The Blue Ring (31 page)

Their
hostess was slowly moving Michael around the room, making introductions and
stroking his elbow as she did so. The two young women waited impatiently. They
watched as he chatted to an up and coming television executive and a jaded
actor; both the producer and the actor gave him their cards.

The two
young women held their breath as the hostess moved him on to meet an actress
whom they knew to be of at least forty-five hard years, even though with the
help of imaginative surgery, superb make-up and a red pouting mouth she looked
no more than thirty-five.

"Don't
worry," the old man whispered from behind them. "The rumour is that
he likes younger flesh."

Michael
left just after midnight, with the blonde and with the brunette.

While
Michael slid into Roman society, Creasy made his dispositions. Jens and The Owl
were to man the headquarters at the Pensione Splendide. Maxie MacDonald and
Frank Miller went to Milan to keep a watch on Jean Lucca Donati; Creasy would
do the same in Naples on Anwar Hussein.

Jens
had set up a small office in a room of the pensione, complete with fax and
telex machines and his sophisticated lap-top Compaq computer. Creasy had been
impressed with his organisation and thoroughness. Within forty-eight hours Jens
had gathered every scrap of information that had come from all their sources.
Creasy watched the small screen of the Compaq as the Dane collated everything
they knew.

Creasy
phoned Gozo regularly and learned that Juliet had settled well into her school.
Laura had been amazed by the speed with which the child was learning Maltese.
The nuns at the school had pronounced her intelligent and wise beyond her
years. However, Laura cautioned that Juliet had become often silent and
preoccupied, and frequently asked about Creasy and Michael. Creasy understood
that the girl was becoming frustrated, missing the two men who had become such
a part of her life, both of whom she knew were in extreme danger, and because
she could do nothing to help. He thought of phoning her every day but then
changed his mind. If circumstances meant that he could not make contact she
would worry. Instead he would write to her frequently, and urge Michael to do
the same, even if only a few lines. A brief letter could be more satisfying
than a long phone call.

He sat
looking at the phone. He could almost see her face and he realised how much he
missed her.

The nun
watched the car wind up the dusty road. She stood in front of the long, low
building which, until three months ago, had been a derelict storage depot for
an agricultural commune.

Sister
Assunta was on assignment from the Augustine order in Malta. The order had a
long history of missionary and teaching work and, in truth, Sister Assunta had
become slightly bored at the homeconvent. She had done five years' missionary
work in Kenya which she had found both fascinating and fulfilling. But she had
been back in Malta for the past three years, and although it had been good to
be home, she had felt restless in recent months. When the Mother Superior had
summoned her two months ago and given her this duty she had felt no
apprehension, even though Albania was in turmoil and the assignment could be
dangerous.

At
first it had been dangerous but also exhilarating. During the early weeks she
had often heard gunfire from the direction of Tirane, twenty miles to the
south. Several times armed groups, some in uniform and some in ragged clothing,
had passed by the would-be orphanage. But they had not bothered the nuns,
simply begged for food and then passed on. Now it was quiet and Sister Assunta
was able to enjoy the peace and the view of the surrounding wooded countryside.
Such a green contrast from the stark brown, limestone bareness of her native
country.

There
were five nuns in all to run the orphanage. She was the only Maltese and the
Superior. The others consisted of a robust Irish lady of indeterminate age and
three young Italian nuns. This was no problem for Sister Assunta, because she
spoke both English and Italian fluently.

The
orphanage had been set up through the help of several charities, the main one
being a private international organisation based in Rome. In Malta her Mother
Superior had told her that, strangely enough, it was funded by several wealthy
individuals who preferred, in the main, to remain anonymous. However, she knew
that the approaching car contained one of the major benefactors, who was coming
to inspect progress. Sister Assunta and her staff had managed in a very short
time to get the basic facilities of the orphanage organised and had already received
the first intake of girls, whose ages ranged from four to thirteen. Within the
context of her instructions all those girls had come as orphans, not from
broken families or as stray children. All of her girls had been given up at
birth, or found abandoned.

The car
pulled up in front of her. The driver was an Albanian whom she knew. Sitting in
the back seat was a man. His face was dark and thin. For a second something
flashed through her mind. She had a sense of deja vu, as though she had seen
that face many years before. She shook the thought from her head. The man
emerged. She looked him up and down, full of a curiosity which was fuelled by
the fact that he had an Arab name. He was dressed in a dark finely-cut suit. An
extremely thin man with a dark sunken face and a sharply beaked nose. She
wondered why an Arab would be financing a Catholic charity.

Being
of a curious and direct nature, Sister Assunta asked that question during
lunch, after they had inspected the internal construction work. During the tour
she had been impressed by his interest and insight. The orphanage would be
employing six lay Albanian women to work under her direction. His first
question had been whether she herself could speak the language. She had
explained that she already had a working knowledge, thanks to a crash course,
and that within a few weeks she would be proficient. He had then asked whether
she and the other nuns had comfortable quarters for themselves. She had smiled
and said, "Enough for our needs." He had smiled back and told her how
he respected the dedication of herself and her fellow nuns.

So came
her first question when they sat down to a simple lunch. The question was
prompted very much by his obvious kindness and interest in the children. Among
them had been a young twelve-year-old girl, the only child of parents who had
both been machine-gunned during the first night of the uprising. Her name was
Katrin and she had blonde hair, a pale face and the eyes of an angel. He had
held that face in his hands, kissed her gently on the cheek, turned to Sister
Assunta and said in a low voice, "We must find this child a home where the
flower of her character will blossom in a way to fill both our hearts."

So she
had asked, "You are not of the faith?"

He
shook his head. "I am not of your faith, Sister."

"Islam?"
she asked.

Again
he shook his head and his mouth formed its thin smile.

"I
have my own faith. It has no direct bearing on any established religion."

They
were sitting at a round table in the newly constructed dining room; the other
four sisters had joined them. The lay workers ate at a separate table. All the
nuns listened intently as he went on, "Of course I believe in a supreme
being. Any man who does not is a fool. I cannot define my supreme being in any
usual way. I have searched through all major religions and many minor ones and
while I agree with some aspects of all of them, I cannot accept the
whole."

The
first course had been a minestrone. Abruptly Sister Assunta put down her spoon
and asked, "You are a Mason?"

He
laughed and shook his head. "Please be reassured, Sister. I am no such
thing...far from it."

Sister
Simona asked, "If you are not of our faith, why do you support the work of
our order here?"

He
turned to the Italian nun and explained. "My organisation supports much
good work. Over the years we have discovered that such work must be carried out
in the field by people who have a vocation. It is not necessary to be religious
to have such a vocation."

He smiled and gestured at them all. "But we have discovered that it is easier
to find such people within the religious orders. Of course we also support the
Arabic Red Crescent and several interdenominational charities. We asked the
Augustine order to help on this project because of the proximity of its Maltese
branch to Albania, and because over the past months they have gained experience
in this ravaged country."

Sister Assunta asked another question. "The parameters for this orphanage were
very clear. It was only to be for girls between the ages of four and fourteen.
Why was that?"

He shrugged disarmingly. "Naturally, we are very careful as to where we place
our limited funds. In giving to charity it is essential that every cent counts.
Our research showed that here in Albania charities had already moved quickly to
alleviate the suffering of the very very young. On the other hand, my own
thinking is that any girl over the age of fourteen is already an adult and is
better able to fend for herself. Hence our parameters."

Sister Assunta was about to ask another question when he interrupted with one of his own.

"Now that you have the first intake, are you ready for a full house within the next
two weeks?"

She nodded firmly. "Yes. We are just waiting for delivery of more beds, linen
and basicmedical supplies. They have been promised for Friday."

He nodded in satisfaction.

"Good. As you know, we will try to settle most of our orphans with Italian families.
Italy is close and the logistics are simple. You also know that we have set up
an office in Bari to handle the adoptions. That office is already in place and
you'll be receiving a visit from its director within a few days. Our policy and
philosophy is based on much international research. We do not believe that
children should remain for too long in an orphanage, because very quickly it
becomes a permanent home and therefore the wrench of adoption is all the
greater. Consequently, we would like to view this orphanage as more of a
transit home; and our office in Bari is planning accordingly. Hopefully our
first adoptions can take place within the next one or two weeks." He
turned again to Sister Assunta and said sternly, "And so, Sister, it is
important that neither you nor your fellow sisters nor the lay workers become
emotionally attached to these girls...I know it is difficult not to become
surrogate mothers, especially as many of them will have suffered both mentally
and physically. However, with your experience I'm sure you agree with me."

Sister Assunta nodded. "Yes, of course, difficult...but I agree with you. It can
be painful to us...But the faster good homes can be found for these girls the
better. It also means that we can help so many more. And there are so many out
there who need help."

"Yes," he murmured quietly. "So many."

Sister Assunta felt comfortable with the knowledge that the benefactor of her
orphanage was both intelligent and perceptive. But she could not shake the
thought from her mind that somewhere and at some time, she had seen his face before.

Michael kept the scream under his breath. He reached out and grabbed her hand. She
hissed at him and the fingernails of her other hand slashed down his back. He
groped behind him and caught her wrist, pulled both her arms up above her head,
pressing them hard against the pillow. She writhed under him, slamming her
pelvis into his. She opened her eyes and he could see her orgasm in them, the
pupils dilating. Her white teeth were clenched behind red lips.

One wet wrist slipped from his grasp and again she raked his back. This time he grunted
in pain, and slapped her hard across the face.

She grinned up at him, and he felt himself coming.

Michael almost screamed again as Rene applied the antiseptic to his back.

"Some woman," the Belgian commented. "Was it worth it?"

Michael was sitting on a stool in the vast bathroom off the sumptuous bedroom. Rene was
sitting on the toilet seat behind him, applying the medication. The woman had
left half an hour before.

"I had no choice," Michael muttered. "I've been to half a dozen parties
and our little party here tonight was the culmination. That woman Gina is the
key to what we're looking for."

Rene
grinned and used more antiseptic.

"The
things that a man must do in the line of duty...I'm proud of you,
Michael."

The
young man grunted with pain and said, "I have just learned that sometimes
in life you have to take the pain with the pleasure."

It had
been eight days since Michael's arrival in Rome. Hedonistic days. He had once
seen an old film called La Dolce Vita and assumed that it was exaggerated. He
now knew the opposite. The first party had led him on to others. He was the
season's new find. Everybody wanted him at their parties and soirees. Every man
wanted his ear; almost every woman wanted his body. He had moved through it
all, watching and listening and occasionally making comments to selected people
to indicate that, much as he was enjoying himself, he would enjoy something
more bizarre and exciting. He had smoked hash and snorted coke and popped
pills, indulged in one full-blown orgy, in which he had acquitted himself with
great style and energy; and had finally narrowed down his new acquaintances to
a group of five. He had invited these five to a party at his own apartment that
night, together with another two dozen to fill out the numbers.

During
the past days Rene had been invaluable. He would have made a brilliant actor;
he played his part as Michael's Man Friday to perfection. So much so that several
of Michael's new acquaintances had surreptitiously offered Rene a job after
Michael's eventual departure from Rome. Of course, everybody knew that Rene's
job included that of bodyguard. This simply added to Michael's glamour.