The Stealers Read online

  Crane lowered the gun again, ‘Was there anybody else here – a little English girl?’

  ‘Oui, yes, very pretty, they all went an hour ago.’

  ‘What is the master’s name?’

  ‘Claude Mullah.’

  Crane pondered for a moment, ‘That does not sound entirely French.’

  ‘No, he was born in Algiers, has family there.’

  The picture was now coming into focus; it would seem that the kidnap victims were being shipped off to North Africa.

  ‘Is that where he takes the children?’

  Louise was quiet; her eyes set on the floor. She looked up as Crane prompted, ‘Well?’

  ‘Yes,’ she answered quietly.

  ‘How many?’

  Louise shrugged, ‘I am not sure.’

  ‘What do you know about Penny’s sister, Jean?’

  Still looking down she replied, ‘They go to the same place as the children.’

  ‘And that’s into slavery for the rest of their lives!’ Crane said scathingly, ‘And you helped them get there.’

  A noise from behind interrupted the proceedings. Crane quickly glance around and saw a man standing motionless at the foot of an oak-panelled staircase; he was holding a baseball bat. This was an opportunity that Louise was not going to let pass and from her position on the floor, she pounced towards Crane like a wild animal, clamping her arms around his legs, bringing him crashing down onto the floor beside her. The gun fell from Crane’s hand and slithered across the polished surface. She scrambled over him – like a wrestler – using her weight to try and keep him pinned down. The baseball bat wielder wasted no time and rushed towards the writhing couple. With the bat held high the assailant aimed for Crane’s head. Crane saw this move coming, but at the last second, using all his strength, he managed to manoeuvre Louise around and she took the full force of the blow. It knocked her out cold. The man repositioned himself to attack again, however Crane swiftly rolled away from Louise’s comatose form. The man came in fast and as he stood between Crane’s legs, raised the club again. Lying prone on the floor, Crane quickly turned his left foot inwards and brought it up behind the man’s right calf. In the same instant he pushed hard with his right foot against the front of his attacker’s leg, sending him crashing down. In a split second Crane was on his feet retrieving the Glock handgun.

  The man had fallen heavily with the breath knocked out of him. He lay on the floor for a moment then recovering slightly, he propped himself up on his elbows to face Crane who was waving the gun and warning, ‘You’d better stay there.’

  The man’s nervous eyes looked up from his position on the floor, following Crane’s every move as he paced around the large hall. Gesticulating with the gun Crane said, ‘Do you speak English?’

  The man shrugged, ‘Of course. I am English,’ he grunted.

  Crane said, ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘You’ll need some kind of marker on your grave. Tell me, when is this Claude Mullah due back.’

  ‘I dunno.’

  Without saying anything else, Crane walked behind the prone figure and pulled the slide back on the Glock. The metallic sound of the gun and Crane’s silence made the man flinch and turn his head.

  ‘Who are you? Whadda gonna do?’ he said uneasily.

  ‘You’re no use to me,’ Crane said matter-of-factly pointing the gun at his head. ‘If I’m going to hang around for a few days waiting for this Claude Mullah to return, I’d sooner have you out of the way.’

  ‘Alright, alright. My name’s Mackie. Claude is due back this evening, about nine.’

  ‘Will there be anyone with him?’

  ‘Maybe, Haj – a friend of his that helps out.’

  ‘Where do you figure in this filthy business?’

  ‘I used to do a bit of snatching for Bradley, until things got a bit too hot for me. So I ended up working here.’

  ‘And,’ pointing to the comatose figure of Louise said, ‘where does she fit in?’

  ‘Put’s ’em to sleep and does whatever she’s told.’

  ‘Is there anyone else around?’

  ‘No, not today; just me and her.’

  ‘If I find out you’re lying. I’ll kill you.’ Crane said coldly. ‘Now there must be a wine cellar somewhere in the house – where is it?’

  Mackie pointed, ‘The door at the far end.’

  ‘Does it have a key?’

  ‘Hanging up by the door.’

  ‘Okay, that’s where you are both going. Get her up; drag her there if you have to, and no tricks.’

  Louise groaned as Mackie pulled her along the slick marble surface and she managed to rise to her feet as he opened the wine cellar door. Crane stood by, watching them descend the wooden stairs and before closing the door he called out, ‘Do help yourself to drinks.’

  After locking the door, Crane made a quick reconnoitre outside, to make sure that there were no escape hatches from the cellar. When satisfied there were none he got in the Rover and again tucked it out of sight in some nearby scrub. Crane checked his watch; it was four pm.

  Crane walked back to the chateau to look through the rooms but found nothing of interest or anything remotely incriminating. Two hours passed before the sound of a car, turning into the gravel driveway, made Crane rush to the window. It was Bradley and he was alone in Crane’s Mustang. Crane stood for a moment and watched Bradley casually amble towards the house. Then, like a butler taking his place, he concealed himself by the front door with the Glock semi-automatic hand-gun hanging loosely by his side.

  The bell clanged raucously and Crane, believing surprise to be on his side, during this elusive encounter with his arch-enemy, immediately swung back the front door to find himself facing an Uzi submachine gun pointing at his head. Bradley’s face wore a twisted smile as he said. ‘Gotcha! Now put my Glock down on the table, slowly.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Penny awoke to the sound of air being gently drawn in and out. It was Sammy and Andrew fast asleep. Nothing else could be heard. They were in total darkness. She felt movement, a gentle rocking feeling, like being in some sort of cradle. “A boat!” she correctly surmised. As her head cleared, she was certain that they were moored in a harbour. Thoughts of using her mobile were quashed, when she realised her handbag was missing and she began to lose hope fast.

  *

  Henri Girard, still at the farm, was spoilt for choice. With a box of car keys in his hand, he surveyed the remaining cars in the barn. Ignoring the classic cars, he settled on a year old dark-blue Porsche Boxster. Engrossed in the vehicle, he did not hear Ryan approach from behind until he saw a reflection in the glass windscreen. Girard turned and faced the overweight, sweating and seething man, who limped closer and barked, ‘What the fuck are you doing with those keys?’

  Girard shook the box he was holding and answered, ‘I’m looking for the keys to this Porsche.’

  Ryan snarled and held up a pepper spray, ‘Well the Porsche is not for you. Didn’t expect to see me, did you. Luckily one of the others returned and let me out after you left me down in that cellar. Now, where’s your friend Crane, eh?’

  Girard shrugged his huge shoulders and lowered his lip, ‘He had a gun, I had to do what he said. What could I do?’

  ‘Come off it, a big bloke like you? Get back to the house now!’

  Girard laughed and replied casually, ‘No, I don’t want to.’

  This infuriated Ryan. Stepping forward, within two metres of Girard and waving the pepper spray canister he growled, ‘You want some of this?’

  Girard laughed again, only louder and said, trying to suppress his mirth, ‘I wouldn’t use that if I were you,’ and he carried on looking in the box for the Porsche keys.

  Ryan was apoplectic as he pressed down on the canister’s button. A gust of wind sent a cloud of spray back into his face, sending him buckling to the ground, coughing violently with his hands held over his eyes.

  Gira
rd was grinning like a Cheshire cat and, between bouts of laughter, he began to chastise Ryan, as though he were speaking to a child. ‘I did try, to erm… advise you. Is that the correct word? Advise? You should always check to see which way the wind is blowing before using any kind of spray.’

  Ryan, with his eyes streaming and his lungs gasping for air, was not in a fit state to answer and Girard, finding the set of keys that he had been looking for, jumped into the Porsche and drove off.

  *

  Louise sat back in an armchair, nursing an egg-sized lump on her head whilst glaring accusingly at Crane who, under threat of being shot, had been forced to sit on the marble floor. Mackie had busied himself fetching ice packs from the freezer and he handed them to her. Bradley, having retrieved the Glock, gesticulated with the weapon, ‘This ends here Mr Jack Crane. I don’t know how you found this place, or the other places come to that, but I must assume that given your background, you are a very resourceful man. However, so am I.’

  Crane looked up and said, ‘You won’t last, your kind never do.’

  Bradley sneered, screwed up his face then turned towards Mackie, ‘It’s just as well there was a phone in the cellar and very fortunate I was nearby at the time. I must go soon, got things to do.’ He turned and snarled at Crane, ‘I’m sure Claude Mullah will know exactly what to do with him. Where can we put him until Mullah gets back?’

  Mackie grinned, ‘There’s a concrete bunker on the edge of the drive, built by the Germans during World War Two. It’s bomb proof; he won’t get out of there in a hurry.’

  Bradley was satisfied with this arrangement and watched as Mackie, using a twelve-bore shotgun, herded Crane towards the bunker and sealed him in with a heavy iron bar braced across a steel door.

  Mackie stood confidently for a moment, with the shotgun tucked under his arm, as he waved Bradley off before returning to the house. Crane, peering through the narrow gun slit, also watched the departing pair.

  *

  Penny tried hard not to feel panicky as she lay in total darkness. The children were still asleep. Considering the circumstances, Penny thought it was a blessing. She could hear sounds outside, but they were muffled. Maybe it was her imagination trying to get through the tinnitus sounds in her head. However, she decided that, just maybe, there could be somebody in the vicinity; so she shouted for help at the top of her voice. The only response seemed to be the faint hum of an engine and a sensation of motion as the craft pulled slowly out of the harbour which just added to her feeling of despair.

  *

  Henri Girard was in ebullient mood as he put his newly-acquired Porsche Boxster through the paces. He loved the way the car handled, pulling it hard around the tight bends, he passed through Boulogne and headed towards ‘Chateau du Lac’. His face beamed with satisfaction as he whispered to himself, ‘It goes around corners like it’s on rails,’ he breathed out a sigh and began to sing out loud an old Disney classic that he had seen on video when he was a child, ‘Zip-a-dee-do-daa, zip-a-dee-day… ’

  *

  Crane positioned himself by the narrow gun slit – it was a source of warm, dry fresh air and a welcome change from the dank atmosphere inside. The bunker had been well sited; it gave generous views of the long-winding driveway that led to the chateau. After an hour’s confinement, he heard a vehicle approaching. He turned and stared into the distance. As it neared, he recognised the man behind the wheel; it was Henri Girard. Crane stuck both hands through the slit and began waving frantically and the car gradually slowed down to a halt. Girard jumped out of the Porsche and strolled up to the bunker; his eyes flicked between the padlocked steel door and Crane. ‘’Ello; I got your text. What are you doing in there?’

  ‘Not much,’ Crane replied and he went on to explain how he became imprisoned.

  ‘Leave it to me,’ Girard said before leaping into the Porsche and driving round to the front entrance of the house.

  Girard walked boldly up to the door, rattling the huge knocker, pressing the bell at the same time. It was answered by Louise. Through the open door, Girard could see Mackie holding a shotgun.

  With a wide grin Girard said, ‘Bonsoir, Madame, I’m Henri Girard. Monsieur Bradley sent me to collect Monsieur Crane.’

  At the mention of Bradley’s name, Mackie seemed to relax and leant the gun up against the wall. But, Louise was more cautious and she eyed him up and down with suspicion. Wanting to exercise her authority she said cockily, ‘Do you have anything to authenticate?’

  Girard’s grin widened as he put a hand in his pocket and replied, ‘But of course, it is wise of you to ask.’

  Louise’s shoulders relaxed until Girard slickly produced the small Jennings handgun, ‘I have this.’

  Louise stepped back a few paces at this unexpected move. Mackie immediately reached towards the wall for his shotgun but Girard was ready for this. The range of four metres was not too great for him to send a bullet smashing into the wooden stock of Mackie’s weapon, sending it crashing to the floor. By now, Louise’s eyes were wide with fear as she stared at Girard and heard him say, ‘I don’t really want to kill you, so you had better do as I tell you. I’m already wanted by the police for murder; well… I have nothing to lose. Put the key to the lock of the bunker on this little table and then both of you get outside… s’il vous plait.’

  Girard turned the key in the padlock and withdrew the heavy bar. Crane stepped outside, with a feeling of relief, to get away from the confines of the humid, musty, damp atmosphere of the bunker, complete with German graffiti, with its echoes of the past also etched into its walls. Then Girard ushered Mackie and Louise inside. Their sullen looks caused Girard to say to them cheerfully, ‘Don’t look so worried, think of it as an exchange visit eh?’

  On their way to the house, Girard said, ‘I think we should cover up that porthole or else they may be waving their arms about to get the attention of their boss when he turns up.’

  ‘Good thinking, but maybe it would be better to hand them a bottle of water with some of their sleeping draughts in. They’ll soon get thirsty and that will keep them quiet.’

  Within a short time, Girard was handing the water through the gun slit and after doing so, he paused for a second to hear the pair slurping it down their throats.

  Back in the chateau, Girard busied himself down in the wine cellar. After some time, he had selected a bottle of red wine and came into the dining room. ‘There is nothing special down there,’ he declared and, plucking a pair of glasses from a cabinet, proffered, ‘A little Bordeaux perhaps?’

  Crane looked at his watch; it was seven-thirty. ‘No thanks, I need to keep a clear head for when they arrive.’

  Girard shrugged and poured himself a large glassful of the red liquid, ‘Oui, so do I. I’ll just have one.’

  Crane walked towards the door, ‘I’ll check up on our sleeping beauties; we do not need any more surprises.’

  Girard grunted an assent between mouthfuls of crusty bread.

  *

  At the farm, Bradley was somewhat fazed to discover his right-hand man Ryan was the only person around and that he appeared to be in a state of frustration because of his heavily bandaged foot. Bradley gave a cursory glance at Ryan’s foot and unsympathetically dismissed it with, ‘Shit happens.’

  Ryan reluctantly recounted the details of what had happened since their last meeting and was somewhat consoled by the fact that Bradley had placed Crane under lock and key in an old German bunker.

  Bradley looked at his watch before getting back into his car and said, ‘A transporter should be arriving any time now to take care of the remaining stock. Pity you couldn’t have stopped the French guy from taking the Porsche.’ And looking Ryan straight in the eye added, ‘It’ll have to come off your share you know.’

  Ryan was not too pleased, but at the back of his mind, he had by now, no reason to doubt Crane’s story about Davy being pinned, with a long knife, to the seat in his vehicle. He was beginning to feel that if he was not mor
e careful, he could share a similar fate and so he felt it pertinent to reply lamely, ‘Yeah Bradley, that’s only fair.’

  Bradley left with a, ‘Be back soon.’

  *

  Crane walked from the front door of the chateau towards the concrete bunker. It was mid-afternoon and unseasonably warm for the time of year and he knew it would be hot and sticky inside the old wartime building, and maybe that fact would also help the drugged water on to induce sleep. He approached the building silently by walking on the grass verge and he stood outside for a while and listening intently. He heard the heavy sound of slumber coming from inside. He turned away and looked instinctively along the driveway. A large car was silently gliding along its surface; it was the Bentley returning home. There was no time for him to dash back to the house, without being seen by the driver, but he just had time to dart around to the back of the concrete structure, before the Bentley whispered past. The idea of surprising Claude Mullah and his companion Haj were rapidly evaporating and his thoughts now turned towards Girard, whom he had left in the sitting room reclining comfortably in a deep-piled armchair whilst swilling red wine.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The hatch above Penny suddenly scraped open and their confined space became awash with sunlight, its rays stabbing harshly into the children’s eyes, causing them to wince. She gradually got used to the intensity of the light and looked up at a blue cloudless sky. Within a few minutes, a basket containing food and drink was being lowered from the edge of the hatch and a gruff voice in broken English called out, ‘Somethink to eet and drink.’

  Penny found it difficult to react at first, but after a moment she called back, ‘Where are we? Are we at sea? Where are you taking us?’

  There was no reply. The children were now wide awake and anxiety was beginning to show on their faces. Putting on a bold front Penny said, ‘Who would like something to eat?’ Andrew was the first to reply and Penny dipped into the basket and handed him a bottle of fruit juice, a sandwich pack and some cakes. Sammy looked morose and said, ‘Do you think Jack will be able to come for us?’