“I need a room,” Robert told the clerk behind the desk.

“I’m sorry,” the clerk apologized, “but we are fully booked. There is …”

Robert handed him sixty thousand lire. “Any room will do.”

“Well, in that case, I think we can accommodate you, signore. Would you register, please?”

Robert signed his name. Commander Robert Bellamy.

“How long will you be staying with us, Commander?”

“One week.”

“That will be fine. May I have your passport?”

“It’s in my luggage. It’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“I will have a bellboy show you to your room.”

“Not now. I have to go out for a few minutes. I’ll be right back.”

Robert stepped out of the lobby, into the street. Memories hit him like a blast of cold air. He had walked here with Susan, exploring the little side streets, and strolled down Via Ignazio Cerio and Via di Campo. It had been a magic time. They visited the Grotta Azzurra, and had morning coffee at the Piazza Umberto. They took the funicular up to Anacapri, and rode donkeys to Villa Jovis, Tiberius’s villa, and swam in the emerald green waters at the Marina Piccola. They shopped along Via Vittorio Emanuele and took the chair lift to the top of Monte Solaro, their feet skimming over the vine leaves and leafy trees. Off to the right they could see the houses sprinkled down the hillside toward the sea, yellow broom covering the ground, an eleven-minute ride through a colourful fairyland of green trees, white houses and, in the distance, the blue sea. At the top, they had coffee at the Barbarossa Ristorante, and then went into the little church in Anacapri to thank God for all their blessings, and for each other. Robert had thought then that the magic was Capri. He had been wrong. The magic was Susan, and the magician had left the stage.

Robert went back to the funicular station at the Piazza Umberto, and took the tram down, quietly mingling with the other passengers. When the funicular arrived at the bottom, he walked out, carefully avoiding the ticket seller. He went over to the kiosk at the boat landing. In a heavy Spanish accent, Robert asked, “A que horn sale el barco a Ischia?”

“Sale en treinta minutos.”

“Gracias.” Robert bought a ticket.

He walked into a bar at the waterfront, took a seat in the back and nursed a scotch. By now they would have undoubtedly found the car, and the hunt for him would narrow. He spread out the map of Europe in his mind. The logical thing for him to do would be to head for England, and find a way to get back to the States. It would make no sense for him to return to France. So, France it is, Robert thought. A busy seaport to leave Italy from. Civitavecchia. I have to get to Civitavecchia. The Halcyon.

He got change from the owner of the bar, and used the telephone. It took the marine operator ten minutes to put his call through. Susan was on the line almost immediately.

“We’ve been waiting to hear from you.” We. He found that interesting. “The engine is fixed. We can be in Naples early in the morning. Where shall we pick you up?”

It was too risky for the Halcyon to come here. Robert said, “Do you remember the palindrome? We went there on our honeymoon.”

“The what?”

“I made a joke about it because I was so exhausted.”

There was a silence on the other end of the line. Then Susan said softly, “I remember.”

“Can the Halcyon meet me there tomorrow?”

“Hold on a moment.”

He waited.

Susan returned to the telephone. “Yes, we can be there.”

“Good.” Robert hesitated. He thought of all the innocent people who had already died. “I’m asking a lot of you. If they ever found out you helped me, you could be in terrible danger.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll meet you there. Be careful.”

“Thanks.”

The connection was broken.

Susan turned to Monte Banks. “He’s coming.”

At SIFAR headquarters in Rome they were listening to the conversation. There were four men in the room. The radio operator said, “We’ve recorded it, if you would like to hear it again, sir.”

Colonel Cesar looked at Frank Johnson questioningly.

“Yes. I’m interested in hearing the part about where they’re going to meet. It sounded like he said Palindrome. Is that somewhere in Italy?”

Colonel Cesar shook his head. “I never heard of it. We’ll check it out.” He turned to his aide. “Look it up on the map. And keep monitoring all transmissions to and from the Halcyon.”

“Yes, sir.”

At the farmhouse in Naples, the phone rang. Pier started to get up to answer it.

“Hold it,” one of the men said. He walked over to the phone and picked it up. “Hello?” He listened for a moment, then threw the phone down and turned to his companion. “Bellamy took the hydrofoil to Capri. Let’s go!”

Pier watched the two men hurry out of the door, and thought: God never meant me to have so much money, anyway. I hope he gets away.

When the ferry boat to Ischia arrived, Robert mingled with the crowd boarding it. He kept to himself, avoiding eye contact. Thirty minutes later, when the boat docked at Ischia, Robert disembarked and walked over to the ticket booth on the pier. A sign announced that the ferry to Sorrento was due in ten minutes. “A round trip ticket to Sorrento,” Robert said.

Ten minutes later he was on his way to Sorrento, back to the mainland. With a little luck, the search will have shifted to Capri, Robert thought. With a little luck.

The food market at Sorrento was crowded. Farmers had come in from the countryside bringing fresh fruit and vegetables and sides of beef that lined the meat stalls. The street was thronged with vendors and shoppers.

Robert approached a husky man in a stained apron, loading a truck. “Pardon, monsieur …” Robert spoke with a perfect French accent. “I’m looking for transportation to Civitavecchia. Would you happen to be going that way?”

“No. Salerno.” He pointed to a man loading another truck nearby. “Giuseppe might be able to help you.”

“Merci.”

Robert moved over to the next truck. “Monsieur, would you be going to Civitavecchia by any chance?”

The man said, noncommittally, “I might be.”

“I would be glad to pay you for the ride.”

“How much?”

Robert handed the man a hundred thousand lire.

“You could buy yourself a plane ticket to Rome for that much money, couldn’t you?”

Robert instantly realized his mistake. He looked around nervously. “The truth is, I have some creditors watching the airport. I’d prefer to go by truck.”

The man nodded. “Ah. I understand. All right, get in. We’re ready to leave.”

Robert yawned. “I am très fatigué. How do you say? – tired. Would you mind if I slept in the back?”

“It’s going to be a bumpy ride, but suit yourself.”

“Merci.”

The back of the truck was filled with empty crates and boxes. Giuseppe watched Robert climb in, and he closed up the tailgate. Inside, Robert concealed himself behind some crates. He suddenly realized how exhausted he really was. The chase was beginning to wear him down. How long had it been since he had slept? He thought of Pier and how she had come to him in the night and had made him feel whole again, a man again. He hoped she was all right. Robert slept.

In the cab of the truck, Giuseppe was thinking about his passenger. The word was out about an American the authorities were looking for. His passenger had a French accent, but he looked like an American and he dressed like an American. It would be worth checking out. There might be a nice reward.

One hour later, at a truck stop along the highway, Giuseppe pulled up in front of a gas pump. “Fill it up,” he said. He walked around to the back of the truck and peered inside. His passenger was asleep.

Giuseppe went inside the restaurant and made a telephone call to the local police.