“The rare roast beef was spot on,” replied Miller. “You get your paintings finished?” “Two of them, and two to go, then I’m ready for home.”
“Depending what happens tonight, eh?”
“You mean, we find the treasure, get a reward, and head off into the sunset.”
“You’re fantasizing again – you artistic types!”
“So what time are we setting off?”
“About seven do you think, get there about half eight, that’s my best bet.” “Okay, we’ll work to that.”
They met at Miller’s car, in the hotel car park. Both were wearing dark clothing. Miller had a torch with him, and slipped the binoculars from the car in his other pocket, as well. They eased out of the hotel grounds, and McBride studied the road atlas. Miller had marked a small circle in black biro on the point the GPS had indicated as the van’s position.
Miller had miscalculated slightly, and McBride missed a turning on the map, and they had to backtrack. By the time they were in the tiny back road leading up to the old farm, it was twilight.
There were headlights ahead, coming towards them down the lane, and Miller looked for somewhere that he could pull in, and let the other car pass them. He pulled in tight against the hedgerow, twigs and branches making scratching sounds on the bodywork.
“God, you’ll ruin the car,” said McBride.
“Better that, than the other bugger running me down.”
And the other car was going too fast for the conditions, and barely managed to miss them, only thousandths of an inch from hitting them. Miller was concentrating on waiting for the scrunch of metal tearing metal, but McBride was trying to see the driver.
“It was Murphy, quick turn round, and follow him.”
Miller pulled out into the road, in the original direction, looking for somewhere to turn, then he saw a cart track, reversed into it and out again in the direction Murphy took. They rocketed down the tiny lane, McBride hoping to God that they met nothing coming towards them. They reached the end of the lane, a tee junction.
“Quick which way?” said Miller.
McBride made an executive decision. “Right, quick”
Miller put his foot on the throttle and they tore up the B-road they had entered. After a minute or two, McBride said:
“Put your headlamps off for just a moment, see if we can see Murphy’s beams ahead.” They both peered into the dark. “I think so,” said Miller.
Suddenly they came out of the bends and the road ran straight as far as the headlights could shine.
There was some light up ahead, and suddenly they could see flashing blue lights. “God, slow down,” shouted McBride, “Murphy’s been arrested!”
Miller pulled into the side of the road, put his headlights out. About one hundred and fifty yards separated them. They watched Murphy climb out of his car, walk forward to the policeman who had emerged from his own car, and now walked back
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Murphy looked in his rear view mirror and saw the headlights coming up quickly behind him.
Suddenly the car had switched on blue flashers, illuminating Murphy’s car. Murphy was sweating despite the cool night. He could hardly outrun the police car in his shot-up old Mondeo. But if he stopped, the police would surely search the car, and find the bullion. In any case, he might well recognise Murphy. It took only seconds for all these thoughts to pass through Murphy’s mind, and now the police car had pulled out to pass him. Murphy saw that only one man was in the car. That, at least was comforting. Killing one man was easier than killing two.
The police car pulled sharply in front of Murphy, causing him to break. A sign in the rear window of the police car said: POLICE STOP. Murphy pulled to a halt, and opened the driver door, ready to step out. He had read somewhere, that if you stop in your car when a policeman comes to the window it puts you at a disadvantage. Or something like that – psychological twaddle.
The policeman put his hat on as he got out of the car, and walked back to Murphy’s car. Murphy got out, as the man arrived by the door. The policeman was a guy of thirty-
five or maybe forty. “Good evening, sir, are you going far?”
Murphy, who had one hand in his pocket, said, “Not very far. Is something wrong?”
The policeman was standing very close, invading Murphy’s personal space, an act that infuriated Murphy. He had shot men for less. He pulled himself together, and said mildly, “I haven’t been drinking, you know.”
The policeman smiled, “I know, now. The reason I stopped you is because you have a light out. Come with me.” He made his way to the back of Murphy’s Ford. He pointed at the nearside, where the red light bulb was out. “Fortunately, it’s the inside light, but can you get it fixed as soon as you get home, sir?”
“Yes, of course. I always check the lights before I set off, so it must have just broken. Thank you for pointing it out.”
The policeman smiled, and waved as he made his way back to his car. Murphy was shaking when he got back in his own car.
McBride and Miller watched both cars move off, and pulled out to continue following Murphy.
“I bet Murphy is sweating,” grinned Miller, “it’s a wonder he didn’t shoot him.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Bobby was in the wheel house with Gerry now. It was twilight, the land ahead of them a dark mass, with lights twinkling in the dusk, greater in number where the villages and small towns were situated. Gerry had the chart table light on, and was studying the chart for the Dee Estuary, and then checking the GPS, and transferring the point to the chart. Bobby could see a line of dots advancing across the chart, in the deep channel. The echo sounder bleeped every twenty-five seconds, the depth showing in green digits. Gerry had the conversion switched to feet, never being happy thinking in metres. Darren had the wheel.
“About ten seconds, should be when we turn 40 degrees port, Darren,” said Gerry, “turn now.” He watched the echo sounder, and saw that they were in the anchorage below Hilbre Island. He noted the GPS screen, made the last pencil mark.
“Slow ahead, Darren. Let me take the wheel, now, and go up forward, ready to drop anchor, when I give you a shout.”
The engines ticked over in neutral, and the boat drifted slowly forward. Gerry stuck his head through the wheel house window. “Drop anchor, Darren.” He heard the chinking of the anchor chain as it paid itself out under the force of gravity, and the boat came to a halt, pivoting slightly to meet the tide.
Gerry turned the engines off, switched to the auxiliary generator. He took a last look at the indication of depth below the keel: 39 feet. The boat drew 5 feet. They were at full tide now, or thereabouts. In the next six hours, the water would drop 15 feet, leaving ample margin of safety. Theoretically, they should be still afloat here at low water, but he wouldn’t want to risk it.
Bobby stood at the port rail, scanning the shore, probably now at high tide, 500 yards away.
He could see the small waves showing a slight reflection of the shore lights. There were houses facing the coastline, lots of them with lit windows. Those weren’t the ones to worry about. Anybody looking out of those windows would see nothing but their own reflection. But anyone could be looking out through the darkened windows, wondering what they, and Murphy, were doing, and maybe coming out to check. Then there may be courting couples, though they might be more interested in each other to bother.
Gerry joined him at the rail. A stiff breeze had blown up in the late afternoon, but now it was abating. There was a strong scent of leaves and grass. Bobby realised that it was a smell missing at sea, but one that was immediately welcoming when one approached land.
“Nothing happening at the moment,” Bobby remarked.
“We’re early, it’s barely half past nine,” replied Gerry. “We can stay for at least five more hours.”
Almost as he spoke they saw a largish car, headlights on come down the road, driving slowly, as though not sure of the route. The car reached
the entrance to the beach, negotiated the ramp successfully, bumped down, with a sound they could hear on the boat, and then its engine died, headlamps went off. There was complete silence, except for the gentle slap of the wavelets against their hull. The car headlights flashed momentarily: on-off, pause; on- off. The effect was blinding in the near darkness, and Bobby was worried that it might attract unwelcome attention. He scanned the coast line on either side of the car, but nothing was visible. There was no movement.
“Gerry, give the signal back,”
Gerry, climbed on the deck ahead of the wheelhouse, swivelled the spotlight to face the car’s direction, and gave an answering two flashes. There was still no movements on shore.
Gerry, with Darren’s help, had already unshipped the large rigid inflatable off the rear deck roof, and it was lying in the water, off the diving platform, moored to a convenient cleat.
Bobby said, “Let me go alone. You and Darren stay on board. If there’s any trouble, up anchor, and go. It would be silly to involve anyone else. It’s really my risk, and my reward, if it pans out.”
“It could be dangerous. Murphy’s shot a lot of people in his time.”
“He’s not going to shoot me, Gerry. He needs the bullion moving, and he needs to get away himself. If any shooting is going to happen, it will be when he’s on the boat. I want him disarmed once aboard. I’ll grab him, and you can search him. No, better still, unlock the cupboard, and get yourself an AK47. That will show him we mean business.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Bobby pulled the cord to start the outboard. Once it was ticking over, he unhitched the painter, and opened the throttle carefully, and steered a course to shore, and to the waiting vehicle. The motor sounded loud to Bobby’s ears, but not as loud as he had been expecting. In all his years of unlawfulness, this was the biggest risk he’d taken. If arrested, he could expect several years in prison, which might mean the rest of his life. Fortunately, Bobby was a half glass full type, and couldn’t be depressed for long. It was in the lap of the Gods.
The journey to shore only took about three minutes, and then the prow was hitting the shingle. Quickly he shut down the outboard, lifting it clear of the water, and jumped out into a few inches of water, soaking his deck shoes.
He looked around, and saw Murphy getting out of his car.
“Come on, we can’t afford to hang about, anyone might come along,” hissed Bobby in a low voice.
“Aye, I’m here. Some of the loot is in the boot, some in the back, on the floor.” Murphy lifted the boot lid, reached in and started to unload, placing the small boxes onto the sand.
Bobby went over, and picked up boxes, transferring them to the inflatable. The boxes were lighter than he had thought they would. But then, they weren’t gold, but platinum. Between them, they had cleared the boot in a little over five minutes, and Murphy, opened the rear door, and started to remove boxes from the car floor. Very shortly they had, completed their task.
“Let’s get going,” said Murphy, making to climb into the dinghy.
“Not so fast. You had better move your car back onto the road. Be longer before it’s found. And then you can help me launch the inflatable.”
Bobby stood up, and eased his back, which ached slightly with the exertion. Meanwhile, Murphy got into his car, and made a three point turn, with the lights off, and then when he had lined up with the ramp, turned the lights on, and accelerated on to the road.
In that moment when the lights illuminated the road, and the shingle off to the right of the ramp, Bobby spotted two figures run to escape the illumination.
Shit. Next thing he was running, chasing the two figures, but they had too good a start on him. As they ran there was a clatter of something falling on to the tarmac surface.
Bobby, by now giving up the chase, went over to investigate the fallen object, picking it up. A pair of binoculars, with night vision attachment.
When he got back to the beach, Murphy was back at the dinghy. “Where were you dashing off?”
“Two people were watching us with night vision glasses. They dropped them as they ran off. Come on help to launch the inflatable.” They took one side each and pushed the boat until it was floating, Murphy getting his shoes wet.
They clambered in, and Bobby started the outboard, and they motored back to the yacht.
Bobby got out first, holding the painter, and looped it over the cleat. Gerry was on the platform, AK47 held in his arms. There was a faint light from the deck lamp, which glinted on the metal. Murphy stepped out of the dinghy, and only then looked at Gerry.
“We don’t allow guns on board, Mr Murphy, so if you would hand over your gun to Bobby, there will be no trouble.”
He sighed, and drew his gun from his jacket pocket, handed it butt first to Bobby, who tossed it into the sea. He then searched Murphy, careful to keep from obstructing Gerry’s aim.
Murphy had no more armament. “That’s not very nice,” said Murphy.
“No,” said Bobby. “Come on unload the inflatable, and stack the goods where I show you.” He picked one of the boxes from the tender, and Murphy did the same. Bobby went up the steps to the deck, and placed the first box against the stern rail. “This way, it will take less unloading.”
Gerry returned his gun, locking the cupboard, and then the three of them ran back and forth, until they had emptied the inflatable.
“You want the tender back on the deck roof?” Gerry said.
“No, we’ll tow it at the moment. We’ll sink it when we get well out to sea. We must get going. Life is getting dangerous.”
“Okay,” said Gerry, “what heading?”
“As we arranged, Dublin area. Can you arrange for Darren to take the helm when we get clear of the Dee Estuary? He had a sleep this afternoon, so he’ll be fit to stand a shift until say two o’clock. When we’ve had a talk, I want you in bed, until two. I’ll just get Murphy sorted, and we should be ready to talk.”
Bobby led Murphy to the lower deck, showed him one of the cabins he could use, and where to shower. He could either turn in for the night, or if he wasn’t tired, he could come to the upper deck, and they would be in the stateroom, which was through the door next to the aft deck.
Bobby went straight to the stateroom after leaving Murphy. He shouted through to the wheelhouse for his brother.
Gerry popped his head through the wheelhouse door. “Give me two minutes, and I’ll be with you.”
Bobby spent the time getting beers from the bar fridge, and sitting by the coffee table. He looked through the window at the shore. Everything seemed quiet at the moment.
Gerry bustled through. “The trouble is, we’re too shorthanded to have a passenger with us, Bobby. If the weather blows up, you’ll have to give us a hand.”
“Okay, Gerry, I‘ll stand my watch. I know you can’t carry on two-handed. What I want to talk to you about is what happened on shore. We got the tender loaded, and I told Murphy to park the car on the road. He couldn’t attract attention leaving it abandoned on the beach. That’s what he was going to do, would you believe? Any way, he got in the car, did a three point turn on the beach to get up the ramp. As he was doing that, his headlamps caught a movement, over on the road. Two guys running away. As they ran, one dropped something on the road. I chased after them, but they had too good a start. But I picked up what they had dropped.”
Bobby, reached in his pocket, brought out the night sight binoculars, put them on the coffee table. Gerry reached over, picked them up, and looked at them.
“Expensive equipment, military standard, but hardly police gear,” he commented. “But it does mean we’ve been spotted, and they know the boat we’re from.”
“Yes,” said Bobby, “the markings on the tender. That’s why I want to sink it. Then we say that it was stolen about two weeks ago.”
Gerry grinned. “That’s right, I phoned you, and said should we inform the police. And you said, ‘that’s a waste of time, they never recover anything’, d
idn’t you?”
“You’ve got the message, Gerry. But what do you think happens now?”
“The police are going to be searching for us. The Irish police might patrol their coast, thinking that’s where we heading; especially after the ferry incident with Murphy’s boys.”
“I think the English police will co-opt the search and rescue choppers, too, and maybe alert ferries, as well.”
“Don’t worry too much, Bobby, the sea’s a big place. Look how difficult navies had locating foreign convoys, and that was in the days of steam, huge ships, blowing black smoke miles into the air. During the Second World War, there were convoys to Murmansk in the Arctic, supplying Russians with lease lend equipment. Fourteen hundred merchant ships sailed and only 6 per cent were sunk. Lots of convoys the Germans didn’t find.”
“True, the danger is going close to shore.”
“I agree, Bobby. It would be better to do the transfer at sea, if your people would agree.”
“They don’t have a boat, as far as I’m aware. Otherwise they might have suggested it.”
“They could do a deal with a fishing boat. That would be good. They’ve got lifting gear. No-one would bat an eyelid when they get into port, if a commercial type vehicle picks up off the vessel. Everybody would think it was fish.”
“By God, yes, it could work. Why didn’t we think of it before?”
“Because it was easier for us to ask them to collect off the beach?”
“Right, I need to get in touch with the russkies now.”
Bobby stood up and made for the wheelhouse. Gerry hadn’t moved. “You know it has gone 11pm?” he said.
“They keep late hours.” He came out of the wheelhouse with the handheld phone. It looked like an ordinary satellite phone, but slightly larger; a bit like an out of date cell phone. It was a Globalstar satellite link phone, one that Bobby had only had installed a year ago, superb for the business man that wanted to keep in touch. Or, in Bobby’s case, the slightly criminal man who wanted to keep in touch. Bobby got his index book out, flicked the pages to find the number, and then tapped the keys.