Transient Desires (Commissario Brunetti #30)(81)

The door behind them opened, and the sailor who had been playing with his iPhone came out to stand with them. ‘We almost there, sir?’ he whispered to Alaimo.

‘Yes.’

The young man nodded and looked at the instrument panel. Turning away, he said, ‘I’ll wake the others up.’

‘Good. Tell them we’re getting very close to the landing place.’

‘I’m going to switch on the night vision, sir,’ the pilot said and flipped a switch on the panel. Brunetti raised his eyes to look ahead, but there was only darkness visible.

Alaimo tapped him on the arm and pointed to another instrument to the left of the radar. The screen showed the same approaching coast, the scene entirely composed of various shades of green on a black base. Brunetti made out trees on the right and left, even thin vines hanging from them. The centre was a dark path leading into farther darkness.

‘Is that the river?’ Brunetti asked.

‘Yes,’ Alaimo all but whispered.

‘Do I follow them, sir?’ the pilot asked.

‘Wait,’ Alaimo answered, and the boat slowed to a stop. He pulled out his phone. Careful to use the tips of his fingers, Alaimo pushed in the letters of a message and sent it off. Less than a minute passed before he felt the arrival of an answer.

‘They’ve got men along the river. He’s almost there.’

The pilot said nothing but shifted from foot to foot to demonstrate his impatience.

‘Let’s go, Crema,’ Alaimo said, and an instant later the boat began to move forward.

Because he could see only darkness ahead, Brunetti kept his eyes on the screen, marvelling as their boat moved unerringly in the centre of the river. The water was dead still: the other boat had passed through long enough ago for the water to forget its passage.

Alaimo reached for his phone again. He sent a message, turned to Brunetti, and whispered, ‘My men are in the trees behind the landing. Three men have come out onto the dock.’ Then, after a moment’s pause, he added, ‘Two of them have rifles.’

Brunetti nodded. The boat continued, with serpentine silence, to make its slow way through the dark water.

Again, Alaimo glanced at his phone, then held it to show Brunetti, who read the message: ‘Where are you?’

The Carabiniere pulled back his phone and answered. He leaned close to Crema and said, ‘Speed up now if you can. I’d like to get there while they’re still moored to the dock.’

Again, Brunetti felt but did not hear the increase of energy that quickened the speed of the boat. He kept his eyes on the green panel: looking ahead was no help. He had lost all sense of distance: how far were they from the green shapes in front of them? How close were they to the invisible banks of the river? And if this was a tidal river, how high were the embankments to left and right, and how easily could they get out of the water if they had to swim from the boat?

There was, he noticed now, the sound of nature; creatures rustled in the trees, birds made noises, other animals rustled on the ground. How mysterious and frightening nature was, so uninterested in what we did or what we were.

He and Alaimo heard the voice in the same instant: male, angry, authoritarian. ‘No, over here.’ There followed a shushing noise, then another one, and then silence. How far ahead was the speaker? There was still no sign on the screen.

And then there was. At first Brunetti thought it was ghosts, so pale, so ethereal did the figures seem. Some heads were wrapped in what could be burial dressings, their bodies draped to the ground; others had visible legs and arms; they gasped and groaned quietly and made spectral noises. Alaimo grabbed the pilot by the shoulder, and the boat slowed, then stopped without making a sound.

There was a heavy, thick noise, a flash of motion, and something large fell into the water. The man’s voice said, ‘Cazzo.’

Another voice said, ‘Pull them out, for God’s sake. We have to deliver them alive.’ Brunetti saw motion on what appeared to be a platform above the water; there was the sound of splashing and muffled screams. What could have been two green men lay on the dock and reached down to the water. Slowly, they pulled up a writhing creature with two heads and let it fall beside them. The screaming stopped.

Alaimo took a bullhorn from beside the steering wheel and switched it on. He tapped the pilot on his shoulder, and three searchlights on the prow of their boat flashed across the scene, illuminating the dock and the people on it, the boat moored to it, and the shore behind it. Everyone in the light froze: the two men with rifles, the third kneeling next to what looked like a pile of moving rags, and a large, tight circle of women, everyone shocked to paralyzed silence.

‘Drop the rifles,’ Alaimo’s amplified voice commanded. The two men made no attempt to do so; one of them turned his body so that the rifle was pointing in the direction of the blinding lights.

From the tree-scattered land behind the dock, a man’s voice barked, ‘He told you to drop the rifles.’ The one who had not moved bent down very slowly and placed his rifle on the ground near his feet. ‘Now kick it away,’ the voice from the land said, and the man obeyed. ‘Arms over your head,’ the voice added, and the man did that, as well. The two unarmed men raised their hands above their heads and stood motionless.

‘I’m waiting,’ the voice said, and the other man tossed his rifle onto the ground as though he were suddenly tired of holding it. ‘Arms,’ the voice shouted, and they went up in the air.