The Criminal Escapades of Geoffrey Larkin

by R. W. Hughes

  ‘What I noticed when we arrived in Italy,’ said Geoff, ‘was that the authorities did not check our passports electronically like the officers did at the passport desk when we left England. If we look the part, just a small group of tourists, amongst dozens of others there should be no problems.’

  It was at this point that Werner also put his views, and spoke about his concerns. ‘Am I to understand, Geoff, that you also intend to collect the shells for the Mark 111 assault gun while on the Greek island of Corfu?’

  His answer to Werner’s question was a simple, ‘Yes!’

  ‘Peer and I need to talk some more, Geoff,’ said Werner. ‘You have, as the saying goes, dropped a hot potato in our lap. We need a little more time to make a decision.’

  Geoff just nodded, rising from his chair, leaving Peer Merkel and his old war comrade finishing their brandy and cigars while discussing his latest proposition.

  He took this opportunity to check on the path that the Bolton brothers mentioned before when they had been checking on the area with the bikes. It also gave him the chance to clear his head. It was when he was returning that he was confronted by a growling, little Jack Russell standing in the centre of the narrow path. It was the very same dog that had nearly been run over by the Mercedes. He did not like animals and even a little dog like the one that barred his path frightened him. He could not pluck up courage to walk past the dog and sensing that he was afraid seemed to make it much braver.

  It was obvious it had no intention of giving ground from his position in the centre of the path. Still growling, it set him with its beady eyes. It was a standoff.

  ‘Now, Montgomery, don’t you frighten this young man.’

  Geoff had been concentrating so much on the dog that he had not noticed the figure standing in the shade of the trees.

  ‘You’re English,’ said Geoff as a straight backed figure stepped forward and scooped up the Jack Russell who stopped his growling and concentrated on licking his owner’s face.

  ‘Correct! Captain Delaney. Captain James Delaney retired.’ The man held out his hand which was covered in a glove of silky looking material.

  Geoff shook the outstretched hand. He noticed during the exchange that the man was quite old with a heavily wrinkled face that at some time had been very severely burned down the right hand side.

  ‘Glad to meet you, Captain Delaney,’ Geoff responded. He stopped himself just in time as he had nearly introduced himself by his proper name. ‘I’m Paul, Paul Jackson. I’m staying at the villa with several of my friends. We’re here on holiday. This area is a beautiful part of Italy.’

  ‘Yes, that is true, Italy is very beautiful. Well you young people enjoy yourselves. Remember, you are only young once.’

  There was an embarrassing silence as both Geoff and the retired captain tried to think of something more to say. With a curt ‘Bye Paul!’ the man turned quickly and walked back into the woods, still carrying the Jack Russell. Geoff watched as he disappeared into the gloom.

  As he slowly made his way back to the villa he had time to ponder on the recent meeting with the ex-army officer, he decided that the captain didn’t pose a threat, feeling a pang of pity though that the man had been so badly burned at some point in his life, and was apparently still self-conscious of its effects.

  It was an hour later that Geoff again approached the two old men who were still sitting near the pool enjoying the cool of the evening. He thought, as before, it was pointless beating about the bush with niceties, so standing in front of them he came straight out with the question. ‘Good evening gentlemen have you had time to discuss the proposition?’

  The two men looked at one another for a few moments; it was Werner who eventually answered. ‘Peer and I have discussed your proposal in great detail. We have agreed to do this thing for you but there are several conditions of which we need to discuss the details.’

  Geoff’s immediate hidden reaction was. Great! They are on board.

  ‘Fire away!’ he said, overjoyed. Then as his knees were shaking uncontrollably he sat down on a spare chair opposite the two Austrians.

  ‘Well,’ said Werner, ‘if there are no problems and we return in one piece, Peer and I immediately take the next train to Austria. Also, whatever arrangements or instructions you have received with regards collection of your goods, I suggest you review these instructions carefully and, if possible, alter them to your advantage. It is dangerous for you and your friends if people know where you will be at a specific time and place.’

  ‘I thank you for your concern, Werner,’ said Geoff, ‘but I have already made alternative arrangements from the instructions I have been given.’

  Werner smiled at Geoff’s reply. Over the short period of time he had been in this young man’s company he had developed a great deal of respect for his initiative, his planning, his grasp of the various difficult situations that had arisen and the decisive actions he had taken. He had shown a level of intelligence that you would only expect of someone much older and much more experienced in these matters of intrigue.

  ‘Also, when we arrive at the customs post for the ferry we will go through separately.’ ‘Certainly!’ came back the instant reply. Geoff was glad that it was partially dark and they could not see that though it was quite a cool evening he was sweating like a pig, to use one of Sooty’s favourite expressions.

  Inwardly, Werner Fisher questioned whether his involvement was contributing to these four young men spending most of their adult lives behind bars. But with this Geoff Larkin in charge of these three loyal friends, he was also beginning to think that what had started out as a hare-brained scheme which didn’t have a snowflake in hell’s chance of succeeding might, just might, even though it was absurd to even think of it, might be pulled off and, maybe, just maybe they may get away with it!

  ‘I thank you two gentlemen again for your help and assistance. I agree with all your conditions. We leave at first light in the morning after an early breakfast. Operation Silver Bullion is now officially starting in earnest!’

  Peer Merkel and Werner Fisher looked at one another. It had been more than sixty years since they had felt this surge of adrenalin rushing through their veins liked they now felt, and that had been before they had gone into action. They both had the same feeling, that they should stand up and salute the slightly built young man standing in front of them.

  It was very early on Thursday morning that the party left the villa, the drive through the quiet Italian countryside in the cool of that part of the day was very pleasant. Geoff was sitting at the front with John Bolton driving, Peer Merkel and Werner Fisher were seated comfortably in the rear seats of the large Mercedes saloon; all four had small overnight bags stored in the boot.

  Sooty and the youngest Bolton brother were staying at the villa. They said they would occupy themselves by doing some more exploring on the mountain bikes, in between Sooty improving on his newfound swimming skills in the pool.

  The text message instructions Geoff had received had told him to wait in the car park of the main Italian port of Brindisi from where the ferries operated to and from the Greek island of Corfu. Here from 15.00 hours this Friday he was to look out for a large, white van with the words, ‘Antichita’, in large letters on the side. He was then to approach the driver and introduce himself as Signor Larkin. He would be given the goods he had requested from Jock, his fence.

  According to the telephone call that Werner had made, the last ferry leaving Brindisi for Corfu was 12.00 hours, midday. So it should give Geoff and his party ample time to drive to the port in order to catch that boat.

  The Mercedes purred along eating up the miles on the Italian duel carriageway, arriving with ample time to spare.

  Peer duly booked for their macchina and four singola tickets plus a cabin for the eight-hour journey on the last ferry that day to Corfu.

  The bored Greek customs official barely glanced at their car documents and the passports before waving them through to join
an assorted queue of vehicles, some commercial and some, obviously by their different country registration, tourists. Alongside these were groups of young backpackers who were also from various countries and were dependent on lifts or public transport to travel around the country. There were also several small groups of holiday makers all of various nationalities who were all travelling around in mini buses, under the supervision of a driver-guide.

  Geoff and the team did not look out of place, it was quite easy to mingle with the happy throng and as the tension eased it left them all feeling quite relaxed, especially Peer who made enquiries about where on the ferry the bar was situated and then quickly made his way in that direction.

  ‘Well, in for a penny, in for a pound,’ said Geoff to John Bolton who was standing beside him at the guard rail at the prow of the ferry enjoying the cooling breeze that was blowing across the top deck as the boat cleared the Italian port of Brindisi.

  Geoff moved farther along the rail to obtain a better view of the dock side, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The Italian that had followed him to the railway station was not there and he had watched as the passengers had boarded the ferry, he was pretty certain he wasn’t on the boat either, he was also reasonably sure that they had not been followed on their long car journey. But that didn’t mean that an associate may well be watching and reporting their movements at this very moment.

  Or was he being over cautious and perhaps paranoid over the situation.

  *

  That’s something I need Werner to check for me before they settle in their cabin, thought Geoff as he made his way to where Werner was also catching the cool breeze at the bow of the boat.

  ‘Werner,’ said Geoff, attracting the old man’s attention. ‘Is it standard practice for the commercial vehicles to be the last to leave the ferry?’

  ‘Yes!’ came back the instant reply from the Austrian, thinking what was going on in the active mind of the young man standing in front of him. They have priority boarding the ferry, but the tourists are the first to leave when the destination is reached.’

  Great! thought Geoff, that helps no end, those extra few minutes delay could be vital.

  Their arrival on Corfu was just as uneventful as their boarding of the ferry; they were waved through the check point along with all the other types of private vehicles that spewed forth from the open end of the ferry on to the concrete quay of Kerkira.

  They had no difficulty booking into a small private hotel close to the Greek port. Geoff had already checked when the first ferry left in the morning for Brindi on the Italian mainland and also the departure times of all the other ferries leaving the port the same day. He intended to be there with John Bolton and the Merc; well before it departed.

  *

  At four o’clock the following morning John Bolton, following Geoff’s instructions, had parked the large Mercedes in a lay-by on the only road leading to the port of Kerkira.

  Geoff had already waved down two large, white vans heading for the port but, as they came closer in the half light of early morning, he could see that neither had the sign of ‘Antichita’ on their side, and waved their puzzled drivers on again.

  He was getting uneasy that he could be attracting unwanted attention by waving down these vehicles, plus he had a very tight schedule to keep and he could see that John was also showing signs of nervousness. ‘Let’s hope it’s third time lucky John,’ said Geoff as he left the car when the third white van appeared. He breathed a sigh of relief, this had the sign, ‘Antichita’ on the side.

  ‘Boun giorna Signor! Sono Signor Geoff Larkin?’ he shouted, looking up at the suspicious driver as he pulled his van into the lay-by.

  ‘Signor Geoff Larkin,’ repeated the driver. He was obviously confused; he had been told he would be approached in the car park when he reached the port of Brindisi on the coast of Italy, not here in Corfu.

  ‘Si, si,’ said Geoff, opening the palms of his hands as he had seen the Italians do, smiling broadly at the driver. ‘Alteratione va bene.’

  The man pulled out a mobile phone, typed in a number, before he noticed there was no signal. Geoff had picked his spot well.

  The driver thought for several seconds then, shrugging his shoulders, put the phone away and with a simple explanation of, ‘Okay,’ opened his cab door joining Geoff on the hard packed soil at the side of the road.

  He walked to the side of the van with Geoff following close behind. Fiddling in his pocket he brought out a bunch of keys, unlocked then opened the sliding door at the side of the van, indicating to Geoff a square, highly polished, wooden item which looked like an old-fashioned coal scuttle.

  ‘Yours, Signor Geoff Larkin,’ he said. Geoff did not need to be told twice. He grabbed the handle at the top of the highly polished, brass bound box. It hardly moved as he attempted to drag the item towards him, it was a lot heavier than he had first thought and the driver did not make any attempt to help him. He beckoned to John Bolton who hurried across from the Mercedes. Between them they carried the box and placed it in the boot of the large saloon.

  ‘Grazie,’ he said to the driver, slipping him a fifty euro note along with a ferry ticket for a goods vehicle from the port of Kirkira to the Italian port of Brindisi. ‘Prego,’ replied the driver smiling, handing him a key and pointing to the box.

  ‘Grazie Signor,’ said Geoff over his shoulder as he and John Bolton got into their car. They drove off down the same road, which the driver of the white van had just travelled, leaving the driver to get into his van and carry on to the port of Kirkira.

  As prearranged, Peer and Werner were waiting in the hotel lounge and were quickly directed to the hotel car park here they gave the contents of the coal scuttle shaped box a thorough examination.

  Geoff waited anxiously as the two old men expertly handled the slim pointed cylinders and Peer checked the identification numbers stamped on the brass casing of the shells. After conferring for a few moments they looked at Geoff and smiled. In their opinion the contents of the box seemed to be the genuine article.

  The first ferry due to leave Corfu that morning bound for Italy was at 09.30am, not from the main port of Kirkira but the smaller port of Igoumenitsa, neither was its destination the main Italian port of Brindi but the much smaller port of Otranto, which was further down the coast.

  The group had arrived quite early, eager to purchase their tickets with a cabin as before, and then they joined the queue of people who were already boarding the much smaller ferry than the one that had delivered them to the island the previous day.

  It was Peer who enquired from his friend Werner why they were using a different port and smaller ferry. ‘Our young leader has planned our return most adequately, do not be concerned Peer, you are in safe hands,’ replied a smiling Werner.

  As before, they separated but there was no problem, they were all waved aboard after a brief glance at their documentation by the customs official, and quickly settled into the same routine on the smaller ferry, as on the larger ferry the previous day.

  *

  Marco, with the other two heavies and their boss, Mr. Brown, had left the hotel in Pisa where they were still staying, very early that Friday morning. They had a long drive ahead of them. They had two cars and on the way they collected the Italians, Luca and his associate, Simone Campagni.

  The two heavies with Mr. Brown looked with disgust at the two slightly built, smartly dressed, perfumed young Italians who joined them in the cars. It was obvious what was going through their minds; they considered they would be of little use if it ever came to a free for all.

  Marco was not very happy. He had not been involved with making the arrangements for the meeting on the car park in Brindisi so he had not been able to plan anything in advance with his brother and nephew.

  On the face of it, Geoff Larkin and his little gang would walk straight into a well-planned trap and, once caught, it was unlikely that any of them would be seen alive again.

  The two, hired, lar
ge Audi saloons made short work of the journey to the Italian port. So as not to be so obvious and to be in position to cover the entire quay, they parked at the opposite ends of the ferry car park and waited, from their location they could see all the vehicles in the car park and all those leaving the ferry.

  The time was 15.30 before the freight vehicles started to leave the ferry and three large white vans passed through the parking area, but only one that had ‘Antichita’ on its side.

  It was obvious to Marco, who was sitting with Mr. Brown, that it was not going to stop in the car park as were its instructions. It was the two young Italians who waved the van down at the far side of the car park before it joined the road.

  Marco and Mr. Brown were looking around the rest of the large concrete waiting area; there was no sign of a black Mercedes saloon or any young Englishmen just a couple of loud American tourists nearby taking photographs of themselves, the ferry and the port. Climbing back into their car they quickly drove across the empty tarmac to where they could see the driver of the white van and Luca gesturing wildly at one another.

  It was Luca who came over to the car containing Mr. Brown and Marco as it screeched sharply to a halt. He spoke to Marco for a few moments then Marco turned to his boss.

  ‘He says Geoff Larkin made himself known and collected the parcel early this morning before the driver and his van boarded the ferry.’

  Mr. Brown shook his head as if he had not heard correctly. Sinking back in his seat, his face had gone deathly pale and the only sound that broke the silence was the grinding of his teeth. After several minutes of obviously deep thought, the reply ‘OK!’ came through gritted teeth.

  ‘Luca can take one of our boys with a car and catch this ferry before it goes back to Corfu and then they can make enquiries at that end. We’ll travel down to the smaller port of Otranto further down the coast just in case they try and come ashore there. Also, one of the Italians will have to go with my assistant, hire a taxi and cover the other port of Bari further up the coast in case they decide to embark there.’