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even
better. He still has family there. I want to talk to him before we head south.
I also want to see a couple of other friends in Brussels and check out the
scene. For some reason, Brussels is a kind of information centre for
mercenaries. We may need some back-up and we'll certainly need some weapons.
I'll arrange all that over the next forty-eight hours."
    Gloria
asked, "What arrangements have you made for me and my nurse?"
    "I've
booked you a suite in the Amigo Hotel, plus an adjoining room for your nurse.
It's more than five star and damned expensive."
    "So
you'll meet your friend Maxie at the hotel?"
    Creasy
shook his head.
    "Maxie
is retired now. Together with his wife and her young sister, they run a small
bistro. Michael and I will have dinner there tonight. I'll brief him on the
situation and then listen to his suggestions."
    He
could almost feel the hostility coming across the narrow table.
    "And
what do I do?" Gloria asked. "Sit in that hotel and twiddle my
thumbs?"
    "It's
operational," Creasy answered. "It's a significant part of my preparation.
Maxie's knowledge and contacts are important."
    The
reaction was immediate. Gloria Manners rose slightly in her wheelchair and
said, "I don't want to be a simple onlooker. I have an alternative
suggestion. You invite this Maxie MacDonald and, if necessary, his wife and
even her sister, to dinner at my hotel and then I can listen in on what's going
on."
    Creasy
shook his head. "I can't do that. Maxie and his family run a business with
a local clientele. They just can't close down for a night. Michael and I will
go in and have a late supper, when Maxie's got time to talk to me."
    Gloria
Manners reached forward and pressed a button on the bulkhead. Ten seconds
later, the steward appeared. Gloria Manners looked at Creasy and said,
"I'm going to have a cognac. Do you want something?"
    "I'll
join you with a cognac"
    They
remained silent until the steward brought the drinks, and then Gloria leaned
forward and said, "We had better examine the parameters of this
relationship."
    "I
guess so."
    "You work for me."
    "So?"
    "When someone works for me, they do what I tell 'em."
    Creasy smiled. It was the first time she had seen him smile, but she didn't get the
reaction from a normal smile.
    He said, "Mrs Manners, I work for you because I choose to. As a matter of
fact, I need the money that you're offering...but I don't need it so bad that I
have to take bullshit from anybody. We do this my way, or when we land in
Brussels we say goodbye and you fly, in your plane, back to Denver and hire a
bunch of ex-Green Berets, who would be about as comfortable in the Zimbabwe
bush as I would be in a society cocktail party in Hollywood."
    She took a sip of her cognac, watching him all the time over the rim of her glass.
She said, "Jim Grainger told you about me?"
    "Told me what?"
    "That I'm a difficult bitch."
    "No one needed to tell me that."
    "He
never liked me."
    "Why
not?"
    "Maybe
there's a reason. But it's none of your business."
    "It's
immaterial," Creasy answered. "Whether you're difficult or not only
affects me as to this operation. You're paying me a modest sum to find out
whether there might be any reason to continue looking for your daughter's
killers. If we continue, you have to fall in line. You don't tell me how to
handle my contacts and my friends. You don't tell me how to handle the
operation. Make your mind up now."
    As they
looked at each other across the table, Creasy realised that it was a make or
break situation.
    The old
woman said, "I didn't come along to stay in a suite in a luxury hotel... I
need to be part of it."
    "You
will be. But on my terms."
    "What
are your terms?"
    "I'll
give you an example. If you want to be in on the conversation with Maxie
MacDonald, then I'll arrange a special car to bring you from the hotel to his
bistro and you join us for dinner. Of course, you have Ruby with you."
    Another
silence, while they eyeballed each other across the table. Then her