The Blue Ring (28 page)

Grazzini
sniffed at the glass.

"Very
old Cognac," she said. "A dying old capo left me a dozen cases."
She smiled. "He did not know that the bullet he was dying from was fired
by my husband."

Grazzini
lifted the glass and said, "I drink to the memory of your husband...a
great man." He took a sip and savoured the silky taste, then tried to
redirect the conversation. "Do you know anything of 'The
Blue Ring', Signora?"

"Very
little," she answered. "Rumours first started in the early thirties
when the Fascists were coming to power."

"What
rumours, Signora?"

"Rumours
that there was a connection with the Fascists. It was when Mussolini was trying
to crush Cosa Nostra. My father was in prison twice...for nothing, you
understand."

"I
have heard about it. What about 'The Blue Ring'?"

"My
father told me that they supplied drugs and women to the Fascists...to the top
Fascists...even to Mussolini himself. He liked women, that old goat. You have
to understand, Signor, that when the Fascists made war on the Cosa Nostra they
had no one to supply them with drugs and women."

Grazzini
leaned forward. "How do you know this?"

"My
father told me. When he came out of prison the second time he only lived for a
few months. He died of poison."

"Are
you sure? I heard he died of a heart attack."

"He
died of poison," she said firmly. "He died slowly from poison they
gave him in prison...poison that I am told was supplied by 'The Blue
Ring'."

Grazzini
sat back in his uncomfortable chair, looking at the old woman from between his
knees. "Did your husband know about this?" he asked.

She
nodded. "I made the mistake of telling him. At first he thought it was
just a woman's suspicion. But he started to make enquiries about 'The Blue
Ring'."

A long
silence and then Grazzini said, "And he died of cancer."

"Yes,"
she said. "Six months later."

"Do
you think they had anything to do with it? The old one does."

She
shrugged again. "I believe in poison. I know nothing about cancer."

Grazzini
pulled himself more upright. His knees were beginning to ache. He glanced at
his watch. "How would I find out more about this 'Blue Ring', if
it still exists?"

"You
would ask a priest."

He
almost spilled the last of the Cognac from his glass.

"A
priest!"

She
smiled again; thin and mean.

"Yes,
a priest. But a special one. Do you not have good connections with the Vatican?
It was always so during the time of my father and my husband and my son."

Now
Grazzini smiled, also without mirth.

"Yes,
of course. We maintain very good connections...especially on the financial
side. It is very necessary."

She
nodded in approval.

"Then
use those good connections to arrange a talk with a priest who devotes his time
to Satanism."

"What
would a priest know about Satanism?"

She
laughed. "Everything. Don't you think that the most important thing in any
conflict is to know your enemy?"

"Will
you teach me what you taught Michael?"

Creasy
turned to look at her. He had been dreading the question, knowing that it was
coming. They were walking along the cliffs of Ta Cenc. It was late morning and
a warm breeze was blowing from North Africa. "It's a different
situation," he said.

"Why?"

"In
the first place, you're a girl."

"And
in the second place?"

He
sighed. "Listen, Juliet, I adopted Michael for a purpose. You know all
about it."

"Yes,"
she stated. "I know all about it. And when you adopted him you never
thought you would come to love him like a son or that he would love you like a
father."

"That's
true," he admitted. "But that's the way it worked out."

They
walked on several paces and then her voice hit him between the eyes. "You
adopted me because of the guilt you felt for all those dead and dying children,
which you did nothing about."

He
stopped and turned to look at her on the dusty path. His voice was angry.
"I could do nothing about them."

She had
stopped a few paces ahead.

"I
know, but that doesn't mean you didn't feel guilty. Creasy, last night you told
me always to be honest with you and that you would always be honest to me. You
also told me to be the same with Michael. I'm trying to be honest. I woke up
this morning knowing I had a father and a brother, but not knowing how to be a
daughter or a sister."

"I
don't understand."

She
flung a hand out to embrace the island.

"I
have a home...a beautiful home...I feel safe. Yes, I am going to go to school
on Monday and study hard and learn the language and be obedient. I'll grow up
to be a woman you and Michael can be proud of. But I've been thinking all
morning...in a few days you will go away and join Michael and chase those evil
men. I know I have to stay here with Laura and Paul. I like them, but it's not
easy to stay here while you're away, doing what you are going to do."

"You're
thirteen years old, dammit!"

She
smiled, turned and continued walking. He found himself hurrying after her.

"Don't
make it harder for us, Juliet," he said.

"I'm
not going to," she answered. "I just want you to promise me that when
you and Michael get back you will train me, so that in future I'll be able to
defend myself." She stopped again, turned and said very seriously,
"It's important to me, Creasy. I never want to be helpless again." He
had continued walking and she followed, her voice loud. "Don't you
understand? It's important to me!"

He took
her hand and they walked on together. He was deep in thought; she had the
wisdom to remain silent. Eventually he turned to look down at her.

"Yes,
I understand. We will train you to defend yourself. But I'm not going to turn
you into some Modesty Blaise."

"Who's
she?"

"A
fictional character. Very young and beautiful. She goes around the world with
her faithful sidekick, dealing out destruction and justice to all
villains."

"Isn't
that what you do?"

He
laughed out loud. "No, I just deal out vengeance. I don't like people
hurting me or mine."

"So
why 'The Blue Ring'?"

"Because
you are one of mine. It has nothing to do with guilt."

This
time Creasy took precautions. As he came through customs at Rome's Leonardo Da
Vinci airport he was wearing a black moustache to match his newly-dyed short
black hair. He also wore thick-rimmed spectacles with plain glass. After
putting his small bag into an overnight locker he walked through to the taxi
rank carrying a black leather briefcase. He was wearing a dark blue suit, a
cream shirt and a maroon tie. He looked like any of the many businessmen
flocking into any large city for an overnight stay. To the taxi driver he gave
his destination as Porta Cavalleggeri at The Vatican City.

Rome
was not a city he enjoyed, even in early autumn. It always seemed to be too
frenetic and its inhabitants unfriendly. The call had come the night before
from Guido. Could he meet Papa the next day for lunch at the restaurant
L'Eau Vive in Rome? Guido was to call Papa back within an hour. The Rome
flight the next morning had been fully booked but Creasy had phoned George
Zammit, who had pulled his weight and arranged a seat. He had confirmed this to
Guido, who told him that he was to use the name Henry Gould and ask for a Mr
Galli.

Creasy
had heard of the restaurant L'Eau Vive. It was apparently run by a female
religious order and catered mainly to clerics and their friends from the
Vatican. He wondered what the likes of Paolo Grazzini was doing there.

During
the forty-five minute trip he reviewed the situation. He had spent three good
days in Gozo with Juliet and established a rapport with her, which pleased him.
It had not taken him long to understand the depth of her intelligence which she
used, in part, to get around him. He wondered if she did the same with Michael.

Guido
had also told him that Jens had phoned, and that he and The Owl were leaving
Copenhagen the next morning and would be back in Rome within forty-eight hours.
Michael had also checked in from Brussels and had started the ball rolling with
Corkscrew Two.

He and
Maxie were waiting for Creasy's call before flying back. I'll bet, Creasy had
thought. No doubt Michael wanted to stay close to the charms of Christine as
long as possible. Guido also had the phone number of the hotel in Capri where
Frank and Rene were staying. They could be back in Rome within a few hours of
his call.

The
taxi pulled up outside the Porta Cavalleggeri. Creasy paid the driver with a
reasonable tip, waited until he had pulled away out of sight and then strolled
to his left. Fifteen minutes later he ducked down a narrow alley and found the
small sign of the restaurant. He pushed in through the door and was immediately
surprised; it was not how he had imagined. It was rather like a simple cafe
with checked tablecloths. Most of the customers appeared to be low-budget
tourists. In one corner was a bust of the Virgin Mary. But the waitresses were
different. They were all very tall, wearing long gowns made from what seemed to
be batik cloth; they were all beautiful, and they were all black. He looked
around for Grazzini but he was nowhere to be seen.

A small
middle-aged woman dressed in white approached him. "I am Sister
Maria," she said. "Can I help you?"

"I
am Henry Gould. Mr Galli is expecting me."

"Ah,
yes. Please follow me."

He
followed her trim figure through the restaurant to the back, where she pulled
aside a heavy green curtain. Beyond it was a large mahogany door. She tapped on
it, opened it and ushered Creasy through.

This
room was very different. It was richly furnished. In the centre was a round
table with a white damask tablecloth and napkins, and antique silverwear with a
beautiful gold and silver candle stick. Above it was a crystal chandelier which
looked priceless. Three high-backed chairs were arranged around the table. In
one of them sat Paolo Grazzini. In the other sat a priest in his early
thirties. He wore thick spectacles, and he studied Creasy with an air of deep
concentration, as though he were looking at a rare painting which had just been
rediscovered. The door closed behind Creasy as both men stood up.

Grazzini made the introductions.

"Henry Gould...Father De Sanctis."

They all sat down. Creasy placed his briefcase on the thick carpet beside him, at
the same time pressing a small button on the handle. The tape recorder inside
would keep a complete record of the conversation.

Grazzini gestured at a small side-table which held several covered dishes. "I
ordered a simple buffet, so we could talk undisturbed."

Next to the dishes were several decanters, glasses and a bottle of red wine. Grazzini
stood up and moved to the table, asking "What would you like for an
aperitif? I recommend the Scotch it's forty-year-old Macallan."

Both the priest and Creasy nodded in agreement. Grazzini poured the drinks, brought
them over and sat down.

"Perhaps you had better explain," Creasy said.

Grazzini was looking pleased with himself. He gestured towards the priest. "I told
Father De Sanctis of our little problem concerning 'The Blue Ring'." He
smiled slightly at the hard look he received from Creasy. "I will give you
the background to Father De Sanctis. As you may know, the Vatican maintains a
formidable intelligence unit...some say it's the envy of the CIA or Mossad."

The priest shrugged.

Grazzini went on. "Of course, since the end of the Cold War and the religious
liberation behind the old Iron Curtain it is no longer such an essential unit
of the Vatican. However, within that unit there is a special department which
concentrates on Satanism and black magic."

Creasy saw the almost imperceptible nod which Grazzini sent him across the table. He went
along accordingly. "That's very interesting. I know that Satanism in
various forms still exists in isolated cases, but I hardly think that the
Vatican needs to be so concerned."

For the
first time the priest smiled. It changed his face. The severity dropped away
and he looked almost boyish.

"You
will be surprised, Mr Gould. Certainly my department is much smaller than it
used to be in the Middle Ages and even up until the last century, but we still
have to be very active, not only in South America, the Caribbean and Africa,
but also here in very civilised Europe." He gestured at the buffet table.
"Shall we eat while I explain?"

"I still find it hard to believe," Creasy said, "that Grazzini could simply
summon up a Vatican specialist, just like that."

Guido's
laugh was ironic. "You should know better. The links between the Mafia and
the Vatican go back a very long way. Especially on the financial side. It
wasn't so many years ago that the Vatican bank laundered hundreds of millions
of dollars-worth of Mafia drug money."

"I
know that," Creasy answered, "but since then I thought they'd
distanced themselves."

Guido
shook his head.

"They
have not and they will not. Power always seeks out power."

It was
eleven o'clock at night. Creasy had caught a late afternoon flight from Rome.
They were sitting on the terrace and had just finished a light meal. The other
regular diners had all departed.

"That
priest, De Sanctis. He's a Jesuit," Creasy said.

Guido
smiled again and nodded.

"The
clever ones always are."

"And
he was young...no more than thirty-five. Young to know so much."