The Blue Ring (21 page)

He was
a careful and cautious bodyguard and he had heard all the stories about the man
known as Creasy. His eyes flickered very briefly to his boss' face. It was a
fat face above a short fat neck which itself was above an elegant suit. Gino
Abrata was known for his good taste in food, clothing and maliciousness.

He
snorted again, "What favour did you ever do me?"

Creasy
shrugged painfully; the right side of his face was swollen and blood had dried
from a cut on his forehead. He said, "Six years ago I made you the most
important capo in Milan."

"You
what!"

"Sure.
Cast your mind back...if you have one."

Abrata
lifted a finger and one of the bodyguards took two paces forward and with
carefully calculated force smashed the butt of his submachine-gun into Creasy's
back, just below his neck. Creasy made no sound and his eyes never left
Abrata's face.

"Yes,
I have a mind," the Italian said. "And right now I'm using it to work
out the most painful way to kill you. What fucking favour are you talking
about?"

Creasy
moved his shoulder slightly but no expression of pain showed on his face.
"Six years ago," he said, "you were the junior capo in this
city, under Fossella. I killed Fossella. Do you remember?"

At this
Abrata smiled. It made his face even more ugly.

"Sure,
I remember. You stuck a bomb up his ass and splattered him against the
ceiling."

Creasy
nodded. "I also killed his top lieutenants, which gave you a free hand to
become the top capo here."

Abrata
sneered at him and leaned forward. "I would have become a top capo
anyway."

Creasy
shook his head. "I doubt it. Fossella was smarter than you and he
attracted better people."

"If
he was so smart," Abrata answered, 'then how did he let one man working
alone snatch him and stick a bomb up his ass? It would never have happened to
me."

He saw
the slight smile on the American's lips, and then heard him say quietly,
"I had no argument with you, only with Fossella and his bosses in Rome and
Palermo. If I had an argument with you then be sure you would not be sitting
here now." He gestured behind him with his head, then leaned forward and
said, "But I tell you, Abrata, if one of your monkeys hits me again we
shall have an argument."

The
room was very quiet and seemed to be colder. For a long time Abrata looked into
the American's heavy-lidded eyes, then up to the eyes of his bodyguards. When
he spoke his voice carried a measure of disdain. "So you have nerve...we
all know that. You sit trussed up like a turkey with machine-guns at your back
and you offer threats. You are threatening the man who is deciding not when to
kill you but how to kill you."

The
small smile touched the American's lips again. He said, "Let me paint the
picture. You positively identified me two hours ago. No doubt the first thing
you did was to phone Paolo Grazzini in Rome. I'm sure that's the first thing
you ever do when faced with a big decision. If you acted alone on something
like this, Grazzini would come up here and smack your bottom. No...I can be
sure that Grazzini told you to keep me alive and in a physical condition to be
able to answer his questions when he arrives either tonight or tomorrow
morning." Creasy looked into the Italian's eyes and saw the truth of his
words reflected in them.

Abrata
tried to bluster. "No one gives Gino Abrata orders...no one."

"Sure."

Abrata
stood up, walked around the table and took the SMG from one of the bodyguards.
He placed the muzzle against Creasy's left ear and repeated, "No one gives
Gino Abrata orders."

Creasy
sighed and said, "So pull the trigger, asshole."

Seconds
passed and then Abrata said lightly, "In the Cosa Nostra we co-operate. It
is true that Paolo Grazzini now sits on the council. Of course I will
co-operate with him and he with me. Certainly, I informed him of the fish I had
caught. Since he has a special interest in you...Conti was his brother-in-law,
and you brutally killed Conti. It is reasonable that I let him talk to you
before I take pleasure in killing you."

Creasy
turned his head, pushing the muzzle of the SMG away from his ear. He looked up
at Abrata. "Of course that's reasonable. It's also reasonable that you ask
one of your monkeys to bring me a glass of cold water or, better still, a glass
of good red wine. I'm looking forward to talking to Grazzini...after all he
owes me the same favour as you do. Six years ago Conti used to treat him like
an office boy, even if he was married to his sister."

Again
there was a long silence, then Abrata nodded to one of the bodyguards who left
the room.

Creasy
stretched his shoulders and said, "Also I have to take a leak."

Abrata
sat down again. "Then pee in your pants. You're not getting out of that
chair until Grazzini gets here...and when you get out of it you won't be worrying
about taking a leak."

Early
autumn rain lashed across the darkness of Milan airport as Michael walked
through customs. He could hear it on the high-tech roof. It was in keeping with
his mood.

That
mood lightened when he saw Guido at the back of the welcoming crowd. They
embraced and Guido led the way through the concourse to the parking area. As
they approached the black Lancia the back doors opened and they slid inside.
Maxie MacDonald was at the wheel. Frank Miller sat next to him. They pulled out
into the traffic.

Over
his shoulder, Maxie said, "Rain and shit, but hello, Michael."

He
gestured with his right hand. "This is Frank Miller. You've heard about
him." Frank turned his head and in the dim light Michael saw the almost
cherubic face.

Miller
said, "Good to finally meet you."

"Likewise."
Michael turned to Guido and said, "Fill me in."

Guido
was hunched up in the corner of the car. He spoke rapidly and concisely.
"Creasy is almost certainly held by the Mafia...We think by the major capo
here, Gino Abrata. He must have been recognised, and of course the Mafia never
forgets a vendetta."

Michael's voice was terse. "What do we have?"

Guido told him, "Creasy has strong connections in this city, particularly with a
Colonel Satta of the carabinieri...You will have heard of him. Satta has
learned that Creasy left his hotel about half an hour after he arrived from
Brussels. About two blocks away there was a commotion. Six men were involved.
Two in a large black limousine and four on the pavement. A single shot was
fired into the air and then Creasy was bundled into the limousine. Eyewitnesses
here are reticent, but it was almost certainly Creasy. That was this morning,
and since then we have more information, which is being updated by the hour.
It's better that we wait until we get to our base and Satta will bring us all
completely up to date."

"Who do we have here?" Michael asked.

Guido gestured at the front seats. "Well, we have Maxie and Frank; we also have
Rene Callard, the Dane, Jens Jensen, a French guy called The Owl, Satta, of
course, his number two, Bellu, and one of Satta's undercover men, known only as The Ghost."

Michael murmured, "So within our team we have three Italian policemen...I'm
suspicious of any policeman."

Guido shook his head. "You can trust those three and the rest of our team. Trust
nobody else."

It was a small house in a nondescript suburb of Milan. An old woman opened the door,
looked them over carefully and ushered them in.

The lounge was crowded. Michael knew Jens and The Owl. Guido introduced him to
Callard, Bellu, The Ghost and Satta, saying, "You know the rest." It
was half an hour to midnight. Michael embraced them all. Chairs had been pulled
around a table.

The man called The Ghost was sitting at a small, sophisticated radio console, speaking
into a microphone. As Michael sat down, the others ignored him; they were deep
in discussion. Bellu was talking.

"It's
certainly Abrata...all his 'soldiers' are off the street. We know he has two
main boltholes on the outskirts of the city. Creasy will be held in one of
them. We think the one to the north, which is on high ground and easily
defended."

Rene
Callard asked, "When will we know which one?"

"Within
the hour," Bellu answered. "But we have to be careful." He
glanced at Michael. "Unfortunately, like every other institution in Italy,
the carabinieri is infiltrated by the Mafia. We have to work only with those
few that we can trust...and they are very few."

Satta
grimaced, nodded his head and confirmed, "We can count them on the fingers
of one hand."

Maxie
said, "The machinery has arrived from Marseille. We're well-equipped. Once
we know the location, we can blast our way in."

Satta
shook his head. "By the time you finish blasting your way in, Creasy will
have a bullet in his head. Let's think about it. Let's think carefully."
He gestured at Guido. "Our friend here was once Mafia and understands how
they work." He tapped his chest and then gestured at Bellu.

"Together
we spent five years fighting the Mafia. We know the structure, and we know how
they think. Tell them, Bellu." The short, round-faced Italian gave them a
thumbnail sketch of the situation.

"Creasy
once waged a one-man war against the major Mafia family...around six years ago.
He set them back about ten years. The current situation is that Gino Abrata is
the chief of two capos in Milan. His nominal boss in the hierarchy is Paolo
Grazzini from Rome. We know that Grazzini had a meeting late this evening in
Rome with a visiting capo from Detroit. We know they had dinner in the
Ristorante Adessio, and just after midnight Grazzini left in his limousine,
followed by another car full of bodyguards, and took the autostrada to Milan.
He hates travelling by plane or train. He will arrive at approximately
five-thirty a.m. Until that time we know that Creasy will be kept alive. Both
Abrata and Grazzini will be very puzzled, because for the last six years they
thought that Creasy was in a grave in Naples. They will suspect that he is
again waging war against the Mafia. They will torture him to find out how and
why."

He
looked around the room at all the others. "We know that Creasy will tell
them nothing. We know he will hold on for many hours...My guess is at least
twenty-four...After that they will kill him painfully, and will leave his body
publicly, as an example of vengeance, and a sign not to mess with the
Mafia." He looked at his watch. "We have about thirty hours."

Maxie
stood up and started walking around the table. He was agitated. "Thirty
hours is plenty of time. Once we know the location for sure we mount an
operation. We throw up a diversion...and Frank, Rene and I hit the place."

Satta
shook his head.

"The
obvious answer would be for the carabinieri to seal off the location and go in
with our anti-terrorist unit. There are two things against this: firstly, with
the corruption in our unit, they would have at least an hour's warning.
Secondly, we would need a magistrate's approval to mount such an operation, and
that would take many hours. We would first have to find an honest magistrate or
judge, and most of those have been killed." He shrugged eloquently.
"That is our situation."

Then
Rene Callard stood up and spoke in his heavily accented English. "We need
nobody except ourselves. We have done this before. Creasy is our man. Give us
the location. We'll get him out."

Michael
had been looking at the table in front of him. Now he lifted his head, looked
at Satta and said, "I need some more information. Does Abrata have
family?"

Satta
looked at Bellu, who provided the information.

"Abrata's
parents are both dead. He has no children. His brother and sister live in New
York. His wife is estranged and living in Bologna, shacked up with a minor
capo." He gave Michael a wry smile. "You have no route there."

Michael
asked, "And Grazzini?"

Bellu
shrugged. "A wife and countless mistresses. He has no emotional ties
except to his mother."

"Where
is his mother?"

For the
first time, Satta's lips twisted into a thin smile. He was catching the drift
and supplied the answer. "Grazzini's mother is called Graziella. She lives
in a small town twenty miles north of Rome called Bracciano Lago. She is aged
and very religious. She prays every day in church for the soul of her son...I
would say that her prayers are futile."

Michael
looked at The Ghost and said, "It's going to be a long night. Can we get
something to drink and maybe some pasta?"

The
Ghost stood up, went to the door and shouted down the stairs.

"Bring
us some food and drink, you old bag! Don't you know an army marches on its
stomach?"

In a
manner unknown to them all, the group of hard, experienced men found themselves
deferring to the youngest of them all.

Michael pointed first to Guido. "I want you to return immediately to Naples. You
have no part in what is to come, except to act as a communicator between us
all." He pointed to Maxie. "We will not try to storm their
bolthole." He pointed at Bellu. "Before dawn tomorrow I have to be in
Bracciano Lago. Frank, Rene and The Owl will be with me. We will take
Grazzini's mother and trade her for Creasy." He pointed to Satta.
"Colonel, by dawn tomorrow I need a wheelchair and a priest's outfit
-" he pointed at Jens Jensen "to fit that Dane." He pointed to The
Ghost. "Since you know the terrain, you will lead Maxie to the closest
point to their bolthole and wait for instructions, in case we fuck up in
Bracciano Lago. If that happens you will not go in. Maxie will go." He
stood up and started pacing, deep in thought. He pointed again at Satta.

"We
need voice communication, not just between ourselves, but also direct to The
Ghost and Maxie. Can that be arranged within the next couple of hours?"