The Stealers (15 page)

Crane stepped out of the machine, followed by Mullah and Girard. They turned to face a modern newly-built boathouse complete with a jetty. It was sited some hundred metres away from the isolated house and it was an ideal location for the kind of business that Mullah was involved in.

Crane looked at Mullah. ‘Anyone in the house?'

Mullah shrugged, ‘There is a housekeeper, but she is not always here.'

Crane stood for a moment, looking towards the house, but he could see no signs of life. He turned his head in time to see Durand with his arm outstretched, holding a revolver. It was pointing at his chest. Mullah sneered at Crane and Girard as he shouldered past the pair and rushed towards Durand, beginning with, ‘You took your time… ' However in his haste, Mullah crossed Durand's line of fire and Crane, seizing the opportunity, snatched the purloined Glock from his waistband, flipped off the safety catch, then aimed and fired in a split second. A look of pain and surprise spread across Durand's face as he clutched at his arm. His gun, held in a vice-like grip, pointed uselessly towards the ground. Mullah turned to face Crane, his eyes registering disbelief. Crane held the Glock steady and said, ‘Drop it now, Durand, or the next bullet goes between your eyes.'

Durand, through gritted teeth, allowed the pistol to slip from his grasp. Girard casually strode forward, shaking his head and wagging a finger at Durand, chiding him like a naughty schoolboy, before stooping and retrieving the handgun. Crane called out to Durand's co-pilot, Simon, who appeared frozen, his face registering a look of terror.

‘I'm sure there's a first aid kit in the chopper,' Crane snapped, ‘get it and no tricks!'

Simon became reanimated. Wide-eyed, he nodded fearfully and scampered towards the helicopter.

Girard offered the revolver to Crane, ‘I have to admire the way you handle difficult situations.'

Crane pursed his lips with a feeble smile; he always felt awkward being praised for something that seemed to come naturally and said, ‘My pockets are full, can you shove it in your carrier?'

Girard held out his hand, pursed his lips, shrugged – as the French tend to do – and took the weapon. He shuffled the haversack from his shoulder and looking inside said, ‘I already have the magnum and two others in there; it's like I am walking around with an arsenal.'

There was a distinct clinking of glass as the handgun dropped into his bag and noting Crane's expression he added quickly, ‘And of course two very good bottles of wine from Mullah's cellar.'

Simon returned with the first aid kit and discovered Durand had suffered a flesh wound in the upper arm and so under the watchful eyes of Crane and Girard, he set about applying a bandage. Girard suddenly took his eyes off them and said, ‘Where's Mullah?'

Their eyes searched around the area and came to the conclusion that Mullah had probably made a run for the boathouse. ‘Keep your eyes on those two,' Crane yelled as he ran off towards the large boathouse by the jetty.

*

The chateau stood cold and empty but in the confines of the bunker the sun was shining through the wide slit. All three occupants were wide awake and sweating profusely as they paced around like caged animals in their prison. Louise was bemoaning her plight and insisted she would have to pee in the corner rather than wet herself, while stifled groans of protest enthused from Mackie and Haj. Their rhetoric was interrupted by the noise of an approaching car. Mackie sprung up and looked through the gun port; ‘It's Bradley,' he enthused, and extending his arm through the gap, began to wave frantically.

Bradley put on the brakes, leapt out of the BMW and noticing the padlock holding the bar in place, called out, ‘It's locked.'

Mackie replied, ‘I have a spare key here in my pocket,' and tossed it outside through the gap.

When eventually they were inside the chateau, Bradley listened intently as Haj recounted the details of what had happened.

Bradley's mean face turned into a grin as he said, ‘And Mullah used our friend the helicopter pilot, Pierre Durand eh? Well Durand may have nailed Crane and his big lout mate, the Frenchman, but I wouldn't bank on it. So we need to be prepared. Meanwhile, Ryan and I, we have a few things to clear up in England. Get in touch if you hear anything.'

Mackie grunted an assent and Haj added, ‘If he comes back here, he will die here and I will bury him here.'

It was the third time Penny and the children had been allowed to go up on deck and she observed that they were heading towards the coast. On this occasion they were allowed to remain up on deck in the fresh air, but while there, Penny was careful to accept only drinks from unopened bottles and only factory-wrapped snacks when offered anything for them to consume.

Sammy, watching the coastline draw nearer, appeared to be a little more relaxed than before, although Penny could see the underlying concern that was showing on her young face. Andrew, however, was content and seemed to be treating everything as an adventure; there were plenty of biscuits and chocolate on hand and he still held onto his favourite electronic game.

*

Girard's observation that Mullah was missing had stirred Crane into action. It was an easy run for him, as he stormed down the gentle grassy slope leading to the boathouse. Within a few metres, the raucous whine of an electric starter motor spurred him on. With a final effort, he increased his pace and burst through the rear door – gun in hand. He was in time to see Mullah adrift on board a speedboat in the calm waters of the boathouse, desperately trying to start the engine. Crane bent down and thrust his hand into the water and grabbed hold of the mooring rope trailing on the surface. Mullah turned to face Crane, who continued to wind the rope around a capstan. ‘Get out!' Crane shouted angrily, levelling the Glock handgun.

Mullah's face whitened. The boat was a few metres from the landing stage and he called back, ‘Pull the boat in then.'

‘Get in the water! If you don't I'll start shooting.'

‘Alright, alright,' Mullah replied feebly, ‘I'm coming,' and he jumped over the side of the boat. The water in the boathouse came up to his chest. Crane stood back and watched as, with some effort, Mullah clambered up spluttering onto the decking.

‘Try that again and you'll end up dead,' Crane barked. ‘Now we get back to the helicopter and you'd better just hope that your friend turns up.'

They returned to the helicopter landing site close to the house, where Durand was sitting on the grass nursing his wound with Simon close by. Like a sentry, Girard was keeping a close watch over the pair of them and turned when he heard Mullah approach with Crane trailing close behind.

Girard looked on approvingly and said, ‘I've got the keys to the helicopter in my pocket. I think one of us should take a look inside the house.'

Crane glanced across at the tall narrow building, with its steps leading up to a central front door, and said, ‘That's a good idea, I'm not in the mood for any more surprises.'

‘My turn,' Girard said, ‘so far there's been no sign of life, so I'll see if there is anyone at home,' and delving into his bag, produced the magnum revolver, adding with a grin, ‘at least I can speak French.'

Crane smiled at that light-hearted remark and said, ‘Okay, but take care.'

As usual, the devil-may-care, big man shrugged his great shoulders. Crane stood for a moment and watched as Girard casually ambled off towards the chateau. Then he turned his attention back towards Mullah, ‘Sit down, you can join your friends on the grass.'

Holding the handgun behind his back, Girard approached the oak-panelled door and as he leant on the bell push he saw a weathered sign attached to the wall displaying the name of the house: ‘
Maison Rouge'.
A shuffle of feet could be heard trampling softly across the floor towards the entrance. All was quiet for a few seconds and suddenly the door snapped open, restrained by a security chain. The curious face of an elderly woman looked Girard up and down.

Girard put on his best disarming smile and said, ‘Good afternoon. I'm Henri Girard, Monsieur Mullah sent me over.'

At the mention of Mullah's name the woman's face relaxed and she undid the chain and pulled back the door. She looked petite in a long dress which accentuated a straight upright back. Her long grey hair was tied back in a ponytail which did not seem to match her age and frail appearance.

‘My name is Giselle.'

‘Such a beautiful name, madame.'

‘Why thank you, Henri.' A sweet coy smile spread across her face as she instantly warmed to Girard, ‘You are so kind. Does Monsieur Mullah need anything?'

Keeping the smile intact Girard said, ‘He's in conference at the moment, Giselle, he's expecting a boat to arrive anytime from now.'

‘Hmm, I guessed it might have been today,' she offered, ‘Monsieur Mullah's always such a busy man.'

Not wishing to frighten the old lady, Girard surreptitiously tucked the handgun down his rear trouser waistband and said, ‘In fact he has invited me to look the place over because he is thinking of selling it.'

‘Is he now? Very well,' she replied and stepped back to allow Girard in.

It did not take long to satisfy Girard that the old lady seemed to be the only person in the building, but when finally he came to the last room, he peered round the door and found two little girls staring at him, their blue eyes wide with curiosity. Girard reckoned them to be three or four years of age.

‘Who are they?'

Giselle smiled warmly and said, ‘They are such little dears, Monsieur Mullah's nieces, you know. He has many nieces that stay here of different nationalities. Those two are due to leave today by boat.'

The children were surrounded by toys and were absorbed playing together with a doll's house. When Girard spoke to them they answered in French. Girard was shocked when they told him they were waiting for their mummy to collect them.

‘Do you realise these children have been kidnapped?' Girard chided the housekeeper.

Her hand shot up to her face, which registered a genuine look of shock at the accusation. She was quiet for some minutes before answering, ‘If what you are saying is true then I have been a fool. This place is a long way from the village. Monsieur Mullah always arrives by helicopter. I see no one. Everything is delivered here and I am allowed to live here for nothing as a reward for looking after the children.'

‘How long have you been here?' Girard questioned.

‘Three months.'

Girard tended to believe her and left her in a state of bewilderment as he led the children outside.

Crane stood by the helicopter, with Mullah and his two cohorts seated on the ground. He watched, with arms folded and became somewhat bemused, when Girard made an appearance through the front door of the house holding the hands of two little girls, clutching several soft toys between them. Girard led them towards the helicopter and seated them inside, before reporting what he had discovered to Crane.

‘We'll need to notify the police,' Crane said.

‘You can, not me. I cannot go anywhere near a police station.'

‘Well one thing's for certain; we shall take the girls with us. We'll have to find somewhere to secure Mullah and his two villains.' Crane and Girard locked up the three men in one of the most favourite places in all French houses, large or small; the wine cellar, although to Girard's chagrin, this one was devoid of wine bottles and was completely empty. As an added security, Crane suggested that the old lady be locked in a separate room.

‘I feel sure she was telling the truth,' Girard said.

‘You may be right, but let's not be too complacent about anything.'

They then went back to the helicopter. Crane checked his wristwatch, it was early evening and it had been four hours since they had landed. From then on, they took turns in going back to the boathouse, to keep watch and look for signs of the incoming launch. Their key element was surprise.

When Crane's turn to keep watch on the boathouse came round again, he caught sight of what appeared to be a speck on the horizon. He grabbed hold of a pair of binoculars that were conveniently dangling from a hook on the wall and saw a large motor launch ploughing through the surf. From its current position it appeared to be heading in the direction of the jetty. As a precaution against being seen, he moved deep into the boathouse and tucked himself out of sight. He kept a watchful eye on the launch, until he felt confident that the approaching craft was the one that belonged to Mullah.

*

Girard stood by the helicopter and kept an eye on the house. He was surprised to see Giselle suddenly come out of the front door and walk towards him; she was carrying a tray covered with a white cloth. Girard had locked her in himself and he still had the key in his pocket. She obviously must have had a spare, it would never occur to Girard to frisk such a sweet old lady.

Girard kept a curious eye on Giselle as she tripped casually along the grass, like a maid bringing her master lunch al fresco. Her wide smile was infectious and Girard beamed back. Within three metres she paused and, like a cordon bleu chef, she held the tray in one hand and skilfully whipped off the white-cloth cover with her other hand, to reveal a .38 Smith and Wesson revolver on a platter. Snatching at the weapon, she dropped the tray and pointed the gun at Girard, ‘Nobody locks me in, you bastard,' and she pulled the trigger. Girard had recovered from the shock rapidly and dodged to one side. The bullet thudded harmlessly into the side of the helicopter and a second bullet followed soon after. Girard ducked under the machine and pulled out the .45 magnum from his waistband, just as a third shot ricocheted with a whine off the helicopter. With shouts of, ‘Keep still you bastard,' Giselle began swearing profusely at her own inability to bring her quarry down. Girard did not like the idea of returning fire, but equally, he did not like the idea of being killed. He paused briefly and holding the gun with both hands, took careful aim and fired. The weapon flew out of Giselle's hand and Girard blew a sigh of relief, but the relief was short lived. As he ducked and ran around the helicopter to face her, the three men who had been locked up in the cellar, were running towards him like mad animals – and they were armed.

They stopped abruptly when Giselle lost her gun. Mullah swung up a Mossberg pump-action shotgun, levelled it and fired. Girard threw himself to the ground as the pellets whistled past, grazing Giselle on their way before peppering the aircraft. From his position on the grass, Girard took aim and fired. Mullah screamed in pain as a bullet passed through his right calf and he crumpled to the ground.

The pilot, Durand, standing next to Mullah, was instantly reminded of his wound and earlier involvement. He was not anxious for any more gun play, especially when he had witnessed Girard's skill with a handgun. He froze and his co-pilot, Simon, followed suit, dropping their weapons and throwing up their hands. Girard looked towards Giselle disappointedly. His sympathy towards her had waned. He considered her fortunate enough to have only suffered a sprained hand.

Without a saying a word, Girard used the gun in his hand as a pointer. He motioned for her to sit down, and to join the groaning Mullah who lay prone on the ground. This invite was extended to Durand and Simon, shepherding them together in a close-knit group. Girard kept a mistrusting eye on the motley bunch whilst gathering up their weapons. When he had finished, he paused, slowly pulled a bottle from his shoulder bag and took a generous swig of
vin rouge
.

*

From his concealed position in the boathouse, Crane saw the approaching launch slow down. The craft's engine altered pitch and it went from an incessant drone to a gentle throb as it drifted lazily towards the jetty. As far as Crane could tell, there were two swarthy-looking men on board, but no sign of Penny or the children. One of the men leapt off onto the jetty and his companion tossed him a line from the boat, which he swiftly tied around a capstan and immediately began refuelling.

The other man that Crane had seen, left the boat and joined his shipmate on the landing stage, Crane decided it was time to play his hand and pulling out the Glock semi-automatic, he slid a nine mil bullet into the breach. As he casually approached the two men, they looked up at him in surprise and then turned towards each other with puzzled expressions on their faces, as though searching for an explanation, before turning back to face Crane.

‘Change of plan,' Crane announced, motioning them off the jetty with the Glock semi-automatic handgun. In an instant and without hesitation, the man nearest the edge of the jetty leapt into the sea and sank out of sight, swimming underwater and resurfacing around the other side of the boat. His mate took one step forward and Crane sent a bullet in between his legs. The man looked down at the splintered hole between his feet and froze. Meanwhile his companion the swimmer, had hauled himself aboard the launch and had dashed to the main cabin, where he grabbed hold of an Uzi sub-machine pistol. Crane was half expecting this kind of move and he quickly positioned himself so that the man on the jetty would be in the line of fire. Within seconds the swimmer reappeared on deck holding the weapon, trying to aim past his shipmate, but Crane sent a bullet into his shoulder causing the Uzi to fall from his hands and clutter across the deck and into the water. The wounded man's eyes were transfixed on Crane's gun as he winced with pain. He clasped a hand across his shoulder and feeling somewhat shaky, got off the boat. Crane motioned the pair towards a bench, ‘Sit down,' he barked. ‘Now tell me, where are the woman and children?'

The two men scowled and said nothing. ‘Okay,' Crane said quietly, ‘maybe after I've emptied the magazine into the pair of you, you'll tell me… or die,' and with that he pulled back the slide and took aim.

‘They're under a hatch, below decks,' Jacques the wounded man stammered.

Crane pointed to the other man, Emile, ‘You – the one without the bullet – get back on board and open up the hatch and no tricks, I'll be right behind you.'

Emile, a big brute of a fellow, got up and led the way, leaving the groaning Jacques sitting on the bench nursing his wound. Crane kept his distance as they clambered aboard the boat. He followed Emile across the deck but stopped suddenly to look down at a square hatch about a metre across.