as if he expected to see something new in the rain. Then he shrugged slightly and went on.
‘From here to Rome we use a courier service for our mail, so we know exactly when Syncom received our letter about the Luccio book. It was on the Tuesday. On the Friday, three days later, Bernardo was on the day shift that ended at seven o’clock. At that time it was his turn for the weekly thirty-six-hour break that they all have. So he picked up his Lambretta from my garage and took off. Near the apartment house block where he lives with his wife and family, he was knocked down by a car. He was only slightly hurt then, but as he began to get to his feet two persons ran over to him from the car, which had stopped, and proceeded to beat him. The attack was witnessed by neighbours who said that the attackers used heavy sticks and their feet. They also said that one of the attackers may have been a woman, a girl. It wasquickly over. One of the attackers was seen to put something in a pocket of Bernardo’s anorak just before they ran off. Bernardo was still unconscious when the ambulance arrived. His injuries included a broken jaw. We must hope that he will make a complete recovery.’
‘What was it they put in his pocket?’ I asked.
He looked at me sharply. ‘You don’t want to know who did it, or if any of them has been caught?’
I could have answered that I was becoming used to Zander’s quaint little ways of capturing attention when he had a message to deliver. He might send you a bomb from Miami, or he might give himself a see-through alias for an unsuspecting Wall Street lawyer to pass on to you, or he might put one of your employees into hospital. I didn’t answer so callously, though, because just then I was feeling not only sorry for Bernardo but thankful that I had not regaled the man beside me with my now most unfunny bomb story. Instead, I said: ‘That sort of thug is almost never caught. The car used was probably stolen and later found abandoned. It’s a nasty story but not unusual.’
He sighed, ‘I note that you automatically assume that the attackers were not personal enemies of Bernardo’s. The police took longer to reach that conclusion. You are right, of course. The car was stolen. What they put in his pocket was an envelope. Inside was a sheet of the Syncom internal memorandum paper used by them for business regarded as confidential. It is a pale yellow colour. On this sheet was typed a single sentence in capital letters. It said: “ DIRECTIVES WILL NOT IN FUTURE BE TREATED AS NEGOTIABLE REQUESTS .” ’
‘In English?’
‘No, in Italian. The police took charge of it and sent it to Rome. The Syncom offices both there and in London co-operated fully with the police. England was involved because Syncom’s European division happens to buy all its stationery there. They reported that, although the sheet of paper used was quite genuine, it was of a quality that hadn’tbeen used for two years. Executives had complained that it was too flimsy. The last batch of it had gone to the Syncom office in Mozambique. The trouble the police had was with the wording of the message. Who would say such a thing to Bernardo? Why the elaborate bureaucratic language? Who could it have been that Bernardo had offended? It was very difficult to convince them that the message had really been for us.’
‘Did you ask the intermediary, Miss What’s-her-name, why she herself hadn’t delivered it on the great man’s behalf?’
An attempt at a smile quivered for a moment in one corner of his mouth. ‘Miss Chihani, you mean? As you will soon be finding out for yourself, that young woman is very well able to deal with inconvenient questions. She simply ignores them. By the way, she claims to be Lebanese. One of our staff, though, who knows some Arabic and heard her speaking on the telephone to Luccio in that language says that she sounds Algerian. It seems that there is a big difference between the two accents. But you
‘From here to Rome we use a courier service for our mail, so we know exactly when Syncom received our letter about the Luccio book. It was on the Tuesday. On the Friday, three days later, Bernardo was on the day shift that ended at seven o’clock. At that time it was his turn for the weekly thirty-six-hour break that they all have. So he picked up his Lambretta from my garage and took off. Near the apartment house block where he lives with his wife and family, he was knocked down by a car. He was only slightly hurt then, but as he began to get to his feet two persons ran over to him from the car, which had stopped, and proceeded to beat him. The attack was witnessed by neighbours who said that the attackers used heavy sticks and their feet. They also said that one of the attackers may have been a woman, a girl. It wasquickly over. One of the attackers was seen to put something in a pocket of Bernardo’s anorak just before they ran off. Bernardo was still unconscious when the ambulance arrived. His injuries included a broken jaw. We must hope that he will make a complete recovery.’
‘What was it they put in his pocket?’ I asked.
He looked at me sharply. ‘You don’t want to know who did it, or if any of them has been caught?’
I could have answered that I was becoming used to Zander’s quaint little ways of capturing attention when he had a message to deliver. He might send you a bomb from Miami, or he might give himself a see-through alias for an unsuspecting Wall Street lawyer to pass on to you, or he might put one of your employees into hospital. I didn’t answer so callously, though, because just then I was feeling not only sorry for Bernardo but thankful that I had not regaled the man beside me with my now most unfunny bomb story. Instead, I said: ‘That sort of thug is almost never caught. The car used was probably stolen and later found abandoned. It’s a nasty story but not unusual.’
He sighed, ‘I note that you automatically assume that the attackers were not personal enemies of Bernardo’s. The police took longer to reach that conclusion. You are right, of course. The car was stolen. What they put in his pocket was an envelope. Inside was a sheet of the Syncom internal memorandum paper used by them for business regarded as confidential. It is a pale yellow colour. On this sheet was typed a single sentence in capital letters. It said: “ DIRECTIVES WILL NOT IN FUTURE BE TREATED AS NEGOTIABLE REQUESTS .” ’
‘In English?’
‘No, in Italian. The police took charge of it and sent it to Rome. The Syncom offices both there and in London co-operated fully with the police. England was involved because Syncom’s European division happens to buy all its stationery there. They reported that, although the sheet of paper used was quite genuine, it was of a quality that hadn’tbeen used for two years. Executives had complained that it was too flimsy. The last batch of it had gone to the Syncom office in Mozambique. The trouble the police had was with the wording of the message. Who would say such a thing to Bernardo? Why the elaborate bureaucratic language? Who could it have been that Bernardo had offended? It was very difficult to convince them that the message had really been for us.’
‘Did you ask the intermediary, Miss What’s-her-name, why she herself hadn’t delivered it on the great man’s behalf?’
An attempt at a smile quivered for a moment in one corner of his mouth. ‘Miss Chihani, you mean? As you will soon be finding out for yourself, that young woman is very well able to deal with inconvenient questions. She simply ignores them. By the way, she claims to be Lebanese. One of our staff, though, who knows some Arabic and heard her speaking on the telephone to Luccio in that language says that she sounds Algerian. It seems that there is a big difference between the two accents. But you
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