know about this business then?’
‘So right that I want you out of there on the next plane. This is serious business, Carlo, very serious.’
‘Fine, Uncle. I’ll be there tomorrow. Asta’s with me. Do you want to say hello?’
‘I’d rather look at her, so you’d better bring her with you. I look forward to it, Carlo.’
The phone clicked off; the waiter came forward and took it from him. ‘What was all that about?’ Asta said.
‘Business. Apparently Giovanni takes this Chungking Covenant thing very seriously indeed. He wants me in Palermo tomorrow. You too, my love. It’s time you visited Sicily,’ and he waved for the head waiter.
The following morning they took a direct flight to Rome, where Morgan had a Citation private jet standing by for the flight to Punta Raisa Airport, twenty miles outside Palermo. There was a Mercedes limousine waiting with a chauffeur and a hard-looking individual in a blue nylon raincoat with heavy cheekbones and the flattened nose of the prize fighter. There was a feeling of real power there, although he looked more Slav than Italian.
‘My uncle’s top enforcer,’ Morgan whispered to Asta, ‘Marco Russo.’ He smiled and held out his hand. ‘Marco, it’s been a long time. My daughter, Asta.’
Marco managed a fractional smile. ‘A pleasure. Welcome to Sicily, signorina, and nice to see you again, signore. The Don isn’t at the town house, he’s at the villa.’
‘Good, let’s get moving then.’
Luca’s villa was outside a village at the foot of Monte Pellegrino, which towers into the sky three miles north of Palermo.
‘During the Punic Wars the Carthaginians held out against the Romans on that mountain for three years,’ Morgan told Asta.
‘It looks a fascinating place,’ she said.
‘Soaked in blood for generations.’ He held up the local paper which Marco had given him. ‘Three soldiers blown up by a car bomb last night, a priest shot in the back of the neck this morning because he was suspected of being an informer.’
‘At least you’re on the right side.’
He took her hand. ‘Everything I do is strictly legitimate, Asta, that’s the whole point. My business interests and those of my associates are pure as driven snow.’
‘I know, darling,’ she said. ‘You must be the greatest front man ever. Grandad Morgan a general, you a war hero, billionaire, philanthropist and one of the best polo players in the world. Why, last time we were in London, Prince Charles asked you to play for him.’
‘He wants me next month.’ She laughed and he added, ‘But never forget one thing, Asta. The true power doesn’t come from New York. It lies in the hands of the old man we’re going to see now.’
At that moment they turned in through electronic gates set in ancient fifteen-foot walls and drove through a semi-tropical garden towards the great Moorish villa.
The main reception room was enormous, black-and-white tiled floor scattered with rugs, seventeenth-century furniture from Italy in dark oak, a log fire blazing in the open hearth and French windows open to the garden. Luca sat in a high-backed sofa, a cigar in his mouth, hands clasped over the silver handle of a walking stick. He was large, at least sixteen stone, his grey beard trimmed, the air of a Roman emperor about him.
‘Come here, child,’ he said to Asta and, when she went to him, kissed her on both cheeks. ‘You’re more beautiful than ever. Eighteen months since I saw you in New York. I was desolated by your mother’s unfortunate death last year.’
‘These things happen,’ she said.
‘I know. Jack Kennedy once said, anyone who believes there is fairness in this life is seriously misinformed. Here, sit beside me.’ She did as she was told and he looked up at Morgan. ‘You seem well, Carlo.’ He’d always insisted on calling him that.
‘And you, Uncle, look wonderful.’
Luca held out his hand and Morgan kissed it. ‘I like it when your Sicilian half floats to the surface. You were wise to contact me on this Chungking business and Mori showed good judgement in speaking to you.’
‘We owe it to his grandson,’ Morgan said.
‘Yes, of course. Young Tony is a good boy, an idealist, and that’s good. We need our saints, Carlo, they make us rather more acceptable to the rest of the world.’ He snapped a finger and a white-coated houseboy came forward.
‘Zibibbo, Alfredo.’
‘At once, Don Giovanni.’
‘You will like this, Asta. A wine from the island of Pantelleria, flavoured with anis.’ He turned to Morgan. ‘Marco took me for a run into the country the other day to that farmhouse of yours at Valdini.’
‘How was it?’
‘The caretaker and his wife seemed to be behaving themselves. Very peaceful. You should do something with it.’
‘Grandfather was born there, Uncle; it’s a piece of the real Sicily. How could I change that?’
‘You’re a good boy, Carlo; you may be half American, but you have a Sicilian heart.’
As Alfredo opened the bottle, Morgan said, ‘So, to the Chungking Covenant. What do you think?’
‘We have billions invested in Hong Kong in hotels and casinos and our holdings will be severely damaged when the Communists take over in ninety-seven. Anything that could delay that would be marvellous.’
‘But would the discovery of such a document really have an effect?’ Asta asked.
He accepted one of the glasses of Zibibbo from Alfredo. ‘The Chinese have taken great care to handle the proposed changes in the status of Hong Kong through the United Nations. These days they want everything from international respectability to the Olympic Games. If the document surfaced with the holy name of Mao Tse-tung attached to it, who knows what the outcome would be.’
‘That’s true,’ Morgan agreed. ‘All right, they’d scream forgery.’
‘Yes,’ Asta put in, ‘but there is one important point. It isn’t a forgery, it’s the real thing; we know that and any experts brought in will have to agree.’
‘She’s smart, this girl.’ Luca patted her knee. ‘We’ve nothing to lose, Carlo. With that document on show we can at least hold the whole proceedings up if nothing else. Even if we still lose millions, I’d like to mess it up for the Chinese and particularly for the Brits. It’s their fault they didn’t sort the whole mess out years ago.’
‘Strange you should say that,’ Asta told him. ‘I’d have thought that was exactly what Mountbatten was trying to do back in forty-four.’
He roared with laughter and raised his glass. ‘More wine, Alfredo.’
‘What do you suggest?’ Morgan asked.
‘Find this silver Bible. When you have that you have the Covenant.’
‘And that must be somewhere at the castle at Loch Dhu, according to what Tanner said,’ Asta put in.
‘Exactly. There’s a problem. I had my London lawyer check on the situation at the castle the moment I received your fax. It’s rented out at the moment to a sheik from Trucial Oman, a prince of the Royal Family, so there’s nothing to be done there. He’s in residence and he won’t be leaving for another month. My lawyer has leased it in your name for three months from then.’
‘Fine,’ Morgan said. ‘That gives me plenty of time to clear the decks where business is concerned. That Bible must be there somewhere.’
‘I instructed my lawyer to get straight up there and see this Lady Katherine Rose, the sister, to do the lease