The Collectors - Book Four: Diamonds and Sand (The Collectors Series 4) (33 page)

             
On entering their room, Petros picked up a manila envelope. Inside was, as promised, a banker’s draft for fifty million pounds. “Not a bad pay day.”

             
Bear tumbled onto his bed. “Don’t lose it.”

             
“Get undressed. You’ll have to wear that suit tomorrow.”

They
managed to place their new suits on hangers before collapsing into their separate beds.

***

At four am, the telephone alongside Bear’s bed rang until he lifted the receiver. “Yes.”

             
“Good morning, sir. Have you any preference for breakfast?”

             
The mention of food activated his dull senses. “Bacon, scrambled eggs, tomatoes, beans, toast and coffee. How long?”

             
“Twenty minutes, sir. We will of course bring it to your room as you will be leaving us soon.”

             
“Magic,” said Bear as he shook Petros and headed for the bathroom.

             
Petros looked up as Bear returned.

             
“Ice cold shower always works wonders. By the way, breakfast will be here in ten minutes.”

             
“Thanks.”

             
Breakfast arrived on a trolley as Petros entered the room and finished dressing. “Leave a few scraps for me.”

             
“Don’t worry, I ordered for three.”

             
At six, a sharp knock on the door signalled the end of their stay in the embassy. Bear carried one holdall containing their possessions. Petros placed their passports and most important, the banker’s draft in his inside jacket pocket.

             
“Tickets?” asked Bear.

             
“Not necessary,” said Hans, “you’re flying courtesy of the German air force. You’ve been cleared for London Stansted.”

             
“Way to go,” said Bear.

             
“Your car’s at the main door,” said Hans.

             
Petros gave the room one final check. Satisfied, he followed Bear and Hans outside to the standard black Mercedes. The driver was ready to leave.

             
Petros stopped and said to Hans, “Are you security?”

             
He smiled. “Goodbye. Have a safe flight.” He returned inside and closed the door.

             
Both men sat in the rear passenger seats and fastened their seatbelts. The car exited the embassy grounds.

             
The driver negotiated a parked bus and drove at speed towards the airport. A short time elapsed before the car signalled right and pulled into a private road.  Two miles further on at an armed gate they stopped at an airport security check point. The driver presented his pass and drove towards a small, not quite windowless building.

             
The one steel-covered door opened. A tall man dressed in German air force uniform, with white hair and a magical smile on his face, walked towards the car. “My passengers?”

             
The driver nodded.

             
He opened the rear door. “Major Anton Schmitz, senior pilot. Please follow me.”

             
Both men alighted and joined Anton as he marched to the plane.

             
A short distance away, its twin engines turning, a    C160 military transport waited.

             
“Old and reliable,” said Anton. “This one is configured for electronic surveillance. Air-conditioned with a small galley and bunks.”

             
“Home from home,” said Bear.

             
Anton smiled. “I’ve spent many hours in this machine and others like her.  One more exercise and she’s being sold.”

             
“What’s replacing her?” said Petros.

             
“The Airbus A400M.”

             
“I remember the Hercules,” said Bear. “It’s reminiscent of me, a slow, lumbering beast but reliable as hell.”

             
They strolled up the ramp and entered a cargo space filled with electronics.

             
“You’re up front in the office,” said Anton. “Plenty of leg room and once we’re in the air you can use any of the three bunks to rest. Please fasten your belts.”

             
“Take off, how long?” asked Bear as the huge ramp closed.

             
Anton grinned. “Thirty seconds is my best guess. Must go and check on my two pilots; they’re undergoing their annual assessment.”

             
Petros and Bear settled into the comfortable seats. Moments later the twin engines roared to full power and the plane taxied into the queue.

             
Petros gripped the arm rests and closed his eyes until the plane raced into the air. Bear sat back, relaxed and said nothing.

             
“Fancy a coffee or sandwich?” said Anton. “No sexy cabin crew I’m afraid. It’s help yourselves. For your information, we’re flying at twenty-five thousand feet, speed three-hundred and fifty knots. There’s a great tail wind so we should arrive Stansted in less than four hours.”

             
“Is it possible to take a look up front?” asked Petros.

             
“When I have my coffee you can join me. I’ll sit in the right seat, you can use the left. My two captains can have a rest.”

***

“Bear wake up and belt up,” said Petros.

“Why do you always wake me when my dreams get interesting?”

              “Because we’re landing in five minutes.”

             
The plane touched the runway with a gentle thud and taxied to a lesser used part of the airfield. Anton appeared. “Ready?”

             
“How did the assessment go?” asked Petros.

             
“No problems.  They’ll be training on the airbus simulator next week.”

             
“So why waste time with a review?” asked Petros.

             
Anton raised his eyebrows. “They must be in date with their current aircraft to progress. I agree it’s stupid but official procedure.”

             
The ramp lowered to the ground and another black car, this time a BMW six series, stopped a few metres away.

             
“Armour-plated and bullet-proof windows,” said Anton. “Who are you?”

             
“Men finishing a job,” said Petros.

             
“I don’t need to know but was your mission accomplished?”

             
Petros exhaled with a deep breath. “Yes, and thanks for the lift.”

             
“Always remember,” said Anton, “if your enemy has a good idea, steal it.”

             
“Works for us,” said Bear.

             
The driver’s window of the BMW opened and a balding, middle-aged man wearing thick framed glasses stuck his head out and in an east London accent shouted, “It’s Tower Bridge first and then Pangbourne.”

             
“Perfect,” said Bear as he looked at his watch. “Should soon be completing the headboard shuffle.”

             
“Is there anything else you think about?”

             
“Sometimes food. Anyway, it’s not me. I have to fight Jocelyn off.”

             
“You should be so lucky. I have to be a goody-two-shoes and read Alysa a story before she goes to sleep.”

             
“Such is life with ankle biters. Our driver awaits.”

             
The driver exited the airport, stopping for a moment to show his diplomatic pass. Once on the M11 motorway he accelerated to ninety miles an hour, ignoring the flashing speed cameras. The closer they drew to London the litter of suburbia became evident; discarded take-always from the night before with dozens of seagulls fighting for every scrap. The driver cursed, changed lanes, overtaking a slow van on the inside lane.

             
Forty-seven minutes later the car stopped outside the Tower Bridge Hotel next to St Katherine’s Docks.

             
The driver grinned. “Sorry as regards the rush but I have to be back at the embassy to take the Chancellor to Downing Street. If I hurry I can grab a bite to eat.”

             
“I’m not complaining. Thanks for the lift. A five minute stroll and I’m home. PK, give my love to Maria and Alysa.” 

             
“Get that head wound seen to. You know the private clinic we use and send me the bill.”

             
“I’ll see to it tomorrow.” Bear grabbed his holdall, shut the door and walked at a brisk pace around the dock.

             
Once on the M4 the BMW cruised at one hundred miles an hour and made Pangbourne in record time.

             
“At the bottom of the hill,” said Petros, “you’ll see two white pillars on the right. That’s my drive.”

             
“No worries.”

             
With the skill of a racing driver the car slewed into the shingle-covered driveway Stones rattled the underside of the car as it stopped at the main door to Petros’ home.

             
He jumped out and waved at the car as it reversed, turned and roared back to the road. “The man’s a lunatic” muttered Petros.

             
The door opened and Charlie, followed by Alysa, ran to meet him. Petros picked up Alysa and kissed her.

             
She wiped the kiss from her lips. “You must say hallo to Yarlie.”

             
He bent and stroked the dog’s head. “Hi, Dog. Hope you’ve taken care of my family.”

Petros
raised his head and smiled. Maria framed by the entrance, waited. She had been in his thoughts since the day he left. Carrying Alysa and with Charlie at his heels he strolled towards her.

             
She met him halfway and kissed him full on the lips. “Miss me?”

             
“What do you think?” The scent of her hair filled him with thoughts. “Course I did. Every moment.”

             
“I’m glad you’re back in one piece. How did it go?”

             
“Made a few pounds to keep you in dresses for the next year or two. Let’s get inside; I could murder a cup of your coffee.”

             
“Is that all you want?”

             
He grinned. “It’ll have to do for the moment.”

             
Maria frowned as she poured his coffee and placed the mug on the kitchen table. “Any problems?”

             
Petros smiled awkwardly. “A few difficulties driving across soft sand but nothing we couldn’t handle.”

             
“I love you but you’re a bad liar. What the hell’s been going on? I’ve been speaking to Jocelyn. She was home when Bear arrived. How did he get shot in the head?”

             
“He didn’t duck. Okay the locals wanted the diamonds more than we did but we beat the shit out of them and they ran. Bear was unlucky and it’s only a flesh wound.”

             
“A few centimetres in the wrong direction and he’d be dead.”

             
“But he isn’t.”

             
“That’s not the point. And the police want to talk to you.”

             
Petros grimaced. “I’ll tell you everything when Alysa’s in bed. I must ring Bear and let him know the law might be tapping on his front door before breakfast.”

             
He pressed a memory button on his mobile.

             
“Yes.”

             
“Can you speak?”

             
“Jocelyn’s in the bath.”

             
“Too much information. You’ll have visitors tomorrow concerning Libya. Tell them the truth. We went in, found the diamonds and handed them over to the German embassy in Malta.”

             
“Jocelyn’s not happy with my head wound. The moment I set foot in the house she screamed and dragged me to the clinic. Told me to tell you I’ve retired.”

             
“Maria hinted the same. Talk tomorrow after the men in blue have been.”

             
“No probs,” said Bear as he ended the call.

“
I fancy a walk in the garden,” said Maria in a firm tone. “You can tell me what happened in Libya.”

Outside was
chilly but refreshing. Not a word was spoken until they reached the river’s edge.
Dream Chaser
II
rocked at her mooring.

Petros reiterated the collection
, omitting most of the blood and gore but admitted to himself a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “That’s the truth. I’m looking forward to relaxing and doing nothing.”

Maria gave him an odd look
and cleared her throat. “Have you forgotten Andreas’ wedding on Saturday week? Jocelyn, Phoebe and your mama have made the arrangements. Your duty is to escort the bride down the aisle.”

Petros shrugged. “Now I know why I married you. N
ext?”

“Get Alysa ready for bed and tell her a story. After, we’ll have supper and a long talk.
”

“I’d prefer to
go to bed.”

***

At eight in the morning, Petros heard the front door bell ring. Dressed and waiting, he was ready to greet his visitor as he opened the door. Two men stood outside, neither wearing overcoats. “Good morning, MI6 or SIS?”

A bald
, thin man about Petros’ age, with a rectangular face and an indifferent smile stood in front of a taller, heavily built but older man.

Petros notice
d the top button of his shirt was missing but still wore a tie. The taller man stood as a statue and stared blindly ahead.

“Commander James Kinross.” He removed a
black leather card case from his top pocket and opened it for Petros to see. “My identification. This is official business, may we come in?”

Petros’ gaze darted between both men. “No.”

The commander’s eyes narrowed. “It might be better if we came into the house.”

“If it
’s privacy you want we can talk in the middle of my lawn. Unless you have a warrant to enter my home, you will not disturb my wife and daughter. Apart from that, Dog might take a lump out of your arse if I give him the nod. Follow me.”

A chill wind blew as Petros
strolled out of the house, his rubber-soled shoes leaving their impression on the damp grass. He stopped, turned and waited. “So, what do you want to know?”

The commander
, not dressed for the open, rubbed his hands as his eyes scanned the garden. “Mr Kyriades, we are here to enquire if you have any idea of the whereabouts of a Mr John Soames?”

Petros’ gaze bounced off him. “
No and I haven’t a clue what you’re on about.”

The commander
grunted. “From documents found in his desk I gather he has spoken to you.”

“Yes.”

“Maybe you should tell me what you discussed.”

“Is this a matter of national security?”

The commander remained silent for a moment. “You have just returned from Libya, correct?”

“No. My partner and I are back from
Malta. The German embassy will vouch for us.”

“Why did you visit
Libya?’

Petros’ eyes sparkled. “My company was employed by a German woman
, Eva Engel, to search for diamonds misplaced during the war by her grandfather. This we undertook and found them. In Malta we handed them over to the German Ambassador. For our efforts I personally made twenty-five million pounds. I still have expenses to meet but consider it a job well done.”

The commander spoke
quietly as he tried to conceal a shiver. “John Soames was a wannabee who never made the grade. He was to be retired on his return from holiday. It appears he sold his house and travelled to Libya. Did you meet him there?”

Petros grinned. “No. G
et your people to check the airport video tapes when we arrived. Marvellous what modern technology can prove these days.”

“Where is the Engel woman?”

“I last saw her talking to a tall, blond-haired man wearing army fatigues. Where she went after that is her business.”

“But you never saw or spoke to John Soames?”

“What part of ‘NO’ don’t you understand, Commander? If my memory serves me, I met the man twice and wasn’t impressed. Why don’t you go to Libya and start turning over a few rocks? You might just find him.”

“Mr Kyriades
, may I give you some good advice?” He spoke with authority in his voice. “Your attitude is questionable. Next time I’ll have a warrant and have you taken to the nearest police station for questioning. Let’s see how cooperative you will be under those circumstances.”

Petros laughed. “
If I understand correctly, one of your little boys has done a runner. I pity him if he’s in Libya with a wad of money. It’s an unstable country but then as a member of MI6 you know that.”

The commander, uptight
, spoke louder. “If Mr Morris tells us a different story I’ll return and rip your home apart for the fun of it.”

“
Commander, I joined the Rupert Club years ago and left. I know the score when I’m up against a secret service tosser. Check your files and you’ll find my name with a glowing recommendation. So fuck off and take your stooge with you. My dog will be out for his morning constitutional when I reach the front door. He loves fresh meat for breakfast.”