All the men had a light lunch – chicken salad – except for Luigi, who had the steak and chicken combo. The man certainly loved his food. The girls couldn’t face anything other than cups of tea, and even that gave them a slightly sickly feeling. The men joked about the bad coffee and Armando made eye contact with the waitress. He knew she was smitten, and he played with her emotions to pass the time.
It’s difficult to spend more than half an hour in a Little Chef, and so they decided to leave and find the meeting place. They wanted to be early to look around for vantage points and possible escape routes, and to see if a trap was being set for them – and, if not, then perhaps they could set a trap of their own. With Armando driving the lead car and Chrissie navigating they travelled for twelve miles, and then turned off the main road on to a single track that cut through the flat, ploughed fields.
The road was undulating, and even driving slowly it was like being on the big dipper at the fairground. Up and down, up and down – with the rear end of the Mercedes touching the ground on occasion, and the bouncing suspension playing havoc with the girls’ digestion.
Ahead was a line of trees planted as a windbreak against the elements. The road sliced its way through this barrier and became more of a farm track, with weeds growing down the middle. In many places the weeds were the only thing holding the road together. The ploughed land was replaced by grassy fields, and in the middle of one was a battered tarmac strip.
Once an RAF training camp, it had long ago been abandoned – and was now used by the local flying club, who organised charity parachute jumps every Sunday morning. The previous day it would have been a hive of activity with amateur fundraisers in fancy dress floating from the skies, but on a Monday in the early afternoon it was secluded and eerie.
Armando pulled the car off the road and parked on the field, around fifty yards from the runway. The others drove the Peugeot back down the road to the line of trees, and then walked around the perimeter. They were looking for Scarpone traps, and at the same time seeking hiding places for weapons that they wanted to leave around the area. There was no time to be elaborate and start digging trenches or creating protective cover: the only options were to highlight certain spots with marker sticks and leave weapons in case of a running battle.
Claudio was to remain under cover with an M24 sniper rifle, and to take out as many Scarpones as possible. He was to begin to fire as soon as he had a good shot, and his first report would begin the conflict. He would have liked to have been at least a hundred yards nearer, but aside from among the trees there was no other cover. He settled down, tried different positions with the rifle for maximum stability, and made a nest for his other weapons. He looked at the sky. It was still misty and the visibility poor. It was not ideal for long-range accuracy but better than brilliant sunshine, so he counted his blessings. Claudio was definitely a cup half-full man.
Beppe and Luigi planted the guns around the area, covering them with grass and jamming broken tree branches into the ground. When all this was done they drove back and joined Armando and the girls. The clouds showed no sign of breaking and, if anything, were lower to the ground – and the visibility was worsening.
“When they get here,” said Armando, “everyone move well apart. We don’t want to stand as a group … and Luigi, you stay in the car. Lie down on the back seat and keep out of sight. And leave the keys in the ignition in case we want to get out of here in a hurry.”
He surveyed the area. It was flat and open, and was the worst possible spot for meeting Zico Scarpone. He was regretting this cavalier attempt at seeking victory and closure on the Scarpone empire when his thoughts were disturbed by the sound of a car engine in the distance. Inside the day’s dismal cloak of grey the roar of the motor increased until a black BMW X5 appeared through the haze and followed the road towards them.
Armando flipped open the boot of the Mercedes. Along with Beppe they threw shoulder holsters around both arms, with Beppe also grabbing a MAC-10 machine gun. They motioned for the girls to stand behind the vehicles, and awaited the arrival of the uninvited visitors. They could just be members of the flying club, or local whippet owners out to do a bit of illegal coursing … or they could be Scarpone assassins. Better to be safe than sorry. Armando’s hand was on the gun to his left, and his eyes had the piercing alertness of a tabby cat sensing a Rottweiler on the loose.
The BMW pulled off the road, and stopped around twenty yards away. The windows were all tinted glass – and for one whole minute the four-by-four sat there like a spaceship from another world that was protecting its cargo of scorpion-like aliens, who shot lasers from their tails and had skin no bullet could penetrate. It was a long sixty seconds.
The tension was shattered by the opening of the rear door and the sudden appearance of Roberto Vialli. Armando could see that his boss’s hands were tied behind his back, and a dark-skinned man held a gun to his head. The front doors opened, and two other men got out. Without showing any fear, the largest man took a step forward. The man had a pockmarked face and tight wiry hair slicked back bandit-style. Armando drew his pistol.
The man stopped and held up his hand. “My name is Tigran Sadorian. We met briefly outside the London hospital.” A lipless smile cut across his face. “Before you make your next move, remember this. I could have killed you all but I spared you. At this moment it is not to my advantage to eliminate the Viallis.”
He paused, allowing this magnanimous gesture to be fully appreciated.
“Go on,” said Armando.
“It was pure chance that you crossed our path that day. We were watching the hospital to make sure no one did any further harm to Angelo, and then we see Don Roberto Vialli. I know who he is: I have seen his photo many times. Unsure what to do, I decided to take a prisoner – and your don has been very enlightening. He has told me about the data stick, and that you know about our safe houses.
“It’s obvious he doesn’t know the reason we are here or what our movements have been, but he assures me he knows enough to destroy it all – and that this information has already been forwarded on to others, so I can’t simply shoot him and have done with it. I could, however, kill him anyway – if it’s all over. So what? At least I get a bit of satisfaction. But for now it suits me to keep him alive and offer him to Mr Scarpone. Then it will be up to him what happens next.”
Claudio had watched all this from his vantage point in the trees. He could see Roberto held hostage, so he knew these strangers weren’t friendly. It was safe to assume they were connected to the Scarpones, and he had his rifle sights on the forehead of their leader. One false move and he could take him out, for sure.
Then the scene in front of him exploded as the heel of a military-style boot hit him in the side of the head. The rifle dropped to the floor, and Claudio toppled sideways. Blood oozed from his head and seeped through his brown hair like ink on blotting paper. Another kick – this time from the steel toe of the boot – hit him under the chin, snapping back his head with a force that would have been fatal to a lesser man. His aggressor picked up the sniper’s rifle and took the place of the unconscious Italian.
Thinking that Claudio was still covering his back, Armando was in defiant mood.
“And what if we decide to sort this situation out now?”
Tigran laughed, “Then you had better make a move quickly, because the Scarpones will be here in a few minutes.”
“Not so,” said Armando. “The meeting is set for four o’clock.”
“I think it’s been brought forward,” smiled Tigran, and as he spoke a light aircraft making its descent appeared from out of the grey skies.
Armando swallowed hard. His composure was being tested now that the hour had arrived. He knew Zico Scarpone, and he was afraid of his reputation and of his impending presence. He turned to his boss for reassurance. Roberto was his usual calm self. His hands were tied, he had a gun to his head, and he was about to square up to the most vicious Mafia boss in living memory – w
ho also happened to be his greatest enemy – and yet he was a picture of self-belief. It lifted Armando, and he nodded at his don to signify his loyalty, his support, and his friendship.
The aircraft touched down and taxied to a halt by the side of the vehicles. The doors opened and steps were lowered. Then, in two groups, eight men strode forward. The front line was the fearsome quartet of Zico and Luca Scarpone, their general Carlito Chiellini, and Caesar Magri. The backup consisted of four enforcers, all with fully automatic weapons. Zico stopped ten feet away from Armando, but his eyes were on Tigran and Roberto. He was visibly shocked.
“This is a surprise. I didn’t know you were joining us, Don Vialli.”
“Who knows the path of fate?” answered Roberto.
“Quite. She is the mother of all our destinies. Yet although fate has placed you in my hands she must now step aside, and I alone will determine what happens next.”
The man holding Roberto roughly pushed him towards Armando and Beppe, and the three of them faced the Scarpones. The girls had spread apart behind the Mercedes and the Peugeot.
Zico turned to Tigran. “You have done well, Sadorian. Today I will have my information returned, I will take your present of the gold, and I will eliminate my greatest foe.”
Roberto spoke up. “It’s too late for that, Zico. We’ve made many copies of the data, and our deaths will not end your demise but will be the catalyst for it. However, if we live then we are prepared to trade.”
Zico laughed, a scornful rumble bursting from a barrel chest. “And were these copies stored at 47 Garstang Road in the East End of London? And would that be the same property that was completely destroyed by fire this morning? It was bad. It took another six houses with it, with white-hot heat destroying everything inside. I hear it’s already making the early news bulletins. I’m surprised we can’t see the smoke from here.”
“The copies are already with our people in Naples,” replied Roberto.
“I don’t think so,” smiled Zico. “You may have fed some instructions to your people about certain issues but I think we nipped this particular bud just in time, and with you out of the way I can’t see your men wanting to pursue this complicated trail.”
He turned to the girls. “And you three … It’s almost too lenient to simply murder you in this field. I would have liked you to suffer … Perhaps I can think of something.”
His smile disappeared, and he now cast a terrifying figure.
Armando spoke up. “You forget that we all have weapons and snipers in the bushes. If we are to die then so are you.”
Zico’s eyes went black. “I think you’ll find that it is I who has a sniper in the bushes. Your man was the first to die. You know I like my Hollywood movies, especially Westerns, so today is the Gunfight at the O.K. Corral.”
“You’re a madman, Scarpone,” added Armando.
“Maybe,” said Zico, “but if you look around it is you who are surrounded and outnumbered, so I must have got something right.”
Tigran adjusted his body and loosened up his neck muscles. “Do I have my guarantees, Don Scarpone?”
Zico’s mood became less confrontational, “Of course, Sadorian. Everything as agreed. Your role in the organisation is assured.”
“Then I am your man,” said Tigran.
Then without warning Caesar Magri vented his fury at the Armenian. “You untrustworthy animal … you tried to murder Angelo.”
Tigran was taken aback, “I did not …” but before he could add to this Caesar had shot him three times and he fell to the floor.
What happened next took no more than thirty seconds, but to everyone there it was an eternity. The Armenian with the sniper rifle saw his leader hit, and immediately fired at Caesar. The first shot hit him in the side of the head, and it was immaterial where the second landed. As Caesar toppled to the ground the Scarpones assumed that Armando had opened fire, and so everyone went crazy.
The enforcers moved forward, firing at will. Armando was hit first and fell backward. Beppe opened fire with his M20-K, and two of the enforcers were riddled with bullets. Then Luca Scarpone and Carlito Chiellini both emptied their handgun magazines into his body, and with blood spilling from his mouth Beppe collapsed against the Peugeot. Megan, Chrissie, and Roberto were trying to shelter behind the cars, with Brenda left out in the open. Chrissie shouted for her to run and she darted towards them, but a bullet from one of the two remaining enforcers brought her down and she lay motionless on the damp turf. Chrissie screamed and covered her eyes.
The Scarpones were now in a line moving forward when the two Armenians who had been with Tigran and their colleague in the trees made a decision on who their enemies were, and opened fire. The leading enforcer and Carlito Chiellini were both hit several times before Zico, aiming his pistol with the coolness of a polar bear catching a salmon, found both assassins with bullets to the heart.
In the trees the sniper was lining up a perfect hit to the evil Mafia don’s head, his finger caressing the trigger, when a six-inch blade sliced into his kidneys and the weapon fell to the ground. A satisfied grunt from Claudio – unaware of his error – was the last thing the Armenian heard. Then Claudio, still too weak to remove the knife, once more fell into unconsciousness.
Down in the field Roberto had opened the door of the Mercedes, and the keys dangled invitingly in the ignition.
“Get in. You drive, Chrissie,” he shouted, and threw himself across the back seat – with Megan immediately landing on top of him and Chrissie jumping into the driver’s seat. The car started first time – as you would expect from German engineering – and they sped away, with both doors still open and the car veering left and right as if about to flip over. The engine screamed in first gear until Chrissie’s brain eventually told her to close the door and move up to a higher gear as quickly as possible. Zico and Luca fired a few shots at the disappearing car, but then the gunfire stopped and it was all over.
As the smoke from the battle drifted away Zico scanned the carnage.
“What a balls-up,” he said. Then he noticed the bulk of Tigran Sadorian trying to crawl. He rushed over and lifted the Armenian’s head. “Tigran, my indestructible friend, it’s a miracle you live … but now the future is good. I will see you are attended to, and all the things you desired will come about. I am a man of my word and I have promised you guarantees. But before we can fly you to a doctor you must also keep your word and show me where the gold is. It is your duty … it is your promise. We must both be true to our promises, and this was yours.”
With the help of his brother Luca they lifted Tigran to his feet. He couldn’t raise his arms but his eyes pointed to a spot just off the road, and Luca and the remaining enforcer dragged him across the field. After fifty yards Tigran dropped his head and they lowered him to the ground. With a monumental effort he ran his hand across the dirt, just enough to reveal wooden planks beneath. Zico and Luca hurriedly began to pull away the sods and dirt to finally expose a wooden frame and a six-foot door set horizontally. It was padlocked, and Zico moved away while Luca blasted the lock until it snapped apart. They lifted the door and could see a small room below, which was just high enough to stand in. A mound of earth constructed in a disabled access-type slope led the way inside.
Zico pushed the prostrate Armenian on to the slope and, in immense pain, he rolled down. The only light was from the open door, but as their eyes adjusted they could make out a concrete room big enough to hold a party in. Unbeknown to them this bunker had been built during the war as a safe haven for the RAF top brass in the event of a prolonged air raid or, even worse, an attack from the German V-2 rockets.
Now it was cold and smelly – a forgotten part of a distant past. But Tigran’s Armenian fruit pickers had stumbled across it, and had used it for storing contraband from small-scale burglaries and other pilfering. When they’d been contacted for a safe place to hide sixty-two million pounds of gold bullion they had thought it ideal. It was a little bit like leaving
your life’s savings under a beach towel while you go for a swim, but in their eyes nowhere could be better.
Zico looked around as best he could in the semi-darkness. A lawnmower, a couple of flat-screen TVs, and a few other odds and sods were all he could see. He wasn’t a patient man, and he grabbed Tigran by the throat. “Do not play games with me, Sadorian. Where is the gold?”
In a movement that caused unbearable pain Tigran pointed to the far wall. Zico and Luca felt their way around the room until their hands touched a metal object. It was another padlocked door, which Luca once again blasted open. Inside was a much smaller room, which was only the size of an average kitchen (and was probably originally designed as a toilet facility), but which was now stacked from floor to ceiling with gold bars.
The ecstatic Zico ran back to Tigran and lifted him slightly from the floor. “You didn’t lie, my friend. Thank you.” Then he stood back and shot the Armenian in the head.
“Come on,” he said to Luca and the enforcer. “We’ll get the pilot to help us and transfer these bars to the plane. Then we can get out of here. I’ve had enough of England.”
They moved back towards the open hatch like grubs yearning for the warmth and light. For a moment Luca thought he saw a face watching their progress. They reached the bank of earth and clambered out of the darkness. In those few moments of squinting eyes adjusting once more to a different scene they saw movement. Then, realising the Mercedes was back, they instinctively ran for cover. Luca was slower than the other two, which for once was to his advantage. He could see the movement was Chrissie and Megan trying to drag Brenda’s body towards the car.
Roberto was nowhere to be seen, but it wasn’t a situation to be afraid of. Luca shouted for his henchman to return, and together they approached the girls at the point where – from only a few feet away – Roberto appeared from behind the car. His hands were still tied, but he held a .357 Magnum handgun and fired six shots in quick succession. This was a circus act, but he got lucky – and one shot hit the henchman in the kneecap, shattering his leg and sending him to the ground. Luca was on to the girls now, and grabbed Megan as a shield. Chrissie also held a gun, and was prepared to use it. Luca shook Megan like a rag doll in front of his body, teasing them to shoot.
See Naples and Die Page 21