The Stealers (14 page)

Louise groaned as Mackie pulled her along the slick marble surface and she managed to rise to her feet as he opened the wine cellar door. Crane stood by, watching them descend the wooden stairs and before closing the door he called out, ‘Do help yourself to drinks.'

After locking the door, Crane made a quick reconnoitre outside, to make sure that there were no escape hatches from the cellar. When satisfied there were none he got in the Rover and again tucked it out of sight in some nearby scrub. Crane checked his watch; it was four pm.

Crane walked back to the chateau to look through the rooms but found nothing of interest or anything remotely incriminating. Two hours passed before the sound of a car, turning into the gravel driveway, made Crane rush to the window. It was Bradley and he was alone in Crane's Mustang. Crane stood for a moment and watched Bradley casually amble towards the house. Then, like a butler taking his place, he concealed himself by the front door with the Glock semi-automatic hand-gun hanging loosely by his side.

The bell clanged raucously and Crane, believing surprise to be on his side, during this elusive encounter with his arch-enemy, immediately swung back the front door to find himself facing an Uzi submachine gun pointing at his head. Bradley's face wore a twisted smile as he said. ‘Gotcha! Now put my Glock down on the table, slowly.'

Penny awoke to the sound of air being gently drawn in and out. It was Sammy and Andrew fast asleep. Nothing else could be heard. They were in total darkness. She felt movement, a gentle rocking feeling, like being in some sort of cradle. “A boat!” she correctly surmised. As her head cleared, she was certain that they were moored in a harbour. Thoughts of using her mobile were quashed, when she realised her handbag was missing and she began to lose hope fast.

*

Henri Girard, still at the farm, was spoilt for choice. With a box of car keys in his hand, he surveyed the remaining cars in the barn. Ignoring the classic cars, he settled on a year old dark-blue Porsche Boxster. Engrossed in the vehicle, he did not hear Ryan approach from behind until he saw a reflection in the glass windscreen. Girard turned and faced the overweight, sweating and seething man, who limped closer and barked, ‘What the fuck are you doing with those keys?'

Girard shook the box he was holding and answered, ‘I'm looking for the keys to this Porsche.'

Ryan snarled and held up a pepper spray, ‘Well the Porsche is not for you. Didn't expect to see me, did you. Luckily one of the others returned and let me out after you left me down in that cellar. Now, where's your friend Crane, eh?'

Girard shrugged his huge shoulders and lowered his lip, ‘He had a gun, I had to do what he said. What could I do?'

‘Come off it, a big bloke like you? Get back to the house now!'

Girard laughed and replied casually, ‘No, I don't want to.'

This infuriated Ryan. Stepping forward, within two metres of Girard and waving the pepper spray canister he growled, ‘You want some of this?'

Girard laughed again, only louder and said, trying to suppress his mirth, ‘I wouldn't use that if I were you,' and he carried on looking in the box for the Porsche keys.

Ryan was apoplectic as he pressed down on the canister's button. A gust of wind sent a cloud of spray back into his face, sending him buckling to the ground, coughing violently with his hands held over his eyes.

Girard was grinning like a Cheshire cat and, between bouts of laughter, he began to chastise Ryan, as though he were speaking to a child. ‘I did try, to erm… advise you. Is that the correct word? Advise? You should always check to see which way the wind is blowing before using any kind of spray.'

Ryan, with his eyes streaming and his lungs gasping for air, was not in a fit state to answer and Girard, finding the set of keys that he had been looking for, jumped into the Porsche and drove off.

*

Louise sat back in an armchair, nursing an egg-sized lump on her head whilst glaring accusingly at Crane who, under threat of being shot, had been forced to sit on the marble floor. Mackie had busied himself fetching ice packs from the freezer and he handed them to her. Bradley, having retrieved the Glock, gesticulated with the weapon, ‘This ends here Mr Jack Crane. I don't know how you found this place, or the other places come to that, but I must assume that given your background, you are a very resourceful man. However, so am I.'

Crane looked up and said, ‘You won't last, your kind never do.'

Bradley sneered, screwed up his face then turned towards Mackie, ‘It's just as well there was a phone in the cellar and very fortunate I was nearby at the time. I must go soon, got things to do.' He turned and snarled at Crane, ‘I'm sure Claude Mullah will know exactly what to do with him. Where can we put him until Mullah gets back?'

Mackie grinned, ‘There's a concrete bunker on the edge of the drive, built by the Germans during World War Two. It's bomb proof; he won't get out of there in a hurry.'

Bradley was satisfied with this arrangement and watched as Mackie, using a twelve-bore shotgun, herded Crane towards the bunker and sealed him in with a heavy iron bar braced across a steel door.

Mackie stood confidently for a moment, with the shotgun tucked under his arm, as he waved Bradley off before returning to the house. Crane, peering through the narrow gun slit, also watched the departing pair.

*

Penny tried hard not to feel panicky as she lay in total darkness. The children were still asleep. Considering the circumstances, Penny thought it was a blessing. She could hear sounds outside, but they were muffled. Maybe it was her imagination trying to get through the tinnitus sounds in her head. However, she decided that, just maybe, there could be somebody in the vicinity; so she shouted for help at the top of her voice. The only response seemed to be the faint hum of an engine and a sensation of motion as the craft pulled slowly out of the harbour which just added to her feeling of despair.

*

Henri Girard was in ebullient mood as he put his newly-acquired Porsche Boxster through the paces. He loved the way the car handled, pulling it hard around the tight bends, he passed through Boulogne and headed towards ‘Chateau du Lac'. His face beamed with satisfaction as he whispered to himself, ‘It goes around corners like it's on rails,' he breathed out a sigh and began to sing out loud an old Disney classic that he had seen on video when he was a child, ‘Zip-a-dee-do-daa, zip-a-dee-day… '

*

Crane positioned himself by the narrow gun slit – it was a source of warm, dry fresh air and a welcome change from the dank atmosphere inside. The bunker had been well sited; it gave generous views of the long-winding driveway that led to the chateau. After an hour's confinement, he heard a vehicle approaching. He turned and stared into the distance. As it neared, he recognised the man behind the wheel; it was Henri Girard. Crane stuck both hands through the slit and began waving frantically and the car gradually slowed down to a halt. Girard jumped out of the Porsche and strolled up to the bunker; his eyes flicked between the padlocked steel door and Crane. ‘'Ello; I got your text. What are you doing in there?'

‘Not much,' Crane replied and he went on to explain how he became imprisoned.

‘Leave it to me,' Girard said before leaping into the Porsche and driving round to the front entrance of the house.

Girard walked boldly up to the door, rattling the huge knocker, pressing the bell at the same time. It was answered by Louise. Through the open door, Girard could see Mackie holding a shotgun.

With a wide grin Girard said, ‘
Bonsoir, Madame
, I'm Henri Girard.
Monsieur
Bradley sent me to collect
Monsieur
Crane.'

At the mention of Bradley's name, Mackie seemed to relax and leant the gun up against the wall. But, Louise was more cautious and she eyed him up and down with suspicion. Wanting to exercise her authority she said cockily, ‘Do you have anything to authenticate?'

Girard's grin widened as he put a hand in his pocket and replied, ‘But of course, it is wise of you to ask.'

Louise's shoulders relaxed until Girard slickly produced the small Jennings handgun, ‘I have this.'

Louise stepped back a few paces at this unexpected move. Mackie immediately reached towards the wall for his shotgun but Girard was ready for this. The range of four metres was not too great for him to send a bullet smashing into the wooden stock of Mackie's weapon, sending it crashing to the floor. By now, Louise's eyes were wide with fear as she stared at Girard and heard him say, ‘I don't really want to kill you, so you had better do as I tell you. I'm already wanted by the police for murder; well… I have nothing to lose. Put the key to the lock of the bunker on this little table and then both of you get outside…
s'il vous plait.
'

Girard turned the key in the padlock and withdrew the heavy bar. Crane stepped outside, with a feeling of relief, to get away from the confines of the humid, musty, damp atmosphere of the bunker, complete with German graffiti, with its echoes of the past also etched into its walls. Then Girard ushered Mackie and Louise inside. Their sullen looks caused Girard to say to them cheerfully, ‘Don't look so worried, think of it as an exchange visit eh?'

On their way to the house, Girard said, ‘I think we should cover up that porthole or else they may be waving their arms about to get the attention of their boss when he turns up.'

‘Good thinking, but maybe it would be better to hand them a bottle of water with some of their sleeping draughts in. They'll soon get thirsty and that will keep them quiet.'

Within a short time, Girard was handing the water through the gun slit and after doing so, he paused for a second to hear the pair slurping it down their throats.

Back in the chateau, Girard busied himself down in the wine cellar. After some time, he had selected a bottle of red wine and came into the dining room. ‘There is nothing special down there,' he declared and, plucking a pair of glasses from a cabinet, proffered, ‘A little Bordeaux perhaps?'

Crane looked at his watch; it was seven-thirty. ‘No thanks, I need to keep a clear head for when they arrive.'

Girard shrugged and poured himself a large glassful of the red liquid, ‘
Oui
, so do I. I'll just have one.'

Crane walked towards the door, ‘I'll check up on our sleeping beauties; we do not need any more surprises.'

Girard grunted an assent between mouthfuls of crusty bread.

*

At the farm, Bradley was somewhat fazed to discover his right-hand man Ryan was the only person around and that he appeared to be in a state of frustration because of his heavily bandaged foot. Bradley gave a cursory glance at Ryan's foot and unsympathetically dismissed it with, ‘Shit happens.'

Ryan reluctantly recounted the details of what had happened since their last meeting and was somewhat consoled by the fact that Bradley had placed Crane under lock and key in an old German bunker.

Bradley looked at his watch before getting back into his car and said, ‘A transporter should be arriving any time now to take care of the remaining stock. Pity you couldn't have stopped the French guy from taking the Porsche.' And looking Ryan straight in the eye added, ‘It'll have to come off your share you know.'

Ryan was not too pleased, but at the back of his mind, he had by now, no reason to doubt Crane's story about Davy being pinned, with a long knife, to the seat in his vehicle. He was beginning to feel that if he was not more careful, he could share a similar fate and so he felt it pertinent to reply lamely, ‘Yeah Bradley, that's only fair.'

Bradley left with a, ‘Be back soon.'

*

Crane walked from the front door of the chateau towards the concrete bunker. It was mid-afternoon and unseasonably warm for the time of year and he knew it would be hot and sticky inside the old wartime building, and maybe that fact would also help the drugged water on to induce sleep. He approached the building silently by walking on the grass verge and he stood outside for a while and listening intently. He heard the heavy sound of slumber coming from inside. He turned away and looked instinctively along the driveway. A large car was silently gliding along its surface; it was the Bentley returning home. There was no time for him to dash back to the house, without being seen by the driver, but he just had time to dart around to the back of the concrete structure, before the Bentley whispered past. The idea of surprising Claude Mullah and his companion Haj were rapidly evaporating and his thoughts now turned towards Girard, whom he had left in the sitting room reclining comfortably in a deep-piled armchair whilst swilling red wine.

The hatch above Penny suddenly scraped open and their confined space became awash with sunlight, its rays stabbing harshly into the children's eyes, causing them to wince. She gradually got used to the intensity of the light and looked up at a blue cloudless sky. Within a few minutes, a basket containing food and drink was being lowered from the edge of the hatch and a gruff voice in broken English called out, ‘Somethink to eet and drink.'

Penny found it difficult to react at first, but after a moment she called back, ‘Where are we? Are we at sea? Where are you taking us?'

There was no reply. The children were now wide awake and anxiety was beginning to show on their faces. Putting on a bold front Penny said, ‘Who would like something to eat?' Andrew was the first to reply and Penny dipped into the basket and handed him a bottle of fruit juice, a sandwich pack and some cakes. Sammy looked morose and said, ‘Do you think Jack will be able to come for us?'

Penny looked down, ‘I would like to think so, Sammy. I really would. Perhaps some food will help you keep your strength up, just in case he does.'

*

As soon as the Bentley had passed by, Crane moved from his position behind the bunker. He dodged behind the rows of bushes lining the drive, which twisted and turned, towards the chateau. The Bentley came into view once more, it was parked adjacent to the front door outside the house. Crane paused for a moment, to check for movement inside the car and, judging it was now empty, he kept low, as he ran deftly up to the front door. It was wide open and all was quiet. Feeling apprehensive, he remained there for a while, listening. There was not a sound to be heard.

Very slowly, he gingerly stepped into the large entrance hall, paused for a moment and listened again: nothing. It was as though the place was empty. Crossing the hall, he approached the door to the sitting room and gently nudged it open with his foot and looked inside. He saw Girard sitting in an armchair, looking decidedly relaxed. He had a half-filled glass of red wine in his hand and his foot was firmly straddled across the chest of one of the men from the car. The other man, lying prone on the floor, appeared to be out cold. Upon seeing Crane, Girard looked up. He smiled and said nonchalantly, ‘Ah, there you are, I was beginning to worry about you. Are these the two men we have been waiting for?'

Crane, recovering from his surprise, grinned and said, ‘I reckon they must be. Were they armed?'

Girard nodded towards the table, ‘Large calibre Smith and Wesson magnum revolver and a brand new nine mil Glock.'

There was movement and a groan from the floor and they saw that the prone figure was recovering and coming round. Crane grabbed the revolver from the table and said, ‘The man under your foot… is he still alive?'

Girard shrugged and wriggled his foot on the man's chest, ‘I'm not sure.' There was a groan and he said, ‘Yes, I think so. He is alive.'

‘Okay, let's find out what they have been up to.'

The men began to sit up and Crane said, ‘Okay, on your feet the pair of you and take a seat.'

The groaning men sat down in chairs opposite each other and looked scathingly at Crane. One of them complained, ‘What do you want with us, money?'

Crane looked at the man who spoke, ‘Are you Claude Mullah?'

There was an arrogant tone in Mullah's voice as he replied, ‘What if I am? Who are you and what do you want?'

‘I want the women and children who were here.'

Mullah smirked, ‘I don't know what you are talking about. There were no women or children here. What have you done with my staff, Mackie and Louise?'

‘They are locked up in the bunker. Now, tell me, where did you take the woman and two children this morning? And please don't lie to me.'

‘What are you, police or something?'

‘No, now tell me.'

‘What are you going to do if I don't?'

‘You'll be no use to me or to my friend Girard; he's already wanted for murder – we'll kill you, simple as that.'

There was no fear in Mullah's eyes; just hatred. ‘They are at sea.'

‘Get them back.'

‘I cannot.'

Crane looked long and hard at Mullah. His face reflected pure ferocity as he drew back the hammer on the .45 calibre revolver. He pointed the gun at Mullah's leg and said, ‘You've got just one chance of coming out of this alive, don't ruin it! One bullet from this gun would blow your kneecap right off and that would be just for starters.'

Mullah's self-assured confidence drained rapidly. Rivulets of sweat began to run from his hairline and down the sides of his face. His eyes darted between Crane's savage expression and the handgun that was pointing directly at his knee.

‘Mobile phone,' Mullah stammered, ‘mobile phone.'

‘Where is it,' Crane hissed.

‘In the car. It's in the car.'

Girard leapt up, ‘I'll get it.' Within a few minutes he was handing Mullah the phone. As Mullah began to dial Crane said, ‘Turn the speaker on.'

Mullah reacted nervously by nodding several times. The quietened room was filled with the sound of a ringing tone, but before long the automatic voice responded in French with an, ‘Unable to connect you; please try again later
.'

Mullah shifted uneasily in his seat. His eyes darted from Crane, who stood leaning against the table, to Haj, who had remained silent throughout. They were both well-built men, but not as broad or as muscular as Girard. Crane guessed the ruthless pair to be in their late thirties.

‘Try again,' Crane barked.

Mullah carefully dialled once more, but receiving the same response, looked up fearfully at Crane.

‘When and where did the boat leave?'

Mullah looked at his watch, ‘About an hour ago from a private mooring near Boulogne.'

‘What kind of boat are they on and where is it heading?'

‘A motor launch about ten metres long; it's heading for Morocco, but it will stop, refuel and take on supplies and more, erm… passengers at a private mooring near Le Havre.'

‘And the arrival time?'

‘I'm not sure. Three, four, five hours maybe.'

Crane checked the time and said, ‘You can take us there.'

Mullah looked at Crane askance but Crane continued, ‘We can hire a helicopter from the airport at Le Touquet; it's about twenty kilometres from Boulogne. I take it you've got plenty of cash knocking around?'

Mullah nodded vacantly but was beginning to succumb to Crane's resolve. Haj's eyes alternated between Crane and Girard as he leant back in his armchair trying to hide the hatred he felt towards this intrusion. His mind was awash with schemes to get himself and Mullah out of this situation. ‘There's a private airfield; it's nearer and has a helicopter service,' Haj offered.

Mullah nodded vacantly and Girard confirmed, ‘I passed it on the way here.'

‘Okay,' Crane said, ‘we'll try that one first.'

Girard accompanied Mullah to the Algerian's Bentley and, using his remote control, Mullah opened the rear compartment. Under Girard's watchful eye, Mullah reached inside and grabbed hold of a large expensive-looking black-leather holdall and together, with Girard trailing close behind, they went back inside the chateau where Mullah tossed the bag onto a grandiose polished table.

Crane looked at the bag and said, ‘How much is in there?'

‘A little over two hundred thousand euros.'

‘That'll do. Open it and tip the contents onto the table, slowly.'

Mullah did as he was told and feeling some of the fear evaporating remarked, ‘You're a very cautious man, Mr Crane.'

Crane scoffed as he watched the neatly bundled notes cascade onto the table together with a small pearl handled revolver, Crane smiled and said, ‘Yeah,' as he picked up the weapon and, turning around, he handed it to Girard and said, ‘Give the airport a call to see if they have a chopper available, your French is better than mine!'

Mullah's eyes shifted from Haj to Crane, ‘Look, Mr Crane, why don't you take the money and forget about everything else – eh?'

Crane said, ‘You're forgetting something – I've already got the money.'

Girard, rummaging around for a phone book, grinned at Crane's answer. Within a few minutes, the Frenchman was talking to a private charter company and, when he put the phone down, he said, ‘When I mentioned cash, they seem to have a helicopter at our disposal.'

‘Okay!' Glancing at Mullah, Crane said, ‘We can only take one of you with us so your friend will have to stay here; in the bunker.' Haj looked up scathingly as Crane continued, ‘We'll make sure there is enough food and drink to last until our return. If anything should happen to us, well the bunker is very remote and whoever is in there will rot there. Do I make myself clear?'

Mullah, unused to being ordered around, nodded sullenly. Haj remained silent, but Crane was not seeking approval as he watched, gun in hand, while Haj and Mullah took supplies from the kitchen, and ferried them over to the bunker. Haj was then locked up inside the bunker with Mackie and Louise, who were still lying there sound asleep.

*

Crane was beginning to feel he was getting somewhere, when the three of them, in Mullah's Bentley, headed off in the direction of the airport. With Girard at the wheel, they made good time and upon turning into the main entrance, followed the signposts to
Heli-hire.
As the car approached the building, the occupants saw a man, drawing heavily on a cigar, standing framed in the open doorway, his free hand resting casually on the door post. As the car pulled up he propelled himself off the door frame and greeted Girard and Crane with a huge grin as they leapt out. Mullah took his time getting out of the car and trailed behind. The laid-back man introduced himself as Pierre Durand and directed them into his office. It was soon apparent that he spoke good English, ‘Where exactly do you want to go to?'

Crane and Girard turned towards Mullah, who, considering his circumstances seemed to be somewhat ebullient. As Mullah strode forward, he gave a quick glance at Durand and stabbed his finger on the map. ‘There!'

Durand thought for a moment and said, ‘No problem, but I need to file a flight plan.'

Crane nodded and said, ‘How long will that take?'

‘Not long. Once I've got that cleared, we'll be there within thirty minutes or less.'

Whilst the pilot was busy Crane looked at Mullah, ‘Are you sure your man will refuel the boat at the place you pointed out?'

‘There is no doubt; it's my own private mooring complete with fuelling facilities.' Mullah checked his watch, ‘We should be there before the boat.'

Crane detected an almost cheerful note in the tone of voice, which seemed inappropriate considering the situation that Mullah had found himself in. However, like it or not, Crane dismissed this observation as being over cautious.

Within minutes, a thin-faced willowy young man in his early twenties came into the office. He was introduced as Simon and Durand announced, ‘All is well. Let's fly.' They followed him as he walked towards an adjacent shiny red, Polish-made, Mi-2 helicopter which was parked close to the office. There was plenty of room inside the eight-seat aircraft, but Girard made a point of sitting close behind Mullah. The twin-turbo engines whined into action and with rapidly spinning rotors, they were airborne in seconds.

*

Since rousing from their induced sleep, the warmth and the cramped surroundings had taken their toll with Penny and the children. They had quickly got through the bottled water, which had been left down below with them. Their throats were now parched and they felt keen to move around and stretch their legs. Penny thumped on the hatch and shouted, ‘Is there a loo on board this boat, a toilet?'

The sound of feet shuffling across the deck and a heavily-accented voice resounded, ‘You can come out for a little while, eh, then you go back, eh!'

The hatch was thrown back and Penny clambered up a short flight of steps. As she stepped on to the deck, her hand shot up shielding her eyes from the bright intense sunlight. Sammy and Andrew were quick to follow; eagerly scrambling up the narrow ladder. When the sun's rays spread across their faces, they closed their eyelids tight shut with discomfort. A gruff-looking man stood by, with a helping hand, making sure the trio found their sea-legs as the launch bucked and swayed over a heaving grey blanket of sea. Penny could see the land quite clearly as the boat hugged near to the coastline towards Le Havre.

Penny let the children visit the toilet first and she asked her jailor, ‘Where are you taking us?'

The man remained silent. After using the toilet Penny repeated the question – again there was no answer. Instead the man handed over a plastic shopping bag containing bottled water and snacks before directing them back to their confines below deck.

*

Bradley returned to the farm in time to see that the remaining vehicles were being taken out of the barn and that they were now being driven onto the car transporter. He stood leaning against his BMW – watching every move until they had finished loading. His eyes did not leave the huge, now fully-loaded, vehicle until it reached the hill and disappeared from view. His trance was interrupted when Ryan limped out of the farmhouse, ‘Okay, it's tidied up inside and the owner's been paid. Where to now?'

Bradley thought for a moment before replying, ‘Our work is all done here, but before we head for home, I think a quick visit to Mullah's chateau would be in order. It won't take long. I'm curious to see what he has done with Crane.'

Ryan grinned at the prospect of Crane's demise as he hobbled towards the BMW.

*

The helicopter drifted around the desolate grounds of an tall old house, a typical French maison. Crane scanned the remote area for signs of life, but there were no other houses in sight nor any towns or villages to be seen. After a moment, the aircraft hovered over the area while the pilot considered a suitable spot for landing. Then the craft floated gently down and settled onto a dry, grassless patch of earth.