Antonia had lived in Vescovato, on the Golo River, twenty-odd miles south of Bastia. Her immediate contribution was to get them there without being seen. It was important that she make decisions, if only to take her mind off the fact that she was following orders she disagreed with. She did so rapidly, choosing primitive back roads and mountain trails she had known as a child growing up in the province.
"The nuns brought us here for a picnic," she said, looking down at a dammed-up stream. "We built fires and ate sausage, and took turns going into the woods to smoke cigarettes." They went on. "M hill has a fine wind in the morning," she said. "My father made marvelous kites and we would fly them here on Sundays. After Mass, of course." "We?" asked Bray. "Do you have brothers and sisters?" "One of each. They're older than I am and still live in Vescovato. They have families and I do not see them often; there's not much to talk about between us." "They didn't go to the upper schools then?" said Taleniekov.
"They thought such pursuits were foolish. They're good people but prefer a simple life. If we need help, they will offer it." "It would be better not to seek it," said the Russian. "Or them." "They are my family, signore. Why should I avoid them?" "Because it may be necessary." "That's no answer. You kept me from Porto Vecchio and the justice that should be done; you can't give me orders any longer." The KGB man looked at Scofield, his intent in his eyes. Bray expected the Russian to draw his weapon. He wondered briefly what his own reaction would be; he could not tell. But the moment passed, and Scofield understood something he had not fully understood before. Vasih Taleniekov did not wish to kill, but the professional in him was in strong conflict with the man. The Russian was pleading with him. He wanted to know how to convert a liability into an asset. Scofield wished he knew.
"Take it easy," said Bray. "Nobody wants to tell you what to do except where your own safety's concerned. We said that before and it's ten times more valid now." "I think it is something else. You wish me to stay silent Silent over the killing of a blind, old womanl" "Your safety depends on it, we told you that. She understood." "She's deadl" "But you want to live," insisted Scofield calmly. "If the hill people find you, you won't. And if it's known that you've talked to others, theyll be in danger, too. Can't you see that?" "Then what am I to do?" "Just what we're doing. Disappear. Get out of Corsica." Ile girl started to object; Bray cut her off. "And trust us. You must trust us. Your grandmother did. She died so we could live and find some people who are involved in terrible things that go beyond Corsica." "You're not talking to a child. What do you mean, 'terrible things'?" Bray glanced at Taleniekov, accepting his disapproval, but by nodding, overriding it. "There are men-we don't know how many-whose lives are committed to killing other men, who spread mistrust and suspicion by choosing victims and financing murder. There's no pattern except violence, political violence, pitting faction against faction, government against government... people against people." Scofield paused, seeing the concentration in Antonia7a face. "You said you were a political activist, a Communist. Fine. Good. So's my associate here; he was trained in Moscow.
I'm an American, trained in Washington. Were enemies; we've fought each other a long time. The details aren't important, but the fact that we're working together now is. The men we're trying to find are much more dan- gerous than any differences between us, between our governments. Because these men can escalate those differ- ences into something nobody wants; they can blow up the globe." "Thank you for telling me," said Antonia pensively. Then she frowned. "But how could she know of such things?" "She was there when it all began," answered Bray. "~Nearly seventy years ago at Villa Matarese." The words emerged slowly as Antonia whispered. " 'Me whore of Villa Matarese'.... The padrone, Guillaume?" "He was as powerful as any man in England or France, an obstacle to the cartels and the combines. He stood in their way and won too often, so they destroyed him. They used their governments to bring about his collapse; they killed his sons. He went crazy...