Ian St James Compendium - Volume 1

by Ian St. James

  Darmanin hastened to finish. "We fell near a road...the same road really, just lower down. A man and a woman were running towards us. My leg was all twisted up. I was on the verge of passing out. Then Is-sajjied drew up in the Merc. He and the man with him came across...they were arguing with the man and woman about what to do with me ... at least I think they were. But the woman was a doctor, an American doctor, on holiday with her husband. She insisted on her husband driving to the hospital in Palermo, while she nursed me in the back of their car. I think Is-sajjied wanted to take me elsewhere, but the woman insisted. I am a cripple today, but without her I would have lost my leg-"

  "You would have lost your life," Kaufman sneered. "Is-sajjied and his buddy would have finished you off. Didn't you ever figure that out?"

  Darmanin stared, but said nothing.

  "What about the others - your workmates?"

  "All dead," Darmanin whispered.

  Kaufman rolled his eyes. "Would you believe. Go on - what happened then?"

  Darmanin's voice remained a whisper. "I was in hospital for weeks. Is-sajjied paid for everything. He was very good. He gave the money the men had earned to their families in Balzan - and more, in compensation, even though it hadn't been his fault. And he came to see me every day in hospital."

  "With grapes," Kaufman grunted sarcastically.

  "He ... he did want a favour," Darmanin admitted, throwing an anxious look at his friends. "I ... I was to forget about the work we did...and, and forget about the truck across the road. I didn't want to ... not at first ... it would reflect discredit on Joey, and it wasn't his fault. But Is-sajjied said the truck belonged to some friends of his who would get into trouble...and them being in trouble wouldn't help Joey anyway. If I forgot everything Is-sajjied would look after Joey's widow. With money, you understand?"

  "I know about money," Kaufman sighed. "So you forgot about the truck?"

  Darmanin nodded. He turned to the hunter next to him and said something in Maltese. The man still had a sour look on his face, but he grunted some kind of answer - perhaps to indicate that he understood the reason for the lie. Darmanin turned back to Kaufman. "I told everyone a tyre had blown out. Is-sajjied was very pleased-"

  "I bet."

  "Joey's widow got five thousand pounds," Darmanin shot back with rare spirit.

  "And it wasn't even Christmas," Kaufman said sarcastically. "Okay, and what did Santa Claus bring you?"

  Darmanin looked uncomfortable. "He ... he promised to look after me...me and my family. We were to work for him occasionally and be protected ... as long as I kept quiet." He flicked another nervous glance at the shotgun inches from his face. "We sold the garage...the work was too heavy anyway, what with this leg and everything - so I bought the Oyster Bar and this villa."

  "And your pa and brother - what did they get out of all this?"

  "Tony always wanted to go to London. So Is-sajjied got him a job there. And he bought my father a little bar in Soho."

  I stiffened. "Is-sajjied got your brother his job?"

  The words were out before I realised how painful it was to speak - but I was stunned to hear that a Maltese fisherman had recruited Edgar's chauffeur.

  Darmanin shifted his gaze to me. "With his partner - Lord Hardman."

  I went cold. I couldn't believe it. It could not be true! Not another link to Edgar. Edgar was innocent! Dammit, even Kaufman had been half way to believing that last night.

  I was about to say something else but Kaufman interrupted. "This work in Sicily," he said to Darmanin, "tell me about it."

  Darmanin looked terrified. "No, nobody was to know. Is-sajjied said-"

  Kaufman's open left hand cracked across Darmanin's cheek, knocking his head backwards until the tie looped round his throat jerked it forward again. One of the hunters swore and jumped to his feet, but the man by the windows shouted and pointed his shotgun. A pistol appeared in Lino Cassar's hand. Nobody moved for a second - the hunter looked hard at Lino Cassar - then slumped back into his chair.

  Kaufman snapped, "Forget what Is-sajjied said. He said he'd look after you, didn't he? He murdered your family-" . Darmanin screamed, "How do I know that? How do I know who you are-"

  Kaufman hit him again, harder this time. A trickle of blood ran down Darmanin's chin. His face was a picture of misery - doubt, fear, shock, grief, confusion - he was shaking violently - on the verge of tears - then he was in tears, both hands flying to his face as he broke down and sobbed uncontrollably.

  The two hunters started talking at once, casting anxious glances at Kaufman while gesturing sympathetically towards Darmanin. It was obvious what they were saying. They wanted Kaufman to take the shotgun away. So did I - until I remembered Maria.

  Cassar turned to Kaufman and nodded at the shotgun: "We might do better if you took that away."

  "No dice," Kaufman shook his head. He bristled at Darmanin. "Listen dummy, the hit man who killed your Pa could be an hour behind us. He could be in town now - looking for you. You got that?"

  Darmanin shuddered into silence, then he nodded shakily. Some of the colour returned to his face, but he still twitched badly. Clearly he was terrified of Kaufman.

  "This job in Sicily," Kaufman growled. "You going to tell me about it?"

  Darmanin looked on the verge of passing out - his eyes had an almost glazed look to them. But then he cleared his throat and said, "We ... we worked on the wine tankers. We fitted a second skin."

  "How's that? How's that again?"

  "The wine tankers. Hardman's Wine. They all have a second skin. Inside the main body. Each tanker carries two separate loads at the same time."

  It went very quiet. Perhaps we were trying to understand his meaning - or perhaps we understood and were working out the implications.

  "You know what a road tanker looks like?" Darmanin added shakily, by way of further explanation. "A big metal tube, right? Well, Hardman's tankers have a tube within a tube."

  Kaufman stared at him. We all did. Darmanin permitted himself a little smirk of professional pride. "It's more complicated than that of course," he said. "The inside container carries most of the volume and is directly accessible through the two filler caps on top. That's because English customs men use dip sticks to check the load - they take the filler caps off and lower a stick until it reaches bottom. They can still do that with Hardman's tankers - what they don't know is all they are measuring is the inner tank. There's a two inch gap between that and the outside shell. An extra cargo can be carried within that gap."

  Kaufman frowned. "Can't you see the gap - with the filler caps off?"

  Darmanin shook his head. "It's a sealed unit at the top. You need different filler caps. Put one filler cap on and you pump out the main tank. Put another filler cap on and you pump out the cavity between the walls. If you give me a pencil I could draw it for you."

  We had discovered the Pipeline!

  I knew it - the instant Darmanin finished. We didn't need a diagram. I tried to calculate the volumetric capacity of a two inch gap the length and circumference of a tanker lorry. A tanker with cavity walls. But a sum like that would have defeated me on the best of days - let alone when I had taken a crack on the head.

  The frown stayed on Kaufman's face. "You're telling me that even if a tanker was impounded and pumped dry - all you would get would be the contents of the inner tank?"

  Darmanin nodded. "That's all you could get - without the special filler caps."

  Kaufman picked his teeth. Nothing in his expression betrayed his excitement. All was quiet for a moment, then he said, "Nobody goes to that kind of trouble for nothing. You must have known your work had an illegal purpose?"

  Darmanin hesitated. "There is a saying in Sicily. See nothing, hear nothing, say nothing - and you live to be a hundred."

  "Is that right?" Kaufman looked at him coldly. "Pity the four kids who worked with you can't hear you say that. Or your Pa and brother."

  "Is-sajjied promised!" Darmanin said indignantl
y, "We would be unharmed if we kept quiet. We did keep quiet. I swear we did! We did everything-"

  "We? We did?" Kaufman echoed. "What did your Pa and brother have to do with this cosy little arrangement?"

  "Not much. My father's bar was used as a pick-up point for parcels, that's all. And Tony kept tabs on Lord Hardman."

  "Yeah? How?"

  "He kept a diary of Hardman's movements. If Hardman went anywhere out of the ordinary...Tony phoned my father to let him know."

  "What did your father do?"

  "He just passed the information on, that's all. Oh Madonna! Why kill a man for doing what he is asked to do?"

  I might have missed it but for Lucia. She squeezed my arm so hard that her nails threatened to pierce the fabric of my shirt. I concentrated on Darmanin's words. Was that it? The chauffeur had passed the word about Edgar meeting me at the Hunter's Tower? Both sides had been watching Edgar? Poor frightened, lonely Edgar.

  "This man," Kaufman was saying, "Is-sajjied. Why was he called . that? Was he a fisherman?"

  Frightened though he was, Darmanin couldn't hold back a smile. "With his money? You should have seen the villa behind the farmhouse in Sicily. Enormous. Swimming pools, servants - everything."

  "And it belonged to him?"

  Darmanin shrugged. "He stayed there."

  "But he doesn't live there?"

  "No, he lives in Gozo."

  I sat bolt upright. Lucia gripped my arm, Kaufman shot me a warning look - but I got my question in first. "He was English?" I asked with sudden understanding, "He was English - not Maltese? This - Is-sajjied?"

  Darmanin seemed surprised. "Yes, an Englishman. Very rich - I told you, partners with Lord Hardman."

  "Did he wear a big ring on his left hand? A diamond ring?"

  "You know him!" Darmanin's face contorted with fear. "It's a trick - all these questions. Is-sajjied sent you to trick me-"

  "No," I protested. "He's dead. His name was Lew Douglas and he died-"

  "LIAR!" Darmanin spat at me, "Liar! Filthy bloody liar! I saw him a week ago-"

  Suddenly there was a noise at the door. And at the shuttered windows. A slap, then a slopping sound, as if someone had thrown a bucket of water over the outside of the house. And the sound of breaking glass. Cassar's man jumped up. We all swung round even Kaufman. Lucia cried out in alarm. Lino Cassar rushed across to the door and even before he reached it the automatic pistol was back in his hand. Then he slipped. His feet skidded and he lost balance. There was a gap beneath the door. Water was coming through, covering the tiles like a flood tide.

  "Jesus!" Kaufman used both hands to untie the necktie at Darmanin's throat, "Back off. Hit the deck!"

  Then there was a whoomph and the water caught fire.

  "Gasoline!" Kaufman shouted.

  Darmanin screamed and hopped towards the far wall, knocking Lucia aside. Kaufman shouted at the hunters. Cassar's man was pulling them to their feet. I turned away and pulled on my jacket, just as Darmanin wrenched open the door on the inside wall. Cassar stumbled into my back, beating flames out on his trouser leg. The smell of petrol was everywhere, and smoke seemed to pour from the outside wall.

  "Get those bolts drawn back!" Kaufman roared, but nobody took any notice. Cassar's man pushed the two hunters towards the inside door. Lucia was regaining her feet after being knocked down by Darmanin. Kaufman yelled; "For Christ's sake - they'll be too hot to touch in another minute!"

  Everyone was coughing in the smoke. My eyes were streaming, making it difficult to see what I was doing. Kaufman threw himself at the big wooden door and started to attack the three bolts. The shutters to the right of the door suddenly burst into flame. Kaufman was bent double, dragging at the bottom bolt, coughing and swearing in equal measure. I couldn't understand why he wanted the bolts drawn back but something prompted me to go to his aid. But first I turned to push Lucia through the door behind me, just as Darmanin came in from the passage. He was moving awkwardly on his crutches, hampered by a blue plastic bowl which he carried in one hand.

  "Lino," Kaufman shouted from the door. "Get upstairs - see what you can see from an upper window."

  And it was just as Lino Cassar pushed past into the hall that Darmanin threw the bowl of water. There may be faster ways to spread a petrol fire than to throw water around, but if there are I don't know them. Darmanin's bowl of water carried the flames and smoke everywhere. Kaufman was engulfed in a cloud of hissing steam. Flames licked the drapes at the other window. We were all spluttering, but Kaufman was almost totally overcome by a fit of coughing. By the time I reached him he was convulsed, gasping for breath, quite unable to deal with the flames on his sleeve. I dragged him back to the other side of the room. Lucia came to help, she took Kaufman's full weight as he collapsed into her arms. Darmanin was screaming with terror - perhaps it was the final shock - the one which pushed him over the edge. I shoved him back and went to help Lucia with Kaufman. Kaufman gripped my arm. Green mucus ran down from his nose. "Don't open the door," he panted. "But get those bolts drawn back. Quick Sam - quick."

  We helped Kaufman into the hall first, and I was about to turn back into the room when Lucia stopped me. An open door opposite revealed the kitchen. Three paces took her to the sink. Dirty dishes were stacked on the draining board. She filled a saucepan while tugging the scarf loose from her throat. Then she turned and threw the pan of water all over me. She thrust the scarf into my hands: "Put that over your face."

  I ran back into the room. Smoke is the biggest killer in fires - you can't breathe. The wet scarf at my nose dried in an instant. My clothes steamed. I stumbled into the sofa, bumped into a chair, knocked over the coffee table. God, it was hopeless! Even before I reached the bolted door the heat was overpowering. Hairs scorched on my hands. I backed off, half turned and retreated - but Kaufman's words rang in my ears - I knew it was important without knowing why. I was sobbing, trying to make each breath last as long as three normal ones, ducking my head away from the heat as I reached for the middle bolt. It was already half clear -

  Kaufman had managed that much. And the bottom one was completely clear. I yelped with pain as my fingers touched scorching metal. It was impossible - without gloves, without something to hold it with - but a split second later I was hacking away with my shoe - using the heel as a hammer. The middle bolt came free! Only the top one to do. Shift you bastard, SHIFT! Half way there - one good hit - missed the bloody thing. God, I can't breathe - I can't breathe! One more blow - hit it, hit it again. Thank God! Knock the latch up, don't open the door, just knock the latch upwards. God! I'm on fire!

  I turned away, blinded, knocking into furniture until I pitched onto my knees. Then Lino Cassar was dragging me through the smoke and into the hall. I was spluttering, nose running, eyes streaming, gasping for air.

  "Stop!" Kaufman roared. "For Christ's sake stop!"

  My vision cleared just in time to see Darmanin hop through the door at the end of the passage. I could see the street outside. Cobblestones lit by moonlight. Cassar's man dived after him, trying to pull Darmanin back by his jacket - but Darmanin twisted away. He was screaming as he ran into the street. I could see him quite clearly. He half turned to look back at us. Then his head split open. Blood and pieces of bone spattered over his shirt and sprayed everywhere. For a fraction of a second he looked like a dandelion gone to seed - except his puffball head was red, not white. I never even heard the shot. All I heard was Kaufman shouting, "Stupid bastard! Goddamn stupid bastard!"

  Then Cassar's man kicked the door shut.

  "Oldest trick in the world," Kaufman was sprawled on the floor next to me, an anguished expression on his face. "Bomb one entrance with molotov cocktails and they run out the other way. Oldest trick...Jesus, I tried to stop him-"

  Cassar dashed into the hall. "The garden at the back is empty," he shouted, pulling Kaufman upright. Then he shouted at his man in Maltese.

  Kaufman was doubled up by another bout of coughing. Lucia was saying to me, "Keep s
till while I get your shoe back on."

  Lino Cassar swung back to me. "We're leaving - same way we came in. Come on."

  I was coughing as badly as Kaufman, but Cassar pulled me upright as Lucia ran into the kitchen. She was back within seconds with another pan of water. I was ready for it this time but Kaufman gasped and shook himself like a dog. Cassar pushed me to the door of the room. I flinched as the heat hit me. The wall opposite was a solid barrier of flame and smoke. Wooden beams crackled overhead and sparks showered down everywhere. Lucia returned with more water and doused Cassar and herself. "Scarves," she shouted, "we need scarves."

  Cassar screamed, "No time - follow me." Then he hurled himself into the room, ducking as the heat hit him. Bent double, he reached for the sofa and gave it an almighty shove towards the unbolted door. It slid easily on the tiled floor, with Cassar staying right behind it until another heave sent it crashing through the door. The air was full of the noise of splitting wood, the wall of flame parted, smoke swirled everywhere - billowing into our faces more furiously than ever with the draught. But Cassar was through to the garden; rolling into a ball and coming to rest beneath a lemon tree, his automatic already in his hand as his eyes scanned the surrounding walls. I landed beside him and Lucia fell over me, while Kaufman staggered to a halt a yard away. Behind us the flames leapt upwards to the bedroom windows and the glare from the house lit the garden as had the fireworks earlier.

  "He's gone," Cassar panted, craning his neck and swivelling round to look up at the flat rooftops.

  "He got what he came for," Kaufman grunted between another fit of coughing.

  "What about the others?" I asked, looking back at the house.

  "My man will take care of them," Cassar said. "Come on hurry."

  I heard bells in the distance. Not church bells this time. Someone had raised the alarm; the fire brigade was on its way. I helped Lucia to her feet.

  "Get to the automobile," Kaufman gasped, and a moment later we were in the alleyway behind the row of villas. Children ran past us towards the fire. We hurried, running at times, wanting to flee the scene as quickly as possible. My clothes were torn and scorched - all of us were dirty, stained and grimed with dust. The alley twisted and turned towards Medina.