Free In the Hour Before Midnight by Jack Higgins Page B

his pocket and pushed him towards the lodge. The gates, it seemed, were electronically controlled. They swung back with a slight whisper and Marco joined us.
    â€œI’ll ride up to the house with you.”
    We got into the rear beside Burke and Ciccio drove on slowly. “Things have changed,” I said to Marco. “Getting into Fort Knox would be easier.”
    â€œAn electronic device runs round the top of the walls,” he told me seriously. “So no one can get in that way. Usually, as you just heard, cars other than our own aren’t allowed through. We discovered an explosive device in one a few years back when the capo was giving a party. If it had gone off it would have taken the villa with it.”
    â€œA nice way to live.”
    Perhaps the irony in my voice escaped him or else he chose to ignore it. “There have been eight attempts on the capo ’s life in the last few years. We have to be very careful. Who is this man you have brought with you?” he added in exactly the same tone.
    â€œA friend of mine—Colonel Burke. He thought I might need some help.”
    â€œI can feel the gun in his pocket. Most uncomfortable. Tell him it will not be needed.”
    â€œI know enough Italian to understand that much,” Burke said and transferred his Browning to the other pocket.
    The Mercedes halted at the bottom of a broad flight of steps that lifted to a great oaken door banded with iron which I’d always understood had had an arrow or two in it in its day.
    I think that until that moment nothing had possessed any reality for me. I was home again, whichwas what it came down to, and it was as if some part of me—some essential part—simply didn’t want to know.
    Burke followed me out and Marco told Ciccio to take the Mercedes round to the courtyard at the rear. It moved away smoothly. I turned and found my grandfather standing at the top of the steps.
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    He was as large as Burke and looked smaller only because his shoulders were stooped a little with age. At that time he must have been sixty-seven or eight and yet there was still colour in the long hair and carefully trimmed beard.
    If I say he had the look of a Roman Emperor, I would be referring to the period when it was possible for a restless adventurer with no scruples to rise from the ranks.
    It was a remarkable face. There was ruthlessness there, and arrogance, but also pride and a blazing intelligence. And he was as elegant as ever. Many of the old time capo mafias chose to look as slovenly and as unkempt as possible in society as if to emphasise their power and importance, but not Vito Barbaccia. The share-cropper’s son had left his rags behind him long ago.
    He wore a cream lightweight suit that had London stamped all over it, a pink shirt and dark bluesilk tie. The cigar was as large as ever and the ebony walking stick I remembered well, because if it was the same one, it housed a couple of feet of razor-sharp steel.
    He didn’t speak as I went slowly up the steps to meet him. I paused a little below his level and he gazed down at me, still without a word and then his arms opened.
    The strength was still there. He held me close for a long moment, then gave me the ritual kiss on each cheek and pushed me to arm’s length.
    â€œYou’ve grown, Stacey—you’ve grown, boy.”
    I motioned to Burke who came up the steps and I introduced them. My voice seemed to belong to a stranger, to come from far away under water and my eyes were hot. He sensed my distress, squeezed my arm and tucked it into his own.
    â€œCome, we’ll go in and Marco will give you a drink, colonel, while I have a word or two with this grandson of mine.”
    My throat was dry as we moved through the great door. Strange how you can never stop loving those who are really important to you, in spite of what they may have done.
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    It was like stepping back into the past when I went into the study. It