The Blue Ring (26 page)

Jens
had remembered the stupidity of Michael and himself, in being so easily
snatched in Marseille and Creasy's subsequent spectacular rescue. He felt that
between Creasy and Michael matters were now even. Then he felt something else:
Creasy dominated this group of men. Not by what he said, but by his presence,
which radiated a strange aura. Everybody around the table had above average
intelligence; some, like Colonel Satta, had extreme intelligence. The likes of
Miller, Callard, Guido, Michael and The Owl were unquestionably physically hard
and experienced men. But none had quite that same aura as Creasy. In time, the
Dane guessed that Michael would attain it; perhaps as Creasy moved into old age
and Michael moved into the prime of his life. That was quite a few years away.

He
turned to glance at The Owl on his left. The old man had just served dessert
and The Owl was tucking into the charlotte di fragole with relish. It was not
strange that The Owl was sitting next to him.

Somehow,
since that long car journey up to Copenhagen, he had never seemed to be more
than a few yards away. An ever present shadow. Jens had discovered that The Owl
was a strange man. During their conversations he had admitted to killing
several people. He had admitted spending most of his life as a criminal until
he had gone to work for the arms dealer Leclerc, as a bodyguard. He had no
family and, apart from the pistol and the throwing knife he always carried, he
was never far away from the small, sophisticated compact disc player and its
padded earphones. Jens had been surprised to learn that The Owl's passion in
life was classical music and, in particular, the chamber music of Schubert, the
operas of Mozart and the symphonies of Beethoven. On that long drive to
Copenhagen the earphones had hardly ever left his head.

The
serious discussion had taken place over the main course. Creasy had informed
the gathering that Grazzini had indeed heard rumours of 'The Blue Ring' and at
this moment was trying to find out if those rumours had substance. In future,
Grazzini would be known by the code name 'Papa'. Creasy had smiled
wryly when he passed on this piece of information and added, "I suggested
it...he liked it."

Bellu informed them that suspicion had fallen on two men: an Italian in Milan called
Jean Lucca Donati and a Nubian Egyptian called Anwar Hussein who lived outside
Naples. There was a tenuous link between them which he was following up. In the
meantime, their names had been passed on to Papa, who was also using his own
network to check them out.

Creasy had then gone on to say that it was necessary that their group distance itself
from the carabinieri forthwith. He had not been apologetic, but had simply said
to Colonel Satta, "It's better that way. You don't want to be implicated
or seem to be implicated in what is, after all, an illegal operation on your
territory. Similarly, we must be careful not to be associated with the
authorities. However, whatever information Massimo can unearth and pass on to
us via Guido will be much appreciated."

Both
Satta and Bellu had nodded. The Ghost looked a little disappointed. He was
obviously enjoying himself.

Jens
had to examine his own position carefully. He was a policeman and he was
involved in an illegal situation on foreign soil. He had already taken part in
a violent kidnapping, and now was part of a group which was actively planning
mayhem and murder. He thought about it for several minutes, and made his
decision as the old man served the strong black coffee. He looked across the
table at Creasy.

"I
need to go back to Denmark."

Those
around the table went silent as Creasy nodded. "We understand, Jens. Now
that the Mafia is involved this is not for you. We appreciate your help very
much and wish you well. If at any time we can return it, you know where to find
us." He glanced at Michael. "Please
be sure that Jens has no financial deficit."

Before
Michael could respond, Jens spoke out. "Hold your horses. I said I need to
get back to Denmark. It's my daughter's birthday the day after tomorrow. I'll
return the day after that." He glared at Creasy and then at the others
around the table. "No one is throwing me out. I was in this from the start
and I'll be here at the end." He made a gesture. "OK, maybe I'm not
as tough as some of you guys...or as ruthless...but maybe I can contribute
something which you need."

He
pointed at Satta and then at Bellu. "You've just distanced yourselves from
the only detectives here. I understand the reason. But now you understand
this...There will be fighting and there will be pure detective work. I am
trained for that. You need a proper operational headquarters which links all of
you together; the left hand needs to know what the right hand is doing. There
should be proper planning and organisation. It's no good just charging into
battle. Michael did that in Marseille and Creasy did it in Milan." He was
addressing the whole table now. "OK, I know Creasy's a brilliant and
experienced leader, and when the actual battle starts he'll need no help from
me or anyone else...But before that some detective work will be
necessary..." He ended defiantly, "I am a detective...and I do have a
motive...finding these people is my job."

Creasy was silent. Both Satta and Bellu slowly nodded their heads. The Owl had a small
smile on his face. Satta broke the silence.

"Jens
is right. By training and intuition, good detectives have special minds. They
see things that other, even more intelligent people, don't see. Occasionally
they see the wood not just the trees. You'll be getting information from
Massimo and possibly from your new friend Papa. That information has to be
correlated and cross-referenced and then passed out in a concise manner. I
think Jens is a good detective and will be useful." That statement,
together with the distant chimes of the doorbell, ended the discussion.

Pietro immediately went inside to the pensione. The old man poured more coffee. Pietro
was back in two minutes. He carried a blue envelope. He handed it to Creasy
saying, "Two men in a black Lancia. They had that look about them. One of
them gave me this and said it was for Uomo."

Creasy
opened the envelope and took out a single sheet of paper.

He read
the words, looked up and said, "It's from Papa." He glanced back at
the paper and read out: "The rumours have substance. But there is more to
it than just the white slave trade. Much more. It goes as far as the Middle East
and North Africa, maybe Tunisia. It will take a few days to get more
information. I will be in touch. Papa."

He
folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket, and then looked thoughtfully at
the Dane.

"OK
then, Jens, go to your daughter's birthday and give her a kiss from all of us.
Then return here." He looked at Michael. "I want you to go to
Brussels and arrange for Corkscrew Two to meet you there. We need to establish
our own holes in Milan and Rome and possibly Tunisia. They should be equipped
as usual. Like we had them in Syria on the last job." He looked at Maxie.
"In the meantime, Maxie, you may as well go with him and see your
family." He looked at Miller and Callard. "Take three or four days
off and then liaise with Jens here." He looked at The Owl. "Will you
go back to Marseille for a few days? Do you have family there?"

The Owl
shook his head and glanced at the Dane. "No, if it's all right with Jens,
I'll go to Copenhagen with him. I like that city." Jens nodded in
agreement.

Creasy
beckoned to the waiter and spoke a few words in his ear.

The old
man nodded and went away. He returned a few minutes later with an equally old
woman. She was plump, dressed all in black, her grey hair pulled back into a
bun. Creasy rose as she approached and embraced her, then introduced her to the
others as Ornella, the cook. With the exception of Guido and Pietro, they all
immediately stood up and applauded her. She glowed with pride and bustled away.

"What
will you do?" Michael asked Creasy.

Creasy
shrugged. "I'll spend a few days in Gozo."

Jens
Jensen and The Owl drove north to Copenhagen in the same BMW.

"It's
sort of become a company car," Creasy had explained that morning.
"Leclerc won't take it back, so it's yours. Papers will be forwarded later
on."

Jens
enjoyed driving long distances, listening to pop music on the various FM
stations as they passed through Italy without stopping. The Owl sat in the
passenger seat with his compact disc player on his lap and the padded earphones
over his ears. He was not a large man and had managed to curl up in the
comfortable seat. Occasionally he pulled one earphone away from his head to
hear what Jens was listening to. He would grunt in derision and push the
earphones firmly back into place. Apart from that there was little
conversation.

Jens
was aiming for a small hotel just over the Swiss border. They would spend the
night there, have a good dinner and press on to Copenhagen early in the
morning. The Owl had insisted that on the way they stop at a Swiss gift shop so
that he could buy Lisa a cuckoo clock for her birthday. It was then that Jens
realised The Owl was going to become a family friend.

On the same morning Miller and Callard had taken an early hydrofoil to Capri. They
planned to stay in a decent hotel and act as a couple of tourists and pick up a couple of girls.

"Just
stay out of sight and let me do the work," Callard had said sternly.
"If they see your ugly face they run a mile." Miller had smiled
complacently. In spite of his features he had never had problems with the
opposite sex. The two men were old friends and companions in war, and were
looking forward to good food, autumn sun and perhaps a little physical
relaxation. On the hydrofoil they briefly discussed the operation and the rest
of the team. They decided that it was well-balanced.

As
mercenaries they had often fought in different countries with the good and the
bad. One weak link in a team could be a disaster. They could find no weakness
in this team. Maxie, of course, they had known for many years. They had not met
Michael before, but they knew he had been trained by Creasy and that in spite
of his youth he had already been under fire and come through. They liked The
Owl because he had the quiet confidence about him which comes from experience
and professionalism. They had noted how he had already attached himself to the
Dane. This was not uncommon within their milieu; men under extreme danger and
hardship often bond together in couples. The most obvious example that they
knew of had been Creasy and Guido, who had been together since their early days
in the Foreign Legion and had gone on to fight side by side through the
mercenary wars of Africa. It was a pity that Guido had retired. They knew him as
the most lethal exponent of a machine-gun in any army in any country. But they
understood his promise to his dead wife. Neither of them had ever married, but
they shared a very old-fashioned respect for women and wedlock. They liked the
Dane too, and had no qualms about him being on the team.

Michael and Maxie flew to Brussels via Rome. At Rome airport Michael phoned Corkscrew
Two, and arranged to meet him in Brussels the next evening. On the flight from
Rome, Michael explained his personal motivation for smashing 'The Blue Ring'.
Maxie had not heard the full story of Michael's early life. He listened in
silence and warmed to the young man who was more than slightly emotionally
involved with his sister-in-law.

Creasy took the overnight ferry to Malta. He enjoyed travelling by sea, and even
though the ferry was not normally comfortable, the captain was known to Guido
and a pleasant cabin had been arranged for him on the upper deck. But for most
of the night he stood at the stern, watching the foaming wake and wondering
what he would find back in Gozo.

He found Juliet. He got to the house on the hill at about noon. She was in the
kitchen preparing lunch. He smelled the aroma of rabbit stew cooked in wine and
garlic. She kissed him briskly on the cheek and ushered him away to take a shower.

Fifteen minutes later he was sitting by the pool, drinking a cool lager. He had gone
into the kitchen to try to help, but she had shooed him out, telling him that
Laura had dropped her off early in the morning and she had spent the whole time
cooking him lunch and that he was not to interfere. It had only taken him some
seconds to realise that the young and shattered child that he had found in that
room in Marseille had, within a very short time, rearranged her mental state to
fit in with her rearranged life. It was a silent lunch. She served it with
aplomb. He recognised the recipe. He had eaten Laura's rabbit stew many times;
it was indistinguishable. During the meal she kept glancing at the gift-wrapped
package on the table next to his elbow. She also glanced occasionally at the
bandage on his hand.

Apart
from asking about Michael, there were no other questions.

After
the rabbit she served thin slices of melon with ice cream, and finally large
espresso coffees made with the Neapolitan coffee he had brought with him. At
last he pushed the package across the table and, like every child, she opened
it excitedly. Inside were two brightly coloured silk sarongs.

"I
always sleep in them," he said. "So does Michael. It's a habit I
picked up in the East."

She
fingered the fine silk and smiled at him mischievously. "I also sleep in
them," she said. "I found a drawerful in your bedroom."

He
raised an eyebrow. "So you've been snooping around."

"Oh
yes," she admitted. "I've been through everything. I even found your
safe and worked out the combination lock."

He
grinned at her and said, "You're a little liar. Michael showed it to
you."