The Blue Ring (40 page)

Satta shook his head.

"No...Thanks, Frank." His eyes rested on a small table next to the fireplace. It held a
selection of bottles. He stood up, went over and picked up a bottle of Cognac.
Frank watched as he uncorked it, put it to his lips and held it there, letting
the amber liquid pour down his throat. Then he choked and coughed, recorked the
bottle, put it back on the table, turned and said, "I just want to get the
hell out of here."

"No problem," Frank said briskly. "I'll call Maxie. You go and take a
stroll. Get some fresh air and keep watch."

He walked to the front door, opened it and whistled softly. An answering whistle
came out of the darkness. Maxie loomed up.

Quietly Frank explained the situation.

Maxie nodded, went up to the Italian, punched him lightly on the shoulder and said,
"Well done, Mario. We'll do the rest. Get some fresh air."

Satta nodded numbly, and then suddenly embraced the man.

Maxie
smiled at Frank over Satta's shoulder and then said with a light laugh,
"These Italians get real emotional."

"Yeah...It
comes with their mother's milk." The Australian answered.

Satta
broke away with a curse at them both.

"Vaffanculo!"
But it was said affectionately. He picked up his notebook and went out into the
night.

The two
men looked at each other. Maxie said, "That's a tough guy who's seen a
lot. Whatever happened in there really shook him up."

"Yeah,"
Frank agreed and looked towards the bedroom door. With a cynical smile he
asked, "Did you ever kill a general?"

The
Rhodesian shook his head. "No, I only got as high as a half-colonel...Did
you?"

Wistfully
Frank answered, "No, although one or two had me seriously tempted. Let's
do it."

Frank
fetched a glass of water from the kitchen and then went through to the bedroom.

He
watched them coming. He looked into their eyes and saw no mercy. He saw their
eyes looking back at a dead man.

They
eased him up to a sitting position. The box with the pills and the syringe was
open on the bedside table next to the mobile phone. Maxie passed two pills over
the bed to Frank and then held up the glass of water expectantly. Gandolfo's
eyes were gazing into the distance.

Frank
put his hand on the foam rubber behind Gandolfo's neck, gripped firmly and said
lightly, "Open wide. I'll put it far back on your tongue. Then my friend
will put the glass to your lips and tilt it...Take a good swallow."

Gandolfo
stared ahead. His mouth closed in a thin line. Frank's voice lost its
lightness.

"Suit
yourself. I'll just have to give you the needle. Then my friend and I head down
to Rome and start looking for your bambinos. That suits us...Extra money...Good
money."

Gandolfo's
eyes shifted and turned onto Frank's face. Seconds passed and then his mouth
began to open. Then it shut. Then opened again. In a grating whisper, Gandolfo
asked, "Will it take long?"

"It's
very quick," Frank said.

"You
won't feel a thing," Maxie lied.

Slowly
the mouth opened wider. The eyes closed.

"Wider,"
Frank urged, leaning forward.

The
mouth opened very wide.

Holding
the pill between two fingers, Frank slipped it between the lips. His fingers
came out and Maxie's hand came up with the glass. Gandolfo gulped twice, some
of the water dribbling down his chin.

Frank
watched his Adam's apple move up and down twice. He gripped the neck harder and
with his right hand squeezed the cheeks to open the mouth. He peered into it
and nodded at Maxie. He eased the head onto the pillow and they both stepped
back. Gandolfo lay there with his eyes closed. Maxie glanced at his watch.

The
first spasm came after just ninety seconds. Gandolfo grunted in agony. Spasm
followed spasm and he started to thrash about on the bed. His mouth opened and
vomit spewed out. The two men watched silently, no strangers to death. Finally
the body lay still. They both moved forward. Maxie pulled back the cotton wool
and felt for the pulse at the wrist. Frank felt for it at the neck. After half
a minute they looked up at each other and shook their heads.

Maxie said, "Kufa." A Swahili word much used by mercenaries of the African
era. It means 'dead' in a very positive way.

They
cleaned up quickly, stripping the body of the foam rubber. The silk pajama
jacket was stained with vomit. Frank rearranged the General's left arm on top
of the bedside table as though he had been trying to reach for the mobile
phone. Maxie packed the foam rubber, tape and box into the canvas bag, while in
the kitchen Frank washed the glass, dried it and replaced it in the cupboard.
He put the hunting magazine back on the rack.

Two
hundred metres away Satta saw the lights of the cabin go out. He was holding a
mobile phone. He punched in the numbers. A few seconds later he heard Creasy's
voice. "Pronto?"

"It's
done," Satta said. "Perfectly to plan...We have all we need. We'll be
with you in a couple of hours...Ciao."

"Ciao."

The
ship from Albania docked in Bari just after midnight. It had been a rough
crossing and both Katrin and Sister Simona had been seasick. So the approaching
lights of the port and its shelter had assumed an added dimension of welcome.

They
passed through immigration and customs with an ease that surprised Sister
Simona, who was well acquainted with Italian bureaucracy. Even though their
papers were completely in order, she had expected long delays because of
Katrin's status as a foreign orphan. But as they took their places in the long
queue a young immigration officer had passed down the line. He spotted Sister
Simona in her white habit, introduced himself, took her large suitcase and Katrin's
small bag and their papers, and ushered them smoothly through the maze of
officialdom. Within minutes he was showing them into a room reserved for
special immigrants. Katrin clutched the small posy of wild flowers she had
picked that afternoon in the grounds of the orphanage. Like herself, they were
much wilted from the journey.

There
were three people waiting in the room: Franco Delors and a well-dressed,
middle-aged couple. Delors came forward, his face beaming, and introduced
himself. Sister Simona had been told he would be meeting them. He introduced
the couple as Signor and Signora Maccetti: Katrin's new foster parents.

At
first, the atmosphere in the room was naturally tense. Katrin spoke very little
Italian, but as she looked at the couple, who were smiling at her nervously,
she realised who they were. Shyly she walked towards them and held out the
bedraggled flowers to the woman. Signora Maccetti was a tall, stout woman. She
beamed down at the child, stooped down and embraced her, crushing the flowers
between them. Her husband was smiling and nodding his head.

Delors
turned to Sister Simona with a broad smile and said, "There has been a
slight change of plan. They were supposed to pick her up from your Augustine
convent here in Bari tomorrow." He shrugged. "But of course they were
so impatient to see her...In fact, they would like to fly with her to Rome on
the early flight and get her settled in as soon as possible."

Sister
Simona's face showed uncertainty. She watched as Signor Maccetti embraced
Katrin, while his wife watched with a maternal smile.

Reassuringly,
Delors said, "I spoke to the Mother Superior here this afternoon. She said
she would leave the decision to you."

"I
will talk to Katrin," Sister Simona said. "She is a sensible girl and
will make her own choice."

From a
large handbag Signora Maccetti had taken a gift-wrapped parcel. She looked
across at Sister Simona and said, "Would you please tell Katrin that this
is a small gift to welcome her to her new home."

Sister
Simona translated that into Albanian. Katrin looked at the parcel, smiled and
held out her hand. She held the parcel and turned to look at the nun. Sister
Simona smiled and nodded. Inside was a beautiful pink cashmere sweater with
intricate multicoloured silk embroidery.

The
child held its softness and exclaimed in delight, then threw her arms around
the woman.

"I
think it will be all right," the nun said to Delors.

Sister
Simona explained the change of plan to Katrin, who had immediately changed her
grey, second-hand, donated sweater for the new one. She held her foster
mother's hand as she listened. She smiled and nodded in agreement.

The nun
hugged her and then said to the Maccettis, "I'm taking ten days' holiday
before returning to Albania. I'll be visiting my parents who live near Rome
next week...I would like to pass by and see how she is settling in."

"That
would be wonderful," Signora Maccetti said, "but we had planned to
leave on Sunday for Florida, to visit my brother who lives there. He has
children of Katrin's age."

Again,
Delors noticed the uncertainty on the nun's face.

"It's
a bit sudden," she said. "After all Katrin hardly speaks Italian, let
alone English."

Signora
Maccetti laughed lightly.

"We
have thought of that. My brother has engaged a maid of Albanian descent who
will live in. There will be no problem with the language...We thought that the
excitement of travel and the Florida sunshine would be good for her." She
patted the child's pale face. "She needs sunshine and the sea, and
children of her own age."

The nun
was mollified.

"When
will you be back?" she asked.

"In
a few weeks," Signor Maccetti answered. "Of course we will keep in
close touch with Signor Delors. When you are next in Italy you must visit
Katrin...and be our guest."

"You
will be so welcome," his wife added warmly.

And so
Sister Simona stood beside the chauffeur-driven Mercedes and gave her charge a
last hug, and watched her being driven away to a new life.

Delors
gave the nun a lift to the convent. On the way he said cheerfully, "Sister
Assunta will be pleased that this first one went so well."

"You
know Sister Assunta?"

"Only
by correspondence. I know of the wonderful work she is doing...All of you, of
course."

"She
is an angel," the nun murmured, and then said absently, "She left for
Malta today."

Delors
glanced at her. "She did?"

"Yes...she
has been working so hard. She needed a break. You know how it is."

"Indeed,
I do," he agreed fervently. "When will she get back?"

"She
said a few days."

Warmly,
he said, "Give her my respects when you see her."

She
turned and smiled at him. "I will."

The
bays reflected the faith of the people, as much as the limpid blue of the
Mediterranean Sea reflected the sun: St Julian's, St Thomas's, St George's and
St Paul's, where the Apostle had been shipwrecked and then welcomed by the
heathen Maltese; and in return for that welcome had brought the message of
Christianity. Sister Assunta sat on the north patio of the convent and looked
out over the waters of St Paul's Bay. The water was not tranquil. High-powered
speedboats, cruisers and sailing yachts crisscrossed the sea. The turbulence of
the water reflected her own mental state. She had been subjected to an
inquisition. The Mother Superior was of a character, chilled by experience,
practicality and, therefore, cynicism.

Sister
Assunta's story of remembering a face through the window of a car twenty years
ago had brought a raised eyebrow and a questioning tongue. The nun had stuck to
her flimsy guns; insisted on her memory, until her Superior had nodded in
dismissal.

A life
given to devotion moves along a stony track, but occasionally it illuminates
rare moments. Sister Assunta had one of these moments when she heard a quiet
cough behind her and turned her head.

She
recognised the priest. It was Father Manuel Zerafa, the priest who ran the
orphanage in Gozo.

He
pulled up a chair and sat silently next to her, looking out over the bay. Then,
very diffidently, he said, "Sister. Please tell me what you remember about
that face in the car."

Sister
Assunta drew a breath as her heart was lifted. The Mother Superior had believed
her.

"There
is a man. At this moment I assume he is contentedly asleep in a luxury villa in
the hills of Tuscany. His name is Benito Massaro." With that name, Colonel
Mario Satta had the complete attention of his gathered friends.

It was
dawn in Naples. They sat in the small dining room of the Pensione Splendide. A
wet west wind splattered rain against the windows.

On the
journey to Naples Satta had, at first, decided to give his information only to
Creasy; but as they drove through the wetness he had glanced at Maxie at the
wheel, and felt the presence of Frank behind him in the back seat. His thoughts
had moved on to all the others who were taking part in what had become, for
him, a personal nightmare. He had decided to take them all into his confidence.

Now
they sat around the long table while Juliet dispensed coffee and brioches. They
were all tired. Either from waiting, or from the tension of activity. It had
only been necessary for them to look at the set seriousness of Satta's face to
realise that what he was about to say would be profound. The name Benito
Massaro confirmed it. For those who might not be fully conversant with the
name, he elaborated. "Benito Massaro was the real power behind the Masonic
Lodge P2. Forget the other names which the newspapers dwell on; Benito Massaro
is a general. Ten years ago he headed the committee which controlled and
oversaw all of the security services of our country. He managed to draw into
his Lodge an astonishing number of the most powerful people of Italy. He
dispensed patronage on an immense scale. When P2 was discovered, his minions
took the blame. He remained aloof."