The Collectors Book Five (The Collectors Series 5) (19 page)

              “I’m eating my breakfast in Panini’s, opposite a large car-park close to a sandy beach. Lots of yachts and ships in the harbour.”     

              “Tommaso, my two friends are at Panini’s.”

              “I will stop and they can travel with us, unless you want to eat. Panini’s excellent.”

              “We’ll see if they’ve finished before making a decision.”

              Tommaso drove into the car park opposite the cafe and stopped.

              A warm, gentle breeze blew from the sea as waves lapped the sloping beach. The area buzzed; three cruise liners berthed in the harbour acted like mother hens, their chicks, passengers arriving and departing. The beachfront sported a continuous line of cafes, bars, souvenir shops and restaurants.

              Fishing boats having returned from a night at sea unloaded their catch, winches clanked, men shouted and lorries trundled across the jetty. The old and new mixed in a haphazard fashion adding to its appeal. Petros’ eyes scanned the area before he found Panini’s, and Amadou with ZZ under a large white sunshade.

              He waved and strolled with Tommaso to the cafe. “You both look well,” said Petros as he hugged the two men. “Have you eaten?”

              “Yes, we are ready,” said ZZ. He drew Petros to one side. “But without my knives I am naked, unarmed.”

              Petros turned to Tommaso and in a quiet voice asked, “Is there a shop which specialises in knives?”

              He nodded. “I’ll take you but we walk.”

              The three men followed Tommaso along narrow lanes into the heart of old Palermo. They stopped outside a closed general hardware shop.

              “Wait,” said Tommaso as he pressed the doorbell.

              The little window located in the centre of the heavy wooden door opened. “Uncle, I have a customer.”

              They listened as bolts rattled back and the door opened. Tommaso entered and in minutes returned. “Come. Meet my uncle Enrico. He produces the best blades in Sicily.”

              Enrico was small and rotund, dressed in a dark suit with a white open-necked shirt. His eyes were bright and his manner alert. He beckoned and they followed into a spacious courtyard and stopped at a lean-to shed, its rear fastened against a natural stonewall. From his jacket pocket he removed a key and unlocked the heavy steel padlock from the door. Inside shelves loaded with tins of emulsion paint went from floor to roof. With his foot, he kicked the tattered rug on the floor to reveal a small hatch. This he opened, pulled a metal lever and a door in the rear wall containing the tins of paint opened.

              “Everything the Cosa Nostra requires is here.”

              “You sell guns to them?” asked Amadou.

              “No, this is their armoury. For this, I have free protection. This is Sicily. Everyone understands that if you wish to stay in business you pay protection. Nothing has changed since the old days.”

              From a cupboard at the far end, he removed three thin leather pouches and placed them on a wooden bench in front of ZZ. “Excellent blades.”

              ZZ let his gaze travel over the three sets of double-edged knives. He turned to Enrico. “May I?”

              He nodded.

              ZZ removed one from each pouch, weighed it in his hand, and threw it at a roof support.

              He removed, cleaned, and replaced each blade into its pouch. Lifted one and asked, “How much?”

              “One-hundred euro the set, cash.”

              Petros removed two fifty euro notes from his wallet and handed them to Enrico.

              “Is that everything?” asked Tommaso.

              “For the moment,” Petros said. “Right, back to the car and then the ship.”

              Tommaso led them back through the courtyard and along the labyrinth of narrow streets to the where he parked the car.

              Fifteen minutes later they alighted. A black and white trawler nestled against the concrete quay, its name
Tuna Turner
in polished brass.

              Petros’ eyes commenced a bow to stern circuit of the ship. He turned to Amadou. “It was once a fishing boat until converted. Those hydraulic davits on the stern look as if they could lift a ton or two.”

              “So long as it has a good bed and doesn’t bounce too much I’m happy.”

              Alfredo, a small, lean, muscular man with a shaven head waved at his nephew. His angular face creased from years of salt spray and sun. “Any problems?”

              “No, uncle.”

                Petros boarded first. “Petros Kyriades and these are my friends, Amadou and ZZ.”

              “Welcome. Tommaso will show you to your cabins. There is a single and a double, and both have en-suite facilities. When you have unpacked, we need to talk.”             

              “Of course.” Petros turned to Amadou. “The single is mine.”

              Amadou shrugged. “A bed is a bed and ZZ lives in my house when he’s not with a girl.”

              ZZ grinned. “Is it my fault I’m so handsome?”

              “Please,” said Tommaso, “follow me.”

              Five minutes later Petros found his way to the bridge where Alfredo was sorting through his charts.

              “Where is this wreck of yours?”

              Petros removed his wallet and handed over a sheet of paper. “As plotted by the Royal Navy at the time she sank.”

              Alfredo read and found the appropriate chart and marked the location. “The sea is one hell of a large place. Do you know how difficult it is to find a wreck? You can miss it by metres and never know. We must pray it’s in the shallower water.”

              “Apart from the depth, any other reason?”

              “The cost of hiring deep sea equipment rises with the depth.”

              Petros studied the chart. “We have to find it first.”

              “With side scan sonar, if it’s there we will find it.”

              “I’m familiar with the basics of sonar but side scan I’ve never worked with.”

              “It’s the best equipment the scientists have produced for underwater exploration. We can search large areas fast and produce detailed pictures when we want them. Best of all, it gives a GPS position so we can find the same location every time. With the equipment I have we cover the larger area first. When we locate the possible target, we increase the search frequency and produce high res images for analysis. Think of it as an underwater television camera.”

              Petros nodded. “I love technology when it works. How long until we’re over the wreck?”

                Alfredo removed a pair of compasses from a draw, set them to a distance equating to twelve knots, and marked fine pencil lines on the chart. “Three-hundred and fifty miles at twelve knots.” He lifted his head and faced Petros. “Give or take thirty hours we will be on site. We can leave when you wish.”

              “When you’re ready.”             

              “One hour. I must go and say goodbye to my wife. It’s a custom I dare not miss, although she tells me I love my boat more than her. I’ll have Marco the cook prepare lunch. We dine in the crew’s mess.”

              Petros liked Alfredo. He appeared a calm man who respected his wife and the sea. “I better unpack. See you in an hour.”

***

Tommaso drove Alfredo home and fifty minutes later returned.

              Alfredo ran up the ladder to the bridge and prepared the instrumentation for sea. Satisfied all was in good working order, he contacted the engine-room. “Davide, start the engines.”

              The hull vibrated as the two diesel engines roared into life.

              Alfredo waited until his engineer switched the control of the engines to the bridge.

              Tommaso took the helm, while Marco the cook and Simone readied the ropes for slipping.

              Alfredo took one final look around before ordering, “Wheel amidships. Let go forward and aft.” He operated the throttles and manoeuvred the
Tuna Turner
off the harbour wall until she faced the entrance. He set the throttles to three knots. “Take her out, Tommaso.”

***

Petros, Amadou and ZZ sat in chairs on the stern and waved to those on the shore or on other vessels.

              “Relax and enjoy,” said Petros.

              “Why are we here?” asked ZZ.

              “Just in case,” said Amadou. “We watch PK’s back.”

              “So we get paid for doing nothing.” ZZ grinned.

              Petros laughed. “I hope so but things can change and I need good men to support me.

***

The
Tuna Turner
weaved its course through the craft anchored or manoeuvring. When clear of the harbour, Alfredo set 080 on the automatic pilot and entered numerous coordinates into the bridge computer before setting to operate. For five minutes, he watched the rudder indicator shift to port and starboard. With the course steady, he pushed the throttle levers down so they produced twelve knots

              When in the open sea and steady on its course, he turned to Tommaso. “Keep your eyes open. Call me if you have a problem.”

              Tommaso grinned. “You always tell me to call you. My certificate is the same as yours.”

              “I know but I am the captain.”

              He saluted as his uncle left the bridge.

***

Marco the cook shouted along the central passage. “Food’s ready. Come and get it.”

              Alfredo headed the queue, his four crewmen behind him with Petros and his team at the end.

              Alfredo, his plate full, stopped as he came to Petros. “Do not worry, Marco makes more food than we can eat. You will not go hungry on my boat.”

              “What are we eating?” asked ZZ.

              “Spaghetti Bolognaise,” said Amadou. “You’ll like it. Tomato sauce with meat and pasta.”

              Marco filled ZZ’s plate. “Good Italian cooking.”

              Every man sat at the one table bolted to the floor in the crew’s mess, Alfredo at the head. He gestured with his left hand. “Petros, my crew. Tommaso is on the bridge, he is my second in command. Davide with the sparkling blue eyes, is my engineer. He fixes everything if it breaks. Marco my cook is my wife’s sister’s boy. He’s a good cook, used to work in a posh restaurant in Rome. He was homesick and asked me for a job; cook and deck hand. Last, but you’ll never meet a seaman like him, is Simone De Luca. His father is an important man in Palermo.”

              Petros went to stand but Alfredo motioned for him to remain seated. “Petros Kyriades, like you, an islander by birth. My friends are Libyan but speak English. None of us are familiar with Italian. We hope to find a vessel sunk during the war. With luck we might find something else. If we do you’ll be on a bonus.”

              “We are all family,” said Alfredo. “Marco, we drink red wine to toast the success of our search.”

              Marco left the mess room and returned with eight half-filled plastic tumblers on a tray. With care he poured the dark red wine.

              Alfredo lifted his glass. “Success.” They all drank.

              “I’ve had a long day so it’s an early night for me,” said Petros.

              Amadou and ZZ nodded in agreement.

Chapter Thirteen

The
Tuna Turner
maintained a steady ten knots and ploughed through the moderate swell. Alfredo held onto the stainless steel rail that circled the bridge. Long curving waves lifted the bow allowing it to slide into the next.

              He studied the chart, fixed the position of his vessel and checked the time. In an hour he planned to alter course and transit the Straights of Messina.

              Aft, Petros, Amadou and ZZ sat on the deck and chatted.

              “This is boring,” said ZZ. “I have more excitement with my right hand in bed.”

              “Get used to it,” said Petros. “We have another day before we start our search.”

              Petros slapped him on the back. “ZZ, set up a target and we’ll have a knife-throwing competition.”

              Simone supplied a few planks of wood, secured them to a beam and painted a rough target.