The Collectors Book Five (The Collectors Series 5) (36 page)

              They entered an open door on the left. The area was spacious, each table set for dinner on pristine white table clothes.

              “Looks up-market,” said Petros.

              “My customers are from those obscene motor cruisers in the marina. But then their money is as good as anyone’s. What would you like to drink?”

              “A fresh orange juice and tonic, please.”

              Hawksworth signalled to a waitress standing nearby. “Christina, two fresh orange juice and tonics, please.” His mobile rang. He checked the display and switched it off.

              Their drinks arrived.

              “Mr Kyriades, who knew you were searching for gold?”

              Petros shook his head. “You’ve interviewed most of the crew, and my associates I’d trust with my life.”

              Hawksworth shrugged. “From information I’ve received, the man you shot came from Palermo and his older brother, who appears to have gone missing, was the leader in the Cosa Nostra. Someone talked but I doubt if we’ll ever discover who. They beat Mr Sullivan before throwing him in the sea. If he talked and I believe he might have, that would explain their attempt at piracy. Once back in Palermo the gold would have vanished. You, Mr Kyriades, are a brave, if somewhat foolish, man but then it’s the business you’re in. The Collectors is the name of your London-based company.”

              Petros folded his arms. “You’ve been busy.”

              Hawksworth smiled. “The internet is a wonderful tool and these days gathering information from other police forces is so much simpler. I know you acted in self-defence and my report will indicate that. The Crown Prosecutor’s office will rubber stamp my recommendations and another file will gather dust in the archives. You’re free to go but I’ll be a lot happier when you leave my island.”

              Petros downed the dregs of juice in his glass. “I’m off the hook?”

              Hawksworth chuckled and nodded. “You are. I’d give you a lift back to your hotel but I’m going to grab some sleep. Not as young as I used to be. Goodbye, Mr Kyriades.”

              Petros stood and they shook hands.

              Outside the marina’s gated entrance three white taxis waited. He jumped into the first one and returned to his hotel.

Chapter Twenty-Five.

Scarlet’s flight arrived back in Palermo where she hired a taxi to the flat she shared with Giovanni in Syracuse. Once inside she threw her coat and bag onto a chair. Outraged by the way Giovanni treated her she sat on her bed. Then a thought struck her. She cursed, and began to pack as much as she could into two suitcases.

              Her packing complete, she entered Giovanni’s office and with the aid of a steel letter opener forced the drawer to his desk. What she hunted were his keys that lay on the top of some correspondence. She picked them up and walked over to a large wardrobe. In seconds, she unlocked the doors. “I’ll show you how good I am,” she shouted as on her third attempt the old-fashioned safe inside opened. The top two drawers contained account books, which she placed to one side. The third and largest held what she wanted, thousands of Euro in cash. This she removed without counting, filling large white envelopes. When the drawer was empty she placed one envelope in her handbag and divided the remainder into her suitcases. She then gave the books a cursory once over; dates and names with figures alongside. Interesting, she thought, reading more.

              Although second in command, Giovanni controlled a major part of Sicily’s drug trade. Many a cheating dealer’s body turned up tortured, disfigured or in two or more pieces. Giovanni was protected by his brother on one side and with the assistance of the police on the other. She laughed aloud; these volumes contained enough information to put him in jail forever.

              With the books wrapped and addressed to the senior police officer of Palermo, she left the flat and strolled to the local post office. When her turn came she paid the clerk behind the counter and left. Her next stop, her bank where she closed the account.

              Back in the flat she forced herself to have a shower and relax. Wearing a light grey suit and the darkest of sunglasses, she left. She placed the two cases on the rear seat of her car before returning to the flat for a final look around. “Almost forgot,” she muttered as she emptied the contents of her jewellery box into her bag. A quick rummage in Giovanni’s bedside cabinet revealed a gold Rolex and several pairs of gold cufflinks, one pair encrusted with diamonds. As she hurried to her car she looked pleased. She dumped her shoulder bag on the front passenger seat and jumped in. Very gently she rubbed her stomach. “Looks like I might have something to remember you by, ZZ.” With the turn of the key, the engine started and she drove away.

***

Petros glanced at his watch. Lunch time had come and gone. He strolled across the
Tuna Turner’s
gangway and went straight to the crew’s mess room.

              “The wanderer returns,” said Alfredo. “I was wondering how the investigation was going. Had a call from James. He tells me an armoured car will be arriving sometime this afternoon to take the gold. I told him you gave the orders not him.”

              “Alfredo, it’s been an exciting twenty-four hours with little sleep. I’d love a cup of your fabulous coffee and a sandwich or two.”

              “I’ll do it,” said Simone. “Ham and cheese?”

              “Perfect.” He sat on the bench seat. “The bad news. Adrian was murdered by the men who stole your boat. The good news is those in custody have been charged with his murder and the theft of your boat. I understand from Hawksworth they have confessed and will be pleading guilty.”

              “Your coffee and sandwiches, Petros.”

              “Thanks, Simone. Alfredo, I have in fact agreed with James to have the gold taken off your ship and stored in The Bank of Malta’s vault. When completed I intend to fly home. But first, as a bonus, I’m giving you one bar of gold each. Does anyone know if Adrian was married or had dependants?”

              “I believe he lived with his mother in Rome. I can check it out,” said Davide.

              “Take an extra bar and see his mother receives the money.”

              “What will happen to his body?” asked Tommaso.

              Petros rubbed his chin. “Don’t really know but his mother will have to arrange for it to be transported to a destination of her choice. Without attempting to sound insensitive, Alfredo, make sure he’s given a good send off and I’ll meet whatever it costs. As one of the good guys, he deserves a descent funeral.”

              Alfredo paced the room and stopped. “With the number of bars in the bilges it is time to start bringing them up.”

              Petros scratched his nose. “If we form a chain it’ll be quicker.”

              “I suppose I’m the bilge rat.”

              “Davide, it’s your engine room.”

              Tommaso laughed. “Petros, as it’s your gold I suggest you watch over the pile on the upper deck.”

              In less than an hour one thousand, one hundred and twenty ingots were stacked in piles of ten on the deck.

              Petros removed six bars. “One each.”

              “I already have the first bar we found,” said Alfredo.

              “Keep it as payment for Adrian’s funeral. Donate what’s left over to his mother.”

              The roar of a heavy vehicle made them turn towards the jetty. James alighted from his taxi and waved.

              Petros and the others stared at what appeared to be a Mercedes plain white van reverse towards the gangway.

              It stopped and two armed men wearing full body armour jumped out and took their positions. The two rear doors opened.”

              From the jetty, James shouted, “What are you waiting for?”

              Petros strolled to the side of the ship. “It’s a bog-standard white van.”

              James laughed. “Fully armoured glass and steel. Just looks like a white van.”

              “Right team, one more time,” said Petros as he began shifting the ingots.

              “I never thought I’d say this,” said Tommaso, “but I’m fed up shifting this gold.”

              “You’ll appreciate it when it changes into paper money,” said Davide.

              “True.”

              Forty-five minutes elapsed before the rear doors to the armoured van shut remotely. The two men ran to the front and clambered inside.

              “I need you, Petros. The bank will weigh and log every bar. You, I and the manager will sign the receipt notes.”

              “Petros turned. “Alfredo, when are you sailing?”

              “At ten twenty tomorrow on the tide.”

                I’ll be back later. If you work out what I owe you I’ll arrange for an electronic transfer to your bank in Palermo.”

              “I will have your invoice ready.”

***

Petros glanced anxiously at the van as it pulled away. With long strides, he ran to the taxi and jumped into the rear seat alongside James. “Somehow I’ll feel safer when that lot is deposited inside a bank vault.”

              James stared wide-eyed. “Stop worrying, those trucks are bulldozer proof.”

              Petros clearly did not understand the comment. “Bullshit always baffles brains. Can you explain?”

              James shook his head. “Several months ago four men with guns, a white van, and a bulldozer attempted to steal an armoured truck identical to the one we’re following. It started well when their van blocked the road and the bulldozer began pushing from the rear. It appears the two security guards released the brakes and several tons of armour hit the van and squashed it against a wall. These men didn’t have a clue, as now their escape van was useless. Needless to say, they didn’t give up and continued to ram the rear doors with the dozer while others fired shots at the windows.”

              Petros interrupted. “The glass in those vehicles wouldn’t crack if an RPG hit it. Bullets bounce.”

              “Exactly but these morons hadn’t done their homework. Which way do the doors usually open?”

              “You generally pull them open.”

              James raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Correct. The more they pushed with the dozer the longer nothing happened. The force required to burst them open must come from the inside or alternatively if someone forced a guard to open them with a key. These men had no idea as to the construction and function of these vehicles.”

              “How far are we from the bank?”

              “Five minutes at most.”

              “I assume the bad guys were arrested.”

              James laughed. “Not only arrested but they pleaded guilty when the police showed them pictures of the failed robbery. They didn’t even wear hoods. Tourists took pictures with their Iphone by the dozen and contacted the police, who blocked the two escape routes.”

              “I think we’ve arrived,” said Petros as armed guards surrounded the van.

              “Follow me,” said James. “As I said, we and the manager have to witness the ingots being counted, weighed, and stored in the vault.”

              One hour later Petros and James signed the last document.

              “One moment, gentlemen,” said the immaculately dressed manager. “Please follow me.”

              They strolled to the rear of the building and into a windowless room where a young woman sat hunched over a machine. She lifted her head.