The Collectors Book Two: Full Circle (The Collectors Series 2) (21 page)

“You’re a Turk so you must be thick. Don’t breathe heavily or I’ll scramble what little is inside your skull.”

Unsure of himself and caught by surprise he asked, “Are you going to shoot me?”

“I’m seriously considering the thought.”

“The icons, Captain. Who told you?” said Petros.

He stared at them harshly. “A young man told us a story which had enough credibility to make it difficult to ignore. Tell me where the icons are and I might be able to help you.”

Maria drew a deep breath and steeled herself. “Drop the gun,” she said, her voice more than a threat. “On your knees, bastard.”

The captain, taken aback, stood stock still, his mouth wide open. With a clatter, the Uzi dropped to the floor and he fell on his knees. Using every ounce of force she could muster, the pistol bounced off the side of his head with a sickening thump of metal striking bone. The man’s right ear split and blood trickled over his uniform. Like a sack of potatoes, he slumped to the floor. She slipped the weapon into her pocket.

“Not bad for a cigarette lighter.”

“You’re something else, Maria,” said Petros. “Remind me never to argue.”

“We live in a man’s world. Women have to be tougher.”

“Why did you hit him?”

Her face remained calm. “He smells worse than a pig.”

“Thanks for the rescue but what the hell are you doing here?”

“I had to go for a pee and left George with our vehicles. On my way back I strolled by four empty trucks, like the one outside. Not far away soldiers waited for someone to give them orders. I’ve seen your plans so often I found this place easily.”

“Were they in the wagons ready to leave, or what?”

“I didn’t stop, but as far as I could make out they were milling around like a herd of hungry goats.”

“I’ve seen the captain before,” said Bear.

“I know,” said Petros, “he gives out bollockings. We’d better lift and shift. Andreas and Kyriacos, go with Maria to the trucks and drive them back to the hotel. Maria, get George back here to hot-wire that wagon.”

“PK, I can start it. The keys are on the table.”

He smiled. “Well, why are you still here?”

“
Kyriacos, secure the captain to an external post,” said Petros. “Change of plan. Andreas, you and George go to the hotel, collect our belongings and make sure Bear’s souvenirs are hidden. Wait for three hours this side of the border. With luck, we’ll be an hour or so behind you. But if we don’t show up, go home and forget this ever happened.”

Somewhere a dog barked and a cat howled.

“PK, do you think we can get away with this?”

“Bear, do dogs have fleas. Of course we can.”

Bear nodded in approval and understanding.

“Where to, PK?” said Maria.

“Wait. Takis, check that none of this lot has mobile phones, beepers or anything they can use. And grab their weapons on your way out.”

Takis
raised his hand. “Good as done.”

“Jacks and rope into the back of the wagon,” said Petros. “Let’s go.”

He stood on the step next to the driver’s door and guided Maria through the unlit streets until they came to the church. “Park in the shadows,” he said. “Down that alley and stay with it. The way this collection’s going, we might have to make a hasty retreat.”

The point of no return had come, gone, and disappeared into the night. Whatever the army planned might be a problem but more than that, it would happen soon. Unruffled by the events so far, Petros walked almost casually into the church, followed by Bear and the two brothers. He smiled at the new movement detectors.

Kyriacos clambered up to the water tank and turned the supply on.

Bear operated both valves and waited. The trickling sound of water and the grinding of stone preceded the altar rising from its base.

“PK, my gut tells me the shit’s about to hit the fan,” said Bear. “I’m off for a scout.”

Petros gave Bear a positive shake of the head as he disappeared into the shadows.

“Isn’t Bear a bit old to be playing James Bond?” said Takis.

“Don’t you believe
it. He’s ex SAS and he thinks on his feet. That man can still hide himself in an empty field and Takis, my friend, don’t ever challenge him to a fight, even in fun. Ready?”

*  *  *

From the deep shadows of a building Bear stood still, waiting and watching. Less than fifty metres away in the orange glow of the street lights, soldiers ambled around the town square or chatted. He studied the situation unfolding in front of him: Two army buses and four lorries, at worst one hundred and fifty soldiers and non coms. Where was the officer? He smiled; was it their leader they had tied up? A car arrived with a short stocky man who turned towards the tangle of soldiers. A colonel, mused Bear. He rolled away to the left, scrambled to his feet, crossed the street and ran back to the church.

*  *  *

Petros and his team raced down the steps to the chamber that held the icons.

“
Takis, it’ll be quicker if we form a chain.”

They worked as a team, moving each icon as far as they could up the passage, repeating the process several times. The extraction took less than thirty minutes.

On his return, Bear faced Petros squarely. “I’ve got bad news. The shit’s hit the fan big time. There’s an army in a car park half a mile away. From what I can make out, if those troops get organised we’re in deep poo.”

“How concerned do I need to be?”

“We’ll be lucky to get the truck loaded before that gathering of idiots walk over us.”

“How many?”

“At least one-hundred, give or take fifty.”

“More than enough to give grief.”

“Bear, your best guestimate.”

“In my opinion we scarper like rats off a sinking ship.”

A cold shiver ran through Petros’s body. Time had run out.

“Thank God they didn’t send any to check on the patrol,” said
Takis.

Petros rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Bear, get Maria to bring the wagon. We’ll start moving things out. Pity though, I’d liked to have explored those tunnels.”

The rumbling roar of a large diesel engine vibrated the air. Maria manoeuvred the vehicle into position next to the steps of the church. Bear dropped the tailgate and Takis began to pass the icons to Kyriacos who stacked them. In less than ten-minutes they were ready.

“Bear,” said Petros, “is there any way we can stop the Turks raising that altar?”

“No problem, give me a minute.”

Bear re-entered the church. For a few minutes nothing happened. Suddenly as if his arse was on fire, he erupted from the entrance followed by a dull rumble and a cloud of dust. “Go, go,
go.” With help from Takis, he clambered over the tailgate.

Petros jumped into the passenger seat. “Drive, Maria.”

The calm of his voice comforted her. “Belt up, PK,” she said, feeling anything but calm. She raced the engine, selected first gear and peered through the windscreen. Headlights on full beam, she accelerated down the weed-covered road with a tyre-destroying screech, shifting gear when the revs hit the red zone.

“Next left,” said Petros.

The vehicle almost toppled over as it raced round the corner on two wheels, its huge tyres moaning in protest.

“Steady,” said Petros, “these trucks have a nasty habit of rolling over.”

Maria gripped the steering wheel with both hands. The speedometer registered one hundred kilometres an hour. “Now, you tell me.” She lifted her foot off the accelerator.

“Shit,” shouted Petros when the headlights lit up a squad of armed soldiers meandering about in the centre of the road.

Maria held the horn down with the palm of one hand while the other flashed the lights. She pressed her foot hard down on the accelerator. “Shift, bastards, or decorate my bonnet.”

The men scattered like a bomb burst. 

The truck hit the old wire fence and for an instant the rusty strands wrapped around the armoured cab, but stressed, parted like wet tissue. With the horn blaring, they charged between rows of parked cars and overtook other traffic.

“Straight through town and keep going.”

She drove, her eyes searching the road ahead. The traffic thinned as they roared past the ramparts of the old medieval walled city. Forgetting for a moment that they drove on the right in the north, she negotiated a traffic junction the wrong way, panicking a lone motorist. 

“Where to, PK?”

“The hotel. You can go back with George. I was wrong to let you come. I should have put my foot down at the start.” His eyes flitted to the rear view mirror. “You can turn. It’s a clear road behind us.”

With a stamp of her foot, she hit the brakes and the truck slid to a stop.

Maria’s expression told him he was out of order. “So what now? I go home and leave my husband and brothers. No way, we can beat those bastards.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Sergeant Celik covered a smirk with his right hand as he kept his gaze fixed on his superior officer, Captain Asker Yilmaz. He first removed the gag and then cut the cable ties.

Captain
Yilmaz rubbed his arms. “Free the others, Celik.”

Celik
shrugged. “What are you going to tell the colonel?”

“He’s motivated by greed and needs to face facts. Those bastards can’t escape. We’ll track them and wait for the right moment to pounce.”

From a few metres Colonel Ahmed Mustapha stared at the captain’s blood-covered face and roared, “Have you arrested the intruders?”

Yilmaz
attempted to recover his self-control. “A minor set-back, Colonel. Give me four hours, five at the most.”

“I’m delighted to hear you’re so confident. Your future depends on your success.” He turned and marched away.

Sweating, Yilmaz barked, ‘Sergeant, get me a vehicle with a radio.”

“With respect, sir.
We’re in this together.”

Yilmaz
nodded grudgingly. “Get me a fucking jeep.”

*  *  *

Petros glanced at the time; every minute they remained in the vicinity of Famagusta increased their risk of capture. “Maria. Head for Nicosia. We haven’t the time to argue.”

She half smiled as she hit the accelerator and the wagon surged ahead. At full speed it twisted and turned, moving at times sideways with a complaining shriek of rubber as they raced along narrow streets. The few tourists and locals wandering around stopped and gawped in disbelief.

“Have you any idea where you’re going?” asked Petros.

“I’ve a great sense of direction.” The city of Famagusta faded behind them.

“Maria, reduce speed. No point in drawing attention to ourselves.”

She gripped the steering wheel tightly and stared directly ahead, her eyes unwavering into the dark. For the next twenty minutes they drove in silence along moonlit roads. Other traffic became minimal. Through orange and lemon groves
flickered the lights of country houses.

“I should have left you at the hotel.”

She placed her right hand over his and gripped it. “I made the decision. In fact, without me and my brothers this collection was never going to happen.”

The red numbers on the dashboard’s digital clock indicated not quite midnight. He thought it should have been later. His head ached and his eyes wanted to close. He had deceived himself into thinking he was fit. His morning runs kept him trim but when Alysa arrived, they had become intermittent. He struggled to concentrate.

Bear, who along with the others in the rear had remained silent, jumped up and hammered on the cab roof. Maria turned off the headlights, pulled off the road and cut the engine.

The pulsating throb of rotor blades became louder as the helicopter descended. Bear stared into the night sky and identified the cockpit from the glow of its instruments. The machine hovered, its down-draught creating a storm around them.

He smiled. “I’m surprised those beasts are still flying. The Huey is the best flying machine to survive the Vietnam war. This is a twin engine version.” He picked up his crossbow and estimated the range. “Come to me little one. Give me one chance and a slice of luck.” Hidden by the truck’s canopy, he fitted the steel-tipped wooden bolt, aimed and fired.

The machine banked out of view, fading into the night.

“Did you hit it?” asked Takis.

“Haven’t a clue. I shot at the rear rotor. It’s the quickest way to put a chopper out of action. No point in aiming at the pilot with a rifle. Those guys sit on armoured seats. If nothing else it’ll take the heat off.”

“Bear, you did do something. Listen, its noise has changed,” said Takis.

They listened as the steady rhythmic thump of the rotors became erratic. The machine hovered for a moment before it dropped from sight.

“Unfortunately, Huey’s followed us for a while,” said Bear.

“We’ll keep going,” said Petros. “Stay here and we're dead meat hanging on a butcher’s hook.” He lifted the map and studied it with the aid of the cab light. “A short time ago we passed a sign that I reckon was the road to
Kythrea. This one leads straight to Nicosia. We should avoid the city.”

Maria started the truck and straining her eyes drove along minor roads but slowed when approaching a junction. “Will you check where we are?”

Petros picked up the map. Left and right led to villages. “Ahead is a track. But it might be a more direct route west and keeps us away from populated areas.”

Maria drove on and the truck lurched and bumped as the wheels found every pothole. She slowed to a crawl, but still the vehicle pitched in every direction. The road became narrower, bushes brushed against the truck as they passed. They came to the brow of a small mound and stopped. Petros noticed lights from houses which appeared to be at least a mile away. Maria eased her foot off the brake and coasted.

Petros, his mind swarming with thoughts, glanced ahead as they struck an obstruction and bounced. “Brake, Maria, brake."

She hit the brakes. The truck slewed to a halt and the front wheels dropped into a hole. 

“Okay, I’ve stopped. What’s the problem?”

Petros jumped out and in the glare of the headlights nearly tumbled into a rift. “Can’t you see, the road’s gone and there’s a bloody great river flowing in front of us. Reverse. The edge is collapsing.”

He smiled as she revved the engine and the truck sped backwards, stopping well clear. Satisfied, he clambered back into the cab.

“Another few inches and we’d be swimming,” said Maria. The headlights illuminated a wild watercourse a hundred metres wide.

“There must be a way round,” said Petros. “Tell you what, reverse back along this road until you can see firm ground. Turn into that field on our left. This thing has four-wheel-drive and is supposed to go anywhere.” He opened the window at the rear of the cab and shouted to the others, “Hold on, guys.”

“What the hell do you think we’ve been doing?’ yelled Bear. “Bloody woman drivers. I’ve shit better.”

“If you don’t like it, why don’t you get out and walk?”

“If I knew where we were, I would.”

“Shut it, both of you,” said Petros.

Maria reversed and the lights illuminated the rutted ground. The body of the truck swayed, its spinning wheels cutting deep furrows. The tyres found hard rock and on establishing a grip sent the heavy vehicle into fast-moving current. Debris-strewn water swirled and buffeted the truck.

“This is not turning out well,” said Maria.

“Couldn’t agree more but I don’t think turning back’s a choice.” Petros prayed the engine kept running, not sure what category of terrain this model had been designed to overcome.

Without any warning, the truck’s nose rose into the air followed by the most horrific scraping and tearing sound. For a moment they hung at an obscene angle. The rear wheels spun, creating torrents of water and stones while the engine roared like a deranged beast. The tyres found traction; the truck jerked into motion and mounted the obstacle.

Maria stopped and Petros went to check the damage. He began to laugh.

“We’ve just dragged our way over a concrete wall. This must have been the original edge of the river before the storms revamped it. The underside of the truck’s a mess.”

Four hundred metres later they discovered a track. “We can’t go fast on this,” said Maria.

“There’s one thing in our favour.”

“What?”

“The full moon.”

They drove on in silence.

“Stop, Maria. Drive into the shadow of those trees. I don’t think anyone is following us but ...”

“They could be ahead.”

An army helicopter, the clamour of its rotors deafening, flew low and straight at them, its searchlight blinding. It hovered but did not attempt to land.

“Persistent buggers, aren’t they? Keep going, Maria. He won’t open fire.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Someone wants those icons. Riddled with bullet holes wouldn’t add to their value.”

They continued heading west, the helicopter over-flying every fifteen minutes.

“What’s that over there?” Petros indicated to his left.

“It’s a UN observation tower. They’re dotted along the Green Line. We’d be safe if we could drive across.”

“Why can’t we?”

Maria frowned. “Are you joking? There’s a minefield between the north and south.”

“I didn’t realise we were near the border.”

“If we don’t make a move soon, PK, we’ll be at the end of the road.”

“Stop.”
Maria drew into the verge.

Petros listened and jumped out. Narrowing his eyes, he scanned three hundred and sixty degrees. “The chopper’s gone. Where’s the map?”

He remained silent, his mind busy with speculation. “What are we doing? We must cross No Man’s Land.” The realisation of the Turkish Army’s intentions flooded his brain. “They’re herding us into a trap. Any idea where we are?”

Maria pointed to the map. “Here, in the middle of nowhere, like oranges in a juicer.”

He studied it. “Maria, get us up into those mountains.”

*  *  *

Colonel Ahmed Mustafa swung round as his office door opened, and gawked at Yilmaz. “Captain, you bring me good news?”

“Regrettably we experienced a few problems”

“You’re a fool, Captain. Don’t bring me problems, just solutions.”

The captain stared at the colonel in astonishment. “I have the situation under control, sir. I know where they’re headed.” His voice betrayed a trace of uncertainty.

“And you will recover the icons?”

The captain nodded his head wearily. “I have no doubt, sir. They can’t escape. My men believe they are pursuing convicted criminals.”

“Captain, I don’t care what you’re doing. You and that sergeant of yours will be accountable if a conscript talks. Do you understand?”

The captain nodded.

The colonel leaned forward and stared directly at him. “Let’s hope these thieves have enjoyed their last day of freedom. You and your men will end this fiasco at any cost.” He paused. “Captain, clean the blood off your face,” he said through gritted teeth, “and change your shirt. You’re a disgrace.”

*  *  *

The truck crawled along the narrow road. The headlights illuminated groves of uncared-for olive trees and vineyards. The cultivated fields thinned as they entered a forested region where overhanging trees interlinked. Branches lashed the body of the truck and its tyres sliced deep grooves in the wet earth. With her foot pressed on the accelerator she ascended the slope for a couple of miles.

“As far as we go,” said Maria.

“That track, follow it.”

“My love, maybe it led somewhere forty years ago.”

Petros peered through the mud-spattered windscreen as the truck lurched left and right. He frowned when the vehicle dropped into deep water-filled holes and leant at strange angles.

One and a half body-bruising-hours later, Maria stopped the truck one metre from a sign that read – DANGER MINES. “Close enough?”

Petros studied the wild terrain in front of them. Uncultivated, dense vegetation eliminated any trace of mines. He leapt to the ground and walked to the rear of the wagon. “Okay, guys, it’s time to unpack.”

“Maria, my arse feels like it’s been kicked by a dozen donkeys,” said Bear.

She laughed. “Poor donkeys.”

Together, they removed every icon and rested them against moss-covered tree trunks.
Takis cut wide strips of tarpaulin from the top of the truck, wrapped and covered them.

Petros considered the distance between the ragged wire fence and safety: four hundred metres, he thought. We could be lucky. He clambered into the armour-plated cab. “Everyone find a safe position. I recommend you lie flat behind those rocks. I’m going to discover if that sign’s kosher.”

He positioned the lorry and selected first gear. Releasing the handbrake, it trundled toward the mined zone. Petros jumped out and dashed for cover. The rusted wire fence crumbled, but the rear wheels never entered No Man’s Land. A mine detonated, damaging the drive shaft. The engine shuddered but continued to run, and for a moment the truck staggered. Like a lame dog it faltered; its nose dipped and the right-hand front wheel collapsed. The body leant as a drunken sailor moments before it toppled. Two more mines exploded reducing the cab to a mangled mass of twisted steel and broken glass.

Grim-faced, Petros walked towards the motionless vehicle, stopped before the wire, and surveyed the damage. Staying put and surrendering to the Turkish authorities was not a viable alternative. His nose twitched at the smell of diesel dripping from the ruptured fuel tank.

“The good news is they’re anti-personnel blast mines. Bloody hard to find and may go off at the slightest touch. Bear, ready to poke a knife in the mud?”