The Stealers (23 page)

Bradley sat with his cousin Kathleen each downing a large globe, full of iced Sheridan's. The silky liquid soothed his throat together with his bad mood. ‘I have to leave in the morning,' he said.

‘Oh, so soon?' she cooed with disappointment. ‘Aren't you going to wait until the bodies have been found?'

‘Business, I'm afraid.'

‘What are you up to this time?'

Bradley looked pained as he said, ‘Organising my final consignment of cars, just two of ‘em, a pair of old American antiques – worth a fortune over there. I now have the correct paperwork; proving they are mine, so I'm shipping them to New York first thing in the morning. That bastard Crane ruined my operation at home and in France. I must thank you, my favourite cousin, for helping me to get rid of him.'

Kathleen reddened slightly, smiled warmly and chided gently, ‘Your
only
cousin, who will help you with
anything
you want. You'll be staying for breakfast of course?'

Bradley nodded and said, ‘I look forward to it, but for now, I must rest. It's been a long day.'

Kathleen pressed a room key into his hand, ‘I always save the best room for you.'

*

Crane splashed and turned round. Treading water he stared into the inky blackness, but could see nothing. He threw his head back and shouted desperately, ‘Daniella! Where are you?'

He listened intently above the splattering waters and thought he heard a strained gurgle in reply. Adrenalin rushed through his veins and with a burst of energy, immediately flailed his way towards the sound before he nearly bumped into a floundering Daniella. Reaching out, he wrapped his arm around her neck and brought her head up above the water. Treading water again, he held his position for a moment and, whilst looking around, he tried to regain his bearings, but the shore lights had disappeared and there was nothing to be seen, only darkness. He was beginning to feel disorientated when the realisation struck him. It must be the island that is blocking the light from the shore. His ears were muffled by the gentle ripple of the surrounding waters but he became enthused by another noise. It was the sound of water lapping against land. With a final effort Crane supported the semi-conscious Daniella and with all his strength he swam towards the sound. Within minutes, his feet scraped against the bottom of the lake and within seconds, when his shoulders were clear, he picked up Daniella, carried her ashore and laid her down on a grassy bank, then began a resuscitation procedure. He was beginning to feel desperate, but he could not give up then suddenly some water trickled from her mouth and it was not long before she appeared to be breathing normally.

Now fully conscious but also very cold, Daniella began shivering. She propped herself up on her elbows.

Crane sat beside her and said, ‘How are you feeling?'

Through chattering teeth she said, ‘Alive, thanks to you. Where are we?'

‘We're on the island.' Crane stated flatly.

In between bouts of severe trembling she managed a half-hearted quip, ‘Oh, how romantic.'

‘Hmm,' he mumbled awkwardly, ‘we need to find somewhere a bit warmer than here. Do you feel as though you can you stand up?'

Daniella held out her arms and Crane pulled her up and, with his support, they made their way slowly – feeling with their hands – through some trees and into a clearing. A darker outline stood out and, as they approached, they found it to be a shelter of some kind. There was no door, just an opening and slotted windows all around. ‘It's a hide.' Crane said, and by the musty smell of it I believe the local wildlife have taken up residence.'

‘What is hide?'

But before Crane could answer, they felt a draft from a beat of wings as a large barn owl, indignant upon being disturbed, gave a loud hoot and flapped his way out through the door.

‘A hide,' he continued, ‘is a place where people can watch birds without disturbing them, but it appears that the roles have been reversed here, but it'll suit our purpose. We'll need to get some of these wet clothes off and hang them up. Hopefully they will dry overnight.'

Feeling their way around the small hut, they found an old tarpaulin lying on the floor as well as cushions for the long wooden benches, ‘That's all there is but I suppose it's better than nothing,' Crane commented. The pair made use of the items and huddled together trying to keep warm. In between shivers Daniella said, ‘Like the babes in the wood, yes?'

Crane gave her a squeeze and said, ‘You're a very brave woman, Daniella.'

They closed their eyes, but it was much too cold for them to get any sleep. They were still in each other's arms when the first cracks of dawn appeared through the narrow gap of the windows used for bird watching. Crane checked his watch; six thirty on a late September morning. Their underwear had dried on their bodies, but the clothes that had been hung up to dry, were still very damp.

Crane dressed and went outside. Nearby, coils of bramble were heavily laden with ripe fruit and he picked a couple of handfuls. He took some to Daniella, before he set about reconnoitring the small island. From its west shore, he could clearly see the hotel and the two other islands that lay to the east. Their best, and only hope of getting back to the mainland, would be to try and attract the attention of a passing boat.

It was around mid-morning when Crane sighted a pair of white billowing sails furling through the lake on a stiff breeze. As the yacht neared, to pass between the islands, he took off his jacket and waved it frantically in the air, high above his head until his arm ached. The boat tacked sharply, altered course and headed towards the island. Feeling elated, Crane called out to Daniella and they both stood together on the beach while the craft gently moved towards them.

The yacht's sails loosened – flapping noisily – as its prow front eased onto the beach and two men leapt off. Crane recognised them straight away. It was Mickey Finn's pair of cohorts. They were big men and the larger of the two bounded towards Crane whilst the other ran towards Daniella.

Crane remained still until the last second, then deftly side stepped, spun around as the brute went past and barged with all his weight against his assailant's back. This sent the thug sprawling awkwardly down flat on his face, breaking his jaw. Witnessing this, his companion looked shocked and abandoned Daniella. Swearing profusely he charged furiously towards Crane, who had started to run away but, within a few metres, when the thug was within arm's reach, Crane dropped low to the ground, curling his body up into a ball. His attacker was unable to stop the momentum. He fell over the top of Crane and ended up lying on the ground in front of him. Crane grabbed hold of the man's arm then sprang to his feet wrenching the arm up high, twisting it and tearing sinew as he dislocated it. A screech of pain was silenced when Crane delivered a heavy blow behind the ear.

Regaining his breath, Crane looked at Daniella and said, ‘Let's go.'

They pushed the boat off the beach and clambered aboard. Crane set the sails and steered the craft between the islands. They headed northwards until the small boat was about three miles upriver from the hotel. Sailing close to the shore they found a convenient spot to beach the yacht but before leaving, they searched the yacht's tiny cabin and found two mobile phones, a nine mil Walther semi-automatic handgun together with a little over one thousand euros in cash, bound tight with an elastic band. As he pocketed them Crane remarked, ‘This little lot may come in very handy.'

They were relieved to be on dry land and trudging no more than half a mile, found themselves on the main road to Athlone. Within a short time they managed to hitch a lift to the town and its main shopping centre complex, where, using the money they found, they replaced their clothing.

Suitably attired, they took the escalators to reach ground level and left the shopping mall. They walked across the bridge towards a grey and ominous medieval building, Athlone Castle and had a meal in a cosy restaurant nearby. Over the meal Crane checked his watch; it was 4.30 pm. ‘We'll wait until dark before getting a cab to drop us off just short of the hotel and then, I have a few ideas in mind to take them by surprise.'

Daniella shuddered at the thought of returning and, noticing this, Crane added, ‘It may be best if you wait in the hire car; assuming it's still there.'

She smiled weakly and nodded.

*

Mickey Finn was dressed in his best suit when he called upon Kathleen at the hotel. She had invited him to dinner and, with Crane and Daniella out of the way and Bradley now gone, they had the place to themselves. She had laid a table for the pair of them, complete with an opened bottle of red wine. Upon greeting him at the front door, she took him by the arm and led him to the dining room, where a welcoming log fire crackled brightly, showering sparks against a mesh guard.

They sat down opposite each other and Finn cast his eyes approvingly over the table, poured himself a glass of wine, which he then gulped down quickly, before commencing the first course of the meal. He gave Kathleen a lecherous look as she replenished his glass. ‘Which room are we going to have dessert in?' he leered.

‘Depends what you have in mind for your dessert,' she replied, trying to sound modest.

At that moment, the sound of the front door opening and closing made her pause and cock an ear to one side. ‘What was that?' she said out loud.

‘Didn't hear anything,' Finn said as he slurped noisily away at the wine.

Kathleen got up and walked into the hall and looked around; there was nobody there. Believing that Finn hadn't closed the door properly when he had stepped inside, she returned to the dining room and sat down again. After a few minutes, she heard another noise; it was the sound of footsteps descending the staircase. She leapt up and walked back into the hall, leaving Finn to help himself to more wine. When she saw Crane standing by the desk holding his small wheelie case her face went as white as a sheet. ‘I've come to check out,' he said.

For the first time in her life, Kathleen remained speechless, until she finally stuttered, ‘Oh… I… thought...'

Crane interrupted her, ‘By the way, where's Bradley?'

To her it was like a bad dream and she heard herself saying trance-like, ‘He left first thing this morning… business; to erm, send cars to America.'

‘I get the feeling that you didn't expect to see me again; who's in the other room?' Her composure was slowly returning as she said, ‘A friend.'

‘It wouldn't be Mickey Finn by any chance?'

She looked down briefly and glanced over her shoulder and Crane said, ‘Let's go in and find out shall we? After you,' and he edged the door open with his foot.

Finn had overstuffed his mouth with a wholemeal bread roll, softening it in between gulps of red wine when he saw Kathleen enter with Crane. He spat it out hastily and jumped up from his chair as though his pants were on fire. Taking one step forward he halted when Crane produced the Walther. ‘It's your turn for a boat trip now,' Crane hissed, moving towards the fireplace. ‘And if you're lucky, you can join your two mates on the island.'

*

Finn began, ‘Look, perhaps we can… '

Crane cut him short with a venomous, ‘Shut up!'

Perhaps for the first time in Finn's life he knew he was facing fury in its purest form and it worried him. Kathleen, looking at Finn for guidance, could see the fear in his eyes as she began to shrink back towards the door, but she stopped dead when Crane barked, ‘Take another step and it will be your last!'

Her brain raced, she wished Bradley were here – he'd know what to do. But then, she considered it was because of him that she found herself in this position. Crane had his head turned towards her for a split second but it was enough time for Finn to try his hand and, picking up a chair, Finn hurled it clumsily towards the armed intruder. Crane saw it coming and moved to one side. The chair smashed and splintered on the stone hearth, knocking the fireguard aside and sending a shower of red hot sparks cascading onto the rug. Crane squeezed the trigger of the Walther and a bullet smashed into Finn's elbow. Ignoring his cries of pain, Crane said calmly, ‘The next one goes in between your eyes!'

Cordite, from the spent bullet of the Walther, mingled with the smoke from a singeing rug and made a strange cocktail that spread across the room. Crane hooked his free hand around the small wheelie case that he had recovered from his room and waved the handgun to usher the pair outside. Together they made their way towards Finn's car. ‘Keys,' Crane demanded, ‘put 'em on the boot lid.'

Crane took the keys that Finn had placed on the car and without taking his eyes off the pair, felt inside the glovebox of Mickey Finn's Audi coupe. His left hand came out with a Colt semi-automatic. The weapon was somewhat weighty and he recognised it as a forty-five calibre with a full magazine. From there he marched the pair to the jetty – lit up by a large moon in a cloudless sky. ‘Get in that boat!' Crane said harshly.

‘My arm… ' Finn began, but before he could finish Crane said, ‘Get in right now or you'll have both arms to complain about.'

Finn and Kathleen sat in the front of the craft, behind the steering wheel and Crane said, ‘It won't steer. I've fixed your course for the middle of the lake and there should be just enough fuel in the tank for the ride. If you're lucky, maybe you can make the island and join your friends.'

Crane untied the boat, but before sending them off he added, ‘Oh, there's just one more thing, you need the holes.'

With that he pulled back the slide on Finn's Colt and emptied the magazine into the bottom of the fibreglass hull. As the noise of gunfire abated another sound took its place; that of water pouring into the craft.

Tossing the rope to one side he called out, ‘Off you go then, before I empty the other gun.'