Black Horn (21 page)

"Miss
Kwok, that matter is over now. Commander Ndlovu explained why you came to
Zimbabwe. He told me what happened to your family in Hong Kong. Of course there
must be a connection, and I want you to tell me as much as you can. It seems
that whoever killed my son took his orders from Hong Kong. I want to know who
gave those orders."

They
had talked for the next two hours and during those two hours she sensed a
growing bond. She felt that part of his character was similar to her own. They
were both grieving, yet no outsider would have noticed. Finally he had observed
that her eyes were becoming heavy, and had arranged a bunk for her in one of
the rear cabins.

Now she
glanced again at the crowd of people and saw Juliet detach herself and walk
over.

"You
look tired," Juliet said. "Don't feel you have to stay. Just slip off
to your bedroom whenever you feel like it. You had a long journey."

"That's
true, but it was a journey in some luxury, and I slept most of the way and
there was no time change." She looked at the girl's face. "You also
look tired. And your journey was West to East with a six-hour time difference.
I doubt you slept at all."

"You're
right," Juliet answered. "Sleep was impossible. I'll crash out later
and probably sleep for twenty-four hours."

The
Chinese woman shook her head.

"I've
had a lot of experience with jet-lag. Stay up as long as you can keep your eyes
open. Don't drink too much alcohol. You'll probably wake up within six hours.
After that, again, stay awake as long as you can, and after a second sleep the
jet-lag will be gone."

Juliet
made a negative gesture. "After that I'll be heading back to Denver and
another bout of jet-lag." She looked over at Creasy and the others around
the barbecue. "This must seem very strange to you. I don't suppose you
have wakes in China."

"No,
we don't. It's all very peculiar. Such a rich church on what seems to be a poor
island, and then a big party where everyone is laughing and joking."

Juliet
explained. "First of all, it's not a poor island, but it is extremely
Catholic. Up until a decade ago, it was not unusual for a couple to have up to
fifteen children or more. The island became very over-populated. Since the main
occupation was farming or fishing, there was not enough work, so the young men
emigrated, mainly to America, Canada and Australia. They worked hard and sent
their money back, and many returned to spend their retirement here. Despite
appearances, it's a very wealthy community. As for this party, it is unusual
for Gozo, where they tend to go into protracted mourning. The tradition comes
from Ireland. It's to celebrate a life that has been lived and not a death that
has happened. Somehow in the mercenary wars in Africa it was adopted when a
mercenary was killed in action. I can tell you that by nightfall a party will
be in full swing and it will go on until at least midnight."

Lucy
glanced at the girl and said, "You are young to know so much."

"I've
never been to a wake or even to a funeral, but I've been around mercenaries and
heard them talk. When a mercenary is killed in a big explosion, especially one
with flames, they call it a 'technicolour funeral'. When a mercenary
dies in an accident, they call it an 'FU funeral' ... a fuck-up
funeral. They have their own language and rituals. In the next decade or so,
that will probably die out."

"You mean the mercenaries will die out?"

The girl shook her head. "No. There will always be mercenaries, because there
will always be wars. But the young ones are a different breed." She glanced
at the Chinese woman and asked, "How did Mrs Manners take the whole
thing?"

"Badly...you
know about Michael's suicide note?"

"Yes,
Creasy told me."

"Well,"
Lucy said, "we all flew back in her private jet, but she hardly said a
word. She ate nothing during the nine-hour flight. She stayed mostly in her
cabin. I think her nurse Ruby must have given her heavy sedation. When we
landed in Malta she spoke a few words to Creasy and Maxie and just said goodbye
to me. I guess by now she's back in the States."

Juliet
was nodding thoughtfully, then she lifted her head, took a sip of wine and
said, "Let me introduce you around."

Lucy
put a hand on her arm.

"Wait
a minute. First, please tell me who everyone is. Do you know them all?"

"Oh,
yes." Juliet pointed towards the group of men around the barbecue.
"You know Creasy and Maxie. The bald Australian is Frank Miller. He's
often worked with Creasy. The handsome man next to him with the slightly hooked
nose and the dark hair is a Belgian called Rene Callard. He spent fifteen years
in the French Foreign Legion. Some of the time with Creasy. Later on, he fought
with Creasy in Africa. The blond guy on the other side of the fire is Jens
Jensen. He's Danish and an ex-policeman. He now has a private detective agency
in Copenhagen, specialising in missing persons. His partner is the small man
next to him with the thick round spectacles. He's a Frenchman known as The Owl.
He used to be a gangster in Marseille. Later on, he became a bodyguard to an
arms dealer and then joined up with Jens about four years ago. His great love
is classical music. This is one of the few occasions where I've seen him
without his Walkman and earphones."

"A
diverse bunch of men."

"Yes,
and it gets more so. The man there with the scarred face, talking to the
middle-aged woman, is an Italian called Guido Arrellio. He's Creasy's closest
friend. They are like brothers. But you will never see them show the slightest
sign of affection. Guido was also in the Foreign Legion. Both he and Creasy
were kicked out when part of the Legion rebelled at the end of the war in
Algeria. They went off to the Congo and fought together for many years... One
day, about ten years ago, they ended up in Gozo for a few days' holiday. Guido
fell in love with the hotel receptionist. A few weeks later, he married her and
took her off to Naples where they ran a small pensione. She was the daughter of
the woman Guido's talking to."

"Was?"

"Yes.
She was killed in a car crash a few years later. Her mother is Laura Schembri,
her father is Paul the small dark man over there, talking to the priest. The
young man behind the bar is their son Joey. Joey's wife Maria is in the
kitchen, making the salad. The Schembri family are very close to Creasy and me
... I think Laura is the only woman who can get Creasy to do something he
doesn't want to do -- but then, there is a special bond between them. Creasy
was once involved in a battle against a Mafia gang in Italy
and was badly wounded. Guido suggested that he come to Gozo to recover and stay
at the Schembris' farm on the other side of the island. He stayed for about two
months. During that time the Schembri's younger daughter, Nadia, returned from
a failed marriage in England. She and Creasy had an affair and she became
pregnant. She told nobody and Creasy went back to Italy. When he finished the
job he returned to Gozo, again wounded. After recovering, he married Nadia and
they had a daughter, and for the next few years lived peacefully in this
house."

She turned to look at the Chinese woman. "But in December 1988, Nadia and her
daughter caught a Pan Am flight in London to join Creasy in New York. The plane
blew up over Scotland and everybody was killed."

The girl fell silent. Lucy Kwok looked across the patio at the man tending the
barbecue.

Quietly, she remarked, "A lot of tragedy and death surrounds that man." She
turned to look at Juliet: The girl's face was a picture of sadness.

Juliet nodded and said, "Yes. And it's not over yet."

"It's not?"

"No, in a few days he'll be off to Hong Kong... and there will be more dead."

"He told you that?"

"No. But I know that man. He won't rest until he's dealt with the people who caused
Michael's suicide." Her slim body shook briefly, but then her voice lightened
as she pointed out some of the other guests. The young ones had been friends of
Michael and the older ones, friends of Creasy.

It was an hour later when the phone rang. They were eating at makeshift tables. Creasy
looked up at Juliet, and she got up and went into the kitchen. A minute later
she called from the door.

"Creasy, it's Jim Grainger calling from Denver."

Creasy wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. He went into the kitchen. It was fifteen
minutes before he returned. As he sat down, he said to Maxie, "Gloria
Manners did not return to Denver."

"Where did she go?"

"She went nowhere. That Gulfstream never took off. Right now, she's in a suite in
the L'Imgarr Bay hotel, here in Gozo."

"But why?" Lucy Kwok asked.

"I don't know. But she wants to talk to me."

"Will you see her?" Maxie asked.

Creasy nodded. "Yes, I will see her tomorrow morning."

"Why
would you want to talk to her?" Juliet asked. "I mean, after what
happened down there in Zimbabwe."

Creasy picked up his knife and fork and said, "I'll see her because Jim Grainger
asked me to, as a personal favour. As you well know, Juliet, he's done me
several favours, including looking after you in the States."

"Yes, but..."

"There are no buts."

Creasy
walked into the hotel lobby just after ten o'clock in the morning. He was not
in a good frame of mind. The wake had gone on until the early hours and he had
a headache from the drink.

As he
approached reception, a short well-dressed man with a dark moustache stood up
from a group of people at a table in the corner. He walked across the room and
touched Creasy briefly on the shoulder. Creasy had known him for many years. He
was the hotel manager, and the tap on the shoulder was a gesture of condolence.

"You
have a Mrs Manners staying here," Creasy said.

"Yes,
she's in 105."

"When
did she check in?"

"Yesterday
morning."

"Has
she been a problem?"

"On
the contrary. She's taken all her meals in her room with her nurse, and the
staff tell me that she tips well and is very kind."

"Is
she in her room now?"

The
manager looked at the receptionist and said, "105 -- in or out?"

"In,
sir," the girl answered. "She hasn't left her suite since she
arrived."

Creasy
said to the manager, "I'll be in Room 105 for the next twenty minutes or
so. Do you remember that hangover cure you recommended all those years
ago?"

The
manager grinned under his black moustache.

"Sure...
Do you want me to send one up?"

"I'd
be eternally grateful."

Creasy
walked down the corridor to the end and tapped on the door of Room 105. It
opened to reveal Ruby, looking apprehensive.

"Hello,
Ruby."

"Hello,
Creasy. Come on in. Can I get you a coffee or something?"

"No,
thanks. Something is being sent up."

He
walked into the room and, through the french windows, saw Mrs Manners sitting
in her wheelchair on the wide balcony. He walked out, pulled up a chair and sat
opposite her. The hotel was perched on the cliff above the harbour. Like his
own house, it had one of the most spectacular views on Gozo.

From
the balcony door Ruby asked, "Can I get you something, Mrs Manners?"

Gloria
shook her head.

"Thank
you, no, Ruby...but maybe Creasy wants something?"

"I've
already ordered," Creasy said, and Ruby disappeared back into the suite.

Creasy
was puzzled. When Gloria Manners had spoken to Ruby he had noticed the change
in her voice. It was as though the life had gone out of it. No abrasion. He
looked at the woman. Her face had aged. The lines were deeper, and the eyes
more sunken.

"I'd
assumed you'd be back in Denver by now," he said.

"I
had no intention of returning to Denver before I could speak to you. I did not
want to do so before Michael's funeral. I'm sorry that I had to put Jim Grainger
under pressure to arrange this meeting."

Creasy
said, "Why did you come here?"

Gloria
gathered her thoughts, and then said, "There were several reasons. The
first was that I wanted to express to you my deep sorrow that I was the cause
of Michael's death. First, because I hired him second, because I gave him such
a bad example of what life in a wheelchair was like."

Creasy
drew a breath and looked directly into the woman's eyes as he spoke. "You
were not the reason for Michael's death. I would have told you that on the
plane coming up here, but you slept most of the time, and I understand that. I
was going to write you in a few days' time. I don't want you to wallow in grief
and guilt. There were two reasons for Michael's death myself and a man in Hong
Kong."

"But
I read that note!"

"That
note was an excuse."

"An
excuse?"

"Yes,
just that and no more. It was an excuse for a weakness. Michael's
weakness."

The
woman was looking at him without comprehension. Creasy explained, "Mrs
Manners, I adopted Michael from an orphanage not more than a kilometre from
here when he was seventeen years old. I trained and moulded him to be a man
like me, for a special purpose. He was strong and skilled and I loved him very
much. As much as a father could love a natural son. But I also moulded him into
my own life style, and that was the only life style that he ever understood.
When Michael was paralysed from the waist down, he knew that he could never
live that life style. He also knew that he had full use of his arms and upper
body. Certainly, he could have lived a fruitful life. There's a man on this
island who was paralysed in the same way after a car crash. He was a young man.
He built a new life. Last year he took part in the Paraplegic Olympics and won
a bronze medal. Michael knew that man well and admired him. But because of the
life style that I had created for him, he couldn't see himself in that role. He
couldn't see himself in any role. In that hospital in Bulawayo he asked me to
kill him. I told him to wait three months -- if he still felt the same way
then; I would do it. The problem was that he didn't believe me."