The Collectors Book Five (The Collectors Series 5)

by Sewell, Ron

  “Interesting,” he muttered as he typed the known information. The screen flashed – ‘Records not computerised. Located section C, row 11, shelf 4’.

  He strolled into section C and quickly found the heavy leather-bound ledger containing the information. From the records and documentation he read,

  SS Jupiter, launched 1926, fitted out 1927 and traded as a general cargo carrier until nineteen thirty. Sold to Jose Maria Line and renamed Vincente, Nineteen thirty three. Whilst entering the River Tagus in collision with the Argos and sank. Raised and rebuilt in nineteen thirty three becoming the Illueca, trading as a general cargo ship until in nineteen forty, sold for scrap. Prepared for towing to the scrap yard in Thessalonica, Greece.

  He photocopied the single sheet and took a London cab to James’ office.

  Carole, wearing black nail polish and lipstick, a black one-piece body stocking, stopped Edward with a glare of annoyance. “I’ll let James know you’re here.”

  He hovered for a few minutes until she returned. “Sorry you had to wait but he was on a call. You know, client confidentiality. Please go in.”

  “Come in and sit down,” said James as he pointed to a chair. “My apologies for making you wait but I was in the middle of an important call.”

  “No problem.” Edward sat and handed across the single sheet of paper. “Can I ask why you’re interested in a ship which was scrapped in nineteen forty? She sails no more.”

  James peered over the sheet of paper and yawned. “You can ask but I’ll not tell.” He opened the right-hand drawer in his desk, leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Five hundred as agreed and keep your mouth shut.”

  Edward gave a nod of the head. “I was never here.”

  “The next time we don’t meet, you can buy me dinner.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  Edward waved to Carole as he left.

  She ignored him but mouthed, “Arsehole.”

  ***

  James managed a weak smile as he reread the information. He typed, “Thessalonica Ship Breakers,’ into the box on the screen. His eyes studied a short list of builders, but no mention of a breaker’s yard. For a long time he sat staring at the ceiling, something did not make sense. Again, he checked historical records and noted the Allies bombed every Greek shipyard during the second world war making them virtually useless.

  Nothing remained but to sleep on it. Again, he read the single sheet. James thought ahead, the last thing he needed was an owner of the vessel crawling out of the woodwork. On a sheet of paper he made notes.

  1. The shipping company no longer exists.

  2. Destined for the scrap yard, therefore someone might have paid good money for the vessel.

  3. Somehow survived the war. Past its prime, it remained functional, served a purpose and sailed from Thessalonica in July 1944.

  4. From the initial salvage, carried a large amount of gold.

  5. Sunk by the Royal Navy.

  6. Found.

  7. Owned by?

  He stared at the mess of paper covering his desk and the half-drunk cup of coffee. “Carole.” Then he remembered she had left. “There has to be an answer,” he muttered. “Time I went home.”

  ***

  James woke with a start and glanced at the alarm clock. Becky remained asleep as he slipped silently from the bed and spent ages standing beneath the shower. His hand rubbed the stubble on his face but today he decided not to shave.

  In the kitchen, he watched the news on BBC World and drank his first coffee of the day. Without waking his wife, he headed for his office

  Chapter Seventeen

  Hidden from the hundreds of tourists in Palermo, The Chianti restaurant catered for the privileged few. The rich, the elite, and top class escorts. Gabriele Silvio, along with his brother Giovanni, sat in the simple furnished room at the rear. Six associates smoked and drank coffee around a circular oak table.

  Gabriele, their Padrino, refined his notes with suggestions from his team. Each man possessed strengths that he utilised. Experience being their mainstay. Although this appeared to be a straightforward piracy venture, no one deluded themselves. Much could go wrong as they planned alternative strategies. The procurement of an Arab Dhow remained number one on the list. Most of the other equipment was to hand or straightforward to obtain. The much needed part of the operation, the placing of a location device, he left to a paid member of the police department. The man, although weak-spirited, was aware of the price of failure.

  “We will assemble here on the day the Tuna Turner leaves harbour. Taking possession of the gold will be a major undertaking and will be completed in daylight,” said Gabriele. “I will use my own motor cruiser. Anyone damages the paintwork will have the cost of repair taken from his share.”

  “We are men of honour, Padrino, we know the rules,” said Antonino, a handsome young man with pale skin and black hair.

  “You will lead the assault on the ship. Three others, well armed, should suffice.”

  Antonino opened his mouth as if about to speak but thought better of it and simply nodded.

  “Our code of silence is the key to this operation. When Alfredo’s ship sails we make our move and arrange his burial at sea.”

  The group shook hands and without another word left.

  ***

  Police Sergeant Calderone walked with a slight limp to the rear of his patrol car and opened the boot. From beneath the spare wheel cover, he removed a small, black plastic-coated electronic device.

  For a few minutes he strolled back and forth along the jetty checking Alfredo’s limited security. One of the crew would be on the vessel and at this time of night, possibly sleeping. Without making a sound, he traversed the gangplank. As quite as possible, he made his way to the external door, which led into the bridge. The handle turned, but to his disbelief, he found it locked from the inside. He shivered but controlled his fear. His eyes searched for a suitable place. He spotted a steel ladder leading to the top of the bridge. Hesitant, he ascended and saw an opening in the mast. With a definite clunk, the magnet held the device secure. A press of a button and the unit transmitted a signal every thirty minutes.

  Sweat ran across his face as he journeyed back across the deck.

  “Who’s there?” said a man.

  He fought off a wave of nausea. “Sergeant Calderone. I thought I saw a movement and came on board to investigate.”

  Marco shone a torch into the sergeant’s eyes. “Good to know our police do some work. I’ll see you off the ship. Roaming around a boat’s deck at night, especially with your bad leg, can be dangerous. You never know what you might tread on.”

  “My radio is in the car and I must report in,” said the sergeant.

  Marco shone the torch with his free hand as he guided the sergeant off. “Don’t forget to report in.”

  For ten minutes, Calderone sat unmoving before driving away. Later he would nod twice to his contact making it known the unit was in position.

  Marco returned to the crew’s mess. Strange, he pondered, the sergeant shivered as if he was cold but it is a mild night. He rang Alfredo.

  ***

  James began the task of searching Mediterranean ship breakers’ records on his computer. But the thought nagged, why berth a ship ready for the scrap yard in Thessalonica? He read Edward’s report and whispered, “Eden, you’re a plonker of the highest order. Italy attacked Greece in October 1940 and this vessel remained in a Thessalonica shipyard, serviceable but forgotten. Until in desperation, the German SS needed a ship.”

  At speed, he checked the internet for the Jose Maria Line. With a broad smile he read, ‘Went into liquidation nineteen fifty two.’ One more question required an answer. On the demise of the owners, did the company go with them?

  Ten minutes later the words, ‘No assets,’ told him everything. A smile played on his lips. The Jupiter, according to available records, no longer existed.

  James relaxed into his chair, his mind working overtime
. He removed the pay-as-you-go mobile from his desk draw, pressed the memory button and waited. He chose his words carefully, “Hi, Petros, listen. I’ve researched your missing vessel and it appears she was simply abandoned when the Italians attacked Greece. The shipping company went into liquidation with no worldly-goods. This means whatever you recover belongs to you. Just keep the whole thing under wraps until I give you the nod. Remember people talk and Sicily is the home of the Cosa Nostra.”

  Petros listened but remained silent.

  “When do you intend to sail?”

  “Alfredo has ordered some specialised equipment. We’re ready to leave the moment it arrives.”

  “Sail the second it’s on board. I guarantee someone will notice and ask awkward questions.”

  “I’ll speak to Alfredo.”

  “Any problems, contact me on this phone.” James terminated the call.

  ***

  Alfredo was in the galley talking to Marco when Petros entered.

  Petros searched for the coffee pot. “You look troubled.”

  “Marco tells me we had a visitor last night. Police Sergeant Calderone.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “He is a man who sold his soul to the Cosa Nostra. No one trusts him, including his fellow officers.”

  “Those people don’t give refunds,” said Petros.

  “What he said made sense to me,” said Marco.

  Alfredo frowned. “He’s good at that.”

  “That’s the second time I’ve heard of the Cosa Nostra in the last five minutes. Where did you find him?”

  “On the deck,” said Marko. “We seal every door from the inside to prevent opportunist thieves.”

  “I just spoke to James and he virtually ordered me to tell you to sail as soon as the submersible and its team arrives. He believes the less said about this operation the better. I have a suggestion and before you ask, I’ll pay.”

  “It’s my ship but you are the boss,” said Alfredo.

  “Get the crew, provisions for three weeks and anything else you need on board today. No visits to the cafe for a glass or two of wine. When the crew arrive, we search the upper deck, every nook and cranny. Don’t ask what we are searching for, I haven’t a clue. You’ll know when and if we find something.”

  “What is this nook and cranny?” asked Alfredo.

  “Every possible place something might be hidden.”

  “I will contact my team. Marco, take Petros and start searching from the bow.”

  “No time like the present.”

  ***

  Petros and Marco checked every imaginable hiding place from the bow to the bridge structure.

  “Top of the bridge next,” said Marco.

  “I’ll search the wings.”

  With the wings proving clear, Petros climbed the steel ladder and rummaged under deck lockers.

  “Found it,” shouted Marco.

  Petros joined him. “Leave it. Now we control the game.”

  Marco exchanged glances. “I don’t understand. This will tell them where we are.”

  Petros’ face remained impassive. “Someone will be monitoring the signal. There’ll be a better time and place to throw it overboard.”

  “I can live with that...There’s a fresh pot of coffee in the galley, fancy a cup?”

  Petros nodded, followed Marco and savoured the aroma of ground coffee beans. He sipped the dark brown liquid. “This is good.”

  “The captain’s special. I often make a brew for myself when I’m on my own.”

  “When you order your provisions, add a few kilos of those beans.”

  “They are expensive.”

  “Let me worry about the price.”

  Amadou stuck his head around the door. “Does the coffee taste as good as it smells?”

  “It does, come and join the party,” said Petros. “I need you and ZZ to do something.”

  “Got to be better than doing nothing.”

  “Both of you pack your bags and stroll along the jetty. Jump in a taxi and find a hotel out of town. Book two rooms for a week.”

  “I gather we are not wanted.”

  “Wrong,” said Petros. “Stay in the hotel tonight and have breakfast in a nearby cafe. Tomorrow evening, leave and return unseen. I want anyone who’s watching this vessel to believe you and ZZ have gone. You’re my back up when the Cosa Nostra shit hits the fan.”

  With a wry smile on his face, Amadou nodded. “I’ll collect some insurance while I’m ashore.”

  “Good idea.”

  “We’ll leave in ten minutes. It might be better if you said farewell and waved as we walk away.”

  “Grab your gear and leave the theatricals to me. I might even break down and cry on your shoulder,” said Petros.

  “That, they might not believe.”

  Petros peered over the ship’s side while he waited.

  “Thanks for the boat ride,” said Amadou.

  Petros shook hands with him and ZZ. Together they strolled to the gangway. He waved as they wandered towards the town.

  ***

  Amadou and ZZ strolled into Panini’s cafe, found a table, and ordered a coffee. Amadou glanced across to the crowds wandering around the yacht-studded harbour.

  A waiter arrived and placed their coffee on the table.

  Amadou handed over a ten Euro note, but held it for a few seconds while he asked, “You don’t happen to know of any cheap but clean hotels?”

  The man was all business. “Ten minutes from here, my mother’s sister owns the Ariston, the cleanest hotel in Palermo.”

  “Can you get us a deal? Two double rooms for a week, bed only.”

  “Give me five minutes.”

  He returned in less than two. “I get you special offer, two double rooms, one week but you pay cash.”

  “How much?” asked Amadou.

  “Six hundred Euro.”

  “Is that each or together?”

  “For the two rooms. You will not find cheaper in Palermo and close to many fine restaurants.”

  “We’ll take them. Can you give us directions or better still take us.”

  “I’ll tell my uncle I’m having a break.”

  They strolled through narrow cobbled streets where with outstretched hands you could touch either side. From a restaurant the aroma of meat roasting on a spit, tantalised senses. Older women dressed in black lowered their eyes as they passed. Feral cats fought for scraps of food until chased by a stray dog.

  In less than ten minutes, they entered via a stone arch and flagged courtyard to the cool reception at the Ariston Hotel. Amadou gave the area the once over.

  Behind the counter, a pleasant looking woman greeted them. “It is good you brought them, Alexander. Tell your mother I will call tomorrow for my dress. Gentlemen, please follow me to your rooms.”

  They climbed two flights of stairs and along a corridor to the rear of the hotel.

  She stopped at a door. “This is one room, the other is next door.”

  “I will take the other room,” said ZZ.

  Her eyes fixed on Amadou. “You have the cash?”

  From his jacket, he removed his wallet and handed over six hundred Euro.

  She smiled. “Taxes, we pay too much.” She held up the money. “My refund from government.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” said Amadou. “ZZ, see you in half an hour. I need to make a few calls.”

  ZZ held up the card the blonde reporter gave him. “I will contact this one.”

  Amadou laughed, entered his room and shut the door. The room was spotless, with an oversized double bed and an en-suite shower room. He opened the window, peered out at the streets below where life in many ways had not changed for years. With his clothes hung in the single wardrobe he lay on the bed and let his thoughts wander.

  In the adjoining room, ZZ tossed his bag on the bed and made the call.

  ***

  Scarlet Orlando arrived outside the hotel and parked her Red Fiat Abarth
close to an historic stonewall near to the entrance.

  ZZ walked round to the driver’s door and opened it. “Great car.”

  She gave him a seductive smile. “It reminds me of me, small and wicked.”

  “Are you?” he asked with a grin.

  She jumped out of the car and operated the remote locking. “I can be. It depends.”

  “On what?”

  “If you have a shower in your room.”

  “My friend told me if I wish to seduce a lady I must wine and dine her before taking her to my bed.”

  She turned round, unlocked the passenger door. Clothes covered the rear seat. She rummaged through them and hauled out a bottle of red wine.

  “I have the wine and there’s a bistro round the corner for later.”

  “I am a man of the desert. I eat to maintain my strength.”

  She gave him a look, smiled and ran her hand over his chest. “Shower first and then much later, my man of the desert, we eat to restore your strength.”

  Together they ran to his room.

  Showered, Scarlet swept back her wet blonde hair before turning to face ZZ, allowing the towel to fall to the floor.

  “You’ve dropped something,” said ZZ.

  She was halfway across the room with the cheekiest of smiles. “Have I?”

  ***

  Amadou sat at the bar sipping a beer. “Need to stretch my legs,” he said to the barman. He drained the dregs and left the hotel turning right and entering the labyrinth of narrow cobbled streets, which led to the centre of the old town. A family of feral cats ran and hid in a cardboard box as he passed. At the edge of a square he found a payphone. He lifted the receiver, inserted his credit card, and keyed in a number from his notebook.