Point Blank. Don Pendleton

at Lamezia Terme as we speak.”

      Basile would have praised most any other officer for that report, but he could not bring himself to congratulate Albanesi. The lieutenant was a dirty cop—reputed to be a bagman for the ’Ndrangheta. He’d been untouchable so far because the cash he collected flowed to higher-ranking officers within the Guardia di Finanza. Even so, Basile—who had never touched a bribe in twenty-seven years—refused to treat him with respect and was constantly on watch for ways to bring him down.

      “What about the dead men’s vehicle?” Basile asked.

      “We’re looking into it,” Albanesi said. “No description yet.”

      “Have you asked Gianni Magolino?”

      Yet another blink from Albanesi as he answered, “No. Why would I?”

      Smiling vaguely to himself, Basile answered, “Why? To question him about his poor santisti, cut down in their prime. Why else?”

      “I thought it more important to get after the American,” Albanesi said. “And I did not wish to trespass on your territory.”

      “Mine?”

      The fat lieutenant shrugged. “A man of Magolino’s stature. Surely he deserved a captain, eh?”

      “Perhaps you’re right, Lieutenant. Why insult him by sending a lackey?”

      Albanesi stiffened, color rising in his jowls, but whatever tart response had come to mind, he wisely kept it to himself.

      Basile eyed the cartridge casings scattered around the scene and said, “The dead were armed, I take it?”

      Albanesi nodded silently, still simmering.

      “With automatic weapons, it appears.”

      “An Uzi, a Kalashnikov, some pistols.”

      “Good. Perhaps Signore Magolino can explain where his employees got that kind of hardware in Calabria.”

      A scornful snort. “You think he’ll tell you?”

      “I hope not,” Basile said.

      He’d confused the fat lieutenant once again. Not difficult, but satisfying.

      “You hope not?”

      “When he refuses, or pleads ignorance, I may have grounds for a search warrant. Possession of unlicensed firearms is a serious offense. Distribution of such arms to others, much more so.”

      Albanesi shrugged, as if to say Basile was free to waste his time should he choose to. Both knew his application for a warrant might well be rejected by one of the several magistrates who banked on Magolino money for a posh retirement. In any case, Basile thought, the odds of finding Magolino personally in possession of illegal arms were slim to none.

      But irritating the padrino