by R. W. Hughes
It was Sooty who grabbed John Bolton and pulled him back as he started to make a dash back down the road.
There was a lot of shouting from the driver of the other car as he slowed down, struggling to ease past them on the narrow road. ‘Excuse, touristico!’ shouted Geoff at the man, who drove off, still cursing them in Italian.
A few minutes later the same man pulled up his car at the entrance to the city opposite the Municipal Building and found the great wooden doors closed with the ‘men at work’ sign positioned prominently in the centre of the road. He was still cursing incompetent workmen and town officials as he swung his car around and followed the road around the city walls to the next entrance into the town.
It was just before one o’clock Monday morning that John Bolton swung the saloon gently between the large, stone gateposts, the rear axle of the car grating on a slight hump in the drive as it pulled slowly up to the villa. The fact that the security light came on at the rear of the property was of no great concern to the group. This happened several times every night as various animals set off the heat and movement censors attached to the lights.
*
While Geoff and Sooty started to load some of the silver ingots from the boot of the Mercedes into a wheelbarrow, the Bolton brothers quickly departed to their bedrooms, throwing some clothes into an overnight case before returning to the car.
‘Okay, you two,’ said Geoff facing the Bolton brothers, ‘you’ve got the directions given you by Merkel. If you keep to that country route when you get near the border you should avoid any police checks that may be in operation.’
‘I never thought we’d pull it off, Geoff, I nearly shit myself several times,’ said Derek as he warmly shook Geoff’s hand.
‘I think your John did!’ voiced Sooty from the rear of the group, holding his nose, causing laughter amongst the group which helped ease the tension they were all feeling.
‘An old friend of mine had a saying,’ said Geoff. ‘It went, Don’t start shouting till you’re out of the wood, and I for one won’t relax until we’ve met up with Werner and Peer in Austria. We can then sort things out so we can all settle down quietly in either Austria or Switzerland.’
‘What I don’t understand,’ said Derek sounding puzzled, ‘is why the alarm didn’t go off when we opened the vault. Werner said it was wired up independently. If it had gone off we would have only managed to get a fraction of the silver that we did get.’
‘Well,’ Geoff replied, ‘the door of the vault was on a time lock. We never opened the door we simply removed the centre panels. The same applied to the front doors of the bank, we didn’t open the door, we removed the centre panel so the alarm system on the door was never activated!’
‘Wow, talk about bloody luck,’ Sooty commented.
‘Too bloody true! Lady luck was smiling on us tonight,’ added John Bolton.
‘Better to be born lucky than rich,’ Geoff remarked.
‘Yeh but we were bloody both,’ added Derek to the further laughter from them all at his little joke. In reality they would have laughed at any joke, even a bad one, because they were all so relieved it was all over.
‘You two had better make tracks. Sooty and I will follow on later by train as agreed,’ instructed Geoff, bringing their laughter to a halt. He wanted them to be on their way as quickly as possible.
Their goodbyes and hand shaking finished, both Bolton brothers jumped into the car. With only half the silver bullion now hidden in the boot of the car and in the well of the rear seats the car looked more evenly balanced as they drove the Mercedes back down the drive, its headlights lighting up the stone pillars at the bottom as it passed them by.
As the taillights disappeared out of sight down the lane, Geoff picked up the spade which was leaning against the wheelbarrow.
With a, ‘Come on mate,’ to Harry Sutton they followed the car down the drive, Geoff with the spade over his shoulder and Sooty following close behind struggling, even for him, to push the large wheelbarrow heavily laden with silver ingots.
He had carefully selected the spot for burying the bullion well away from the villa and where the disturbed soil would not be too obvious, especially after being covered with fallen pine needles from the surrounding trees that covered the ground.
‘Is there much more Sooty?’ he asked as he continued stacking the last of the ingots from the pile Sooty had tipped near the hole and then went off again pushing the wheelbarrow.
‘Just those two wooden boxes,’ Sooty shouted over his shoulder. ‘Tell me Geoff,’ he said stopping, and putting down the barrow to turn and face his friend. ‘Why are all the rest of the silver loose and these others are in boxes?’
Geoff had not really given the matter a great deal of thought and pondered few moments before replying to his companion’s query. ‘I reckon Sooty they may be of better quality than the other ingots, but we haven’t got time to open those boxes to find out, we have to move on.’ Sooty nodded, his inquisitive nature satisfied; he carried on pushing the wheelbarrow back up to the villa.
As Geoff turned to finish the stacking he froze, a pair of beady eyes were staring at him from the nearby undergrowth followed by a low growl. In the poor light he could make out the shape of the Jack Russell on the edge of the nearby bushes. ‘Shit! That’s all I need, a loud yapping dog to waken all and sundry,’ he muttered under his breath. Suddenly as if by some silent signal the dog turned and scampered back into the undergrowth, Geoff stayed perfectly still for several minutes, there was no other sound or movement, until the faint squealing of the overloaded wheelbarrow which became louder as Sooty returned.
As he grabbed the rope handle on one the end and struggled to lift the box out of the wheelbarrow, Sooty lifted his end without any effort. He dismissed the dog incident, the Jack Russel was always on the loose wandering around the area.
They quickly filled in the hole and dragged the surrounding pine needles over the area covering the disturbed soil. ‘As good as new mate,’ said Geoff as he wiped a forearm across his sweating forehead and viewed their efforts. As they made their way back towards the villa he felt like whistling, he still couldn’t believe they had pulled it off and, in reality, it had been so easy. All they had to do now was to catch a train to Austria in the morning then act like ordinary tourists. They had decided that the Mercedes could not carry all the silver so they would bury half the bullion near the villa for safety.
The Bolton brothers would then drive the remainder over the border into Austria as soon as possible after the robbery. Geoff and Sooty would use the mountain bikes to take them to the station and catch the train to join them. They would risk using the New Zealand passports he had lifted from the backpackers only if it became necessary to show their documents.
The other alternative was to sweat it out until things blew over but the longer they stayed at the villa, as nice as it was, the greater the risk of either the Italian police or, more seriously, the heavy mob eventually tracing their whereabouts, and Geoff had had too many close shaves to feel secure at the villa.
The train that would take them from the local railway station to Arezzo and then to Florence where they intended to catch the express through to Austria was not until 12.30pm. Geoff, after a great deal of thought, had decided to leave behind a small case containing the printing plates and the credit cards, along with several silver ingots towards the organisation’s previous costs of trying to find him and his mates.
He reckoned the local Italians working for the mob would find their hidey-hole before the Italian police came across the villa. If they had everything returned that they were looking for plus enough to cover their expenses, they would hopefully call it quits, stopping the search for him and his mates. It was an outside chance but he thought it was definitely worth trying. He had nothing to lose.
He had just placed the bag on the kitchen table alongside the antique box containing the unused 75mm shell and was taking the breakfast plates to the sink when he was start
led by Sooty bursting into the room from the garden.
‘There’s a white Fiat coming up to the villa,’ he whispered loudly. ‘It looks like the one that came with the Mercedes. Perhaps they’ve come to collect it and it’s not here. What do we do now, Geoff?’
The fact that Sooty had gone through what he had the previous night without blinking an eye and was now in a blind panic over someone coming to collect a car that wasn’t there left Geoff completely amazed. ‘You don’t need to get excited, Sooty,’ Geoff said in a calming tone. ‘All we have to do is pay them a little extra cash. Problem solved!’
*
Marco had been collected at Florence airport by his brother and nephew. He had not contacted Mr. Brown as it was perhaps best that he thought he was still coming back on the ferry.
As they drove up the drive and parked in front of the villa, the three men quickly left the car, Marco sending Oscar and Georgio around the far side of the building while he went around the near side.
Geoff was taking some cash from his wallet but he looked up when Marco entered through the open kitchen door. ‘Jesus Christ!’ that was the only words he uttered. This was not the man from whom they had hired the Mercedes. This man’s body language was one of aggression. Sooty, sensing things were not as they should be and seeing what was happening to his mate, moved forward to help.
A vicious crack on the jaw from a fist to which a brass knuckle duster was attached sent the big lad crashing back against the kitchen units. Marco did not even bother to watch as Sooty hit the units then slid down onto the kitchen floor. He knew that once he had hit them with his duster, they never got back up again for a long time. Regardless of how big they were.
Marco moved surprisingly fast for a big man, as Geoff tried to dodge around the kitchen table he grabbed hold of him and pinned him to the kitchen wall with a massive hand around his throat. Geoff was struggling for air; Marco’s grip on his throat was slowly throttling him.
‘The plates and the discs, little shit?’ snarled Marco with a grin on his face that showed he was enjoying the pain he was inflicting on his helpless victim.
Raising his fist he showed Geoff the vicious brass knuckle duster. Marco’s grip on Geoff’s throat was so tight that Geoff couldn’t talk; all he could do was point to the leather bag on the kitchen table.
As Marco turned his head to look in that direction he was vaguely aware for the briefest of seconds a shadowy figure, but that’s all he remembered. Sooty’s punch caught him right on the point of the chin and sent him staggering across the kitchen, his arms flapping loosely out of control. He was stopped by the half open kitchen door but by then he was already unconscious, collapsing against the door forcing it closed with a bang.
Geoff meanwhile grabbed hold of Sooty to support him, with blood pouring from his mouth. The big lad was swaying and struggling to stay upright.
The kitchen door was opened by someone on the outside but stopped after several inches as it came up against the prone figure of Marco.
‘Marco! Are you okay?’ the shout came from the outside, as more pressure was placed on the door and Marco was pushed a further few inches along the kitchen floor.
Geoff, meanwhile, was struggling to keep Sooty upright as the big lad was staggering all over the place banging into everything as they made their way through the house. Geoff locked the other internal kitchen door behind them then they went out through the patio doors near the swimming pool, grabbing the map from the table in the process.
The two mountain bikes were leaning against the wall. Geoff realised there was no way they could outrun these people on the other side of the kitchen door, especially with Sooty in the condition he was, even though he seemed to be improving slightly.
This is going to be some fun and games, Geoff thought to himself as he perched a very unsteady Sooty on one of the mountain bikes before throwing the helmets from the handle bars at the Jack Russell that seemed to appear from nowhere, jumping about and snapping at their ankles.
‘No time to fit those,’ he said aloud and set off down the slight slope leading away from the villa. Geoff supported the big lad on the bike as best he could while pushing the other bike with his free hand, leaving the Jack Russell chewing at the straps of the safety helmets.
They had just reached the far edge of the lawn when Geoff heard the crash from inside the property as the locked kitchen door was smashed down by their pursuers. He could see before them a rough track that the lads had used previously when exploring on the bikes. It wound its way down the hill to a tarmac road at the bottom. Across the road, the track continued across country and according to the map carried on over the hills, eventually coming to the outskirts of the city of Arezzo. Suddenly there was barking from the Jack Russell followed by a high-pitched yelp. Geoff looked behind him, there were two men running across the lawn in their direction.
‘You’ll have to try and ride this bike now matey, do your best,’ he gasped as he jumped on his bike and started pedalling whilst, at the same time, supporting Sooty as best he could. They were now picking up speed as they travelled down the slope.
He could hear the panting of one of the men behind him and the sound of his shoes as they scrambled for a footing on the loose shale on the path. He could not look around as he was too busy concentrating on keeping his own balance and still supporting a still very dazed Sooty. He realised the real problem would come in a short distance when the path narrowed to a single track and Sooty would be left on the bike on his own.
He could tell by the noise behind that the man was still chasing but was not as close as before. Geoff risked a quick backward glance.
The nearest man was big, like the other guy they had left on the kitchen floor of the villa and behind him was another big, older man but he had stopped with his hands on his hips, gasping to regain his breath.
The backward glance was a disaster. In the split second it took he veered off the path and hit the embankment while Sooty carried on weaving and wobbling on his descent down the hill until he came to a slithering, sliding, ungainly halt, twenty yards further on than Geoff.
Georgio, the nearest pursuer, was on the point of giving up the chase. He was dizzy and gasping for oxygen, he had gone weak at the knees but on seeing one of the cyclists hit the banking then lose his balance before taking a tumble that left him on his back, he put on one last extra spurt.
The same applied to Oscar. He too was wheezing and gasping for air but, seeing what had happened, carried on down the path in a slow, stumbling trot.
Geoff was on his knees and on the point of dragging himself up from the ground as Georgio staggered towards him taking in a great lung full of air. All he had to do was grab the little son of a bitch in front of him, lie on him and hold him down until his uncle arrived. Easy peasy!
As he moved forward, arms outstretched, Geoff stood upright throwing two handfuls of dirt and dust between Georgio’s outstretched arms into his gaping mouth.
He then kicked out hard, aiming between his opponent’s legs.
Not only did the fine grit blind Georgio but he also inhaled a vast amount of the dust which induced a severe fit of coughing. On top of this the unexpected kick in his testicles brought the big man to his knees.
By the time Oscar arrived his nephew was still coughing and gasping for breath, Geoff meanwhile was away on his mountain bike chasing downhill to catch up with the figure in front of him who had set off on his own again, but was struggling to stay upright on his bike as it bounced along the potholed and badly rutted path.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Mr. Brown was pacing the lounge of the hotel in Pisa. Marco was not answering his mobile phone. The two other heavies in the room were in the corner keeping a low profile. Mr. Brown was not very happy, grinding his teeth as he continuously paced between the lounge door and the large windows that overlooked the road outside, glaring occasionally at his two companions as if they were the cause of this latest breakdown in communications with his int
erpreter.
Marco had a lot of explaining to do. Mr. Brown’s conversation with the Italians on the long journey back from the east coast had stimulated his suspicious mind. For some reason, Marco had not been passing all the information on to him, which had been forwarded by the Italians. Instead he had been keeping certain important details to himself.
Suddenly, Mr. Brown stopped his pacing at the lounge window as he watched an old, white Fiat car pull up in front of the hotel.
Luca and his associate, Simone Campagni, left the vehicle and made their way to the hotel entrance. Mr. Brown did not notice the car parked opposite the hotel in the shade out of the early morning sun, or recognise its two passengers who looked very similar to the two loud American tourists that had been in the car park at the port of Brindi. He turned to face Luca as he entered the lounge.
‘Yes!’ he snarled at the startled Luca who abruptly stopped in the doorway causing Simone Campagni who was following on close behind to stumble into his back.
‘Ah, Signor Brown! I to you come direct, not possible contact Signor Marco.’
‘Tell me something fucking new,’ growled Mr. Brown.
‘One our contact, taxi man he inform I, Luca, address of Inglese,’ answered a beaming Luca.
For the first time since he had arrived in Italy. Mr. Brown smiled.
‘Great! Just fucking great!’ he couldn’t hide the glee in his voice, this was the first good news he had been given since the briefcase had been stolen outside Stockport railway station.
Snapping his fingers at the two heavies he shouted, ‘Cars!’ The two big men hurried off as fast as they could to bring the vehicles from the hotel’s rear car park around to the front of the building, glad to be away from the strained atmosphere of the hotel lounge.