Michael lay down on one of the bunks. He could hear Clemenza snoring and was filled with amazed admiration that the man could actually sleep at such a time. Michael thought that in twenty-four hours he would be in Tunis and twelve hours after that he would be home with his family. After two years of exile he would have all the options of a free man, no longer on the run from the police, not subject to the rule of his protectors. He could do exactly what he wanted to do. But only if he got through the next thirty-six hours. As he fantasized about what he would do his first days in America, the gentle roll of the boat relaxed him and he fell into a dreamless sleep.
Fra Diav o lo was sleeping a far deeper sleep.
Stefano Andolini, on the morning of the day he was to pick up Professor Hector Adonis in Trapani, drove first to Palermo. He had an appointment with the Chief of the Sicilian Security Police, Inspector Velardi, one of their frequent meetings in which the Inspector briefed Andolini on Colonel Luca's operational plans for the day. Andolini would then transmit this information to Pisciotta who would carry it to Guiliano.
It was a beautiful morning; the fields alongside the road were carpeted with flowers. He was early for his appointment so he stopped by one of the roadside shrines for a cigarette and then knelt in front of the padlocked box that held the statue of Saint Rosalia. His prayer was simple and practical, a plea to the Saint to protect him from his enemies. On the coming Sunday he would confess his sins to Father Beniamino and take Communion. Now the radiant sun warmed his bare head; the flower-perfumed air was so heavy it washed his nostrils and palate clean of nicotine and he was enormously hungry. He promised himself a good breakfast in Palermo's finest restaurant after his meeting with Inspector Velardi.
Inspector Federico Velardi, head of the Security Police of Sicily, felt the virtuous triumph of a man who has waited patiently, believing always in a God who would finally bring order into his universe, and finally received his reward. For nearly a year, under the direct and secret orders of Minister Trezza, he had helped Guiliano escape the carabinieri and his own flying squads. He had met with the murderous Stefano Andolini, Fra Diav o lo. For that year Inspector Velardi had, in effect, been a subordinate of Don Croce Malo.
Velardi was from the north of Italy, where people made something of themselves through education, a respect for the social contract, a belief in law and government. Velardi's service years in Sicily had instilled in him contempt and deep hatred for the Sicilian people, high and low. The rich had no social conscience and kept down the poor by their criminal conspiracy with the Mafia. The Mafia, which pretended to protect the poor, hired themselves out to the rich to keep down those poor. The peasants were too proud, had such egos that they gloried in murder though they might spend the rest of their lives in prison.
But now things would be different. Inspector Velardi's hands had finally been untied and his flying squads could be unleashed. And people would see again the difference between his own Security Police and the clownish carabinieri.
To Velardi's astonishment Minister Trezza himself had given the order that all those people who had been given the red-bordered passes signed by the Minister, those all-powerful passes that enabled the users to pass through roadblocks, to carry arms, to be immune to routine arrests, were to be detained in solitary confinement. Those passes had to be gathered up. Especially those issued to Aspanu Pisciotta and Stefano Andolini.
Velardi prepared to go to work. Andolini was waiting in his anteroom for his briefing. He would get a surprise today. Velardi picked up the phone and summoned a captain and four police sergeants. He told them to be prepared for trouble. He himself was wearing a pistol in a belt holster, something he usually did not do in his office. Then he had Stefano Andolini brought in from the anteroom.
Stefano Andolini's red hair was neatly combed. He wore a black pin-striped suit, white shirt and dark tie. After all, a visit to the Chief of the Security Police was a formal occasion in which to show respect. He was not armed. He knew from experience that everyone was always searched when they entered the headquarters. He stood in front of Velardi's desk waiting for the usual permission to sit down. It was not given, so he remained standing and the first warning signal went off in his head.
"Let me see your special pass," Inspector Velardi said to him.
Andolini did not move. He was trying to fathom this strange request. On principle he lied. "I don't have it with me," he said. "After all I was visiting a Friend." He put a special emphasis on the word "Friend."
This enraged Velardi. He moved around the desk and stood face to face with Andolini. "You were never a friend of mine. I obeyed orders when breaking bread with a swine like you. Now listen to me carefully. You are under arrest. You will be confined in my cells until further notice, and I must tell you that I have a cassetta down in the dungeons. But we'll have a quiet little talk here in my office tomorrow morning and spare you some pain, if you're clever."
The next morning Velardi received another phone call from Minister Trezza and a more explicit one from Don Croce. A few moments later Andolini was escorted from his cell to Velardi's office.
The night's solitude in his cell, thinking about his strange arrest, had convinced Andolini he was in mortal danger. When he entered, Velardi was striding up and down the room, his blue eyes flashing, obviously in a temper. Stefano Andolini was cold as ice. He observed everything – the Captain and four police sergeants at the alert, the pistol at Velardi's hip. He knew that the Inspector had always hated him, and he hated the Inspector no less. If he could talk Velardi into getting rid of the guards, he might at least kill him before he was killed himself. So he said, "I'll talk, but not with these other sbirri here." Sbirri was the vulgar and insulting idiom for the Security Police.
Velardi ordered the four policemen out of the room but gave the officer a signal to stay. He also gave him a signal to be ready to draw his gun. Then he turned his full attention to Stefano Andolini.
"I want any information on how I can put my hands on Guiliano," he said. "The last time you met with him and Pisciotta."
Stefano Andolini laughed, his murderous face twisted in a malevolent grimace. The skin grained with red beard seemed to blaze with violence.
No wonder they called him Fra Diav o lo, Velardi thought. He was truly a dangerous man. He must have no inkling of what was coming.
Velardi said to him calmly, "Answer my question or I'll have you stretched out on the cassetta. "
Andolini said with contempt, "You traitorous bastard, I'm under the protection of Minister Trezza and Don Croce. When they have me released, I'll cut your sbirri heart out."
Velardi reached over and slapped Andolini's face twice, once with his palm and then backhand. He saw the blood well up on Andolini's mouth and the rage in his eyes. He deliberately turned his back to sit at his desk.
At that moment, anger blinding his instinct for survival, Stefano Andolini grabbed the pistol out of the Inspector's belt holster and tried to fire. In that same instant the police officer drew his own gun and fired four shots into Andolini's body. Andolini was hurled against the far wall and then lay on the floor. The white shirt was stained completely red and, Velardi thought, it matched his hair quite nicely. He reached down and took the pistol from Andolini's hand as other policemen rushed into the room. He complimented the Captain on his alertness, and then in full view of the officer he loaded his pistol with the bullets he had emptied out of it before the meeting. He did not want his Captain to get delusions of grandeur, that he had actually saved the life of a careless head of the Security Police.