The Stealers Page 16

  Sammy, watching the coastline draw nearer, appeared to be a little more relaxed than before, although Penny could see the underlying concern that was showing on her young face. Andrew, however, was content and seemed to be treating everything as an adventure; there were plenty of biscuits and chocolate on hand and he still held onto his favourite electronic game.

  *

  Girard’s observation that Mullah was missing had stirred Crane into action. It was an easy run for him, as he stormed down the gentle grassy slope leading to the boathouse. Within a few metres, the raucous whine of an electric starter motor spurred him on. With a final effort, he increased his pace and burst through the rear door – gun in hand. He was in time to see Mullah adrift on board a speedboat in the calm waters of the boathouse, desperately trying to start the engine. Crane bent down and thrust his hand into the water and grabbed hold of the mooring rope trailing on the surface. Mullah turned to face Crane, who continued to wind the rope around a capstan. ‘Get out!’ Crane shouted angrily, levelling the Glock handgun.

  Mullah’s face whitened. The boat was a few metres from the landing stage and he called back, ‘Pull the boat in then.’

  ‘Get in the water! If you don’t I’ll start shooting.’

  ‘Alright, alright,’ Mullah replied feebly, ‘I’m coming,’ and he jumped over the side of the boat. The water in the boathouse came up to his chest. Crane stood back and watched as, with some effort, Mullah clambered up spluttering onto the decking.

  ‘Try that again and you’ll end up dead,’ Crane barked. ‘Now we get back to the helicopter and you’d better just hope that your friend turns up.’

  They returned to the helicopter landing site close to the house, where Durand was sitting on the grass nursing his wound with Simon close by. Like a sentry, Girard was keeping a close watch over the pair of them and turned when he heard Mullah approach with Crane trailing close behind.

  Girard looked on approvingly and said, ‘I’ve got the keys to the helicopter in my pocket. I think one of us should take a look inside the house.’

  Crane glanced across at the tall narrow building, with its steps leading up to a central front door, and said, ‘That’s a good idea, I’m not in the mood for any more surprises.’

  ‘My turn,’ Girard said, ‘so far there’s been no sign of life, so I’ll see if there is anyone at home,’ and delving into his bag, produced the magnum revolver, adding with a grin, ‘at least I can speak French.’

  Crane smiled at that light-hearted remark and said, ‘Okay, but take care.’

  As usual, the devil-may-care, big man shrugged his great shoulders. Crane stood for a moment and watched as Girard casually ambled off towards the chateau. Then he turned his attention back towards Mullah, ‘Sit down, you can join your friends on the grass.’

  Holding the handgun behind his back, Girard approached the oak-panelled door and as he leant on the bell push he saw a weathered sign attached to the wall displaying the name of the house: ‘Maison Rouge’. A shuffle of feet could be heard trampling softly across the floor towards the entrance. All was quiet for a few seconds and suddenly the door snapped open, restrained by a security chain. The curious face of an elderly woman looked Girard up and down.

  Girard put on his best disarming smile and said, ‘Good afternoon. I’m Henri Girard, Monsieur Mullah sent me over.’

  At the mention of Mullah’s name the woman’s face relaxed and she undid the chain and pulled back the door. She looked petite in a long dress which accentuated a straight upright back. Her long grey hair was tied back in a ponytail which did not seem to match her age and frail appearance.

  ‘My name is Giselle.’

  ‘Such a beautiful name, madame.’

  ‘Why thank you, Henri.’ A sweet coy smile spread across her face as she instantly warmed to Girard, ‘You are so kind. Does Monsieur Mullah need anything?’

  Keeping the smile intact Girard said, ‘He’s in conference at the moment, Giselle, he’s expecting a boat to arrive anytime from now.’

  ‘Hmm, I guessed it might have been today,’ she offered, ‘Monsieur Mullah’s always such a busy man.’

  Not wishing to frighten the old lady, Girard surreptitiously tucked the handgun down his rear trouser waistband and said, ‘In fact he has invited me to look the place over because he is thinking of selling it.’

  ‘Is he now? Very well,’ she replied and stepped back to allow Girard in.

  It did not take long to satisfy Girard that the old lady seemed to be the only person in the building, but when finally he came to the last room, he peered round the door and found two little girls staring at him, their blue eyes wide with curiosity. Girard reckoned them to be three or four years of age.

  ‘Who are they?’

  Giselle smiled warmly and said, ‘They are such little dears, Monsieur Mullah’s nieces, you know. He has many nieces that stay here of different nationalities. Those two are due to leave today by boat.’

  The children were surrounded by toys and were absorbed playing together with a doll’s house. When Girard spoke to them they answered in French. Girard was shocked when they told him they were waiting for their mummy to collect them.

  ‘Do you realise these children have been kidnapped?’ Girard chided the housekeeper.

  Her hand shot up to her face, which registered a genuine look of shock at the accusation. She was quiet for some minutes before answering, ‘If what you are saying is true then I have been a fool. This place is a long way from the village. Monsieur Mullah always arrives by helicopter. I see no one. Everything is delivered here and I am allowed to live here for nothing as a reward for looking after the children.’

  ‘How long have you been here?’ Girard questioned.

  ‘Three months.’

  Girard tended to believe her and left her in a state of bewilderment as he led the children outside.

  Crane stood by the helicopter, with Mullah and his two cohorts seated on the ground. He watched, with arms folded and became somewhat bemused, when Girard made an appearance through the front door of the house holding the hands of two little girls, clutching several soft toys between them. Girard led them towards the helicopter and seated them inside, before reporting what he had discovered to Crane.

  ‘We’ll need to notify the police,’ Crane said.

  ‘You can, not me. I cannot go anywhere near a police station.’

  ‘Well one thing’s for certain; we shall take the girls with us. We’ll have to find somewhere to secure Mullah and his two villains.’ Crane and Girard locked up the three men in one of the most favourite places in all French houses, large or small; the wine cellar, although to Girard’s chagrin, this one was devoid of wine bottles and was completely empty. As an added security, Crane suggested that the old lady be locked in a separate room.

  ‘I feel sure she was telling the truth,’ Girard said.

  ‘You may be right, but let’s not be too complacent about anything.’

  They then went back to the helicopter. Crane checked his wristwatch, it was early evening and it had been four hours since they had landed. From then on, they took turns in going back to the boathouse, to keep watch and look for signs of the incoming launch. Their key element was surprise.

  When Crane’s turn to keep watch on the boathouse came round again, he caught sight of what appeared to be a speck on the horizon. He grabbed hold of a pair of binoculars that were conveniently dangling from a hook on the wall and saw a large motor launch ploughing through the surf. From its current position it appeared to be heading in the direction of the jetty. As a precaution against being seen, he moved deep into the boathouse and tucked himself out of sight. He kept a watchful eye on the launch, until he felt confident that the approaching craft was the one that belonged to Mullah.

  *

  Girard stood by the helicopter and kept an eye on the house. He was surprised to see Giselle suddenly come out of the front door and walk towards him; she was carrying a tray covered with a white cloth. G
irard had locked her in himself and he still had the key in his pocket. She obviously must have had a spare, it would never occur to Girard to frisk such a sweet old lady.

  Girard kept a curious eye on Giselle as she tripped casually along the grass, like a maid bringing her master lunch al fresco. Her wide smile was infectious and Girard beamed back. Within three metres she paused and, like a cordon bleu chef, she held the tray in one hand and skilfully whipped off the white-cloth cover with her other hand, to reveal a .38 Smith and Wesson revolver on a platter. Snatching at the weapon, she dropped the tray and pointed the gun at Girard, ‘Nobody locks me in, you bastard,’ and she pulled the trigger. Girard had recovered from the shock rapidly and dodged to one side. The bullet thudded harmlessly into the side of the helicopter and a second bullet followed soon after. Girard ducked under the machine and pulled out the .45 magnum from his waistband, just as a third shot ricocheted with a whine off the helicopter. With shouts of, ‘Keep still you bastard,’ Giselle began swearing profusely at her own inability to bring her quarry down. Girard did not like the idea of returning fire, but equally, he did not like the idea of being killed. He paused briefly and holding the gun with both hands, took careful aim and fired. The weapon flew out of Giselle’s hand and Girard blew a sigh of relief, but the relief was short lived. As he ducked and ran around the helicopter to face her, the three men who had been locked up in the cellar, were running towards him like mad animals – and they were armed.

  They stopped abruptly when Giselle lost her gun. Mullah swung up a Mossberg pump-action shotgun, levelled it and fired. Girard threw himself to the ground as the pellets whistled past, grazing Giselle on their way before peppering the aircraft. From his position on the grass, Girard took aim and fired. Mullah screamed in pain as a bullet passed through his right calf and he crumpled to the ground.

  The pilot, Durand, standing next to Mullah, was instantly reminded of his wound and earlier involvement. He was not anxious for any more gun play, especially when he had witnessed Girard’s skill with a handgun. He froze and his co-pilot, Simon, followed suit, dropping their weapons and throwing up their hands. Girard looked towards Giselle disappointedly. His sympathy towards her had waned. He considered her fortunate enough to have only suffered a sprained hand.

  Without a saying a word, Girard used the gun in his hand as a pointer. He motioned for her to sit down, and to join the groaning Mullah who lay prone on the ground. This invite was extended to Durand and Simon, shepherding them together in a close-knit group. Girard kept a mistrusting eye on the motley bunch whilst gathering up their weapons. When he had finished, he paused, slowly pulled a bottle from his shoulder bag and took a generous swig of vin rouge.

  *

  From his concealed position in the boathouse, Crane saw the approaching launch slow down. The craft’s engine altered pitch and it went from an incessant drone to a gentle throb as it drifted lazily towards the jetty. As far as Crane could tell, there were two swarthy-looking men on board, but no sign of Penny or the children. One of the men leapt off onto the jetty and his companion tossed him a line from the boat, which he swiftly tied around a capstan and immediately began refuelling.

  The other man that Crane had seen, left the boat and joined his shipmate on the landing stage, Crane decided it was time to play his hand and pulling out the Glock semi-automatic, he slid a nine mil bullet into the breach. As he casually approached the two men, they looked up at him in surprise and then turned towards each other with puzzled expressions on their faces, as though searching for an explanation, before turning back to face Crane.

  ‘Change of plan,’ Crane announced, motioning them off the jetty with the Glock semi-automatic handgun. In an instant and without hesitation, the man nearest the edge of the jetty leapt into the sea and sank out of sight, swimming underwater and resurfacing around the other side of the boat. His mate took one step forward and Crane sent a bullet in between his legs. The man looked down at the splintered hole between his feet and froze. Meanwhile his companion the swimmer, had hauled himself aboard the launch and had dashed to the main cabin, where he grabbed hold of an Uzi sub-machine pistol. Crane was half expecting this kind of move and he quickly positioned himself so that the man on the jetty would be in the line of fire. Within seconds the swimmer reappeared on deck holding the weapon, trying to aim past his shipmate, but Crane sent a bullet into his shoulder causing the Uzi to fall from his hands and clutter across the deck and into the water. The wounded man’s eyes were transfixed on Crane’s gun as he winced with pain. He clasped a hand across his shoulder and feeling somewhat shaky, got off the boat. Crane motioned the pair towards a bench, ‘Sit down,’ he barked. ‘Now tell me, where are the woman and children?’

  The two men scowled and said nothing. ‘Okay,’ Crane said quietly, ‘maybe after I’ve emptied the magazine into the pair of you, you’ll tell me… or die,’ and with that he pulled back the slide and took aim.

  ‘They’re under a hatch, below decks,’ Jacques the wounded man stammered.

  Crane pointed to the other man, Emile, ‘You – the one without the bullet – get back on board and open up the hatch and no tricks, I’ll be right behind you.’

  Emile, a big brute of a fellow, got up and led the way, leaving the groaning Jacques sitting on the bench nursing his wound. Crane kept his distance as they clambered aboard the boat. He followed Emile across the deck but stopped suddenly to look down at a square hatch about a metre across.

  ‘Open it!’ Crane growled.

  The heavy-set Emile crouched and pulled back four clips, one on each corner and as he lifted it off, threw it at Crane. The gun was knocked forcefully from Crane’s hand. A slight grin of satisfaction spread across Emile’s face as he charged like an enraged bull but Crane had recovered quickly. With split-second timing he sidestepped the onslaught and spun round, thrusting his foot hard into the centre of Emile’s back. Crane stood and watched as the big man toppled over the side and into the water and, to the sound of Emile splashing and gasping, Crane picked up his gun and peered down the hatchway.

  ‘Penny, are you down there?’

  An uncertain voice called back, ‘Jack?’

  ‘It’s me. Everything’s alright, you can all come up now.’

  Penny’s face suddenly appeared through the open hatch, her eyes squinting against the bright late-afternoon sun. Sammy, followed by Andrew, slowly made their way up and onto the deck whilst Crane kept an eye on Emile, who was still floundering in the water around the boat.

  Sammy was the first to find her voice, ‘I just knew you would come, I just knew it,’ she said reaching up with a hug.

  Penny’s expression was one of intense relief and she said, ‘I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my whole life. I was absolutely terrified, it’s only the children that have kept me intact, they’ve been marvellous.’

  Crane looked at all three and smiled, ‘Tidy yourselves up a bit if you want, I should imagine all the facilities are on board. Meanwhile I’ll figure out what to do with your two captors.’

  Crane looked in a nearby locker. There was a first aid kit and a roll of elephant tape on one of the shelves. He grabbed hold of both items and moved towards the edge of the boat, pointing the gun at Emile, who was standing shoulder deep in the water. ‘Get on to the jetty now or I’ll start-shooting,’ he commanded.

  Emile looked up at Crane with a face like thunder as he grunted an assent and began moving towards the jetty. He hauled himself out of the water to face Crane as he stood, gun in hand, ready to bind Emile’s hands behind his back.

  Jacques was sitting despondently on the jetty, still nursing his wounded shoulder. Crane tossed him a lint pad out of the first aid box, ‘If there’s any more trouble from you, you may not be so lucky next time.’

  Without a word, the weary-looking Jacques took the pad and set it against his wound. Crane felt sure that of the two of them, Jacques at least, had had enough.

  After they had washed and freshened up, Penny and the c
hildren stepped off the boat and joined Crane on the landing stage. Together they all made their way towards the house. On the way, Penny explained what had happened to them and Crane briefly recounted how he came to be there, finishing with, ‘The helicopter that brought us here will hopefully take us all back to England.’

  As they neared the parked helicopter and chateau, they saw the motley villains bunched together on the grass. Crane directed Jacques and Emile to join them. Girard explained to Crane what had happened during the past hour.

  ‘You’ve been practising with a hand gun?’ Crane remarked.

  ‘I was in the army; a marksman,’ Girard stated proudly.

  ‘I’m impressed, how long were you in for?’

  Girard stifled a grin and looked down, ‘Well, technically, I am still in the Legionnaires, The French Foreign Legion, you know.’

  Crane looked skywards and said, ‘Yes, I’ve heard of them. Don’t tell me, desertion from the Legion is also amongst your catalogue of crimes?’

  Looking slightly sheepish about his confession, he said, ‘What could I do? The police want me for murder and theft. And also maybe, some friends of Pierre Marcel, that evil bastard I killed – maybe they also want me. It was self-defence. There was a struggle and Marcel was shot with his own handgun. The police, with the help of that bastard’s men, did not believe me.’

  The sound of a police siren drawing near made them look up and, without hesitation, Girard darted off like a frightened hare. Within a minute, tyres scrunched on gravel as two police vehicles pulled up in front of the chateau. There were two uniformed men in the car and two in the van behind. Guns were drawn as they approached the party sitting on the ground. A look of relief spread across Penny’s face as she whispered to Crane, ‘At last, now perhaps this lot can be locked away.’