The Blue Ring (7 page)

Jens
had been intrigued. He had tapped the briefcase on the table. "What's in
it?"

"The
keys to an apartment in the old fishing harbour in Marseille," Michael
had replied. "Plus a detailed street-map of the city."

"That's all?"

Michael
had shaken his head. "No, there'll be a pistol for shooting very effective
tranquilliser darts, two flick-knives and two pistols with silencers and plenty
of ammunition in spare magazines."

Jens'
gaze had been on the small black briefcase, but at that moment it had risen
sharply to look at the young man. "Are you crazy?" he had hissed.
"You're going to carry that through the security checks? Don't you know
they check everything?"

Michael
nodded, then tapped the bag on the other side of his chair.

"The
briefcase will go in my bag which I will check through. The bag will be X-rayed
as usual. The X-ray will show the outline of the briefcase and the outline of
its contents. That outline will not resemble anything that I have told you
about. The flick-knives will look like two marker pens, which is what they
would look like even if you held them in your hand. The guns and ammunition
will look like video cassettes, which is what they are in very special
lead-lined cassettes. Superimposed above the lead-lining is the embossed
outline of a real cassette. Even if the bag and briefcases are searched it
would take an extremely clever inspector to find its real contents. It's an
acceptable risk. There will also be various innocuous business files in the
briefcase."

Jens
had been impressed but still felt nervous. "You set all this up on open
line from your hotel room in Copenhagen?"

Michael
had nodded. "Certainly. I rang an old friend without mentioning names. We
had a brief conversation which contained several code words. I don't know what
make the pistols will be, but they'll be the best: nine millimetre and
untraceable. You'll have noticed that Corkscrew Two was wearing gloves no
fingerprints on the briefcase or on its contents."

His
total confidence had reassured the Dane, as had events when they arrived at
Marseille's Marignane airport. They collected their bags and walked through
customs and had another coffee at the airport. Michael took the briefcase out
of his bag, set the combination lock at nine zero nine and opened it. Jens had
leaned forward. The contents were exactly as Michael had described: three video
cassettes, two fat 'Bon' marker pens, a fat street-map of Marseille
and two keys on a key-ring, plus half a dozen files.

Michael
had taken out the street-map and opened it. He had pointed to an inked circle
near the old fishing harbour. "That's our base. Let's go."

They
had taken a taxi to the modern city centre, then walked for half a mile with
their bags, then taken another taxi to within half a mile of the apartment.
They walked the rest of the way, stopping several times to look at shop windows
like a couple of tourists.

Again,
as an experienced policeman, Jens had been impressed with the technique, especially
when they actually reached the apartment.

It was
on the top floor of a three-storey building, old but in good repair. At the
door Michael had taken two pairs of dark blue thin cotton gloves from a side
pocket of his bag and handed one pair to Jens, saying, "While we're inside
we wear these at all times."

The
apartment itself had two bedrooms, a bathroom, a small kitchen and a combined
lounge and dining room. It was sparsely but adequately furnished. Jens had
opened the curtains and seen the balcony and fishing harbour below and
strangely felt immediately at home. It was the sort of place that hopefully, in
a few years, he would be looking for in Denmark. Michael had gone straight to
the telephone, unscrewed the base and peered into its insides. Satisfied, he
reattached the base and went prowling around the apartment, checking light
sockets and plugs.

"You're
very cautious," Jens had remarked.

"It's
been drummed into me over many months," Michael had answered. "I
don't expect to find anything, but you can't be too sure. What do you like for
breakfast?"

"Breakfast?"

"Yes.
There's a small supermarket around the corner; I'm going to stock up for a few
days, while you rest those old bones."

Jens
grinned and tapped his slight paunch. "I'm coming with you and getting all
the fattening things that Birgitte won't let me eat at home."

Michael
had gestured to the phone. "OK, but first call your contact and set up a
meeting for early tomorrow morning. Do you think he'll let us look at his files?"

"Yes,
I think so. I've met him a couple of times at seminars and we get on
well."

"How
much are you going to divulge?"

"Nothing,"
Jens had answered. "He'll understand that. I'll explain that I'm on a
private case, earning a bit of money on leave of absence, financed by a missing
person's family. I'll tell him I'll brief him later on, by which time we'll be
long gone."

Michael
had nodded approvingly.

For
breakfast Jens ate smoked salmon, toast, half a Camembert, smoked ham, salami
and a large tin of fruit salad. Michael had a cup of tea and a piece of toast.

At nine
o'clock they were in Inspector Corelli's office. He was a tall, grey-haired,
hook-nosed man, wearing an elegant grey suit, a pale blue shirt and a maroon
tie. He was also very friendly. Jens introduced Michael as his new assistant
and explained briefly that to satisfy a wealthy family they were going through
the motions of an on-sight investigation. Corelli had nodded understandingly;
it was not an unusual occurrence. He found them an empty office, called in an
assistant and told him to supply them with whatever files they wanted plus
coffee when they asked for it.

Jens
had brought along his newest toy, a small Sanyo laptop computer. During the
next four hours they went through a stack of files together and Jens
transcribed all the relevant material onto the computer. They thanked Corelli
for his help, and Jens promised to call him in a few days to invite him out for
lunch or dinner. On good expenses, Jens explained with a smile. Then they found
a good restaurant a couple of blocks away which had tables wide enough apart to
allow private conversation. Michael had wanted to order bouillabaisse but Jens,
who had been in the city once before, a long time ago, told him to save that
famous dish for an equally famous restaurant on the outskirts of Marseille.
Instead they both had steaks and discussed what they had learned that morning.

During
this discussion Jens learned something else about the young man. Not only was
he intelligent and highly competent, both in fieldcraft and tactics, but he was
totally ruthless. His plan was simple. They knew from Corelli's files that the
top criminal in Marseille dealing with vice and drugs was a certain Yves
Boutin. He operated out of the red-light district between the Opera and the
Vieux Port.

He had
connections with the Italian Mafia, the Spanish underground and, reportedly,
criminal elements in North Africa. He had been arrested several times but never
convicted. His political connections in the city, the police department and in
Paris were known to be very strong.

The
bars and brothels that Boutin was thought to own or control were listed on
Jens' computer, as was the address of his villa on the coast and his luxury
apartment in the city itself. He was married with two children: a
fourteen-year-old boy and an eleven-year-old girl. He had two younger brothers,
both in the business. Georges, the elder, ran the drugs side, and Claude, the
prostitution side. Yves himself was the nominal head of a seemingly legitimate
construction company which somehow got a lot of municipal contracts. Jens
explained that Marseille was one of the most corrupt cities in France, if not
the whole of Europe. At police headquarters they had studied many photographs
of Boutin, both official police mug-shots and others taken unawares. He was a
squat man in his late fifties, completely bald, but with a dark-brown
moustache. They had also studied similar photographs of his brothers, his
lieutenants and a score of lesser gang members. There was one item of
particular interest on the files. He was particularly devoted to his young
mistress, a striking blonde called Denise Defors. For five years he had kept
her in a city apartment and spent most nights with her during the week. She
worked as nominal manageress in his flagship nightclub, The Pink Panther, which
had about forty top-class hostesses and strippers and a plush brothel upstairs.

Jens
and Michael discussed the cast of characters during their lunch and then, while
Jens was tucking into a huge portion of pavlova, he discovered just how
ruthless Michael could be.

"I
will take one of the children or the mistress."

Jens
looked up from his pavlova and through a mouthful mumbled,

"What?"

"It's
obvious," Michael answered. "We need to have a serious discussion
with Monsieur Boutin. There's been a lot of inter-gang killings in the past
months and years, and for sure Boutin will be heavily guarded. I'm not just
going to be able to walk up to him and ask to have a chat about his business.
But if I'm holding someone dear to him then for sure he'll talk. The question
is, a child or the mistress?"

"You
mean, kidnap them?"

"Of
course."

"But
that's a crime!"

Michael
smiled. "You're kidding! I never realised that."

Jens
put down his spoon, looked at the young man and said, "Listen, Michael,
I'm a policeman, for Christ's sake. I can't go around kidnapping people, even
if they are the children or the mistress of a gangster."

"You're
not going to," Michael answered. "You're going to stay in the
apartment, sitting on the balcony, drinking good wine and watching the
view."

A long
silence. The conversation had definitely unsettled the Dane. He even pushed
away the small unfinished portion of his pavlova.

"Do
you have a better idea?" Michael asked.

"No.
But I thought we'd sort of scout around and get familiar with this
operation."

Michael
nodded. "We will, of course. In fact, we'll start tonight. We'll check out
The Pink Panther first. Meanwhile, it would help if we had details of where
Boutin's children go to school and anything else we can find out. Maybe your
friend Corelli would know. Also tonight we'll find out what time the mistress
leaves the club and how she gets home. Jens, it has to be done that way. If I
take one of his brothers or a top lieutenant it may not be so effective. Boutin
is nothing if not ruthless."

"He's
not the only one," Jens murmured.

The
words washed over Michael unheard. His mind was back in Brussels in that small hospital.
His mind was confused. He felt like a fledgling bird who had tumbled out of the
nest and was flapping its wings but still descending rapidly. Sure he was
tough. Hard as a nail. Trained to perfection. He looked at the Dane, who looked
back at him with an expression of respect. Tomorrow, Michael thought, tomorrow
I phone Blondie and pass on all the information so she will tell Creasy. When
he gets out of hospital he will come down here and let me do what I have to do,
but be there in the shadows, just in case...tomorrow.

Inspector
Corelli took the call just after three o'clock. He listened to Jens and said,
"Wait just a minute." He tapped the keys on his PC, looked at the
screen and said, "They both go to a private school, called Ecole St Jean.
It's a boarding school in Switzerland just outside Geneva. Naturally very
exclusive and expensive. Anything else you need?"

Jens
said, "No, thanks very much. I'll call you in a few days." He put
down the phone and turned to Michael. They were back in the apartment.
"The kids are both in an exclusive boarding school in Switzerland. They
probably come home for weekends. I can check that out if necessary."

Michael
shook his head.

"No,
it's only Tuesday now. We can't wait that long. It has to be the mistress.
We'll check her out tonight...or maybe it's better if I go alone?"

"No,"
Jens said emphatically. "I've been thinking about it. I'll go with you.
Nothing's going to happen tonight." He gestured at the dining-table.
"Do we take the guns?" They were lying side by side. Two black nine
millimetre Berettas.

"No,"
Michael answered. "The club will have bouncers and doormen and with that
kind of club they often frisk the customers."

"They
don't in Copenhagen."

Michael
smiled. "This is not Copenhagen."

In his
office Inspector Corelli had also hung up. For several minutes he sat looking
thoughtfully at the phone. Then he picked it up, punched the number and held a
three minute conversation, at the end of which he gave a detailed,
policeman-like description of Jens and Michael.

The
suite of offices was typical of a small, individual, highly successful
business. A severely attractive, middle-aged secretary sat in the outer office,
working at a computer console. Opposite her were a coffee-table and three
comfortable leather chairs. There were original oil paintings on the walls
depicting seascapes. It had been six years since Creasy had been in that office
in Marseille. As he walked in through the door the secretary glanced up and
then back at her console. She then did a complete double take, jerking upright
in her seat, a look of astonishment on her face.

"I
thought you were dead," she stammered.

"Yes.
I sort of came back to life." He gestured at the door to the inner office.
"Is he in?"

She had
recovered her composure. "Yes. But he has someone with him." She
reached for the phone. "I'll tell him you're here."

He
shook his head. "No, I'll wait. Any chance of a coffee?"