The Collectors Book Five (The Collectors Series 5) (37 page)

              “Martese, what are your findings?”

              She smiled. “This bar is twenty-two karat. But three of the bars I have tested have given the strangest of readings.”

              “Use the electronic test machine to check the conductivity just to be sure,” said the manager with a serious face.

              She wrinkled her nose. “The readings I obtained were from the tester.”

              The manager thought for a moment. “How long will you require us to store your gold, Mr Kyriades?”

              “As long as needs be.”

              “Can the bank conduct further tests? I’m certain the results so far are from an error with the machine.”

              Petros paused. “It’s marked with the stamp of the Deutsche Reichsbank. I see no reason it’s not what it seems.”

              James jumped in. “When we have confirmed legal ownership, arrangements will be made to sell. With luck in less than a week.”

              “My point exactly,” said the manager. “You cannot sell if it’s not verified. At the moment, I and my staff have a minor cause for concern. I’m sure it is as we believe a fault with the machine but we must be sure.”

              Petros turned up the palms of his hands. “I agree. How long do you require?”

              “A day at most.”

              “I’m intrigued as to why your machine validates some but not others. You can contact me at the Silver Sand.”

              “I will make sure you are kept informed, Mr Kyriades.”

              “Thank you.” Petros shook his hand, turned and with James left the room.

              “Hope he doesn’t take too long. Once your claim is confirmed I have someone interested in purchasing every bar at a good price.”

              “And who might that be?”

              “He has a large place in Saudi and his staff bow and call him ‘Your Highness’.”

              “I’ll bow when he transfers the money. Must return to the
Tuna Turner
and pay my dues.”

              On the bridge, Alfredo leant with his back on the chart table while Petros studied the sums on a single sheet of foolscap.

              “Seventeen days, you haven’t included your return journey, that’s at least another two. The submersible didn’t come cheap but worth every penny. I’ve spoken to the engineers who repaired your bow and replaced the windows on the bridge. All in all, I believe I owe you sixty thousand dollars, American.”

              “Agreed.”

              Petros removed his mobile from his pocket.

              “Yes,” came the reply.

              “Bear, I need you to transfer sixty thousand dollars from the company account to Captain Alfredo. I’ll hand my phone over and he can tell you his account details.”

              Alfredo took the phone as Petros strolled out onto the port bridge wing and waited. Two minutes later he handed it back.

              “When did you say you were leaving?”

              “Tomorrow morning.” He chuckled. “Life will be dull without you.”

              “But a great deal safer. Will the Cosa Nostra be a problem?”

              Alfredo laughed. “I would be surprised. Why would they? Neither my crew nor I will tell them what has happened. They will fight amongst themselves to gain power. Babies are born and people die, life goes on.”

              “Very philosophical.”

              “Take care, Petros. You never know our paths may cross again.”

              “If I ever holiday in Palermo with my wife and daughter, I’ll let you know.”

              “That would be good.” Alfredo grabbed Petros and hugged him. “Stay out of trouble.”

              Petros stepped back. “I’ll try. Must say goodbye to your team. Without their help none of this would have been possible.”

              Twenty minutes later Petros strolled along the jetty. Clear of the marina he hailed a taxi and returned to his hotel.

***

At breakfast the following day, Petros watched as James strode towards him. His look was serious as he pulled out a chair and sat with his elbows on the table.

              “There’s a problem with the gold,” whispered James. “The bank manager wishes to see you.”

              “Can you be more precise?”

              James studied Petros. “All I know is twenty bars failed the test.”

              Petros narrowed his eyes as he picked up his glass of fresh orange juice. “Twenty out of one thousand plus. I can live with that.”

              James leaned forward. “He still needs to talk to you.”

              “Have a coffee and when I’ve eaten my breakfast we’ll visit the bank.”

              “James signalled a passing waiter for a cup and ordered more coffee.”

              One hour later the two men strolled across the marble floor and out of reception. At a fast pace they walked along the road, which led to the bank. James telephoned the manager as they walked. On their arrival he and his assistant waited by the main entrance.

              “Thank you for coming, Mr Kyriades.” The man gave a bleak smile. “What we have discovered is most unusual. Please, follow me.”

              Once again, they strolled to the rear of the building and into the windowless room. On a bench lay twenty gleaming ingots.

              Petros smiled. “I assume that,” he pointed, “is my gold. What’s wrong with it?”

              “Let me explain and please understand the tests we have undertaken are fully justified,” the manager said offhandedly.

              “Are they worth anything?” asked Petros. “If not, toss them in the bin.”

              “They are worth more than you think.

              Petros’ gaze remained fixed on the manager. “So what’s wrong with them?”

              The manager paused. “Rather than resort to drilling or cutting the bars to verify their integrity we use a simple ultrasonic test. The results give us a confidence in the purity of the gold. The readings obtained from these bars showed strange reflection from the inside. On your behalf, I instructed our inspector to cut through one bar. This proved more difficult than we initially thought.”

              “I always believed gold to be soft when compared to steel,” said Petros.

              “A normal metal saw will not cut diamonds, Mr Kyriades. These bars contain diamonds.”

              “Well, I’ll be damned, Hitler’s spoils from the Nazi work camps,” said Petros, “it fits.”

              “As I see it,” said James, “this was the final shipment. To save time, those in charge placed everything remaining into the melting pot. The route they chose was deliberately diverse but the destination more than likely South America. The
Gradisca
would have made contact with a German submarine in the Atlantic, transferred the gold and then scuttled the vessel with no one any the wiser. Unfortunately, for them the Royal Navy intervened.”              

              The black telephone on the table rang. The manager picked up the handset. The call lasted a few minutes.

              “Mr Kyriades, for us to remove the diamonds will be expensive. There are those who are experienced in the process.”

              Petros levelled his eyes at the manager. “What James described has more than an element of truth but we don’t know. Box those twenty bars and send them to the Simon Wiesenthal Centre in Los Angeles. From what I understand, their members promote human rights and teach the lessons of the Holocaust for future generations.”

              “I’m not sure I understand.”

              “From what we assume, twenty bars rightly belong to them. The rest are mine.”

              “We estimate fifty-two million plus, Mr Kyriades,, less our commission.”

              “James, when can I sell?”

              “When I know, you’ll know.”

              “What do you reckon, days, weeks or months?”

              With thinly concealed impatience. “Days. Go home. I have your power of attorney and can deal with everything. Don’t worry; I’ll get you a good price. I want my one percent after tax to be as large as possible. ”

              “I agree. Don’t forget to put a note in the box for LA. Tell them it’s a gift.” He turned to the manager. “Thank you. Any more problems, James will deal with them. That’s why I pay him.”

              He grinned. “I should have charged you two percent.”

              “It was almost one percent of nothing. See you in London.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Maria and Alysa waited in arrivals and watched passengers from other flights meet their loved ones. Petros strolled into the open but the minute he spied her, concern flitted over his face. Whatever happened, she had undergone a horrific experience yet thankfully remained whole.

              She lifted Alysa, put her free arm around his shoulder, and kissed him.

              “Me kiss papa.”

              Petros grabbed Alysa and kissed her. “Happy?”

              “Mama fell down the stairs when you were working.”

              “Papa knows,” said Maria.

              He pulled Maria close. “My questions can wait.”

              A smile spread across her face as she interlaced her fingers with his and led him to the car park. “Do you want to drive?”

              “Papa drive,” shouted Alysa. “Mama always drives.”

              Petros shrugged and took the ignition key. “I have a choice?”                

              On exiting the car park, torrential rain struck the windscreen. “When did this start?”

              “Early this morning,” said Maria.

              “Yarlie got wet.”

              “I bet he did,” said Petros. “From wall to wall sunshine to an English summer, can’t be bad.”

              They drove in silence, each with unanswered questions. At the end of two hours’ difficult driving, Petros entered the driveway, parked as close to the house as he could and jumped out. Maria opened the main door and Alysa scooted inside. Seconds later Petros followed and Charlie charged, sliding straight into his legs.

              He rubbed the animal’s coat. “You’re still as daft as ever.”

              Alysa grabbed Charlie and disappeared into the lounge.

              “Coffee?”

              “Love one.” He touched her face dreading to ask. “How bad was it?”

              Her eyes brimmed with tears. “Could have been worse.” She spooned coffee into the cups. “Charlie tried his best but they smashed him around the head and I ordered him to run. Bear arrived and with his team did the business. It taught me next time to check who’s knocking on the door before opening.” The kettle clicked off and she filled the cups. “And before you ask, apart from ripping my clothes off, they didn’t.”

              He wrapped his arms around her soft body and pulled her close, her tears wet on his face. “Thankfully, Bear solved the problem. I felt so useless. I owe him my life and now yours.” He smiled. “With friends like him God help my enemies.”

              She broke the embrace, squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them. “Drink your coffee before it gets cold and Alysa sees me crying.”

              “She’s happy watching cartoons on television with Charlie.”

              Both of them remained quiet as they listened to Alysa laugh and Charlie bark.

              “Anyway, apart from a few bruises and my pride dented, it’s over. How was it your end?”

              He gave a modest smile, aware her wounds mentally and physically would heal given time. “With Amadou, ZZ, and the team backing me, not a problem. The Cosa Nostra is short of a few men. We suffered one casualty, another with a bullet in the shoulder and when I left the ship, he was cooking dinner.” He glanced at the kitchen clock. “Anyway, I’d better give Bear a ring.”