The Criminal Escapades of Geoffrey Larkin (30 page)

There was a long silence amongst the group which was eventually broken by John Bolton. ‘Could we go back to the UK Geoff? That would throw the heavies off the scent.'

‘I've thought about that as well John,' replied Geoff. ‘It would only be a matter of time before we were spotted over there, and the same situation would apply as here. I for one don't want to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, and running from one town to another. In a short while we'd be flat broke without a penny piece between us.'

‘From what you're saying there doesn't seem to be any other option, Geoff,' added Derek.

‘If there was any other alternative I would have taken it, I can assure you. I have to be straight with you mates, the chances of pulling this one off are practically zero, minus a bit!' replied Geoff.

‘We'll give it our best shot, Geoff,' volunteered Sooty without any hesitation.

‘I like this lifestyle Geoff; I don't fancy going back to the grime. Yeah!'

‘
In for a penny in for a pound,
' chipped in the eldest Bolton brother, quoting one of Geoff's sayings. Geoff listened quietly to the banter that passed between the other three lads. Even though he had spelt out how serious and dangerous it would be, they did not realise the implications of failure.

It was obvious to Geoff they thought it would be the same as the other scams they had pulled and got away with over the previous years. Still he was feeling enormously proud that they were his team and that they were prepared to follow him into what was going to be a very sticky and highly precarious operation, more hazardous than anything they had ever contemplated or even thought of tackling before. But their present high hopes could all come to nothing. It all depended on whether Werner Fisher and Peer Merkel decided that they did not want to be party to the attempt to blow the new high security safe that was being temporarily stored in the Municipal Building on the outskirts of Castiglion Fiorentino, especially, as it involved using their old Second World War battle wagon in the process.

Peer Merkel and Werner Fisher were still in deep conversation in the lounge late that night when Geoff passed on his way to his own bedroom. He did not have a good night's sleep and woke up with a start on several occasions, soaked in sweat. All the problems, the options and the possible solutions were chasing one another around in a great circle in his brain. And the previous nightmare kept recurring, every time he tried to leave the turret of the tank he was being shot at with machine guns by the Italian police.

He went down to the kitchen quite early the following morning, as he passed the lounge he was surprised to see Werner Fisher and Peer Merkel still in the room. Werner Fisher was asleep on the sizeable sofa whilst Peer Merkel was asleep on one of the easy chairs.

He continued on to the kitchen and placed the kettle on the stove. He would make some coffee, take it in to the two old men and, hopefully, he would know the results of their long late night conversation within the next few minutes. It would be then that he and his mates' attempt to crack the new super special reinforced safe would go ahead or not. If not he decided they would pack their bags and leave the villa that very same day.

He set out the three cups and saucers on the tray and took the jug of milk from the fridge before giving it thirty seconds in the microwave as both the Austrians liked hot milk with their coffee. As he placed the sugar bowl alongside the milk jug, sorted out several spoons and placed the full percolator of coffee on the tray, he noticed his fingers were shaking like they had never done before.

‘Well, here goes,' he said aloud to himself, gritting his teeth as he left the kitchen and entered the lounge.

‘Buongiorno, gentlemen, coffee!' he said loudly with forced cheerfulness as he placed the tray on the low table between the sofa and the easy chair occupied by Peer Merkel who was struggling to rouse on Geoff's noisy arrival. It was not the case with Werner Fisher, he awoke with a start, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

‘Ah, thank you Geoffrey. Molto bene. Grazie!' exclaimed Werner as his sleepy eyes spotted the steaming jug of coffee.

‘Benissimo!' Peer Merkel called out as he placed his glasses on his nose and slowly surveyed the surroundings, he too eventually focusing on the coffee pot.

Geoff poured the coffee, handing one cup to each of the old gentlemen in turn, allowing them to help themselves to the hot milk and brown sugar he offered on the tray. He then sat down on a spare chair with his own cup while Werner and Peer sipped their coffee. He sensed they had reached a decision and, in due course and when it suited them, they would no doubt inform him of the verdict. He just had to sit it out and wait.

He attempted to drink his own coffee but his hands were shaking so much that much of it went into his saucer so, placing both the cup and saucer on a nearby table, he just sat with his hands clasped together.

The two men seemed to be concentrating on drinking their own coffee not seeming to notice his predicament, if they did, they ignored it.

Geoff was expecting Werner to open the conversation but it was Peer, surprisingly, who startled him slightly by saying his name. ‘Geoffrey! Werner and I have spoken together, many hours into night. We are brutal and to the point. No! You have no experience of manoeuvring and firing grand 75mm Assalto Cannone. Also, none experience on safe cracking!' Geoff smiled inwardly at Peer using the American gangster expression.

‘You are looking you pie in sky,' continued Peer. ‘You think everything red rosy. My friend, Merkel, not know people who can move silver bullion. He does not.'

Peer was obviously struggling for English words to explain his friend's position, especially as he became more excited and animated.

‘Non association type of people, not gangster!' he added.

It was here that Peer Merkel stopped. He had run out of explanations of the negatives of the robbery so his old friend took over.

‘We think, Geoff, that you and your friends are very naive to attempt such a crazy scheme but you already know our views on this matter.'

Geoff was not surprised at what both men had said. It was what, deep down, he had really expected and, if the truth be known, he had to agree with them, it was a crazy idea. Even so, it had given him had a great buzz in his mind's eye just thinking about it. He would now have to think about organising the lads leaving, especially as he was getting uneasy feelings about their present position staying at the villa.

‘But,' continued Fisher, ‘as rightly you have said, we would not be involved. Peer and I would be in Austria when you attempt your robbery so, if you are successful and you can transport the bullion over the border into Austria without being arrested, I will then, and only then, see if I can make contact with people who may or may not be interested in the silver.'

Werner then added, ‘Geoffrey, I must emphasise that this agreement is null and void if any innocent person is injured in this escapade.'

Geoff's heart missed a beat at what Werner Fisher had said. ‘They were in! The two old codgers were bloody well in. The scheme was on! It was on. It was a goer!!!'

‘Great! That's fantastic!' said Geoff rigorously shaking both Werner Fisher and Peer Merkel's hands in turn, then going back to shake Werner Fisher's hands again.

He left the two men in the lounge with their coffees. He had a lot of planning to cram into the next few days. Firstly, he had to tell the rest of the lads that the scheme was on. Werner and Peer would instruct John Bolton on the assembly and workings of the firing mechanism on the 75 mm cannon, how to load the shells and how to manually raise and lower the gun.

Geoff had to contact Jock the Fence. Clearly, the safest method of doing this was to use public telephone boxes miles from the villa but that would cause serious delays in communication and time was of the essence. So the easiest method would be using the pay as you go mobile phone. This could be traced to them through their passports as they had been required to produce them in order to purchase the phones but these were false anyway.

He decided there were many risks involved with this job and this was just one of them.

If there were any comebacks they would, hopefully, be long gone before the calls could be traced back to the villa, if they could be traced back there at all.

Jock the Fence was so surprised to hear Geoff's voice on the other end of the line that he spilt his cup of hot tea over his nightshirt. This soaked immediately through to his thighs causing him to jump out of his seat whilst, at the same time, knocking over the small table complete with its contents of buttered toast and jam which ended up on the floor.

The last time Geoff Larkin's name had been mentioned was when the Scot had passed the information on to the syndicate when they were making enquiries on the underworld grapevine offering a good price for information leading to the apprehension of the four young men. He had not given it another thought as he believed that all four of them would be pushing up daisies by now in some foreign field.

‘Hoch! Why it's so good te hear from ye agen, Geoff Larkin,' answered the Scot on his hands and knees. He had retrieved the phone that had fallen under his chair in the accident whilst, at the same time, trying to hold the nightshirt away from his burnt thigh.

‘What ken I do fer ye?'

‘Have you got a pen and paper handy, Jock?' The request that came from Geoff left the usually unflappable Scot temporarily speechless.

‘Three 75mm Stuk 37 L/24 shells, two of ‘em armour piercing! That's not in my line of work. I dun'a deal with explosives. I anna an arms dealer,' repeated Jock when he had eventually regained his composure after his brain had absorbed the request.

‘Write it down, Jock!' was the firm reply from the other end of the phone. ‘Money is no problem so try any of your contacts who have friends in the Balkans, possibly Albania. Ring you back tonight.' The phone went dead. Jock sat down, not noticing he was sitting on the wet carpet and also forgetting his burnt thigh.

Had he heard correctly? He said aloud to himself, ‘Was that Larkin at the other end of the phone, the small-time crook, Larkin?' What the hell would he want with three 75mm shells, and where did he think he could get them? Who did that Larkin think he was? Issuing orders as if he was his lackey. Expecting him to jump to his tune at a moment's notice. He'd give him a piece of his mind when he rang back. He'd tell him where to get off.

It was a short while later, after he'd cooled down, that Jock started to think money, and how much this information could be worth to him if it was passed on to the right people. It was obvious that Larkin was still on the run from the syndicate. Jock looked at the details of what was requested that he had scribbled on a scrap of paper. He would make some phone calls.

The syndicate had paid him handsomely for the last information he had passed on to them so he could possibly get the same again or even more. It was obvious that they had not yet caught up with Larkin and his mates.

The Scot dragged away the corner of the wet carpet and, removing a loose floorboard, he took a dirty notebook from the opening. Flicking through the pages he found the number he wanted. He read the number to himself aloud but backwards, his own simple code? He then typed it in the phone. There was just an answering service at the other end so Jock put down the receiver. He did not like answering services.

Still, there was a lot of cash at stake. He decided after several agonising moments of pondering that he would ring back, but he would not divulge too much information; just enough so they would know who he was and a name then leave it up to them to contact him. It would look as if he was not really interested in helping them but that way he could jack up the payment.

He picked up the phone again. ‘Hi there, this is Jock. The friend, Larkin, who you were looking fer has just been in touch wi' me.' He then placed the phone back on the receiver.

He returned his notebook to its hiding place then refitted the floorboard before mopping up the wet carpet as best he could whilst wiping up the spilt jam in the process. He then went to find some antibiotic cream for his burnt thigh. He knew he had a jar somewhere in his bathroom cabinet as he had used it for a cut finger twelve months ago. He got dressed, gingerly pulling on his trouser leg over his painful thigh. ‘That's that wee weasel's fault!' he said aloud as he made his way into the small shop. This section displayed a variety of second-hand goods of poor quality.

Most of them had been there for many years and they were covered in a fine layer of dust but the shop was just a front for Jock's real business. It was while he was in this part of the shop one hour later that there were three sharp knocks on the shop door. Pulling back the two heavy bolts he opened the door several inches still on the heavy security chain.

It was just sufficient to see the caller, a thick set, stocky, reasonably well-dressed man in his late thirties. The man smiled pleasantly at the face peering through the 3 inch gap of the shop door. This put Jock on his guard immediately. He was always wary of people who smiled so easily.

‘Yeh! I an'a open yet,' he said looking up and down the street as best he could from the narrow gap. He observed there was no car to be seen so the man must have walked here.

‘You left a message for us to contact you,' said the man, still smiling.

‘God, that was quick,' thought Jock to himself. ‘They're certainly desperate.' Pound note signs were flashing in his brain. ‘Och! Just a mite mate while I unhook th' chain.'

The gentleman from the syndicate, as he called it, wrote down all the information to the last minute detail of the phone call. Jock was surprised; even when he mentioned the 75mm armour piercing shells, the man showed no emotion whatsoever.

‘Your information will be passed on,' he said, still smiling at Jock, making the Scotsman feel very uncomfortable. When the man mentioned money, Jock did not try and barter as he had intended. Just indicating that he had been well paid for his previous services, he was sure the syndicate would be just as generous again. ‘We will contact you later to tell you what to say to our friend, Mr. Larkin,' said the man who was still smiling at Jock as he rose to leave.

‘He's no frien a mine,' was jock's quick response, a hint of panic sounding in his reply that they should think Larkin was his friend. The man's expression did not falter, the smile never moved from his face.

*

It was getting quite late in the day and Geoff had had a very restless afternoon. He hated it when there were things to be done and it was not possible to get on and do them. He stopped in the doorway of the lounge and watched Peer and Werner showing John and Derek Bolton how to assemble the trigger and firing mechanism of the tank's gun.

‘When I was in charge of placing the tank in the Piazzale Garibaldi,' Werner was telling the Bolton brothers, ‘in remembrance of my comrades, I serviced all the remaining working parts of the tank including the gun. It may be very stiff but it should still move. The angle of the barrel is manually operated so it will traverse twelve degrees left and it will also traverse twelve degrees right. Elevation is minus ten degrees to plus twenty degrees. I am afraid the sights were removed many years ago by souvenir hunters but the range is short and it is possible, you can sight down the barrel for that short distance.' Werner looked at Peer and shrugged his shoulders.

This expression wasn't seen by John and Derek Bolton but it was observed by Geoff who was still standing quietly watching by the door.

It was late in the afternoon and Jock was getting quite concerned. No one had contacted him from the syndicate. As yet, Larkin also hadn't been back in touch about his ridiculous request for shells to fit a piece of field artillery.

Jock saw Mr. Smiler, as he now called the representative from the syndicate, through his shop window standing across the road opposite. The man was casually looking both up and down the road as if looking for oncoming traffic, of which there was none. Jock knew the signs; he had seen it many times before. Mr. Smiler was checking the way was clear before coming to his shop.