by Verner Jones
“Keep going, it’s down on the left.” She turned to face the security guard with Stipe standing close behind her. “Hectic in here today. Last minute arrivals that should have been here yesterday and we’re expected to have them tagged and sorted before the auction starts. Ten years I’ve been doing this it never changes.” The guard gave her a sympathetic smile. He was a slight man. Not typical bodyguard material probably pushing well into his late forties. His rounded shoulders did nothing to project an image of authority. Marta felt the company had probably given him the job more out of necessity rather than for his combat skills. He had a look that said unappreciated and overlooked, a career failure. Marta gave him a warm smile. “At least we can say you guys are doing a good job.” Marta gently patted his shoulder as she spoke. The guard preened his stance, emboldened by Marta’s compliment.
“Thank you miss. It’s nice to be appreciated.”
“And you most certainly are,” replied Marta. “Now I’ve instructed one of the guards in the opposite sale room to bring in the bronze falcon.
Its lot number…” Marta consulted her clipboard. “ 302. They’ve confused the sale room. Happens all the time. This globe belongs with the Stavell's collection in saleroom two. My security guard will take this lot with me to the opposite saleroom. I need you to wait here for the falcon. It’s the second most valuable piece in the auction today. I heard it was out of Adolf Hitler’s study. Supposedly it was perched high on the wall at the back of his desk overlooking all those meetings with his generals. It’s a really important historical piece, but I can trust it in your safe hands can’t I?”
The guard looked puzzled for a moment but bolstered by Marta’s compliment, the guard complied and let Stipe pick up the globe.
“Do you need me to come with you just to be doubly sure?”
“No thank you. Wait here. I don’t want the falcon to be "unattended, but thanks.” Marta’s heart was racing. Stipe looked cool and expressionless as he lifted the globe off of the table and turned to follow Marta. Marta felt the urge to run but forced an almost serene gait as they exited through the curtain. With no one else in the corridor Toni quickly removed the duplicate globe from the container. If anyone came in now they would be rumbled. Stipe carefully placed the original in the box and left Toni to rearrange the straw packaging while Stipe picked up the fake. It all took less than thirty seconds.
“Go Toni, go,” whispered, Marta. Toni said nothing. His throat was dryer than a dessert dune. He gave a confident smile back. He knew what he had to do and started forward with the sack barrow at a steady nonchalant pace. Stipe and Marta both inhaled deeply, letting their exhalation take away the intensity of their taught nerves.
“Take up position,” whispered Stipe. They stood in the centre of the corridor looking as if they had either just entered or had turned back around depending from which curtain entrance any one came in through. They waited and silently prayed no one would enter the corridor. It was the longest two minutes either of them had ever spent. Thinking enough time had elapsed, Stipe nudged Marta,
“Lets go.” They proceeded to walk back towards the security guard. Marta took a couple of deep breaths and tried to compose herself. She cautiously pulled back the curtain and peered into the saleroom. All looked just as it was prior to them exiting it. The auctioneer was still debating with his assistant. Nobody of any importance seemed to have noticed the globe had been removed. Marta adopted a pose of disdain and unbelief and looked squarely at the guard.
“Can you believe these imbeciles? They’re now going to move all of the Stavells lots into this room. They don’t know their head from their arse some people.” The guard moved forward and took hold of the curtain.
“Don’t tell me your bringing it back,” said the guard.
“You guessed right. There’s three other pieces that follow in the sequence of the bidding. We’ll bring them into you with one of the guards closer to the exact bidding time. Needless to say the falcons staying put.” Marta turned to Stipe. “Please put the globe back on the stand and be very careful.” Stipe flicked his eyebrows and shook his head at the guard expressing his frustration; he said nothing and did as he was requested to. “Thanks for your help.” Marta gave the guard another disarming smile. “We’ll be back shortly with the other items.”
“No problem. I’m not going anywhere.” They turned to leave. Stipe glanced over the saleroom. His heart was pounding. It went up another notch when he saw the two men from the café looking in their direction from the corner of the saleroom. He tried to calm himself. Why wouldn’t they be in here? It was a public auction. The only thing was though; they weren’t holding any bidding number.
Toni pushed the sack barrow through the saleroom towards the exit trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. He felt a tap on his shoulder. He froze instantly hardly daring to turn to see his adversary.
“Son I’d like you to come with me,” said an authoritive, male voice behind him. Visibly shaking Toni pivoted on his axis to face his accuser.
Stipe and Marta left the corridor shortly after only to see Toni engaged in conversation with a suited gent with a guard at his side. Marta considered her actions and was about to intervene when Stipe took her arm and indicated to the doorway. They left Toni being questioned by the suit with the guard looking intently on.
Toni faced the two men. The colour started to drain from his face.
“Where are you going with that barrow young man? Toni looked up to the man and forced a smile. “I’m taking it back to the removal van.”
“Fine. When you have done that can you come straight back as we need to move some furniture.” Stipe’s composure started to return.
“Yes sure. I’ll just be a moment then.” Toni turned amid trembling legs and continued to his rendezvous with Stipe and Marta.
“What was all that about?” queried Marta as Toni rejoined them on the entranceway.
“Nothing, the stupid shit wanted me to move something for him. Scared the crap out of me.”
“Quickly then.” Said Stipe. “No time to lose. Get changed.” They respectively returned to the toilet cubicles and remerged as every day punters but with the real jewelled globe in the rucksack. They left Morgan & Morgan’s passing the removal lads wheeling the last of their cargo into the saleroom; not batting an eyelid as the threesome left the building.
23
They started with a brisk walk towards the slipway.
“Toni, you carry the bag with Marta. I’ll run down the jetty and get the boat ready so we won’t have to hang around.” Toni took the holdall and Stipe started to jog to the waterfront. Halfway down the slipway tyres squealed above him. He stopped in his tracks, hesitated, then turned and ran back to the road level. A blue Ford sped past him making him dive for the pavement. Marta was on her knees trying to stand upright. Toni was nowhere in sight. Stipe ran to Marta and helped her to her feet.
“What happened? Where’s Toni?” Marta took a deep breath. Still shaken she said,
“Two men, they grabbed Toni and the bag- and it was Zoran driving the car.”
“Zoran! How did he know where we were?”
“They’re in that blue car.” Marta pointed at the car that had reached the end of the access road and was now driving parallel with the river. Pedestrians who had witnessed the assault started to approach; one man with good intent voiced his concern and came within seconds of joining them, offering his help. It was time to get away. Too much attention was being focused upon them and Stipe was trying to get a handle on his next move.
“We’re fine, we’re fine, don’t worry,” said Stipe, to the oncoming man. Throwing his arm around Marta’s shoulder he pushed through the small gathering and headed towards the main road. The blue Ford was still in sight. At the junction for the bridge he watched it turn to cross the river. His spirits lifted. It was close to midday and the traffic was sluggish, a furred artery restricted by excessive volume and uncaring traffic lights. At the end of the bri
dge a no entry sign was positioned to the right. They had to turn left and drive parallel to the river.
“Quick. We’ve not lost them yet.” Stipe took Marta’s hand and started to run towards the jetty. “I think we can get to the other side of the river before they do.” Marta her head clearing and fuelled with concern for Toni’s safety found her steps easily. They reached the boat and clambered in, grabbed the oars, and set in pursuit after the kidnappers.
“What are we going to do when we get to the other side?”
“I don’t know yet. Just keep watching that blue Ford.”
Their boat was tantalizingly slow, but gradually they drew level with and then overtook the car. Ditching the boat on a muddy bank they scurried up its slope sliding and stumbling their way to the pavement like misplaced geese on a frozen pond. The traffic lights were restraining the flow of traffic from the bridge. When the lights changed the Ford would be out. “What now, Stipe?” The Ford was starting to turn in their direction. Stipe crossed the road pulling Marta with him. A taxi was vacating its occupants. Stipe and Marta entered through the opposite door taking the cabbie by surprise.
“There’s a blue Ford about to come past us. I want you to follow it,” barked Stipe. The cabbie looked over his shoulder, gave them the once over, and decided that they looked harmless enough.
“Right. Follow the blue Ford it is.”
As the car passed, Stipe and Marta crouched below the door glass.
“That’s the one. Please Mister, don’t loose it,” said Stipe. The hansom cab pulled out smoothly and fell inline two cars behind the Ford. The chase was on. But it felt more like a mouse stalking a tiger. Surprise, for what good it was, was on their side. With no plan, no weapons, and outnumbered their prospects of rescuing Toni and the statue were at best, slim. Stipe remembered being captive with Toni in Zoran’s hotel room. He knew what Zoran was capable of and feared for Toni’s survival once they reached wherever it was that Zoran was taking him. His thought intensified, desperate to find a way of saving his friend.
Through a series of winding streets the car eventually stopped outside a bakery; a for sale board hung over the entrance. The four occupants alighted. Zoran was carrying the holdall. Stipe’s taxi came to a halt at the end of the street. Stipe paid the cabbie and waited before leaving. He watched and remembered. The two men with Zoran were the one’s he had witnessed in the saleroom; Zoran’s new accomplices. One of the men unfastened a padlocked tee bar and pushed a door, tall enough to accept high vehicles through, to one side. The wheels screeched as if reluctantly being woken from their slumber of immobility. They went inside and closed the door. Stipe took Marta’s hand departed the cab and ran towards the bakery warehouse door. They looked around for a way in, unsure what they would do when they found one. Around the corner Stipe saw a black iron staircase leading to a first floor. He bolted up the treads and tried the handle. Miraculously it opened. Stipe beckoned to Marta who swiftly joined him. They sneaked inside looking for any signs of activity, found none, but heard voices on the lower level. They got into a position where they could observe the proceedings below them.
Toni was being roughly handled by one of Zoran’s sidekicks. Zoran held what appeared to be a hunting knife and was brandishing it around Toni’s face, quizzing him. A signal from Zoran made the two men withdraw to Toni’s side. He was captive in a human triangle. Zoran’s voice was incoherent. Stipe didn’t need to hear what was being said to know that Toni was in a lot of danger. Zoran’s agitated actions and high-pitched voice shivered his spine. Zoran lashed out with the knife slashing it across Toni’s face. He reeled backwards, crouching, burying his cheek in his hands. Zoran’s boot came up and connected squarely into Toni’s face. He spun around and fell sprawled across the floor. Zoran kicked him twice more then straddled him, towering over Toni like a Greek colossus.
“We’ve got to do something, Stipe. He’s killing him.”
“I know, but what?” Stipe looked around for something to attack his adversaries with. A long iron shovel hung on a rack with a variety of other bakers’ implements. Stipe lifted it off its hook and stood wondering what to do with it. Looking around he saw a hole in the floor, a steel chute of some kind. His thoughts started to whirr. He tiptoed over to it. Marta followed. The chute exited within metres of where Toni was and looked just big enough for him to slide through. Remnants of flour still clung to the side. On a wall next to the chute an internal fire hose was coiled with a red box with a glass front that housed the on valve. Stipe read the writing on the front. It said, ‘In case of emergency break glass.’
“Exactly!” said Stipe under his breath. “Here, hold this.” Stipe thrust the shovel into Marta’s hand and started to uncoil the hose. Speed was imperative, but the need for surprise tempered his actions. What seemed like ages later, Stipe had the hose fully extended.
“What are we doing, Stipe?”
“Listen, do as I say. It’s our only hope of getting Toni and the statue back. When I drop down this chute you turn the valve on. The power of the water jet should be enough to knock them off balance then you drop down with this shovel and start swinging it for all your worth.”
“It won’t work, Stipe. It’s too dangerous.”
“Toni’s a dead man if we don’t do something. There’s thousands of pounds worth of pressure once that valve is opened. The force of the water and its cold shock should give us enough time too disable them. We can do it.”
“If you say so, Stipe.” Marta forced a half smile from her lips and took up a position next to the hydrant valve.
“Break it as soon as I enter the chute and switch on.” Marta acknowledged with a nod. Stipe eased himself into the stainless steel chamber and like a torpedo fired himself into the arena below to the tune of breaking glass behind him. Heads turned in stunned amazement as Stipe ejected into the midst of the quartet. His exit propelled him a few steps forward. He gained his balance and hugged the nozzle of the fire hose into his ribs, directing the nozzle at Zoran. Nothing happened.
“You!” blurted out Zoran. “Good of you to drop in. Your timing couldn’t be better. Now that I have finished with that snivelling weasel, Popovic, my second course arrives.” Zoran came towards Stipe his right hand with the knife held high behind him ready to strike.
“MARTA” screamed Stipe, panic gripping his voice as he stared at the empty nozzle. As his cry left his lips he felt a shudder as the hosepipe began to stiffen and gain life. With a blast that rocked his stance and strained his grip, the water burst from the nozzle and hit Zoran centre target. He gasped for air and reeled backwards. Their composure regained the two henchmen ran towards him. Stipe fanned both of them with the water temporarily blinding them then trained the jet onto the nearest assailants face. Marta exited the chute seconds later followed by the shovel that was held with both hands over her head. The force of her landing propelled her forward in a mini sprint towards to the victim of Stipe’s attention. With one swift action she swung the shovel as Stipe re-directed the hose to the second foe. The shovel twanged viciously off of the top of the man's head. He staggered backwards towards a silo containing flour that protruded a few feet above the floor. Marta gritted her teeth, growled and ran at the man, holding the shovel like a lance. The blow caught him midriff, doubled him over with a sharp exhalation of air. She charged forward pushing the man backwards until his calves caught the edge of the silo and he tumbled backwards into the flour. Marta turned to find the next adversary. Stipe had the second man sprawled on his back wriggling to free himself from the jet off water. Marta saw Zoran approaching, the affects of the first blast diminished. “Stipe, behind you.” Stipe turned as Zoran lunged at Stipe bowling the two of them over. Marta ran towards the man that was disabled desperate to put him out of action before he could muster his strength. The floor was like the icing of a giant cake. In her haste to get close to her enemy she fell scuffing her knees and her elbow on the concrete. The man struggled to his knees and stretched his torso upwards.
Marta did the same. He was within striking distance. He raised an unsteady leg and poised himself to stand. They were face to face. Their eyes met. Marta grabbed the shovel with both hands drew it back as far as she could and speared the edge into his lips, sprawling her body prostrate into the water. The man fell backwards, howling, amidst an explosion of crimson. She crawled forward and latched onto the shovel drew herself onto her knees and swung the shovel above her head and flat onto the man's head. His moaning stopped. The rush of the water took a red tide towards a gully in the floor.