55
For Geoffrey Barnes, one of New York’s greatest
advantages was the food. For the first time in several days, he
enjoyed a first-rate lunch in a good restaurant. He was now much
calmer, and understood that the whole business with Jack was part
of the job. A game, which Jack had played masterfully, making him
lose his head. It was apparent that if Barnes had been able to
dispose of Jack at will, he would have handled the matter
differently. That bastard, that sly fox, realized this, and knew
how and when to take advantage of him.
To hell with the Italian, or whatever he might be.
The fact that he spoke the language didn’t necessarily mean he was
from that country. The man had said categorically, “Nobody dies
without my authorization.” And when the boss spoke, everybody bowed
their heads and obeyed. In that moment of confusion, he lost track
of his orders. He got caught in the trap Jack set for him. It
wasn’t easy to avoid. It was a mistake to have lost his
temper.
But it was better not to think about it anymore. He
devoted himself to enjoying the rest of his meal, his eyes already
set on the dessert. And then his cell phone rang, the damned cell
phone that robbed him of marvelous moments like this. He fished it
out of his pocket without paying attention to who was
calling.
“Barnes.”
During the next moments, Geoffrey Barnes confined
himself to listening and answering with a few monosyllables. “Yes.”
“No.” “Done.” One could readily infer he wasn’t talking to a
subordinate, since whatever he was hearing made him shift
restlessly in his chair. A few more monosyllables followed, and
then a good-bye.
When he hung up, his expression was changed. Small
beads of sweat trickled down his forehead. He put down the fork,
still in his hand. The shit had just hit the fan, and if he didn’t
act immediately, it wouldn’t take long to splatter everything. He
left his money on top of the check on the table, and quickly headed
for the door. He pressed some numbers on the cell phone and, now
out on the street, brought it to his ear. His pace was fast and
steady.
“Staughton, it’s Barnes. Don’t let them do anything
till I get there.” The exertion affected the sound of his voice. He
was walking very fast as he talked, but even so, his was a firm,
emphatic voice. “Nothing about anything. Don’t explain why, just
say I’ll clear everything up when I get there.” Barnes listened for
a few seconds and then spoke again. “Not even Payne or anybody.
They shouldn’t touch anything, or even move. And tell the rest to
do the same, or else this is going to blow up.” He crossed the
street without looking. Cars grazed past him, but he kept talking.
“The reason? I’ll tell you, and you only, understood? But you can’t
talk to anyone, Staughton.” The subordinate assented, on an office
phone in the heart of Manhattan. “I’ve just received a call from
the top levels of the Vatican.” He sighed. “The girl has tricked
us.”