The Collectors Book Two: Full Circle (The Collectors Series 2)

by Sewell, Ron

  “Okay, I’ve stopped. What’s the problem?”

  Petros jumped out and in the glare of the headlights nearly tumbled into a rift. “Can’t you see, the road’s gone and there’s a bloody great river flowing in front of us. Reverse. The edge is collapsing.”

  He smiled as she revved the engine and the truck sped backwards, stopping well clear. Satisfied, he clambered back into the cab.

  “Another few inches and we’d be swimming,” said Maria. The headlights illuminated a wild watercourse a hundred metres wide.

  “There must be a way round,” said Petros. “Tell you what, reverse back along this road until you can see firm ground. Turn into that field on our left. This thing has four-wheel-drive and is supposed to go anywhere.” He opened the window at the rear of the cab and shouted to the others, “Hold on, guys.”

  “What the hell do you think we’ve been doing?’ yelled Bear. “Bloody woman drivers. I’ve shit better.”

  “If you don’t like it, why don’t you get out and walk?”

  “If I knew where we were, I would.”

  “Shut it, both of you,” said Petros.

  Maria reversed and the lights illuminated the rutted ground. The body of the truck swayed, its spinning wheels cutting deep furrows. The tyres found hard rock and on establishing a grip sent the heavy vehicle into fast-moving current. Debris-strewn water swirled and buffeted the truck.

  “This is not turning out well,” said Maria.

  “Couldn’t agree more but I don’t think turning back’s a choice.” Petros prayed the engine kept running, not sure what category of terrain this model had been designed to overcome.

  Without any warning, the truck’s nose rose into the air followed by the most horrific scraping and tearing sound. For a moment they hung at an obscene angle. The rear wheels spun, creating torrents of water and stones while the engine roared like a deranged beast. The tyres found traction; the truck jerked into motion and mounted the obstacle.

  Maria stopped and Petros went to check the damage. He began to laugh.

  “We’ve just dragged our way over a concrete wall. This must have been the original edge of the river before the storms revamped it. The underside of the truck’s a mess.”

  Four hundred metres later they discovered a track. “We can’t go fast on this,” said Maria.

  “There’s one thing in our favour.”

  “What?”

  “The full moon.”

  They drove on in silence.

  “Stop, Maria. Drive into the shadow of those trees. I don’t think anyone is following us but ...”

  “They could be ahead.”

  An army helicopter, the clamour of its rotors deafening, flew low and straight at them, its searchlight blinding. It hovered but did not attempt to land.

  “Persistent buggers, aren’t they? Keep going, Maria. He won’t open fire.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Someone wants those icons. Riddled with bullet holes wouldn’t add to their value.”

  They continued heading west, the helicopter over-flying every fifteen minutes.

  “What’s that over there?” Petros indicated to his left.

  “It’s a UN observation tower. They’re dotted along the Green Line. We’d be safe if we could drive across.”

  “Why can’t we?”

  Maria frowned. “Are you joking? There’s a minefield between the north and south.”

  “I didn’t realise we were near the border.”

  “If we don’t make a move soon, PK, we’ll be at the end of the road.”

  “Stop.” Maria drew into the verge.

  Petros listened and jumped out. Narrowing his eyes, he scanned three hundred and sixty degrees. “The chopper’s gone. Where’s the map?”

  He remained silent, his mind busy with speculation. “What are we doing? We must cross No Man’s Land.” The realisation of the Turkish Army’s intentions flooded his brain. “They’re herding us into a trap. Any idea where we are?”

  Maria pointed to the map. “Here, in the middle of nowhere, like oranges in a juicer.”

  He studied it. “Maria, get us up into those mountains.”

  * * *

  Colonel Ahmed Mustafa swung round as his office door opened, and gawked at Yilmaz. “Captain, you bring me good news?”

  “Regrettably we experienced a few problems”

  “You’re a fool, Captain. Don’t bring me problems, just solutions.”

  The captain stared at the colonel in astonishment. “I have the situation under control, sir. I know where they’re headed.” His voice betrayed a trace of uncertainty.

  “And you will recover the icons?”

  The captain nodded his head wearily. “I have no doubt, sir. They can’t escape. My men believe they are pursuing convicted criminals.”

  “Captain, I don’t care what you’re doing. You and that sergeant of yours will be accountable if a conscript talks. Do you understand?”

  The captain nodded.

  The colonel leaned forward and stared directly at him. “Let’s hope these thieves have enjoyed their last day of freedom. You and your men will end this fiasco at any cost.” He paused. “Captain, clean the blood off your face,” he said through gritted teeth, “and change your shirt. You’re a disgrace.”

  * * *

  The truck crawled along the narrow road. The headlights illuminated groves of uncared-for olive trees and vineyards. The cultivated fields thinned as they entered a forested region where overhanging trees interlinked. Branches lashed the body of the truck and its tyres sliced deep grooves in the wet earth. With her foot pressed on the accelerator she ascended the slope for a couple of miles.

  “As far as we go,” said Maria.

  “That track, follow it.”

  “My love, maybe it led somewhere forty years ago.”

  Petros peered through the mud-spattered windscreen as the truck lurched left and right. He frowned when the vehicle dropped into deep water-filled holes and leant at strange angles.

  One and a half body-bruising-hours later, Maria stopped the truck one metre from a sign that read – DANGER MINES. “Close enough?”

  Petros studied the wild terrain in front of them. Uncultivated, dense vegetation eliminated any trace of mines. He leapt to the ground and walked to the rear of the wagon. “Okay, guys, it’s time to unpack.”

  “Maria, my arse feels like it’s been kicked by a dozen donkeys,” said Bear.

  She laughed. “Poor donkeys.”

  Together, they removed every icon and rested them against moss-covered tree trunks. Takis cut wide strips of tarpaulin from the top of the truck, wrapped and covered them.

  Petros considered the distance between the ragged wire fence and safety: four hundred metres, he thought. We could be lucky. He clambered into the armour-plated cab. “Everyone find a safe position. I recommend you lie flat behind those rocks. I’m going to discover if that sign’s kosher.”

  He positioned the lorry and selected first gear. Releasing the handbrake, it trundled toward the mined zone. Petros jumped out and dashed for cover. The rusted wire fence crumbled, but the rear wheels never entered No Man’s Land. A mine detonated, damaging the drive shaft. The engine shuddered but continued to run, and for a moment the truck staggered. Like a lame dog it faltered; its nose dipped and the right-hand front wheel collapsed. The body leant as a drunken sailor moments before it toppled. Two more mines exploded reducing the cab to a mangled mass of twisted steel and broken glass.

  Grim-faced, Petros walked towards the motionless vehicle, stopped before the wire, and surveyed the damage. Staying put and surrendering to the Turkish authorities was not a viable alternative. His nose twitched at the smell of diesel dripping from the ruptured fuel tank.

  “The good news is they’re anti-personnel blast mines. Bloody hard to find and may go off at the slightest touch. Bear, ready to poke a knife in the mud?”

  “Personally I can think of a million better things, but cons
idering the choice of an extended holiday in a Turkish prison, lead on McDuff.”

  “What can Takis and I do?” said Kyriacos.

  “Cut a few branches from that tree, strip the bark and make twenty or so thirty-centimetre pegs. We’ll need them to mark the safe path.”

  “Can’t we dig them out?” said Takis.

  “Not a snowball’s chance in hell,” said Petros. “These things are so crudely constructed and after the time they’ve been in the ground no one can predict what will cause them to explode. A couple of my men lost their legs in Afghanistan because of those things.”

  “Has anyone else a better suggestion?” said Maria.

  “PK, get over here,” said Bear. He picked up a rifle, checked the magazine, and wandered towards the battered vehicle. He aimed and fired at the fuel tank. A hole appeared allowing the remaining diesel to spill out. He waited until the tank emptied. “I don’t suppose anyone’s got any matches.”

  “A Browning nine-millimetre lighter,” said Maria.

  Bear grinned. “Forgot that. Thanks, Maria.” Diesel flowed freely, soaking the ground and forming a large pool. With his knife, he cut ribbons of canvas from the truck’s canopy and dipped them into the diesel. “Take cover everyone.” Carefully he lit the soaked canvas and tossed it into the pools of diesel. The fire spread unhurriedly. Flames flickered, glowed yellow until the process of vaporisation started. Fire and flames engulfed the truck and surrounding area. Thick black smoke gave off the pungent odour of burning diesel and rubber. It curled up into the morning air and drifted away.

  Within twenty minutes, the fuel to feed the fire came to an end and not one mine exploded.

  “Well that was a disaster. It’s back to finding mines the old fashioned way,” said Bear.

  “Why not throw rocks?” said Kyriacos, “I saw that in a film.”

  “Kelly’s Heroes,” said Petros. “That’s the quickest way to get killed. Rock hits mine. Bang. Mine explodes splitting one rock into a shit storm. What goes up must fall. Come on, Bear, we’re wasting time.”

  “Both of you be careful,” said Maria.

  Petros glanced at her worried face. “Don’t worry. I came top of the class in defusing mines.” A touch of over-confidence resonated in his voice.

  “He gained a medal for survival,” muttered Bear. “The remainder of the class disappeared in a puff of smoke.”

  “That’s not funny, Bear.” She walked towards him. “You should never have agreed to this.”

  “It’s what we do,” said Petros. “In any event, we’re wasting time.”

  Petros rested on his stomach on the damp earth at the line drawn by the wire fence and studied the ground in front. Bear lay alongside him. Every so often they halted when the tip of a knife touched something. With care they marked the location.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “It’ll be getting light soon,” said Kyriacos as his anxiety grew. He hated any form of idleness and placed waiting at the top of the list. “Shouldn’t we keep a lookout or something?”

  “I’ll do a check,” said Takis. “The walk will do me good.” He strolled to a grassy knoll. A stream of headlights in the distance proceeded along the road towards them. He scratched his head and returned. “PK, half the world’s headed in our direction.”

  Irritated he replied, “Thanks, Takis. I didn’t know that. What do you want me to do?”

  “Find a way over or round No Man’s Land.”

  Petros shot him an annoyed look.

  Maria struggled to stay awake. Exhausted, she sat with her back against a rock. Dark shapes plodded in a thin line stretching across the fields, towards their position. At seven in the morning the light became bright enough to see everything. She and the others hadn’t slept; her eyes were heavy and full of grit. She glanced up at the hills on the other side of No Man’s Land. An old man sat on a rocky outcrop staring straight at them. She waved but he disappeared into the thickly wooded slope.

  She switched her attention to the soldiers. “Kyriacos, how many?”

  Her brother frowned. “Forty plus. They’re walking in a long line and checking every conceivable hiding place. At their present rate, we’ll be locked up in a Turkish jail by midday. Bear, PK, how you doing?”

  “See-gha, see-gha,” said Bear. “We’re a third of the way. If you want more speed you’re welcome to join the party.”

  Kyriacos laughed. “I have an idea. Think I’ll play the English game of cat and mouse. What’s the range of these crossbows?”

  “Good for a bulls-eye at three hundred metres, with luck, three fifty. Why?”

  “Those soldiers will soon be here. I intend to scare the hell out of them.” Kyriacos picked up a crossbow and counted ten bolts. With something positive to occupy his mind, his impatience left him. He stretched and controlled a shiver; the night air had been damp and cold. At speed he zigzagged down the steep hill. He reached a rise in the slope, covered in trees and outcrops of rock. Confident he had not been spotted he made himself comfortable behind a large boulder, his ears strained for the slightest sound. From below, bushes rustled as men brushed them aside. Time to add confusion in the ranks, he thought. He adjusted the weapon’s sight to four hundred metres, aware this was an impossible shot. “Where are they?” he muttered as he raised the crossbow, squeezed the trigger, and loosed the bolt. One of the soldiers screamed and fell to the ground clutching his right shoulder. A dark stain spread across the man’s tunic.

  Aware from experience of the effect on the men’s morale, Kyriacos ran back up the incline putting as much distance between him and them.

  A scattering of large rocks gave him concealment. Breathless, he waited, not moving. The troops took cover; a few of the more adventurous darted from one position to another. An officer in camouflage uniform shouted. They remained cautious in their approach. Rabbits ran and birds flew from the approaching troops. Kyriacos caught sight of frightened men scanning every nook and cranny.

  He rested the weapon on the top of a smooth boulder covered by the over-hanging branches of a tree. A movement to his right caught his attention. From out of the trees, a young man appeared; Kyriacos fired. The bolt hit the confused conscript in the thigh and clutching it, he cried out and crawled away.

  Bullets screamed over his head. Kyriacos rested while the leading soldiers fired at anything and everything. No stability or determination existed with these troops. With luck, he thought, they’ll shoot themselves. Orders were shouted and the firing stopped. Warily he peered from his hiding place. From what he could see, the soldiers were withdrawing, assisting their two wounded comrades.

  His stratagem complete, he remained out of sight. From behind and above him came the sound of rifle fire. Alarmed, he turned, smiled and leant against the rock: his sister lay between two boulders taking sporadic pot-shots with one of the captured rifles. She looked pale, her usual red lipstick completely gone and her lustrous black hair unkempt and tied in a crude ponytail. Her random shots shredded leaves, struck trunks of trees and disorganized the troops.

  “Keep it up, sis,” he said. “Every minute they lie prostrate gives us valuable time.”

  Maria reached for another magazine and clipped it in position. “I’ve four full clips and then we’re in trouble. You might have detected I’m not trying to hit them but just scare them out of their wits.”

  “It works for me,” said her brother as he glanced at his watch. Time was running out. Whatever happened next, they had to be across the minefield before the troops regrouped. Maria stopped firing and stared unblinking at the sky.

  “Cover, everyone,” screamed Kyriacos. Gunfire from a fast moving helicopter raked the ruined truck and surrounds. On a steady course it roared past, circled, and returned, its fixed heavy machine guns operating continuously.

  “Stay still and faces to the ground. They don’t know where we are,” shouted Kyriacos over the din. “They’re trying to flush us out.”

  Maria crawled between two large boulders hidd
en under a canopy of leaves. She breathed deeply to steady her nerves, raised her rifle, and adjusted her position.

  Safe behind his bullet-proof shield, the pilot turned the craft for his next sweep. Saplings swayed and branches bent, battered by the downdraught.

  Maria readied herself, aimed and fired short bursts until the magazine emptied. The wind from churning blades whipped her hair and clothes.

  A short-lived mask of terror dashed across her face. Her pulse raced. The helicopter tilted, shuddered, its tail rotor in shreds. Bear’s words rang in her ears: hit the rotors. She had taken the risk but now they had precious time.

  Petros broke into a run, his heart pounding like a drum. He grabbed her and pulled her close. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? What would your daughter do without a mother?”

  She trembled, her face ghostly. Her arms slid around his body. A thin smile formed on her lips. Her voice shook. “Make her father’s life a misery. Told you I’m a crack shot.”

  He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked straight into her eyes. “I love you, you stubborn woman. Please don’t do that again.” He turned. “Well, it’s back to groping in the mud. I wish the bastard had completed a few passes over the minefield.”

  She grimaced. “I’d better get back to frightening little boys.”

  “Be careful.”

  Takis picked himself up and strolled over. “Bloody marvellous. My little sister damages helicopters while I sharpen sticks for bossy boots.”

  Maria laughed and fired at a rock embankment concealing half a dozen soldiers.

  * * *

  Kyriacos turned and shook his head when he spotted Maria talking to a man dressed similar to a goatherd. He stood erect, barely five feet tall. A mass of grey straggly hair covered his head and face, apart from his alert, intelligent and penetrating dark eyes that remained unwavering.

  “How did he get here?” asked Kyriacos. “What does he want?”

  Petros, plastered in mud and green from the vegetation, crawled from the minefield. “Leave him be.”