‘How?’ Michael asked.
Jens shrugged and said, ‘I’m a detective more than a strategist.’ He gestured at Creasy, ‘I leave that to the expert.’
Creasy’s eyes were narrowed in thought. He looked up at the Dane and then at the rest of them. He said, ‘We have to assume that they do not know who we are. They may suspect that somebody’s coming at them, but I think after all these years of virtual immunity they will be arrogant in their powers. We have to attack them from behind.’
‘How?’ Guido asked.
Creasy smiled.
‘We have to infiltrate “The Blue Ring”. Someone has to study Satanism in all its aspects and then . . . join them.’
There was a pregnant silence around the table.
Miller broke it by asking, ‘Who the hell is going to infiltrate that bag of snakes?’
Creasy was looking at his son.
Chapter 56
For Michael it was a totally different world.
Satta took him first to his tailor. An elderly, elegant man who surveyed Michael with an air of slight distaste. He circled him twice, examining him from head to toe. Then he spoke rapidly in Italian to Satta, who smiled and said, ‘Signor Casseli tells me that he has handled worse cases. You will need at least six suits, a dozen shirts, two dozen silk ties, ten pairs of shoes and, of course, elegant underwear for any eventuality!’
Michael smiled as Signor Casseli took his measurements. He had arrived in Rome the night before, and been met at the airport by Colonel Satta, who had explained the situation on the way to his apartment.
He only had two weeks in which to be introduced to that level of Roman society in which he might find the kind of people who would be associated with ‘The Blue Ring’; those people would be on the fringe of Roman society. Michael’s cover was that he was the illegitimate son of a fabulously wealthy Arab potentate, and could not be part of the normal family circle. He had been sent to a top school in England and was now spending six months in Italy to improve his cultural and social background before going on to Harvard University.
This cover had been arranged on the telephone between Creasy and Satta. Afterwards, Creasy had phoned Senator Jim Grainger in Denver to arrange the necessary details to protect the cover. Grainger had chuckled at the request and told Creasy to have no fears. If anyone checked Michael’s background they would discover that the name of Adnan bin Assad was indeed enrolled to start the spring semester, studying political science at Harvard University. From his own funds Jim Grainger would deposit ten million US dollars in an account for Adnan bin Assad with the Banco di Roma. The money would be transferred from a bank in the United Emirates, The manager of that bank would call the manager of the Banco di Roma and impress upon him the importance of Adnan bin Assad, and indicate that further funds would always be available for the young man.
‘It’s a fortune,’ Michael had muttered when Satta told him the amount.
The Colonel had smiled and said, ‘Not in this day and age, but impressive enough to attract the sharks. Rome is like a small village when it comes to financial matters. As you move into social circles it will quickly become known that you are an heir to a vast fortune. I will rent you a Ferrari and install you in a luxury apartment close to the Spanish Steps, complete with a cook and a butler.’ Satta had smiled. ‘The butler will be well-known to you.’
‘I don’t know any butlers,’ Michael had remarked,
‘You do now . . . It’s Rene Callard.’
‘Rene?’
Satta grinned. ‘Yes. It works very well, and is not unusual here in Rome. Rene will be more than just a butler . . . a sort of general factotum . . . butler, chauffeur and bodyguard.’
‘Bodyguard?’
‘Yes,’ Satta replied emphatically. ‘As I said, it’s quite normal here in Rome with its history of kidnappings. An extremely wealthy young man studying here would be provided with such a man. He might have the title of butler or driver, but in reality his main job is bodyguard. Rene fits the picture perfectly. First of all, he is a genuine bodyguard, who happens to be registered with an agency in Italy which supplies such people. He is a linguist with very passable Italian. He is elegant, yet discreet and, because of his background, knows how to move in social circles, mix cocktails, serve canapés and be trusted not to pinch a hostess’s bottom.’ The Colonel had sighed. ‘I could use such a man myself . . . However, there is another very important factor: because Rene is registered in Italy with an agency, he is also registered with the police. Therefore he can be licensed to carry a gun.’
‘That could be useful,’ Michael had said thoughtfully.
‘Definitely,’ Satta had agreed. ‘Now, listen carefully. You will be invited to a party and that will lead to invitations to other parties. You will meet beautiful women and invite them for dinner at the best restaurants. You will buy them expensive presents. You will indicate that you are interested in investing some of your vast wealth in the entertainments business, particularly films.’ He had glanced at Michael and smiled. ‘You will have to obviously be susceptible to feminine charms . . . which of course you are. Enjoy yourself, Michael, but never drop your guard. Always remember that you speak English with an English accent because you were schooled there. Your Arabic carries a slight Lebanese accent because your tutor in early life was from there. You must appear to drink to excess but, of course, not do so. Some of the people you meet will try to borrow money from you. Lend it to them in moderate amounts. Never ask them for an IOU. The word will quickly get around that you are a chicken ready to be plucked.’
Michael had smiled at the thought and wondered about the women he would meet.
Chapter 57
At first the interview was tense. Anwar Hussein had arrived in Tunis during the early afternoon. He took a taxi to the Hilton Hotel and had several short business meetings. At seven in the evening he was picked up by a black Mercedes and driven ten miles to a secluded villa.
He had been kept waiting half an hour which was not a good sign. Finally, he had been ushered into the presence of the supreme puppeteer and high priest of ‘The Blue Ring’.
At first glance, Gamel Houdris looked precisely like a successful and fastidious businessman. He was seated behind a wide mahogany desk inlaid with intricate patterns of ebony and mother of pearl. He was bone-thin and his dark suit hung from him as though he was a wire coathanger. Black eyes were sunk into deep hollows above prominent cheekbones. His skin was smooth and sallow and his thin hair jet-black.
He did not rise when Hussein entered the room, nor even look up. He simply waved a hand at a chair in front of the desk and carried on reading from the slim file in front of him. Hussein sat down and waited. His face was the colour of the ebony on the desk but it was sheened with a slight sweat.
At last, Gamel Houdris took a gold Cross pen from his inside jacket pocket, made several notes on the report and then looked up and studied his visitor.
‘I don’t like it,’ he said. His voice was thin and high-pitched, and carried the menace of a high velocity bullet. ‘It has been so many years since anyone enquired about our activities and suddenly from two different directions, within a space of days, we hear talk out of the Mafia and of enquiries emanating from the carabinieri.’
‘It may just have been coincidence,’ Hussein said. ‘The old man Trento knew nothing. He died under torture without saying a word, but we know he went to see the capo Grazzini two days earlier. He would not disclose the conversation. As a precaution we eliminated Grazzini, to make it look like a gang killing. If he was interested in us then that interest died with him . . . And he was the senior capo in central and north Italy.’
‘That was your first mistake,’ Houdris said flatly. ‘You should have kidnapped Grazzini and made him talk.’
Hussein shrugged nervously.
‘We considered it. But kidnapping a capo of such seniority is not easy. We concluded that to kill him was sufficient.’
Houdris leaned forward.
<
br /> ‘On such a matter I should have been informed.’
‘Of course,’ Hussein agreed, ‘and as you know we tried; but you had gone incognito for forty-eight hours. We felt we had to make a decision quickly,’
For the first time Houdris’ voice softened slightly.
‘In fact, I was in Albania,’ he said, ‘I was conducting a mass, the first for “The Blue Ring” in that country . . . but not the last.’ He smiled slightly at the memory and said, ‘Great poverty and a sudden loss of total power is a potent mixture.’
Hussein ventured a question, ‘May I ask how the orphanage is coming on?’
Houdris waved a hand and said airily, ‘Rapidly. But we must move with caution. The staff are above suspicion but the paperwork must be clear as well.’ He smiled. ‘The first inmates will start arriving within a few days. I estimate there will eventually be between forty and fifty, with a turnover of up to twenty a month. We can start milking that at the rate of two a month very shortly . . . But let us come back to the matter in hand. We need to find out who is behind the enquiries emanating from the carabinieri.’ He tapped his pen against the file. The active officer was a Major Massimo Bellu. His superior was a Colonel Mario Satta.’
Hussein nodded.
‘That’s as high as it goes, according to our informant, who you know is very senior indeed . . . so senior that he was able to cut off the enquiries immediately.’
‘That’s not the point,’ Houdris said sharply, ‘I doubt that this Colonel Satta was acting on his own. Maybe he was being used by Italian intelligence.’
Hussein shook his head. ‘I doubt it, Gamel. We also have our sources in that direction.’
Houdris said, ‘You are probably right, but who can be sure within such a corrupt organisation as Italian intelligence? It may have been from someone outside. We must find out who.’ He thought for almost a minute, studied the file again and then asked, ‘Do you think the death of this man, Boutin, in Marseille had anything to do with it?’
Again Hussein shook his head.
‘Very doubtful. Donati had a solid cut-out. Donati is very experienced.’
Thoughtfully, Houdris said, ‘It was a pity. That girl was perfect for our purposes . . . completely untraceable. Do we have any idea what happened to her?’
‘We do not,’ Hussein said sorrowfully. ‘She simply vanished.’
Houdris leant forward and pressed a button on his desk. Immediately, a door opened and a white-robed servant appeared, carrying a copper tray. He served them coffee and sweetmeats. They did not stop talking in his presence; simply because he was deaf and dumb, as were all the servants in the villa. When Houdris summoned them he pressed a button which illuminated a different coloured light, depending on the servant required.
‘We need a replacement quickly,’ Hussein remarked. ‘Our initiate is ready, and we cannot delay too long. At the moment he is fervent, but that diminishes with time,’
Houdris nodded in agreement.
‘It must be within three weeks, I will try to get one from the orphanage. But she must be young and beautiful, and I have not yet seen any of the first intake . . . If that fails we have to risk kidnapping one from the streets of Naples or further south . . . That would mean dyeing her hair blonde.’ His eyes narrowed in pleasure at the thought. He looked at the huge ebony man in front of him and murmured, ‘But a fair skin and real blonde hair is always the best,’ He took a sip of coffee and changed the subject. ‘The first priority is to find out who instigated these enquiries. I doubt if it was simply a result of Colonel Mario Satta’s personal curiosity. Perhaps we should find a way to have a little talk with the Colonel or, easier still, his assistant Major Bellu?’
Chapter 58
They were both young with elegant dresses and beautiful faces, but a close look into their eyes showed the same depth of experience, ambition and calculation. One of them was blonde and blue-eyed, the other was a brunette with green eyes. Apart from their colouring, their faces and bodies were more or less interchangeable. They watched Michael from across the wide room in the manner of carnivores inspecting their dinner,
‘Sensational!’ the blonde murmured.
‘Near perfect,’ the brunette agreed. ‘And he’s the real thing, not like the hangers-on that sneak their way into these parties. The watch is genuine Patek Philippe, the opal ring’s genuine too, and the suit is definitely from Casseli. You’re looking at a minimum of a hundred thousand dollars on the hoof-’ Although speaking Italian, such women always related wealth to dollars.
An elderly man who had been eavesdropping on their conversation moved up behind them with a smile. He was dressed in a new silk dinner jacket but his ravaged face would never match its elegance, even with the help of a dozen plastic surgeons. His thin mouth curled into a smile as he said, ‘That’s quite a catch, signorine. Giorgio tells me that he opened an account two days ago with the Banco di Roma. His initial deposit was ten million dollars.’
They turned to face him, their eyes suddenly hungry.
‘He’s a friend of Giorgio’s?’ the blonde asked.
The old man shook his head. ‘No, just a recent acquaintance.’
‘Then how does he know?’
The old man smiled again; he was enjoying himself. ‘In this town Giorgio knows everything.’
‘What else does he know?’ the brunette asked.
The old man’s information came out like a well-rehearsed litany.
‘His name is Adnan bin Assad. He is twenty-two years old, reputedly the illegitimate son of a very wealthy Arab. Apparently, his mother was from England, which is where he was educated. He is spending six months in Rome on cultural matters and to improve his Italian and perhaps make some investments. He has rented a luxury apartment near the Spanish Steps, complete with butler and cook . . . He drives a Ferrari Dino.’
Silently the two young women turned and gazed across the room. Michael was in earnest conversation with an elderly woman dripping in diamonds. She was a well-known Roman hostess who liked to sprinkle her parties of elderly roués with beautiful young people. It had been very easy for Satta to arrange an invitation through one of his mother’s legendary connections. It had also been very simple to plant the details and authenticity of Michael’s new persona. He had chosen the party well. Of some fifty guests, there was a smattering of film and television personalities, other media people, fringe aristocrats, a dress designer, a slightly suspect banker and several of the young and beautiful people.
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.
Chapter 59
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 am
azed 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.
Chapter 60
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 home convent. 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.
The Blue Ring (A Creasy novel Book 3) Page 23
