by Dan Latus
More like Rorke’s Drift, he thought grimly. Or Custer’s Last Stand. The Zulus, or the Apaches, are coming, and we’re heavily outnumbered and running out of ammo!
It didn’t seem very funny at all.
He watched intently as Fogarty arrayed his forces.
‘Two men at the back of the house,’ Magda called from her position on the other side of the room.
And three or four around the truck. Virtually an army. Soon they would move in, he thought grimly. There was no way of stopping them.
Surprisingly, a man approached the house. He strode along the track, waving a stick with a piece of white material hanging from it.
Jake frowned. What was this? A truce offering? They couldn’t be surrendering. He wiped the sweat from his face and called out to Nicci. ‘See what he wants. I’ll cover you. And leave that bloody painting alone!’
With understandable reluctance, Nicci went outside to hear what the messenger had to say. It was simple.
‘Fogarty wants his money, Nicci. Agree to give him it, and we can all go home. No trouble. Nobody hurt. End of story.’
‘End of me, you mean!’
The man stared at him blankly. ‘Whatever. He’s giving you fifteen minutes to think about it. Then we’re coming in.’
‘You might be coming in, but you won’t all be leaving – not alive!’
The messenger shrugged and turned to walk away.
Fifteen minutes? Jake mulled it over, trying not to let the tension get to him. Something wasn’t right here. Fogarty feeling magnanimous?
Time to talk.
‘Nicci, they seem pretty confident you have the money.’
‘Dumb fucks! What do they know?’
‘Fogarty has reached the end of the road. Somebody has it, and you’re the only one left.’
‘And you,’ Nicci pointed out.
‘I don’t have it.’
‘And I don’t, either.’
‘Fogarty thinks different.’
‘Let him.’
Jake shook his head. He felt exasperated. Worried as well, if he allowed himself to think about what was likely to happen next. But exasperated mostly. He didn’t understand the situation. What the hell was Fogarty up to?
‘He’s lying, Jake,’ Magda said softly. ‘Nicci’s got the money. Some of it, at least.’
‘Shut your fucking mouth, bitch!’
Jake swung round and looked from one to the other of them. Nicci raging mad. Magda ice-cool. What the hell?
‘Why do you think Nicci wants that painting so much?’ Magda asked.
Jake shook his head. ‘No idea. You tell me.’
‘Because it’s worth upwards of five million, in sterling. Maybe close to ten.’
He stared at her, ignoring the muffled rage from Nicci.
‘How do you work that out?’ he asked in a level tone. ‘What do you know, Magda?’
Calm and unblinking, she stared back at him.
‘Nicci is a money man. He knows about value, and about profit. Picassos go up in value faster than gold if the market is right.’
‘A Picasso? Are you telling me…?’
‘I used to do the same thing for Kunda. I converted cash to investments like art.’
‘It’s just a painting,’ Nicci snapped. ‘Don’t listen to her, Jake. It’s a fucking painting, for chrissake!’
‘It’s a Picasso,’ Magda insisted quietly but confidently. ‘One in his Cubist style. “The Head of a Woman” is its title. Nicci bought it at auction in New York three months ago. I’ve just checked on my phone.’
Five minutes of the fifteen gone. Ten to go. Who to believe? A crafty, career money man for a criminal empire, or the woman he loved, who had deceived and betrayed him all the way?
‘I want the truth, Nicci. Or I’m turning you over to Fogarty. What’s going on?’
Nicci’s options were few, and whatever else he was, Nicci was a smart guy.
‘OK, OK! I’ll tell you how it was.’
‘And how it is now,’ Jake said.
‘Yeah, yeah!’
‘Better make it quick, Nicci. We’re running out of time here.’
‘OK, OK! The quick version is that me and Hendrik managed to get hold of the money everyone is looking for. I won’t go into how we did it now, but we did.’
‘The twenty million?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You and Hendrik?’
Nicci nodded and looked uncomfortable. ‘We split it,’ he said. ‘Fifty-fifty.’
Jake took a turn around the room, to stretch his limbs, his mind reeling. He glanced at Magda. She nodded, urging him to go on.
‘And presumably Fogarty doesn’t know about this?’
Nicci shook his head. ‘Fogarty was going away for a very long time. Forever, maybe. Me and Hendrik took the chance.’
‘Squeaky-clean Hendrik, the white collar man?’
‘Somebody had to stay clean, and Hendrik has always been the man for that. Fogarty trusts him.’ He shrugged. ‘Hendrik has always done a good job.’
‘Until now.’
Nicci said nothing.
‘So Hendrik’s problem now is that Fogarty got out?’
‘Yeah.’
‘That’s a real big problem he’s got,’ Jake said, his brain working overtime, looking for a way of using this astonishing information.
Nicci and Hendrik, eh? Who would have thought it? And what would Fogarty think, and do, if he knew? Good question!
‘What did you do with your share of the money, Nicci?’
‘Bought back the farm my family had lost in one of the depressions that had made them bankrupt.’
‘And?’
Nicci shrugged.
‘Bought a Picasso?’
‘Yeah.’
‘No cash left?’
‘Not much, no.’
Jake did some quick thinking. All this was very interesting but he couldn’t see how he could use it to get them out of here.
Tell Fogarty? What then? Well, after stripping Hendrik of what he had, Fogarty would come in here to take Nicci’s share as well. If that happened, there wouldn’t be much left of any of them. Except Fogarty.
‘A private word in your ear, Jake?’ Magda said.
He glanced at her.
‘Something you should know. It may help to get us out of here.’
Chapter 52
Magda told him what she had in mind. He listened with increasing incredulity. Still in contact with him? Things were far worse than he had imagined. He wondered what had ever possessed him to trust this woman.
‘It is simple,’ she said with a shrug. ‘I owe him, and he owes me.’
Simple? Not to him, it wasn’t. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, Jake soon concluded. And there might be a way of using the situation to their advantage. One thing was certain: they couldn’t just shoot their way out of here. If they were to get out at all, they had to use whatever assets and knowledge they had.
Magda was the key. Everything would rest on her shoulders, if anything was to happen. She was in a unique position and it made sense to use her.
Jake talked to her fast, sketching the outline of an idea, scarcely a plan, eager to see if she could and would fill in any detail. Wanting to know if, in her opinion, it could be done. Was it possible? It seemed absurd. But what else did they have?
‘Is it possible?’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘Maybe.’
‘Will he do it?’ Jake asked a little desperately, aware that the fifteen minutes would soon be up.
‘He will – for me.’
‘Then tell him. And promise him!’
As Magda got on her phone, Jake went to speak to Nicci again.
‘It might be possible for us to get out of here, Nicci. But you’re going to lose the painting.’
‘No way!’
‘It’s comes down to a straight choice, Nicci. Either you lose the Picasso and your life, or you just lose the Picasso.’
‘And what then?�
� Nicci asked with a cynical laugh. ‘Lose the farm, as well?’
‘No. You’ll be able to stay here, if things go well. You’ll be able to keep the farm.’
Jake didn’t really need to try to persuade Nicci of anything, because it was going to happen anyway, or not, regardless of what Nicci wanted. But, for the moment at least, it was sensible to keep him on side. They needed him. Nicci had a part to play, too.
‘He will do it!’ Magda called softly, switching off her phone.
Jake nodded. Then he told Nicci what they wanted him to do. Nicci was extremely reluctant but Jake pushed him through the doorway with a make-shift white flag in hand.
‘All you have to do,’ Jake had told him, ‘is ask.’
‘What if Hendrik won’t come?’
‘It doesn’t really matter whether he comes or not, Nicci. Play for time. That’s the important thing.’
‘Then what?’
‘Wait and see, Nicci. The rest of it’s nothing to do with you. Just remember, you’ll get the farm, and a get-out-of-jail-free card.’
‘If I live.’
‘There is that,’ Jake conceded. ‘But we’re all in that position, aren’t we?’
At first nothing happened.
Watching Nicci through a window, Jake said over his shoulder, ‘How long does he need?’
‘Not long. Just a few minutes, I think.’
‘Let’s hope we get them.’
‘I hope so, too,’ Magda assured him.
Then it started.
The original messenger came forward again to see what Nicci wanted. Nicci told him. The messenger retreated.
After a minute or two of consultation amongst the distant ranks, a different figure came forward.
‘Hendrik,’ Magda said.
Jake nodded. ‘You know him, don’t you?’
‘I do.’
Jake was reassured. He was also tense and anxious. But at least their ball was in play now.
It wasn’t always clear what was happening after that. Jake just hoped the various actors were all reading from the same script.
So far as he could see, Hendrik began exchanging words with Nicci as he walked along the track towards him. Nicci stayed where he was, no more than twenty yards from his own front door, exactly as Jake had told him.
Then a big truck turned off the road onto the track leading to the farm. As it sped along the track, consternation was visibly sparked amongst the group standing around Fogarty’s vehicle. Figures spun round. There was some shouting. Hendrik turned to see what the commotion was all about.
The new arrivals wasted no time and took no chances. The truck slewed to a high-speed stop. Then what sounded like a heavy machine gun spoke, and the little group around Fogarty’s vehicle all went down in a heap, Fogarty with them.
Wisely, Hendrik stood still and put up his hands. Nicci, on the other hand, turned and dashed for the safety of his own front door, again just as he had been instructed.
The truck started up again and came on down the track. Two men hopped off, took hold of Hendrik and pushed him inside the big double cab. After a brief stop to collect the bodies around Fogarty’s vehicle, the truck sped away. It was replaced by a big SUV, a Toyota.
‘What now?’ asked a breathless Nicci.
Jake shrugged. ‘Relax, Nicci. It’s nearly over.’
Nicci started to protest when he saw Magda heading for the door with the Picasso.
‘Leave it, Nicci,’ Jake advised. ‘She knows what she’s doing.’
Nicci gritted his teeth and shut up.
They watched as Magda walked steadily along the track towards a man standing beside the newly-arrived vehicle. Jake thought he recognized the man as Pavel Kunda. The two met and spoke. Magda showed him the painting. He took hold of it. There was some discussion. Then Magda walked back towards the house, minus the Picasso.
Jake went outside to meet her. ‘Is it all right?’
She nodded. ‘I believe so.’
‘What next?’
She gave a little shrug. ‘It is clear. I will go now with Pavel and the Picasso. It will be my job to sell the painting, as I’m the one who knows about such things. Then I will be free to leave. ‘
‘And?’
‘We will see.’
‘Come back, Magda.’
‘Are you sure – after all this? Is it what you want?’
He nodded. ‘But only if your debts, and his, are cancelled.’
‘They will be.’
‘Then if you don’t return,’ Jake said with a wry smile, ‘I’ll come looking for you.’
Unsmiling herself, she stepped forward to kiss him on the cheek. Then she turned and walked back towards the waiting Kunda.
Chapter 53
‘So,’ Bob said, ‘as of now, we’ve got nothing?’
Jake nodded agreement.
‘All that, and we’ve got nowt to show for it!’
‘I wouldn’t say that, Bob. We’re both alive, and we’ve got our health. Fogarty isn’t, and hasn’t.’
‘There is that.’ Bob nodded thoughtfully and looked around. ‘You know, I’ve always liked this pub.’
‘Me, too.’
‘The Crown Posada. I don’t know why I don’t come here more often. Did I ever tell you—’
‘You did, Bob. Yes. About how some sea captain bought it for his mistress in the long ago.’
They both listened for a few moments to Billie Holliday singing scratchily about her man, on a record player with a stylus.
‘It’s a wonder they haven’t worn that old record out,’ Bob said, ‘all these years they’ve been playing it.’
‘Still sounds good, though,’ Jake pointed out.
‘Still sounds good,’ Bob agreed.
‘Tell me again how it’s supposed to work,’ Bob said with a weary sigh.
Jake hesitated for a moment, wanting to make sure he repeated what he had said the first time. He didn’t want any slip-ups at this stage.
‘Just focus on the Picasso, Bob. That’s all that counts now. The remaining money has gone, God knows where. Hendrik had half of it. Kunda abducted Hendrik, and by now he’ll probably have Hendrik’s share, and Hendrik will be feeding the sharks.
‘But we managed to rescue a painting that had been bought with Nicci’s share of the money.’
‘The Picasso.’
‘The Picasso, yes. Which Magda is going to sell. The deal is that half of what she gets goes to Kunda, and the other half comes back to us to give to the insurance company. So we’ll be returning to the insurers something like five million quid. Hopefully, we’ll get ten per cent of that – half a mill, say – which you and I will split fifty-fifty. You OK with that, Bob?’
Bob grimaced. ‘It sounds complicated.’
‘Not really.’
Bob thought long and hard before adding, ‘And I’m supposed to sell this to the insurance company? They’re down twenty mill, and we’re offering them five?’
Jake shrugged. ‘That’s five more than they have right now. They should be grateful to you. All this time after the heist they’ve got nothing, remember? You were a long shot for them, and you came up trumps. Anything you could recover, no questions asked, you’d get ten per cent. That was the deal, wasn’t it?’
‘Yeah. But what if they want the whole lot? What we give them and what Kunda has, as well? And what if they want to bring the authorities in on it?’
‘That’s OK. Tell them to look for it, like we had to do. Tell them we’ve done all we can.’
‘And if they want to know where the five mill came from?’
‘Tell them.’
‘And about the auction, as well?’
‘Yeah. Why not?’
‘What about—’
‘Look, Bob, tell them whatever the hell you like. I don’t care. It’ll just be hearsay anyway. You weren’t directly involved, were you?’
‘That’s true,’ Bob said with what sounded like relief. Then he added, ‘This Kunda feller? He’s
doing pretty well out of it, isn’t he? Maybe fifteen million – and for what?’
‘Who? Kunda, did you say?’
Bob looked thoughtful. ‘Is that not his real name?’
‘Who knows?’ Jake said, grinning. ‘I don’t.’
He shrugged and added, ‘What you have to remember, Bob – I certainly do! – is that whatever his name is he saved our lives. The three of us – me, Nicci and Magda – would all have been dead in the next few minutes if Magda hadn’t got Kunda to intervene. And Fogarty would still have been alive, and at large.’
‘There is that, I suppose,’ Bob said with a reluctant grin.
‘So far as I’m concerned, Bob, that’s all there bloody well is! You can forget the rest of it. Nothing else matters. I’m alive. Nicci is alive. And so is Magda.’
‘The mysterious Russian woman?’
Jake nodded.
‘The woman who is going to sell this painting for Kunda, and then come back with about five mill for us to return to the insurance company?’
‘That’s right.’
Bob chuckled and shook his head. ‘The optimism of youth! I’m glad you survived, son – don’t get me wrong. But, seriously, do you really expect to see her again? Or the money, either?’
Jake just shrugged.
‘I thought so!’ Bob laughed, patted him on the back and went to get another round in.
It’s a bit chilly and damp now. Winter is the cool, rainy season in the Algarve. Jake is thinking of lighting the wood-burning stove. The house will gradually get damp and cold if he doesn’t. Tomorrow he will take the old truck to a farm he knows, where he can buy a load of eucalyptus wood and olive logs. It is time to start looking ahead. No good waiting longer. The past is done with now.
He hears a car slow down and come to a stop on the road outside. From where he sits on the veranda, he can’t see who it is. One of the neighbours, presumably. Coming home from a shopping trip. Sometimes they turn outside his house, where the road is a little wider.
A car door slams shut. He hears a flutter of voices. A man calls his thanks. The car drives away with a throaty roar.
The gate gives a little squeal as someone opens it, and then squeals again as it is closed. He watches, and waits, thinking about how the hinges on the gate need greasing.
