The Blue Ring-Creasy 3, page 16
part #3 of Creasy Series
Michael's voice was terse. "What do we have?"
Guido told him, "Creasy has strong connections in this city, particularly with a Colonel Satta of the carabinieri...You will have heard of him. Satta has learned that Creasy left his hotel about half an hour after he arrived from Brussels. About two blocks away there was a commotion. Six men were involved. Two in a large black limousine and four on the pavement. A single shot was fired into the air and then Creasy was bundled into the limousine. Eyewitnesses here are reticent, but it was almost certainly Creasy. That was this morning, and since then we have more information, which is being updated by the hour. It's better that we wait until we get to our base and Satta will bring us all completely up to date."
"Who do we have here?" Michael asked.
Guido gestured at the front seats. "Well, we have Maxie and Frank; we also have Rene Callard, the Dane, Jens Jensen, a French guy called The Owl, Satta, of course, his number two, Bellu, and one of Satta's undercover men, known only as The Ghost."
Michael murmured, "So within our team we have three Italian policemen...I'm suspicious of any policeman."
Guido shook his head. "You can trust those three and the rest of our team. Trust nobody else."
It was a small house in a nondescript suburb of Milan. An old woman opened the door, looked them over carefully and ushered them in.
The lounge was crowded. Michael knew Jens and The Owl. Guido introduced him to Callard, Bellu, The Ghost and Satta, saying, "You know the rest." It was half an hour to midnight. Michael embraced them all. Chairs had been pulled around a table.
The man called The Ghost was sitting at a small, sophisticated radio console, speaking into a microphone. As Michael sat down, the others ignored him; they were deep in discussion. Bellu was talking.
"It's certainly Abrata...all his 'soldiers' are off the street. We know he has two main boltholes on the outskirts of the city. Creasy will be held in one of them. We think the one to the north, which is on high ground and easily defended."
Rene Callard asked, "When will we know which one?"
"Within the hour," Bellu answered. "But we have to be careful." He glanced at Michael. "Unfortunately, like every other institution in Italy, the carabinieri is infiltrated by the Mafia. We have to work only with those few that we can trust...and they are very few."
Satta grimaced, nodded his head and confirmed, "We can count them on the fingers of one hand."
Maxie said, "The machinery has arrived from Marseille. We're well-equipped. Once we know the location, we can blast our way in."
Satta shook his head. "By the time you finish blasting your way in, Creasy will have a bullet in his head. Let's think about it. Let's think carefully." He gestured at Guido. "Our friend here was once Mafia and understands how they work." He tapped his chest and then gestured at Bellu.
"Together we spent five years fighting the Mafia. We know the structure, and we know how they think. Tell them, Bellu." The short, round-faced Italian gave them a thumbnail sketch of the situation.
"Creasy once waged a one-man war against the major Mafia family...around six years ago. He set them back about ten years. The current situation is that Gino Abrata is the chief of two capos in Milan. His nominal boss in the hierarchy is Paolo Grazzini from Rome. We know that Grazzini had a meeting late this evening in Rome with a visiting capo from Detroit. We know they had dinner in the Ristorante Adessio, and just after midnight Grazzini left in his limousine, followed by another car full of bodyguards, and took the autostrada to Milan. He hates travelling by plane or train. He will arrive at approximately five-thirty a.m. Until that time we know that Creasy will be kept alive. Both Abrata and Grazzini will be very puzzled, because for the last six years they thought that Creasy was in a grave in Naples. They will suspect that he is again waging war against the Mafia. They will torture him to find out how and why."
He looked around the room at all the others. "We know that Creasy will tell them nothing. We know he will hold on for many hours...My guess is at least twenty-four...After that they will kill him painfully, and will leave his body publicly, as an example of vengeance, and a sign not to mess with the Mafia." He looked at his watch. "We have about thirty hours."
Maxie stood up and started walking around the table. He was agitated. "Thirty hours is plenty of time. Once we know the location for sure we mount an operation. We throw up a diversion...and Frank, Rene and I hit the place."
Satta shook his head.
"The obvious answer would be for the carabinieri to seal off the location and go in with our anti-terrorist unit. There are two things against this: firstly, with the corruption in our unit, they would have at least an hour's warning. Secondly, we would need a magistrate's approval to mount such an operation, and that would take many hours. We would first have to find an honest magistrate or judge, and most of those have been killed." He shrugged eloquently. "That is our situation."
Then Rene Callard stood up and spoke in his heavily accented English. "We need nobody except ourselves. We have done this before. Creasy is our man. Give us the location. We'll get him out."
Michael had been looking at the table in front of him. Now he lifted his head, looked at Satta and said, "I need some more information. Does Abrata have family?"
Satta looked at Bellu, who provided the information.
"Abrata's parents are both dead. He has no children. His brother and sister live in New York. His wife is estranged and living in Bologna, shacked up with a minor capo." He gave Michael a wry smile. "You have no route there."
Michael asked, "And Grazzini?"
Bellu shrugged. "A wife and countless mistresses. He has no emotional ties except to his mother."
"Where is his mother?"
For the first time, Satta's lips twisted into a thin smile. He was catching the drift and supplied the answer. "Grazzini's mother is called Graziella. She lives in a small town twenty miles north of Rome called Bracciano Lago. She is aged and very religious. She prays every day in church for the soul of her son...I would say that her prayers are futile."
Michael looked at The Ghost and said, "It's going to be a long night. Can we get something to drink and maybe some pasta?"
The Ghost stood up, went to the door and shouted down the stairs.
"Bring us some food and drink, you old bag! Don't you know an army marches on its stomach?"
In a manner unknown to them all, the group of hard, experienced men found themselves deferring to the youngest of them all.
Michael pointed first to Guido. "I want you to return immediately to Naples. You have no part in what is to come, except to act as a communicator between us all." He pointed to Maxie. "We will not try to storm their bolthole." He pointed at Bellu. "Before dawn tomorrow I have to be in Bracciano Lago. Frank, Rene and The Owl will be with me. We will take Grazzini's mother and trade her for Creasy." He pointed to Satta. "Colonel, by dawn tomorrow I need a wheelchair and a priest's outfit -" he pointed at Jens Jensen "to fit that Dane." He pointed to The Ghost. "Since you know the terrain, you will lead Maxie to the closest point to their bolthole and wait for instructions, in case we fuck up in Bracciano Lago. If that happens you will not go in. Maxie will go." He stood up and started pacing, deep in thought. He pointed again at Satta.
"We need voice communication, not just between ourselves, but also direct to The Ghost and Maxie. Can that be arranged within the next couple of hours?"
Satta nodded. He had a smile on his face. He was sitting in a room surrounded by some of the most dangerous human beings he had ever met in his dangerous life, and he was observing a young man, almost a boy, dominate them. It appealed to his sense of irony. "What else do you need?" he asked.
Michael stopped pacing.
"Apart from The Ghost, who I assume is clean, I need you to keep the carabinieri right out of this, for reasons you understand. I need two unmarked vehicles here in Milan for The Ghost and Maxie, and two more in Rome for myself and the back-up team. I need a hole in Rome. I assume we can use this place as a base here in Milan. I also need to charter a plane to get my team to Rome in three hours. It should be a private charter and not connected with the carabinieri. Can do?"
Satta nodded as the door opened and the old woman came in, carrying a tray piled with bottles of wine, glasses, a huge saucepan of pasta and plates. She looked at The Ghost. Old eyes in an old face, but a smile which held affection.
"If you ever call me an old bag again, I'll take you to bed and prove that you're wrong."
The Ghost, a handsome man in his early thirties, looked at her, nodded and crossed himself.
As they ate and drank Michael refined his plan.
Chapter 36
A single spotlight from a far corner lit him. The two bodyguards were behind, in darkness. They had been changed every two hours. They had been told that even though he was bound and immobile, never to relax their vigilance. They had been told that he was 'death on a cold night'. His chin was slumped onto his chest. He was practising what he had learned many years ago; he was half-asleep and yet his brain was awake. He had long ago ceased to reproach himself about his negligence. Of course he should have been more careful. Of course he should not have used the same hotel twice.
Of course he should have been watching for a waiting car by the kerb. Of course he should have seen and recognised the lurking men for what they were. But that was history. He remembered with irony his lecture to Michael back in Marseille. His mistake was as bad. He thought about Michael. He knew that by now he would be in Italy, looking for him. He knew that Michael would have a team that would be the dream of every leader. He wondered how Michael would handle that team.
His thoughts then turned to Grazzini. He knew about Grazzini.
He was more northern Mafia and not like the animals from Calabria and Sicily, who had long ago given up every vestige of honour in the pursuit of drug dollars. Grazzini was relatively young. He was certainly ruthless, but he kept the code of separating business from family. Would Michael understand that? If not, would Guido or Satta be able to explain it to him?
As he sat in pain the feeling washed over him; a feeling that Michael would take control. A feeling that the hard and experienced men around him would follow Michael. They would see in Michael a window on himself.
His thoughts turned to the child-woman in Gozo and a pain went through him. She now had a brother, but above all she needed a father. His thoughts again turned to Grazzini. He knew that Grazzini dealt in drugs, protection, corruption and ostensibly legitimate construction and trade. He did not deal in women. He knew that Grazzini hated his guts and that his death by Grazzini's hand would be a huge coup for the Rome capo. He knew how he would deal with Grazzini.
Chapter 37
Michael just held on to the edge. It was a mental edge. He knew that by the force of his personality, and by his filial association to Creasy, he had managed to dominate a group of vastly experienced hard men. He also knew that his one major exploit would be known to those men. An exploit that had directed a sniper's bullet precisely into the shoulder of a terrorist from a distance of five hundred metres.
An exploit made more significant by the fact that when he had pulled the trigger Creasy had been lying alongside him with the same sniper's rifle and had, in that category, deferred to Michael's skills. He knew that in the eyes of the likes of Maxie, Miller, Callard, Satta, and even Guido, he had cut his number. And yet he was not quite twenty years old and the mental burden was heavy. He balanced it with the hatred for the men who were holding his father.
The Lear jet swept down to the runway. It was raining lightly, but the forecast was that it would be a cool, sunny day. It was four o'clock in the morning. The small airport was fifteen miles east of the city and handled most of the smaller internal charter flights. Michael had been assured that there would be a minimum of bureaucracy. The small jet followed the flashing light of a guide car, which finally pulled to a stop next to a floodlit hangar. A large stretch limousine pulled up alongside. Michael led the way down the steps, and within a minute they had unloaded their personal bags and those which contained the machinery.
An hour later they were in the safe house on the northern outskirts or Rome. It was another nondescript house in a nondescript suburb. The door was opened by another old lady who showed no surprise at the arrival of five strangers at that time of the morning. The priest's clothing had been delivered, together with the wheelchair and a detailed map of the town of Bracciano Lago. There were also road-maps showing alternative routes from Bracciano to the safe house. They sat around the kitchen table. The old woman prepared a pot of coffee, and Michael went through the details of the plan once more.
When he finished, Miller said, "It's good and simple, but one thing bothers me." He gestured at the Dane. "You're putting Jens in the front line. He doesn't have that much experience. Why not me or Rene or even The Owl?"
Michael shook his head and smiled.
"For some reason Jens does look like a priest...a slightly overfed one. We know for sure there will be one bodyguard and it's possible there may be more. We have a description of that bodyguard, and we know that he usually hangs around outside the church while the old woman is inside. Frank, you will have to be alongside him when she comes out. Rene will be waiting in one of the cars to pick you up, after I make the snatch. It's better if you don't have to kill him, but do so if necessary."
Rene interjected, "I guess it's almost certain that Frank will have to kill him. After all, he's supposed to be guarding Grazzini's mother. If he lets her get snatched he's dead anyway."
"It's possible," Michael said. "But he's been her regular bodyguard for a long time...a couple of years. She's not really regarded as a target, so he won't be on his toes. Frank might be able to slug him."
"I'll play it by ear," Miller said.
Michael turned to The Owl and said, "You'll be driving the other car, ready to collect myself and Jens and the old woman." He made a general gesture at all of them. "We only take hand-guns which are easy to conceal if there are any random police road-blocks on the way to Bracciano."
For the first time The Owl spoke. "What if there are roadblocks on the way back?"
"We shoot our way through," Michael answered tersely. "Sure, if we had more time and people, we could plan it more elaborately and have a safe house closer by." He shrugged and looked at his watch.
"But we don't have more time. We have to rely on surprise and then speed. The traffic both there and back will be fairly heavy. The police will be reluctant to set up road-blocks." He reached down and unzipped the bag at his feet, took out the transceivers and handed them out. They tested them and then Michael pushed the buttons to connect himself with Maxie. Maxie's voice was slightly distorted but audible enough.
Michael said softly into the microphone, "We are moving in about an hour. Be in position by nine o'clock and check in."
Maxie's voice came back, "Will do...Good luck."
Chapter 38
Grazzini spoke conversationally. He was speaking to Abrata but his words were directed at Creasy.
"Eighteen hours," he said. "That's the longest I've ever known. He was a Frenchman from the 'Union Course'. We caught him about three years ago, trying to pull off an art theft in Rome...on my territory, the bastard. I decided to make an example of him. I had two of my best men work on him. The kind of guys who would make the Pope renounce his faith in half an hour. Eighteen hours...He surprised me and my guys." He turned to look at the bound Creasy.
"You will not be that stupid, will you? You know what the end result will be."
Creasy yawned, then leaned forward slightly and said, "Grazzini, I have no argument with you. I am not in Italy to have any arguments with you or your people. I was minding my own business when this clown had me grabbed on the street. Unless he lets me go immediately he will die regretting it...and since you are his boss, you will do the same."
Grazzini smiled. "You are in no position to make threats or talk about arguments." His voice became angry. "You killed my brother-in-law and one of my cousins."
"Who was your cousin?"
"His name was Vico Di Marco. He was a bodyguard of my brother-in-law. He was a 'soldier'. You fried him along with my brother-in-law and two other 'soldiers' in that Cadillac in Rome."
Creasy nodded at the memory.
"Then he died doing his duty, trying to protect his boss. It was nothing personal. I was just the 'instrument'."
Grazzini snorted in anger. "We do not like 'instruments'. We never forget those who make war on us. I will have revenge. But first you talk."
Creasy stretched his shoulders and asked quietly, "What do you want to talk about?"
"I want to know why you are in Italy. What is your purpose, who are you with and where is your base, both in Italy, and outside Italy?"
The Italians received a great shock, as Creasy responded, "That's no problem. Apart from my base outside."
Grazzini and Abrata glanced at each other in surprise.
Creasy's voice went on, "But, Grazzini, I only talk to you. The others have to leave."
Immediately, Abrata said, "Forget it."
Creasy kept looking at Grazzini. A long silence and then Grazzini said, "Gino, give me a few minutes with him...I would be grateful."
He spoke as if to an equal asking a favour, but the order was implied.
At first, anger filled Abrata's eyes, then they cleared and he said, "You realise that it's a trick. He is cunning, this one. Let us not forget how cunning. Let us not forget the lives we lost to the bastard."
Grazzini nodded. "You are right, of course, and believe me, Gino, I will never forget. But a few minutes before he dies could be useful."
Another silence, and then Abrata slowly stood up and nodded at the two bodyguards behind Creasy. They left with their submachine-guns.
