by Sewell, Ron
A child answered.
In poor Italian he said, “Can I speak to your papa?”
“Salvatore Rizzo. Who is this?”
“A friend who requires to purchase a few items for self-defence.”
“I have many friends,” he rasped. “Where are you calling from?”
“I’m in the city council square close to the Pretoria fountain.”
Salvatore’s tone softened. “You know I deal in cash.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“When do you require these items?”
“Tomorrow morning after the bank’s open.”
Salvatore paused. “Ten o’clock at the blue boatshed by the old harbour.”
“I’ll be there.” Amadou sighed as he ended the call and strolled to a nearby restaurant to eat. A young dark-haired waitress wearing a skimpy mini skirt directed him to a corner table set for two at the back of the dining room. The surroundings were lively with the majority of the larger tables occupied. Glasses tinkled and voices fortified by the wine rose and fell. Waiters scooted at speed back and forth, their arms balancing plates filled with food.
Amadou ordered bistecca alla Palermo and asked for it to be well done.
On leaving, he hailed a taxi to take him back to his hotel.
***
Alfredo returned towards evening with his crew and a van full of provisions. The next hour passed loading and storing along with Marco shouting.
While eating their evening meal, Alfredo turned to Petros. “Amadou and ZZ, they are not eating?”
“They’ve gone.”
“Why? They were useful.”
“They felt out of place and I tended to agree. When is the submersible due to arrive?”
“Sometime tomorrow afternoon.”
“We sail the moment it’s on deck and secure.”
“I agree,” said Alfredo. “My crew tell me questions are being asked as to where we went and what was found.”
“What were their answers?”
“We went all over the place and found nothing. And by the way,” he grinned. “you are a mad Englishman who keeps changing his mind.”
He shrugged. “I can think of a few people who might agree with you.”
Not being at sea enabled the crew to enjoy a few glasses of wine and play cards. Petros returned to his cabin while Alfredo sat in the bridge and read a book, his eyes constantly scanning the jetty.
***
At ten o’clock Amadou waited. The freshly painted blue gates at the entrance to the Palermo Yachting Association remained shut. A chain and padlock ensured they remained that way.
An air of authority radiated from Salvatore, a large, well-built man in his fifties, as he appeared from a side street. He hugged Amadou. “My friend, long time. How can I be of service?”
“I need some insurance.”
“Come and inspect the merchandise, much of which you supplied a year ago.”
Salvatore removed the padlock and chain. Together they strolled along a cobbled path to the farthest boat shed. The skeletons of craft from distant days lay rotting on wasteland whereas to their left a well-planned marina contained craft of every shape and size.
Inside the shed, an aged motor cruiser sat in a wheeled cradle.
Salvatore pointed. “My office. Looks like a boat, is a boat but it will never float again.”
They clambered up the steel steps alongside, entered a partly refurbished main cabin, and wandered forward to a bedroom.
“Shut the door,” said Salvatore.
Amadou obliged.
Salvatore pushed a button on the far wall. A pump started and the bed lifted to reveal a large storage cupboard filled with weapons of every description.
“Not the safest of hideaways,” said Amadou.
Salvatore cocked his head to one side. “Not necessary.” He grinned. “If the door is left open this boat launches into the air with a big explosion taking the thieves with it.”
Amadou selected his weapons, took the bulging white envelope from his pocket, and handed it to Salvatore. “You should check that.”
Salvatore shoved the envelope into his trouser pocket. “If it’s not enough I pay you less next time I order equipment.”
Amadou smiled, lifted two holdalls, one in each hand, strolled out of the boat store and along the street to his hotel.
***
Behind the low-loader, the traffic crawled towards the harbour. Crowds of holidaymakers stopped and watched the driver negotiate the bends in the road as he blocked the oncoming vehicles. Mobile phones photographed the chaos.
An hour elapsed before the vehicle was in position to reverse along the jetty. Unruffled, the driver checked his alignment and reversed the four hundred metres to Tuna Turner without stopping. At the ship, he jumped out of his cab and adjusted the stabilisers before hoisting the pillar-box red submersible onto the deck.
Ginger-haired, Adrian Sullivan, exhibited a healthy complexion from years working in salt-laden surroundings. His dishevelled appearance contradicted his expertise as he guided the craft secure in its steel frame to the deck.
Alfredo greeted him as a brother.
“My truck driver will remain in Palermo until my return. We agreed fifty percent of my costs up front, the remainder on completion.”
“Your money as agreed,” said Alfredo as he handed over a buff envelope.
Adrian jumped to the jetty and gave it to his driver. “Deposit this and find yourself a three star hotel and no gambling.”
“The man shoved the banker’s draft into his jacket and returned to his cab. With a roar, the air filled with diesel exhaust as the empty low-loader traversed the jetty.
Petros remained on the far side of the vessel. A skilled observer may have seen the wave of his hand as the red monster swayed above the deck. Amidships and concealed by the super-structure, Amadou and ZZ hauled themselves and two heavy holdalls over the side and entered the ship. ZZ fighting to keep his eyes open blew a kiss to Scarlet who sat behind the wheel of a hired motor boat.
***
Adrian checked the securing wires on the steel frame once more before turning to Alfredo. “When do we sail?”
The deck trembled and exhaust erupted from the funnel as Davide started the engines.
“Silly question. Where’s my cabin?”
Petros strolled across and shook his hand. “Petros Kyriades. Follow me. It’s the one next to mine. That’s a pretty comprehensive bit of kit.”
“The Red Devil, self-contained, air-compressor, tools, spare parts, everything I need to do the job. I’m paid for results.”
“And as I’m the one paying I couldn’t agree more.”
“What are we recovering?”
“Gold.”
He raised his eyebrows. “How much?”
Petros grinned. “When you bring it to the surface, we’ll find out. The mess is at the end of this passage. The captain wants a chat once we’re clear of the harbour.”
Alfredo arrived twenty minutes later, opened a large manila envelope, and removed a dozen photographs, which he handed to Adrian. “What do you think?”
“Anyone require coffee?” said Marco as he entered the galley.
“Three cups,” said Petros.
“Great detail,” said Adrian. “The hatch cover has to be removed before I venture inside. I suggest you cut the brackets with explosives. If we’re lucky it’ll blow the hatch away. If it doesn’t, I’ll cut and drag. We position a steel basket away from the vessel. I’ll remove the ingots and place them in the basket and on my signal, you hoist them to the surface. I reckon maximum ten at a time.”
“You describe it as a day at the office,” said Petros.
“I’ll need an assistant.”
“Why?” asked Petros.
“I operate the sub and my assistant the articulated arm. It’s not impossible to do both but easier with an extra pair of hands.”
“Could I do it?”
“I’ll t
each you in ten minutes if you want but we work until we can do no more or Alfredo calls us up. No tea breaks and you piss and crap in a bucket.”
“Fine by me. I took a gamble there was something on this ship the Germans needed. I guessed gold and hit the jackpot. Alfredo, are you going to tell him the bad news or shall I?”
“You tell him. I am enjoying my cup of coffee.”
“We should consider ourselves fortunate the location of the vessel has remained a secret. Somehow, what we have been searching for has the Cosa Nostra placing a transmitter onboard. If it were me, I’d wait a few days until the recovery is almost complete and move in. Pure speculation on my part and I’m open to suggestions. But, I don’t intend to give whatever we recover away, so I’ve taken out insurance. Wait a moment.”
Petros left and returned a few minutes later with Amadou and ZZ carrying two holdalls.
Alfredo inhaled sharply. “I admit you baffled me by leaving. Do I need to ask what’s in the bags?”
ZZ unzipped the nearest and removed eight new pump action Remington shotguns. A box of stun grenades and two boxes of regular grenades. “One shotgun each and four boxes of shells.”
“For defence,” said Petros.
Alfredo picked one of the weapons up. “These are the best. Where did you get them without a permit?”
“You don’t need to know,” said Amadou. “I have contacts who, when asked, help.”
“Amadou and ZZ will keep their eyes skinned for anything out of the ordinary while the rest of us work our balls off. The Cosa Nostra aren’t stupid and more than likely kept us under observation during our time in harbour. They will count on Alfredo and his crew to give little or no resistance as they and their families are part of Palermo. Me, as an individual, they can deal with. One bullet in the head and no questions asked. Between you and me, I know how these people operate.”
“You talk as if they will come,” said Alfredo.
“My gut instinct kept me alive in some of the most dangerous places in the world. With what’s at stake, I’m sure.”
Adrian selected one of the shotguns and worked the pump action. “If it comes to the gunfight at the OK Corral, I’m in. No bastard’s going to take my life for a bar of gold.”
Alfredo chewed his lower lip. “Petros, I really do not want a stand-up fight with these people. Trust me, they follow their own rules. My crew will support me but once a shot is fired, we declare war. The Cosa Nostra will fight and one side will die.”
“I have a saying, for evil to exist it takes good men to do nothing. Our deaths are inevitable if we do nothing. And I’ve no intention of underestimating the Cosa Nostra,” said Petros with a smile. “In the meantime, we have three, maybe four days, before anything might happen. I suggest we carry on as normal. Adrian can teach me to operate the arm and if your crew require a bit of target practice so be it.”
The idea of a fight stimulated the crew beyond imagination. How they might attack and defend their ship and livelihoods became the main topic of conversation as they ate dinner.
As the Tuna Turner sailed through the Messina Straits Petros removed the transmitter and tossed it over the side. “Should give us another day,” he muttered.
The night was dark and the passage uneventful.
***
Scarlet grabbed her few possessions from the hotel bed she had shared with ZZ and shoved them into a plastic bag. With the bag over her arm, she descended the stairs and made her way to her car. For a second she hesitated before contacting Giovanni.
He answered his mobile on the third ring. “What did you find out?”
She cursed under her breath. “They have a submersible on board and I believe will be sailing this evening.”
“Did you find out what they are looking for? My brother believes it is gold.”
“I did the business with my contact but it’s difficult to speak when you’re with a real man. I did ask him about his job and he replied, bodyguard. Does that tell you anything?”
“Nothing which can’t be dealt with. Keep your contact interested.”
The line went dead.
Scarlet tossed her mobile onto the passenger seat livid at Giovanni. She liked ZZ and his young agile body. She smiled, anyone would be better than the slobbering, overweight creep.
She returned to ZZ’s room, closed and locked the door. He’d told her it was booked for a week. Lifting the telephone she ordered a bottle of Merlot and lay back on the bed. Softly she hummed to herself while she thought, I’ll wait.”
***
In a telephone box outside Victoria station, Roland Wallace gripped the handset, his expression serious as he spoke to Gabriele Silvio.
Gabriele explained. “The transmitter my man planted on board is working. As we speak, my state-of-the-art computer plots the position of their vessel. I love technology that saves so much hard work. I’ll give them a couple of days before I relieve them of the gold. Don’t worry, the ship will be lost at sea with all hands. On completion, my motor yacht will berth in Rome and the gold transferred. Your share will be in your Bermuda account, soon after. ”
“Just let me know when you have the gold. I intend to implement an insurance policy of my own. I’ve been informed Kyriades is an ex-soldier and I detest heroes who get in my way. They tend to fuck things up.”
“You worry too much. The crew of a fishing boat are unarmed and will be easy to overpower.”
“Make sure he’s shot first.” The line went dead.
Gabriele turned to his brother Giovanni. “The English always worry.” He glanced at his watch. “Time we went and found ourselves some refugees.”
“If we don’t there’s plan B which I prefer.”
When you are Padrino, you may decide. For the next thirty years, I decide.”
Giovanni stood and shoved his hands in his pockets to regain his self-discipline. He strolled round the room then perched on the arm of a chair. “Why can’t I come on this mission? I can deal with fishermen as good as any of the men.”
“Do I not take care of you, brother? You want for nothing so leave the business side of our family to me.”
Giovanni smiled. “You are right, brother.” He hugged the man before saying, “I must go. Have a safe and profitable trip.”
Chapter Eighteen
The Tuna Turner arrived over the wreck of the Jupiter late in the afternoon. Alfredo set his ship to hover and the six electric motors started and stopped automatically as they maintained the vessel’s position. He turned to Petros. “When do you want to start?”
Adrian interrupted. “May I suggest something?”
“Be my guest,” said Petros.
“Use your ROV to set charges and blow the brackets. I need to see the hulk before I descend. A good night’s sleep before a long day works for me.”
“I agree,” said Alfredo, “but then I am not paying.”
“You two are the professionals. So long as we recover the gold and no one gets hurt another few hours doesn’t matter. What’s the saying, early to bed and early to rise? Let’s get the ROV ready for a dip.”
No sooner had the ROV secured the charge, surfaced and Tommaso pressed the button, it dived again. Isabella repeated this process eleven times before the multiple steel straps securing the cargo were all fractured.
“The hatch cover has taken some damage,” said Adrian, “but it can wait.”
“Silly question,” said Petros. “but are there any large sharks in the Med?”
Adrian smiled. “You’d better believe it, although not often seen. If my memory serves, there’s at least forty different types. The big three are around and have sunk their teeth into a few tasty morsels.”
“And they are?”
“White, Bull and Tiger. They only bite to see if you’re good to eat.”
“Great whites can’t have much to eat in the Med.”
They continued stowing the ROV and other gear.
“Great whites can’t have much to eat in the Med.”
“Dolphin and Tuna are in abundance and the occasional holiday-maker. Last one I heard of was off the coast of Malta. Honeymoon couple, he swam way out to impress his new bride and a Great White took him. She thought he was waving until he disappeared.”
Petros grimaced. “On that wonderful thought, it’s time for dinner.”
“Adrian walked around his red submersible checking. Satisfied everything was in order, he joined the crew in the mess.
The meal over, everyone, apart from Amadou and ZZ, retired to their cabins, showered and rested.
On the bridge, Amadou checked their position from the sat-nav and glanced at the sweeping line on the radar display. The nearest vessel remained over thirty miles distant. He stared out of the starboard window relieved that the sea remained empty. For six hours, on the hour, he repeated the procedure. At the rear of the bridge, ZZ dozed in a chair.
Amadou was checking the radar when ZZ said, “See any ships?”
“Nothing except the sea and stars.”
“When do you think the Cosa Nostra will arrive?”
“Soon.”
“You talk as if you know.”
“I don’t know exactly, but they will.”
“Funny, isn’t it? We always tell ourselves not to get involved.”
“You’re not wrong.”
“So why do we?”
***
At first light ZZ woke everyone except Amadou who had fallen asleep in a chair. Marco produced coffee and toasted ham and cheese sandwiches for breakfast.
Adrian supervised the launching of the Red Devil.
Within the hour, Adrian and Petros dropped into the submersible. Being last Petros pulled the hatch closed and sealed it before sliding into his rigid seat. His eyes gazed at the electronic control panels in front and to the sides.
Adrian completed the pre-dive check-list, ticking each item on his sheet.
Simone, wearing a wet suit, floated at one of the viewing ports, waiting. When he received thumbs up from inside he released the securing shackle and pulled himself onto the Tuna Turner.