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‘Wait a minute.’ Stanford was studying the crew. He frowned. The man on the end. He’s new, isn’t he?’
‘Yes, sir. Our cabin boy got sick in Capri, and we took on this one. He’s highly –’
‘Get rid of him,’ Stanford ordered.
The captain looked at him, puzzled. ‘Get …?’
‘Pay him off. Let’s get out of here.’
Captain Vacarro nodded. ‘Right, sir.’
Looking around, Harry Stanford was filled with an increasing sense of foreboding. He could almost reach out and touch it. He did not want any strangers near him. Captain Vacarro and his crew had been with him for years. He could trust them. He turned to look at the girl. Since Dmitri had picked her up at random, here was no danger there. And as for Dmitri, his faithful bodyguard had saved his life more than once. Stanford turned to Dmitri. ‘Stay close to me.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Stanford took Sophia’s arm. ‘Let’s go aboard, my dear.’
Dmitri Kaminsky stood on deck, watching the crew prepare to cast off. He scanned the harbor, but he saw nothing to be alarmed about. At this time of the morning, there was very little activity. The yacht’s huge generators burst into life, and the vessel got under weigh.
The captain approached Harry Stanford. ‘You didn’t say where we were heading, Signor Stanford.’
‘No, I didn’t, did I, captain?’ He thought for a moment. ‘Portofino.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘By the way, I want you to maintain strict radio silence.’
Captain Vacarro frowned. ‘Radio silence? Yes, sir, but what if …?’
Harry Stanford said, ‘Don’t worry about it. Just do it. And I don’t want anyone using the satellite phones.’
‘Right, sir. Will we be laying over in Portofino?’
‘I’ll let you know, captain.’
Harry Stanford took Sophia on a tour of the yacht. It was one of his prized possessions, and he enjoyed showing it off. It was a breathtaking vessel. It had a luxuriously appointed master suite with a sitting room and an office. The office was spacious and comfortably furnished with a couch, several easy chairs, and a desk, behind which was enough equipment to run a small town. On the wall was a large electronic map with a small moving boat showing the current position of the yacht. Sliding glass doors opened from the master suite onto an outside veranda deck furnished with a chaise longue and a table with four chairs. A teak railing ran along the outside. On balmy days, it was Stanford’s custom to have breakfast on the veranda.
There were six guest staterooms, each with hand-painted silk panels, picture windows, and a bath with a Jacuzzi. The large library was done in koa wood.
The dining room could seat sixteen guests. A fully equipped fitness salon was on the lower deck. The yacht also contained a wine cellar and a theater that was ideal for running films. Harry Stanford had one of the world’s greatest libraries of pornographic movies. The furnishings throughout the vessel were exquisite, and the paintings would have made any museum proud.
‘Well, now you’ve seen most of it,’ Stanford told Sophia at the end of the tour. ‘I’ll show you the rest tomorrow.’
She was awed. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it! It’s … it’s like a city!’
Harry Stanford smiled at her enthusiasm. ‘The steward will show you to your cabin. Make yourself comfortable. I have some work to do.’
Harry Stanford returned to his office and checked the electronic map on the wall for the location of the yacht. Blue Skies was in the Ligurian Sea, heading northeast. They won’t know where I’ve gone, Stanford thought. They’ll be waiting for me at JFK. When we get to Portofino, I’ll straighten everything out.
Thirty-five thousand feet in the air, the pilot of the 727 was getting new instructions. ‘Boeing eight nine five Papa, you are cleared directly to Delta India November upper route forty as filed.’
‘Roger. Boeing eight nine five Papa is cleared direct Dinard upper route forty as filed.’ He turned to the copilot. ‘All clear.’
The pilot stretched, got up, and walked to the cockpit door. He looked into the cabin.
‘How’s our passenger doing?’ the copilot asked.
‘He looks hungry to me.’
Chapter Three (#ulink_13ac668f-6097-5ebd-a422-3b0a71ee0907)
The Ligurian coast is the Italian Riviera, sweeping in a semicircle from the French-Italian border around to Genoa, and then continuing down to the Gulf of La Spezia. The beautiful long ribbon of coast and its sparkling waters contain the storied ports of Portofino, Vernazza, and beyond them Elba, Sardinia, and Corsica.
Blue Skies was approaching Portofino, which even from a distance was an impressive sight, its hillsides covered with olive trees, pines, cypresses and palms. Harry Stanford, Sophia, and Dmitri were on deck, studying the approaching coastline.
‘Have you been to Portofino often?’ Sophia asked.
‘A few times.’
‘Where is your main home?’
Too personal. ‘You’ll enjoy Portofino, Sophia. It’s really quite beautiful.’
Captain Vacarro approached them. ‘Will you be having lunch aboard, Signor Stanford?’
‘No, we’ll have lunch at the Splendido.’
‘Very good. And shall I be prepared to weigh anchor right after lunch?’
‘I think not. Let’s enjoy the beauty of the place.’
Captain Vacarro studied him, puzzled. One moment Harry Stanford was in a terrible hurry, and the next moment he seemed to have all the time in the world. And the radio shut down? Unheard of! Pazzo.
When Blue Skies dropped anchor in the outer harbor; Stanford, Sophia and Dmitri took the yacht’s launch ashore. The small seaport was charming, with a variety of amusing shops and outdoor trattorie lining the single road that led up to the hills. A dozen or so small fishing boats were pulled up onto the pebbled beach.
Stanford turned to Sophia. ‘We’ll be lunching at the hotel on top of the hill. There’s a lovely view from there.’ He nodded toward a taxi stopped beyond the docks. ‘Take a taxi up there, and I’ll meet you in a few minutes.’ He handed her some lire.
‘Very well, caro.’
His eyes followed her as she walked away; then he turned to Dmitri. ‘I have to make a call.’
But not from the ship, Dmitri thought.
The men went to the two phone booths at the side of the dock. Dmitri watched as Stanford stepped inside one of them, picked up the receiver, and inserted a token.
‘Operator, I would like to place a call to someone at the Union Bank of Switzerland in Geneva.’
A woman was approaching the second phone booth. Dmitri stepped in front of it, blocking her way.
‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘I …’
‘I’m waiting for a call.’
She looked at him in surprise. ‘Oh.’ She glanced hopefully at the phone booth Stanford was in.
‘I wouldn’t wait,’ Dmitri grunted. ‘He’s going to be on the telephone for a long time.’
The woman shrugged and walked away.
‘Hello?’
Dmitri was watching Stanford speaking into the mouthpiece.
‘Peter? We have a little problem.’ Stanford closed the door to the booth. He was speaking very fast, and Dmitri could not hear what he was saying. At the end of the conversation, Stanford replaced the receiver and opened the door.
‘Is everything all right, Mr Stanford?’ Dmitri asked.
‘Let’s get some lunch.’
The Splendido is the crown jewel of Portofino, a hotel with a magnificent panoramic view of the emerald bay below. The hotel caters to the very rich, and jealously guards its reputation. Harry Stanford and Sophia had lunch out on the terrace.
‘Shall I order for you?’ Stanford asked. ‘They have some specialties here that I think you might enjoy.’
‘Please,’ Sophia said.
Stanford ordered the trenette al pesto, the local pasta, veal, and focaccia, the salted bread of the region.
‘And bring us a bottle of Schram Eighty-eight.’ He turned to Sophia. ‘It received a gold medal in the International Wine Challenge in London. I own the vineyard.’
She smiled. ‘You’re lucky.’
Luck had nothing to do with it. ‘I believe that man was meant to enjoy the gustatory delights that have been put on the earth.’ He took her hand in his. ‘And other delights, too.’
‘You’re an amazing man.’
‘Thank you.’
It excited Stanford to have beautiful women admiring him. This one was young enough to be his daughter and that excited him even more.
When they had finished lunch, Stanford looked at Sophia and grinned. ‘Let’s get back to the yacht.’
‘Oh, yes!’
Harry Stanford was a protean lover, passionate and skilled. His enormous ego made him more concerned about satisfying a woman than about satisfying himself. He knew how to excite a woman’s erotic zones, and he orchestrated his lovemaking in a sensuous symphony that brought his lovers to heights they had never achieved before.
They spent the afternoon in Stanford’s suite, and when they were finished making love, Sophia was exhausted. Harry Stanford dressed and went to the bridge to see Captain Vacarro.
‘Would you like to go on to Sardinia, Signor Stanford?’ the captain asked.
‘Let’s stop off at Elba first.’
‘Very good, sir. Is everything satisfactory?’
‘Yes,’ Stanford said. ‘Everything is satisfactory.’ He was feeling aroused again. He went back to Sophia’s stateroom.
They reached Elba the following afternoon and anchored at Portoferraio.
As the Boeing 727 entered North American airspace, the pilot checked in with ground control.
‘New York Center, Boeing eight nine five Papa is with you, passing flight level two six zero for flight level two four zero.’
The voice of New York Center came on. ‘Roger, you are cleared to one two thousand, direct JFK. Call approach on one two seven point four.’
From the back of the plane came a low growl.
‘Easy, Prince. That’s a good boy. Let’s get this seat belt around you.’
There were four men waiting when the 727 landed. They stood at different vantage points so they could watch the passengers descend from the plane. They waited for half an hour. The only passenger to come out was a white German shepherd.
Portoferraio is the main shopping center of Elba. The streets are lined with elegant, sophisticated shops, and behind the harbor, the eighteenth-century buildings are tucked under the craggy sixteenth-century citadel built by the Duke of Florence.
Harry Stanford had visited the island many times, and in a strange way, he felt at home here. This was where Napoleon Bonaparte had been sent into exile.
‘We’re going to look at Napoleon’s house,’ he told Sophia. ‘I’ll meet you there.’ He turned to Dmitri. ‘Take her to the Villa dei Mulini.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Stanford watched Dmitri and Sophia leave. He looked at his watch. Time was running out. His plane would already have landed at Kennedy. When they learned that he was not aboard, the manhunt would begin again. It will take them a while to pick up the trail, Stanford thought. By then, everything will have been settled.
He stepped into a phone booth at the end of the dock. ‘I want to place a call to London,’ Stanford told the operator. ‘Barclays Bank. One seven one …’
Half an hour later, he picked up Sophia and brought her back to the harbor.
‘You go aboard,’ Stanford told her. ‘I have another call to make.’
She watched him stride over to the telephone booth beside the dock. Why doesn’t he use the telephones on the yacht? Sophia wondered.
Inside the telephone booth, Harry Stanford was saying, ‘The Sumitomo Bank in Tokyo …’
Fifteen minutes later, when he returned to the yacht, he was in a fury.
‘Are we going to be anchoring here for the night?’ Captain Vacarro asked.
‘Yes,’ Stanford snapped. ‘No! Let’s head for Sardinia. Now!’
The Costa Smeralda in Sardinia is one of the most exquisite places along the Mediterranean coast. The little town of Porto Cervo is a haven for the wealthy, with a large part of the area dotted with villas built by Aly Khan.
The first thing Harry Stanford did when they docked was to head for a telephone booth.
