The Stealers (4 page)

A shrill continuous noise resounded throughout the house. It was the doorbell. The hand pressing it was impatient; irritable. There was some delay in getting to the door, because Penny had just put a very tired Andrew to bed. She scampered breathlessly down the stairs and caught sight of the perpetrator of the noise through the wide frosted-glass panel and a stab of fear shot through her body. It was Bradley; his tall lean frame was rocking up and down on his heels. As Penny opened the door, he shouldered roughly past her and went straight into the lounge, then stood by the fireplace until Penny had caught up with him. Pushing back a mop of brown hair with one hand, Bradley got straight to the point, ‘Perhaps you can tell me what the fuck is going on.'

Although feeling tense and nervous, she tried to keep her feelings under control and replied calmly, ‘What do you mean?'

Bradley glared threateningly, ‘Don't bullshit me! Tell me about this guy Crane.'

Penny knew she had to give him something. ‘He… he threatened me.' She stammered.

‘Go on.'

‘He was in a white van passing by when he saw his car being loaded into the transporter van. Apparently he followed it and took it back. Then he called here and started pushing me around.'

Bradley eyed her with scepticism. ‘What is he?'

‘He does gardening – so he says. Anyway, I received all sorts of threats from him unless I told him about the next job. Maybe he wants some of the action. I told him to meet me in the car park and then someone tried to kidnap Andrew; so he followed them and brought Andrew back; and that's the last I've heard of him.'

Bradley, fully aware of her acting skills, was still not quite convinced. ‘Why didn't you tell me about this before now? He could have ruined everything and if he had, it would not have been too good for you.'

Penny was feeling more confident now as she replied, ‘How would you feel? I'm getting threatened from both sides. He said if I mentioned it to anyone, I would get a damn good beating.'

Bradley decided to leave it at that and as he walked towards the front door said, ‘You had better tell me if and when you hear from this Mr Crane in future.' As he stepped outside he paused then suddenly spun round on his heels, and taking a step towards her, pushed his face close up to hers and with a snarl emphasised, ‘Got it?'

Penny nodded mechanically, and breathed a sigh of relief as he walked down the path got in his car and left.

*

Crane turned around slowly. A bright lamp made him screw up his eyes and squint. The silhouette of a man holding a powerful torch stood a few paces away and barked, ‘What do you think you are doing here?'

Crane surmised that he had, at some stage, been observed on CCTV monitors and, sounding as innocently as possible said, ‘I've run out of petrol near the end of your drive. I was hoping to find some fuel lying around and I'd leave some money; I suppose I should have knocked on the door, but it didn't seem as though there was anybody at home.'

The voice behind the gun said, ‘Well you won't find any in there.' He used the gun to point the way to another outbuilding and continued, ‘There's some in a can in that shed over there – you got a tenner?'

Crane fumbled in his wallet and produced a ten pound note. A hand sprung out from the shadowy figure, took it and backed off.

‘Thanks, I'll return the can,' Crane said.

‘Don't bother,' the gruff sounding shadowy voice replied, ‘it's only an old five litre oil can – keep it, it'll save you running out again.' And with some emphasis added, ‘And it'll save you bothering me again!'

Under the watchful eye of the shadowy figure, Crane removed a can from the shed and walked back down the gravel drive to the road. Footsteps on the loose gravel had followed him and surreptitious glances told him he was being watched as he stood on the grassy lay-by and poured the fuel into the tank of the car.

When Crane had departed, the shadowy figure pulled out his mobile phone. ‘Bradley, it's me, Stan. Just after you left a bloke came sniffing around, he was near the barn, said he'd run out of fuel.'

‘Really? I'm intrigued; what did he look like?' Stan gave a good description of the man he had seen and Bradley responded in a hushed tone, ‘Crane.'

*

When Crane arrived back home in Canford, he phoned Penny and told her all that he had found out. She in turn, related her encounter with Bradley.

‘You've done well,' Crane remarked. ‘Phone him up and tell him that I've phoned to say that I've a few broken ribs and I'm going to claim on my insurance. Hopefully, that may reinforce your trust with him.'

Crane rang off and thought about his next move. To begin with, he would need to know of any future visitors arriving in Palmers Rise, and so he decided to reinstate an alarm system, one that he had used in the past. It comprised of a pressure switch, set near the end of the lane, which would activate an alarm in his cottage. Upon leaving the lane, he would scatter a layer of cement dust from side to side so that any vehicles entering or leaving the lane would leave an impression of their tyre tracks. Crane had no intention of being caught out again.

*

The following morning, Bradley's curiosity was gnawing at his brain. Questions hung in the air. Who was this guy, Crane? Why didn't he go to the police? He contacted a private investigator to no avail but it was suggested that he contact another; Toby Finder, based in Southend-on-Sea who might be able to give him information about Crane.

Finder's office was dingy, which was not quite what Bradley had expected, however he had been told that Finder was the longest-established private investigator in the area and was well worth checking out.

‘Mr Taylor,' Finder greeted, offering a limp sweaty hand. ‘What can I do for you?'

Bradley stood, momentarily transfixed; staring at this gaunt willowy figure with a sallow complexion. Toby Finder was not the suave archetype private detective that the movies led you to believe existed.

‘Do you know anything about a man by the name of Jack Crane?'

A slight shiver ran through Finder at the mention of that name. ‘Jack Crane, you say?' he repeated.

Finder motioned Bradley to a chair by the side of a wide desk. Finder could have told Bradley everything that he wanted to know from personal experience and memory, but he wanted to appear to be earning his fee. He then sauntered across the room towards a large metal filing cabinet, delved through the files, pulled out a sheaf of papers and sat down behind his desk mumbling the name, ‘Jack Crane; so what do you want to know?'

Bradley exhaled noisily, ‘Anything you can tell me.'

‘As a matter of interest,' Finder enquired cautiously, ‘what's your connection with Jack Crane?'

Bradley was equally cautious and gave a vague reply, ‘Oh, it's just some kind of business arrangement that I may get involved in; I just like to know what I'm up against; who I am dealing with that's all.'

A wide tight-lipped twisted smile spread across Finder's face as he flicked a photo across the desk. ‘That's him; taken about a year ago – age forty-six. He's not a man to mess with you know. One of my best clients tried a year or so ago; he disappeared after Crane followed him to the USA. Jack Crane is an ex-SAS soldier from a very different mould. I was fortunate at the time to find this out from a fellow that was also ex-army, although he was of a different breed. He too, appears to be no longer around. He told me that Crane was permanently stationed at Whitehall and was an integral part of what is known as a ghost squad.'

‘Ghost squad?' Bradley echoed.

‘No one is supposed to know of their existence. A select group of men – hand-picked from the SAS – who do all sorts of covert jobs; jobs that cover a wide variety of dangerous missions for our government. If they get caught, they're on their own – so to speak.'

Bradley left Finder's office somewhat comforted with the knowledge of what he was up against; and smiled to himself with the thought,
“Dangerous eh? Forewarned is forearmed, but the man that can outsmart me hasn't been born yet.”

*

The air was chilled at four am the next the morning when Crane returned to the farm. It was still dark. The shadowy outline of a Ford Mondeo was parked directly outside the front door of the house. Dressed entirely in black, Crane skirted around the back of the building and made his way towards the barn.

He paused beside the ribbed steel shutter listening intently. All was quiet. He paused again and put an ear to the partially open Judas door; and satisfied that there was no one around, produced his torch and stepped inside. The pencil beam hit a blank timber wall and the door slammed shut behind him. Crane pushed against the sides to no avail. He was trapped in a cage – a small shed within the barn. He tried lifting it from underneath, but it was firmly anchored down. A hissing noise and pungent turpentine-like smell filled the air. He recognised it immediately and was already beginning to notice the effects. It was ether gas. In spite of feeling light-headed, he cupped a hand over his mouth; holding his breath as he did so. He knew it would not take long to succumb to its sleep-inducing qualities. Using the torch, Crane frantically looked around the walls until the beam fell on a large brown knot halfway down the planking. Holding his breath, he used the torch to push hard on the knot and slammed it with his other hand until it popped out. Leaning heavily against the wall, he put his mouth over the hole and felt a sharp splinter dig in his lip, but he didn't care about the pain, as he pinched his nose tight and drew in lungfuls of clean fresh air.

*

Ryan stood back from the barn and gave a satisfied, smug glance at Stan – his accomplice – as he reached for the mobile phone in his pocket and dialled Bradley's number.

‘It worked a treat, just like you said it would; he fell for it good and proper. It's all quiet in there; he must be well under by now. What do you want done with him?'

There was a pause at the other end before Bradley replied, ‘Like I said before, give it a few minutes or so then drag him out and use that iron bar leaning against the side of the barn and break his fucking legs; you got that?'

‘I've already got it. It'll be a pleasure.'

Bradley continued, ‘And after that find the car he is using – he's probably parked down the road somewhere – stuff him in it. Then one of you guys drive it back to his area and leave him there and I'll see you both back at the farm, okay?'

Ryan was in jubilant mood as he paused in his conversation with Bradley. He looked at Stan and said, ‘You can drag him out now.'

Stan nodded in eager expectation as he flipped on a gas mask and strode towards the Judas door.

Ryan continued his chat with Bradley, pacing up and down as he did so. His face lit up in wonder when Bradley told him that he would be returning within the hour with a Ferrari.

*

Crane managed to stay alert. As soon as he heard approaching footsteps, he drew a deep breath through the knothole and held it as he moved swiftly to the opposite side of the shed, pressing his body against the wall adjacent to the door. Stan flung the door wide open with a clatter and stepped inside. Crane's balled fist struck him in the neck; leaving him silent and gasping for air. The second blow, a hard punch behind the ear, felled him instantly. Crane ripped off the gas mask and put it on himself. He closed the door and stepped outside into the dull moonless night. It would have been difficult to distinguish anyone's features – shadowy outlines were the order of the night. Ryan looked towards the approaching figure and ended his phone call.

‘Where's Crane?' he began.

‘I'm right here,' Crane replied. ‘Your friend is having a rest.'

Ryan stared in disbelief but he recovered quickly enough and gripping the iron bar, moved menacingly towards Crane; who had not quite recovered from the kicking he had received from their last encounter. Crane's hand dipped into his pocket and holding the pencil-beam torch between forefinger and thumb said, ‘You don't think I came here unarmed, do you?'

Ryan stopped dead; eyes straining at Crane's outstretched hand. All he could make out was an outline of something that could be a gun.

Crane pushed home the point with venom. ‘Why have you stopped? Come on, give me an excuse to put a nine mil slug in your fat face. Now drop whatever you're holding and move over to that barn door, and be quick about it.'

Without taking his eyes off of Crane he walked towards the Judas door. He paused outside for a moment until Crane, by way of motioning him forward, waved the pencil-beam torch a bit too dramatically; and the light came on.

‘A fucking torch,' was all that Ryan could utter as he picked up the iron bar and charged, like a raging bull, towards Crane. Without hesitation, Crane flung the lamp down, turned and ran, but when Ryan was within arm's reach, Crane dropped suddenly to the ground and curled up his body. Ryan tumbled helplessly over Crane's encumbered hulk and crashed heavily to the ground. Within a split-second, Crane sprang up and placed his foot heavily across Ryan's neck. ‘Don't move an inch unless you want it broken,' he hissed. ‘Now, where's Bradley?'

By way of reply, all that Ryan could manage was, ‘Agh! I'm choking.'

Crane kept the pressure on and said, ‘Consider yourself lucky, I usually wear boots. I'm only going to ask one more time and, you'd better tell me – and no bullshit.'

‘He's on his way here,' Ryan managed to gasp.

‘When?'

‘In about an hour or so.'

‘Where is my Mustang?'

‘I dunno.'

Ryan sensed that Crane was about to increase the pressure and in a panic he blurted out, ‘It's the truth. It's probably gone out of the country by now.'

‘Keep talking.'