The Blue Ring (39 page)

Creasy
said, "Location is everything. We have to have at least an idea of where
it's going to happen...It's going to be Sunday night."

"Understood,"
Satta responded.

Creasy
heard a click and the connection was broken. He hung up, took a sip of his
drink, glanced at his watch and said, "Maxie and Frank are going in now.
The other guy returned home as planned. Satta will phone back when he has
something. Could be an hour or so."

Guido
reached behind him for the bottle of Strega.

The
General was a light sleeper but he heard nothing. The first thing to assail his
senses was light; it penetrated his eyelids. He opened his eyes but they were
blind in the light. He turned his head, his brain in confusion; coming out of
sleep and not knowing where he was.

The
light moved and he realised that it was the beam of a torch.

He
watched it flicker around the room; saw it light up the wooden walls. Abruptly
he knew where he was. He was lying in bed in the cabin in the hills, and
somebody was in the room. He pushed himself up in bed, his mind clearing. He
remembered Bareste leaving. Maybe he had returned.

Hesitantly
he called out, "Julio...is it you?"

The
beam of light flickered back into his eyes and he had to close them again.

A voice
said, "No, it is not Julio. Be very still. I have a gun pointed at your
head."

Gandolfo
turned his head away. He began gasping in air as fear gripped him.

"Who
are you?" he gasped.

"Be
still and be quiet," came the sharp reply.

Gandolfo's
mind began to work. Thieves. It was not unknown in these hills. There had been
two robberies further south the year before.

"I
am a General in the carabinieri," he said angrily. "You will not get
away with this."

"Be
still," the man repeated. He was speaking Italian with a very strange
accent.

Gandolfo
was trying to identify it when he sensed another man entering the room. There
was more light but softer. The brightness left his eyes and he opened them. He
saw two men, both dressed all in black. They were middle-aged. One was bald
with a round face.

He was
holding a black, silenced pistol in one hand and a slim torch in the other. The
pistol was pointed at Gandolfo's face. The other man was short and square with
cropped black hair. Like his body, his face was square. In one hand he carried
a gas lamp which Gandolfo recognised from the kitchen. In the other hand he
held a canvas bag. From their posture and the look on their faces, Gandolfo's
instincts and experience told him that these two men were professionals.
Strangely, this made him feel better.

"I
have very little money up here," he stated. "And nothing else of
value."

At that
moment he thought of his Holland and Holland shotgun which was worth a fortune.
Then he realised that it was leaning against the wall, about a metre from his
left hand. Instinctively he turned his head to look at it.

"Forget
it," the bald man said; then in English to the other man, he said
cryptically, "Let's get on with it."

Startled
at hearing the language, Gandolfo blurted out, "Who the hell are you? What
do you want?"

The
square man moved closer to the bed. He put the lamp on the bedside table and
the canvas bag on the floor. The bald man moved around the other side of the
bed. The pistol was close, the fat silencer half a metre from the General's
eyes, pointing exactly between them. Gandolfo squeezed backwards against the
headboard, his fear increasing.

"We
are just here to do a job," the bald man said casually. "Cooperate
and you'll be all right...otherwise you die. We don't care one way or the
other." He spoke as though he had arrived to fix the plumbing.

Gandolfo
started to speak, but suddenly the pistol was only millimetres from his
forehead. He noticed that the hand holding it was steady and was clad in a
black glove.

The
voice hardened. "Keep your mouth shut and do exactly as you're told."

The
General closed his mouth and swallowed hard. The pistol was withdrawn to about
a metre. The square man unzipped the bag and took out a plastic bag of cotton
wool and a large roll of black masking tape. "Put your wrists
together," he said in English.

Gandolfo
hesitated and suddenly the pistol had moved forward again. Slowly the General
brought his hands together. They were trembling slightly. The square man sat on
the edge of the bed. He pulled a wad of cotton wool from the bag, reached
forward and squeezed it between Gandolfo's wrists. The General watched in rigid
fascination. Then the man took the roll of masking tape, pulled out a long
length and wrapped it several times around the General's wrists. His arms and
hands were now immobilised. The bald man stepped back, unscrewed the silencer
and dropped it into a pocket of his black leather jacket. The pistol was
slipped into a holster under his left shoulder. The square man pulled the sheet
and blankets back, revealing the General's silk-clad body. From the canvas bag
he pulled out several rolls of thick foam rubber. He worked quickly. First, he
pulled Gandolfo's legs apart and wrapped several layers of foam rubber around
the left one, from the thigh to the toes. He taped it firmly and then repeated
the process with the right leg and then taped both legs together. He then did
the same with both the General's arms from the wrists to the armpits.
Gandolfo's fear was now tinged with a query. He started to ask a question but
looked into the dark, cold eyes in the square face and shut his mouth.

Next,
the man took a smaller strip of foam rubber, pulled the General's head forward
and slipped it behind his neck. He taped the ends tight across the forehead
just above the eyes. Finally, he connected the tape from the wrists to the tape
around the ankles. The General was now totally immobilised.

The man
stood back, surveyed his work and said to his companion, "He looks like
the Michelin man."

The
bald man nodded. "Yeah...all trussed up and ready for the oven."

They
walked out through the open door. Gandolfo heard the bald man's voice call,
"He's all yours. Shout if you need anything."

Ten
seconds passed in which Gandolfo tried to concentrate and calm himself. He had
partially succeeded when a third man came through the door. He was also dressed
in black, including his gloves. At first, in the dim light, Gandolfo did not
recognise him, but as he pulled up a chair the face came into focus.

Gandolfo
gasped and spoke his name, "Satta! God, Satta...What's happening?"

For a
long time Satta looked into the man's eyes, then he leaned forward. His voice
was very low, carried on the wind of hatred.

"You
saw the pathologist's report on Bellu's body. You know exactly what inhuman
things they did to him before they killed him...It's probable that the same
pathologist will examine your body. An autopsy is standard in the death of such
a senior officer of the carabinieri...But they will find no signs of
torture...not even the slightest bruise." He gestured at the padding
around Gandolfo's arms and legs and neck. "No matter how much you struggle
or resist, no pathologist will ever find a bruise on you."

From
his pocket Satta took a small plastic box. He opened it and showed the contents
to the General: a small syringe, held in place by a thick elastic band. Next to
it was a clear, plastic phial holding white pills. Satta explained. "The pills
are Amiodarone. Each of one thousand ccs. Taken orally, one will cause a
massive and fatal heart attack. The drug in the syringe is Digoxin. It has the
same effect but must be injected. Both drugs are untraceable. Anyway, there
will be no suspicion. You had a mild heart attack six years ago and a bigger
one three years later. You took eight months sick leave. You were advised to
take early retirement but refused...no doubt under pressure from your friends.
Anyway, this time you will not have to make that choice. Obviously I prefer
that you accept the pill, because a very skilled and diligent pathologist might
just have a chance of detecting the puncture mark of a needle, even though it
would be in an unlikely place."

Gandolfo
closed his eyes. His breathing rate increased. He heard Satta's voice again.

"You
know how close Bellu was to me. You are cunning but you are stupid. Do you
really think that what you did would go unanswered?"

Gandolfo
opened his eyes and said, as though in pain, "I had nothing to do with
it."

Satta's
voice cracked back at him. "You had everything to do with it! You fingered
him, knowing what they would do...your friends in 'The Blue Ring' Donati and
Hussein and no doubt others. You have lived in evil, Gandolfo, and you will die
this night. You will not be alone. Your friends will soon be joining you."

The
General was looking at the ceiling. Suddenly he turned his head, looked into
Satta's eyes, and said, "I had no choice...even from the beginning. Their
hold was like a vice. I had to think of my family...let me go and I will help
you."

Satta
leaned forward and spat in his face. "You are living the last minutes of
your life."

He
stood up and paced back and forth at the foot of the bed. In a cold, hard voice
he explained Gandolfo's alternatives. He used the Mafia code as a parallel. If
a mafioso was discovered to be a turncoat he was given the choice of committing
suicide or being killed. If he committed suicide his family were spared. If he
resisted, his entire family faced death. In his early anti-Mafia years Satta
had been surprised that so many jailed mafiosi cut their wrists. He had later
learned that some had done so because they did not want those outside to even
suspect that they might break the code of Omerta. He knew that Gandolfo
understood that code; but he painted it in the clearest colours. Satta started
pacing faster in his anger, up and down at the foot of the bed. Then he turned
to look at the trussed-up General.

"Your
wife died ten years ago and you hardly mourned her. In life you treated her
like shit; and in death you hardly noticed her passing, so busy were you with
your whores and mistresses. But she bore you three sons and a daughter. They
all married and gifted you with nine grandchildren and a tenth due to your
daughter next month." He gestured towards the open door. "Those men
who trussed you up...they are two of many, and they are pussy-cats compared to
some of the others. Like me, their leader looked on Bellu as a blood relative...Your
children and grandchildren will not know they are coming...they will visit your
children and grandchildren like the plague."

He
stopped pacing and stood at the foot of the bed, looking down at the absurdly
inflated man. Gandolfo was looking at the ceiling. Time passed and then he
asked hoarsely, "What don't you know?"

From
his jacket pocket Satta took out a small notebook and a ballpoint pen. He sat
down saying, "From the beginning...Your beginning. And to the end...Beyond
your end. First I want to know where the black mass will take place next
Sunday."

What
could be seen of Gandolfo's face was the colour of unpolished ivory. Satta
watched his lips form into a mirthless smile. His voice sounded already close
to death.

"I
will tell and you will not believe me but when I tell you everything...then you
will believe."

In
Naples they played poker, but only for matchsticks. When Guido had won enough
to supply every arsonist in Italy he quit in disgust and moved to the coffee
machine; they had long ago given up drinking Strega.

Jens
looked at Creasy with a pained expression. "I thought that a winner at
poker was not allowed to quit."

Creasy
smiled. "True. Guido is very discourteous."

Creasy's
mind had not been on the game. It was far away in a cabin in the hills.

In Gozo, Tom Sawyer sat on the roof of the farmhouse, gazing across the Comino
channel. He could see the lights of the fishing boats moving out through the
darkness on their way to catch squid. He cleaned his submachine-gun and
wondered how long this job would last. He hoped it would stretch out many days.
He liked the people he was guarding; he liked the food and he liked the balmy
air. Occasionally an owl would hoot softly from the distant darkness. Tom would
smile. His guys were awake and doing their job.

In Rome, Michael and Rene played gin rummy, for money. Rene was well ahead. He
laid down a full gin, grinned and said, "Just as well you have all that
money in the bank."

Michael sighed and answered, "I quit." He looked at his watch, and then at
the phone. His mind was also far away.

Satta came out of the bedroom holding his notebook. Frank was sitting at the table
reading a hunting magazine. He looked up and then slowly rose.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

Satta's face was pale and drawn. He lifted the notebook and said harshly, "As all
right as anyone who has been immersed and almost suffocated in excrement."
He drew a breath and then exhaled slowly.

He pointed with his thumb over his shoulder towards the open bedroom door and his
voice filled with sarcasm. "The good and honourable General has decided to take the pill."

"Excellent!" Frank said heartily, as though hearing that a child had agreed to eat its
spinach. "Let's do it."

Satta sat down at the table, tossed his notebook onto it and asked apologetically,
"Frank, do you mind doing it? I don't really understand ...putting that
pill into his mouth should be one of the great moments of my life...but...I
don't want to go back in there."

The Australian nodded sombrely. He knew that sometimes words and revelations could carry as
much impact as a high-velocity bullet.

"Sure," he said. "I'll call Maxie. Do you want me to make you a coffee first?"