The Blue Ring (A Creasy novel Book 3)

by A. J. Quinnell

  Apart from The Owl they were all familiar and comfortable. The Owl was the only one who had never served in a disciplined army, but he had dropped into it easily, even cracking a rare joke as they had kitted up at the safe house. Jens had just smeared black ointment on his cheeks, forehead and chin. The Dane had stood back and surveyed his friend. The Owl looked the complete combat soldier from head to toe. Grenades clipped to the webbing on his chest, a hand-gun holstered at his hip, a submachine-gun hanging from his right shoulder, and pouches full of spare magazines; a Trilux night-sight was slung around his neck. Jens had nodded in satisfaction, but The Owl had said plaintively, ‘Creasy won’t let me take my Discman and headphones.’

  It had taken the Dane a few seconds to realise he had just heard a joke.

  Under the trees they all squatted on their haunches. Creasy pointed to Maxie and then in the direction of the villa. Soundlessly, Maxie slipped away into the darkness. He had been the obvious choice to recce the villa and the grounds. For five years he had served in the elite Selous Scouts of the Rhodesian army and could glide past a rogue elephant at ten paces without a qualm. Creasy lifted the flap of his watch and checked the illuminated dial. It was ten-fifteen. They had decided to move into final position only at the last moment.

  Maxie returned at ten forty-five. He slid in between Creasy and Guido and whispered, ‘I counted seven guards: four static and three mobile. They’re all carrying SMGs. There could be more on the other side of the villa. The perimeter wall is dry-stone and about eight feet high. No wire or alarms on it. I went within two hundred metres of the villa and the chapel. No trip-wires, no dogs. People are arriving - seven of them while I was watching; three men and four women. There are no lights on between the villa and the chapel, although I noticed unlit external lamps between them and over both doors. There’s a light from inside the chapel showing through a high window. It’s a red light, but that could be caused by stained glass.’

  Creasy leaned forward and looked at Guido. He saw the Italian’s white teeth as he whispered, ‘I don’t like not knowing what’s on the other side of the villa.’

  ‘Nor me,’ Creasy answered. Again he looked at his watch.

  ‘We’ll split into our two teams and move forward in twenty minutes. We should be in position before they start moving from the villa to the chapel. That will give Maxie time to get around behind the villa and see what’s there.’ He tapped Maxie lightly on the shoulder. ‘After that come back to my position and let me know. We then have about twenty minutes to make any necessary change of plan,’

  Three kilometres away Colonel Mario Satta sat in his command vehicle in a clearing about two hundred metres off a narrow side-road. There were six other vehicles lined up alongside: three jeeps with hard tops, another car and two black armoured personnel carriers, each holding twelve men. His second-in-command, Captain Brisci, sat beside him, tapping his knee impatiently.

  ‘Why don’t we move now, Colonel?’ he asked. ‘We know that Giardini is already home and probably having dinner with his wife.’

  Satta glanced at him. Hoping yet again that he was as honest as his reputation and also as clever, he explained, ‘In such matters, Captain, I sometimes deviate from the normal. Now it’s possible that our friend Giardini has compromising papers at home. If we ring the doorbell while he’s having dinner, he or his wife or his children or anyone else in the house may have time to conceal or destroy those documents. I prefer to wait until they have all gone to bed and are fast asleep. Then we break down the doors and before he’s even properly awake we’ll be in his study.’

  ‘How will we know he’s asleep?’ the Captain asked.

  Satta sighed. Maybe the man was not so intelligent after all. ‘We have people watching the house from every direction,’ he explained. ‘They report that the only lights on are downstairs. When the lights downstairs go off and the lights upstairs go on we’ll be informed through the radio. When the lights upstairs go off we can assume that the family is about to go to sleep. Half an hour later we burst in.’

  The Captain was not so stupid. ‘What happens,’ he asked, ‘if one of the lights upstairs stays on late into the night? Maybe one of the family is an insomniac . . . reading a book or watching a porno video?’

  Satta smiled. ‘In that case we wait until two o’clock in the morning and then go in anyway.’ He glanced at his watch and then felt in his uniform pocket for the small black box that Creasy had given him. It should send out its beep within the next hour, and then Signor Giardini, his wife and family could enjoy an undisturbed night’s sleep.

  Chapter 95

  She led him by the hand. For a few steps he could feel and hear the crunch of fine gravel beneath his shoes.

  ‘Four steps,’ she said, gripping his hand tightly.

  He found the first step and the others were easy. He felt a warmth as they passed through an open door. He heard the door close behind him.

  ‘You can take it off,’ she said.

  He pulled off the black silk blindfold and blinked into the light. They were standing in the hallway of what he knew was a large villa. There was a thick carpet beneath their feet, chandeliers above and old portraits on the walls. There was an open door ahead; sounds of voices came from it.

  She took his hand again, leading him forward and saying, ‘No names will be used.’ Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘You will be surprised . . . shocked to see a genuine bishop here. He’ll conduct the mass.’

  Michael would not be surprised or shocked. That afternoon he had studied several photographs of Bishop Caprese. He would certainly recognise the black goatee beard, the bushy eyebrows and the curly black hair.

  As they walked down the corridor he noticed the door on his left. That would be the men’s dressing-room. There was a staircase on his right. He knew that it would go up to the bedroom and a further dressing-room. They entered the room ahead. There were a dozen people there with champagne glasses in their hands. They all turned to look at the arriving couple. There were seven men and five women. Some of them nodded to Gina. All of their eyes appraised Michael carefully.

  An elderly butler approached with full champagne glasses on a silver tray. They each took one. Michael sipped and openly gave back the appraisal. He was indeed surprised to notice that Bishop Caprese was wearing the purple gowns of his rank. He was taller than Michael had expected. Michael looked into his eyes and the thought crossed his mind that around midnight he would be placing a bullet between them. He could not fail to recognise the black, slightly sweating face of Anwar Hussein standing next to the other recognisable face of Jean Lucca Donati.

  The men were all dressed in sober suits; the women in long dresses or long skirts and blouses. Two of the women were in their twenties and very attractive; another two were about ten years older and also attractive. Three of them were just passing middle-age; one of those retained an obvious beauty, but the others could not be helped, even with the plentiful application of make-up. Apart from the Bishop, Hussein and Donati, Michael did not recognise any of the women or the other two men, who were middle-aged and overweight.

  He looked around him and said to Gina, ‘It’s a beautiful room, in what must be a beautiful house. Are the owners present?’

  She smiled and shook her head.

  ‘They go away for the weekends on such occasions.’

  She took his hand and led him over to the Bishop saying, ‘You just shake hands and make pleasant conversation. Ask no direct questions. In about twenty minutes we’ll change and go to the chapel.’

  He shook hands with the Bishop and again commented on the beautiful room. The Bishop nodded and pointed to a large landscape on the wall nearby.

  ‘Not a Caravaggio,’ he said with a smile, ‘but very worthy all the same, and dating back a hundred years earlier,’ The Bishop gave Gina a conspiratorial look and, dropping his voice a decibel, said, ‘What a pleasure to see you again, my dear. Your beauty adds so much to these rare occasions.’ He gestured at Michae
l. ‘And your young companion also adds lustre to our gathering.’

  Michael felt his skin creep as he recalled the description of what would normally happen after the mass; the orgy would be bisexual. He shook hands with the others. Donati’s handshake was limp, but Hussein’s grip was like a vice. Canapés were served by the butler. Michael looked about him and decided that he might well be at any boring cocktail party. He only focused on what was coming when Hussein loomed up beside him, took him by the elbow, and suggested they go and change. They all moved out of the room into the hall. The women turned left up the stairs. Gina gave him a reassuring look.

  The men moved down the corridor and went through the door on the right. It was a very large room with damask walls, and furnished with brocade-covered settees. Half a dozen long black cowled robes with tasselled belts were laid out on one of the settees. On the floor was an assortment of black sandals. Michael looked across the room and with relief saw the two doors described to him by Rene. He knew that they were both bathrooms, and that he had to get into the righthand one.

  Without ceremony Donati and Hussein started taking off their clothes. The others followed. Michael knew that he had to go into the bathroom after he had put on his robe. Donati and Hussein stripped naked. Donati had a paunch, but Hussein’s black body was rock hard. Hussein picked up one of the robes and held it up to Michael’s shoulders.

  ‘It will make a good fit,’ he said with a smile. He bunched up the hem in both hands and lifted the gown over Michael’s head. It fluttered down to the floor.

  ‘It is a good fit,’ Michael said with a smile. ‘My tailor would approve.’

  ‘Who is your tailor?’ Donati asked.

  Michael gave him a level look and answered, ‘I was told not to ask, or answer, direct questions.’

  Both Donari and Hussein nodded in approval, Michael realised that he had just passed a test. He found a pair of sandals that looked the right size, sat down and buckled them on.

  As he rose he said, ‘I must visit the bathroom . . . I don’t suppose there’s one in the chapel.’ With a smile at Hussein he remarked, ‘I must confess to being slightly nervous.’

  Hussein smiled back and gestured towards the two doors.

  A catastrophe almost happened. One of the other men who was completely naked was also heading for the doors. Michael hurried after him and said, ‘Which is which?’

  The man shrugged and said, ‘Since we’re all men either one will do.’

  Michael quickened his pace and arrived at the right-hand door. Inside was one of the largest bathrooms he had ever seen. A huge enamelled bath stood on four legs alongside one wall, an equally huge wash basin beside it. At the end was a toilet and next to it a bidet. On the right was the piece of furniture that Michael was praying he would see. A very tall white wardrobe, inlaid with a swirling, gold-leaf pattern. He wondered how Satta’s elderly mother had reached that high. Then he saw the flimsy chair standing beside it against the wall. He quickly pulled the chair out and stood on it. An ominous creak came from below his feet. He moved them to the outside of the chair, reached up his hand and felt along the top of the wardrobe. He literally sighed with relief when he felt the hard metal. He pulled down the gun and the two-inch-thick rubber bands and the small black metal box which housed the transmitter. Within ten seconds the rubber bands were around his waist, firmly holding the Colt 1911 and the transmitter in place. With another sigh Michael moved to the toilet and relieved himself.

  Chapter 96

  Creasy watched through his night-glasses; they turned the figures a dim yellow, making the procession even more obscenely evil. From their gait he could tell that the women led the way, dark and hooded. The men followed. With their cowls up he could not identify Michael, but suddenly he saw one of them at the back move an arm to the waist of his gown. Two seconds later the little black box in the canvas pouch at Creasy’s waist beeped softly twice.

  Guido was lying alongside him, also watching through his night-glasses, He gently thumped Creasy’s shoulder and whispered, ‘That brat of yours is armed and in communication.’

  Creasy grunted and whispered back, ‘My mood has improved by a thousand per cent. If we had to go in there cold, Michael would have been their first suspect. We have no idea if any of them are armed, but if so at least Michael has a fighting chance.’

  He aimed his night-glasses at the rear corner of the villa. He was looking for Maxie who had been checking out the other side of the building. He saw nothing. He turned to look at Guido and, beyond him, The Owl. They both had their glasses trained in the same direction. They were about three hundred metres away.

  ‘Do you see him?’ Creasy whispered.

  The Owl grunted back and said in his Marseille-accented French, ‘I swear on the grave of my mother that nobody’s come round that corner for the last ten minutes.’

  Guido’s voice held a trace of anxiety. ‘I hope Maxie didn’t walk into something unexpected,’

  Creasy was about to say some reassuring words when a dull thud sounded beside him. It was Maxie, down on his stomach and breathing just a little heavily.

  He said, ‘Just one static guard, asleep on a stool in the doorway of the garage. I could have cut his throat.’

  The Owl inched forward on his elbows and whispered across Guido and Creasy, ‘Which way did you come back, Maxie?’

  ‘The same way I went in,’ Maxie answered. ‘Around that corner.’

  ‘Bullshit!’ the Frenchman whispered. ‘I had my glasses on that corner all the time. I never saw you go in and I never saw you come out.’

  Creasy heard Maxie chuckle and then whisper to The Owl, ‘Listen, pussy-cat, I could have come back here and taken off your trousers without you feeling a thing.’

  ‘Enough,’ Creasy whispered. ‘That guard will be wide awake as soon as the first shot’s fired. How will you cover him?’

  Maxie chuckled again, ‘I won’t have to. I left him the old wake-up call.’

  Creasy and Guido laughed softly. The Owl did not understand,

  Guido explained, ‘Maxie rigged up a frag. grenade. I guess about two feet in front of the guy. He would have pulled out the pin, let the lever click twice and tied it down with a string and a slip knot, and then looped the string round the guy’s leg. When the bastard wakes up, and stands up, the slip knot unravels, the lever clicks one more time and we have one less guard to worry about.’

  The Frenchman had only one word in his vocabulary. ‘Merde!’

  ‘He won’t have time for that,’ Creasy said. He was watching the chapel through his glasses. The congregation had all gone inside. He turned to Maxie. ‘Time to get back to your team. We know there’s a back door to the chapel, leading into an ante-room. When we hit the place that back door has to be covered.’

  ‘Rene will cover it,’ Maxie said. ‘Frank and myself will be stalking the mobile guards. The static guards are exactly that. There’ll be so much confusion they’ll remain static for at least ten seconds. We’ll have time to get back to them.’

  Creasy reassessed the deployment of his men. He stretched forward and said to The Owl, ‘Go with Maxie.’ He turned back to Maxie. ‘Have him in a position to take out two of the statics; then it’s a one on one situation for you and Frank. Guido and I will hit the chapel.’

  Guido said, ‘That means there’s no one up here covering their backs.’

  Before Creasy could answer Maxie intervened. ‘There’s no need,’ he said. ‘I’ve done a complete perimeter of the grounds. There’s no one going to be shooting at us from behind . . . not unless any of those guards get loose, and that’s not likely.’

  Guido nodded and studied the chapel again through his glasses. He turned to Creasy and whispered, ‘It looks good . . . So now we wait for Michael.’

  ‘We do,’ Creasy answered. ‘I guess it takes about twenty minutes.’ Maxie slid away behind them, tapped The Owl on the shoulder and whispered, ‘Follow me real close . . . I don’t want to lose you.’

&nbs
p; Chapter 97

  Gina Forelli glanced across the aisle at Michael’s face. Light and shadow flickered across it from the candlelight. It was as though his face had been cast from iron. She assumed his rigidity came from fear or shock. She was wrong. His face was cast from a white-hot rage. He was looking at the centrepiece of the mass, an altar covered with a black silk cloth. On it lay the body of a supine child. Her long blonde hair had been beautifully braided to curl back over her ears. Her eyes were closed. Her perfectly shaped white body was strapped to the altar by black silk cords from her wrists and ankles.

  At first he thought that he was looking at a corpse, but then he saw her small breasts rising and falling gently to the rhythm of her breath. Close to her head was an upright, golden knife with its tip impaled into a black block of cork. Long, flickering black candles were arranged in a semi-circle behind her. Bishop Caprese was standing on the far side of the altar. He had discarded his purple gown for a black robe. Above his beard, his mouth was set in a straight rigid line. Above his head, hanging from an unseen thread, was an inverted, black cross. On each side of the altar stood a black-gowned man and woman, whom Michael had not seen in the villa. He assumed that they were the spurious foster parents. On his knees in front of the altar was the Initiate.

  Michael glanced around him and realised the skill of the organisation. The mood had been perfectly created. From hidden loudspeakers high up on the walls a Gregorian chant floated down, deep and rhythmic and hypnotic. There was incense in the air, no doubt wafted through the chapel from hidden fans. No film director could have surpassed the mood of that moment.

  The thin line of the Bishop’s mouth moved. In a strong baritone voice, he recited the Lord’s Prayer backwards. The congregation chanted in unison.