The Collectors Book Five (The Collectors Series 5) (31 page)

It is understood the victims could be linked to gang warfare and drugs. An Essex police spokesperson said the investigation continues but refused to comment further.

The car was eventually removed with the bodies inside.

Detective Superintendent Leslie Holmes of the Essex police did not mention how the men died.

             
A local resident stated drug trading was commonplace in the reservoir car park and cars were often stopping late at night and then driving away.

              Bear looked on in astonishment and switched the television off. “There endeth the lesson.” He whistled as he strolled to the kitchen and prepared his breakfast.

Chapter Twenty

Petros awoke at four, dressed and wandered onto the deck. The moon cast its reflection on a  mirror-flat sea. “Time,” he muttered before clambering up the ladder to the bridge. “Good morning, Tommaso.”

              “Hi. Great day for a fight.”

              “I need to use the radio.”

              “Go ahead, you know the procedure.”

              Petros switched to channel seven on the radio. “Good morning. This is Petros Kyriades. Out.” He repeated the message three times before someone answered.

              “I gather you have reconsidered my proposal. You must love your wife. I suggest you come to me one hour after sunrise. My vessel is thirty miles north of your present position. Remember, my associate is taking care of your wife. Out.”

              “You are up early,” said Alfredo as he entered the bridge.

              “Need time to get my brain in gear. Our friend is thirty miles north.”

              “One moment. Tommaso, set the auto-pilot to north, speed ten knots. I will stay here while you have breakfast. Do not take too long.”

              He turned. “Petros, have you a plan?”

              “Yes, and with luck no-one on our side will get hurt.” He explained to Alfredo what he wanted him to do. Checking the time he said, “Two hours until our appointment. Breakfast calls.”

              To his surprise the mess was full. “What’s up with everyone? Couldn’t sleep?”

              Tommaso turned his head towards Petros. “Like you, we’ll be glad when this day is over.”

              During breakfast, tension played games with the crew’s minds. Tempers flared but subsided just as fast.

              Petros stood and scanned the faces around him. “Anyone who would rather avoid the action can stay below deck.”

              Apart from the throb of the engines, silence filled the space.

              “We might have a problem with that,” said Marco. “This is our boat and no man is going to take it from us. Well not without a fight.”

              “Amadou and ZZ have their instructions.”

              “Can’t wait to see those bastards’ faces,” said ZZ.

              Adrian sipped his coffee and nodded.

              “I’ll go and relieve Alfredo,” said Tommaso as he refilled his coffee cup.

              “Just keep your head down and don’t get shot,” said Petros. “The rest of us will cause confusion and mayhem.”

              Alfredo entered the mess as Petros said, “I’ll take control of the ship.”

              Alfredo shook his head. “I know my ship, my bridge, how she reacts and I am a better ship-handler than Gabriele Silvio.”

              Petros nodded. “I have a feeling he’s in for a bad day.”

              Davide entered. “Tommaso has them at ten miles and closing.”

              Each member of the crew grabbed a shotgun, a box of ammunition from ZZ and made their way to the upper deck. Davide and Petros pushed the timed detonators into the plastic explosive. ZZ and Amadou took up their positions out of sight on the stern. Alfredo stood erect on the bridge.

              The deck trembled as two vessels at slow speed came together, their hulls separated by fenders of rubber tyres.

              Davide, Petros and Adrian tossed the half dozen paint tins along with grenades onto the bow, waist, and upper bridge of
Belladonna
while multiple shotguns peppered the superstructure. 

              Almost in slow motion the two vessels drifted apart.

              ZZ and Amadou waited for the moment when the stern of one crossed the stern of the other and vaulted over.

              On
Belladonna
, four men stepped into the open and blasted away at
Tuna Turner
with semi-automatics. Empty cartridges filled the air before they fell to the deck.

              From behind the steel bulkhead, Davide, Petros and Adrian hurled more grenades across the gap.

              ZZ and Amadou raced for cover. Another burst of gunfire filled the air.

              Gabriele screamed abuse as Alfredo’s vessel at full power manoeuvred away. Furious, he pushed the throttles hard down.

              Alfredo reasoned his opponent’s reaction and altered course.

              ZZ and Amadou entered the superstructure, located the engine room entrance, tossed in two stun-grenades and closed the door. Thirty seconds later, they descended the steel ladder.

              ZZ utilised the ladder as cover, while Amadou removed a block of plastic explosive from his backpack, broke it in two and inserted a detonator in each piece timed for ten minutes.

              He nodded to ZZ as he stuck them on the ready-use-fuel tanks but below the water line. With a quick glance around, they raced up the metal stairs and through the entrance. Amadou stopped long enough to fasten the door clips.

              “Time for a swim,” said ZZ.

              Once on the deck they charged for the stern. Shots ricocheted off steel posts as they criss-crossed the deck. Both men gripped their weapons tight as they slid behind the aft winch.

              At deck level, ZZ peered round the winch drum. Two men approached, their semi-automatic rifles firing.

              Amadou removed two grenades and handed one to ZZ. With hand signals, he indicated he would go left and for ZZ to go right. They waited.

              The firing ceased as the men changed magazines.

              Two grenades hurtled towards the gunmen.

              With their shotguns ready, ZZ and Amadou rolled, fired, cocked and fired in the general direction of the men.

              Flat on the deck, they raised, aimed their weapons; one man’s mangled corpse lay on the deck. They turned their heads and watched the bow of
Tuna Turner
ride high over the amidships section of the
Belladonna.

              Their eyes scanned the deck as they searched for the second man. Wounded, he tumbled from behind a life-raft container.  ZZ and Amadou fired together.

              The constant noise of shotguns pounding the
Belladonna
thumped
the air.

              “Let’s get wet,” said Amadou. In a few long strides both men dropped their weapons and jumped into the water. On surfacing, they watched the
Tuna Turner
go astern and the
Belladonna
limp away.

              “You just killed your wife, Kyriades,” screamed Gabriele over the radio. “Alfredo, you will never see your family again.”

              Gabriele grabbed the semi-automatic from his one surviving crewmember. “Steer out of shotgun range so I can achieve one good shot.”

              Petros checked the time and shouted, “Get the hell away from them, max revs.” He felt the engines power and the ship turn.

              Gabriele calmly raised the weapon to his shoulder and prepared to take the shot. “What are they doing? Full power, they can’t escape.”

              “The throttles are at full,” shouted the man on the wheel. “The controls are smashed.”

              Petros stood alongside Alfredo. “Any moment.”

              “What about your two friends?”

              The explosion blasted
Belladonna’s
engine room. Pieces of steel flew into the air trailing black smoke and flames. Jets of blazing diesel sprayed the superstructure.

              Those on the deck of the
Tuna Turner
shivered as the vibration from the blast washed over them.

              The ship split, flooded and in seconds vanished. A slick of black smoking oil marked her sinking.

              “Petros, I will pick up your men first and then we search for survivors.”

              “I’ve a feeling he and his crew went down with the ship.”

              “I will still look,” said Alfredo. “It is right.”

              The
Tuna Turner
stopped twenty metres from the swimming ZZ and Amadou. The slight breeze drifted the ship towards them.

              Marco and Davide tossed lines and hauled them inboard.

              “The water’s great for swimming, not too cold once you get used to it,” said ZZ.

              “If you have to get used to it, it’s too bloody cold,” said Petros. “Well done. Any problems?”

              “A couple,” said Amadou, “but we shot them.”

              For a time Alfredo cruised the area until he was satisfied no one from the
Belladonna
survived. He wandered to the radio and for a few moments gathered his thoughts. “This is the
Tuna Turner
; my position is Latitude 35 degrees. 40 north. Longitude 15 degrees. I am reporting an explosion on a white motor yacht some ten miles north of my position.”

              “
Tuna Turner
. This is Valletta Harbour Master. Please repeat.”

              Alfredo repeated his message.

              “
Tuna Turner
, how many survivors?”

              “I have searched the immediate area and have found no survivors.”

              “Thank you,
Tuna Turner
. Out.”

              Alfredo turned to Petros. “It is right to report an accident at sea.”

              “I agree. I like the flare of your new bow... Don’t worry, I’ll meet the cost of repairs.”

              There was a shout from below. Petros glanced towards the deck where ZZ and Amadou collected and tossed the shotguns, the spare ammunition and grenades over the side.

              “A precaution,” said Petros to Alfredo.

              “A waste of fine weapons but I understand. In the meantime, I will have the minor damage painted over. Looks better that way. I will set a course for Malta and with luck we should arrive this evening.”

              “Tomorrow we might have to unload the gold but first I contact my legal beagle. I want him here to deal with this,” said Petros.

Chapter Twenty-One

James woke from a deep sleep and groped for his vibrating mobile. His thumb found the mute button. The scent of perfume gave rise to other thoughts. Not to wake his sleeping wife, he slid out of bed, let his feet find his slippers and made his way downstairs to the kitchen. He pressed recall.

              “Hi, James, sorry to wake you.”

              “Petros, you pay me good money for the privilege. What’s the news?”

              “One thousand plus ingots of Hitler’s gold.”

              “I’m your lawyer, so listen to what I tell you. Under no circumstances, unload the gold. Nazi gold usually belongs to others, which Hitler’s storm troopers stole as they plundered Europe. When will you return to Palermo?”  

              “At the moment we’re on passage to Malta. I reckon it’s better for our health and wealth.”

              “Tell me when I arrive but don’t forget you’re paying for Alfredo’s boat by the day and it doesn’t come cheap.”

              “I can pay him a bonus with the gold.”

              “Don’t count your chickens. I’ve completed the paperwork for the next stage and now have to convince the authorities on the law of finds as opposed to the application of maritime salvage law. The process is more like the series Law and Order than Jonny Depp and the Pirates of the Caribbean. ”

              “Don’t understand a word but then as you said, I pay you to figure out the detail. When will you arrive?”

              “I’ll call you once I’ve landed.” The call ended and he wandered to his study and searched the web for a flight to Malta. A BA flight departed from Gatwick at midday. He made a first-class booking and emailed two associates in Malta. The time on his computer sidled past eight. He crept up the stairs and returned to bedroom.

              “It must have been important.”

              “It will buy you a new Porsche.”

              “How long will you be away?”  

              “Depends, with luck less than a week.”

              While he showered and dressed, Susan readied his case.

              Clad in a purple tracksuit she drove him to Gatwick Airport.

***

The following morning, James, dressed in a dark pinstripe suit, his face expressionless, took his seat at the head of the table. He positioned his Admiralty and Maritime Law Guide along with his Journal of Maritime Law and Commerce in front of him and smiled. He acknowledged the two lawyers both with Honours from the Universities of Glasgow and London in Maritime Law who sat on either side and shook hands across the table. “Good morning, Kevin, Allan. Thank you for agreeing to see me and to arbitrate on this matter.”

              He handed across copies of the initial claim forwarded to the UK and European Receiver of Wrecks and a confirmation of receipt plus previous published papers on the law of finds.

              “James, always a pleasure to welcome you to Malta,” said Kevin Attard in a clipped BBC accent. As usual, he wore a double-breasted blazer, crisp white shirt and public school tie, his uniform of choice. He brushed back his dark hair. “I know you are fully cognisant with the letter of the law but does the law of finds apply in this instance?”

              “It is our duty to decide whether there is enough evidence to prove abandonment,” said Allan Vella, a man in his early fifties with a tanned face from sailing, surrounded by an unruly mop of light-grey hair.

              In contrast to Kevin, he dressed casual, open-neck white sports shirt and grey trousers.

              James leant forward dispensing with any formalities. “The sooner we come to an agreement the better. I have every fact I can find but accept there may be something out there which may prove my claim in error. The vessel Jupiter. Built 1927 at Harland and Wolf, Belfast, was sunk by the Royal Navy in October 1944 outside this island’s territorial waters.”

              The door opened and a short, plump, dark-haired woman entered with a large envelope in her hands. With a smile on her face, she strode towards Kevin and placed it in front of him.

              “Thank you, Mikaela.” He waited until the door closed. “Like you, James, after a long night we came to the same conclusion. The Jose Maria Line, the final owners of the Jupiter, abandoned her in Thessalonica sometime in 1940. We are of the opinion she was either sold or was about to be sold for scrap when Germany invaded Greece”

              “The Jose Maria Line has long gone,” said James as he churched his fingers, “and I can find no will disposing of the company of which I understand included large debts.”

              Allan checked the time. “We should take a break. I’ve arranged for lunch upstairs in the boardroom but I made a few notes which are for our agreement and approval.

              “One, as far as can be reasonably ascertained, the Jupiter was not insured.

              “Two, there are no records of any party attempting to recover the vessel.

              “Three, the location of the sinking, although clear in the Royal Navy records, has never until now been investigated.

              “Four, there are no heirs as far as we know to the Jose Maria Line and from available records, we believe they abandoned her.

              “Five, the German Navy reconfigured her upper decks to bear a resemblance to a hospital ship named Gradisca. That’s everything for now.”

              He pushed himself back from the table. “Let’s eat.”

              They climbed the stairs to the boardroom where other partners of the practice relaxed during their lunch hour. In the far corner set for three, stood a polished oak table.

              A pleasant-looking young, dark-haired, slim woman entered pushing a silver trolley laden with food. In less than a minute smoked salmon, various cooked hams and a selection of salads covered the table.

              “I gather this will be on the bill,” said James.

              “What do you think?” said Allen.

              James shook his head. “In that case pass the salmon.”

              Allan carved a chunk of a smoke-darkened ham and added salad to his plate. “Out of interest, how did your client discover this wreck?”

              “He was searching for a train.”

              Allan’s brow wrinkled. “And he found a wreck. I’m sure you realise the seriousness of our findings. It could make your client a rich man.”

              “He is already,” said James.

              “Will you be here for the weekend?” asked Allan

              “Hope not but any particular reason?”

              “I’ll be playing with my new toy.”

              “Must be expensive,” said James.

              “Second-hand, but good as new. I’ve treated myself to a Sunseeker Predator.”

                “Good boat. Rather fast if my memory is correct.”

              “Forty knots, well almost. For a bit of fun, I’ve installed an automatic clay pigeon trap on the stern.”

              “If I’m here, I’ll join you. Long time since I’ve fired a shotgun.”

              “I’ve four. Two single shot and two pump action. Why don’t you stay over?”

              James grimaced. “I have little enough time with my wife as it is. She’s far more fun than a fast boat with shotguns.”

              “Must be love. I’m not going to argue.”

              They finished their second cup of coffee and returned to the silence of their secure room.

              As the sun began to set, James finished discussing the laws of salvage and of finds.

              “So we are agreed,” said Kevin. “The abandonment of the
Jupiter
, although not confirmed by letter or with the agreement of the previous owners, happened. Furthermore, for the purpose of this claim abandonment is inferred by the vessel remaining untended in Thessalonica and the law of finds applies.”

              James and Allan nodded.

              With the signed originals of the documentation in his briefcase, Kevin handed signed copies to James and Allan. “I’ll have these processed in three to four days. Tell your client to do nothing until you give him the word. Relax and enjoy our island. It has much to offer. Where are you staying, James?”

              “The Phoenicia.”

              “Showing its age these days but still up there with the best,” said Allan, “Need a lift?”

              “Thanks but no thanks. I’ll walk and clear the head.”

              James strolled to his hotel enjoying the hustle and bustle of daily life as it went on around him.

              Once in his room he ran a hot bath and for the next hour relaxed and gathered his thoughts.

***

Petros waited for a phone call from James, his mind deliberating the possibility other claimants might exist.

              Late in the evening his mobile rang, it was James. “How did your day go?”

              “As well as could be expected. We agreed the law of finds is appropriate but it requires the signature of a judge familiar with the laws of salvage. Your claim will be confirmed in three to four days. In the meantime, relax, enjoy the thought of the gold belonging to you. Go stay in an expensive hotel.”

              “And what about the gold itself?”

              “Leave it where it is and don’t tell a soul. Special arrangements will be required to deliver it to the central bank vaults.”

              “And you?”

              “I’ll make myself and my associates available at a moment’s notice if the judge wishes to discuss any issue we may have overlooked. I can assure you between the three of us every detail is correct.”

              “Okay, great idea to stay in a hotel. Might just do that.”

              “Better than on a cramped salvage boat. When I have the final decision, you’ll be the first to know.”

              “Thanks, James. Must have dinner one evening.”