Man on Fire (11 page)

So, she had jumped back when Creasy had rounded on her in the car, and now she was edging forward, but cleverly, and from an angle slightly outside his vision. She judged him right. Any frontal attack would be instantly recognized and repulsed.

She would just wait and watch for any weakness in his defense. She was sure it was there. Nobody could be as disinterested in life and the world as he appeared. So she waited, and chatted lightly to Maria and Bruno, and seemingly ignored him.

Over the days, Creasy's state of mind solidified into tolerance of his current position. Without consciously thinking about it, he was holding himself in abeyance, his brain slipping into neutral. No decisions were necessary, no plans, no emotional issues. The job itself was undemanding, and the conditions comfortable. He didn't consider how long he could go on. For the moment he was reasonably content and felt that he had stopped, or at least slowed on a path that had confused and upset him. He had no external responsibilities, no ties, and no demands on him. He could take each day as it came, not expectantly, but not with total resignation.

His drinking had eased slightly. It was still a malign factor, dulling him and sapping the strength in his body; but occasionally now, in the mornings, there would be some Scotch left in the bottle. It was no longer desperate drinking but more an overdone habit. Still, he knew that if he wanted to arrest his physical decline before it was too late he would have to cut back sharply. It was something to think about-but not strenuously.

The routine settled in. Creasy would drive Pinta to school in the mornings and pick her up at five o'clock. In between he had free time. Occasionally he would go into Milan and buy a few books or cassettes, but usually he went back to the house. There he would help Bruno on the large grounds. He liked using his hands, building things. Guido had once joked that it was a guilt complex from spending most of his life blowing things up or knocking them down.

In the Legion there had been opportunity for both destruction and construction, for the Legion had a history of civil engineering, particularly road-building. In the early days in Algeria they had, like the Romans, built roads to help pacify the country. They had carried on this tradition in other parts of Africa and in Vietnam. Legionnaires were trained for this work, and Creasy enjoyed it.

Bruno was hard put to keep the large grounds tidy. He had concentrated on the front garden and lawn, which extended down to the roadway. At the back of the house the ground rose steeply up a pine-covered, rock-strewn hill. This part was largely overgrown. A wooden fence surrounded the property but was in a state of bad disrepair. Bruno had asked for funds and a casual laborer to help fix it, and Ettore had promised to do something about it but never had. Creasy worked on this fence. He went into Como and bought some timber, spending his own money. He would tell Ettore that it was a security need, although even the repaired fence wouldn't keep out a determined intruder.

He spent several hours a day on this job, but it was going to take a good few weeks to finish it. Meanwhile it occupied his spare time, and he managed to sweat out some of the whisky even though it was barely spring and still cold.

In the evenings they would have an early dinner and afterward Creasy would stay on in the kitchen for an hour or two, either reading or watching television, listening with half an ear to the conversation of the others.

It was at such a time, a couple of days before her parents returned, that Pinta first spotted her opening. If there was nothing good on television, she would read the day's newspaper and magazines.

Her lively curiosity meant that Maria and Bruno were often asked questions.

Neither of them was well-read or had traveled and their answers were limited. Creasy heard these conversations only as a background murmur but on this particular evening the name "Vietnam" caught his attention.

Pinta had been reading about the mass exodus of refugees from the south-the boat people. She asked Bruno why so many were fleeing their own country.

He shrugged and talked vaguely of Communism.

Creasy's interest was stirred and for the first time he found himself drawn into the conversation. The girl listened with interest as he explained that the majority of the boat people were ethnic Chinese and had always lived as a separate community. They were not liked by the Vietnamese, who traditionally distrusted them.

With the ending of the war, a united Vietnam decided to get rid of them. As a community the Chinese were wealthy and could afford to pay the middlemen, usually Hong Kong Chinese, to smuggle them out by boat. It didn't take much smuggling since the authorities turned a blind eye and even actively encouraged the departures. So it wasn't so much the effects of Communism that caused the problem but deep-seated racial differences.

Pinta astutely drew a comparison with the migration of labor in Europe from poor countries to rich. She had read recently about the bad feelings Italian workers were facing in Switzerland and Germany.

It was deftly done, and a follow-up question had Creasy explaining about the effects of minority Chinese communities in Malaysia and Indonesia, where they controlled most of the economy and again created resentment.

He told her that over one hundred thousand Chinese had been slaughtered in Indonesia after the failure of a Communist coup.

She wanted to know how the Chinese got there in the first place, and he told her of the great labor importing by the early colonial powers. The Chinese made good workers for the plantations, clearing jungle and building roads. The local populations were less inclined to work as hard. There were many examples, he told her: the Asians in East Africa who had been imported to build the railroads and who had stayed on to take over almost all the retailing and distributing networks, and the Tamils in Sri Lanka, imported from southern India to work the tea plantations. There were examples all over the world, and usually they created a rift that led to hatred and bloodshed in later years.

Abruptly he stopped talking and picked up his book. It had been an uncharacteristic monologue. She didn't press him or say another word to him. Instead she started to talk to Maria. A few minutes later Creasy stood up, said a gruff good night, and went up to his room.

As the door closed behind him, Pinta smiled inwardly.

"The first step, Creasy bear," she said to herself.

The next day on the way to school, and on the way back, Pinta didn't say a word, and after dinner that night she watched television. Creasy didn't exist. He was relieved. The night before, up in his room, he'd felt disturbed, a feeling he always got when he'd done something out of character. But if he had realized the girl's strategy, he would have been even more disturbed, although forced to admire it from a military point of view: Reconnoiter the target carefully. Note points of weakness. Make a diversionary attack to draw fire and then quietly slip in the back way and effect a capture. Pinta would have made an excellent guerrilla leader.

Creasy took Elio and Felicia to dinner at Zagone's in Milan. Maria had recommended it. She had worked there as a waitress when she had first come north; the owner was from Florence and she vouched for the food, although-she explained apologetically-it was expensive.

For Felicia it was an occasion. Having two young children kept her at home in the evenings, but tonight a trusted neighbor was baby-sitting and she was determined to enjoy herself.

Maria had phoned for a reservation, and she had obviously been a good waitress and popular, because the owner gave them personal attention and a good table. He told Creasy that Maria was being modest in telling him that she had been a mere waitress. She had helped in the kitchen as well, and was a fine cook. The Ballettos often ate there and that was how they came to hire her. He joked with Creasy that, after Maria's cooking, the meal would be an anticlimax.

It wasn't. First they had a light pasta-penne alia carrettiera, followed by lamb braised with wine, peas and rosemary. They were a relaxed trio. It was Creasy's first night out since starting the job, and Felicia's obvious enjoyment was infectious.

Elio was surprised at Creasy's mood. It was a distinct change from that of a month before. He wasn't loquacious or smiling from ear to ear, that wouldn't have been Creasy, but he took Felicia's good-natured teasing easily and even cracked a couple of dry jokes. Felicia wanted to know all about the Balletto household and particularly Rika, who was well known as a socialite and hostess. Was she really as beautiful as her reputation had it? Creasy affirmed it. By any standards, she was beautiful, and naturally so.

"Are you attracted by her?" Felicia asked with a disarming smile.

Creasy nodded without hesitation. Any man would be. It was just a fact of life. He pointed to her plate where the lamb was fast disappearing. "Just as the taste buds are attracted to fine food, or a special wine."

"What about the girl? Is she like her mother?"

Creasy considered carefully, and the other two could see that the question interested him. He decided that, as to her looks, she would turn out equally beautiful. It was already beginning to show. He thought her character might be different. She was more of an extrovert. She's curious, he told them, curious about everything. But who knew? With her full blossoming she might change. Great beauty often brought inhibitions.

Creasy found himself thinking about the girl. Since the night he had explained about the boat people, she had asked him one or two other questions in a direct and open way, obviously keen to widen her knowledge.

Just the day before, driving to school, she had asked from the back seat about "human rights." It had become a big issue in the papers, with President Carter expounding on the subject and other statesmen jumping into the act.

He had answered that it meant freedom of the individual and the right of all to the basics of life within a community.

Again she had probed with well-put questions until he had amplified that oversimplification, and they had arrived at the school with him talking about left-and right-wing regimes and the meaning of democracy.

He had expected her to take up the subject on the way home, but she had remained silent.

His thoughts were interrupted by a man approaching their table. It was Vico Mansutti, who had come in with two other men.

"It's Mr. Creasy, is it not?"

Creasy introduced him to Elio and Felicia and watched him turn on the charm, white teeth gleaming beneath the wide black mustache.

"You have excellent taste," he said to Creasy. "This is one of the best restaurants in Milan. How was your meal?"

They all agreed that it had been excellent, and with a final flash of teeth at Felicia he rejoined his companions. A few mintues later Zagone came over to offer them a liqueur, compliments of Mr. Mansutti.

"He's charming," said Felicia, after ordering a cognac.

Creasy looked at Elio and a gesture of the shoulders, very Italian and expressive, told him that they agreed about Mansutti.

"A shark," said Elio. "But a clever one. He's building a big reputation. His contacts with government and business are solid. It's also rumored he has connections with the Mafia." He made a wry face. "But that's not unusual. These days it's hard to find the dividing lines between crime and government and business. Incidentally, there's talk that he's having an affair with your boss's wife."

Creasy was surprised. Not that Rika might be having an affair, but that she would have picked a man like Mansutti. Elio's next words offered an explanation.

"He's apparently helping Balletto arrange bank guarantees to re-equip his plant. There's talk of Mansutti's personal guarantee being involved. He's very rich and it seems that Balletto Mills have a cash flow problem."

It could be the reason, Creasy thought. He couldn't see much standing in Rika's way if her life-style was threatened. Elio's words raised another question.

"If Balletto's tight for cash, it's unlikely that his daughter is a potential kidnap victim," Creasy said. Elio agreed and thought it might be a social thing.

"A lot of Rika's friends would have bodyguards."

"You mean I'm a social asset?" asked Creasy dryly, and Felicia laughed at the idea. But Creasy remembered his short interview with Ettore and the whole thing made sense. Ettore was keeping his wife's image burnished at a cheap price. It also explained why he was reluctant to spend money improving the security of the house. He had been pleased to find on his return from Paris that Creasy was repairing the fence and had cheerfully reimbursed him the small amount that had been spent for timber. However, when Creasy had suggested a modern chainlink fence and other measures, he had been decidedly unenthusiastic.

"Does your firm audit his books?" Creasy asked. Elio shook his head. "No, but we hear things."

Felicia snorted. "Hear things! Accountants are the biggest gossips in the world. Worse than a bunch of housewives." She smiled at her husband. "It's a little Mafia all its own, but they use pocket calculators instead of pistols."

Elio nodded benignly in agreement and said to Creasy, "Perhaps she's right. I suppose we do exchange information more freely than we should, but it's for our own protection. Italian businessmen are very secretive, especially with the tax laws we have. An accountant's ammunition is information-so we tend to scratch each other's backs. Besides, it makes up for the boredom of looking at columns of figures all day."