Message From -Creasy 5 by A. J. Quinnell Read Free Book Online Page A

Senator. This conversation is between you and me."
    "Good.
I'm going to ask nothing that will compromise you. It's simply a request. I
would like you to keep me informed of any further contact you or your
department have with this man Jensen or with the man Creasy. I would also ask
that in the event of such contacts, you render all assistance possible."
    The
colonel looked up at Susanna, who again simply shrugged.
    A few
seconds passed, then Friedman said: "I'll be happy to do that, Senator
Grainger, under any circumstances. However, you will understand my curiosity.
Can you explain why?"
    Friedman
and Susanna looked at each other through the silence. Through the speaker, she
could hear the Senator's breathing. He said: "I'll be in Washington next
week. Perhaps you would join me for lunch at The Red Sage?"
    Susanna
saw Friedman's eyebrows rise in surprise. It was a very rare event when a
senior Senator invited a colonel to the best restaurant in town.
    "It
will be an honour, Senator."
    "Good.
I'll have my secretary phone you and fix the appointment. Thanks for your
cooperation."
    The
line went dead. Friedman sat back in his chair and looked thoughtfully at the
ceiling. Then he lowered his gaze to Susanna.
    "What
the hell is all that about?"
    "It's
about having perhaps the best meal in your life."
    A
thought struck him. "Should I wear uniform or a suit and tie?"
    "Ask
the secretary when she phones. I would certainly polish my shoes."
    He was
thoughtful again. "Put your thinking cap on, Susanna. What the hell is
behind all this?"
    "I
don't know. But my guess is that his interest lies more in the mercenary Creasy
than in the Dane." She had stood up. "But Elliot, one thing is for
sure: you had better go to that lunch fully prepared. You need to know more
about this man Creasy."
    "That's
true. But if I ask for a more detailed report from the FBI, they'll alert
Grainger. I have to find another way."
    She
nodded. "You have to have the advantage of knowledge without the Senator
being aware of it."
    "So
what do I do?"
    "You
put a routine inquiry through to Interpol in Paris."
    "Interpol?
But he's a mercenary, not necessarily a criminal."
    "Yes,
but I read somewhere that for the last couple of decades Interpol have been
keeping a registry of all known mercenaries. It's no problem. We often put
inquiries through to Interpol, and I doubt if Senator Grainger has any
influence there."
    She
closed her eyes as the plane screeched onto the runway. No matter how many
times she flew, she could never relax during the take-off or landing. A voice
from the seat beside her drawled, "I know how you feel, ma'am. To me it's
always a miracle that these damned machines ever get off the ground."
    She
opened her eyes and turned her head. From an earlier conversation she knew that
he was a Texas oilman. She would have known it anyway. He was all boots and a
big brass belt buckle and a friendly courtesy. He helped her off with her bag
and invited her to share a taxi into town. She declined politely, not relishing
the idea of conversation or an invitation to dinner. During the half-hour
journey she noticed the increased bustle of the city. There were ever more
street vendors and Honda mopeds. Capitalism was returning to Vietnam with a
vengeance. Her thoughts turned back to Washington and to Elliot Friedman.
    Interpol
had answered their query within hours. She had watched the fax come off the
machine in her office. It had kept coming and coming until more than five yards
of it had spilled onto the floor. She had read it in silent fascination and
then taken it through to Elliot. After he finished reading it, he looked up and
asked: "You read it?"
    "Yes.
I'm sorry, I should have brought it through straight away, but I started
reading as it came off the machine and I couldn't stop."
    Slowly
and thoughtfully, he rolled the paper into a tube. He tapped it on his desk.
"You saw the connection," he said.
    "Yes.
Lockerbie, Pam Am 103. Creasy's wife and child were on