Transient Desires (Commissario Brunetti #30)(82)
Alaimo called out, in English, ‘Does one of you ladies speak English?’ As though his voice had freed them from a spell, the women began to talk among themselves, to put their arms around one another. Some broke into sobs. Finally, from the -centre of the group, a woman’s voice said, ‘I do, sir.’
Alaimo continued, speaking slowly. ‘Tell your friends to move away from those men and go over onto the land behind you.’ The same woman’s voice spoke for a moment in some other language, and then a woman in a long flowered skirt, pulling with her the woman to whom she was handcuffed, moved to the edge of the group, took the arm of another, and led them towards the promised land at the end of the dock.
The others followed slowly, bumping into one another in their eagerness to get away from the men.
Alaimo spoke into the bullhorn in a normal tone and said, ‘Good, good, now walk towards the woods. There are people there who will help you.’
It was at this point that Nieddu, quickly followed by Griffoni, emerged from the trees and waved the women towards them. The women were apparently still too shocked to react quickly, but the group, their sobs audible to Brunetti, began to walk towards the two women, beacons of safety, especially Nieddu, in uniform, her service pistol in her hand, aimed at the two men on the dock.
Three men in military fatigues, carrying rifles, emerged from the trees and walked onto the dock. A fourth, weaponless, walked behind the two men standing with their arms in the air, lowered them, handcuffed their hands behind them, picked up their rifles, and led them from the dock.
That left the boat. It bobbled quietly beside the dock, moored, knots neatly tied. It looked, however, more like a giant Toblerone than a boat. From the side, Brunetti saw a row of copper panels that appeared to have been screwed into place, tilted up to meet another row tilting in from the other side. Just as Alaimo had explained to him, radar waves would slide up and over them, leaving the boat invisible. In this case, the panels also left invisible anyone who might be on board.
Alaimo called out, ‘Anyone on the boat: come out, hands above your heads. It’s over.’
Nothing. Time passed. ‘You on the boat. Come out with your hands above your heads. It’s over.’
After more waiting, Brunetti saw Alaimo raise the bullhorn again: apparently the man was patient enough to repeat the same message until the men on the boat grew tired of it and came out with their hands over their heads. But before Alaimo could give his orders again, the sounds of shouting came across the water.
They heard two voices, both male, then they heard crashing noises. Suddenly something banged against one of the panels; it broke loose at the top and fell backwards, dangling into the water.
Alaimo and Brunetti scrambled onto the dock. As he approached Borgato’s boat, Brunetti thought for an instant that it was made of gold, like the boats painted in Egyptian tombs. There was more shouting, and then Marcello Vio appeared at the opening left by the fallen panel and put one leg over the gunwale, then stepped onto the dock. An animal noise erupted from behind him, and a hand grabbed at his shoulder. But Vio took the hand with both of his and thrust it away from him. There was a crash from the boat and then a roar; Vio stopped and turned back towards the noise but then suddenly screamed in pain and fell forward onto his knees, arms wrapped around his broken ribs.
From somewhere, from nowhere, a form flashed from between the trees and towards the dock. Duso. Brunetti had forgotten about Duso. He held up his hands and turned to shout at the armed men, ‘Leave him alone. He’s with us.’
Duso fell to his knees beside Marcello. He wrapped one arm around him and said, ‘Come on, Marcello. You can’t stay here.’
Everyone’s attention was on the two young men, kneeling face to face. ‘Berto,’ Vio said. ‘Berto, you’re here.’ He smiled and raised a hand to touch Duso’s face.
So filled with emotion was the scene that everyone watched the two men. Except Griffoni, who had arrived at the edge of the dock and then stepped onto it, walking so calmly as to be invisible, her eyes not on the men but on the boat.
She was the first to see Pietro Borgato appear in the gap between the panels and the first to see the boathook in his hands. ‘Watch out,’ she shouted, and both kneeling men turned to look at her.
Borgato leaped from the boat onto the dock and walked quickly towards his nephew. Brunetti shouted, ‘Borgato,’ to distract him and started to run in his direction.
Before Brunetti could reach him, the man had reached the two figures kneeling between him and the rifle-carrying Carabinieri. He pulled back the boathook, raised his right foot and kicked his nephew out of the way. He stood in front of Duso and pulled the horizontal boathook to the right. ‘You want to fuck my nephew, do you?’ he shouted at the kneeling Duso, who was stiff with shock. ‘Well, you get this, instead.’ With no hesitation, he spread his feet and swung the wicked point and hook towards Duso’s chest. Duso’s shriek did nothing to stop Borgato from swinging full cycle until the hook caught on something, a bone, perhaps, and he was forced to pull it free.
Brunetti had reached him by then. Borgato turned and swung at him, but Brunetti was standing and was able to avoid the curve of the weapon’s point. Borgato pulled it back and swung again, and this time it caught in the green cashmere scarf and remained entrapped in the cloth.
He let go of the hook and turned to Brunetti, who saw that froth was coming from the man’s mouth.