The Criminal Escapades of Geoffrey Larkin

by R. W. Hughes

  ‘My friend, Peer and I, are going into the town. We will be back in several minutes and Peer would be obliged if you will wait for us here.’ Geoff was so surprised he just nodded and watched as Peer Merkel, helped by his friend, slowly made their way across the piazza disappearing through the great, stone arched gateway that led through the old, defensive walls of the thirteenth century town.

  It was while they were gone that a surprised, ‘Bloody Hell! a German tank!’ from John Bolton brought Geoff’s attention to where his friend was pointing.

  In the corner of the piazza, partially hidden in the shade of a large mature chestnut tree and still in its camouflage paint, was a German tank that John Bolton had spotted.

  Both lads left the shade of the bus shelter and hurried across the sun-drenched piazza to stand in the shade of the tree where the tank was stationed. There was a stand with a bronze plaque engraved in Italian which Geoff, with the aid of a small book entitled Italian for Tourists, attempted to translate for John.

  ‘Le Cappannacce in data 27th April 1991. I think that’s what it says, John,’ said Geoff. ‘It was put here in 1991. Ass con la Fattiva. I can’t make that out and, inaugurato 30 Maggio 1993. I think it was positioned here on 30th May 1993. Marco Sturmgeschutz 111 cannon D assalto Tedesco 90mm stuk 37 Anno construzione 1940.’

  ‘That sounds to me like it is a mark three assault tank with a 90mm cannon and 37mm heavy machine gun, manufactured in 1940,’ said John Bolton as Geoff struggled to finish the last of the inscription.

  ‘Too true it is. It would knock a massive hole in that big building where the barrel’s pointing,’ added John Bolton, pointing to an impressive building across the busy main road.

  ‘Yes, that Carabinieri on guard outside would soon get out of the way if one of these shells was sent in his direction!’

  Both lads laughed at the thought of the pair of them in the tank firing live ammunition at the surrounding buildings. Their merriment was cut short by the appearance of Herr Merkel and his friend making their way across the piazza.

  Each carried two small bunches of what looked like red roses, as they came closer, the lads moved away while both men stood in silence at the side of the tank. After several minutes they each laid one bunch of their flowers on the sloping hull of the tank just below the gun turret. Standing back they saluted in unison, turned, then slowly walked away to join Geoff and John Bolton who had both been watching the proceedings in quiet amazement.

  ‘Allow me to introduce myself,’ said the tall friend of Peer Merkel in excellent English.

  ‘I am Werner Fisher. My friend Peer and I were part of the crew of this very tank. We were involved in the battle that took place in this area in 1944. We were the sole survivors of our crew plus three infantry men who were getting a lift as we retreated. We would like you to take us to the place where we lost our comrades and countrymen; it is not far from here.’

  Geoff gave John the nod and while he went for the car, Peer Merkel rested on the wooden bench that he had occupied earlier. Werner Fisher continued telling Geoff the rest of his story. He had been studying languages in Berlin when he had been conscripted into the German forces as they were desperately short of new recruits. He was seventeen years old at the time. He was sent to be trained as a panzer driver and when he had completed his course he was sent to the Herman Goring panzer division, which was being posted to Italy.

  He added that because he and the rest of his division were young and inexperienced they were given relatively old tanks. In his case it was the Sturmgeschutz Mark 111 built in 1940.

  During the retreat from Rome the tank, because of its age, was constantly breaking down and many times they were left at the rear of the retreating column. On many occasions were lucky not to be taken prisoner; eventually we reached this area where the generals had decided that they were to make a stand.

  We were holding a defensive position at a village named Vaiano, when two allied tanks that had been following us came from the nearby village of Villastrada.

  Our tank had just two armour piercing shells left and very little diesel fuel but our aim was good and we were lucky.

  ‘You blew them up?’ interrupted Geoff.

  ‘That was war,’ said Peer Merkel from the bench. ‘They bang, bang! us, we bang, bang! return, outcome hands of Gods.’ He opened his hands palm upwards and shrugged his shoulders, in what was a universal expression of what will be, will be. ‘Second English tank as say, brewed up. I always remember many night I not sleep. Two crew escape tank. All in flames, one come us, he know not where go. Werner take blanket cover man, remove flames. Werner very brave.’

  It was at this point that John Bolton arrived with the Mercedes, the conversation stopped as Geoff helped Peer Merkel into the rear seat where he was joined by Werner Fisher. Geoff then joined John Bolton in the front passenger seats. In between giving directions to John Bolton, Werner Fisher carried on with his story.

  ‘We continued our withdrawal from the village of Vaiano but we were of no use without ammunition and after just half a kilometre as we were crossing an open stretch of ground, the track came off its runners. It had been damaged by the shells of the English tanks. It was while we were all attempting to repair this breakdown that we were attacked and machine-gunned by an enemy fighter plane’

  ‘Did you not hear the plane coming?’ asked John Bolton, intrigued by the story being told by Werner Fisher in his perfect cultured English.

  ‘You are quite observant my young friend,’ answered Werner Fisher. ‘No, we were surprised. We did not hear the plane because the tank engine was still running. We had been having great difficulty in starting the engine once it had stopped as our batteries were in very poor condition.’ Both Herr Fisher and Peer Merkel lapsed into silence as they drew closer to where they had lost their friends those many years ago.

  ‘If you please, you may pull over at the gateway ahead,’ Werner Fisher said, failing to hide the emotion in his voice. John Bolton duly pulled the car expertly off the narrow lane and into the gateway leading into a large field of sunflowers.

  ‘We are now going to say our last farewell where our comrades fell. We are both old men and we will not come this way again.’

  It seemed that Peer Merkel, who was usually so talkative, was quite happy to allow his friend to take charge. Geoff and John Bolton stayed in the car watching as the two old men, Peer Merkel with his stick and assisted by the more upright Werner Fisher, walked slowly down the lane, stopping occasionally to pick wild poppies that grew in abundance amongst the thick grass at the side of the road.

  ‘Gosh! I see what they meant when they said they were caught in the open,’ said John Bolton as he looked around the flat fields that seemed to stretch for miles. ‘You couldn’t hide a pram, there’s no cover here for miles.’

  Five minutes later the two old soldiers arrived back at the car. Peer Merkel was puffing from his exertions having to be helped back in the rear seat by both Geoff and John Bolton.

  The return journey towards Castiglion Fiorentino was a very quiet, sober affair. It was only when they reached the outskirts of the city that Geoff turned to the two men in the back seats breaking the silence.

  ‘Would you like to be our guest for a few days, Herr Fisher? We have a spare room at the villa and I’m sure Peer Merkel would have no objections. You two gentlemen must have a lot of catching up to do.’

  The offer had taken Peer Merkel by surprise but he was no more surprised than John Bolton. As he knew Geoff of old, there was obviously a reason lurking behind his friend’s seemingly generous offer of hospitality.

  The two men talked together in German for several minutes, it was Peer Merkel who eventually replied.

  ‘My old comrade be pleased to accept offer of kind hospitality but he needs to collect essentials from his apartmento near Castiglion Fiorentino. Grazia.’

  *

  Werner Fisher lived in a block of modern apartments on the outskirts of the town, following Werner’s
directions John pulled the Mercedes over at the foot of the building where they stopped for several minutes while Werner went to gather a few personal belongings for his stay at the villa.

  ‘I always remember that Peer was an exceptionally good chef. Some of the meals he cooked for myself and the rest of the crew with the rubbish food that was provided were really quite extraordinary,’ commented Werner Fisher as he left the car.

  ‘Don’t you fancy living in the old town?’ queried Geoff as the tall Austrian returned with a small, brown, leather suitcase.

  ‘You have to have a very well paid position to rent an apartment in any of the walled towns in Tuscany, however, to be able to buy an apartment in towns or cities in Tuscany or in the nearby Umbria you have to be very wealthy,’ replied Herr Fisher, smiling as he took his place alongside his old friend.

  When they eventually arrived at the villa, having stopped in the village to restock with provisions under the supervision of Peer Merkel, they were met by a very worried looking Sooty and the youngest Bolton brother.

  ‘Me and Derek thought you’d been lifted,’ a relieved Sooty said to Geoff as he helped to unload the groceries from the boot of the Mercedes.

  ‘Sorry about that, mate,’ he replied, slapping his friend on his broad shoulder, ‘it took a little longer than expected. This gentleman is a friend of Peer Merkel and he’s staying a few days as our guest.’ Sooty just nodded; nothing Geoff did surprised him anymore.

  With a large bag of provisions under each arm he followed the two older men and John Bolton into the villa leaving Geoff and a curious Derek Bolton near the car.

  ‘Didn’t want to leave him blabbing to all and sundry about us so he’s better here where we can keep an eye on him until we get to know him better,’ said Geoff before an obviously inquisitive Derek Bolton could ask him any questions.

  Derek just nodded understandingly then both of them, carrying the rest of the groceries, followed the others into the cool of the villa, to where Peer Merkel was in the kitchen with the other three willing lads.

  They enjoyed preparing their evening meals under his instructions, as the results in which they all played a personal role, were always exceptionally good.

  Geoff meanwhile was sharing a bottle of the excellent wine that Peer Merkel had chosen and talking with Werner Fisher on the paved patio near the pool. Peer Merkel’s friend had taken off his coat and it was hung neatly on his chair. He had also removed his shoes and was resting his stocking feet on top of his exceptionally shiny footwear.

  Herr Fisher was completely relaxed and, without him realising, he was being quizzed by Geoff who was gleaning as much information as possible from the ex-tank commander.

  It turned out that both Peer Merkel and he were eventually captured by the Italian partisans while they were hiding in a barn several days after leaving the tank.

  Herr Fisher said, ‘I remember it quite well. Our future looked very uncertain in the hands of these vigilantes. We had heard rumours in our company that a detachment of paratroopers had recently committed atrocities in the area in retaliation for several German soldiers being killed by partisans. We feared for our lives, the vigilantes were in a vicious mood, I did not understand Italian at that time, but I could see they were building one another up into doing something nasty to us. Until the sudden arrival of a patrol of London Irish Rifle, I will always remember that regiment. I never thought I would be glad to be taken captive by the British Army. It was most fortunate for us that they took us as their prisoners for which we were most grateful.

  ‘We were duly escorted back behind the allied lines to a holding camp for German prisoners; Peer Merkel was eventually transported to Canada. As I had interpretation skills in English I was retained in Italy by the English Army. Later I also worked for the Americans. As you say, to cut a long story short, I fell in love and married an Italian lady. I worked in the local branch of the Banca Monti dei Paschi, unfortunately, we had no children and my wife passed away several years ago. I also retired at that time but I was asked to return and act as an advisor to the bank.’

  Geoff was an apt listener, allowing Herr Fisher to continue talking; occasionally leaning over to refill the old man’s glass.

  ‘Last week they were very busy at the bank, they asked me to supervise the movement of a new steel vault. As the floor of the old bank would not stand the weight it had to be strengthened and the new vault had to be stored in the Municipal Building which is the large, stone building near the Piazza Garibaldi. These were the only doors that were wide enough for the new vault to pass through and it has a solid floor so it will take the weight. Not only that but we also had to take delivery of the silver bullion from Arrezo while their bank vault was refurbished. It was to be delivered to the new vault but now it will have to be stored temporarily in the Municipal Buildings. Italian efficiency and organisation are non-existent.’

  It was at this point that Werner Fisher suddenly stopped, before continuing,‘I only tell you this because you are friends of Peer Merkel. You are just here on holiday otherwise, if you were Italian, I would not be discussing this very confidential matter.’

  Geoff realised that Werner Fisher was parting with this information to impress him; he obviously missed his prestigious position of authority at the bank.

  ‘Is it usual for the bank to store silver bullion?’ queried Geoff trying to sound casually inquisitive. ‘Yes! It is a regular occurrence. The city of Arrezo is the European centre for trade in silver,’ replied Werner. ‘This was the last operation I supervise for my employers because I am weary of their incompetence. They do not respect me and, even after all the years of loyal service to them, they still say insulting remarks behind my back. As a result, I have decided to move back to Austria with my old friend, Peer Merkel. We should have gone after our reunion today as I have already given notice on my apartment but now, who knows? We are both retired there is no rush for us to go anywhere.’

  Werner Fisher opened his hands, palms outward, in an expression of what will be will be, something Geoff had seen the Italians do many times during his short stay in the country.

  Bells were ringing in Geoff’s brain at Werner Fisher’s last few words as a crazy scheme presented itself.

  The old tramp’s proverbs again sprung to mind. ‘Never look a gift horse in the mouth’, and, ‘As one door closes another door opens’.

  Here they were in Italy, spending money like it was going out of fashion, living a lifestyle you could only dream about. The only problem with this extravagant lifestyle was that their cash was dwindling very fast.

  What he had in mind was a crazy scheme but the only alternative that he could see, which was fast approaching, would be to end up destitute in a foreign country, picked up by the police then deported back to the UK or, worse still, found by the group of heavies who he knew would be still looking for them, and desperate situations needed desperate remedies.

  ‘So what are you saying, Herr Fisher?’ said Geoff, refilling the old soldier’s empty glass whilst desperately trying to keep the excitement that he could feel building up inside him from showing in his voice and, at the same time, stopping his hand from shaking, ‘This new safe will just be dumped inside the doors of the Town Hall?’

  ‘Yes, as you say, just dumped, that is the right expression. It is typical of the Italian banking authorities, just typical!’ muttered Werner Fisher, as he took another sip of his refilled glass of wine.

  ‘But there was a police officer on guard at the entrance,’ volunteered Geoff.

  ‘That is true,’ replied Werner. ‘The Carabinieri provide an officer on duty during the bank’s opening hours, but their professional attitude is very casual, very laid back, very Italian and very frustrating for me. They believe the new Italian vault is impregnable.’

  Werner’s assessment was cut short by Derek Bolton entering the room to inform them in a loud voice, ‘I have been told to inform you two gentlemen that dinner is now going to be served in the dining room. Y
our presence is requested at once.’

  Geoff smiled and helped Werner Fisher out of the easy chair, then followed him into the dining room; however, his mind was not on the coming meal, as pleasant as it would no doubt be. He was already working out details of his crazy scheme. He would try and quiz Werner Fisher a little more after dinner while he was still in a talkative mood then tomorrow he would have John Bolton run him back to Castiglion Fiorentino and the Piazza Garibaldi.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Geoff had some serious assessments and a lot of planning to do which would involve not only his future but the future of his three mates. He was surprised that he was thinking of them at the same time that he was thinking of his own safety and wellbeing. This deep feeling of responsibility for his three companions disturbed him, as in the past as a youngster he had never had these feelings for anyone.

  Dinner was, again, an excellent meal, even bringing adoring comments from Werner Fisher who was used to food of such excellence having been so long in Italy and having been married for so many years to an exceptionally good cook.

  ‘You missed your way my friend,’ he said as he smoked an expensive cigar, ‘you should have opened a restaurant. You would have made a fortune instead of being a salesman for an engineering company.’

  They were all sitting on the patio drinking coffee after enjoying their meal, watching the sun set over the seemingly never-ending acres and acres of sunflowers, broken only occasionally by the odd field of golden, ripening sweet corn with terraces of olive groves rising up the hillsides.

  ‘This is indeed a beautiful country,’ said John Bolton to no one in particular.

  ‘Yes, it’s great, if you have the finances to live in the style we’ve been living!’ said Geoff with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

  He regretted the statement as soon as he had said it but he was concerned about their cash situation or, more to the point, the speed at which it was dwindling. The fact was that the rest of them seemed quite unperturbed by their position; they were taking him for granted, leaving the problem solely to him, as if he would solve their dilemma like a magician with a wave of some magic wand. If only it was so simple. What was worrying him also was the fact that a couple of years ago, without any qualms whatsoever, he would have taken all the remaining cash and slipped away leaving the others to sort out the problem as best they could. Thinking about other people was a weakness he was not accustomed too, he realised that if he was not very careful it could be his downfall. He was also on pins as the opportunity for another quiet word with Werner Fisher that evening was fast disappearing. He was now quite inebriated and in a deep slurred conversation in German with his friend, Peer Merkel.