The Blue Ring by A. J. Quinnell

name?"
    Jens answered through waves of pain. "My name is Jens Jensen."
    "What are you doing here?"
    "I was forced here at gunpoint."
    The voice said, "If you get clever you'll suffer. What are you doing in Marseille?"
    "I came to confer with a colleague here."
    "About what?"
    "Missing persons."
    He heard the woman laugh. Boutin said harshly to her, "Shut up!"
    To Jens he said, "So why were you asking questions about me? And why did you come to my club?"
    "Because you're known to deal in both drugs and women. The two go hand in hand."
     
    At that moment, Creasy was looking at the house from a rise in the road three hundred
metres away. He was sitting in the passenger seat of Corelli's Renault. Corelli sat behind the wheel, speaking.
    "There will be one or two guards at the main gate and a third somewhere in the
grounds. The guards at the main gate will let us through. I'm expected."
    "But I'm not," Creasy stated.
    "I'll introduce you as a colleague," the Frenchman answered. "There will be
no problem at the gate. I have brought colleagues here sometimes in the past."
    "For what?"
    A long pause, then Corelli said quietly, "For pleasure."
    Beside him Creasy grunted. "What a pigsty you all live in! What happens when we
go into the house?"
    "There will be one or two guards inside the front door. They will definitely search
you for weapons."
    Grimly Creasy said, "They're going to find them...in the very nicest way. Will
they have guns in their hands, or under their jackets?"
    "Under
their jackets."
    "Let's
go."
    It went
as the policeman had predicted. The massive gates were opened and a man stepped
out and shone a torch into the car, first onto Corelli's face and then on
Creasy's.
    "He's
a colleague," Corelli explained.
    The
guard nodded and waved them on. They drove up a gravel driveway and parked next
to a red Mercedes sports car.
    "Is
that Boutin's?"
    "No,
his mistress'."
    They
climbed out of the car, walked up the steps and Corelli pressed a button. They
heard the chimes inside and a few seconds later the door opened and they went
through.
    There
were two of them, both hard-faced; one tall and so thin as to be almost
skeletal; the other was short and stocky. Both wore loose-fitting suits. They
nodded respectfully to Corelli but gave Creasy a suspicious look.
    "A
colleague," Corelli explained. "Your boss is expecting me."
    "He's
in the basement," the short one said, and then gestured at Creasy.
"Are you taking him with you?"
    "Yes."
    "Then
I'll have to check him."
    "Go
ahead," Creasy said affably and unbuttoned his coat.
    The
guard moved forward, raising his hands to pat him down. He was about six inches
shorter than Creasy. Neither the guard nor Corelli saw the uppercut coming. It
was just a blur; a sharp crack as the guard's jaw snapped shut, and the man was
lifted off his feet by the force of the blow. The tall guard was fast but not
fast enough.
    His
right hand had vanished under his jacket before the unconscious guard had hit
the floor. But as his pistol came out, he knew he was too late. He saw the
levelled Colt with its fat silencer. A split second later he felt the impact of
the first bullet into his heart. He was punched back onto the wall. The second
bullet went through his forehead an inch above his nose and splattered his
brains against the wall. Unfortunately, he had time to flick off the safety of
his pistol. It hit the flag-stoned floor and fired a bullet which narrowly
missed Corelli's feet. The pistol had no silencer and the shot echoed around
the room.
    Instantly
Creasy turned and fired two shots into the heart of the unconscious guard and a
third into his brain. Then, within seconds, he had unscrewed the silencer and
changed the magazine. Corelli stood frozen as Creasy reholstered the pistol and
unclipped the SMG.
    "Move!"
the American said. "I follow you to the basement and no tricks. I've got
my thumb on the button."
     
    In the basement they heard the single shot. Boutin's head jerked up in surprise and