The Stealers (25 page)

‘We have two places to call at; a small marina and an airfield.'

Just as they were about to enter the main road, Crane spotted Girard behind the wheel of Penny's Mini Cooper waiting to turn in; Penny was sat next to him. Slamming his foot hard on the brakes, Crane pulled the Rover to one side, allowing Girard to drive up alongside. They were surprised to see Crane. Powering down the window Girard said, ‘We have come here to mark out the grave of Penny's sister so that she can be returned home.'

Unwillingly Crane brushed this aside with, ‘Mullah has escaped. It's the work of Bradley. He's left two policemen dead and another badly injured. I phoned the hospital, they are sending an ambulance.'

Girard and Penny looked stunned, ‘I knew it was wrong to grant him bail,' Girard said, ‘where are you going now?'

‘The marina and airfield. I'll call you later,' and Crane swung the Rover into the main road heading towards the direction of the marina.

The small, private marina was empty and there were no cars parked nearby. Crane delved into the glovebox and pulled out a small pair of binoculars, whilst Daniella looked idly around. Crane scanned the wide stretch of sea and declared, ‘Nothing to be seen; they wouldn't have got away that fast, we'll try the airport.'

Ignoring the car park sign, Crane pulled the Rover up directly outside the office of Hele-Hire. Pierre Durand gave a cursory glance out of the window and froze when he saw who was getting out of the car. Crane pushed the office door and a breeze caused it to slam against the wall inside. Durand leapt up as Crane said, ‘Where's your friend, Mullah?'

‘I haven't seen him since you were here last,' and with emphasis added, ‘and he's
not
my friend. I took his money on a no-questions basis and that's all. Anyway, according to the newspapers, he got bail; didn't he?'

‘He jumped it; leaving two policemen dead and one badly wounded.'

Durand looked genuinely surprised and his jaw dropped with a ‘What?'

‘He got away with the help of Bradley – the guy that stole my Mustang.'

‘We've had our differences, but there is one place they may head towards for a hiding place.' As he spoke Durand flipped open a map of the area and placed a finger on a spot, ‘There!'

Crane looked at it and said, ‘About twenty kilometres from here?'

‘That's right, an old building, nice and remote and even nearer to his Chateau du Lac. I dropped him off there just once.' And looking earnest he added, ‘Anyway, it's a long shot, but better than nothing eh?'

Crane nodded, ‘Thanks for that,' and rejoined Daniella in the Rover.

*

Bradley was increasingly aware that the old Mustang was attracting too much attention. The iconic car turned heads when passing through small villages and country lanes. After dropping Mullah off and getting paid handsomely, he was anxious to take the car out of the area and head for one of the main autoroutes, where it would not be so conspicuous.

*

For the first time in days, Mullah felt at ease with himself. He had bought the old villa as an investment some time ago, before he had acquired the chateau, but he had done nothing with the old place and had no real interest in it, until now. He was always aware that things had to come to a halt sometime but strangely enough, he was totally unprepared when they did. He was a realist and surmised if it was not through Jack Crane, then it would be somebody else. The bloodbath to release him from the police guard, the bail money and confiscation of his chateau – well that was “par for the course” – it still left him a multi-millionaire. Most of his funds were banked in Algiers and he could live like a king anywhere in the world.

Mullah sat relaxed, watching a portable television and sipping wine. One of his henchmen had arranged to whisk him away and he would be calling later in the evening, under cover of darkness to transport him to Algiers.

*

Crane drove back into Boulogne and pulled up outside a hotel. He glanced at Daniella and said, ‘I'd feel a lot better if you stayed here while I check things out.'

Daniella looked askance, but before she could reply, Crane put on his best pleading smile and said emphatically, ‘
Please
, I know what this guy is like, you know when rats are cornered… '

With a wry smile, Daniella raised both hands, ‘Okay – just this once.'

Crane felt relieved and stayed in the car as she got out. He waited for a moment, with his elbows leaning on the steering wheel, his eyes taking in her neat figure as she elegantly ascended three shallow steps. She paused, turned and gave a small wave before entering the building.

Within thirty minutes, he entered the outskirts of Mornay and, going by Durand's description, it soon became apparent when the small villa came into view. He drove slowly along the deserted narrow country lane past the dull-grey building. There were no vehicles parked outside and there were no signs of life. All of its dark green shutters were closed. Durand's words –
“a long shot”
– echoed in his head.

However, Crane would not be satisfied until he had made sure the place was empty. Some metres along the lane, he found a convenient place where he could tuck the Rover out of sight of the villa. He clambered out and looked up; the sky was heavy with cloud, bringing the onset of dusk closer. He made his way along the narrow footpath, which edged the lane, towards the building; carefully approaching a windowless flank wall. He pressed an ear against the wall before slowly making his way around to the front. A faint noise wafted through one of the shutters; it was a TV or radio. At that moment, Crane wished that he was armed. Carefully he inched towards the front door, which was recessed in a porch. Gingerly, he placed a hand on the door knob and tried turning it, but without success. He was about to reach in his pocket for a small bunch of skeleton keys, when a well oiled metallic click made him freeze; ‘Just turn yourself around slowly, Mr Crane.'

Crane did as he was told and came face to face with Mullah, whose right arm was extended, with a Glock firmly grasped in his hand.

‘What now?'

Mullah's face was contorted with hate as he spat, ‘Follow the path to the rear of the villa.'

Bradley had decided to have the stolen Mustang transported to Almeria in Southern Spain. If he drove the car himself there was a risk of being recorded on the numerous CCTV cameras en route. This, he thought, would also enable him to recover his BMW which he had left in the Boulogne car park. He was feeling smug because some days earlier, one of his nefarious contacts had given him a phone number suggesting that he could rent the iconic Mustang to a movie company, which was soon to film a short contemporary western commercial for a television station. He had phoned the company and the producer told him that the movie involved the use of classic American cars and he considered the Ford Mustang would be well suited for a part. He added that the company was prepared to pay twenty thousand euros, plus expenses, for a three-day shoot. Bradley loved that kind of money. It was not long before he was pulling up outside the removal company that would take the Mustang on one of its vehicle transporters – under wraps – to Southern Spain.

After all this had been completed, Bradley intended to drive the Mustang to the port at Malaga with a view to shipping it to the USA, where it would fetch a good price.

*

Crane stared at the gun that Mullah was pointing at him. In the distance he heard the low-geared whine of a heavy vehicle and, as he saw it lumber along the road towards them, he looked over Mullah's shoulder and casually said, ‘Refuse men calling, eh?'

Mullah flicked his head to one side for a fraction of a second. That was all it took for Crane to perform a high kick. He knocked the Glock skywards and sent a bullet soaring harmlessly into the clouds, while the weapon clattered, as it fell close to Crane's feet. Like a spring, he coiled down, snatched at the handgun and bounced upright again, now with the gun pointed at Mullah's head. Mullah's expression of hate turned to one of shocked surprise and fear. Crane's eyes darted from the Glock to Mullah, ‘Latest model, eh?' Crane said calmly, ‘Now what I want to know is, where can I find your friend, Bradley?'

There was no reply until Crane pointed the gun at Mullah's left leg. This kicked the Algerian into action as well as verbal panic. ‘He has left,' he wailed, ‘he's gone!'

Still aiming the gun Crane said, ‘Where to?'

‘South… Spain, Southern Spain!'

In the intensity of the situation, both men had ignored the sound of a heavy vehicle that had come to a halt a few metres beyond the front gate of the villa. It was some forty metres from where they stood. A sharp incentive for Crane to take heed of the vehicle came when he saw a swarthy scowling man on the path, gun in hand, walking slowly towards them. A bullet zinged past Crane's head and splintered into the wooden door frame behind. Crane grabbed Mullah, to use as a shield. He was shaking with fear, as Crane hissed scathingly, ‘If you move, it will be last thing you'll ever do!'

The approaching, brutish-looking stranger, halted in his tracks. It was a standoff. They stood there, quiet for a few moments, then another voice with an accent that was music to Crane's ears came from behind the stranger, ‘Put the gun down or I'll drop you where you stand.'

Now it was the swarthy stranger who hesitated, estimating his chances. He considered the voice, with a French accent, was convincing and urgent. He threw a glance at Crane, who was partially concealed behind Mullah. Then very slowly he bent down, to place his weapon on the ground but as he moved forward, he suddenly fell flat, rolled on his back, sat up and fired low at the voice behind him – Girard. In an instant, Crane jumped out from behind Mullah, ran forward and with both hands gripping the handgun, sent three bullets towards the stranger; two of which struck him in the shoulder. The man gradually crumpled and slumped to the ground.

Crane ran towards Girard, kicking the stranger's gun out of the way as he passed. Girard lay prone, eyes slowly blinking as Crane approached. As he bent down, Crane could see that his brave friend, Girard was unarmed.

‘Good to see you again so soon,
mon ami
,' Girard murmured breathlessly.

Looking concerned Crane said, ‘Where are you hit?'

Girard tried to smile and said, ‘I'm not. I'm winded not wounded. When that guy turned and fired I tell you, I've never hit the deck so quick before in my life!'

Crane breathed a sigh of relief, just as they both heard the truck engine spring to life with Mullah behind the wheel. Crane was about to chase after him when Girard pulled out his mobile phone and said, ‘Let the gendarmes take care of him. I've noted the truck's number; he won't get very far.'

Still feeling winded, Girard eased himself up, dusted himself down and remarked, ‘Will you look at that, I've just soiled a clean shirt.'

‘How did you know I was here?'

Girard shrugged and said, ‘I spoke to the helicopter pilot, Durand, on the phone and he told me what he had told you, so… here I am.'

Crane smiled and said, ‘Next time you threaten to shoot someone make sure you have a gun.'

Again Girard shrugged, in a way that only Frenchmen do, ‘Our trade, it sometimes calls for bluff, wouldn't you agree?'

‘Where would we be without them.'

*

Bradley was feeling pleased with himself as he leant back in the car seat in a relaxed state listening to a local station on the car radio. He had retrieved his BMW and was driving along the A16 autoroute from Boulogne. He was still congratulating himself when the music, that he had been listening to, was interrupted by a newsflash. His command of the French language was sufficient enough for him to understand that Mullah had been recaptured. Anxiety took hold of him; he hoped that Mullah would not implicate him. He felt certain that, sooner or later, the man would squeal, but then he began to feel confident again; at least he would be crossing the border into Spain long before that would arise.

*

Crane joined Daniella in the hotel where they intended to stay the night. Over the evening meal Daniella said, ‘Well? I'm bursting at the seams. You haven't told me what happened?'

Crane made light of it and said, ‘Not much really, Girard turned up and… '

‘Girard! How did he get there?'

‘It's a long story, but well… erm, the guy, Mullah, he got away, but Girard called the police and they eventually caught up with him.'

Daniella gave Crane a suspicious look and said, ‘I feel there's something missing, but you're back and I guess I'm relieved at that.'

*

Bradley's conjecture about Mullah was correct. Within twenty-four hours, in order to save his own skin, Mullah had told the police everything he knew about Bradley. As a consequence, Bradley was a wanted man for the murder of two policemen and a woman found buried in the grounds of Mullah's chateau. Bradley had just crossed the mountains and was well over the border and into Spain when he heard the news on one of the French radio stations.

Bradley congratulated himself. He had the foresight to change the number plates on the BMW he was driving and on the Mustang that was being transported south. In case he was stopped at the border, he was wearing a false moustache and carrying a different corresponding passport.

*

Crane checked the flights to Almeria, but vacant seats were three days away and so there was no option; they would have to drive. According to the satnav, it would take about sixteen hours. He thought it would be a challenge to do it quicker, but then he would not want to give Daniella a white knuckle ride, besides, they would share the driving. Daniella looked fondly at her companion and said anxiously, ‘This Bradley man, he has killed two French policemen and seriously injured a third. Do you think it may be better to help the police find him?'

Crane looked pensive for a moment before he replied, ‘I tried the police right from the beginning at home in England; it comes down to time and evidence.'

There was a pause and Daniella began to worry again, ‘The wounded policeman… '

Crane cut in, ‘Probably didn't know what or who hit him, besides it's become far too personal; I'll do it my way… and if he's lucky, I'll hand him over to the police.'

*

The movie studios were set amongst the arid hills of Almeria, a few kilometres from the small town of Tabernas. Crane and Daniella could not fail to be impressed by the grey, dry, dusty-looking terrain. In years gone by, the studios had been famed for producing hundreds of so-called “spaghetti westerns”. Crane pulled the Rover into the parking lot and approached the main entrance of the studios. They stepped from an air-conditioned car into the dry stifling-hot day, that was totally lacking any kind of humidity. Eager attendants, with cameras at the ready, rushed to greet them. For a few euros, they would be ready to dress the pair up, complete with western-style guns, in less than a minute, in order to snap an authentic looking picture. Crane threw up both hands and said, ‘
Habla Inglais?
'

‘
Un poco
– a leetle,' came the smiling response with shrugging shoulders.

Crane enquired about movie making. With shrugged shoulders and smiles, the attendants, who resembled Mexican bandits, said they were sorry and told them that movies were no longer made there; the studio location was for tourists only. As they were about to leave, one of the bandits called out grinning, ‘Maybe the other one – leave here – go right – maybe three kilometres further on.'

Back on the road, Crane spotted a small insignificant signpost pointing in the direction of a grey, dust-laden desert trail. Leaving the main road they found themselves on a track, which was more fit for a wagon and horses. The twists and turns of the track where it skirted around dry riverbeds, made the area look as though water was a far distant memory. Crane glanced in the rear-view mirror at the dense cloud of shimmering dust spiralling skywards in the Rover's wake and began to wonder if there had been some mistake: a wrong turn, a wild goose chase, a sign misplaced perhaps. There was no sign of civilisation.

After several kilometres of anxious uncertainty, they suddenly came across a mock stockade with high wooden surrounds, the kind Indians attack in Hollywood movies, but this was not Hollywood, it was sited in the only desert in Europe. It was unbelievably desolate. Just beyond the stockade, like an oasis, lay a complete western town. Daniella giggled and childhood memories flooded back, as excitement mingled with anticipation. Crane parked the Rover amid a number of classic American cars, some of which were covered and loaded on transporters. He paid the entrance fee at the car park kiosk and walked up to an area that was covered by cine-graphic equipment. Cameras and lighting were suspended on overhead gantries and there was a, far more realistic, Wild West town that lay in front of them. The film crew consisted of mixed nationalities, but were mainly Italian and English. They were told by one of the crew, ‘Some of the places will be off limits while filming takes place.'

They also found out, from the crew man, that it was just as Ryan had told Crane from the hospital bed; a three-day shoot of an advertisement for some Italian television company. Crane thanked the friendly crew member for the information and together with Daniella skirted around the area. Men and women were busy setting up lighting on one of the boardwalks, and Crane felt satisfied that he had found the right place. This was at last confirmed when he saw his Mustang being offloaded from one of the transporters and set down at the edge of the mock town.

*

Bradley felt at ease whilst driving across Spain and, upon arriving at the port in Malaga, he sold the left-hand drive BMW that he had been using to a local Spanish worker at a ‘knock down price'. This was on the proviso that the new owner would drive him to the movie set in Almeria.

Bradley was pleased with himself. In spite of recent setbacks, everything was going to plan. It took a little over two and a half hours for the BMW's new owner to drive him from the port to Almeria and then to the movie set near Tabernas. When the movie company had finished using the Mustang, he planned to drive it back to Malaga, where it would be containered for shipping to the USA.

Bradley arrived at the mock-up Western town in time to see the Mustang being offloaded from the transporter, under the watchful eye of the film company's props man. A small gathering surrounded the vehicle, extolling their approval of the vehicles appearance and condition. After brief introductions, one of the film unit's crew led Bradley to a refreshment trailer which was set up near one of the saloons.

In common with many people, Bradley had never been to a movie studio or a film set before, so he was invited to take himself and look around whilst preparations were being made for the company to start filming. The buildings were substantial and some of the interiors were used for inside takes. One of the rooms contained a wardrobe which was filled with prop clothes for current use.

Another room, much larger than the previous, was set aside with a selection of nineteenth century weapons. Winchester rifles were slotted in a long line on a wall rack. Single action Colt and Remington pistols were neatly laid out on a table. These were taken out and fired whenever a Wild West show was put on for the public. The weapons were working copies of the real thing; exact replicas made in Italy by Umberto.

Bradley could not resist picking up one of the old handguns. It was a short-barrelled weapon, the kind they use for a fast draw. It was known as a Colt Peacemaker and, as he spun the chamber, he noted that it was fully loaded with six cartridges. The handguns however, were very weighty, when compared to a much lighter modern piece like the Glock. Helping himself to a leather belt, he strapped it on, slotted a short barrelled Colt into its holster and walked over to a full length mirror. He stood for a moment, turning and admiring himself from different angles and began practising quick draw, although his attempts at this skill were somewhat clumsy. Whilst he was doing this the door opened. Bradley, feeling a little peeved at this interruption, stared hard into the mirror at the intruders who had just entered the far end of the room. They were no more than six metres away from him. Crane and Daniella stood, framed in the entrance, casting their eyes around the room until Crane noticed someone at the far end. He began with, ‘I'm sorry I didn't realise… ' his voice trailed off.