The Blue Ring (22 page)

Satta
nodded. He had a smile on his face. He was sitting in a room surrounded by some
of the most dangerous human beings he had ever met in his dangerous life, and
he was observing a young man, almost a boy, dominate them. It appealed to his
sense of irony. "What else do you need?" he asked.

Michael
stopped pacing.

"Apart
from The Ghost, who I assume is clean, I need you to keep the carabinieri right
out of this, for reasons you understand. I need two unmarked vehicles here in
Milan for The Ghost and Maxie, and two more in Rome for myself and the back-up
team. I need a hole in Rome. I assume we can use this place as a base here in
Milan. I also need to charter a plane to get my team to Rome in three hours. It
should be a private charter and not connected with the carabinieri. Can
do?"

Satta
nodded as the door opened and the old woman came in, carrying a tray piled with
bottles of wine, glasses, a huge saucepan of pasta and plates. She looked at
The Ghost. Old eyes in an old face, but a smile which held affection.

"If
you ever call me an old bag again, I'll take you to bed and prove that you're
wrong."

The
Ghost, a handsome man in his early thirties, looked at her, nodded and crossed
himself.

As they
ate and drank Michael refined his plan.

A
single spotlight from a far corner lit him. The two bodyguards were behind, in
darkness. They had been changed every two hours. They had been told that even
though he was bound and immobile, never to relax their vigilance. They had been
told that he was 'death on a cold night'. His chin was slumped onto
his chest. He was practising what he had learned many years ago; he was
half-asleep and yet his brain was awake. He had long ago ceased to reproach
himself about his negligence. Of course he should have been more careful. Of
course he should not have used the same hotel twice.

Of
course he should have been watching for a waiting car by the kerb. Of course he
should have seen and recognised the lurking men for what they were. But that
was history. He remembered with irony his lecture to Michael back in Marseille.
His mistake was as bad. He thought about Michael. He knew that by now he would
be in Italy, looking for him. He knew that Michael would have a team that would
be the dream of every leader. He wondered how Michael would handle that team.

His
thoughts then turned to Grazzini. He knew about Grazzini.

He was
more northern Mafia and not like the animals from Calabria and Sicily, who had
long ago given up every vestige of honour in the pursuit of drug dollars. Grazzini
was relatively young. He was certainly ruthless, but he kept the code of
separating business from family. Would Michael understand that? If not, would
Guido or Satta be able to explain it to him?

As he
sat in pain the feeling washed over him; a feeling that Michael would take
control. A feeling that the hard and experienced men around him would follow
Michael. They would see in Michael a window on himself.

His
thoughts turned to the child-woman in Gozo and a pain went through him. She now
had a brother, but above all she needed a father. His thoughts again turned to
Grazzini. He knew that Grazzini dealt in drugs, protection, corruption and
ostensibly legitimate construction and trade. He did not deal in women. He knew
that Grazzini hated his guts and that his death by Grazzini's hand would be a
huge coup for the Rome capo. He knew how he would deal with Grazzini.

Michael
just held on to the edge. It was a mental edge. He knew that by the force of
his personality, and by his filial association to Creasy, he had managed to
dominate a group of vastly experienced hard men. He also knew that his one
major exploit would be known to those men. An exploit that had directed a
sniper's bullet precisely into the shoulder of a terrorist from a distance of
five hundred metres.

An
exploit made more significant by the fact that when he had pulled the trigger
Creasy had been lying alongside him with the same sniper's rifle and had, in
that category, deferred to Michael's skills. He knew that in the eyes of the
likes of Maxie, Miller, Callard, Satta, and even Guido, he had cut his number.
And yet he was not quite twenty years old and the mental burden was heavy. He
balanced it with the hatred for the men who were holding his father.

The Lear
jet swept down to the runway. It was raining lightly, but the forecast was that
it would be a cool, sunny day. It was four o'clock in the morning. The small
airport was fifteen miles east of the city and handled most of the smaller
internal charter flights. Michael had been assured that there would be a
minimum of bureaucracy. The small jet followed the flashing light of a guide
car, which finally pulled to a stop next to a floodlit hangar. A large stretch
limousine pulled up alongside. Michael led the way down the steps, and within a
minute they had unloaded their personal bags and those which contained the
machinery.

An hour
later they were in the safe house on the northern outskirts or Rome. It was
another nondescript house in a nondescript suburb. The door was opened by
another old lady who showed no surprise at the arrival of five strangers at
that time of the morning. The priest's clothing had been delivered, together
with the wheelchair and a detailed map of the town of Bracciano Lago. There were
also road-maps showing alternative routes from Bracciano to the safe house.
They sat around the kitchen table. The old woman prepared a pot of coffee, and
Michael went through the details of the plan once more.

When he
finished, Miller said, "It's good and simple, but one thing bothers
me." He gestured at the Dane. "You're putting Jens in the front line.
He doesn't have that much experience. Why not me or Rene or even The Owl?"

Michael
shook his head and smiled.

"For
some reason Jens does look like a priest...a slightly overfed one. We know for
sure there will be one bodyguard and it's possible there may be more. We have a
description of that bodyguard, and we know that he usually hangs around outside
the church while the old woman is inside. Frank, you will have to be alongside
him when she comes out. Rene will be waiting in one of the cars to pick you up,
after I make the snatch. It's better if you don't have to kill him, but
do so if necessary."

Rene
interjected, "I guess it's almost certain that Frank will have to kill
him. After all, he's supposed to be guarding Grazzini's mother. If he lets her
get snatched he's dead anyway."

"It's
possible," Michael said. "But he's been her regular bodyguard for a
long time...a couple of years. She's not really regarded as a target, so he
won't be on his toes. Frank might be able to slug him."

"I'll
play it by ear," Miller said.

Michael
turned to The Owl and said, "You'll be driving the other car, ready to
collect myself and Jens and the old woman." He made a general gesture at
all of them. "We only take hand-guns which are easy to conceal if there
are any random police road-blocks on the way to Bracciano."

For the
first time The Owl spoke. "What if there are roadblocks on the way
back?"

"We
shoot our way through," Michael answered tersely. "Sure, if we had
more time and people, we could plan it more elaborately and have a safe house
closer by." He shrugged and looked at his watch.

"But
we don't have more time. We have to rely on surprise and then speed. The
traffic both there and back will be fairly heavy. The police will be reluctant
to set up road-blocks." He reached down and unzipped the bag at his feet,
took out the transceivers and handed them out. They tested them and then Michael
pushed the buttons to connect himself with Maxie. Maxie's voice was slightly
distorted but audible enough.

Michael
said softly into the microphone, "We are moving in about an hour. Be in
position by nine o'clock and check in."

Maxie's
voice came back, "Will do...Good luck."

Grazzini spoke conversationally. He was speaking to Abrata but his words were directed at Creasy.

"Eighteen hours," he said. "That's the longest I've ever known. He was a
Frenchman from the 'Union Course'. We caught him about three years
ago, trying to pull off an art theft in Rome...on my territory, the bastard. I
decided to make an example of him. I had two of my best men work on him. The
kind of guys who would make the Pope renounce his faith in half an hour. Eighteen
hours...He surprised me and my guys." He turned to look at the bound Creasy.

"You will not be that stupid, will you? You know what the end result will be."

Creasy yawned, then leaned forward slightly and said, "Grazzini, I have no
argument with you. I am not in Italy to have any arguments with you or your
people. I was minding my own business when this clown had me grabbed on the
street. Unless he lets me go immediately he will die regretting it...and since
you are his boss, you will do the same."

Grazzini smiled. "You are in no position to make threats or talk about arguments."
His voice became angry. "You killed my brother-in-law and one of my cousins."

"Who was your cousin?"

"His name was Vico Di Marco. He was a bodyguard of my brother-in-law. He was a
'soldier'. You fried him along with my brother-in-law and two other 'soldiers'
in that Cadillac in Rome."

Creasy nodded at the memory.

"Then he died doing his duty, trying to protect his boss. It was nothing personal. I
was just the 'instrument'."

Grazzini snorted in anger. "We do not like 'instruments'. We never forget those who make war on us. I
will have revenge. But first you talk."

Creasy stretched his shoulders and asked quietly, "What do you want to talk about?"

"I want to know why you are in Italy. What is your purpose, who are you with and
where is your base, both in Italy, and outside Italy?"

The Italians received a great shock, as Creasy responded, "That's no problem.
Apart from my base outside."

Grazzini
and Abrata glanced at each other in surprise.

Creasy's
voice went on, "But, Grazzini, I only talk to you. The others have to
leave."

Immediately,
Abrata said, "Forget it."

Creasy
kept looking at Grazzini. A long silence and then Grazzini said, "Gino,
give me a few minutes with him...I would be grateful."

He
spoke as if to an equal asking a favour, but the order was implied.

At
first, anger filled Abrata's eyes, then they cleared and he said, "You
realise that it's a trick. He is cunning, this one. Let us not forget how
cunning. Let us not forget the lives we lost to the bastard."

Grazzini
nodded. "You are right, of course, and believe me, Gino, I will never
forget. But a few minutes before he dies could be useful."

Another
silence, and then Abrata slowly stood up and nodded at the two bodyguards
behind Creasy. They left with their submachine-guns.

Abrata
said, "Are you armed?"

"No,"
Grazzini answered. "I rarely carry guns these days."

Abrata
reached under his jacket and pulled out a pistol. He flicked off the safety and
put the gun on the table in front of Grazzini, saying,

"He's
tied up tight...but be careful."

Grazzini
smiled slightly and said, "My friend, I have lived so long because I am
very careful. I intend to die in bed at a great age...I will call you."

Abrata
gave Creasy a last look which promised a future retribution.

Then he
left the room.

"There's
no doubt about it. She's a man's girl and she is going to be a man's
woman."

Laura
was looking out through the kitchen window and down at the fields below. Her
daughter-in-law, Maria, was standing beside her. Paul was digging up a field
with a rotovator. Juliet was following him like a little puppy. The noise of
the rotovator made conversation between them difficult, but Laura could faintly
hear his raised voice. He was telling Juliet what he was doing and why. He
reached the last corner of the field, cut out the rotovator, sat on a low wall
and pulled out a flask from his canvas bag. The girl sat beside him and they
shared a glass of cool wine.

"You're
right," Maria agreed. "It's only been a day and a night but already
she can twist Paul and Joey round her finger. I wonder if she can do the same
with Creasy."

Laura
thought about that and then nodded.

"Yes,
she will. Creasy will see in her his lost daughter grown up...but she will not
be able to twist Michael any way at all...Michael will be the stern elder
brother, and he will get mad with Creasy for being soft with her...It will make
a good triangle for a family."

"That's
if Creasy ever gets back," Maria said. "If it's true the Mafia have
him, they will take revenge."

"He's
lived a long time," Laura said. "Lived through bad times...mostly
alone. Now he has Michael, and right now Michael is looking for him. Michael
will bring him home...and that too will be good."

On the
wall below them, Juliet was asking questions. "How long have you had this
farm?"

Paul
glanced at her and smiled. "My family has farmed this land for generations."
He pointed at a field of almost ripe tomatoes. "Of course it's crazy, I
work about twelve or fourteen hours a day, and when I sell those tomatoes in
the market next week I will get about fifteen lire for them. If I cost in the
fertiliser and insecticides I used, plus my labour at one pound an hour, I
would be losing money."

"So
why do you do it?"

"It's
in my blood," he explained. "It's in the blood of all Gozitans. When
I hold that fifteen lire in my hand it will feel like free money ...And there
is something else. All the vegetables and fruit we eat on our table are grown
in our fields. All the chickens and eggs, rabbits and ducks are reared on this
farm. It is hard to explain the satisfaction that gives. If all the shops were
to close tomorrow my family would not go hungry." He lifted the beaker of
wine, took a sip and handed it to her. "And would not go thirsty
either...We have a spring for water and we have vines for wine."