The Collectors Book Five (The Collectors Series 5) (25 page)

              “It’s my ship but you are the boss,” said Alfredo.

              “Get the crew, provisions for three weeks and anything else you need on board today. No visits to the cafe for a glass or two of wine. When the crew arrive, we search the upper deck, every nook and cranny. Don’t ask what we are searching for, I haven’t a clue. You’ll know when and if we find something.” 

              “What is this nook and cranny?” asked Alfredo.

              “Every possible place something might be hidden.”

              “I will contact my team. Marco, take Petros and start searching from the bow.”

              “No time like the present.”

***

Petros and Marco checked every imaginable hiding place from the bow to the bridge structure.

              “Top of the bridge next,” said Marco.

              “I’ll search the wings.”

              With the wings proving clear, Petros climbed the steel ladder and rummaged under deck lockers.

              “Found it,” shouted Marco.

              Petros joined him. “Leave it. Now we control the game.”

              Marco exchanged glances. “I don’t understand. This will tell them where we are.”

              Petros’ face remained impassive. “Someone will be monitoring the signal. There’ll be a better time and place to throw it overboard.”

              “I can live with that...There’s a fresh pot of coffee in the galley, fancy a cup?”

              Petros nodded, followed Marco and savoured the aroma of ground coffee beans. He sipped the dark brown liquid. “This is good.”

              “The captain’s special. I often make a brew for myself when I’m on my own.”

              “When you order your provisions, add a few kilos of those beans.”

              “They are expensive.”

              “Let me worry about the price.”

              Amadou stuck his head around the door. “Does the coffee taste as good as it smells?”

              “It does, come and join the party,” said Petros. “I need you and ZZ to do something.”

              “Got to be better than doing nothing.”

              “Both of you pack your bags and stroll along the jetty. Jump in a taxi and find a hotel out of town. Book two rooms for a week.”

              “I gather we are not wanted.”

              “Wrong,” said Petros. “Stay in the hotel tonight and have breakfast in a nearby cafe. Tomorrow evening, leave and return unseen. I want anyone who’s watching this vessel to believe you and ZZ have gone. You’re my back up when the Cosa Nostra shit hits the fan.”

              With a wry smile on his face, Amadou nodded. “I’ll collect some insurance while I’m ashore.”

              “Good idea.”

              “We’ll leave in ten minutes. It might be better if you said farewell and waved as we walk away.”

              “Grab your gear and leave the theatricals to me. I might even break down and cry on your shoulder,” said Petros.

              “That, they might not believe.”

              Petros peered over the ship’s side while he waited.

              “Thanks for the boat ride,” said Amadou.

              Petros shook hands with him and ZZ. Together they strolled to the gangway. He waved as they wandered towards the town.

***

Amadou and ZZ strolled into Panini’s cafe, found a table, and ordered a coffee. Amadou glanced across to the crowds wandering around the yacht-studded harbour.

              A waiter arrived and placed their coffee on the table.

              Amadou handed over a ten Euro note, but held it for a few seconds while he asked, “You don’t happen to know of any cheap but clean hotels?”

              The man was all business. “Ten minutes from here, my mother’s sister owns the Ariston, the cleanest hotel in Palermo.”

              “Can you get us a deal? Two double rooms for a week, bed only.”

              “Give me five minutes.”

              He returned in less than two. “I get you special offer, two double rooms, one week but you pay cash.”

              “How much?” asked Amadou.

              “Six hundred Euro.”

              “Is that each or together?”

              “For the two rooms. You will not find cheaper in Palermo and close to many fine restaurants.”

              “We’ll take them. Can you give us directions or better still take us.”

              “I’ll tell my uncle I’m having a break.”

              They strolled through narrow cobbled streets where with outstretched hands you could touch either side. From a restaurant the aroma of meat roasting on a spit, tantalised senses. Older women dressed in black lowered their eyes as they passed. Feral cats fought for scraps of food until chased by a stray dog.

              In less than ten minutes, they entered via a stone arch and flagged courtyard to the cool reception at the Ariston Hotel. Amadou gave the area the once over.

              Behind the counter, a pleasant looking woman greeted them. “It is good you brought them, Alexander. Tell your mother I will call tomorrow for my dress. Gentlemen, please follow me to your rooms.”

              They climbed two flights of stairs and along a corridor to the rear of the hotel.

              She stopped at a door. “This is one room, the other is next door.”

              “I will take the other room,” said ZZ.

              Her eyes fixed on Amadou. “You have the cash?”

              From his jacket, he removed his wallet and handed over six hundred Euro.

              She smiled. “Taxes, we pay too much.” She held up the money. “My refund from government.”

              “I couldn’t agree more,” said Amadou. “ZZ, see you in half an hour. I need to make a few calls.”

              ZZ held up the card the blonde reporter gave him. “I will contact this one.”

              Amadou laughed, entered his room and shut the door. The room was spotless, with an oversized double bed and an en-suite shower room. He opened the window, peered out at the streets below where life in many ways had not changed for years. With his clothes hung in the single wardrobe he lay on the bed and let his thoughts wander.

              In the adjoining room, ZZ tossed his bag on the bed and made the call.

***

Scarlet Orlando arrived outside the hotel and parked her Red Fiat Abarth close to an historic stonewall near to the entrance.

              ZZ walked round to the driver’s door and opened it. “Great car.”             

              She gave him a seductive smile. “It reminds me of me, small and wicked.”

              “Are you?” he asked with a grin.

              She jumped out of the car and operated the remote locking. “I can be. It depends.”

              “On what?”

              “If you have a shower in your room.”

              “My friend told me if I wish to seduce a lady I must wine and dine her before taking her to my bed.”

              She turned round, unlocked the passenger door. Clothes covered the rear seat. She rummaged through them and hauled out a bottle of red wine.

              “I have the wine and there’s a bistro round the corner for later.”

              “I am a man of the desert. I eat to maintain my strength.”

              She gave him a look, smiled and ran her hand over his chest. “Shower first and then much later, my man of the desert, we eat to restore your strength.”

              Together they ran to his room.

              Showered, Scarlet swept back her wet blonde hair before turning to face ZZ, allowing the towel to fall to the floor.

              “You’ve dropped something,” said ZZ.

              She was halfway across the room with the cheekiest of smiles. “Have I?”

***

Amadou sat at the bar sipping a beer. “Need to stretch my legs,” he said to the barman. He drained the dregs and left the hotel turning right and entering the labyrinth of narrow cobbled streets, which led to the centre of the old town. A family of feral cats ran and hid in a cardboard box as he passed. At the edge of a square he found a payphone. He lifted the receiver, inserted his credit card, and keyed in a number from his notebook.

              A child answered.

              In poor Italian he said, “Can I speak to your papa?”

              “Salvatore Rizzo. Who is this?”

              “A friend who requires to purchase a few items for self-defence.”

              “I have many friends,” he rasped. “Where are you calling from?”

              “I’m in the city council square close to the Pretoria fountain.”

              Salvatore’s tone softened. “You know I deal in cash.”

              “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

              “When do you require these items?”

              “Tomorrow morning after the bank’s open.”

              Salvatore paused. “Ten o’clock at the blue boatshed by the old harbour.”

              “I’ll be there.” Amadou sighed as he ended the call and strolled to a nearby restaurant to eat. A young dark-haired waitress wearing a skimpy mini skirt directed him to a corner table set for two at the back of the dining room. The surroundings were lively with the majority of the larger tables occupied. Glasses tinkled and voices fortified by the wine rose and fell. Waiters scooted at speed back and forth, their arms balancing plates filled with food.

              Amadou ordered bistecca alla Palermo and asked for it to be well done.

              On leaving, he hailed a taxi to take him back to his hotel.

***

Alfredo returned towards evening with his crew and a van full of provisions. The next hour passed loading and storing along with Marco shouting.

              While eating their evening meal, Alfredo turned to Petros. “Amadou and ZZ, they are not eating?”

              “They’ve gone.”

              “Why? They were useful.”

              “They felt out of place and I tended to agree. When is the submersible due to arrive?”

              “Sometime tomorrow afternoon.”

              “We sail the moment it’s on deck and secure.”

              “I agree,” said Alfredo. “My crew tell me questions are being asked as to where we went and what was found.”

              “What were their answers?”

              “We went all over the place and found nothing. And by the way,” he grinned. “you are a mad Englishman who keeps changing his mind.”

              He shrugged. “I can think of a few people who might agree with you.”

              Not being at sea enabled the crew to enjoy a few glasses of wine and play cards. Petros returned to his cabin while Alfredo sat in the bridge and read a book, his eyes constantly scanning the jetty.

***

At ten o’clock Amadou waited. The freshly painted blue gates at the entrance to the Palermo Yachting Association remained shut. A chain and padlock ensured they remained that way.

              An air of authority radiated from Salvatore, a large, well-built man in his fifties, as he appeared from a side street. He hugged Amadou. “My friend, long time. How can I be of service?”

              “I need some insurance.”

              “Come and inspect the merchandise, much of which you supplied a year ago.”

              Salvatore removed the padlock and chain. Together they strolled along a cobbled path to the farthest boat shed. The skeletons of craft from distant days lay rotting on wasteland whereas to their left a well-planned marina contained craft of every shape and size.

              Inside the shed, an aged motor cruiser sat in a wheeled cradle.

              Salvatore pointed. “My office. Looks like a boat, is a boat but it will never float again.”

              They clambered up the steel steps alongside, entered a partly refurbished main cabin, and wandered forward to a bedroom.

              “Shut the door,” said Salvatore.

              Amadou obliged.

              Salvatore pushed a button on the far wall. A pump started and the bed lifted to reveal a large storage cupboard filled with weapons of every description.

              “Not the safest of hideaways,” said Amadou.