to visit。 Not unexpectedly； nothing had changed since his last trip； and the map he carried in his head served him well。 Returning to the penzione； he slept until the early evening； then headed for the Albergheria； a warren of narrow streets in Palermo's craftsmen's district。
Sicily was famous for its knife makers and the quality of their wares and Howell had no problem buying a finely honed ten…inch blade with a sturdy leather handle。 Now that he had a weapon； Howell proceeded to the docks； where the taverns and rooming houses were definitely not mentioned in the tourist guides。
Howell knew that the bar was called La Pretoria； although there was no sign on the stone walls。 Inside was a large； crowded room with sawdust on the floor and timbers lining the ceiling。 Fishermen and boatbuilders； mechanics and sailors sat at long munal tables drinking grappa； beer； or cold； flinty Sicilian wine。 Wearing corduroy pants； an old fisherman's sweater； and a knitted cap； Howell attracted little attention。 He bought two grappas at the bar and carried the drinks to the end of one of the tables。
The man sitting across from him was short and thickset； with an unshaven face scarred by the sea and wind。 Cold gray eyes regarded Howell through the haze of cigarette smoke。
〃I was surprised to hear from you； Peter；〃 he said in a hoarse voice。
Howell raised his thimbleful of grappa。 〃Salute； Franco。〃
Franco Grimaldi… one…time member of the French Foreign Legion； now a professional smuggler… put down his cigarette and lifted his glass。 He had to do this because he had only his right arm； having lost the left one to a Tunisian rebel's sword。
The two men tossed back their drinks and Grimaldi jammed the cigarette back between his lips。
〃So； old friend。 What brings you to my parlor？〃
〃The Rocca brothers。〃
Grimaldi's fleshy lips creased into what might have been misconstrued as a smile。 〃I hear things did not go well for them in Venice。〃 He looked at Howell shrewdly。 〃And you just came from there； didn't you？〃
〃The Roccas executed a contract； then someone executed them；〃 Howell replied； his voice hard； flat。 〃I want to know who that was。〃
Grimaldi shrugged。 〃It's best not to inquire too closely into the Roccas' dealings… even if they are dead。〃
Howell slipped a roll of American dollars across the table。 〃I need to know； Franco。〃
The Sicilian palmed the money like a magician。
〃I heard that there was a special contract；〃 he said； cupping the side of his mouth as he held his cigarette。
〃Specifics； please； Franco。〃
〃I cannot tell you。 Usually the Roccas made no secret about their contracts… especially after a few drinks。 But they were very quiet about this job。〃
〃And you knew about it because。。。？〃
Grimaldi smiled。 〃Because I sleep with their sister； who kept house for her brothers。 She knew everything that went on within those walls。 She is also highly excitable and loves to gossip。〃
〃Do you think you might use your charms to get a few more details？〃
Grimaldi's smile became even wider。 〃It would be difficult work； but for a friend。。。 Maria… that is her name… probably hasn't heard the news yet。 I will break it to her； then let her weep on my shoulder。 Nothing like grief to lubricate the tongue。〃
Howell gave him the name of the penzione where he was staying。
〃I will call you later this evening；〃 Grimaldi said。 〃Meet me at the usual place。〃
As Howell watched Grimaldi slip his way around the tables and out the door； he noticed a pair of men sitting at one of the smaller tables near the bar。 They were dressed like locals； but their bodybuilder physiques and close…cropped haircuts betrayed their true identities。 Soldiers。
Howell was familiar with the big American base outside Palermo。 During his days with the SAS he'd had occasion to use it as a staging ground for joint operations with U。S。 Navy SEALs。 For security reasons； most of the personnel stayed within the base perimeter。 When they ventured out； it was usually in groups of six or more； and then only to the popular clubs and restaurants。 There was no reason for these strapping specimens to be here unless。。。
C…12。
The explosives used to kill the Rocca brothers were an American creation。 Tightly controlled。 But certainly available at one of the largest U。S。 bases in Southern Europe。
Had the Roccas' paymaster… possibly the individual who had hired them to kill Danko… also been the one to booby…trap the gondola？
As he rose from the table； Howell took another look at the two Americans。
Or had it been a soldier's mission from the very beginning？
Just before midnight； the penzione's sleepy porter knocked on Peter Howell's door to inform him that he had a phone call。 He was surprised to discover that his guest was dressed as though ready to go out。
Howell spoke briefly on the phone； tipped the porter； and disappeared into the night。 The moon rode high in the sky； illuminating the shuttered shops of the Vuccira market。 Howell crossed the empty square to the Piazza Bellini； then drifted along the Via Vittorio Emannuele； the city's major thoroughfare。 At the Corso Calatofini； he turned right； now just a hundred yards shy of his destination。
Dominating the Via Pindemonte is the Convento dei Cappuccini… the Convent of the Capuchins。 While a striking example of Middle Ages architecture； the monastery's real attraction lies below ground。 In the catabs that surround the convento are buried over eight thousand bodies； belonging to both lay and religious persons。 Preserved through various chemical processes； they are placed in the niches along the corridors； and are dressed in the clothes the interred themselves had provided prior to their death。 Those bodies that aren't lined up along the cold； sweating limestone walls rest in glass coffins； stacked floor to ceiling。
Although open to the public during the day； the catabs had been a favorite hiding place of smugglers for centuries。 There were a dozen ways in and out； and Peter Howell； who had studied the catabs carefully； knew them all。
As he approached the gates that fronted the parklike entrance to the monastery； Howell heard a low whistle。 He pretended not to notice Grimaldi slip out of the shadows until the smuggler was only a few steps away。 The moonlight created dancing pinpricks of light in Grimaldi's gray eyes。
〃What have you found out？〃 Howell demanded。
〃Something worth getting out of bed for；〃 the smuggler replied。 〃The name of the man who hired the Roccas。 He's frightened。 He thinks that after the Roccas； he's next。 He wants money to get off the island and hide on the mainland。〃
Howell nodded。 〃Money isn't a problem。 Where is he？〃
Grimaldi motioned the Englishman to follow him。 They skirted the tall wrought…iron fence； moving into the shadows created by the monastery's high walls。 The smuggler slowed； then crouched by a small gate cut into the fence。 His fingers were busy working the lock when Howell spotted the anomaly。
The lock was already open！
Howell moved like a wraith。 As soon as Grimaldi pushed open the gate； he delivered a blow meant to stun； not kill； to the side of the head。 Grimaldi let out a soft sigh and dropped； unconscious。
Howell didn't pause。 Slipping through the gate； he made his way along the hedgerow that formed a corridor to the entrance of the catabs。 He spotted nothing； which meant…
The trap was outside the perimeter； not inside！
Just as he whirled around； Howell heard the creak of the gate's hinge。 Two shadows hurtled toward him。 In the split…second that the moonlight caught their faces； he recognized the soldiers from the tav