Only Eagles Fly

by Graham Guy

  “Fantastic!” He reached for his phone and dialled Commissioner Colin Johnson. “Apologies for the hour, sir, it’s McLoughlin…”

  The Senior Sergeant went on to explain to the Police Commissioner the latest series of events.

  “So what do you need?”

  “Six unmarked cars around the clock to stake him out. Stay right off him and report to me direct when he moves… anywhere, anytime.”

  “Done… stay in touch.”

  Over the few next days various patrols reported in to McLoughlin. The Weasel would drive to a particular suburban street, park for a few hours wait in his car, then return to his flat. But because he parked so far off Luigi’s house, it was impossible to determine exactly what he was up to.

  McLoughlin resisted the chance to enter his flat when he wasn’t there on the off-chance he’d make a mistake and spook his quarry. Suddenly, and out of the blue, The Weasel made his move. A patrol car, staking him out, called it in.

  “He went to his usual place. A bit later a four-wheel-drive up the street with four heads in it, pulled out. He followed it. He’s still following it. Travelling west.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Heading up the freeway to Katoomba.”

  “Stay on him. Don’t get spotted for Christ sakes. But don’t lose him either. We’re on our way. We’ll put the flashing light on the dash and catch up as quick as we can. I’ll ring you in half an hour.”

  Bourke already had the car engine running. McLoughlin climbed in, Bourke switched on the flashing light then sped off.

  “Got everything?” McLoughlin asked.

  “You got your ankle back-ups?”

  “I have… you check everything… vests, the high powers…?”

  “All done. So where do you reckon he’s going?”

  “God knows.”

  Thirty minutes passed and McLoughlin called the patrol car. “We’re going through Parramatta. How far ahead are you?”

  “Get on the freeway and nudge it to 140 to 150. Give it ten minutes and ring me again. You shouldn’t be far away by then. I’ll call the highway patrol and tell ‘em to back off if they see you coming.”

  Once on the freeway Bourke dropped the foot and soon the speedo was topping 160. McLoughlin called again and gave his position.

  “You’re ten minutes behind. Keep it up for another five minutes then cut your flashing light.”

  White lines on the freeway passed like a picket fence. “That should do it, Dave,” he said, turning off the light. He called the patrol again.

  “You’re coming up behind us I’d say. We’re about to head up the mountain. White Falcon XUS-351.”

  “Gotcha,” replied McLoughlin.

  “OK. He’s up ahead. White falcon. Very plain. Very ordinary. RSB-768. About 500 metres. You need us anymore?”

  “You did good. Thank you.” Then to Bourke. “You got him, Dave?”

  “Think so. Have a look through the glasses. See if you can pick it up. RSB-768.”

  McLoughlin lifted the binoculars. “Yeah, that’s him. OK, shit face, just where are you taking us?”

  It was some 400 kilometres north west of Sydney, at Dubbo, before The Weasel stopped for petrol.

  “Mate, this joker’s not on a Sunday drive. Something tells me this is going to be one helluva long haul.” And for the next three days and nights the pursuit continued.

  “If he keeps going much further he’ll end up in the bloody ocean. What’s next?” he asked Bourke, looking at a map.

  “Kununurra.”

  “Surely to Christ that’s got to be it.”

  “But we still don’t know what he’s up to,” Bourke said, frustration creeping into his voice.

  “He’s obviously following the four-wheel-drive. Now we can’t go past him to check that out, so we’re stuck. This is the prick we’re after. I’m not going to spring him until he gets what he’s after and leads us to wherever the hell he hides his arse. Don’t be surprised if we have to turn around and follow him all the way back to bloody Sydney. And I’ll just bet that’s the case.”

  As the two policemen drove into Kununurra, they stayed well back from The Weasel. It only became obvious to them who he was following when early the next morning The Weasel led them to a deserted airstrip a little to the north of the Durack River.

  “Now the game is really on,” McLoughlin said to Bourke.

  Chapter 16

  It was twenty-two minutes past midnight when Franco, Enrico and Gina pulled up outside the Villa belonging to Bruno Formicella. The street was deserted, a far cry from the wining and dining happening far below in the cafes and restaurants at the water’s edge. The night was warm. The moon was bright and the skies were clear. A solitary street-light glowed in the distance. After bringing their vehicle to a standstill, Franco cut the motor and the three sat in silence, listening, watching, straining their eyes to see anything that may jeopardise their safety. Franco shot a glance to Gina.

  “You sure this is it?” he whispered.

  Gina looked at the large and intricately carved white lettering over the front door. It read: White Doves. She allowed herself a slight, knowing smile. “This is it,” she assured him.

  Suddenly all three were gripped with the enormity of the task at hand. “I don’t mind telling you I’m pretty bloody toey about all this, now we’re here,” Enrico said, his voice quivering slightly.

  “I think we all are,” Franco added, “You want to call it off?”

  Gina’s eyes flashed at the two of them.

  “I didn’t think so,” Franco smirked. “OK, let’s go.”

  On the journey into Portofino, Franco turned off one of the roads to allow Enrico time to assemble his thermal lance.

  “Jesus, what’s that?” Gina blurted.

  “Our ticket to freedom,” Enrico told her.

  “What is it, really?”

  “Seeing is believing, babe. And when you do, you still won’t believe it.”

  He quickly test-fired it, then shut it down.

  “All set,” Enrico called. “Let’s go melt some steel.”

  As the three emerged from their vehicle outside the Villa, the stillness of the night spooked them.

  “It’s so damn quiet, it feels like we’re walking into a bloody trap,” Franco whispered into Gina’s ear.

  “Jesus! Don’t say that,” she flashed back.

  Moments later, the three were at the rear of the Villa and shielded by enormous hanging vines. With the tiniest of penlights, Enrico shone it about himself. “Franco, look! It’s the bloody fuse box.”

  “Can you open it?”

  “It’s already open,” he whispered.

  “Bullshit!”

  “It is… look!”

  Franco couldn’t believe his eyes either. “Throw the mains,” he said.

  “What if there’s a back-up?”

  “Mate, I reckon this bloke is so blasé he wouldn’t bother with one.”

  “Gina?”

  “What if all hell breaks loose?”

  “Then we’re out of here.”

  Gina shook her head. “I don’t think we should.”

  Franco looked at Enrico and ran his hand across his face. “Shit! Leave it Enrico. Just in case.” He put the beam of the little light onto the lock of the rear door. He then ran it round the edges. “Looks pretty clear.”

  Enrico took a thick steel spike and a massive, short-stopper over the end to cushion the sound of steel on steel. He leaned back and belted the spike with enormous force. Only two hits were required for the lock to shatter and the door to spring open.

  The trio was quickly inside. Because of the use of outside reflectors to utilise available light, the villa’s interior was dimly lit from the moonlight. Momentarily they stood there, mesmerised by the luxury of their surrounds.

  “Cop this joint!” Enrico whispered.

  “And this is only the bloody kitchen! You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” Gina told him. “Come on, we’ve got a s
afe to find.”

  Carefully monitoring every step they took, their hearts nearly beating their brains into submission from pure adrenalin and fear, they found themselves surrounded by the opulence of the sitting-room/ reception/lounge area. In the dim light, the trio was overawed by what they could see. Ahead was a smaller room.

  “Bruno’s office… saw it on the net,” she whispered. “I reckon it has to be in here.”

  The three of them looked around Bruno’s sanctuary and at the giant paintings that hung on the walls. Franco walked over and placed a finger under the bottom of the first one to see if it might be hinged. It wasn’t, but the second one was. It sprung back to reveal a safe door nearly two metres high and a metre and a half wide.

  “Holy shit!” he exclaimed.

  Both Enrico and Gina were too stunned to speak.

  There was a muffled giggle as one said, “That was too bloody easy.”

  Enrico regained himself, closed the door to the office, and set up the thermal lance.

  “Stand over here Gina, and don’t look when he puts that flame on the safe’s door,” Franco told her.

  Enrico covered his eyes with darkened goggles, turned on the gas and lit the end of the lance. There was a roar as the oxygen and welding rods responded to the flame. Enrico worked the valve of the oxygen cylinder until he had the cutting flame he wanted. He plied the heat to the one spot for several seconds, then, like a hot knife through butter, the thermal lance, in a matter of seconds, had the lock of the safe door topple smouldering and molten onto the office floor. Gina’s eyes and mouth popped wide open in disbelief. Enrico cut the flame, turned the handle of the safe door and swung it open.

  Instead of seeing the interior of a safe, what lay in front of them was a small room. Enrico felt down the side of the wall for a light switch. He found one and turned it on. On the walls of the small room were several priceless works of art, and a very large copy of Picasso’s Still Life With Tulips, which featured an image of his mistress Marie-Therese Walter. Gina stared at the painting.

  “My god!” she gushed, “The original of that has just been sold for fifty million dollars by Christies in New York. I don’t believe this guy. Bloody hell, even that would be worth a fortune.”

  But Enrico wasn’t at all captivated in the copy of the 1932 painting. The safe door next to it was what he was more interested in. Apart from the brief diversion, so too was Gina.

  She shook her head. “Clever little bastard, isn’t he? Two safes!”

  Again she and Franco stood aside as Enrico went to work on it with the thermal lance. Moments later it too was being opened as the lock rolled onto the floor in a glowing molten mass. Enrico stepped inside the door and felt for a light. As he switched it on, all three stood aghast at what lay in front of them. The safe was of reasonable size. Probably three metres by three metres, but its shelves were completely empty.

  * * *

  Gina dropped to her knees in shock. She broke into hysterics, crying, “No! No! No! My God, no! ”

  Enrico burst into uncontrollable rage as Franco dry-retched. Suddenly, Enrico turned his rage onto Gina, lashing out and catching her with a vicious blow to the side of the face. He was screaming at her. Then he turned his rage onto Franco and grabbed him by the throat. Through her haze, Gina could tell her lover was in serious trouble. Enrico had snapped. She screamed at him to let his brother go. He ignored her pleas, So she flew at him, only to be belted in the face again, a blow which sent her sprawling across the floor of the safe. Still with enough presence of mind for survival, she reached into her handbag and pulled out her Remington.

  “Let him go or I’ll blow your head off… So help me, I will, Enrico. Let him go!” she screamed.

  Still with his hands around his brother’s throat, he glanced over his shoulder. He ignored Gina’s threat. Gina could see Enrico’s grip tightening. She raised the barrel and fired. The bullet ricocheted off the safe wall and thudded into a shelf. Enrico froze on the spot. He released his brother immediately when he saw Gina lower the barrel and point the gun directly at him.

  “Pull yourself together, arsehole!” she screamed, her voice at fever pitch.

  “Now what are you gonna do, bitch? Shoot me?”

  Gina knew the situation had to be calmed. Immediately she lowered her gun. “Enrico,” she tried to say calmly even though her gut was in turmoil, “you’re being an idiot. Obviously we’re all pissed off about this. Maybe there’s another safe.”

  He started to move towards her and he noticed her gun hand move a fraction. He stopped. “Jesus Christ, Franco! she was going to shoot me. Were you going to shoot me, bitch?”

  “You’ll never know how close you came.”

  “Bullshit! You wouldn’t have the guts,” he sneered.

  Gina raised her gun again and pointed it straight at his head. “You had all of three seconds. If I wasn’t in love with your brother, you’d be dead already. OK? D-E-D. I’m really sick of your shit, woggo! The two-faced crap you carry on with. Your big mouth. Your bragging. Face it, pally. We both loathe each other’s guts. Me more than you if you only knew it. So we carry on like civilised human beings and get on with it or we split now. Your choice, arsehole. But I’ll tell you one thing, if we split now, you find your own way home. OK? The plane leaves without you. So what’s it gonna be?”

  Enrico knew he had no options. Normally Franco would spring to his aid. But he’d just destroyed that lifeline. More so at this moment than ever before Enrico knew he was on his own. Franco was still trying to catch his breath and cared little about the future of his brother.

  Gina tightened her grip on the little Remington. Enrico saw her knuckles whiten as she brought her other hand up for support.

  “Ba… Babe,” Franco began.

  “Shutup Franco! What’s it gonna be, Enrico? Your choice. Three seconds. One. Two. Thr..”

  “OK. Jesus Christ! I fucked up, all right? I fucked up! Sorry.”

  Gina made him sweat for a few seconds and lowered her gun. “OK. Now pick up your brother. Let’s have a look around the other rooms. I still believe the money’s here,” she said firmly, relieved that at least for the moment calm was restored. But she didn’t uncock her weapon and return it to her handbag. She chose to hang onto it, keeping Enrico always within her view.

  As they stepped outside the safe, Enrico glanced at the copy of the Picasso. Quickly he grabbed the lance and lit it. Probably more out of anger at Gina than finding an empty safe.

  “Let me totally fuck this guy’s day,” he sneered, and ran the flame across the painting. As the canvas and oils melted away, all three stood staring in total disbelief. Behind the painting lay another safe door.

  “Yeeesss!” Gina hissed. “Just how smart is our little bloody Bruno?”

  Suddenly Enrico’s altercation with Gina was past history as he attacked the safe’s door with renewed vigour He plied the flame to the door’s lock. Again it was only moments before the lock had toppled to the floor in a smouldering, molten heap. Enrico turned the handle and reefed open the door. He felt inside the wall for the light switch and turned it on.

  Before them lay several shelves stacked with bundles and bundles of $1000 bills. Gina uncocked her weapon and placed it back in her handbag. Suddenly all anger and animosities were forgotten. They stood with their chins on their chests, never before having seen such an enormous pile of money. Enrico lunged at it. He grabbed handfuls of it and turned to face his two accomplices.

  “Hey, I’m really sorry, you two. Jesus, look at all this! There must be millions here!”

  Franco and Gina were momentarily dumbstruck. Gina started to shake uncontrollably. Franco, still trying to recover from nearly being strangled to death by his brother, just wanted to grab it all and get out of there. “Come on! Let’s load up and go! ”

  For several minutes all three worked at fever pitch to pack every last bundle. Finally they were done.

  “OK,” said Franco, “that’s it. Out! Come on, let’s
go! You can’t begin to imagine just how many pissed-off, angry people there are going to be over this little lot.”

  The haul was as Gina expected. Scores of bundles of $1000 notes in US currency. “What do you reckon?” she asked Franco.

  He looked at her and touched her face with his hand. “Hey, thank you. I love you, too. Sorry it took such a hell of a moment to say it. But without you, I’d be dead. He would’ve killed me. I owe you, babe. I owe you big time.”

  Gina smiled. “Just keep him away from me, all right?”

  “I will babe, I will. Promise. I’ll sit next to him on the way home. He won’t bother you. I didn’t know you had a gun.”

  “Just as well, isn’t it?”

  Franco raised an eyebrow. “Would you have shot him?”

  “If he hadn’t let you go, yes. I wouldn’t have hesitated.”

  Franco looked at her. “Somehow, I believe you.” Then, “Come on! Let’s get the hell out of here!”

  Not content with two very large bags jammed tight with cash, Enrico wanted more. He’d found a stash of gold ingots and was jamming as many as he could into his pockets. He became angry when he ran out of the room. So he unzipped one of the bags with the money and crammed a few in around the top.

  “Zip it up, man!” Franco said urgently. “Come on! Vamoose!”

  Gina went ahead as the trio, as silently as they could, made their way from the villa. She sneaked out the rear and made her way to the front. The night was still dead calm. She made her way to the vehicle, opened the boot and beckoned her two accomplices. Franco and Enrico dumped their haul into the boot and Enrico returned for the thermal lance and the oxygen bottles.

  “Can’t we leave them?” she whispered to Franco.

  “Shit no! They’re as good as a fingerprint. We’ll dump them later, but not here.”

  Still with fear and adrenalin racing through their bodies, they sped from the villa with Franco at the wheel. There was laughter inside the car as they celebrated pulling off the impossible. Gina, even more wary of Enrico than before, slowly slid her hand down into her handbag and wrapped her fingers around the Remington.

  You never know, she told herself, you just never bloody know.