The Blue Ring (25 page)

He was
called forward again. For a moment he looked at the black altar. The
centrepiece was a black inverted cross about two metres high. Behind it stood a
huge black candle in an ebony holder. Six smaller black candles were arranged
on either side of the inverted cross: thirteen in all. In front of the cross
lay a long silver-bladed knife with a black horn handle. On the left of the
altar was the figure of a rearing, stuffed goat, its mouth pulled back to
reveal white teeth in a hideous grin. On the right side of the altar was a pure
white cockerel, tethered by its feet with black silk cord. Next to it was a
white human skull.

The
high priestess moved from the left-hand side to stand in front of the inverted
cross. She was dressed in maroon robes topped by a black cowl.

She
called his name again and the Initiate moved forward on legs that no longer
took orders from his brain. He climbed three steps and stood one step below
her. He looked up into her white-powdered face. Her lipstick was black, as were
the horns of a goat painted on to her forehead above her mascaraed eyes. She
reached forward and placed the flat of her hand on his head and intoned the
words: "Do you renounce God?"

Without
thought, he spoke. "I renounce God in any form."

She
lifted her eyes and looked at the assembled congregation, all dressed in black
gowns. Beyond them was a long table laden with food and wine. The congregation
numbering thirteen spoke in unison.

"He
renounces God."

The
high priestess withdrew her hand, turned to the altar and picked up the
silver-bladed knife. With her back to the Initiate and the congregation, she
raised it high above her head. The congregation repeated in hushed whispers,
"He renounces God."

The
high priestess moved along the altar to the cockerel, grasped it at the base of
its neck and, with a practised slash of the knife, cut off its head. She then
cut through the black bindings, laid down the knife, grasped the twitching body
and inverted it over the skull squeezing it as the blood dripped down. After a
minute she turned and flung the carcass at the congregation. There were screams
of anticipation as they scrabbled for it on their hands and knees.

The
high priestess picked up the head of the cockerel and dropped it into the
cavity of the skull together with its blood. Then with her left hand she
reached down and lifted the hem of her robe. With her right hand she picked up
the skull, held it between her straddled legs and urinated into it.

The
Initiate stood as still as a slab of granite, looking only at the inverted
cross.

The
high priestess dropped her gown and, holding the skull reverently in both
hands, moved back in front of the Initiate. She held out the skull to him. Very
slowly, he reached out his hands, took it from her, brought it to his mouth and
drank.

The
congregation whispered again. "He renounces God."

The
Initiate pulled back the cowl of his robe. It revealed a young face, no more
than thirty years old. Dark, long hair parted in the middle. The high priestess
took the skull from him and poured the remaining contents over his head. She
then placed the skull back on the altar and in one movement slipped off her
gown. She was naked.

Her
body was white and plump. Immediately, the Initiate and the rest of the
congregation also disrobed. The congregation comprised seven women and six men.
Their ages ranged from the early twenties to the late fifties.

They all
moved to the banqueting table and for the next half hour gorged themselves with
rich food and fine wine. Then the orgy began and continued until dawn.

As the
sun rose two men emerged from the remote villa, and stood looking down the
valley towards the small village five kilometres away. They could see the tower
of the church and heard the chimes as the bells rang to summon the faithful.

The men
were in their mid-fifties. They were dressed in well-cut, sober business suits.
One of the men was short, thin and sallow. The other was tall and muscular. His
face was ebony black and he was totally bald.

The
small one turned to the other and said, "It went well."

The
black man nodded. "Very well...It has taken a year to bring him to that.
He will never forget that night."

"I
agree," the first man answered. "But still, within a month he must
attend a full mass with a genuine sacrifice."

The
second man shrugged. "It will not be easy. We had a good prospective
candidate, but she was lost in that fiasco in Marseille."

"Yes,"
the first man said grimly. "Lost, together with our deposit of twenty
thousand dollars. We must have a replacement."

The
second man said, "At the moment the only ones available are from Asia or
Africa."

The
first man shook his head and said quietly but emphatically, "No! She must
be fair-skinned and younger than puberty. We must pay as much as necessary.
Perhaps we can persuade Gamel to bring forward the Albanian project. After all,
he already has the premises, and the cover is well in place."

The big
man raised his black head and looked towards the southeast and slowly nodded.
"Yes. I will visit Tunis and confer with him. It will be much easier to
find such a one in Albania, while that country is in such chaos. Also I must
report to him fully on the disquieting events that have happened in the last
few days. It has been many years since enquiries have been made."

"You
think it is serious?" the small man asked. "Do you think there may be
some connection with what happened in Marseille?"

The
tall black man shook his head. "I think it has nothing to do with
Marseille. That was probably just a gang war. But I'm not happy that we heard
of two enquiries being made from such different sources...No matter...I have
already taken action." He gestured at the villa behind them. "Our
Initiate inherited a vast fortune last year. He will part with it in time, but
only if he continues to slide ever deeper. The Goat must have its
sacrifice."

Laura
took Juliet shopping in the village of Nadur. First they went to the baker and
bought four crusty round loaves, hot out of the wood-burning oven. Juliet asked
her how to say bread in Maltese, and repeated it several times until Laura was
satisfied. Then they went to the butcher and Laura had to teach her words for
all the different kinds of meat. The usual crowd of black-clad old ladies were
in the butcher's shop, as much to have their morning gossip as to buy meat.
Laura had to explain that Juliet was newly arrived and had been adopted by Uomo
as a sister for Michael. The old ladies nodded in approval. Some of them had up
to fifteen children of their own and definitely approved of large families,
even if they were adopted. They went on to the grocer's and Juliet's lessons in
Maltese continued.

On the
way back to the car they passed a newly opened boutique, and stopped to admire
the dresses in the window. On an impulse, Laura took Juliet's hand and led her
into the shop, saying, "It's Joey and Maria's second wedding anniversary
on Saturday. It will be a big party and you can't go in those jeans."

She
bought her a bright red dress, which Juliet thought was a bit loud, but she
didn't object because of Laura's obvious enthusiasm. The owner of the boutique
thought the dress was a bit large and offered to take it in, but Laura,
practical as ever, pointed out that Juliet was rapidly putting on weight and
would soon grow into it.

Instead she bought her a wide black leather belt to keep it tight. Then, naturally,
Juliet had to have some shoes to go with it, so they went off to the shoe shop.

Michael had given his sister a hundred and fifty Maltese pounds before leaving, but
Laura would not let Juliet pay for anything.

"You always insist on doing the washing up and helping with the cleaning," she
admonished. "So this is my present for you."

Back at the farmhouse, Juliet helped her make lunch, which was always the biggest meal
of the day. First a thick vegetable soup, which Laura explained was called
Widow's Soup because, with such an abundance of vegetables in Gozo, it was both
cheap and filling. Then she made a pork casserole with lots of vegetables. She
made enough for about ten people, explaining that it kept well and you never
knew how many people might turn up for a meal. The dish was called kawlata and
happened to be one of Paul's favourites. He came in from the fields exactly at
twelve o'clock, having been working for six straight hours. Juliet watched as
he ate a huge bowl of soup followed by an even bigger bowl of kawlata. During
the meal he demolished a whole loaf of bread and drank a bottle of his own wine.

The phone rang as the table was being cleared. It was Creasy. He spoke a few words
to Laura, and then she called an excited Juliet to the phone.

He spoke to her for a long time, first assuring her that both he and Michael were well.
She asked where they were, but he only replied that they were 'somewhere in
Italy' and might be away for a few more weeks, but would try to make at
least a quick visit to Gozo. He then told her that, starting next week, she
would have to go to school.

"I don't want to go to school."

"You have to," he answered gruffly.

"I don't speak the language yet," she said petulantly. "It will take me
at least another month or more, so I would be wasting my time at school."

She heard his soft laugh.

"That's not a problem. There's a school in Kercem which is run by nuns. They teach in
English. I already spoke to Laura about it; she will arrange it."

Juliet gave Laura a baleful look. Laura smiled back at her sweetly. On the phone
Creasy said, "You'll meet children of your own age, and make friends."

"I already have friends."

"Like who?"

"Well...like Laura and Paul, and Joey and Maria...and the old fisherman Loretto who brings
Paul fish and drinks all his wine."

"You're going to school," Creasy said firmly. "I don't want a stupid daughter
and Michael doesn't want a stupid sister...When I get back I'll buy you a bicycle."

"A bicycle!" she answered excitedly.

"Don't bribe her," Laura shouted from across the room.

Meekly, Juliet said into the phone, "OK, Creasy. I'll go to school. But it has to
be a red bicycle to go with my new dress." She explained about the party
and chatted on for another few minutes. Later, helping Laura with the washing
up in the kitchen, she said wistfully, "I never had a bicycle...I don't
know how to ride one."

"I'll
teach you," Laura said with a smile, and then sternly went on, "Don't
think you can get around me like you get around Creasy and Paul. What a girl
like you needs is a strong woman around to keep her head level."

"I'm
sure you're right," Juliet answered, thinking about the red dress and the
black leather belt and the matching shoes.

The Dane had often attended strategy meetings and seminars run by the police force
in Copenhagen. It was his nature normally to keep his counsel at such meetings,
unless even a very senior officer made a stupid remark which related to his own
expertise. But Jens Jensen had never participated in the kind of meeting which
was now in progress.

First of all, he had never been to a meeting at which the food had been so
spectacular. They sat at a large oval table on the terrace of the Pensione
Splendide. The sweep of the lights of Naples was below them and the huge bay
beyond. The meal had been expertly served by a gruff old man who looked as
though he should have retired years ago. Jens looked around at the participants
and yet again had the schizophrenic feeling that, on the one hand, he was
totally out of place in such a group, and on the other, that he was somehow
part of it. He was sitting at the centre of the table. Creasy sat opposite.

On one side of Creasy was Michael and on the other side was Maxie. At the right-hand
end of the table sat Guido and on the left-hand sat Colonel Satta. The others
were Massimo Bellu, The Ghost, Frank Miller, Rene Callard, Pietro and, on Jens'
left, The Owl. With the exception of himself, Satta and Bellu, he doubted
whether a harder bunch of men had ever been grouped together. He knew that even
the young Pietro, who was Guido's semi-adopted son, had clawed his way up from
sleeping on the streets as a thirteen-year-old to being a very hard young man
of twenty-two.

The dinner was delicious. Of course they had antipasti to start, and that was
followed by pasta della frutta di mare. The main course was cernia al forno
cooked with white wine and olive oil. As contorni to the cernia, they had
patate lesse and piselli al finocchio. For dessert the old man served charlotte
di fragole.

Jens glanced again at Creasy's right hand and the bandage around the stub of the
little finger. Once again he felt goose bumps at how Creasy had lost that
finger, and once again his mind was almost numb at the reason he had done so.
He tried to put himself in the same position, trying to face down a Mafia don
while strapped helplessly to a chair. Not just face him down, but enlist him to
a cause.

The
conversation had been both light-hearted and serious. Lighthearted when he
himself had drily recounted the kidnapping of Grazzini's old mother. How she
had whacked Michael across the face with her stick. Michael had grinned
ruefully and rubbed his bruised cheekbone. He then told how the old woman had
taught him a whole new dictionary of swear words and how, when they had let her
go into the safe arms of Grazzini's maid, Maria, she had gone through the door
not cursing her abductors but calling on God to give her son some brains for a
change.

The
conversation had become serious when Michael had stated flatly that Creasy
could no longer move around Italy openly. There were other Mafia families who
bore a death grudge, and next time Creasy might not be so lucky. Jens had
expected Creasy to take umbrage, but he had taken the implied criticism in
silence, merely nodding his head and then saying, "In future I'll be more
careful."