Free The Blue Ring by A. J. Quinnell

Guido in Naples I doubt that you've ever had a really close friend. You're
not that kind of man. But like I said then, I owe you. You saved my life in
Katanga. That alone would be enough, but I also owe you for Rhodesia. You
helped me land a very profitable order." He spread his arms and said,
"Now you're in my city and apparently going up against Boutin, who has a
lot of 'soldiers'. Do you need any back-up? I know some good people that can be
trusted."
    "I
appreciate it. But no thanks...you know me."
    Leclerc
nodded slowly. They both stood up and the Frenchman said, "Everything will
be here at six o'clock, including the info on Corelli. Then we can check out your
hole and the car. If you need anything else at all just call me. You have my
home number."
    "Thanks,
I will. Now, what do I owe you for the stuff?"
    Leclerc's
face looked pained. "Please, Creasy...Don't insult me."
    They
shook hands and Creasy left. Leclerc moved to the window and stood looking down
at the street four floors below. He saw the American come out from the front
door, cross the road and walk briskly away. There were plenty of taxis around
but Creasy was not the sort of man who would come out of such a meeting and
jump into a taxi at the front door. First he would make sure he had no tail.
    Leclerc
turned and went to the door of his office and opened it. He asked his
secretary, "How many shares do I have in Boutin's construction company?"
    She
fingered the keys of her console, looked at the screen and answered,
"Seventeen thousand. They went up four points last week and look good.
They're sure to get that new bridge and flyover contract next month. It's a
huge project."
    Tersely
he said, "Sell those shares before close of business today."

Chapter 15
    She
stood leaning back against the desk, gazing through the long one-way mirror.
She had the sort of beauty that would stop traffic in any of the world's
capitals: long-limbed with high breasts and a tiny waist flared into a high
bottom and long flanks. Her ash-blonde hair fell to her shoulders, a contrast
with the full-length, midnight blue satin dress.
    She was
looking through the one-way mirror which ran the length of the bar, and from
her position she could survey the entire basement club. There was a small stage
to her right and next to it, raised a little higher, was a dais with a
four-piece band. There were intimate, velvet-covered banquettes around the
walls, surrounding a polished wooden dance-floor. Customers were mostly
middle-aged businessmen. The girls were almost uniformly beautiful and were
also dressed in long gowns. The waitresses on the other hand wore cream silk
blouses, slashed to the waist, and very short black, lycra mini-skirts above
dark, fishnet stockings and black patent leather knee-high boots.
    She
turned her head to see the two men being ushered through the door. One was
blond and fair-skinned and slightly plump. She guessed his age at approaching
forty. The other was much younger, with jet-black hair and dark skin. He had
sharp features and she decided he was very handsome. They sat at the bar almost
in front of her and for a moment her view was obscured as the barmaid took
their orders. She reached behind her and flicked one of a row of switches.
Immediately she heard their voices. They spoke in English. The blond one
ordered a whisky soda, and specified Chivas Regal. The young one ordered a
Campari and fresh orange juice. As she mixed the drinks the barmaid chatted to
them as she had been trained, first asking where they were from. The blond said
he was from Stockholm and the handsome one said he was from Cyprus. The barmaid
told them that the floor-show would start at midnight and to let her know if they
wanted a table. The young man answered that they would stay at the bar.
    The
barmaid then moved away to serve another customer, and the beauty behind the
mirror studied them again before reaching for the telephone. She dialled a
number which was answered