The Collectors Book Five (The Collectors Series 5)

by Sewell, Ron

  Bear punched the buttons on his mobile and as soon as Petros answered, “Don’t talk and for once in your life, PK, listen. Maria is going to stay at your mum’s for the night. You can call her there.”

  “Any problems?”

  “Piece of cake.”

  “Is Maria okay?”

  “Right as rain.”

  “Thanks. I owe you one.”

  “I’ll send you my bill.” He terminated the call.

  “Charlie,” said Maria. “Jump into my car, we’re going for a ride.”

  The animal ran outside and waited for her to open the door.

  With the alarm set, Bear closed and locked the door as Maria drove away from the house. He put on a pair of black leather gloves and from his jacket pocket, he removed the pistol.

  He dragged the unconscious Roland from the rear seat and dumped him along with the pistol into the boot on top of the moaning Donald.

  After one final glance back at the house, he sat behind the wheel, drove towards London and the M25. For the time being he kept within the designated speed limit and concentrated on the road ahead. The journey ended in a rundown housing estate on the outskirts of Basildon. His eyes checked out the CCTV cameras, everyone smashed. “Perfect,” he muttered. He parked the Jaguar with the doors unlocked behind a mass of overflowing refuse bins and left the keys in the ignition. A quick glance around and he strolled towards a bin store with the door hanging askew. Concealed in the shadows, he leant on the wall, folded his arms, and waited.

  Three young men drinking from cans ambled by the car. One dragged something along the paintwork.

  “The keys are in the ignition,” said one.

  “What are we waiting for?” said another.

  The three piled inside slamming the doors. With the engine racing, the tyres screeching, they hurtled across the car park and exited along the main road.

  Bear smiled as from a nearby payphone he dialled 999 and reported the Jaguar stolen and hung up. In the centre of town, he hailed a passing cab. With the roads almost empty, the drive to Upminster tube station took less time than he anticipated. A train arrived minutes later and within the hour, he entered his own home.

  Jocelyn rushed into the hall. “How did it go?”

  “No problems. As I thought, people can be cooperative if treated correctly. It’s been a long evening, Fancy a Ruby?”

  She laughed. “Let me get my coat.”

  ***

  The owner of the Bengal Lancer knew Bear and Jocelyn as regular customers and guided them to their favourite table in an alcove.

  Bear raised his head as the aroma of different spices tantalised his senses.

  Jocelyn appeared concerned. “How did it really go tonight?”

  “As I said, no problems. East end amateurs attempting to emulate the Krays.”

  “Your order, sir, madam?” asked the manager.

  “You first, Jos.”

  “To start, Garlic King Prawns. Main course Chicken Shashlik Masala.”

  “For me, Miah, A large portion of Garlic King Prawns. Main Course, a double Lamb Shashlik Bhuna and a bottle of your best dry white wine.”

  Jocelyn waited for Miah to depart. “If my memory is correct the Krays killed or had people killed.”

  “Ronnie and Reggie were proper villains, the hard men of their day and the east end of London their empire. Both paid the price. Reggie died in prison and Ronnie a month after his release. Albeit they topped some of the competition, they did love their mum.”

  Miah returned with their starters, a large platter filled with fresh garlic prawns. Two finger bowls and napkins.

  With the prawns decimated, Miah sent a member of staff to clear the table. Minutes later the main course arrived sizzling on cast-iron platters. “I know Mr Bear will enjoy. It is his favourite.”

  “It’s food,” said Jocelyn. “He enjoys all food.”

  His platter clean, Bear pushed his plate away and cleaned his mouth with a napkin. He glanced at Jocelyn’s half empty plate. Finished or just taking a breather?”

  “Yes, I’m stuffed. I enjoyed what I’ve eaten.”

  “Miah makes a great Ruby.”

  They stood and a waiter assisted Jocelyn with her coat while Bear wandered across to Miah. “I think you’ll find this satisfactory.” He shoved a couple of notes into Miah’s top pocket.

  Miah removed and handed them back. “On the house. You are my best customer.”

  Bear laughed and thanked him.

  “Come on,” said Jocelyn. “Tomorrow we need to discuss the plans for our wedding.”

  “Goodnight, Miah.” He raised his eyes. “No peace for the wicked.”

  ***

  The three boys drove the Jaguar at high speed, laughing as the traffic cameras flashed.

  “That’s twelve points on his licence, Harry,” said Martin.

  “Can’t this wreck go any faster?” said Joe.

  “Fancy doing some handbrake turns up by the reservoir?” asked Harry.

  “Yeah, and later we wipe it clean and dump it in the water,” said Martin.

  ***

  A semi-conscious Donald attempted to shove the weight on top of him away. With little strength, his hand slipped onto the discarded pistol. Pain jangled his nerves as he managed to cock the weapon.

  The car veered to the left, braked, shot forward and stopped.

  Donald listened to the laughter from those in the car. Kill, kill, kill, his only thought. He grasped the weapon with both hands and aimed at the partition securing the rear seat.

  The car accelerated as he applied pressure to the trigger. He kept firing until the magazine emptied. Exhausted, he tossed the pistol aside.

  The car hit the water with an almighty splash. For a few minutes it clung to the surface. Through damaged windows dark brown water flowed. It sank in less than five minutes, still upright, with its four wheels nestled in the mud. A cloud of silt rose, settling on the polished paintwork.

  ***

  The following morning Bear watched breakfast television as the local news station broadcast,

  Murder inquiry launched after three men were found inside and two more in the boot of a dark green Jaguar recovered early this morning from Hanningfield Reservoir. Police have sealed off a section of the reservoir.

  It is understood the victims could be linked to gang warfare and drugs. An Essex police spokesperson said the investigation continues but refused to comment further.

  The car was eventually removed with the bodies inside.

  Detective Superintendent Leslie Holmes of the Essex police did not mention how the men died.

  A local resident stated drug trading was commonplace in the reservoir car park and cars were often stopping late at night and then driving away.

  Bear looked on in astonishment and switched the television off. “There endeth the lesson.” He whistled as he strolled to the kitchen and prepared his breakfast.

  Chapter Twenty

  Petros awoke at four, dressed and wandered onto the deck. The moon cast its reflection on a mirror-flat sea. “Time,” he muttered before clambering up the ladder to the bridge. “Good morning, Tommaso.”

  “Hi. Great day for a fight.”

  “I need to use the radio.”

  “Go ahead, you know the procedure.”

  Petros switched to channel seven on the radio. “Good morning. This is Petros Kyriades. Out.” He repeated the message three times before someone answered.

  “I gather you have reconsidered my proposal. You must love your wife. I suggest you come to me one hour after sunrise. My vessel is thirty miles north of your present position. Remember, my associate is taking care of your wife. Out.”

  “You are up early,” said Alfredo as he entered the bridge.

  “Need time to get my brain in gear. Our friend is thirty miles north.”

  “One moment. Tommaso, set the auto-pilot to north, speed ten knots. I will stay here while you have breakfast. Do not take too long.”

 
; He turned. “Petros, have you a plan?”

  “Yes, and with luck no-one on our side will get hurt.” He explained to Alfredo what he wanted him to do. Checking the time he said, “Two hours until our appointment. Breakfast calls.”

  To his surprise the mess was full. “What’s up with everyone? Couldn’t sleep?”

  Tommaso turned his head towards Petros. “Like you, we’ll be glad when this day is over.”

  During breakfast, tension played games with the crew’s minds. Tempers flared but subsided just as fast.

  Petros stood and scanned the faces around him. “Anyone who would rather avoid the action can stay below deck.”

  Apart from the throb of the engines, silence filled the space.

  “We might have a problem with that,” said Marco. “This is our boat and no man is going to take it from us. Well not without a fight.”

  “Amadou and ZZ have their instructions.”

  “Can’t wait to see those bastards’ faces,” said ZZ.

  Adrian sipped his coffee and nodded.

  “I’ll go and relieve Alfredo,” said Tommaso as he refilled his coffee cup.

  “Just keep your head down and don’t get shot,” said Petros. “The rest of us will cause confusion and mayhem.”

  Alfredo entered the mess as Petros said, “I’ll take control of the ship.”

  Alfredo shook his head. “I know my ship, my bridge, how she reacts and I am a better ship-handler than Gabriele Silvio.”

  Petros nodded. “I have a feeling he’s in for a bad day.”

  Davide entered. “Tommaso has them at ten miles and closing.”

  Each member of the crew grabbed a shotgun, a box of ammunition from ZZ and made their way to the upper deck. Davide and Petros pushed the timed detonators into the plastic explosive. ZZ and Amadou took up their positions out of sight on the stern. Alfredo stood erect on the bridge.

  The deck trembled as two vessels at slow speed came together, their hulls separated by fenders of rubber tyres.

  Davide, Petros and Adrian tossed the half dozen paint tins along with grenades onto the bow, waist, and upper bridge of Belladonna while multiple shotguns peppered the superstructure.

  Almost in slow motion the two vessels drifted apart.

  ZZ and Amadou waited for the moment when the stern of one crossed the stern of the other and vaulted over.

  On Belladonna, four men stepped into the open and blasted away at Tuna Turner with semi-automatics. Empty cartridges filled the air before they fell to the deck.

  From behind the steel bulkhead, Davide, Petros and Adrian hurled more grenades across the gap.

  ZZ and Amadou raced for cover. Another burst of gunfire filled the air.

  Gabriele screamed abuse as Alfredo’s vessel at full power manoeuvred away. Furious, he pushed the throttles hard down.

  Alfredo reasoned his opponent’s reaction and altered course.

  ZZ and Amadou entered the superstructure, located the engine room entrance, tossed in two stun-grenades and closed the door. Thirty seconds later, they descended the steel ladder.

  ZZ utilised the ladder as cover, while Amadou removed a block of plastic explosive from his backpack, broke it in two and inserted a detonator in each piece timed for ten minutes.

  He nodded to ZZ as he stuck them on the ready-use-fuel tanks but below the water line. With a quick glance around, they raced up the metal stairs and through the entrance. Amadou stopped long enough to fasten the door clips.

  “Time for a swim,” said ZZ.

  Once on the deck they charged for the stern. Shots ricocheted off steel posts as they criss-crossed the deck. Both men gripped their weapons tight as they slid behind the aft winch.

  At deck level, ZZ peered round the winch drum. Two men approached, their semi-automatic rifles firing.

  Amadou removed two grenades and handed one to ZZ. With hand signals, he indicated he would go left and for ZZ to go right. They waited.

  The firing ceased as the men changed magazines.

  Two grenades hurtled towards the gunmen.

  With their shotguns ready, ZZ and Amadou rolled, fired, cocked and fired in the general direction of the men.

  Flat on the deck, they raised, aimed their weapons; one man’s mangled corpse lay on the deck. They turned their heads and watched the bow of Tuna Turner ride high over the amidships section of the Belladonna.

  Their eyes scanned the deck as they searched for the second man. Wounded, he tumbled from behind a life-raft container. ZZ and Amadou fired together.

  The constant noise of shotguns pounding the Belladonna thumped the air.

  “Let’s get wet,” said Amadou. In a few long strides both men dropped their weapons and jumped into the water. On surfacing, they watched the Tuna Turner go astern and the Belladonna limp away.

  “You just killed your wife, Kyriades,” screamed Gabriele over the radio. “Alfredo, you will never see your family again.”

  Gabriele grabbed the semi-automatic from his one surviving crewmember. “Steer out of shotgun range so I can achieve one good shot.”

  Petros checked the time and shouted, “Get the hell away from them, max revs.” He felt the engines power and the ship turn.

  Gabriele calmly raised the weapon to his shoulder and prepared to take the shot. “What are they doing? Full power, they can’t escape.”

  “The throttles are at full,” shouted the man on the wheel. “The controls are smashed.”

  Petros stood alongside Alfredo. “Any moment.”

  “What about your two friends?”

  The explosion blasted Belladonna’s engine room. Pieces of steel flew into the air trailing black smoke and flames. Jets of blazing diesel sprayed the superstructure.

  Those on the deck of the Tuna Turner shivered as the vibration from the blast washed over them.

  The ship split, flooded and in seconds vanished. A slick of black smoking oil marked her sinking.

  “Petros, I will pick up your men first and then we search for survivors.”

  “I’ve a feeling he and his crew went down with the ship.”

  “I will still look,” said Alfredo. “It is right.”

  The Tuna Turner stopped twenty metres from the swimming ZZ and Amadou. The slight breeze drifted the ship towards them.

  Marco and Davide tossed lines and hauled them inboard.

  “The water’s great for swimming, not too cold once you get used to it,” said ZZ.

  “If you have to get used to it, it’s too bloody cold,” said Petros. “Well done. Any problems?”

  “A couple,” said Amadou, “but we shot them.”

  For a time Alfredo cruised the area until he was satisfied no one from the Belladonna survived. He wandered to the radio and for a few moments gathered his thoughts. “This is the Tuna Turner; my position is Latitude 35 degrees. 40 north. Longitude 15 degrees. I am reporting an explosion on a white motor yacht some ten miles north of my position.”

  “Tuna Turner. This is Valletta Harbour Master. Please repeat.”

  Alfredo repeated his message.

  “Tuna Turner, how many survivors?”

  “I have searched the immediate area and have found no survivors.”

  “Thank you, Tuna Turner. Out.”

  Alfredo turned to Petros. “It is right to report an accident at sea.”

  “I agree. I like the flare of your new bow... Don’t worry, I’ll meet the cost of repairs.”

  There was a shout from below. Petros glanced towards the deck where ZZ and Amadou collected and tossed the shotguns, the spare ammunition and grenades over the side.

  “A precaution,” said Petros to Alfredo.

  “A waste of fine weapons but I understand. In the meantime, I will have the minor damage painted over. Looks better that way. I will set a course for Malta and with luck we should arrive this evening.”

  “Tomorrow we might have to unload the gold but first I contact my legal beagle. I want him here to deal with this,” said Petros.

 
Chapter Twenty-One

  James woke from a deep sleep and groped for his vibrating mobile. His thumb found the mute button. The scent of perfume gave rise to other thoughts. Not to wake his sleeping wife, he slid out of bed, let his feet find his slippers and made his way downstairs to the kitchen. He pressed recall.

  “Hi, James, sorry to wake you.”

  “Petros, you pay me good money for the privilege. What’s the news?”

  “One thousand plus ingots of Hitler’s gold.”

  “I’m your lawyer, so listen to what I tell you. Under no circumstances, unload the gold. Nazi gold usually belongs to others, which Hitler’s storm troopers stole as they plundered Europe. When will you return to Palermo?”

  “At the moment we’re on passage to Malta. I reckon it’s better for our health and wealth.”

  “Tell me when I arrive but don’t forget you’re paying for Alfredo’s boat by the day and it doesn’t come cheap.”

  “I can pay him a bonus with the gold.”

  “Don’t count your chickens. I’ve completed the paperwork for the next stage and now have to convince the authorities on the law of finds as opposed to the application of maritime salvage law. The process is more like the series Law and Order than Jonny Depp and the Pirates of the Caribbean. ”

  “Don’t understand a word but then as you said, I pay you to figure out the detail. When will you arrive?”

  “I’ll call you once I’ve landed.” The call ended and he wandered to his study and searched the web for a flight to Malta. A BA flight departed from Gatwick at midday. He made a first-class booking and emailed two associates in Malta. The time on his computer sidled past eight. He crept up the stairs and returned to bedroom.

  “It must have been important.”

  “It will buy you a new Porsche.”

  “How long will you be away?”

  “Depends, with luck less than a week.”

  While he showered and dressed, Susan readied his case.

  Clad in a purple tracksuit she drove him to Gatwick Airport.