by R. W. Hughes
At his uncle Oscar’s bidding, Giorgio wearily left the hire car, making his way slowly to the mini bus where the driver was unloading the last of the passengers’ luggage from his extra-large boot. ‘Scusi Signor,’ said Giorgio, attracting the driver’s attention.
‘Have you seen, or given a lift to, any of these Englishmen travelling with an old German who uses a walking stick?’ Giorgio, for the hundredth time, showed the driver a series of faded and crumpled photographs of the four English lads. The driver casually looked at the photographs held out in front of him. Georgio made ready to walk back to the hire car, expecting the answer that he had heard so many times before.
‘Si, Si,’ exclaimed the driver.
Giorgio was immediately alert and waved frantically to attract the attention of his uncle who was still sitting in their hire car.
‘But they were not English Signor,’ said the driver in good English. ‘They were American tourists. The old man who was with them was a German but he spoke reasonable Italian.’ Giorgio’s frantic waving had eventually been noticed by a dozing Oscar who left the car hurrying over to join his nephew and the driver of the mini coach who were in deep conversation.
The driver could not remember the name of the villa but a fifty euro note presented to him provided Oscar and Giorgio with directions to the property where he had taken Geoff, his three mates and the old German with the walking stick.
*
Marco, on the island of Corfu, had just finished his dinner at the hotel that he had booked into. It was the same one where Geoff and his companions had stayed the previous night.
He was taking the opportunity to have a relaxing evening at Mr. Brown’s expense until, as instructed, he would catch the Monday morning ferry back to Italy to join in the on-going search for Larkin.
It was the very same guy who was giving shit-head Brown the run around, and who Marco was beginning to feel a little sorry for, because when they found him, it would be him, who would have to beat his brains out.
He was sitting on the hotel veranda overlooking the port, sharing a bottle of ouzo and having a relaxed interesting conversation with the proprietor about the politics on his divided home of Cyprus. This was interrupted by the buzzing of his mobile telephone. The message from his brother spoilt Marco’s pleasant, enjoyable evening.
He was stuck here on the island of Corfu while on the Italian mainland his brother had found where Larkin and his gang were staying. The instructions he text to his brother and nephew were, ‘Do nothing. Repeat do nothing, and wait until I return.’
Marco made enquiries from the proprietor about the possibility of obtaining any form of transport back to the mainland of Italy that night but with it being Sunday none was available; the next flight was early the following morning to Florence.
Marco did not sleep at all well that night; he kept leaving his bed to pace around in his bedroom. He knew the temperament of Oscar, his younger brother. He looked up to Marco, he was always trying to prove to him how clever he was. Marco was concerned that his brother might get too ambitious and possibly compromise what was a very delicate situation. If he and his nephew happened to get in the way of Mr. Brown and his heavies the outcome could be, no, definitely would be, disastrous and potentially fatal for his relations and for him also in the long term.
Marco’s concerns were well justified. His brother did not tell their nephew the full contents of the text, only that Marco was exceptionally pleased with their efforts and they were to check the property out for when he returned the following day.
It was 22.00 hours that Sunday night when Georgio and Marco’s younger brother, having parked their hire car in the lane well past the gates to the villa, slowly made their way, walking on the grass verge either side of the limestone drive, towards the large building they could see outlined against the night sky.
A cursory inspection around the property showed them that there were no vehicles parked at the rear and there were definitely no dogs as they would have been barking much sooner. Also, there did not seem to be a burglar alarm system but there were two censors controlling floodlights near the pool area at the rear of the villa, these were operated as the two men circled the building. These were there possibly for the benefit of the residents so they didn’t fall in the pool if for any reason they were around that area at night. There was one light shining from a room on the ground floor. A glance through the window showed it to be the kitchen. It was empty.
It took Georgio less than a minute to pick the old-fashioned lock on the ground floor rear door, allowing both men to enter the large kitchen.
A quick search through the rooms confirmed that the property was empty but that all six bedrooms were being used as all the beds were still unmade and the rooms also contained articles of clothing that were scattered around.
A further in-depth search did not reveal the printing plates, or the discs that Marco had said the organisation were looking for, which Oscar and Georgio had been brought in by Marco to try and find.
Oscar was in a dilemma. He could strip every room in the villa but that would take time and for that he would have to turn on the electric lights. If the group returned, which they could at any minute, they would be off like startled rabbits and they would be back to square one again plus, he still may not be able to find the plates. If that was the case, his brother would not be very pleased, in fact he would be very angry, and Oscar did not want to be on the wrong side of Marco when he was in a vile mood.
So he would have to follow his older brother’s instructions and wait until the following day and his return from Corfu. They would then all return and simply beat it out of the occupants to find out where they had hidden the plates. Problem solved!
It was obvious that they were still using the villa so they evidently felt quite secure in their present accommodation; there were no indications that they had any intention of leaving at present.
Oscar was satisfied that when the occupants returned they would never suspect that every room in the property, even the outbuildings, had been professionally searched, as everything had been left exactly how it had been prior to their visit.
They were in the process of leaving the building from the kitchen door, through which they had entered, when a low growling noise made them turn sharply.
Facing them was a small white dog.
‘Piss off you mutt or I’ll kick you into the pond!’ Georgio’s aggressive tone obviously had the desired effect on the dog and, as if it had heard some silent signal, it turned and then scurried off across the garden.
It was then that a set of car headlights swept into the drive and started the slow climb towards the villa just as Georgio was in the process of relocking the kitchen door.
Their hurried retreat from the rear of the property into the cover of the nearby bushes triggered one of the light censors again which then lit up the nearest edge of the pool.
They stationed themselves well out of the beam of the floodlight as the Mercedes saloon swung into the area behind the villa setting off the censor of the second floodlight which in turn bathed all the area in a bright, hard, white electric light.
Oscar and Georgio, as they quietly moved deeper into the darkness of the thick foliage, were surprised that the occupants of the car did not seem concerned about the floodlight that they had activated as the vehicle was coming up the drive.
Part of the conversation between several of the passengers leaving the car drifted towards the two figures on the outskirts of the lit area. The words ‘porcupine’ and ‘wild boar’ sent a sigh of relief through the minds of Marco’s relations.
Very, very slowly and very quietly they made their way back down the side of the drive careful to avoid treading on the central limestone gravelled area.
They silently made their way to where they had parked their own vehicle well past the entrance to the villa. Oscar used the light of the moon to drive slowly back down the lane, turning on the cars headlights only when he thought th
ey were well clear and out of sight of the villa.
They would be back very shortly when his elder brother returned so there was no great rush. Oscar thought he had done well. Marco would be pleased that he had established that the group were still using the property.
They were late coming back; it was now one o’clock on Monday morning. Oscar assumed that that would probably mean they would be late getting up that morning, just in time to invite himself, Marco and their nephew, Georgio for breakfast. Oscar laughed out loud at the thought, causing his nephew, who was dozing at his side, to wake with a start, before settling down again to his slumbering.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Earlier that Sunday evening as Oscar and Georgio were making their way to the villa occupied by Geoff and co. The black Mercedes slipped out of the drive leading from the property, it contained a very sombre, and very quiet group of occupants.
Geoff had double-checked everything against his list, as the other three stacked the contents from one of the outbuildings into the boot of the car.
They all had dark blue boiler suits, black ski masks, matching black linen gloves and goggles, which Werner Fisher had told them they would need because of the possible back flash of the gun, also they should not remove the gloves until after they had completed their mission and were back in the car.
Their other essential equipment was also carefully packed, several torches plus electric lamps with spare batteries and long life bulbs, four short range walkie-talkies, two long and two extra-long crowbars, bolt croppers and most important, the tank’s hatch key.
The two international ‘men at work’ signs would not fit in the boot so these were placed across the rear seats. Geoff had also purchased a builder’s laser level.
The idea was that as the gun’s original sights were missing they would place the level on the barrel of the gun and, with the special glasses provided; they would be able to see with great accuracy where the gun barrel was pointing. Hopefully, they would then be able to manually adjust accordingly.
Most important of all, they loaded in the antique, polished, wooden box containing the three 75mm shells alongside the box they placed the firing mechanism for the gun. As they drove down the drive Geoff took a backward glance at the outline of the villa, slowly disappearing and merging into the shadows.
Would his small group of friends ever return to this place, where they for a brief period in their lives had shared so much pleasure between them and their two newfound Austrian friends? Several days previous when Geoff had put his plan to his friends, they had embraced the idea whole-heartedly; to them it was just another scam like all the previous jaunts planned by their leader. But as the day approached, it slowly dawned on the group that this was a much more serious and highly dangerous escapade. They were about to rob a bank.
Geoff noticed a change in their manner; they became irritable and argumentative with one another, something that had never happened previously. Geoff’s thoughts went back when they had attempted to take the safe, which had turned out to be a disaster. Was this next escapade just another disaster in waiting? But they had never robbed a bank before? A bank in a foreign country, where they were struggling to put more than two words together in a language they could not understand.
As they went through the procedures and the constant rehearsals of assembling the loading mechanism, and the correct way of handling the shells, despite the complaints from their students, it was something the two ex-Austrian soldiers had insisted on.
‘We will be happy when you can complete what we request blindfolded,’ was all Werner had said in reply to their grumblings. So the practising continued.
*
It was a very subdued group that made the journey in the Mercedes, all embroiled in their own thoughts, Geoff had to remind John on several occasions to concentrate, as he wandered over to continue driving on the left hand side of the road as if he was back in the UK, also his attempt at light conversation in order to take their minds off the forthcoming escapade was met by stony silence from the rest of the occupants.
They arrived in the car park alongside the German Mark 111 mobile assault gun at 22.15 hours without incident. They surveyed the area from inside the Mercedes.
There were only a few cars parked in the car park. These were all unoccupied and there did not seem to be anyone else in the vicinity, on what would have usually been a very busy Sunday evening. They could hear the sound of the festivities taking place at the far side of the town. Most of the residents would be there either watching the carnival proceedings or dressed in their medieval costumes and involved in the parade through the narrow streets that had taken place earlier in the evening. This would eventually finish in the town’s far car park for a spectacular finale and medieval fair.
Carefully they unloaded the contents of the car boot and placed all the articles at the base of the large chestnut tree.
‘This tree’s a boon,’ whispered Geoff to John Bolton as they unloaded the last of the torches. The car park’s system of lighting was a series of large orange lights set on top of tall concrete standards. Fortunately, the lights were too far away to penetrate the deep shadow thrown by the camouflage painted tank or the surrounding area covered by the thick trunk and foliage of the chestnut tree.
Geoff was concerned by John Bolton’s state of mind. He had noticed that when they were unloading the car the oldest brother was shaking uncontrollably like a leaf in a high wind. It was he who had been given the job of assembling the firing mechanism of the gun and then firing it.
Geoff looked at his own fingers which had also been shaking uncontrollably in the car on the journey from the villa but now the adrenalin had kicked in and there was not a tremor to be seen.
Although it was not a warm evening he was sweating profusely, his shirt sticking uncomfortably to his back as was happening with all the lads. Derek Bolton seemed quite calm as he concentrated on setting up the laser level on the gun barrel and inserting the battery while Sooty seemed the least concerned of them all, handling the heavy road signs and heavy metal leverage bars with ease.
Everything was set. Geoff gave one last look around the car park; it was all clear. He gave Sooty the nod. Without any noise at all, the modern lock and hasp on the hatch cover, wrapped in a cloth to deaden the sound, was cut by the bolt cutters operated by the big lad Sooty.
More noise was made by John Bolton’s shaking hands fumbling to fit the special Allen key in the slot and then dropping it onto the metal plate covering the tracks and then falling onto the concrete below. For several seconds everyone froze as the sound seemed to echo over the quiet, empty Piazza.
Sooty retrieved the key and handed it to Derek Bolton who had quietly left his position alongside the tank’s gun barrel and joined his brother near the tank’s hatch. Derek inserted the key into the slot and attempted to turn it, nothing happened. John Bolton placed his shaking hands over his brother’s and then together both tried to turn the key. Still there was no movement. Geoff could see their faces in the half-light, they were sweating with the tension and effort; it was running off their foreheads in little rivulets.
A faint sobbing sound was coming from the mouth of John Bolton. It was Harry Sutton, who had been quietly watching the two brothers’ struggles, that now stepped forward, gently easing the shaking and sobbing John Bolton to one side.
He placed his hefty hands on the key and slightly spreading his legs and hunching his great shoulders he concentrated all his strength on the effort of turning the key.
The noise that made the watching trio jump in the deathly quiet of that corner of the car park was the noise of Harry Sutton’s shirt splitting down the shoulder seam underneath his dark boiler suit. The next sound they heard was the high-pitched squeal of metal on tortured metal. Then the lock turned and the hatch clicked partially open. None of the lads moved.
The noise had seemed deafening. Suddenly, a scooter came through the car park. Its headlight on a loose fixing bracket was bo
bbing up and down as it carried on past the group hidden in the corner.
This was followed by five or six more scooters, their horns intermittingly blaring, obviously a party from the Palio. The scooters then carried on through the open gates and under the great stone archway following the narrow access into the town.
The driver and passengers were shouting to one another above the sound of the scooter’s engine and noisy horns. While the others had been watching this spectacle, Sooty had eased the hatch cover of the tank open, the squeaking of the resisting hinges drowned under cover of the scooter’s noisy engine and shouting passengers.
Geoff grabbed hold of a still shaking John Bolton’s elbow, with a lot of whispering and a little cajoling, he gently but forcefully persuaded and helped the reluctant brother through the hatch and into the dark musty confines of the tank. He then passed him the lamp and a torch along with his little box of tools, taking special care when handing him the firing mechanism. As Derek Bolton leaned over his shoulder, spraying easing fluid on the hinges, Geoff quietly closed the tank’s hatch.
While Derek Bolton sat on Sooty’s shoulders to clear the canvas muzzle weather cover, then removed the cork plugs that had protected the barrel of the gun, Geoff made his way across the road to the target. The town’s Municipal Building.
Werner had told him that the burglar alarm system in the Municipal Building was rather primitive but it had been suitable for the office block prior to the vault being temporarily fitted there. It consisted of alarms fitted to all the doors in the building but there were no room censors fitted on the solid, ground floor, only on the first floor.
The safe was still on its rollers ready to be moved back to the new vault when it was ready; it was attached to the solid floor by several temporary fixings. The door of this portable safe was on a time lock. If it was opened at any other time than was set, an alarm would be activated and a radio signal would automatically be sent to the nearest Carabinieri station, which was less than five minutes away on the far side of the town.
