The Stealers Read online

  Crane looked shocked, ‘What?’

  ‘At the bail hearing he pleaded health reasons and so with special conditions attached, which nobody thought he would be able to comply with, he got bail; two million euros worth of bail money. He had to surrender his passport, his Bentley has been confiscated and a twenty-four hour police guard stationed at his home; which incidentally, he must pay for until the trial.’

  ‘We both know that kind of money is small change to him; he’s got to be up to something.’

  Girard nodded as he said, ‘That is a fact, mon ami.’

  ‘It’s a bit of a coincidence that Bradley happens to be in this area; perhaps if I paid a visit to Mullah’s helicopter friend Durand, he may have wind of something.’

  They spent an hour or so mulling over the possibilities, before they parted company. Crane was deep in thought as he and Daniella left the hospital. Girard stood by the window and rubbed his chin reflectively; staring after them as they walked towards the car park.

  ‘Which direction are we heading for?’ Daniella enquired.

  ‘My curiosity has got the better of me; I want to take a peek at Mullah’s chateau.’

  ‘Won’t the police stop you?’

  ‘I’ll say I’m a tourist, looking at old country homes.’

  ‘What do you hope to see there?’

  ‘I don’t know – that’s the reason I want to go there.’

  Daniella shrugged, leant back in her seat and whilst listening to the satnav, browsed through a map of the area. ‘There’s an old chateau not too far from here,’ she read out. Crane gave her a quizzical look and smiling she continued, ‘Well, it’ll back up your story to the police.’

  Within twenty minutes, they passed the weathered sign of “Chateau du Lac”. Crane was familiar with the long winding tree-lined drive, which was commonplace throughout France. He slowed down as they approached the old wartime concrete bunker and inched the car towards the building at a snail’s pace. Just before the chateau came into view he stopped the car.

  Daniella sensed that there was something wrong, ‘What’s the matter?’

  Through the windscreen, Crane’s eyes flitted in all directions. ‘It doesn’t seem right; it’s too quiet. I would have expected to see a policeman by now.’

  ‘Maybe they are in the house.’

  ‘Maybe; just keep out of sight and stay here while I take a look.’

  Daniella gave him a sideways glance and slipped low in her seat, her eyes peering just over the top of the dashboard. Crane eased himself out of the Rover and crept up until he could see around the bend. There was just one car parked near the front entrance; an empty police car with the driver’s door wide open. He began to walk slowly towards the Chateau, his ears and eyes alerted to danger. Suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks. What appeared to be a body lay propped against the wall near to the entrance of the building. A series of bullet holes scarred the wall either side of the victim. “Machine gun,” Crane thought as he moved cautiously nearer, until another body came into view sprawled out beside a large bushy shrub. Crane ran a hasty check on the two men; they were dead. Finally, when he rounded the police car, a third policeman lay gasping in front of his car; he was badly wounded. Crane looked around; there was no sign of anyone else. It seemed Mullah had flown and Crane guessed it was the work of Bradley. This was confirmed when the injured man whispered three words: ‘American Mustang, Rouge.’

  Crane ran back to his Rover. Daniella, on hearing the rush of feet, straightened up as he jumped in and brought their car alongside the police vehicle, ‘There’s an injured man lying in front of the police car; you’ll find a first aid kit in the boot, see what you can do, meanwhile I’ll see if I can get help.’

  Daniella leapt out, grabbed the first aid kit and hurried to the casualty.

  Wishing to remain anonymous, Crane plucked Ryan’s mobile from the glovebox and relieved to find it had remained fully charged, dialled the hospital. ‘Parlez-vous Anglais? I need to speak with Henri Girard.’

  ‘Je suis désolé, I am sorry, but he has just discharged himself.’

  Crane was grateful that the voice spoke English and said, ‘Okay, but an ambulance is urgently needed for a badly-wounded policeman at Chateau du Lac. Do you know of it?

  ‘Oui, satnav takes care of the whole area including buildings, I will see to it right away.’

  ‘Oh,’ and Crane added urgently, ‘inform the police!’ Crane dashed back to the injured man. Daniella had just finished placing a heavy pad over his wound. ‘It’s bad, he would have been… how you say… a goner if we hadn’t come, I believe he’ll survive.’

  ‘I couldn’t get hold of Girard. I wanted him to contact the police but would you believe it, he’s just left the hospital.’

  Daniella looked puzzled, ‘Can’t you speak to the police?’

  ‘We’d be held up for hours; it’s best that the ambulance service sees to it.’

  With assurances given to the injured man that help was on its way, Crane and Daniella jumped into the Rover and left.

  Crane raced the car down the chateau’s long road, its engine sounding like a high bred sports car. Daniella, gripping the sides of her seat asked, ‘Where to now?’

  ‘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.’

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  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.’