The taxi pulled up outside the Porta Cavalleggeri. Creasy paid the driver with a reasonable tip, waited until he had pulled away out of sight and then strolled to his left. Fifteen minutes later he ducked down a narrow alley and found the small sign of the restaurant. He pushed in through the door and was immediately surprised; it was not how he had imagined. It was rather like a simple café with checked tablecloths. Most of the customers appeared to be low budget tourists. In one corner was a bust of the Virgin Mary. But the waitresses were different. They were all very tall, wearing long gowns made from what seemed to be batik cloth; they were all beautiful, and they were all black. He looked around for Grazzini but he was nowhere to be seen.
A small middle-aged woman dressed in white approached him. ‘I am Sister Maria,’ she said. ‘Can I help you?’
‘I am Henry Gould. Mr Galli is expecting me.’
‘Ah, yes. Please follow me.’
He followed her trim figure through the restaurant to the back, where she pulled aside a heavy green curtain. Beyond it was a large mahogany door. She tapped on it, opened it and ushered Creasy through.
This room was very different. It was richly furnished. In the centre was a round table with a white damask tablecloth and napkins, and antique silverwear with a beautiful gold and silver candle stick. Above it was a crystal chandelier which looked priceless. Three high-backed chairs were arranged around the table. In one of them sat Paolo Grazzini. In the other sat a priest in his early thirties. He wore thick spectacles, and he studied Creasy with an air of deep concentration, as though he were looking at a rare painting which had just been rediscovered. The door closed behind Creasy as both men stood up. Grazzini made the introductions.
‘Henry Gould . . . Father De Sanctis.’
They all sat down. Creasy placed his briefcase on the thick carpet beside him, at the same time pressing a small button on the handle.
The tape recorder inside would keep a complete record of the conversation.
Grazzini gestured at a small side-table which held several covered dishes. ‘I ordered a simple buffet, so we could talk undisturbed.’
Next to the dishes were several decanters, glasses and a bottle of red wine. Grazzini stood up and moved to the table, asking ‘What would you like for an aperitif? I recommend the Scotch - it’s forty-year-old Macallan.’
Both the priest and Creasy nodded in agreement. Grazzini poured the drinks, brought them over and sat down.
‘Perhaps you had better explain,’ Creasy said.
Grazzini was looking pleased with himself. He gestured towards the priest, ‘I told Father De Sanctis of our little problem concerning “The Blue Ring”.’ He smiled slightly at the hard look he received from Creasy, ‘will give you the background to Father De Sanctis. As you may know, the Vatican maintains a formidable intelligence unit . . . some say it’s the envy of the CIA or Mossad.’
The priest shrugged.
Grazzini went on. ‘Of course, since the end of the Cold War and the religious liberation behind the old Iron Curtain it is no longer such an essential unit of the Vatican. However, within that unit there is a special department which concentrates on Satanism and black magic.’
Creasy saw the almost imperceptible nod which Grazzini sent him across the table. He went along accordingly. ‘That’s very interesting. I know that Satanism in various forms still exists in isolated cases, but I hardly think that the Vatican needs to be so concerned.’
For the first time the priest smiled. It changed his face. The severity dropped away and he looked almost boyish.
‘You will be surprised, Mr Gould. Certainly my department is much smaller than it used to be in the Middle Ages and even up until the last century, but we still have to be very active, not only in South America, the Caribbean and Africa, but also here in very civilised Europe.’ He gestured at the buffet table. ‘Shall we eat while I explain?’
Chapter 53
‘I still find it hard to believe,’ Creasy said, ‘that Grazzini could simply summon up a Vatican specialist, just like that.’
Guido’s laugh was ironic. ‘You should know better. The links between the Mafia and the Vatican go back a very long way. Especially on the financial side. It wasn’t so many years ago that the Vatican bank laundered hundreds of millions of dollars-worth of Mafia drug money.’
‘I know that,” Creasy answered, ‘but since then I thought they’d distanced themselves.’
Guido shook his head.
‘They have not and they will not. Power always seeks out power.’
It was eleven o’clock at night. Creasy had caught a late afternoon flight from Rome. They were sitting on the terrace and had just finished a light meal. The other regular diners had all departed.
‘That priest, De Sanctis. He’s a Jesuit,’ Creasy said.
Guido smiled again and nodded.
‘The clever ones always are.’
‘And he was young . . . no more than thirty-five. Young to know so much.’
‘Tell me,’ Guido said with barely-concealed curiosity. ‘What does he know?’
Silently Creasy collected his thoughts and then smiled at the recollection. ‘Before he told me anything he asked to see the contents of my briefcase. It was embarrassing. I had a tape recorder in it. Nothing else, just the bloody tape recorder.’
Guido grinned.
‘What happened?’
Creasy shook his head at the memory.
‘First he admired it. Naturally it was state of the art, only about three inches by two, but it can pick up a conversation from twenty metres away. Then the damned priest gave me a long story about how short of funds his unit was, and how useful such a device would be for him in his work . . . Naturally, I donated the bloody thing.’
Smiling, Guido said, ‘Never underestimate the church.’
‘Never again!’ Creasy answered with feeling.
He went on to relate what he had learned from the priest. At first, he had to listen to a long lecture about Satanism and its antecedents. These of course went back beyond Christianity and flourished in tribal communities all over the world. The priest had explained some of the psychology behind it and its uses. At this point he explained that, apart from his other qualifications, Father De Sanctis had a master’s degree in psychology. Creasy had also had to listen to several theories relating to the mixture of good and evil which existed amongst all mankind, and the constant on-going battle between them. At this stage the priest had given a dissertation about exorcism and how the church still had specialist exorcists who were kept busy. He himself had spent three years doing that work. It was only over coffee and Cognac that the priest had talked about Satanism and black magic in the modern age. At Creasy’s suggestion he had confined himself to Europe and its links with peripheral regions. There were several sects stretching from Scandinavia to the Mediterranean; some were linked, others operated independently. They had their roots in medieval times and still used some of the same rites and rituals. Apologetically, De Sanctis had explained that some of these sects were led by renegade priests and other clerics, some of whom covered themselves by also practising the true faith. He described a typical black mass with the attendant feasting, blasphemous prayers, animal sacrifices, the drinking of obnoxious substances, initiations of new members and finally sexual orgies of unbelievable perversions. Animals always played a major part, sometimes in the form of headdresses worn by participants and sometimes as objects of worship. Very often these sects took their names from a species of animal. The priests and high priests or priestesses held enormous psychological power over the sect’s members, who only progressed up the hierarchy with their blessings. Often money was involved, because many such members came from wealthy backgrounds. More importantly, in order to improve himself within the sect, a member had to commit ever more bestial and obscene acts until his very soul was lost forever.
At this point Guido had crossed himself and muttered. ‘I have heard of such things. But how does it involve “
The Blue Ring”?’
‘In a very simple but obvious way,’ Creasy said. The priest had explained how certain ruthless and charismatic individuals, very often charismatic priests who had broken away from their true calling, entered and manipulated some sects or even created them for their own egos or simply for material ends. The priest had pointed out the similarities between other modern cults, particularly in the west coast of the USA. Cults with charismatic, even hypnotic leaders, which pretended a spurious religion, for instance the Moonies, Scientology and a variety of eastern gurus. With a wan smile, the priest had said, ‘There really is no limit to human gullibility.’
‘He knows about “The Blue Ring”,’ Creasy stated. ‘Perhaps he did not tell me all he knows. It has been in existence for about eighty years. It has or had connections with a bastard offshoot of Coptic Christianity and has particular roots in Egypt.’
The priest had stated that, as far as their records showed, ‘The Blue Ring’ had also had early connections with a French group called ‘The Daughters of the Goat’. The French authorities had supposedly smashed that ring in 1934, but there had been no arrests because its members included high-ranking establishment figures. Both religious and political coercion had been involved. In Italy ‘The Blue Ring’ had enjoyed protection in the nineteen-thirties from certain Fascist luminaries.
The Vatican intelligence unit had thought that ‘The Blue Ring’ had died out during the war. But rumours had surfaced in the late fifties that it was still in existence, although in a different form. Rumours pointing to the suspicion that it engaged in extortion, blackmail and an extreme form of forced prostitution. These rumours were given substance during the investigation of the so-called Masonic Lodge P2. Several oblique references were made to it in seized papers and during interrogation of some of their members. By now Guido was totally fascinated.
‘In that case,’ he asked, ‘why did the Italian authorities do nothing about it?’
Creasy smiled grimly.
‘That’s exactly what I’m going to ask our friend Satta.’
Chapter 54
Creasy did not have to ask the question. A phone call came from Satta at dawn. He was flying down to Naples on the eight a.m. plane and it was important that Creasy meet him at the airport.
They had cappuccino and brioches in the coffee shop. There was latent anger in the Colonel’s eyes.
‘I’m thinking of taking early retirement,’ he said bitterly.
‘What happened?’
Satta looked around the almost deserted room, leant forward and said, ‘Just before I left for home yesterday I was called into the office of a very senior general of the carabinieri. He should have been put out to grass years ago, but the man has strong political connections right across the party spectrum. He wanted to know why my assistant, Bellu, had put a twenty-four hour watch on two men, namely Jean Lucca Donati and Anwar Hussein. It was a surprise, because I did not anticipate that anyone higher up would know about it. But that’s the carabinieri for you!’
‘So what was your reaction?’
The Italian spread his hands eloquently.
‘First I controlled my anger. Then I told the old fart that I was following up a lead involving political corruption. He questioned me about it but obviously I could give him no answers. He became angry and gave me two orders: first, I was to withdraw all surveillance from those two individuals; second, I was to give him a written report on why I had instigated the investigation.’
‘Can you do the second?’ Creasy asked.
Satta smiled grimly.
‘Oh, yes. It will be a very short report and will simply mention a suspicion about a couple of the good General’s friends. But I’ve had to call off the surveillance because we have to use a special department for that, and now the General will be monitoring it.’
Creasy took a sip of his coffee. He said, ‘I think I know why your General acted that way.’ He recounted his lunch at L’Eau Vive with Grazzini and the priest.
As he listened, Satta’s face was sombre. Very quietly he said, ‘My friend, you’re up against something deeper than you or I had realised. I have to tell you that last night Paolo Grazzini was shot to death leaving a Rome restaurant. Two bullets in the heart from a parked car.’
‘A gang war?’ Creasy asked.
Satta shook his head.
‘I think not. There is no reason for it within the organisation. But Grazzini was not the only mafioso to die yesterday. There was another. He was retired, but he used to work for Grazzini’s clan. His name was Torquinio Trento.’ The Italian’s voice went even quieter. ‘He was fished out of the river Tiber. He had been tortured . . . an inverted cross had been carved into his forehead by a sharp knife. His genitals were missing.’
Chapter 55
‘It’s a different ballgame,’ Creasy stated. ‘They’re not just a bunch of evil bastards who trade in women - these people go to the very bottom. Not only can they stop a high-level carabinieri enquiry, it also seems they can take out a top Mafia capo on his own territory.’
The whole team was assembled around the same oval table on the terrace of the Pensione Splendide. For twenty minutes Creasy had briefed them on what had happened in the past few days while they had been taking a break. He now felt it necessary to open the door for anyone who, in the light of these new circumstances, wished to gracefully retire.
He started with Guido, reminding him of his promise given to his dead wife never to kill again. He strongly suggested that in future the team’s base should be elsewhere. Guido smiled and shook his head.
‘I never promised Julia not to defend myself or my friends. She would not have wanted that. At the moment I only have four guests in the pensione: an old German couple who are leaving in the morning and two British backpackers who are not sure when they are leaving. I’ll find them alternative accommodation tomorrow. This will be your base.’
Creasy glanced at Pietro, who immediately realised the implication behind the look. Angrily he said, ‘I made no promise to anybody. I guard the base with Guido.’
Next, Creasy turned to the Dane. He said, ‘Jens, this whole thing has gone over the top. It is not just dangerous, it’s like walking on very thin ice with hot boots. I’m assuming that “The Blue Ring” think they have cut off all sources of enquiry. I’m assuming that they don’t know about us. I could be wrong.’
‘I think you’re right,’ Jens answered. ‘Unless Grazzini told either the old man Trento about you, or if he told the priest . . . It seems unlikely.’
‘But it’s still extra dangerous,’ Creasy insisted. ‘You have to think of your wife and child and the fact that you’re a policeman, not a “soldier”.’
The Dane inclined his head in understanding and then stated, ‘That last night in Copenhagen I talked to Birgitte. I deliberately exaggerated the danger. She urged me to go on. She understands how important it is to me. As for being a policeman . . . well . . . having lost Satta and Bellu, I’m the only policeman you’ve got left.’ He smiled. ‘I stay.’
Creasy looked at The Owl, who said in a tone to preclude argument, ‘I also stay.’ Before Creasy could say anything to the others he got his answer. Maxie glanced at Miller and Callard and received their slight nods. He said to Creasy, ‘Stop wasting your breath. Let’s look to the future.’
Michael spoke for the first time. ‘We have our targets: Donati and Hussein. We need to have a little talk with one or the other . . . or both.’
Creasy said, ‘There is something else . . . Before Satta had to pull off the surveillance, they followed Hussein to the airport here. He flew to Rome and got a connecting flight to Tunis. That was two days ago.’ He looked at the Dane and said with a smile, ‘OK, Mister Detective. Why don’t you sum it up for us?’
The Dane smiled back reached behind him for his briefcase and took out a lined, yellow legal pad and a gold Parker pen. He placed the pad carefully in front of him, uncapped the pen and said with a smile, ‘A gift from the gratef
ul parents of a girl I once found and returned . . . Don’t think I can afford such things on my salary.’ He smiled again. ‘There will be enough eyebrows raised in Copenhagen when certain people see me driving around in a BMW.’
He looked down at the pad. ‘Let’s start from the beginning.’ He glanced at the young man beside him. ‘Michael first heard about “The Blue Ring” from his dying mother. He contacted Blondie who put him on to me. He more or less hired me to go with him to Marseille where we screwed up and got caught by what now appears to be an arm’s-length supplier to one sector of “The Blue Ring”. Creasy pulled us out of it and, by so doing, gained a daughter. He put together this team and in due course got caught himself and lost a finger.’ He glanced at Creasy’s right hand, ‘it seems that the loss may have been worthwhile. It gave us an insight into what we are facing. Let us immediately discount or at least put into perspective the Satanism aspect of the whole affair. Of course it exists . . . I know of examples in Scandinavia. But what we learned from the priest De Sanctis indicates that the hierarchy of “The Blue Ring” use it for their own purposes rather than out of belief. It is a clever but not uncommon phenomenon. They built their powerbase during the Fascist era. They were not alone in this: Hitler and his henchmen used a similar tactic in creating myths about the SS and binding them with mystical oaths and the rest of the paraphernalia.’ He wrote a word on the yellow pad, Michael leaned across slightly and read it: ‘Paraphernalia’. Michael chuckled. The Dane gave him a narrow look and continued.
‘We can assume that there are two profit centres for “The Blue Ring”. One is the white slave trade, and the other is coercion and blackmail by enticing wealthy individuals into their cult.’ He wrote another word on his pad: ‘Motivation’. He looked around the table and said, ‘Their motivation is money and power. They go hand in hand, but with such people power is usually more important . . . In my opinion our strategy should be in some way aimed at both the power and the money,’
The Blue Ring (A Creasy novel Book 3) Page 22
