The Blue Ring (24 page)

"Never," Grazzini snarled. "He will never leave this room alive."

"It's possible," Creasy conceded. "But fifteen or twenty minutes will make
no difference. I don't make war on innocent women. Not even on the mother of a capo."

Another silence, then Grazzini turned and said, "Get a phone extension in here.
The phone should have a loudspeaker."

The call came eighteen minutes later. Grazzini picked up the phone and listened. By
now he was back under control, but the gun was still in his hand, and pointed
at Creasy's head. Finally, the Italian put his hand over the mouthpiece and
said, "He says he's your son and that he has my mother...I didn't know you
had a son."

"Until
a minute ago, I didn't know you had a mother...Let me speak to him."

Behind
Grazzini, Abrata rolled his eyes and said, "The bastard's crazy."

"Why
don't you shut your mouth," Creasy told him. "She's not your
mother."

Grazzini
wrestled with the two parts of his brain, then he held the phone to Creasy's
ear and punched a button on the console.

"Michael?"
Creasy asked.

His
son's voice came into the room. "Yes, are you all right?"

"Yes.
Are you holding Grazzini's mother?"

"Yes."

"Let
her go immediately."

The
console was silent for at least twenty seconds. Finally, Michael's puzzled
voice came through. "Did you say that because they have a gun to your
head? If so, tell them I have a gun to her head."

"Michael.
It's important that you do exactly what I tell you. Release her immediately and
have her driven to Grazzini's home in Rome. She is to be harmed in no way. Tell
her to phone Grazzini at this number as soon as she is at his home. I assume
you have some of our friends with you. You are all to go to the man you know as
my brother and to wait for my call there."

They
heard the click of the phone through the loudspeaker. Very slowly, Grazzini
replaced his own receiver.

Into
the silence Abrata said, "It's a trick. Why would he do that?"

Creasy
was looking at Grazzini. He said softly, "A man like that would never
understand. I told you...I don't make war on women."

Colonel
Satta came into the room. It was not a typical room in a typical hospital, but
rather like the suite of a luxury hotel. Only the orthopaedic bed and the
stands for the drips betrayed its medical purpose. Also the severely attractive
nurse, although her uniform could have been designed by Valentino.

She was
taking Creasy's blood pressure. She checked the dial, nodded in satisfaction
and said, "Now all you need is a good sleep."

She
gave Satta a stern look. "Which means that your visitor must leave in
fifteen minutes."

Creasy
reached out his bandaged hand and touched her on the wrist and asked,
"What is your name?"

"Gianna,"
she answered.

He
smiled at her; a very tired smile.

"Gianna,
I may have to talk to Colonel Satta for some time. Would you please bring us a
bottle of good Barolo and two glasses."

"Make
it three," Satta said. "Bellu will be here in ten minutes."

The
nurse sighed in exasperation. "Well, you will have to explain to Doctor
Sylvestri. He has predicted a possible delayed shock reaction."

Satta
smiled at Creasy who smiled back. The Colonel turned to the nurse and said,
"The only shock he'll get is if you don't bring that wine within five
minutes."

She
shook her head and bustled out. Satta pulled a chair up close to the bed.

"I
talked to Guido. I didn't go into details. I told him you were fine and will be
travelling to Naples tomorrow. Meanwhile he's heard from Michael, who followed
your orders up to a point."

Ominously, Creasy said, "Up to a point?"

"Yes. And I think he's right. He's on his way to Naples with the entire team except
for Maxie."

"Where is Maxie?"

"Maxie is not a million miles from here. Don't ask me where because I don't know, but
I guess somewhere in the grounds of this little hospital...Michael thinks like you."

Creasy nodded thoughtfully. "It's stupid and unnecessary...But knowing Maxie is
somewhere close watching my back makes me feel good."

Satta grinned. "Like I told you: Michael thinks like you."

Creasy looked down at his bandaged right hand.

"That doctor Sylvestri got it exactly right. It wasn't the finger that did the
damage. It was being bound so tightly for all those hours that almost gave me
gangrene. In a few more hours I'd have lost all my fingers and all my
toes." He shrugged and half smiled. "I hadn't realised, because you
lose all feeling. At first there's pain, but then the pain goes away and you
don't know that those parts of your body are dying."

There
was a tap on the door, and Bellu entered, carrying a briefcase. He pulled up a
chair on the other side of the bed, put the briefcase down, then leaned over
and kissed Creasy on both cheeks. Creasy put his good arm around his neck,
pulled him close and hugged him.

It had
been six years since they had last met. Bellu sat down, picked up his
briefcase, put it on his knees and opened it. He took out a slim file and
looked at Creasy who said, "Tell me."

Bellu
opened the file and read from the police report: "'At ten thirty-two in
the morning Signora Grazzini emerged from the church in Bracciano Lago. At the
foot of the steps a young man was waiting in a wheelchair under the supervision
of a priest. Witnesses testified that the priest was of medium height,
blond-haired and slightly plump. Signora Grazzini's bodyguard, one Filippo
Cossa, was moving towards her car. At that moment the young man in the
wheelchair tossed aside his blanket and leapt up, holding a pistol. Cossa immediately
ran across the square towards her, but was cut off by another man, also holding
a pistol. He wore a dark sweater and dark trousers and a black beret. Cossa did
not have time to draw his weapon before he was struck down. Signora Grazzini
struck out at the young man with her stick, but he grabbed her round the waist
and carried her down to a Mercedes which had pulled up. He threw her in the
back and went in after her. The priest went into the front seat, and the car
pulled away at speed. Some ten seconds later a second car pulled into the
square next to Cossa. The latter's assailant jumped into the passenger seat and
that car also pulled away at speed. It is estimated that it took twenty-five
minutes to establish police road-blocks on all exit roads out of Bracciano. The
prognosis is that this was a highly professional kidnapping.'"

Bellu
closed the file, looked first at Satta, then at Creasy, who said, "It sure
as hell was!"

Satta
shrugged. "Like father like son...but he had a hell of a team with him.
With those boys the president of the country would not have been safe." He
looked at Creasy. "From the timescale, Michael would have used the mobile
phone to call Grazzini. We know that an hour later Michael delivered Signora
Grazzini to her son's home in Rome...Now tell us, Creasy. Why did he do that,
and what happened next?"

Creasy
looked at his bandaged left hand and answered, "Of course Grazzini wanted
to kill me immediately, and he was being urged on by that little prick, Abrata.
You have to understand that Grazzini had a major problem. On the one hand, we
had built up something of a rapport. But when Michael snatched his mother it
was necessary that he showed his ruthlessness and his machismo. He was then
thrown out of balance when I ordered Michael to let his mother go and deliver
her to his home."

Bellu
was enthralled. He asked, "You gave those instructions while you were
still bound to that chair?"

Creasy nodded. "Yes...it was a very calculated risk."

Full of curiosity, Satta asked, "In return for letting his mother go without
condition, he cut off your finger?"

Creasy's mind went back to those moments in that room. The moments when his life was
precisely on the line. He saw it as though he had wound back a video and was
watching it again.

Grazzini was totally confused. If it was a trick he did not understand it.

Creasy said, "Wait for the call from your mother. If she's the character I think
she is, she will not tell you lies because my son is holding a gun to her
head...I suggest you wait alone."

Grazzini
paced the room several times, and then snapped at Abrata, "Leave us
alone!"

Reluctantly, Abrata left the room, saying over his shoulder, "Don't trust him. I'll be
right outside." He closed the door behind him.

They waited in total silence. Grazzini paced the room. Occasionally he stopped and
looked at the painting on the wall as though it contained the meaning of life
itself. Creasy watched him and every so often glanced down at his bound right
arm. The call came twenty minutes later. The loudspeaker was still switched on,
and Creasy was able to follow the conversation. Grazzini's mother was angry.

"What the hell is happening?"

"Where are you?"

"I'm at your apartment."

"Are you alone?"

"Maria is here."

"Are you all right?"

Her voice came through the loudspeaker in pained, truculent tones. "All right?...I hear mass. I say a
prayer for the sins of my children...I put five thousand lire into the
poor-box, and then some young kid grabs me outside God's church, throws me into
a car, smothers me with a blanket and drives me away!"

"And then what happened?"

"Then he talks on the phone, which I cannot understand. Then he drives me home,
kisses me on both cheeks and hands me over to Maria...Paolo, what the hell are
you doing? I told you, the day you got involved with that animal Conti, that
you would end in the hands of the devil...How can my son come to this?...All my
prayers...All the candles I've burned in all the churches...You know that young
man had a priest with him...a priest!...What are you doing now with priests who
kidnap old ladies?"

Creasy couldn't help but smile.

Grazzini grimaced at him and punched the button to turn off the loudspeaker. Into the
telephone he said, "Mama...put Maria on the phone." The capo spoke a
few words to his maid and then cradled the phone. He looked at Creasy for a
long time and then asked, "Why?"

Creasy
shrugged. "I told you...I don't make war on women."

Grazzini
shook his head in puzzlement.

"I
don't understand. You are now totally in my power..." Realisation came
over him. "You knew that if you kept my mother, I could never have let you
go. You also knew that if I killed you, your son would have killed my mother.
It was a standoff."

Creasy
nodded. He was still half-smiling, occasionally glancing at his right hand.
"Yes it was. Now there is no stand-off...But now you have a problem."

"What
problem?"

"Well...being
the kind of man you are...in a strange way, a man of honour, you have to let me
go...But if you let me go, you will lose your machismo with the little idiots
who look up to you." With his head he gestured towards the door and the
unseen Abrata. "The little idiots who give you power...You cannot afford
to lose your machismo, which is your power, because if you do, one night the
little idiot will blow your brains out."

Grazzini
looked at him steadily, acknowledging nothing and admitting nothing.

Creasy
told him what to do. "Go to the door and tell the idiot Abrata to bring a
sharp knife from the kitchen. It should be a serrated knife."

Grazzini's
eyes narrowed in puzzlement.

"Do
it," Creasy urged.

Seconds
passed and then Grazzini stood up and went to the door.

He came
back three minutes later, holding a knife. He closed the door and walked over
to Creasy.

"Is
it sharp?" Creasy asked.

Grazzini
ran his thumb over the blade and nodded.

Creasy
said softly, "Look at the little finger of my left hand."

Grazzini
leaned over and looked. The whole hand was white. There was only half of a
little finger.

"The
rest was shot off," Creasy said. "A long time ago. It's amazing how
little a man has to use his little finger...except sometimes to pick his
nose." He looked up at the capo and then said, "Cut off the little finger
of my right hand at the second joint."

The
capo looked at him uncomprehending.

"It's
a good way out," Creasy said casually. "You cut it off without
anaesthetic. I will give a very comprehensive and realistic scream. Do you have
a clean handkerchief?"

Grazzini
had a numb look on his face.

"Do
you have a clean handkerchief?" Creasy repeated.

The
capo nodded and pulled a cream silk handkerchief from his top jacket pocket.
Creasy nodded approvingly.

"After
you've cut it off wrap it round the stump. At that point I faint." He
smiled again. "It will be very effective. You take the finger out and give
it to Abrata, and tell him to have it embalmed and set in crystal and have it
sent down to your home in Rome as a gift to your mother....He will understand
that kind of thing. Then you have them send me back to my hotel."

Grazzini
looked at the knife and then at the little finger.

Satta
and Bellu were silent, looking at the bandaged right hand. "It hardly
hurt," Creasy said. "My hand was totally anaesthetised anyway...But
Grazzini was no surgeon." He smiled at Satta. "Your brother could
give him lessons...I screamed very effectively and then fainted." He
reached with his good hand to the bedside table and picked up the bloodied silk
handkerchief. "I lost half a useless finger and gained a lovely
handkerchief."

The
Initiate was called forward. Under the black cowl his face was dark and thin; a
long jutting chin, beneath a straight narrow mouth. His eyes were also dark,
within deep sockets. Those eyes showed trepidation. They flickered from side to
side and the man hesitated.