The Criminal Escapades of Geoffrey Larkin (31 page)

‘This time,' said Jock aloud to himself, ‘I'm goin' t' settle a fee before I offer this lot me professional services agen.'

As Mr. Smiler, entered the shop Jock closed and locked the door behind him. ‘That Larkin an‘a bin in touch yet,' he said as he led the way into his kitchen which also doubled as his office. ‘What de ye want me to tell him if he rings agen?' he said before sitting down on the old armchair by the phone, indicating a chair opposite for Mr. Smiler.

‘You will tell him that you can arrange for the goods he requested. It will take several days to organise but where will he want them delivered to and can he be contacted on this telephone number if needed?'

Jock listened carefully to what Smiler had said. ‘He'll expect me t' want payin' up front before I make any deals.'

Smiler rubbed his chin thoughtfully then nodded.

‘Ask for £6000,' Smiler replied.

Jock wondered if Smiler had plastic surgery to keep that smile permanently on his face like that
.
He looked vacantly around the room at everything but at Mr. Smiler. He had decided to leave the negotiation of a fee until later. Even though he was expecting the telephone call, when it did ring, it made him jump.

‘Hi!' he said picking up the phone. ‘Yea, I can provide the goods but it'll take a couple of days to fix. Naw what about payment? Six grand, that's it. Take it or leave it. Credit cards?' Jock looked at Smiler who nodded.

‘Yea, I'll make an exception for ye, Mr. Larkin, give me ye numbers.' Jock wrote down a series of numbers on a nearby notepad.

‘Can we contact ye on this number if there be any problems? Where will ye want the goods delivered to? Okay, Mr. Larkin.' Jock replaced the phone and wiped the sweat from his forehead with a grubby handkerchief.

‘He won'a give me a address yet but ye can contact him on the telephone number in an emergency, them there are the credit card numbers Larkin gave me.' Jock handed the slip of paper over to Smiler who took a list from his wallet and then compared the numbers on that with the numbers on the slip of paper.

‘Oh!' said Jock, ‘the other thing Larkin said was that there are serial numbers stamped on the goods which he will require before collection to show good faith.'

For the first time since Jock had been in contact with the syndicate's agent, the smile disappeared from the man's face but it was only for a brief moment then it returned.

Mr. Smiler stood, an obvious indication to Jock that he was now ready to leave.

‘We'll be in touch shortly,' he said as Jock let him out through the shop's front door but not before first looking up and down the road through the shop's bowed window.

*

Geoff was alone sitting in the steamer chair by the pool. It was there that he got the strongest signal on his mobile phone as there seemed to be many blind spots in and around the property. He had contacted Jock and was feeling good about the result of the conversation.

Things were beginning to move forward so he could now start doing some ground work for their forthcoming attempt at the new bank vault which was now temporarily bolted to the floor just inside the town's Municipal Building. But. Something was bugging him about the telephone conversation with Jock and he just couldn't put his finger on the problem. It was much later, during dinner with the group, that the thought suddenly struck him like a thunderbolt.

He realised what it was. Jock had said ‘we' in the telephone conversation. He had not been alone when he was speaking to Geoff; someone else was there as well! Now it could be his contact for the shells or it could well be someone from the heavy mob, they would be the favourite, they had the contacts.

They were on the scene in Italy pretty quickly and Geoff knew that Jock the Fence would sell his own mother for a price, especially, as they would have spread the word around that there was good money for information leading to the whereabouts of him and the other three. He knew that he would have to be aware of this possibility, which he would have to try and use to his own advantage.

‘Geoff! Hi Geoff, stop daydreaming!' The shout from John Bolton brought him back from his inner thoughts.

‘Do you want any more of these potatoes, Geoff, before Sooty scoffs the lot?'

‘No thanks, John,' he replied, laughing as he saw Sooty with the large serving spoons poised to remove the last of the hot, buttered potatoes from the bowl in the centre of the dining table.

‘By the way John, I could do with a lift to the railway station in the morning. I want to catch the train to Castiglion Fiorentino. I think going in the car could be too conspicuous.'

‘Do you want me to come with you?' volunteered Sooty, looking up from his full plate of potatoes.

‘No thanks, Sooty, it will be less obvious if I'm on my own.'

‘Then I suggest you take your mobile phone and let your friends, John and Sooty, stay at the railway station with the car, they can be with you within a short while if you require any assistance,' voiced Werner, joining the conversation.

‘Thank you, Werner,' said Geoff, ‘that sounds like good advice which I think we will take.'

He was also thinking,
Great! Werner is slowly getting involved and, with a bit of luck, and before he realises it, I'll have him as a full member of the team.

Werner went to bed early. He was tired as he was not used to so many late nights as he had been involved in recently. That was not the case with Peer, however, and it gave Geoff the opportunity to mention to him the incident about the dog and the stranger wandering around the outskirts of the villa.

‘Ah yes! Owner the little dog he friend of Werner's, own villa, when villa occupied he stay in village. Owner walks little dog to woods around villa garden. He is old friend of Werner from war, retired captain from English panzar.'

The explanation made Geoff grimace, the fact that the landlord was wandering around the grounds at all hours of the day and night was a minor nuisance for Geoff, but then again on the positive side he was in fact like an unpaid security guard, he quickly put it to the back of his mind, he had much more serious problems to occupy his thoughts.

The following morning John Bolton pulled the car under the shade of trees at the coach Italia depot. Geoff had decided at the last minute to see if there was a bus to Castligion Fiorentino. It meant that both could be in for a long wait while Geoff caught the bus to further inspect the tank.

‘I need to weigh up the surrounding area and roads around the city's Municipal Building,' he told the two inquisitive lads. He also realised that going back to the area was a risk, but it was a risk he had decided he had to take.

Acting Inspector Paul Robinson had been sitting at his desk looking through some of the unsolved cases that he had been in charge of that year. It made disappointing reading. At the top of the list were the murder and the forged £20 note affair where information seemingly had now come to a full stop.

Word had filtered through to the team on the case from various informers that a large organisation was also looking for Larkin and co. and they were offering big money for any information to find them, this did not bode well for the young small-timers.

Then there was the theft of all the new kitchen equipment from the lock-up on the building site. The managing director of the building firm, that big slob, Daniel Goodier, was constantly pestering the superintendent for results and complaining about the lack of progress on this case.

At the back of Robinson's mind was a nagging feeling, a copper's intuition that even though he had obtained convictions on two other cases, the warehouse electrical equipment scam and, before that, the overhead copper wire theft. Geoff Larkin had been on the scene there as well. Somehow, Paul Robinson knew that he had been involved. The phone on his desk rang. He answered it immediately.

‘Yes, sir! I'll come straight away.' The station superintendent wanted to see him. It would no doubt be about the murder so he picked up the file from his desk. Pointless really, he thought as he made his way down the corridor, there's nothing more to report since the last meeting several days ago.

Surprisingly, he was waved straight through by the superintendent's secretary, even though there were several other officers of much senior rank than him in the small waiting room, all with previous appointments.

‘Take a seat, Paul,' said the superintendent, indicating a seat opposite him. Paul Robinson felt an air of apprehension in the room as he placed his body in the chair indicated.

Superintendent Robert Mackay and Paul Robinson had known one another for many years; they had both started as rooky constables at the same time. Robert Mackay had been selected to be fast tracked and the cynical rumour in the station at the time was that this happened because of his university education and, possibly, because Robert Mackay and his father were also members of the Freemasons.

‘Paul, I've received some further information on this Larkin case. It's come from the chief constable's office. I must emphasise that what passes between us in this room needs to be confined to this room for the present.'

The superintendent took a deep breath before continuing. ‘The American CIA has picked up a message on a mobile phone. Apparently their worldwide satellite recording equipment automatically kicks in when triggered by certain words. As a result, I've taken delivery of a recording which is believed to come from a person in Italy who we know as Geoffrey Larkin!'

Paul Robinson sat upright in his chair, he was looking at the superintendent in amazement.

‘No way! How the hell could Larkin have got mixed up with the American CIA?' They dealt with terrorists and Larkin was just a small-time con man come petty crook.

‘Close your mouth, Paul,' said the superintendent smiling. ‘Listen to this recording. There was an electrical storm at the time so the odd word is missing but the CIA have requested our assistance in giving them any information as Larkin is one of our nationals. This has been sanctioned by the powers that be, on this side of the pond.'

The superintendent pressed the play switch on a recording machine on his desk.

Quite distinctive above the static was the name Geoff Larkin spoken by a man with a Scottish accent, also an obvious request for specific explosives possibly available in Albania.

‘There is another recording,' said the superintendent, ‘which is a lot clearer. In this he informs his contact, a guy called Jock who is mentioned in the previous conversation, that he requires confirmation of the serial numbers on these goods. We can assume that these are the explosives in question and he obviously does not trust his supplier. Who we presume is this Jock. There is also a figure of £6000 mentioned and payment is to be made using, of all things, credit cards! The numbers given are being traced to see who they belong too.'

‘Credit cards!' repeated Paul Robinson.

‘That's what the tape says,' replied the superintendent. ‘Listen to the second tape.'

Both men listened to the recording of the second conversation, where Geoff had spoken to Jock the Fence.

‘That certainly sounds like Larkin,' said Paul Robinson, recalling the times he had spoken to him on previous occasions. ‘That other voice is a small time fence, appropriately named, Jock. We've been trying to pin that crafty blighter down for years but I don't know about him being an arms dealer, that's out of his league. I would like to involve my constable in this if I may sir,' he said, looking across at his superior officer.

The superintendent thought for a few moments. ‘Okay, but no one else at the present. Special Branch has asked for our assistance so put a file together. They're sending someone down to collect it later. In the meantime, they want us to keep a low profile surveillance on this Jock's place until they can assess the situation in detail. Apparently, there is a meeting of the world's leading industrial nations due to take place in Italy shortly. Their security teams are, understandably, on tenterhooks. This intercepted telephone message has set all their alarm bells ringing. That's all Inspector Robinson! Take these tapes but keep them under lock and key and emphasise to your constable the need for confidentiality.'

Paul Robinson left the superintendent's office, his mind in a whirl.
Geoff Larkin, bloody little con man! Larkin, involved in a terrorist ring, it
certainly takes some believing.
Robinson hurried back to his own, less luxurious office, using his mobile phone on the way to contact his constable.

‘Something big has cropped up, constable, regarding Geoff Larkin. He's out of his depth in some deal in Italy. The shit has hit the fan good and proper. Report back to my office as soon as you can. It's urgent!'

Robinson wanted to go over the tapes again, in detail, with his constable, to try and glean from them as much information as was possible. Also, following the superintendent's instructions, he sent a team to watch the Scotsman's shop. They had instructions to just observe from a distance, make notes, and no more!

In the meantime at the hotel in Florence, Marco had received a report from the Italian, Luca, via his mobile phone concerning the sighting and following of Geoff Larkin. He had passed on most of the details to his boss, Mr. Brown. What Marco deliberately failed to mention was the involvement of the two Germans. That same day, Marco had received a telephone call informing him that his brother, who he'd been in contact with, had arrived in Rome from Cyprus. He had also brought along a nephew who spoke quite good Italian. They would be travelling by train to Florence and they would contact him again when they arrived in that city, joining him as soon as they received his instructions.

Marco booked them into a small, two star hotel several blocks from where he was staying. He then contacted them by phone to give them the address, telling them he would call at their hotel later that evening.

It was later after dinner before Marco managed to slip away, leaving Mr. Brown cursing the other members of the team, and moaning about incompetent Italian, small-time crooks and their seemingly lack of organisation or their capability of producing any positive results.

For Marco it was an emotional reunion with his relations, especially his brother who was eighteen months younger than himself. He had not seen them since leaving Cyprus five years earlier. After the greeting he explained the situation to his brother and nephew, they were not unduly concerned, having both worked for various criminal gangs in Nicosia.

They were quite confident that they were capable of looking after themselves in any situation. It was Marco's promise of big, big, money that had tempted them to fly to Italy.

‘I need you to check all the taxi ranks. You are enquiring about four young Englishmen with either one or two older Germans, one who needs the assistance of a walking stick.'

He handed his brother photographs of the four lads. ‘They are staying somewhere in this area. They're also using a big black Mercedes. My boss has the local Italians working for him, for us to hit the big time we need to find them before they do.'

*

Geoff left the bus at the terminal car park on the outskirts of the old, walled town. He stopped for several minutes to admire a new, red sports car in the showroom window of the Alfa Romeo car agency before entering the town by the eastern entrance.

Going through one of the huge, stone arched gateways he meandered slowly through the narrow, cobbled streets. With tall buildings on either side he immediately noticed how cool it was in comparison to the stifling heat he had encountered on the open space of the large car park.

At a newsagent's he purchased a detailed map of the area which was, or so it said on the cover, ‘Especially for cyclists'. He continued slowly towards the northern gateway of the town where he knew the Mark 111 was situated.

He soon realised that the big Merc would be no good coming this way through the narrow streets in the city, the access was too restricting, they would just get trapped. They would have to keep to the main roads if it came to a quick getaway.

From the shadow of the great stone pillars that supported the massive, permanently open, heavy, iron, studded gates, he could see the Mark 111 tank, the Municipal Building and the main road dropping away down the hill to a set of traffic lights.

The old part of the town where he was now standing was pedestrianised for most of the day, vehicles only being allowed access early in the morning and after ten o'clock at night. He realised that the headlights of any vehicle using this entrance at night to leave the city lit up the front entrance of the Municipal Building. That was something he would need to look in to. Looking at the detailed map, he identified a narrow secondary one way service road which ran from the traffic lights to the far side of the community of Castligion Fiorentino. It then joined the main road to Arezzo for a short distance before there was a branch off onto the road that led to their villa. Geoff thought that the dodgy stretch was the short length of one way road that led to the main high way to Arezzo but, if they could get down there without being pulled by the Carabinieri, they were in with a chance.

He retraced his steps through the narrow streets and alleyways of the town to the bus terminal. Here he waited in the shadow of the town wall until the bus arrived which shielded him from the taxis and drivers. Then quickly leaving the protection of the shadows he joined the group of people boarding the vehicle that would take him back to where the lads were parked, while seated on the public transport he took the opportunity to study in more detail his recently purchased map of the surrounding area.