Ben lay flat on his stomach on the bare hillside and stared down at the Villa Rafallo, the current residence of Mancino Vitelli. Sharp angular lumps of limestone dug into his chest and a tuft of dry brown grass tickled his ear. The sun still beat down mercilessly, but the sky had acquired a steely glint that heralded a storm in the brewing. It gave Ben a slightly uneasy feeling.
As far as he could see in either direction the magnificent Amalfi Coast stretched into the distance. Range after range of high limestone mountains tumbled almost vertically into the sea - great masses of bare grey rock with an occasional fringe of scrubby vegetation. Below him wound the Amalfi Drive - forty miles of tortuous roadway which picked its way carelessly, clinging to the sides of the cliffs, plunging into tunnels, striding across ravines on curving viaducts, twisting round headlands, climbing through narrow passes, falling to small seaside villages and enjoying some of the most splendid views of any road in Europe.
Ben tore his gaze away from the natural beauties all around him and set himself to study the terrain below. The Villa Rafallo occupied a splendid natural site. It sat on top of a high sloping promontory which was cut off from the mountain ranges behind it by a gulley which the road had followed. On three sides of the house sheer limestone cliffs plunged two hundred feet straight into the deep blue waters of the Mediterranean. On the fourth side the casual traveller along the road was kept at bay by a high stone wall topped by ornate and evil-looking ironwork. Approximately half way along the wall was a pair of high, solid gates, surrounded by a carved masonry arch, in the centre of which was a coat of arms.
Ben propped himself on one elbow and lifted the binoculars to his eyes. Sure enough, even at this distance he could make out that the carving looked like a grotesque dog. He guessed it matched the emblem nestling in his jacket pocket. It was the Wolf of Hades, just as Francesca’s Grandpapa had said.
Ben shifted his gaze to inspect the villa itself. It was a very large house. Although he judged that the structure was old, it seemed to have a bright, new roof of pink clay tiles. It was only a two-storey structure, built in a square around the traditional central atrium, but with an additional long wing on the eastern side which terminated right on the edge of the cliff. The wing was also two storeys high with a straight new roof in which were a number of small dormers.
Along the front of the house was a large paved courtyard where Ben could see at least two parked cars. Just inside the gateway on the right hand side was a single-storey lodge or gatehouse. Beyond this building were formal gardens laid out with gravel paths enclosing beds of shrubs and flowers which extended around the West side of the main house and southwards towards the sea. In the middle of the southern side of the garden was a long flight of steps, broken by occasional landings, which led down to a level grassed terrace occupying the centre of the promontory. Most interesting to Ben was the terrace below that which appeared to be almost circular and paved in tarmac. Because of the slope of the land he could not see the whole area. However he could just see part of what looked like a large white cross painted in the centre.
“It looks remarkably like a helicopter landing pad,” he thought to himself.
From behind the gatehouse Ben could see steps leading into a narrow ravine. They disappeared out of sight but he guessed they led down to the water’s edge. It meant that the Villa Rafallo had potential escape routes by land, sea and air. Over the years the Vitelli had gone to considerable lengths to protect themselves in case they should come under attack.
“Wow, it’s quite a place,” thought Ben to himself. “It’s just like the modern equivalent of some medieval castle.”
Now he had to find an unguarded way into this stronghold.
He pulled a pencil and paper from his back pocket and started to make a rough sketch of the place, as far as his uncomfortable position and the uneven surface would allow. From time to time he raised the binoculars to check on certain details before he made a note of them on the plan. As he worked he began to realise that there was likely to be only one way that he could use to get into the Villa Rafallo without being detected. That would be to climb in from the rocks on the sea shore below. The only trouble with that proposal was that he hadn’t put on a pair of climbing boots since the day that Carlos died. Would he be able to restart now?
He lifted the glasses and surveyed the promontory for the last time. As he did so a movement caught his eye. A man stepped out of the gatehouse and walked across the paved courtyard towards the East wing. He was a long way away and, even with the binoculars, Ben was unable to make out the man’s face. But from the style of the man’s dress and the way in which he walked, he could have sworn that it was the hood with the knife who had twice pursued him.
Ben thought grimly to himself that sooner or later the two of them were bound to come face to face again. He only hoped the contest would be an equal one, because up until now he had felt at a distinct disadvantage each time they had met. Ben admitted to himself that he was feeling quite nervous about the next twenty-four hours.
He got to his feet and carefully started to retrace his route back to the car. He crouched down low until he was far enough over the brow of the hill to no longer be visible from the villa. Then he rose to walking height. He picked his way over the rough, rocky hillside, skirting clumps of thorny undergrowth and clusters of large, angular boulders. After a while he reached the cleft by which he had ascended the half mile from the road. He began to climb back down it with great care. In this rough, loose terrain it would be easy to turn an ankle, and that was the last thing he wanted to do at the moment.