Omerta Read Free Page B

and I have already escaped him,” Timmona said. “Though he brought all our friends down. I don’t fear him but I thank you.”
    They had a celebratory drink, and the Portella brothers left. In the car Bruno said, “What a great man.”
    “Yes,” Timmona said. “He was a great man.”
    As for the Don, he was well satisfied. He had seen the alarm in Timmona’s eyes and was assured there would no longer be any danger from him.
    D on Aprile requested a private meeting with Kurt Cilke, the head of the FBI in New York City. Cilke, to the Don’s own surprise, was a man he admired. He had sent most of the East Coast Mafia chiefs to jail and almost broken their power.
    Don Raymonde Aprile had eluded him, for the Don knew the identity of Cilke’s secret informer, the one who made his success possible. But the Don admired Cilke even more because the man always played fair, had never tried frame-ups or power-play harassments, had never given publicity pin marks on the Don’s children. So the Don felt it was only fair to warn him.
    T he meeting was at the Don’s country estate in Montauk. Cilke would have to come alone, a violation of the Bureau rules. The FBI director himself had given approval but insisted Cilke use a special recording device. This was an implant in his body, below his rib cage, which would not show on the outer walls of his torso;the device was not known to the public, and its manufacture was strictly controlled. Cilke realized that the real purpose of the wire was to record what he said to the Don.
    They met on a golden October afternoon on the Don’s verandah. Cilke had never been able to penetrate this house with a listening device, and a judge had barred constant physical surveillance. This day he was not searched in any way by the Don’s men, which surprised him. Obviously Don Raymonde Aprile was not going to make him an illicit proposal.
    As always, Cilke was amazed and even disturbed by the impression that the Don made on him. Despite knowing that the man had ordered a hundred murders, broken countless laws of society, Cilke could not hate him. And yet he believed such men evil, hated them for how they destroyed the fabric of civilization.
    Don Aprile was clad in a dark suit, dark tie, and white shirt. His expression was grave and yet understanding, the lines in his face the gentle ones of a virtue-loving man. How could such a humane face belong to someone so merciless, Cilke wondered.
    The Don did not offer to shake hands out of a sensibility not to embarrass Cilke. He gestured for his guest to be seated and bowed his head in greeting.
    “I have decided to place myself and my family under your protection—that is, the protection of society,” he said.
    Cilke was astonished. What the hell did the old man mean?
    “For the last twenty years you have made yourself my enemy. You have pursued me. But I was always grateful for your sense of fair play. You never tried to plant evidence or encourage perjury against me. You have put most of my friends in prison, and you tried very hard to do the same to me.”
    Cilke smiled. “I’m still trying,” he said.
    The Don nodded in appreciation. “I have rid myself of everything doubtful except a few banks, surely a respectable business. I have placed myself under the protection of your society. In return I will do my duty to that society. You can make it much easier if you do not pursue me. For there is no longer any need.”
    Cilke shrugged. “The Bureau decides. I’ve been after you for so long, why stop now? I might get lucky.”
    The Don’s face became graver and even more tired. “I have something to exchange with you. Your enormous success of the past few years influenced my decision. But the thing is, I know your prize informant, I know who he is. And I have told no one.”
    Cilke hesitated for only seconds before he said impassively, “I have no such informant. And again, the Bureau decides, not me. So you’ve wasted my time.”
    “No,