The Collectors Book Five (The Collectors Series 5)

by Sewell, Ron

  Davide forced himself to resist the impulse to go and help Marco. He would have loved to ram his fist down Giovanni’s throat but thought better of it. “We found Hitler’s Gold. It’s in the engine room bilges.”

  “You could have saved Marco so much pain. Tommaso, you will sail this vessel to Palermo where my gold will be unloaded. If you do this I’ll let you live.”

  “And if we don’t you’ll shoot us,” said Simone.

  “Refuse and then three of you will die in the next minute. Tommaso might live if he does as he’s told.”

  Davide, carrying the first aid box, bent over Marco and eased his T-shirt clear from his shoulders. “You’re lucky, the bullet has gone straight through.” He stood and from the kit removed a bottle of medicinal alcohol and two large surgical pads.

  “This might sting a bit but it’ll slow down any infection.” Using a swab, he washed away the excess blood. He placed the pads front and back before bandaging the shoulder. “Sit back and rest. I’ve done the best I can but I’m not a doctor.”

  “Thanks,” said Marco. “There’re cold meats and bread in the galley if you need to eat.”

  “I’d better start the engines before his highness starts shooting.”

  Tommaso checked the bridge controls. “I must have men on the bow and stern to release the ropes. As you shot one of the crew, your men aided by Simone will have to work the ropes.”

  Giovanni pointed a pistol at Tommaso. “One wrong move and I shoot you in the leg.”

  “Do that and you drive this ship.”

  “Shut up.”

  “You’re the Padrino of Palermo. Who am I to argue but I still need men on the bow and stern to release the ropes.”

  From the funnel came two streams of exhaust. Tommaso watched as the gauges settled and Davide switched to bridge control. “Are your men going to help or do we stay tied to the wall?”

  Giovanni relented and gave the order. “You two on the bow and you help on the stern.”

  “We know nothing about ropes and ships,” said one man.

  “Then you will learn or lose your fingers.”

  Tommaso gave the orders in a straightforward manner. With the ropes clear, he used the engines to manoeuvre the hull away from the wall.

  Shots sounded from the stern.

  Giovanni turned and glanced aft and saw one of his men. From the man’s head blood gushed as he blasted the water behind the ship. “What’s the fool doing?” The firing stopped.

  “If the police or the Maltese Navy tell me to slow down or stop, I’ll do as I’m told,” said Tommaso. “These guys have their own set of rules.”

  He laughed. “If you stop you die.”

  A smug smile covered his face. “If I don’t stop I die but the best part is, you die.”

  “Then pray to the Virgin Mary you don’t have to. Increase speed.”

  Tommaso reported their departure to the harbour master who, although irritated by the short notice, wished them a safe voyage.

  The moment they crossed the line between the calm waters of the harbour and the open sea the bows lifted before they plunged into deep troughs.

  Tommaso grinned as he watched the three thugs throw up into the wind. “Your men are not sailors. They just covered themselves in their own vomit.”

  Giovanni leant against the rear bulkhead. “Do you think I care?” He laughed as a touch of madness filled his eyes.

  One of the men, his face covered in dried blood and with the complexion of an elephant’s skin, staggered onto the bridge. “The bastard hit me with something and jumped overboard.”

  “For your sake, I hope you didn’t miss,” said Giovanni.

  “I never miss. Hit him at least three times.”

  ***

  Simone dived deep into the clear water of the marina. With strong strokes, he pulled away from the departing vessel, finding refuge under the twin hulls of a large catamaran.

  “Are you staying there or do you want a hand?” shouted a tall, thin man dressed in denim shorts and a ragged but once white T-Shirt.

  Simone grabbed the offered hand and heaved himself onto the deck. “Thanks. Have you a telephone I can borrow?”

  “Sure have. I came on deck when some idiot blasted away with a cannon.”

  “That idiot was shooting at me. Don’t worry I’m not the problem. Four men just hijacked my ship.”

  “Jeez,” said the man. “Here’s my cell.”

  Simone pressed the keys. Alfredo answered on the first bleep.”

  “The ship’s gone, Captain. Giovanni Silvio and three men came on board and shot Marco. He threatened to kill him if we didn’t divulge what we recovered from the wreck. I managed to escape.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I had a great swim and I’m fine. There’s an American fussing around like my mama. When I’ve dried out I’ll get a cab to Petros’ hotel.”

  “If you can, stay where you are and I’ll contact you later.”

  Simone turned to the man. “Can I stay with you until my captain returns?”

  The man chuckled. “Only if you drink bourbon and play poker.”

  “The name’s Simone and I deal a mean hand. Thanks.” He lifted the mobile, “I’ll be here for as long as it takes, Captain.” The line went dead.

  “Bill Martin, my pleasure. I’ll get the cards, one bottle and two glasses.”

  ***

  Alfredo turned to face Petros. “Giovanni has my ship and your gold. There’s nothing we can do.”

  James tapped Alfredo on the shoulder. “What’s the maximum speed of your boat?”

  “Twelve knots in a calm sea. Why?”

  “A stupid idea but why don’t we take your boat back?”

  “How?” asked Petros.

  “My friend has a power boat. We could catch them in less than an hour.”

  “They must be heading straight to Sicily,” said Alfredo. “But they have guns, we have nothing.”

  “Wrong again,” said James with a huge grin on his face. “I know my friend has four shotguns on board.”

  “Get on that phone and talk to him,” said Petros as his brain went into overdrive. “Where’s his boat berthed? I’m up for a crack at this insanity. Anyone else?”

  “I’m with you,” said Amadou and ZZ in unison.

  “My idea, so I’m coming,” said James as he waited for Allan to answer. “You’ll need an independent witness when this shit hits the fan.”

  “It’s my ship and I’m coming but I’m too old for heroics,” muttered Alfredo.

  “I need to borrow the Predator, Allan. Where are you?”

  “Manoel island marina, prepping her for the weekend.”

  “Tell him I’ll buy him a new one if we bend it,” shouted Petros. “The fuel tanks, are they full?”

  “Filled half an hour ago. Why?”

  “Allan, don’t ask questions. Move your boat to the Sliema ferry terminal and we’ll meet you there.”

  “But...”

  “Allan, for fuck’s sake just do it. I’ll explain later.” He ended the call.

  “Will he play?” asked Petros.

  “He’ll be at the terminal. Let’s go.”

  Scarlet turned and faced ZZ, her lips trembled but her look remained determined. “Please don’t go. Giovanni’s an animal and will kill anyone who gets in his way, Stay here with me.”

  “Petros is my friend. I’ll not let him down.” He kissed her on the lips. “It’s time to go.”

  “Giovanni is a maniac,” said Scarlet.

  Everyone froze.

  “You know this man?” asked Petros.

  “He is the Padrino of Palermo. Everyone knows the Cosa Nostra in Sicily.”

  “Leave her. We’re wasting time,” said Petros.

  “Goodbye, Scarlet.” ZZ raced after the other four men and crammed his frame into the taxi.

  “I can only take four,” shouted the driver.

  Petros handed him a fifty-euro note. “Five. Sliema ferry terminal fast
and you can have another.”

  At the sight of another crisp note, the engine roared into life and the rear tyres left long black streaks on the ground. With horn blaring, the aged vehicle rattled and shook its way along the Great Siege Road at over eighty kilometres an hour.

  At the terminal Petros handed over another fifty-Euro note. “Thank you.”

  “I see Predator,” said James.

  Allan, unused to the power of his craft, eased her gently alongside the pontoon. Five men jumped onto the aft deck.

  “Allan,” said Petros. “You have five seconds to make a choice. Stay or go?”

  From the authority in his voice, Allan could tell this man made decisions on the run and possessed a level of confidence, which must have come from military training. “My boat. I’m staying.”

  “Okay, but don’t get in the way. Alfredo, go below and check the radar for a vessel running at ten knots heading for Sicily,” said Petros as his eyes scanned the controls.

  “Can you drive one of these? They are rather powerful,” said Allan.

  “Watch and learn.” Petros centred the rudders and thrust the two engine controls hard astern.

  Allan staggered and struck the console.

  With the wheel turned hard to port, he slammed the controls full ahead. With ease, he steadied their course towards the open sea.

  “There’s a speed limit in the harbour you know,” shouted Allan above the noise of the engines.

  “So what? Alfredo, have you found our craft?”

  “Yes. Steer 010 and we should intercept in twenty to twenty-five minutes. I’ll track its course.”

  Petros nodded.

  “Are you sure this will work?” asked Amadou.

  “No. But it’s worth a try. Allan, where are your guns?”

  “I’ll get them.”

  “No, show this man.” He pointed to ZZ.

  ZZ nodded, smiled, and followed Allan.

  Alfredo wrote on a white board, ‘Fifteen minutes distance to target,’ and showed Petros as Allan returned to the deck.

  “You drive,” said Petros, “I need to think.”

  Allan grinned as he positioned himself behind the wheel. “You trust me?”

  “Keep on course 010 and make no sudden turns.” He motioned to James and Amadou as he entered the main cabin and slumped into the soft leather sofa. “I need a plan and quick. Anyone, any ideas?”

  ***

  Tommaso switched on the navigation lights as the Mediterranean dusk turned into night.

  “What are you doing?” shouted Giovanni.

  “With age comes wisdom and you’ve failed the test. Go on, shoot me. Remember Marco’s the cook and your men are spewing their guts up.” He pointed at numerous red, white, and green lights. “See them? They belong to other vessels. I can see them and with our lights on, they can see us. Or would you prefer a giant tanker to plough over us?”

  Giovanni realised that he would have to content himself with watching and waiting until they reached Sicily. “Shut up or I’ll shoot you in the foot, just because I want to.”

  Tommaso checked the radar again. The vessel on the same course as the Tuna Turner would soon go past them. “Interesting,” he thought.

  ***

  Alfredo lifted his head from the chart table. “Petros, you have one chance. Jump on board from the stern. It is dark and I doubt they have thought of being attacked. No one in their right mind would dare.”

  “Says a lot for me. Great idea but we need someone to drive this boat and a grappling hook. One cock-up and we’re fish food.”

  “I’ll drive,” said Alfredo. “I have more experience than the rest of you put together.”

  “He’s right,” said Amadou.

  “How close can you get?” asked Petros.

  Alfredo turned and laughed. “Close enough.”

  “ZZ, we have four shotguns. How much ammunition?”

  “Plenty, but two are single shot.”

  “I’ll take those,” said Petros. “I’ll head for the bridge. You two the accommodation section.” He nodded to Amadou and ZZ. “I don’t need to tell you what to do.”

  “I think he wants us to earn our money,” said Amadou.

  “Shoot first. We’ll worry about the questions later. James, start making notes. Alfredo, time to get your hand in and I have to find a grappling hook.” Petros clambered back to the driving position and stared ahead, He could just make out the stern light of Tuna Turner. “Allan, you’re gripping the wheel too tight. Think of this machine as a beautiful woman you want to take to bed. Caress and she’ll give you everything. Hold too tight and she’ll fight you every inch of the way.”

  Without any hesitation, Alfredo edged Allan out of the way and grasped the wheel with his left hand, easing the craft to port and then to starboard to stay directly astern. With his right, he decreased the power. “Tell me when you’re ready.”

  In ten minutes, Predator cruised half a mile astern.

  “Allan, where’s the lifejackets and grappling hook?”

  He pointed. “Grappling hook is in the aft under-seat stowage. Life jackets are in the main cabin, I think.” He ducked his head and began lifting the seats until he found them. He shouted. “Four enough?”

  “Three will do.” Petros and the others donned the jackets and crawled to the Predator’s bow, sat and waited. “Link arms just in case Alfredo catches a wave the wrong way.”

  Alfredo relaxed as he stared at the stern-light of Tuna Turner. With a slight movement, he turned the wheel to starboard and pushed the throttles to maximum. The Predator jumped across the sea and at one hundred metres distant, passed the Tuna Turner. After a few minutes, he glanced astern and extinguished the navigation lights.

  “What’s he playing at?” asked Amadou who noticed the red and green lights turn off.

  “I hope he has a plan,” said Petros.

  “I hope so too,” said ZZ. “I’m soaked.”

  “Sea air is refreshing and good for you, stimulates the heart and clears the mind,” shouted Petros.

  “At the moment I don’t care what it does,” said ZZ.

  “Something’s wrong, the lights keep going on and off,” said Amadou.

  Petros watched. “He’s sending a message. Tommaso will be on the bridge reading every letter. There you are, Tommaso has acknowledged.”

  “Didn’t see a thing,” said Amadou.

  “He flicked the main masthead light off and on. Hold tight, something’s happening.”

  Alfredo extinguished the Predator’s navigation lights again and in a long sweeping curve turned to port at maximum speed until he disappeared into the gloom. Ten minutes elapsed before he was again astern of Tuna Turner. Remaining at high speed, the Predator charged through the sea. He throttled back at the last moment. With well-judged throttle control and boat handling, he maintained a distance of less than one metre from the steel stern. The bow lifted and fell as predicted.

  With illumination from Tuna Turner’s stern-light, Petros, his face taut with concentration, stood and heaved the grappling hook at the submersible’s steel frame. He pulled in the slack and prepared to jump. Tuna Turner’s hull dropped and the moment it began to rise, he jumped across the gap.

  Safe on the deck and hidden by the submersible, he turned, tossed the rope’s end back, grabbed the shotguns and cartridges from Amadou. “On the rise is safest.”

  In less than a minute the three men, weapons ready, progressed along the deck. Petros lead his men towards the main transverse bulkhead. Tense, they took a breather on reaching the access door to the accommodation.

  Petros signalled his intentions and began to ascend the ladder to the bridge.

  Amadou grinned at ZZ as they opened the bulkhead door and checked for movement. The well-lit passageway was empty. Both men ignored the fact that if someone appeared they were exposed. Amadou covered ZZ while he shuffled along on his knees and stole a look into the crew’s mess hall.

  He spotted Marco on a bench seat, hi
s eyes closed, with a blood-soaked bandage wrapped round his shoulder. Ahead, someone vomited.

  Amadou changed position and edged along the bulkhead. ZZ slithered towards the opening, stood and stepped into the galley. Two men lay on the deck. Both never realised what happened until it was too late. The stock of ZZ’s shotgun slammed into one’s face destroying bone and teeth. The barrel of Amadou’s weapon entered the other’s mouth.

  ZZ placed one finger over his lips.

  “That was a stupid move,” whispered Amadou.

  “When I saw these dogs were incapable, it seemed the easiest thing to do.”

  Amadou flashed his eyes as he caught a flicker of movement in the passage. He slid behind the large freezer cabinet.

  A man holding a pistol in his right hand entered. On the balls of his feet, he edged forward while pointing the weapon at ZZ’s back.

  He went to speak as the butt of Amadou’s shotgun struck the side of his face. The man staggered, fired his weapon, and the bullet entered one of his prostrate associates.

  Petros, his position tight against the bridge superstructure, heard the shot and took a gamble. With his left hand he slammed open the bridge door.

  “What the...” said Giovanni.

  Petros’ shotgun blast struck the man’s chest.

  Giovanni staggered backwards across the deck to the far bulkhead. His face twisted as he slithered to the deck. A bloody red streak marked his passage from life to death.

  No one moved.

  “There’s three more,” said Tommaso.

  Footsteps pounded the stairs leading to the bridge. Petros shifted position and took aim.

  “Hold your fire, it’s Amadou .”

  “Where’s ZZ?” asked Petros.

  “Securing the prisoners.”

  “Tommaso says there are three.”

  “Agreed. Two out cold and one bleeding to death.”

  Petros pointed. “My man’s going nowhere except the morgue.”

  Amadou chuckled, retrieved Giovanni’s pistol from the deck and fired a shot through the window nearest the door.