The Lost Years Vol 1, page 45
part #9 of Necroscope Series
And now there was an awkward silence, until: ‘Harry,’ the Necroscope said at last, his unnatural antagonism collapsing. ‘Call me Harry, please. And I’m afraid I have been rude, so don’t you go apologizing. Just recently I’ve been doing more than my fair share of tripping over my tongue!’ And changing the subject: ‘So what’s in the envelope?’
Munroe shrugged. ‘I wasn’t told what’s in here.’ He handed it over, and Harry looked at it with an almost accusing expression. This could be some kind of hook, and him the fish. But on the other hand… it just might be news of Brenda.
And as he tore it open: ‘I imagine Darcy tried to get me on the telephone, right? And when he found he couldn’t get me, then he sent you?’
‘Your listed number?’ Munroe shook his head, and smiled. ‘But we’re E-Branch, Harry. No such things as listed numbers, not to E-Branch. Darcy Clarke could ‘phone you, if he wanted to. I suppose he’s doing his best to respect your privacy.’
The Necroscope said, ‘Huh!’ He took out a single, double-folded sheet of A-4 from the envelope. A letter, probably, but there was something stiff inside it - a photograph, maybe? And because it might be about Brenda, he wanted to open it at once. But because it mightn’t be, he didn’t.
‘It doesn’t make sense,’ he finally shook his head. ‘Darcy can get me on the ‘phone and doesn’t. Or he could just write me a letter, asking me to contact him. But he doesn’t. Instead, he sends you.’ He glanced at the contents of the manila envelope - the letter, or whatever - still folded in his lap. ‘So what do you reckon, James? Was your journey really necessary?’
The other raised a querying eyebrow. ‘I’m sorry, but—’
‘See,’ Harry cut him short. ‘I’m not going to look at this - this whatever it is - until I know why you had to deliver it personally. In fact, if you don’t tell me, and in the very near future at that, say the next five seconds, I’ll simply set fire to it and dump it in the fireplace there. And you’ll have to go back down to London and tell Darcy Clarke what happened.’
He looked around for his table-lighter, began to stand up, and Munroe said: ‘Okay! You’re right. Darcy wanted me, or someone, to see you personally. Yes.’
Harry sat back again. ‘Why?’
‘Just to see how you, well, looked …”
‘He’s… what, worried about me?’
‘Maybe about how you’re taking things. Maybe he feels responsible. Guilty …”
Harry jumped on that. ‘Guilty? And maybe you’re right. So what would he have to feel guilty about?’
Munroe shrugged again, perhaps desperately this time, and said, ‘Harry, I’m just a messenger, that’s all. But Mr Clarke did say he was concerned about your general health. I mean, he knows your problems better than I do, right? So why don’t you read the letter? Maybe it’s all in there.’
And in any case, despite his threat to burn it, the Necroscope had to know. So he unfolded the single sheet of A-4, laid the small envelope inside to one side for the moment, and read what was written in Darcy Clarke’s spidery script:
Harry—
First things first. Still nothing on Brenda, I’m afraid. And I suppose if you had heard anything, you would have told me. Don’t worry, we’re still on it.
Last time we spoke, you said you were thinking of taking a long holiday, except you were short of funds. So it could be you would take a sort of working holiday? You asked if I’d check a few places out for you. Well, I’ve found a place you might like - in the Mediterranean. The weather would be beneficial I’m sure, and the deal could work out really cheap…
Oh, and you asked about exchange rates? Well, they are pretty good, too. So why don’t you contact me and we’ll talk?
I enclose a photograph. Nice place. I think you’d enjoy working there...
All best—
Darcy.
The Necroscope knew what Darcy was talking about; he remembered how he’d suggested doing a job on the Russian repository in Moscow, or maybe on some other outfit or organization in the Branch’s bad books, for monies to fund his search. Damn! Was that all this was? Darcy scratching his back - and maybe hoping to get a job done for free - all the time knowing it would put Harry in his debt, so that at some future time the Necroscope might feel obliged to do a little back-scratching in return? A sort of two-birds-with-one-stone scenario?
‘So why don’t you contact me and we’ll talk?’ —Indeed! E-Branch! It was typical! The nerve of the double-dealing…!
He almost ripped the photograph from its envelope… and then sat there frozen, staring at it!
For a moment Harry thought it must be one of Alec Kyle’s ‘things’ again, his precognition. Hell! - it was one of Kyle’s things, but this time it was real! As real as this photograph, anyway:
The stark yellow and white cliffs, coloured by sunlight. And the squat, white-walled castle, mansion, chateau, whatever it was, perched there on the edge of oblivion. A fortress on a mountainside, at the rim of a sheer drop. The scene was Mediterranean; yes, of course it was, and Harry had seen it before. All sun-bleached rocks, brittle scrub, a few stunted pines; he could almost taste the salty tang off an unseen ocean.
Finally he moved, rocked back in his chair, and James Munroe was at his side in a moment. ‘Harry? Are you okay? I mean, your face. You looked stunned…”
Harry got a grip on himself. He didn’t know what all this meant, but he would soon damn well find out. ‘I… I’m okay,’ he said. ‘It’s . , . something you wouldn’t understand.’ Because I don’t understand it! ‘Look, you get on back to London. Sorry I can’t be more hospitable, but I’ve things to do. Especially now. And don’t worry, you’ve done your job. I’ll be getting in touch with Darcy Clarke and E-Branch, yes.’
And after he’d seen Munroe off, he did just that…
The Necroscope could have just telephoned Darcy, but there was a better, almost an easier way. And anyway, face to face Darcy wouldn’t be able to hide too much. That is, assuming there was anything to hide.
Not so long ago, using the Mobius route to E-Branch would have been much easier, but Harry couldn’t do that now. Part of him realized that Darcy knew all about it anyway, but he still didn’t like the idea that he knew - Darcy or anyone else, for that matter! And so he was restricted in his use of the Continuum; he couldn’t do it in front of people. So there was no way he could simply materialize in Darcy’s office.
But that was all right, for there was another way. Harry doubted if they would have converted his room just yet; Darcy had told him they’d keep it for him just the way it was, even if he never had cause to use it again. So he couldn’t see any reason why he shouldn’t use it now, one last time.
He did: used it as one of his Mobius co-ordinates—
—And a moment later stepped out through the door of his old room into the main corridor of E-Branch in central London.
About half-way to Darcy’s office, situated at the far end of the corridor, two Branch agents were talking to each other. Harry headed their way, and for a moment they scarcely noticed him. But as he passed the open door of the Duty Officer’s room he heard someone say, ‘Holy shit!’ and guessed he’d been recognized. So, in another five seconds maximum Darcy Clarke would know he was here, too. Then, as he closed with the two espers, they finally saw him, snapped erect as soldiers on parade, and slid to one side out of his way. Harry was aware of their surprised glances, at him and at each other, as he passed by.
Darcy’s office was full of security gadgets; the Necroscope knew that if he just barged in, he would probably set some of them off. So he went to knock… but before his fist could strike home the door was yanked open from within.
And Darcy was there - in his shirt-sleeves, open-mouthed -beckoning him to come in. ‘Harry! It’s… really great to see you! In fact I was just talking about you—’
‘—With Munroe, on his car-phone?’ the Necroscope nodded. ‘Or with the Duty Officer?’ He tossed Darcy’s letter and photograph down on the Head of E-Branch’s desk. And without further ado: ‘Would you care to explain this?’
Darcy moved to close the door. Before he could close it all the way, Harry looked back down the corridor and saw half-a-dozen faces peering from their respective offices. Darcy saw his raised eyebrow and knowing, even scornful expression, gave a shrug and said, ‘Er, word travels fast around here.’
‘In some cases as fast as thought,’ Harry nodded. ‘Especially around here!’ He placed extra emphasis on the ‘esp’ of ‘especially.’ ‘So how will it be? Can we have some privacy for once? I mean complete privacy?’ He sat down in a chair facing Darcy’s desk. ‘You have more than your fair share of listening devices around this place, Darcy: gadgets and ghosts and what-all. But your people would do well to remember how curiosity killed the cat. Maybe the two-legged variety could use a reminder now and then?’
Darcy sat down in his own chair, flipped a switch on the desk and said, ‘All stations. We have a guest who’s a personal friend of mine, and of the Branch. You all know who he is, and of course he’s to get the same degree of respect that we give each other. So this is private - and that’s a capital “P.” ‘
As he switched off again, Harry nodded and said, ‘Gadgets and ghosts, yes. Machines are easy to switch off. But minds… are something else, right?’ He glanced about the office. ‘Well, nothing seems to have changed much around here.’
‘Er… how’s it going?’ Darcy rubbed his hands in a businesslike fashion. He was lost for words if only for a moment. ‘So, where have you been, Harry? And for that matter, how have you been?’
‘How do I look?’ The Necroscope was unsmiling.
‘Fine!’ Darcy answered, then slumped and shook his head. ‘Hey, we’re friends, Harry,’ he said, his tone of voice flattening out a little, losing its bounce. ‘I’d like to think so, anyway. And in that respect I’m pretty much like Ben Trask: I don’t like to lie.’
‘So don’t.’
‘You look about the same as last time,’ Darcy told him. ‘You’ve lost weight, gained a few wrinkles, and you seem very tired. But at the same time - I don’t know - somehow you look more like you, too? But you don’t talk like you. I mean, I’ve given a lot of thought to that conversation we had about Alec Kyle - could he have been a secret drinker and so forth? That was pretty strange stuff! So, you know, apart from Brenda and the baby… what is it that’s troubling you, Harry? I mean, I’d really like to help, if I can.’
And suddenly the Necroscope felt he could relax a little. Darcy’s friendship was genuine. Oh, there would always be this E-Branch thing, but that aside Darcy was real, and Harry felt able to talk to him. About certain things, anyway. And he did talk to him:
Told him about Alec Kyle’s precognition, how he seemed to have inherited it, and something about his strange new problem with drink. He didn’t go into details on the latter, but enough that Darcy got the message. Certainly he got the message on the other thing.
‘About Alec drinking; I still think you’re wrong,’ Darcy said, when Harry was through. ‘And even if you’re right, it’s amazing to me that he hid it so well! As for this,’ he picked up the picture from his desk. ‘You say you’ve seen it before?’
The Necroscope nodded. ‘Yes. A scene, or sudden vision - in my head - but absolutely real. Actually, it was during our conversation about a Russian Fort Knox. Do you remember?’
‘Of course, as a result of which I sent you the picture.’
‘Right, but my mind - or maybe Alec Kyle’s mind, the last wrinkle in his grey matter? - had already sent it to me! Only I didn’t recognize it, didn’t know what it meant.’
Darcy nodded. That’s how it was with Alec, too,’ he said. ‘He rarely understood anything he saw but simply had to run with his visions to see how they worked out. He had to wait until he caught up with the future.’
‘Me, too,’ Harry said. ‘Except this time I’ve been given more than just a precognitive glimpse, more than a mental clue. I have your photograph, too,’ he leaned forward and tapped his index finger on the picture. ‘And I know that you know quite a bit about this… what, target? So I won’t be going in blind, because now that I’m sure this place is waiting to happen to me somewhere in my future, you’ll be giving me all the details.’
‘As much as we have,’ Darcy said. ‘Certainly. But even so, it’s still fait accompli. You are going to do it.’
‘So it would appear,’ Harry’s face was grim. ‘So maybe we can start with you telling me who it is I’ll be doing it to…’
IV
DARCY’S TARGET. BONNIE JEAN AT HARRY’S.
‘First the place,’ Darcy pushed the photograph back across the desk closer to Harry. ‘We don’t know much about it; its history is vague at best. But you can probably find out more locally if you’re so inclined.’ (In fact the ‘probably’ was redundant, for Darcy knew that the Necroscope could do just that - could actually talk to the original owners or builders, if he so desired - but he didn’t want to broach that subject).
‘Anyway,’ he went on, ‘it’s called Le Manse Madonie, named after the mountainous region in Sicily where it stands. It was built about four hundred years ago on the foundations of a castle dating back to crusader times. And like most ancient properties, it’s been added to and subtracted from for centuries.
‘As to what it was originally: a watchtower looking out over the Tyrrhenian? Possibly. The redoubt of some princeling? We don’t know. And actually it mightn’t be so easy to find out after all - not from books, at least - because as far as we’re able to discover most of its historical records have been destroyed. I mean, utterly.
‘The one sure thing we do know is that it’s stayed in the hands of the same family for centuries. Their line goes back a long way, you might say immemorially. But records? - forget it! Where they exist they’ve been altered, updated, re-written from scratch. Not that there’s much we can deduce from that; quite a few old families have skeletons in their closets. These people have cleared them out, that’s all. Or maybe that’s not all. It could be they were simply making room for a few new ones…’
These people?’ Harry sat wrapped in his own thoughts. He had absorbed all that Darcy had told him, which wasn’t much so far. ‘Well, it seems obvious to me that you’ve been interested in “these people” for quite some time. And that’s E-Branch I’m talking about, keenly interested! So who are they?’
‘They’re called the Francezcis,’ Darcy told him. ‘That’s their family name, anyway: the current owners and occupiers of Le Manse Madonie. But as I’ve said, it’s been Francezci family property, oh, since the year dot. They’re brothers, twins, but not identical. Anthony, or Tony, and Francesco Francezci. That is who they are, but it’s what they are that interests us.’
Harry nodded. ‘So what are they?’
‘First the facts,’ Darcy answered. ‘Let me tell you what we know for sure, and then what we suspect. And finally we’ll be down to best bets. The Francezci brothers are the sole surviving heirs to one of the richest families in the world. You can measure their wealth… well, in billions! So we believe. Okay, okay!’ He held up a hand. ‘I said I’d tell you only what we know, and we do know. But it isn’t easy to tie these people, or their assets, down. Put it this way: if you could calculate their wealth in terms of the Italian economy - if you could find a way to put back half of what they have taken out - then Italy and Sicily wouldn’t be in half the shit they’re in now.’
Harry could see where they were going. ‘Mafia,’ he said, very simply.
‘Shhh!’ Darcy put a finger to his lips and pulled a mock-horrified face. ‘What, the Francezci brothers? But that’s akin to blasphemy, Harry! Even suggest such a thing in polite Italian society, you’d be ostracised in a moment - and later you could end up circumcised, too, from the neck up! No one talks about them in such terms, but we’re pretty damn sure it’s how people think of them. Except… well it’s amazing how things get warped with the passage of time. I mean, look at the so-called “legends” of Robin Hood, Jesse James, Ned Kelly - all the murderers and thieves who’ve become folk heroes.’
As he paused for breath, Harry said, ‘Are you telling me the Francezcis are heroes?’
Darcy grinned, or grimaced, and said, ‘But when you’re powerful enough you can be what you want to be. I’ll give you an example of what I’m talking about. Some forty-odd years ago it was a Francezci -allegedly one “Emilio” Francezci, a shady “uncle” to Anthony and Francesco - who helped to organize the collaboration of a then underground Sicilian Mafia in the American invasion of 1943. That was a joint effort that came about as a direct result of an old debt owed by Emilio to Lucky Luciano, who was then rotting in an American prison cell.
‘It was Emilio’s “suggestion” that in exchange for Luciano’s freedom and later extradition to Italy, Lucky might like to contact several Sicilian “ex”-capo friends on behalf of the American invasion force, and request that they and their “ex”-Mafia soldiers - who were still scattered throughout Sicily’s villages - tighten the screws on what remained of II Duce’s armed forces and make them an offer they couldn’t refuse: life if they ran away, death if they chose to remain at their posts. Except while a clean sudden death as the result of an American blitzkrieg couldn’t be guaranteed, a very ugly one on the cutting edge of some mafioso guerrilla’s garrotte most certainly could!
The reason for all those “ex”s is simple: you’ve got to remember that at the time, Mussolini was hanging mafiosi from whichever handy lampposts he could find, and so it was a very good time to refute or better still cancel your membership in that organization! But the Mafia never dies; it might go away for a while, but it always comes back. And II Duce, by standing against them, had put himself in their line of fire. They wanted rid of him - and they certainly didn’t want Hitler!
‘Thus the American invasion of Sicily was a walkover, and the course of the war - and a great many world-shaping events since - was altered. And so while this Emilio Francezci might be a difficult man to trace, by which I mean that we know absolutely nothing about him, still he could become one of those fake folk heroes I was talking about. But then, I’m told that there are people who idolize the memory of Al Capone, too…’
