‘Just another orgy?’ Rene asked.
Michael shook his head. ‘That’s what I asked her . . . she said, “No, it will be more than that”.’ Michael noticed the flicker of concern on Rene’s face. ‘I’ll be fine. And there’s no other way, except to take a few risks.’
‘Any idea where the party’s going to be?’ Rene asked.
Michael shook his head. ‘No, but she told me it’s only half an hour’s drive from here, so I guess it’s on the outskirts of the city. Don’t worry, Rene. So far I’m above suspicion. The real danger will come later,’
Chapter 62
Creasy eased his left leg and winced slightly in the darkness. Definitely the first twinges of arthritis. He cursed silently. He had never bothered about the years creeping along, but lately he had begun to feel his bones, especially when he had to sit totally still in the open for hours on end. He had been sitting on this knoll for the last four hours, watching the villa about a kilometre below him.
Guido had obtained high grade aerial photographs of the location, and when he had arrived, Creasy knew that there was a high steel-mesh fence surrounding the villa at a radius of about eight hundred metres. He had pulled a Trilux night-sight from one of the voluminous pockets of his black leather jacket, and quickly picked out the high steel poles of the fence. He assumed that it was connected to a sophisticated alarm system and would probably be electrified. He decided that Anwar Hussein had skimped on the cost of that fence. He should have run it up and behind the knoll. From where he sat, Creasy had a good view of the entrance to the villa. At his position, any half-decent sniper could pick off anyone going in or coming out.
By the time he had arrived there were two cars parked near the entrance. Four more arrived during the next half hour. In all, they disgorged six men and four women. As they passed under the light above the entrance, Creasy noted that they were all dressed formally. It must be a dinner party; Italian society preferred to dine late.
The villa itself was a white two-storeyed building with a red tiled roof. The only lights showing were on the ground floor. He faintly heard the sound of classical music. They were probably dining on the open terrace on the far side of the villa. There was no way he could get around the other side to catch a decent view. The night was cool and he felt the twinge in his left leg again.
He wondered what Michael was doing. The last message had been a phone call from Rene that morning. He had simply said that Michael was progressing and to expect results within a few days. Creasy felt his impatience mounting. He did not like taking a subsidiary part while Michael was in the forefront. He clamped down on his impatience. There had been no other way. Michael was the logical choice to infiltrate ‘The Blue Ring’. Creasy tried to picture what he was doing at that moment, and a twinge of envy pushed away all shreds of impatience. He guessed that at this time of night Michael was probably with some beautiful young Roman socialite, either in bed with her or heading that way. Ruefully Creasy tried to remember how long it was since he had been with a woman. He decided that it had been too long.
In Milan Maxie MacDonald and Frank Miller were engaged in the same kind of work. They were sitting near the window of an apartment on a corner of a side-street off the Corso Buenos Aires, watching Donati’s apartment on the fourth floor of a building two hundred metres away. They sat behind two tripods; Maxie’s held a pair of powerful binoculars and Frank’s a Nikon camera with a telephoto tens.
The building they watched was small and old, containing only six luxury apartments. For the past two hours Frank had been photographing everybody who went in and came out. So far there had been only four. The work was boring but they were used to it, both having served their time as bodyguards and in military intelligence.
Frank burped and glanced apologetically at Maxie, who grinned. That evening Maxie had made a huge pot of spaghetti al vongole. They both reeked of garlic.
A long black limousine pulled up at the entrance of the apartment building. A uniformed chauffeur emerged and opened the rear door. Maxie refocused the binoculars and watched the tall, grey-haired man in a dark overcoat move towards the door. He heard the hum and the clicks of the Nikon’s motor-drive.
Frank burped again and said, ‘It must have been the Chianti.’
Creasy watched the first of the guests emerge from the villa. The distance was too great and the light not strong enough to distinguish their features, but he saw that they all shook hands with the tall, bald-headed black man, who must be the host, Hussein. After the second car had left, Creasy decided to follow the third. He slipped back down the knoll through the underbrush to the rented black Fiat which was tucked away in the trees off a side-road.
Ten minutes later he saw the lights of the car sweep by. It was a pale blue Lancia. He waited a few seconds, pulled out after it and followed it the fifteen kilometres into Naples. The Lancia pulled up outside a mansion on the Via San Marco. The gates of the mansion rolled open and the car drove in. Creasy drove slowly past the mansion and made a mental note of the registration number and the address.
It was after three o’clock in the morning when he got back to the Pensione Splendide. They were all still up playing poker. No one looked up as he approached. They were engrossed in their cards and there was a big pile of notes in the pot. Slowly Creasy walked around the table, looking at the hands. Jens had a pair of queens and a pair of tens; Pietro held a full house, jacks on eights; The Owl had a hearts flush; Guido held a running flush in spades.
First Jens folded with an incomprehensible curse in Danish. Pietro held on for two more rounds and then tossed in his cards. The Owl and Guido looked at each other. In an irreverent moment Creasy thought that Guido looked like a pussy-cat. Finally The Owl called him and with an apologetic smile Guido laid his cards on the table. The Owl swore in French as Guido raked in the pot.
He looked up at Creasy, smiled and said, ‘You guys can stay as long as you like. I’m making more money than looking after a bunch of tourists . . . and the work’s easier.’
Creasy grinned and dropped a slip of paper in front of him,
‘That’s the registration number of a blue Lancia and the number of a large house in the Via San Marco. Can you check them out in the morning?’
Guido picked up the paper, looked at it and nodded, then gestured at the table and said, ‘Do you want to sit in?’
Creasy grinned and shook his head,
‘I’d rather jump into a furnace,’
Chapter 63
Juliet was subdued over dinner. Laura noticed that she did not eat with her usual, single-minded concentration. Since she had first arrived, the child had eaten as though it was a duty and a mission, and indeed she had filled out and grown remarkably quickly.
It was a Saturday night and Joey and Maria had come for dinner. At first Juliet had been light-hearted and relaxed, but during the early evening they had talked a lot about Guido and the many times he had visited Gozo both before and after Julia’s death. Every year he had sent money, explaining that it was just a device to reduce his taxes in Italy. But they had known differently. They were by no means poor people, but they lived simple lives. They had used the money to build a guest wing onto the farmhouse and Guido used to stay there on his yearly holidays. Creasy had also stayed there on the two occasions he had come to Gozo to recover from his wounds. It was where Juliet now stayed. They had also talked about the Pensione Splendide in Naples which Guido had run with Julia and which he now ran with Pietro. Juliet knew that the pensione was now Creasy and Michael’s base. Because of the girl’s mood, Laura soon changed the subject.
After dinner the girl helped her wash up, and then said that she had a headache and asked to be excused. She kissed them all goodnight, went up to the guest suite and sat on the wide bed. It was a beautiful room, made from ancient stones and constructed in the old manner with high arches. She thought of Creasy in that room, and suddenly she could see his face vividly. The clipped, grey hair, the mahogany cheeks and the scars.
Quietly she started to cry. She stopped as soon as she heard the soft tap on the door and Laura’s voice calling her name. Wiping an arm across her face, she called, ‘Come in.’
Laura opened the door and looked at her. Then she crossed the room and sat down beside her, putting an arm around her,
‘I know you miss them,’ she said. ‘We should have thought about that and not talked so much.’
Juliet shook her head.
‘No . . . it’s all right. It’s not so much that I miss them. Well of course I do . . . but I know what they’re doing, and I worry. It’s not so bad at school because I have to concentrate; but later I think about it . . . perhaps too much.’
‘It’s natural,’ Laura said in a matter of fact voice. ‘Of course you miss them. But you must not worry too much, Juliet. They are survivors, those two . . . believe me. Is there anything we can do? Maybe we should be more active. Tomorrow’s Sunday, and Joey’s going fishing with some friends for Lampuki. Would you like to go with them?’
Juliet shook her head and then smiled.
‘No . . . I know they would take me, but I also know they don’t like to take girls fishing. They think it brings bad luck.’
Laura nodded. ‘Yes, it’s true. We are blessed with a bunch of very superstitious men on this island. Is there something else you’d like to do?’
‘Yes. Do you think I could go up to the house for the day? I could swim in the pool, and perhaps take a picnic.’
‘You want to be there alone?’
‘Yes. Do you mind?’
Laura smiled. ‘Of course not. I understand. Paul will drive you up after mass, and I’ll pick you up in the evening.’
It was just after ten in the morning when Juliet turned the large key in the huge garden gate. She waved to Paul who waved back and drove away.
She walked across the patio to the pool and stood looking down at it for a moment. Then she raised her eyes and looked out across the vista of rolling hills, villages and the sea and islands beyond. She felt immediately at peace.
She went to the kitchen and put her cold lunch into the fridge and changed into her swimsuit. It was a warm autumn day. She swam twenty lengths of the pool, then dried herself, pulled a book from her bag and lay on a lounger in the sun. For the next hour she studied the book which contained lessons in Maltese. Afterwards she remembered something and went into Michael’s bedroom. Next to his bed was a portable Sony cassette player and a selection of tapes. She flicked through them and picked out some disco music.
Ten minutes later the music was echoing around the pool area, and she was dancing under the trellis. Michael had promised that when he came back he would take her down to the disco and dance with her. She was determined not to let him down. She danced for about an hour, changing the music and trying out new steps. Then she went into the kitchen and brought out her lunch and unpacked it on the table. Laura had prepared it and there was enough for three strong, grown men. Slabs of smoked ham, a portion of Lampuki pie, boiled eggs, local sausage, a cold potato salad, tomatoes, cucumber and, of course, a loaf of crusty bread.
On an impulse she jumped up and went into the cave. After her ordeal there, Michael had restocked it with Creasy’s large collection of wine. He had explained the different types to her, pointing out the labels of the particularly good ones. She searched down the rows until she found it: a bottle of Margaux. Before she closed the door to the cave she stood there, looking and remembering. A great welling of love for Michael went through her. She found a corkscrew in the kitchen and a long-stemmed glass, and carried them out to the table under the trellis. An hour later she was very full of food and slightly dizzy. She noticed that the bottle was half-empty and giggled to herself.
She spent the next hour prowling around the old house. First she went up the stairs to Creasy’s study. She marvelled at the rows and rows of books, and pulled a few down to look at them, some old, some new, novels, reference books and many biographies and autobiographies. She wondered if he had read them all. There were cupboards full of magazines and drawers full of highly-detailed maps. In a small annex there was an IBM computer and a fax machine and several padlocked metal filing cabinets. Then she wandered through the lounge with its great stone fireplace, comfortable chairs and old mahogany bar in the corner. She went back into Michael’s bedroom and smiled at all the posters on the walls, mostly of rock groups and a few semi-erotic women. Finally she ended up in Creasy’s bedroom. There were two large windows; one looked out along the ridge towards Zebbug, and the other had a small balcony outside and a view of the rest of Gozo. She was feeling very light-headed. She turned and looked at the bed again and the wall behind it. Her eyes rose to the top right-hand corner of one of the great slabs of stone that made up the thick wall. She remembered.
She walked around the bed to the stone and pushed the heel of her hand against the top right-hand corner. Silently it swung open to reveal the gun-metal grey of the door of the safe. She closed her eyes in thought and remembered again. She reached up and dialled the numbers; 83 . . . 02 . . . 91. From the middle shelf she pulled down several files. She knew that they contained details of many people, some friends, some enemies. For the next two hours she sat on the bed, reading through them; then she replaced them. She sat thinking and then made her decision. Beneath the bottom shelf was a metal drawer. She pulled it out and looked inside and saw the tightly wrapped bundles of notes. She counted out five million Italian lire and two thousand US dollars. She then located the envelope which contained her new passport and extracted it. She closed the safe, repositioned the stone, went to the kitchen and found the telephone directory.
Laura arrived just after six o’clock. She opened the gate and found the girl asleep on the lounger by the pool. She was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, her bag beside her. For a long while she stood, looking down at the girl. Her face was completely at rest. Laura called out her name and saw her eyes open and the sudden panic in them; but as soon as the girl recognised her she smiled.
‘Did you have a good day?’ Laura asked,
‘Wonderful,’ Juliet answered with a smile. ‘Can I do it again?’
‘Of course.’
Chapter 64
Colonel Satta shuffled through the 8 x 10 photographs. He was sitting with Maxie MacDonald and Frank Miller in a discreet banquette of an elegant restaurant in Milan. He came to the last photograph, stiffened and then swore quietly. He swore for about half a minute while he looked at the photograph,
‘Who is he?’ Maxie asked.
Bitterly Satta answered, ‘General Emilio Gandolfo . . . May he roast in hell.’ Maxie and Frank waited patiently while the Italian distastefully perused the photograph again. Then he explained. ‘Gandolfo is one of my superiors in the carabinieri. Like others of his rank, he has Fascist antecedents. He was the man who ordered me to stop the investigation into Jean Lucca Donati and Anwar Hussein.’
Frank leaned forward and said, ‘It’s not definite that he went to Donati’s apartment. There are five others in that building,’
Sarta shrugged and smiled wryly.
‘If I were a betting man, and I am, I would lay a thousand to one that he went to Donati’s apartment.’
‘Does he have much power?’ Maxie asked.
Satta’s face turned grim.
‘Unfortunately, yes. He is powerfully connected, politically, socially, and within the military and intelligence.’
Frank had been making notes on a pad. He ripped off the page, stood up and said, ‘I’ll go to a phone box and pass this on to Jens.’
‘What do you want to eat?’ Maxie asked. ‘I’ll order for you.’
‘Ah, just a plate of spaghetti,’ the Australian answered, ‘Just bung a little brown sauce on top.’
Satta rolled his eyes and Maxie chuckled.
Guido got back to the pensione just after six in the evening. He found Creasy, Jens and The Owl in the small bar, drinking negronis. Pierro was behind the bar. Guido nodded and received his usual glas
s of Chivas Regal and soda. He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and slid it in front of Creasy saying, ‘That’s the owner of the light blue Lancia and the house on Via San Marco.’
Creasy looked down and read the name ‘Franco Delors.’
‘What do you know about him?’ Creasy asked.
‘Personally, nothing,’ Guido answered. ‘But as you know I have friends in the police here, and connections into the Mafia. Franco Delors is an interesting character. Born of an Italian mother and a French father. He settled in Naples about twelve years ago. Shortly afterwards he was indicted for his part in a paedophile ring. Somehow he got off with a suspended sentence. Thereafter, according to my sources, he turned to God and took up good works. His record had been squeaky clean ever since, and he is considered a paragon of virtue. He sits on the board of several charities and is much involved in helping to settle the influx of refugees coming into Italy from the turmoil in Eastern Europe . . . particularly Albania.’
‘Anything else?’ Creasy asked.
Guido shook his head.
‘I’m still digging, and something may come in later.’
Jens reached forward, picked up the slip of paper and moved to the door, saying, ‘I’ll put this onto the computer, together with the information we got from Frank on General Gandolfo.’ As he reached the door Guido’s voice stopped him.
‘Oh, there was one other thing. Apparently one of the charitable organisations that Delors heads up has recently opened an office in Bari to help find homes for Albanian orphans.’
‘Bari?’ Jens asked.
‘Yes,’ Guido answered, it’s the closest Italian port to Albania Apparently he spends much time there.’
Chapter 65
Some people live inside and enjoy their own minds. They are content within a structured mental environment, and uncomfortable outside of that structure. Such people usually have physical or mental drawbacks; sometimes real and sometimes imagined.
The Blue Ring (A Creasy novel Book 3) Page 25
