The Criminal Escapades of Geoffrey Larkin (34 page)

The Audi was speeding down the coast road, just outside the small port town of Otranto. If any of the passengers sitting alongside Mr. Brown in the vehicle had bothered to look closely across the dual carriageway at the petrol station on the road going in the opposite direction, they would have seen a large, black Mercedes partially hidden by the fuel pumps similar to the one they were looking for, being filled with fuel.

Standing alongside the vehicle was a young man, whom they may well have recognised from the photographs in their possession accompanied by two much older men, one requiring the use of a walking stick, they were making their way slowly across the station forecourt towards a small café.

If the two American tourists who had been in the ferry car park had not been struggling so hard to keep up with the fast moving Audi in front of them, they too may have also noticed the group at the petrol station across the other side of the carriageway.

It was while they were in the petrol station café that Geoff's curiosity caused him to ask Werner what the white van was doing and what was its business as he had noticed it had been loaded with all sorts of furniture and oddments.

‘Since the break-up of the Communist Federation it is possible for dealers to drive into the Balkans and purchase old and antique furniture. They then sell it to agents in Europe and make a good profit. I also suspect that driver is also used many times by various organisations to collect and deliver suspect parcels,' Werner responded.

Geoff had calculated that the second ferry leaving Kerkira on the Greek island of Corfu should, if they kept to their schedule, reach the smaller port of Otranto further down the coast with enough time for him and his associates to be well clear of the town before the heavy mob, if they were expecting him at Brindisi, could drive to intercept him.

The ferry that was leaving Corfu later for the port of Bari would not have given him enough time to clear the town, but there had been a hold up at Otranto. The Italian police had brought dogs sniffing around all the vehicles as they left the ferry.

Fortunately, these dogs had only been trained to search for drugs and not explosives. The experience had given Peer a funny turn so they had called at the petrol station, not only to fill up with fuel but also to buy Peer a large brandy, which he insisted that he required in order to help his recovery!

Just before dusk the Mercedes with Geoff, John Bolton, Werner Fisher and a sleeping Peer Merkel pulled up several streets away from Werner Fisher's apartment. It had taken a lot longer to return as a result of them avoiding the motorway and instead travelling on country roads. They decided on this route in order to try and avoid anyone who might be trying to catch up with them or who had been posted to observe the motorways. Werner, the retired bank clerk, had insisted that he was not leaving Italy without first obtaining some personal items that were still in his flat. No amount of persuasion during the long journey back to Castligion Fiorentino would make the old man change his mind.

As Geoff approached the block of apartments in which Werner had spent such a large part of his life he thought how much he needed Sooty at times like this. The lift had a sign in Italian, which Werner translated as saying ‘Out of order'. They slowly made their way up the stairs, both men keeping as quiet as was possible. ‘Why are we being so quiet Werner?' asked Geoff half way along the corridor to Werner's apartment.

‘MMM! I thought it was the thing to do,' replied Werner sheepishly. It was his suggestion that they did not turn on the light in the apartment in case the property was still being watched.

Werner went through from room to room in the small apartment managing, in the quickly dwindling daylight, to collect the personal belongings that were so important to him.

It was as Geoff opened the door of the apartment to leave that he was confronted by a figure that was standing in the half light of the corridor opposite the doorway. He slammed the door shut, turning to flee but where to he did not know. He was restricted by Werner who had been looking over his shoulder.

‘It is okay, Geoff! It's okay. He's my neighbour and he is, as you say, in charge of the house watch.' Werner reopened the door and spoke a few words to reassure his neighbour that everything was in order.

He shook his head as he heard Geoff being sick in the bathroom.

‘Sorry about that, Werner,' said Geoff as they made their way down the stairs, ‘but it was such a shock as I opened the door; he was just standing there in the half light.'

‘There is no harm done, Geoff. Let us now leave as quickly as possible. My neighbour said that people have been making enquiries and they were still parked outside watching the block until early this morning when he was collected by a large, black car. His old, white Fiat is empty and still parked across the road.'

Geoff was relieved. ‘It must have been the heavies that collected him, then they were all there waiting for them in Brindisi; the crafty bastards!' It was only when they had cleared the outskirts of the town and he was sure that they were not being followed that he was able to relax and sink back in the comfort of the deep, leather passenger seat. The low sound of Peer Merkel's snoring indicated that he was still in a deep sleep.

It was the following morning after breakfast that John Bolton drew the Mercedes to the front entrance of the villa. It had been recently washed, waxed and polished for the occasion.

Sooty loaded Peer Merkel's baggage into the boot and Derek Bolton brought Werner's travelling bag and box of personal belongings taken from his flat the previous night. The two, old comrades warmly shook hands with Sooty and Derek Bolton.

‘The next time I meet you boys will be in Austria,' said Peer, holding on to Sooty's hand.

‘I'll show you how to make ‘tater hash' then,' answered Sooty, feeling a bit embarrassed by the hug that Peer Merkel gave him.

Several minutes later after all the farewells, the Mercedes left the villa cruising effortlessly down the drive, leaving the two lads waving from outside the villa until the vehicle joined the road and disappeared from sight.

As it was passing through the village, Geoff asked John Bolton to stop. He expertly pulled in behind a taxi dropping off the wife of the owner of the village general stores.

Geoff slipped inside, and after surveying the merchandise he purchased two small cases suitable to fit the personal belongings of Werner Fisher and Peer Merkel.

‘A small going away present,' he said to Werner and Peer, handing the old men the cases as he got back into the car. When they arrived at the railway station he carried Werner's cases to the platform then while he assisted Werner, John Bolton carried Peer Merkel's bags. It was when they were shaking hands and saying their goodbyes that Werner Fisher took Geoff to one side.

‘In two days' time, it is the local Palio celebrations at Castligion Fiorentino, so the local police force and the Carabinieri will be kept very busy that night. Also, on the same day the daughter of the bank manager where I worked is getting married. I have an invitation to the wedding so, as you see, I will be elsewhere. They are having the wedding reception at her father's house, which is not far from the bank. Before I took my retirement this was one of the events I was in charge of organising. Interesting enough and, possibly a great advantage for you, I booked a giant firework display for him for eleven o'clock that night as part of the entertainment for the guests. If I was going to do what you have in mind, Sunday night would be the night I would personally choose.'

Then taking hold of Geoff's wrist with his free hand he turned it palm upward. ‘Looking through my personal belongings this morning I came across this.' He placed in Geoff's open palm what looked like a large T-shaped cork screw but instead of the twisted end it finished with a square, similar to a large Allen key. Geoff looked at this odd looking tool then looked at Werner with a puzzled frown on his face.

‘As you no doubt noticed when you inspected the mobile assault gun, there was a padlock on the outside of the hatch. I am sure you have the necessary equipment for the removal of this lock.'

‘That's true,' volunteered Geoff.

‘But without this key, you would have great difficulty opening the hatch and gaining access to the tank. I debated all night whether or not I should give you this tool, not because you are breaking the law, that is obvious, but you are inexperienced and are dealing with explosives. I am concerned for you and your friends' safety but it is also my conscience and if I was instrumental in any of you or any other person being seriously injured, I could not forgive myself, but,' Werner gave a deep sigh, ‘you have chosen this path. Providence has thrown us together. I can do no more than wish you and your loyal comrades the best of luck.'

Geoff looked at the old soldier whose eyes were filling with tears, gave him a hug and then shook his hand again. Then Geoff, with John Bolton following, left the two old men and their luggage on the platform.

They were waiting for the express that would, after several changes of trains, take them across the Alps and back into their own country of Austria where they would arrive later that Saturday evening.

On the drive back towards the villa Geoff reflected on the similarity between the old tramp, Sir Reginald and Herr Werner Fisher. What both men had in common was that, for no apparent reason, they had both befriended him. He had noticed, as he had turned to give a final goodbye wave at the railway station, how forlorn and unkempt the two old soldiers looked in their crumpled jackets and trousers, Peer Geoff had noticed was wearing odd socks. It was possibly a good thing that they would be sharing a place together, to be able to look after one another's welfare; it was obvious by their overall general appearances that they had both suffered since they had lost their partners and had to fend for themselves.

During the return drive Geoff told John Bolton what Werner Fisher had told him. ‘Lucky for us he came up with that decision, our efforts would have gone off like a damp squib if he hadn't,' replied the eldest Bolton brother.

‘Something else, Geoff, if that lock on the hatch has not been opened for several years it could well be seized up. It would pay us to squirt some easing fluid in through the lock opening, allowing it to soak through for as long as possible.'

‘That's good thinking John. We're low on petrol,' said Geoff looking at the fuel gauge on the car's instrument panel, ‘we'll pull in at the next garage, fill up with petrol and get some of whatever you want. Tonight we'll go back to Castligion Fiorentino when it's dark and give that lock on the tanks hatch a good soaking.'

‘And we'll treat the hinges as well,' John Bolton added. Geoff just nodded in agreement, deep in his own thoughts.

As Geoff explained his plan to the rest of the lads over the next few days, John felt the levels of stress, which had previously receded after their flight from London, building up again inside him. The uncontrollable little nervous twitching which he had experienced when in Stockport, when it had dawned on the group that they were being looked for by both the police and the heavy mob, had now returned.

It was quite a sombre group that sat down for lunch that Saturday. They had all become used to the two old Austrians. Peer had made them laugh with his odd interpretations of English slang. They also knew they would miss his cooking. He did not do the physical preparation himself but just sat on his high stool in the kitchen sampling the dinner wine and issuing the instructions.All the lads enjoyed participating in the cooking and, of course, they all enjoyed eating the finished results.

If nothing else came of this unplanned visit to Italy and they were fortunate to come out of the future escapade that they were about to engage in, one thing they all realised was that they had learnt, with the help of Peer Merkel, that they were all now capable of cooking some fantastic Italian style dishes.

Marco had started his enquiries at the hotels nearest the port of Kirkira on Corfu Island. He was extremely at ease, he was able to use his native language and many of the smells were very familiar. It also made him feel quite home sick for his own island of Cyprus. It was during his third enquiry in what was a small, typically Greek, family run business this incorporated a small café with a hotel; it was here he obtained the information he was looking for.

Two young Englishmen with two much older Germans, one with a walking stick, had arrived in a large black Mercedes saloon car, had stayed one night and then rushed off to catch the early morning ferry going to Otranto on the Italian mainland.

Marco borrowed one of the ferry timetables from a stand in the hotel hallway and made himself comfortable outside on the café veranda, here he calculated when the ferry would arrive at Otranto and how long it would have taken Mr. Brown, his driver and the young Italian from leaving the main Italian port of Brindisi down the coast to the much smaller port of Otranto.

‘It's certainly very close,' he said aloud to himself whilst looking at his calculations. ‘That bastard Brown has either caught up with them or just missed them and there's only one way to find out.' He took the mobile from his pocket and quickly typed in a number.

‘Hi boss, it's Marco. They were here but they left on the ferry for Otranto lower down the Italian coast. Yes, I've just found out. I'm at the hotel they stayed at now. I see, but that could take me several days. Okay boss, will do.' Marco put down the mobile.

‘I'm definitely going to screw that bastard Brown,' he cursed under his breath as he fingered his knuckle duster in his jacket pocket.

Marco's boss, Mr. Brown, had informed him that they had not caught Larkin and his gang so they were going back to Pisa to continue their search from there.

In the meantime, he would have to make his own way back to Pisa using the train, once he had caught the ferry from Corfu back to the Italian mainland, and he was not here on holiday so shape himself. Marco did, however, still have a slight edge. He had not told, nor had his boss asked, who had stayed at the hotel. That clever shit, Mr. Brown, was still not aware as yet, that not one but two Germans were involved with Larkin.

He made another phone call this time to his brother; it was necessary to pass that vital information on to him as soon as possible.

*

Sunday evening arrived and the group of young Englishmen at the villa had been very quiet all day. John Bolton had managed to eat some breakfast that morning but had been sick shortly afterwards. His brother, Derek, had declined the breakfast that had been prepared and placed on the kitchen table by Sooty. Geoff had just taken coffee out to the pool area. He found it very relaxing there, looking over the fields and watching the farmers working on their land. They would be doing this until the sun became too hot and they retired back to their farms, to return later in the day to carry on their work when it was cooler.

It was such a simple, steady, easy way of life he thought, just letting the world go by. They didn't seem to have any of the problems that people seemed to have in the city, and they certainly did not have the problems he was having. He went back in the kitchen where Sooty was finishing off the breakfasts left by Derek Bolton and himself.

Sooty would fit in with the Italian way of life a treat; nothing seems to worry him at all.
The thought passed through his mind as he watched him tidy away all the breakfast things, most of them only used by him, he then proceeding to wash the dishes in the large, double bowled, stainless steel kitchen sink. He only hoped the big lad would still have the freedom to be able to do that after the next few days.

*

Marco's brother, Oscar, with their nephew, Giorgio, had been enquiring at all the taxi ranks and hire car agencies without any success.

It was nine o'clock on a very quiet Sunday night and they had been out on the streets since nine o'clock that morning, as they had been every day since they had first arrived in Italy. They were weary so decided to call it a day, especially, as they didn't seem to be making any progress. As they got into their hire car to leave the taxi rank outside the railway station at Florence, a mini bus pulled up and unloaded its passengers and luggage.

The sign on the side of the mini bus was advertising a hotel on the outskirts of Florence. Its passengers were obviously the hotel's guests being dropped off at the railway station.

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 they 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.