The Gemini Contenders by Robert Ludlum Read Free Book Online Page B

honey than vinegar. What did it matter if a few Savarones played their silly games? Their time was past.
    But then there was only one Savarone. Separate and apart from all other men. He had become, perhaps, that terrible thing, a symbol. With his silly, goddamned
partigiani
. Ragtail lunatics who raced around the fields and the woods of Campo di Fiori pretending they were some kind of primitive tribesmen hunting tigers and killer lions.
    Jesus!
Children!
    Well, it would all come to a stop.
Padrone
or no
padrone
, if his father had gone too far and embarrassed them, there would be a confrontation. He had made it clear to Savarone two years ago that when he assumed the reins of Fontini-Cristi, it meant that all the leather was in his hands.
    Suddenly Vittorio remembered. Two weeks ago, Savarone had gone to Zürich for a few days. At least, he
said
he was going to Zürich. It wasn’t really clear; he, Vittorio, had not been listening closely. But during those few days, it wasunexpectedly necessary to get his father’s signature on several contracts. So necessary that he had telephoned every hotel in Zürich, trying to locate Savarone. He was nowhere to be found. No one had seen him, and his father was not easily overlooked.
    And when he returned to Campo di Fiori, he would not say where he had been. He was maddeningly enigmatic, telling his son that he would explain everything in a few days. An incident would take place in Monfalcone and when it occurred, Vittorio would be told. Vittorio
had
to be told.
    What in hell was his father talking about?
What
incident at Monfalcone? Why would
anything
taking place at Monfalcone concern them?
    Preposterous!
    But Zürich wasn’t preposterous at all. Banks were in Zürich. Had Savarone manipulated money in Zürich? Had he transferred extraordinary sums out of Italy into Switzerland? There was specific laws against that these days. Mussolini needed every
lira
he could keep. And God knew the family had sufficient reserves in Berne and Geneva; there was no lack of Fonti-Cristi capital in Switzerland.
    Whatever Savarone had done, it would be his last gesture. If his father was so politically involved, let him go somewhere else and proselytize. America, perhaps.
    Vittorio shook his head slowly in defeat, as he steered the Hispano-Suiza onto the road out of Varese. What was he thinking of? Savarone was—Savarone. The head of the house of Fontini-Cristi. No matter the son’s talents or expertise, the son was not the
padrone
.
    Use the stable road
.
    What was the point of that? The stable road started at the north end of the property, three miles from the east gates. Nevertheless, he would use it; his father must have had a reason for giving the order. No doubt as implausible as the foolish games he indulged in, but a surface filial obedience was called for; the son was going to be very firm with the father.
    What had happened in Zürich?
    He passed the main gates on the road out of Varese and proceeded to the intersecting west road three miles beyond. He turned left and drove nearly two miles to the north gate, turning left again into Campo di Fiori. The stableswere three-quarters of a mile from the entrance; the road was dirt. It was easier on the horses, for this was the road used by riders heading for the fields and trails north and west of the forest at the center of Campo di Fiori. The forest behind the great house that was bisected by the wide stream that flowed from the northern mountains.
    In the headlights he saw the figure of old Guido Barzini waving his arms, signaling him to stop. The gnarled Barzini was something: a fixture at Campo di Fiori who had spent his life in the service of the house.
    “Quickly, Signore Vittorio.” said Barzini through the open window. “Leave your car here. There’s no more time.”
    “Time for what?”
    “The
padrone
spoke to me not five minutes ago. He said if you drove in now, you were to call him on the stable telephone before you went to the