The Stealers Page 11

  ‘Bradley told me that my sister, Jean, would be here and I am to take her back home. Now he says that she will be here in the morning. I can’t believe a word he says. I just don’t trust him.’

  Crane told Penny everything he knew about the young girl he saw in the van. Penny looked horrified, ‘Kidnapped?’ she echoed. ‘Now I’m worried. Where do you think Jean is? What do you think has happened to her?’

  In the present circumstances Crane did not want to add to this lovely woman’s worries and tell her what he really thought. ‘I’m not sure,’ was all that he could offer.

  Within seconds Penny was handing the dormant Andrew through the open window into Crane’s arms. Penny put her finger across her lips and signalled to the young girl that it was now her turn to get out. After the little girl had leapt out onto the soft earth, she looked up at Crane and said quietly, ‘I hoped you would come.’

  Crane smiled warmly and said, ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Samantha. My friends call me Sammy – you can call me Sammy. What’s your name?’

  ‘Jack.’

  ‘What’s you second name?’

  ‘Just call me Jack, that’ll be fine.’

  ‘I will, but my mummy said it’s impolite to call adults by their first name.’

  Crane briefly threw his eyes heavenwards and said, ‘She’s absolutely right, Sammy, but sometimes we can make an exception and this is one of those times. You like your friends to call you Sammy and I like my friends to call me Jack.’

  Sammy warmed to this idea and said, ‘I guess that’s okay then, Jack.’

  ‘How old are you Sammy?’

  ‘I am eight.’ Sammy thought for a few seconds and continued, ‘well, really I’m seven years and eight months.’ And in order to justify her earlier statement said, ‘but I am really in my eighth year.’

  ‘I think you are a very brave young lady, Sammy, but we all need to get away from this place as soon as possible.’

  Finally Penny stepped out of the window and she took in a deep breath of night air, made sweet by an old straggly jasmine bush that leant against the wall, before she took Andrew, from their rescuer, back in her arms. The quartet made their way quietly towards Penny’s car, creeping around to the front of the house, where it was still parked.

  Before approaching the car, Crane poked his head around the corner; the curtains were drawn. The noise from a television set would hopefully camouflage any inadvertent noise they might make. Penny carefully opened the door of her Mini and laid the sleeping Andrew across the rear seat, where he nestled down sighing in his sleep. In a hushed voice, Crane suggested they push Penny’s Mini as far as possible away from the front of the house before attempting to start the engine. Penny released the handbrake and together they managed to push the Mini down to the base of the hill until they came to a halt in front of Crane’s Rover. Penny got into the Mini and Crane motioned Sammy to get into the front seat beside her, but the child said, ‘You were the man in the car who waved to me. Please let me stay with you.’

  Crane was not about to argue the toss so he grunted an assent and Sammy quickly followed him to his parked car and got in. He flicked his headlamps as a signal and both cars started up simultaneously, with Penny in the lead. They drove up and over the hill, bouncing and swaying along the farm track. Penny turned the Mini onto the main Calais Road, but just a second later, a motorhome pulled off the main road and into the farm track, blocking Crane’s exit. There was no alternative for him but to back up his vehicle because, if Crane had pulled his Rover off the narrow track it would soon have been up to its axles in soft damp earth. His reversing light was just bright enough for him to see a way back up the hill where he could pull the car out of the way and over to one side enabling the motorhome to pass.

  Crane breathed a sigh of relief as the motorhome slowly lumbered by him heading towards the house but now there was another problem. A farm tractor – lights blazing – had suddenly appeared from an adjacent field and had come to a halt, straddling the track, blocking his escape. Hasty feet clumping along the gravel made him look in the opposite direction. Three men silhouetted against the lights of the house, were running towards him. They were clearly armed. Sammy’s wide-eyed face registered a look of dismay. Her lower lip remained in a firm pout as her eyes darted between her rescuer and the approaching men. Crane threw a glance at Sammy and shrugged; there was no way out.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Penny, anxious to get home, kept her foot down all the way to the Channel Tunnel. Her eyes kept flitting to the interior mirror, looking for signs to show that Crane was following. As she pulled into the Channel Tunnel parking area at Calais, she was worried that he had not caught up with her but she decided it best to press on; she would catch the next available train to England.

  *

  Crane remained in the driver’s seat, switched the engine off and pocketed the keys. The approaching group of men stopped within a few metres of him. Then one of them motioned with a shotgun for the seated Crane to get out of the car. A fourth man, following up at the rear, strolled casually amongst them; it was Bradley. He gave Crane a cursory glance before he turned to one of the men and said, ‘Take the girl back to the house.’ The front passenger door to Crane’s car was snatched open and a gruff voice ordered Sammy out. Surprisingly she did not whimper. Crane reasoned that, helpless as the situation maybe, there was some comfort in seeing someone else in the same sinking boat as herself – albeit her rescuer.

  Ryan and another armed man had guns pointed at Crane, whilst Bradley stood and watched Sammy being led back to the house. When the door of the house slammed shut, all eyes were on Crane. With a hand resting on his chin, Bradley looked down, as though deep in thought. ‘Jack Crane.’ It was an announcement, not a greeting, and it was not directed at Crane. Bradley was thinking aloud. ‘Now what am I going to do with you… ’ His voice faded and all was quiet for a moment, until suddenly he spoke to his men, ‘Take him to the secure room.’ Crane stood by the car quietly weighing up his chances as Ryan and the other man signalled for him to move towards the house. A pair of twelve-bore shotguns were prodding at his back so there was nothing he could do, as they marched him purposely towards the farmhouse. Once inside Ryan growled, ‘That’s far enough.’

  They stood in the entrance hall whilst Ryan’s cohort threw back a door and nudged Crane towards the opening. Crane stood at the top of a steep flight of stairs and looked down into the bowels of a darkened cellar. Without warning, Ryan thrust his heavy boot hard into Crane’s lower back, sending him plummeting headlong against the narrow walls and concrete steps until he lay unconscious on the dank quarry-stone floor.

  Ryan secured the cellar door as Bradley walked into the hall. Bradley paused at the entrance to the cellar and gave a grunt of satisfaction as he examined the heavy bolt and five-lever padlock. He felt satisfied and strolled, with Ryan in tow, towards a large room at the end of the hall. As they entered, Ryan said, ‘How the hell did he find this place?’

  Bradley shrugged and said with some emphasis, ‘Well he did. At least we know where he is now.’

  ‘What are you planning to do with him?’

  ‘I haven’t decided his fate yet, but rest assured it will be a permanent solution.’

  ‘What about that Penny woman? Do you think she’ll go to the police?’

  ‘Nah, not while she believes her sister, Jean, is in trouble. She’s probably on her way back home. If I can’t persuade her to come back here, I’ll have to arrange for them to be picked up later. Now, the thing is, are we ready to move out the stock?’

  Ryan nodded and said, ‘Some transporters will be arriving here any time now to deliver them to the ports of departure; we should be clear of most of them within a few hours.’

  Bradley nodded his approval.

  *

  Crane lay prone on the hard cellar floor and, as consciousness returned, his memory gradually flooded back. Opening his eyes slowly, he became aware of complete d
arkness. Limbs were stiff as he sat up and checked himself over; a few bruises and grazes, but fortunately no broken bones. Remaining on the floor, his hand fumbled around his jacket pocket, until he produced the small pencil-beam torch. He flicked the switch and its narrow blade of light penetrated the darkness. His hand guided the light around the room to reveal four bare brick walls with a ceiling height of about two metres. A wire was dangling from the rafters with its bulb missing. The room was empty apart from some wooden boxes stacked in one corner.

  He stood up and heard muffled voices filtering through the wooden floorboards above and then the walls started to resonate dully, along with the sound of vehicles being manoeuvred outside. He checked his watch; it was six-thirty am; he had been comatose for half of the night. He climbed the stairs and gingerly checked the door handle; as expected, it was shut tight. Descending the stairs, he aimed the torch at the ceiling once more, methodically examining the areas between the rafters. Just as the torch battery began showing signs of wear, he found just what he was looking for in one corner. It was a trapdoor that had once acted as an outside chute for winter fuel. It straddled the outer wall connecting the cellar with the outside world. Raising his arms he gently pushed against the closure and found it offered little resistance; he had found a way out.

  *

  Bradley and Ryan directed the vehicles onto the transporters, which were being used to move the illicit cargo to various shipping areas. Bradley checked his watch; he had an early-morning appointment at an old country chateau outside Boulogne with a man interested in a very different kind of merchandise: human beings. After Crane’s aborted rescue attempt, Sammy had been kept in a locked room upstairs. She had slept soundly for a few hours but the continual noise of cars being moved around, had disturbed her sleep. Upon awakening, her stomach had got the better of her earlier stubborn resistance to food offered by her captors, so, discovering milk and cereals on an adjacent table, she hungrily helped herself to a large bowlful.

  *

  Crane stood on a wooden crate that he had found to one side of the dingy cellar. He listened intently, for some time; his ear close to the trapdoor, until the resonance of the vehicles had abated. When all was quiet, he gently eased up the trapdoor, sending a flurry of dust and dirt down onto the front of his clothing. Mindful of the dust, he screwed up his eyes and peered through a slit into the darkness. Nothing could be seen. With a little extra effort he lifted the trapdoor and slid it over to one side and then eased himself up and out into the early morning air.

  *

  After a non-stop drive, Penny arrived home at her apartment in the early hours. She felt exhausted but found it impossible to sleep and spent the time pacing around her apartment, occasionally gulping from cups of strong black coffee. She tried Crane’s mobile number several times only to receive the familiar, ‘Sorry I am unable to connect you,’ response. She was about to try again when her phone rang and she reached out and snatched it off the table; it was Bradley.

  ‘You’re not going to get your sister back by running away, and I did say tell no one, especially that meddling Crane.’

  ‘You lied to me. Jean wasn’t there; and you kidnapped a child.’

  Bradley laughed out loud. ‘Penny, my dear, you’ve been well and truly misinformed. Your sister, Jean, is staying in a hotel – a particularly nice one I might add – just a few kilometres outside Boulogne. I was going to take you there this morning, she will be so disappointed. As for the child, she’s Ryan’s niece. He was taking her to her parent’s new home. She had been staying with some friends and was a bit upset about leaving them.’

  Bradley sounded very plausible, but Penny did not believe a word that he was saying. ‘Where’s Jack Crane?’

  Bradley laughed again. ‘Oh, I wondered when you’d come round to him. He’s cooling off. I’ll send him back home when he’s no longer a nuisance. Now look, you’ve got nothing to worry about, so why don’t the pair of you come back to the farm and take Jean back? She’d really love that.’

  Penny thought for a moment. ‘Why can’t you just send her home, on a train or something?’

  ‘Because, my dear girl, I want certain undertakings from you, and also your sister, not to harass me. I don’t want you to notify the police or anyone else in authority. Surely you must understand that. It won’t take long for you to get back here and after that you’ll both be on your way.’

  Penny did not trust him but she really could not think for what other reason he would want her in France, other than to collect her sister, Jean. She looked at her watch and said, ‘Okay, I’ll be there after lunch.’

  *

  Crane heard voices and flattened himself against the side of the house; it was Bradley talking on the phone as he got into his car. Thoughts of rushing him were quashed; he was too far away, besides an armed man could be standing by the front door, so he watched frustrated, like a cat losing sight of a mouse, as Bradley got into the car, started the engine and drove off. Crane remained where he was until the car’s rear lights became diffused, fading into the early grey light of dawn until they disappeared completely out of sight, sinking over the other side of the hill.

  A few moments after losing sight of Bradley, Crane inched his way around the side of the house towards the front door; it was closed and all seemed quiet. He decided to check out the room in which Sammy was held prisoner and peering through a gap in the faded green shutters, he could see that the room was now unoccupied. He unbolted and pulled back the shutters, it seemed the best way to get inside, and after a few careful strides across the room, he eased back the door and cautiously stepped into the dimly-lit entrance hall. Noises could be heard. They sounded as though they were coming from a kitchen or dining room. Crane edged stealthily along the hall towards the sounds. Through a gap in the door he saw three men sitting and eating but unfortunately Ryan was not amongst them. It was showtime.

  Crouching low, Crane inched towards them, like a cat about to spring. Suddenly, at the last split second, he rushed forward roaring like a lion, scooped up the table, tipping it upside down and sending the three shocked diners to the floor. He grabbed hold of an up-ended wooden dining chair and felled the first man who tried to get up. As the other two recovered and tried to stand, Crane used the chair like a scythe, mowing them down flat, like cut wheat, on their faces. The room was filled with stifled groans until they were silenced with hefty blows from Crane’s boot. He searched their pockets and waistbands and was surprised to find that none of them carried a handgun. Foraging in the next room, he found the ideal weapon to move the men around; propped against the wall in one corner was a loaded double barrelled shotgun.

  Crane questioned the battered men as they began to recover. None of them knew, or they wouldn’t say, where Ryan was. So he bundled the light-headed trio, under the threat of death into the cellar before he slid the bar across the door and turned the key in the padlock. Remembering his own method of escape, he dashed outside and found some heavy stones to place over the trapdoor.

  Crane entered the house again and made his way to the kitchen. There was hot coffee on the stove and food on the sideboard. He grabbed a coffee and a hunk of French bread, together with a wedge of cheese, and then made his way to the barn where he had last seen his car. It was still there, amongst a handful of other American cars. This was a fair indication that Bradley and his cohort Ryan were coming back. A noise made him turn around and he was confronted by Henri Girard. As Crane approached him, Girard’s hand dived into a small haversack hanging from his shoulder. He seemed to be having difficulty in finding what he was looking for and quickly began foraging around with both hands, as though trying to dislodge something caught inside. All of a sudden, both hands appeared and one of them held aloft an M67 grenade. Crane halted in his tracks. Girard smiled and began bouncing it up and down in his hand, like a tennis ball and said cockily, ‘You are not one of Ryan’s men but maybe you know what this is, eh?’

  Crane looked at him and remaining
calm said hastily, ‘Of course I do.’ And with some urgency said, ‘The pin’s missing, and I believe it’s cooking.’

  The Frenchman’s frivolous expression changed as Crane continued, ‘We’re only five metres apart; that thing is deadly within at least fifteen metres!’ And with a greater command of urgency shouted, ‘Unless you want to die throw it as far as you can and fall to the ground!’

  Girard’s reactions were fast. As the grenade left his hand Crane flattened himself to the grassy surface – followed by Girard a split second later. It was a good throw; the weapon exploded in the air – just above the roof of a parked car. Crane was the first to get up and he immediately snatched at Girard’s haversack lying nearby.

  Girard stayed on the ground. His eyes were fixed and his jaw drooped open as he looked at the damaged car. ‘Merde! Mon auto! My bloody car!’ he shouted in frustration. The vehicle was a brand new Audi convertible. Crane could not suppress the wide grin that was beginning to stretch across his face as he listened to a string of expletives – in French and English – whilst he was rummaging through the Frenchman’s bag. He discovered a small, but effective Jennings semi-automatic handgun, chrome plated, twenty-two calibre. It would fit neatly into the palm of his hand. Eventually the Frenchman got up and dusted himself down. He had a wrestler’s build, gladiator’s shoulders and a deep penetrating gaze, but he seemed unfazed when he turned and faced the pistol in Crane’s hand.