The Collectors - Book Four: Diamonds and Sand (The Collectors Series 4) (34 page)

Turning to t
he other man the commander said, “Back to the car.” Both men walked at speed towards their waiting vehicle. The doors closed as Charlie ran barking along the drive.

Petros called him back. “Don’t touch them
, Dog, you’ll get food poisoning.”

Charlie nuzzled his hand and dashed towards the trees.

“Have they gone?” asked Maria.

“Yes
, and I doubt if they’ll be back.”

She leant against the door jamb, her housecoat wafting in the breeze. “I hope you
’re right.”

“Their man
’s missing; they believe he’s in Libya.” His mind reflected on the corpse laid out in the underground tomb in the middle of the desert. “What’s for breakfast?”

Seconds later
his mobile buzzed. “Hi, Bear.”

“They came. I pissed them off and they disappeared.
I said, we went in, some bastard took a shot at us, found the missing diamonds and left. Told them I’d never spoken to their man and suggested he was having a ball in Libya.”

“They hit us both at the same time. Good move but wrong people.”

Chapter Twenty
- Six

“Phoebe, you look beautiful,” said Maria as she fussed over the full length ivory coloured lace wedding dress.

“I second that,” said Petros, “and it’s time. Your car is waiting. Where’s Alysa?”

“Hopefully still in a clean bridesmaid’s dress,” said Maria.

Phoebe gasped
when she peered out of the window. “A white Rolls Royce.” Tears disturbed the makeup as they crossed her cheeks.

“We thought you might like something special,”
said Maria as she handed over a tissue. “Here, dab your eyes.”

Petros waited by the car as Phoebe
, followed by Maria and Alysa, descended the stairs. Charlie lifted his head from his bed, opened one eye, woofed once and lowered his head.

With the bride,  bridesmaid and maid of honour
seated in the rear, Petros closed the door and sat in the front passenger seat. “St Sophia’s Cathedral, Bayswater. No rush, the bride’s always late.”

The driver
, a portly man in his early fifties, nodded. “The way I drive, every time, sir.”

At the entrance to the c
athedral the car stopped. Petros jumped out, gave Phoebe a hand as Maria lifted the bridal train with one hand and helped her daughter with the other.

“Ready?
” said Petros.

Phoebe lowered her veil. “You
and Bear saved my life and changed my world.” She smiled. “I’m ready.”

At a slow pace the four of them entered and
stopped at the entrance. Andreas and his brother, the best man, in morning suits stood in front of the altar.

When given the nod Alysa
in a long pink dress, picked up the train and held it with both hands.

“Still time to back out,” said Petros with a grin.

“I want to marry Andreas more than I’ve wanted anything.”

“
Let’s go.”

Heads turned as they progressed. Alysa
in her excitement, dropped one side of the train, waved at Zena, Jack, Bear and Jocelyn and her three uncles.

Zena dashed out, smiled at Alysa and put the train back into her hands.

The service began with the ceremony of betrothal where Andreas and Phoebe exchanged rings. In true Greek tradition the sacrament of marriage followed where the couple were crowned as king and queen, kissed the bible and walked around the altar three times to recognise the Holy Trinity.

The service over
, the wedding party left for the reception at Andreas’ bistro.

Andreas and Phoebe travelled in the Rolls Royce.

Black cabs waited in a line to transport the guests.

“Great idea
, the cabs,” said Petros.

“Glad you agree,” said Maria. “You
’re paying.”

He laughed.
“Now you tell me.”

“You were making sand castles in
Libya. I made an executive decision.”

Organised by Jocelyn,
large flower arrangements filled every corner of the bistro. Blue and white carnations adorned the centre piece of each table. Trestles positioned by the caterers overflowed with dolmathes, kapama, moussaka, spetsiota and other sumptuous dishes. On a single table the wedding cake surrounded by fried pastries made of honey and nuts took pride of place.

The food vanished and the wine flowed. Those who were more adventurous drank Ouzo. Candy
-coated almond favours when distributed disappeared into handbags.

Petros
shouted, “Silence.”

Andreas
, holding Phoebe’s hand, stood together in the centre of the floor. “Ladies, gentlemen,” said Andreas, “The Kaslamantiano, or for those who don’t know, the circle dance.”

Petros nodded
, grabbed Maria and Alysa hands and joined in.

As they
circled the floor, Maria tossed a white envelope towards the band.

Later as drink took
its effect Petros and Bear exited and stood on the quay.

For a few minutes both men breathed the fresh air.
“Great food,” said Bear.

“Great wedding,” said Petros.

The main door of the bistro opened and a tall man with a weathered face peered left, then right. “Excuse me, are you Petros Kyriades and Bear Morris?”

Petros grinned when he noticed the street lighting reflecting off the man's bald head. “That’s us. Why do you ask
?”

The man
spoke English but with a heavy Greek accent. “I am Zain Vasco, Andreas’ uncle on his mother’s side. Andreas tells me you find things.”

“That’s right,” said Petros.

“I’m retired by order of the management,” said Bear.

Zain paused. “Have either of you heard of the ghost train of Thessalonica?”

“Thessalonica is the second largest city in Greece,” said Petros. “Ghost trains though are hard to find.”

“You can see right through them.
” said Bear.

The old man glared at Bear.
“It is not a joke. The train existed and before the Red Army liberated Greece it vanished filled with looted treasure. As protection, they packed other carriages with prisoners. Greek guerrillas attacked the train in the mountains.

A group of climbers discovered a
train and the prisoners’ remains years after the war ended, in a ravine. To date not one of the treasures has been sold on the open market.”

“Wonderful story
, Zain, but do you know what we charge?” said Petros.

The old man
’s shoulder slumped. “You are my last hope. Back home they believe I’m mad.”

“How come you know so much?” said Petros.

“From my grandfather. He was nineteen in 1944 and his job was to guard the exit from the tunnel. Being on the other side of the mountain when the earthquake struck he survived. He told me the entrance and exit of the tunnel disappeared under tons of rock and earth. He searched for survivors but Greece was in another war and no one cared. They were free and alive and in some of the villages fighting for survival.”

“Have you been to
Greece, Bear? They say the mountain air is invigorating.”

“Jocelyn will divorce me if I went on another collection.”

“You’re not married.”

“So what?
Have you ever seen her get mad?”

“Old man.
Tonight we are not interested, but take my card and ring me in a few months.” He turned. “Bear, time we went inside and drank a few more beers.”

Bear
laughed as he ruffled Petros’ hair. “I know what you’re thinking.”

Chapter Twenty - Seven

Petros woke cursing as his mobile rang at his bedside. As to when Andreas’ wedding finished he could not remember.  He lifted the phone, slid out of bed and staggered out of the room.

             
“Hi, Bear.”

             
“PK, have you checked your mail?”

             
“Bear, why aren’t you still in bed like most normal people?”

             
“Remember the prime-minister’s secretary or whatever she was in Beijing, Ms Eleanor Carter, a tall, grey-haired woman?”

             
“Bear, my head hurts and I hate being asked questions at this time of the morning. Yes, I can place the name.”

             
“I told you not to drink Andreas’ homemade plonk. Anyway, HRH has awarded yours truly an OBE for services to industry. I assume you have the same or better.”

“I’ll ring you back af
ter I’ve checked my mail and drank at least two cups of coffee.”

His mind foggy
, he descended the stairs, entered the kitchen and switched on the kettle.

From the entrance he lifted six
envelopes and discarded the bills. The buff one he opened. “Well, I’ll be... Ms what’s-her-name pulled it off. An OBE in the New Year’s honours, providing I accept.”

With his
cup of coffee he sat on a stool, and reread the official letter. He picked up his mobile and rang Bear.

“Yes.”

“I’m an OBE, same as you.”

“Are you going to accept?”

“I suppose so. Haven’t given it a lot of thought. But why not? We both could have been killed on that little escapade.”

Next in the series.

The Collectors Book Five

Finders Keepers

Part One

“Antiquities are history defaced, or some remnants of history,

which have casually escaped the shipwreck of time.

Francis Bacon

Chapter One

Thessalonica, Greece, July 1944.

The streets were quiet, no cars or pedestrians. Abrax Bachis lay on his stomach and studied the rail-yard. From the edge of the damaged roof, he focused his binoculars on the shunting engines. As a railway man he assessed each carriage as it rolled the length of the slope towards a line of waiting trucks. In pencil, he drew diagrams and made notes in an old exercise book.

He froze as an armed
German foot patrol sauntered along the street. They stopped, lit cigarettes beneath his position, chatted, laughed, and strolled away. He controlled his nerves and waited.

             
Stiff, he checked his findings again. His observations complete he shoved the note book inside his shirt. With safety in mind, he spread his weight and slithered across the roof to the rough scaffold supporting the front of the building.

             
Abrax made sure the patrol was nowhere in sight before he began to descend. Loose debris tumbled to the ground as the scaffold shifted.

             
On the other side of the street soldiers appeared from behind a building. “Stay where you are,” a harsh voice commanded in German. The clunk of steel-capped boots on cobbles came closer.

Fear filled him with adrenalin as he glanced around, searching for an escape route. To his left the remains of a floor angled away into the dark.

To break the curfew meant imprisonment but detained with detailed sketches of the rail-yard, after torture and interrogation, the firing squad.

His heart raced and sweat soaked his shirt. He gripped the scaffold, pulled his feet up against the pole, released his grip and pushed. With a crash, he hit the boards. It rocked as his hands reached out. Out of control, he careered towards the void. Desperate fingers found a gap. With straining muscles, he dragged his frame back from the edge.

A shot ricocheted off the stonework. Who fired he did not see but forced his body into a narrow opening in the wall. Damaged stairs descended to the rear of the building. Close to the wall, he scurried as a rat into a space filled with split wooden beams and brickwork. Young and agile, he clambered over and through until an opening to a dark street loomed. He raced away as shouts followed.

Terrified
, he sprinted and dodged through the jungle of narrow streets surrounded by damaged buildings. Shouting, the men followed.

Bullets struck the wall; gunshots buzzed past, one caught his right arm, the pain worrying. He reached for the wound, blood covered his hand.

Desperate, he crossed a wide avenue, charged into the desolate Jewish quarter and hugged the dark. Discarded belongings and rubbish lay everywhere.

For a moment
he stopped, ripped his shirttail and bound the injury. From behind came no sound, the patrol no longer followed or, like him, they listened. He darted along a passage, took a left turn and then a right. At a slow even pace, he continued to run until clear of the city.

He kept running; his heart pounded as he approached a stone built house with a large structure to one side.

At the front door, he gave the prearranged signal: Two knocks, a pause, and then one.

The door opened.
“You made it, Abrax,” a bearded man shouted. Come, sit, catch your breath. I bet you ran all the way,” Costas said.

             
“Impossible. It’s over thirty kilometres,” said a dark-haired woman, “”

             
Costas grinned. “Not for this one. That’s the reason I chose him, plus he has the brains of a scholar. Tell me, Abrax, are the rumours correct?”

             
From inside his shirt he removed the book. “The Germans have marshalled three trains. They’ve loaded the closed trucks with prisoners. Armoured wagons are located between these. The engines are fully protected.” Each one studied his notes and sketches.

             
Costas rubbed his chin. “Time to gather and position our forces.”

             
“This boy stays here,” the woman said. “Not one of you noticed his wound.”

             
Costas examined the arm. “No problem. The rest of us will ride and gather our armies.” He pointed to a map. “At this point, we stop these trains.”

             
The dark-haired woman and Abrax stood at the door and watched the leaders of the resistance ride at a gallop into the night.

             
The door closed. “Off with your shirt.”

             
Abrax obliged and waited. He made a face as the material glued by the dried blood ripped the wound open. With a clean cloth, she bathed and cleaned the gash, soaking it with a splash of ouzo before applying a homemade bandage.

             
With a grin, she embraced him. “You were brave tonight. Captured I doubt if you would have survived to see the sun rise.”

             
“I did what had to be done.”

             
“How old are you?”

             
A nervous smile played on his lips. “Twenty. Why?”

             
“I am a woman. Costas tells me he will marry me when the war is over but as a man he lies. I am here for him to use when he wants.” There was tenderness in her voice. She held his face in her hands, kissed and pulled him close.

             
The softness of her body and the warmth of her mouth enveloped his senses.

             
“We have a day or more before they return.” She grabbed his hand and dragged him into the bedroom.