The Blue Ring (19 page)

Before
Michael could open his mouth in defence, Juliet leaned towards Laura and said
very seriously, "It was better that Michael did it alone. He knew what to
expect and was prepared for it...besides by the time it started I knew him, and
I trusted him, and I felt no shame. You cannot imagine how much shame I would
have felt if there had been any strangers there to see me at that time."
Her voice dropped and she looked down at her plate. "I know that I almost
died several times...if anybody but Michael had been there I think I would have
died." She looked up straight into Laura's eyes. "I know that for
sure."

Slowly,
Laura nodded her head in understanding.

"Perhaps
you are right. We cannot imagine what you went through, but if anything like
that ever happens again and there is no Michael or Creasy, then you must come
to us."

Juliet
smiled and nodded.

"I
will." She gestured at the steaming pot of lamb. "Especially with
such food."

In
answer, Laura ladled more from the pot onto the girl's plate, despite her
protests.

"How
will you explain her?" Paul asked Michael.

The
young man shrugged. "It will have to remain a mystery for most people. We
have adoption papers dated two years ago from Belgium. We also have a Maltese
passport."

"Forgeries,
I suppose," Joey said.

Again,
Michael shrugged. "No one except an expert would know."

Then
Maria, who worked as a clerk in the Malta police force, said, "It's taken
a long time, but over the past few months all immigration records, passports,
ID cards etc have been computerised. If she passes through immigration coming
in or going out of the country her passport number will not show on the
computer and questions will be asked."

Michael
smiled. "I am sure that before Creasy left Marseille he would have sent a
letter to George Zammit."

Juliet
was looking puzzled.

"George
is my nephew," Paul explained, "and a very senior policeman, who also
happens to have immigration within his departments. Creasy has done him some
favours in the past." He glanced at his daughter-in-law and asked,
"Do you have access to the immigration software?"

"Yes.
First thing in the morning I'll check out if a certain Juliet Creasy holds a
Maltese passport."

Juliet
still looked puzzled.

"How
can you do all this? I mean, it sounds like something in the Mafia!"

They
all laughed and Joey said, "We don't have the Mafia here."

"That's
true," Laura said seriously and Juliet saw the twinkle in her eye.
"In fact, they come down here occasionally...but only to learn."

When
Maria started to clear away the plates from the table, Juliet immediately stood
up to help.

Very
sternly, Laura told her to sit down. "Guests don't help here," she
said.

Juliet
did not sit down. Equally sternly, she said, "I'm not a guest...I'm
family."

They
liked her.

"You
want to go, don't you?"

Nicole
spoke with a wry smile. Maxie glanced at her and shrugged.

"It's
only natural, Nicole. When you've got good friends, and when you've been doing
that kind of work most of your life, it's only natural." He punched her
lightly on the shoulder. "But don't worry, I made you that promise two
years ago and I'm going to keep it. You know I'm happy. Sure, I get restless
feet once in a while, but not enough to make me want to lose what I've got here
with you."

It was
after midnight and they were standing behind the bar of the bistro. Maxie was
polishing glasses. Nicole had her elbows on the bar. A glass of Armagnac was in
front of her. She picked it up and took a reflective sip, looking again at the
last three customers. They were sitting at a table in the far corner; three men
talking in low voices. She knew Creasy, of course, and owed her present
happiness to him. She had also met Frank Miller, an Australian ex-mercenary who
had worked with Creasy in Africa and Asia. He looked like the antithesis of a
mercenary. He was in his mid-forties, completely bald with a big body and a
small head; his face was slightly cherubic. She had met Maxie and Miller at the
same time, on Maxie's last job, when the two of them had been spectacularly
successful in protecting a prominent American senator from a Mafia kidnap gang.
Creasy had hired them for that job. She had also met the other man very briefly
on the same job. His name was Rene Callard, an ex-legionnaire and mercenary who
had also worked with Creasy for many years.

He
looked more like a mercenary: tall and lean with a tanned, lined, scarred face.
But he had a ready smile which took away his air of menace. She turned to look
at Maxie again. He was watching the three men through lowered eyes. He felt her
gaze on him and quickly picked up another glass and polished it thoroughly.

She
smiled and ruffled his hair and asked, "Were you...are you as tough as
them?"

He
smiled a little sheepishly.

"I
guess so. Well, at least as tough as Frank and Rene. I wouldn't rate myself alongside
Creasy."

Curiously,
she asked, "Would you rate anyone alongside him?"

He
thought only for a moment and then answered, "Yes, his best friend, Guido
Arellio. You've heard us talk about him. He also promised his wife that
he'd never fight or kill again from the day they married."

She
nodded thoughtfully. "You told me about it....but there is a difference.
She died about seven years ago, didn't she?"

"Yes,
about then."

"In
that case," Nicole said, "under the same circumstances, she could not
let him break his promise. I can let you break yours." He started to say
something but she touched his arm, and very quietly said, "Listen, Maxie.
I was a whore when I met you. You knew that and you didn't care. You showed me
more love in the first few days than I had known all my life. It was that love
that cleansed all the sin I had in me. When I went to your bed I felt like a
virgin. You took in my sister and treated her like your own. I love you now as
much or more than during those first days in Florida." She smiled at the
memory, and then her face turned serious as she went on. "I think I'm an
intelligent woman. I want to keep that love and if it means risking seeing you
back in that world then I will take the risk." She gestured at the table
and said firmly, "Now go and sit with your friends. You're dying of
curiosity." She smiled. "And so am I. I'll bring over coffee and
Cognacs in a few minutes."

The
three men looked up as Maxie hooked a chair over and sat down.

He
said, "Nicole sent me over. I'm released from my promise, so whatever it
is, I'm available if you need me."

Creasy
turned and looked at Nicole behind the bar. He saw her almost imperceptible
nod. Then she moved towards the kitchen. She brought coffees and Cognacs on a
tray and put it on the table.

Creasy
thanked her and said, "Why don't you join us, Nicole, and near what it's
all about?"

She
looked at Frank and Rene; they both nodded. She went to the bar to collect her
Armagnac, and Creasy pulled up a chair. Half an hour later she turned to Maxie
and said in a tight voice, "I don't just release you from your promise. If
you don't help them find and kill those bastards I won't sleep easy. I was
lucky. I only ever worked for Blondie, and you know how well she treated me and
all her girls. But I've seen the result of what those bastards do. They're not
fit to live."

Maxie
shrugged and looked at Creasy. "I guess I have no choice now."

Rene
grinned and said, "It will be like old times. I've spent the last six
months playing nanny to a Swedish industrialist...about as interesting as
watching paint dry. If he ever gets kidnapped whoever does it will send him
home within a couple of days. Hell! They'll even pay his family to come and
pick him up!"

They
all laughed and then Creasy said soberly to Nicole, "Thanks. We all feel
better having Maxie along. We always did make a good team."

"Who
else is in the team?" she asked.

"Blondie,
of course," he answered. "She'll handle communications up here. Guido
will do the same in Naples, but I won't get him directly involved." He
thought for a moment and said, "Then there's a Danish policeman called
Jens Jensen. He was involved at the very beginning and is desperately keen to
keep that involvement."

"Is
he good?" Maxie asked.

Creasy
shrugged. "He's intelligent and experienced, tough and streetwise, a bit
above average...but not in our league."

"How
many are there in your league...in the whole world, I mean?" Nicole asked
with a slight smile.

The
American answered. "On our side of the fence, maybe less than fifty. On
the other side, a few hundred."

The
others nodded in thoughtful agreement and then Rene asked Creasy, "Might
this Dane be something of a liability? Is one of us going to have to watch his
back?"

Creasy
drained the last of his coffee and shook his head.

"No.
There's a Frenchman who watches his back. He was a bodyguard to Leclerc in
Marseille. You all know about Leclerc."

"Then
he's good," Maxie remarked. "Leclerc doesn't hire bums. How will you
use the Dane?"

"As
a tangent," Creasy answered. "After all, he is a cop who works in the
Danish Missing Persons Bureau; he can open doors. He's also motivated and has
at least another month of unpaid leave. I can get that extended if
necessary."

"What
about Michael?" Maxie asked.

Creasy
thought for a moment and then said, "I told you about the girl, Juliet. I
spoke to Michael a few hours ago on the phone. She's making a good recovery,
both physically and mentally."

Nicole
was looking at him curiously. Only she noticed that his voice had softened as
he talked about the girl.

Creasy
went on. "In a week or so she can go to stay with friends and Michael will
join us. By that time we should know whether Satta and his sidekick Bellu have
got more information on this guy Jean Lucca Donati." He looked at his
watch. "I'm catching the three a.m. flight back to Milan. I have a meeting
with Satta at ten o'clock in the morning." He gestured at Frank and Rene.
"I'd like you guys to base yourself at Guido's pensione, starting
from the day after tomorrow. Leclerc's sending some machinery to Guido.
Hand-guns, grenades and SMGs. He's also sending a similar package to
Milan." He gestured at Maxie. "I'll phone you tomorrow night.
Depending on what information I get from Satta, I'll need you in either Milan
or Naples."

"What
about the Dane?" Maxie asked.

"He's
flying down to Milan tomorrow, and The Owl is coming in from Marseille. They'll
meet me at my hotel there." He pushed back his chair and stood up. They
all did the same, and Nicole watched as they went through the ritual that never
ceased to intrigue her when such men greeted each other or made their
farewells. One by one, they put their left hands behind the other's neck and
kissed them hard on the right cheek, very close to the mouth.

They
swam twenty-five lengths of the pool. Michael kept his pace down so as to swim
alongside her. When they stopped she was gasping for breath, but she got the
words out. "I can do another ten lengths."

He pulled
himself out of the pool, reached for his towel and grinned down at her.

"Do
another five but no more."

He
towelled himself dry, watching her thin shape slide through the water. She was
wearing a bright red one-piece swimsuit they had bought the day before, during
a great shopping spree in Rabat. It was an hour after dawn. They had taken up a
routine of rising early and going to bed early. After breakfast they would take
the jeep and he would show her more of the island. Then they would have a big lunch
at the Oleander in Xaghra. She liked the local dishes and she liked Mario, the
owner, who treated her as a grown-up rather than a child. After lunch they
would swim again, but this time in the sea, from the rocks at Qala Point. They
would sunbathe for an hour or two. She always took a notebook with her and he
would teach her Maltese. It had only been a few days, but he knew that within a
matter of weeks she would be able to communicate in the language.

"If
my passport says I'm Maltese," she had said, 'then I'm going to speak the
language."

"Your
passport says you are Maltese," he had answered. "But don't ever
forget that you're a Gozitan."

"Is
there a difference?"

"There
is. The Maltese think that Gozitans are the peasants of the islands, but we
have a saying over here: it only takes one Gozitan to put three Maltese in his
pocket."

She had
laughed and said, "Then I'm definitely a Gozitan!"

She
finished her last length and collapsed, gasping, over the edge of the pool.

He
reached a hand down and pulled her up and asked, "What do you want for
breakfast?"

Her
small chest was heaving, but her eyes lit up at the thought of food.
"Scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages, mushrooms and grilled tomatoes...oh, and
lots of toast...and fresh orange juice."

He
walked to the kitchen shaking his head and heard her call out behind him.

"I'll
make dinner!"

She
came into the kitchen ten minutes later. She was wearing denim shorts and a
white 'Smugglers Cave' T-shirt. Another restaurant that she liked,
especially for its pizzas. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and her
face was taking on a tan. She wrinkled her nose in anticipation.

He
turned back to the stove and said over his shoulder, "In about a week I
want you to go and stay with Laura and Paul."

"Why?"

"I'll
be leaving."

"Where
are you going?"