Tower Thirty Four: The Collectors Book Three (The Collectors Series 3) Read online

  The Collectors

  (Tower thirty Four)

  Book Three

  By

  Ron A Sewell

  ISBN-13: 978-1499699203 (CreateSpace-Assigned)

  ISBN-10: 1499699204

  EAN

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage system and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

  The Collectors – Book Three is published by Appolonia Books, who can be contacted at [email protected].

  The Collectors – Book Three is the copyright of the author Ron A Sewell 2014. All rights are reserved.

  The cover is designed by Berni Stevens Design. All rights are reserved.

  All characters are fictional and any resemblance to anyone living or dead is accidental

  Also by Ron A Sewell

  A Basketful of Sleepers

  The Angel Makers

  You Can’t Hide Forever

  The Collectors Book One

  The Collectors Book Two (Full Circle)

  The Co0llectors Book Three (Tower 34)

  The Collectors Book Four (Diamonds and Sand)

  The Collectors Book Five (Finders Keepers)

  Chapter One

  Cloaked by mist, the dinghy drifted with the flow. Dressed in black, Chen Wu stood in the stern and peered into the white veil. With the tiller arm between his legs, he steered towards a concrete jetty. A few minutes later, the craft nestled against the rubber tyres fastened by rope to the wooden uprights.

  “Li,” said Chen, “get ashore, go home, and keep your mouth shut. Here’s your money.”

  He smirked. “Two hundred quid for an hour’s work.”

  Chen waited until Li had gone before casting the boat adrift. Full of triumph, he walked fast along the jetty, pausing for a moment to light a cigarette. Comfortable in his BMW, he glanced across the river, smiled, and drove away.

  * * *

  Petros Kyriades woke as the first rays of day entered the bedroom. He slipped out of bed so as not to wake his wife, Maria. In the en-suite bathroom, he dressed in his running gear and went downstairs.

  “Dog?”

  Charlie, a full-grown Alsatian, charged from the kitchen across the polished oak floor and slid into the far wall.

  “You never learn, do you?” He stepped out of the house and commenced a series of stretching exercises.

  Charlie scampered to the main entrance and waited.

  A red sweatband held Petros’ blond hair off his forehead as he started his daily morning run. At a steady pace, he and the dog ran the length of the gravel-covered driveway and past the two white-painted posts defining the access.

  “You want a race, Dog?” Increasing his stride, he turned left up the long winding hill. In the cool air, his strong legs drove him. Charlie barely panted as he loped. He barked, charged past, and waited on the crest, ready to repeat the game. The second lap forced Petros’ body to the limit. At the top, he stopped, dragged oxygen into his lungs for a few minutes, and dashed home. This daily ritual and a good hot shower prepared him for the day.

  He sat opposite Maria at the kitchen table, while their daughter, one-year-old Alysa, dropped a large dollop of porridge into Charlie’s open mouth.

  He stirred his coffee and shook his head. “Dog eats more of Alysa’s food than she does.”

  Maria drained her cup. “And makes less mess.”

  His eyes roamed over the financial pages of ‘The Daily Telegraph’. “Where does it end and common sense begin?” The buzz of the wall-mounted telephone interrupted his thoughts. “I’ll get it.”

  He lifted the handset. “Petros Kyriades.”

  “Mr Kyriades, I have a collection for you to undertake.”

  “Who is this?”

  “I’m surprised you don’t remember. We chatted a while ago on the grounds of the Natural History Museum.”

  “Oh yeah, Spink. I recollect I refused your offer by returning your cheque. Why should I accept it now?”

  “I understand your charming house in Pangbourne fronts onto the Thames. I hope no one is near your boat?”

  Petros went to the patio door, stared out at the garden and the tranquil river. On the lawn seagulls screamed as they scavenged for the bread on the lawn. “Why?”

  The explosion rattled windows; burning sections from Dream Chaser flew into the air. Vibrant flames engulfed what remained of the hull. Seagulls took flight, screeching at being disturbed.

  For a few seconds a stunned silence preceded, “Fuck off”. The handset struck the wall, shattered and fell to the floor. His mind raced to understand the meaning of it.

  Maria lifted Alysa and held her tight. “What do they want?”

  “Not sure, but they’ve got my attention.”

  “Not funny.”

  He closed his eyes, hesitating before continuing. “Get packed. You and Alysa are out of here.”

  She brushed aside her long, black hair from her face. “I’m staying. This is my home.”

  “Maria, until I find out what these bastards want, I don’t want you, or my daughter, within a mile of this place. I’m reporting this to the police.”

  * * *

  Detective Inspector Robin Gittens, with his sergeant and Petros following, walked across the expanse of lawn towards Dream Chaser’s berth.

  A light wind disturbed the trees and created wavelets on the river’s surface. Charlie expended more energy than necessary chasing seagulls. Petros glanced at the dark clouds massing in the sky. It’s going to rain, he thought.

  “Good-looking dog,” said Gittens.

  “Yes, but stark raving mad,” said Petros. “For whatever reason, he adopted me and now’s part of the family. My little girl loves him.”

  “Mr Kyriades, you said you were having breakfast when your vessel exploded.”

  “No, I said we had just finished.”

  “Yes,” Gittens replied. “Can you tell me when you last used your boat?”

  “Ten days ago. Why?”

  “I’m not saying for one moment you didn’t, but did you isolate the gas bottle?”

  “Better still,” said Petros. “I can show you where they’re stowed and locked at the side of my garage.”

  Gittens picked up and examined a piece of burnt plastic before tossing it into the murky brown water. The three men watched as an oily slick flowed across the remains of Dream Chaser.

  “When you get what’s left hoisted out, give us a ring and I’ll arrange for the fire boys to call. I’m sure you’re aware these GRP hulls burn to the waterline and then sink, destroying the evidence.”

  “Will do,” said Petros

  “Okay, then,” said Gittens. “I’ll file a report. The moment I get the brigade’s findings you can come and get a copy for the insurance company.”

  “Coffee?” said Petros.

  “No, thanks. Trying to stop smoking and reduce the caffeine intake. Not as young as I used to be.”

  “Are you finished?”

  “I can tell a scam a mile off. Yours is an unfortunate accident. At least you can enjoy choosing a new boat.”

  Petros stroked his chin. “I liked this one.”

  “Sergeant, let’s go. There’s three break-ins to check out before lunch. Goodbye, sir.”

  Petros walked with them to the road and waited until they drove away.

  * * *

  At first glance, gentleness surrounded Petros. He loved his wife and daughter, but many
things from his past haunted him. On entering the house, he opened up his mobile and pressed the memory button.

  The most steadfast man he knew and long-time friend, William (Bear) Morris, answered in his usual manner with a curt, “Yes”.

  “I’ve a problem. Can you get over straight away?”

  “On my way.”

  * * *

  Petros gestured towards Maria. “I meant what I said, you’re not staying here.”

  She dabbed her face. “I’ve packed a small case for me and one for Alysa while you talked to the police. The next flight to Larnaca is tomorrow morning at eight thirty.”

  Petros puckered his lips, swearing under his breath. “Give mama a ring and I’ll drive you over after I’ve had a chat with Bear.”

  Maria brushed her hair from her eyes. Her voice steady, she said, “Listen, I’ll leave, but what are you going to do?”

  “I haven’t a clue. A few thoughts are rattling in my brain. Spink’s involved with the Triads but he couldn’t find his arse in the dark with a torch.”

  Maria wiped her face and hugged him. “Why didn’t you tell the police?”

  “No point. No proof.” He held her and brushed away the tears. “Where’re your cases? I’ll put them in the car and you get Alysa ready. I’ll take Dog to Andreas.”

  At a brisk pace, he walked along the hall and opened the door at the same moment as the bell operated.

  “Perfect timing,” said Bear.

  Petros made a face. “Your dainty feet crunching gravel into dust makes a ton of noise. Thanks for coming. I need your help big time. Coffee?”

  Maria talked to Alysa in the kitchen. She grimaced and touched Bear’s arm as he entered. “We need your help.”

  Bear pulled out a chair and sat while Petros made coffee. “Maria, there’s a solution to every problem. We need to find it.”

  Petros placed a steaming cup on the table and for a moment studied this quiet man. He had spent the majority of his life in the military – a good few years with the SAS – and was a man who never bragged of his exploits. The need for the likes of him in a world of continued conflict remained. “No offence, Bear, but if those bastards who blew up my boat harm Maria or Alysa, I’ll swing for them.”

  Bear sipped at his coffee. “Now tell me what’s happened.”

  “I received a call from Spink. Do you remember a funny little man? He wanted us to do a collection in China?” Bear nodded.

  “Anything left of your boat?”

  “It’s at the bottom of the river. All you can see now is an oil slick.”

  Bear listened, nodding, his eyes closed. “Bloody hell. Okay, you know the score. We fuck them before they screw us. Do you still have Spink’s card? I’ve friends in the anti-terrorist squad who’ll help. Every one of them ex-SAS and brethren of the brotherhood.”

  Adrenalin pulsed through Petros’ blood stream, heightening his senses as he stood and paced the room. “I’m ready. Give me five minutes with that pompous git and he’s going to discover my bite hurts.”

  Bear frowned. “You’re not included. You take Maria and Alysa to a safe place, and before you say another word, I’ll sort this out.”

  Petros returned to his chair. “But we’re a team.”

  “For once do as you’re told, PK. Get your arse into gear and get the hell out of here. You might have once been the officer but you have responsibilities. At thirty-eight, be fucking responsible. Sorry, Maria. And don’t worry, I’ll send you the bill. Now do something positive and find fuck-face’s address.”

  An uncomfortable silence came between them.

  “Thank you,” said an unsmiling Maria.

  “No probs.”

  Petros returned from his office. “Found it, it’s over a Chinese takeaway in Camden.”

  “Well, that’ll do for starters. I’ll check his name with the Law Society. I’ll stay and lock up after you leave. Go and get packed. Now I know it may be OTT but take a few grand out of the bank. Contact me if you need more.

  “Maria, don’t use your credit cards until I tell you different. Give me your mobiles and buy new ones, pay-as-you-go, when you reach your destination. Whichever way you’re travelling, I’d suggest an indirect route. Dump your car at your dad’s yard.” He paused. “I don’t believe I’ve forgotten anything. You’ll remember if I have. From the moment you leave the country you cease to exist. Call me at midday, GMT, in seven days.”

  When he finished, he said, “You’re still here, why? Get moving.”

  “Ok, Boss, we’re on our way.”

  “This is a side of you I didn’t know existed,” said Maria. “Here, you hold Alysa while we get the car loaded. Where’s Charlie?”

  “I’ll take care of Charlie.”

  Petros, with a bulging rucksack hanging from his right shoulder, descended the stairs two at a time. “Right, we’re off. Out of interest, how much do we commit to this?”

  “As much as necessary.”

  Maria took Alysa from Bear and kissed him on the cheek.

  “Thanks, mate.” Petros shook his hand. “I owe you big time.”

  Embarrassed, he gave a cheeky smile. “Fuck off before I start crying.” He remained in the entrance until they disappeared. “Charlie,” he shouted. Diligently, he secured the house. Ten minutes elapsed before he found and convinced the animal to jump into the rear seat of the car. This done, he returned to the house, set the burglar alarm and locked the door.

  Diverse thoughts converged as he drove along and formed a plan of action.

  Chapter Two

  Bear contacted his ex-SAS colleagues and asked for their help.

  “Whatever you’re doing, will it help PK?” asked Jocelyn, his long-time partner.

  “Time will answer that question. Fancy an early night? I’m getting too old for this game.”

  “I hope not.” She slipped her arm around his middle and grinned. “I’ll help you up the stairs and put you to bed. You lie on your back and leave the rest to me.”

  He laughed, lifted her into his arms, and carried her to their bedroom. With his left foot, he pushed the door closed.

  * * *

  From his police friends, Bear collected an excess of data with reference to the fifty-two year old Spink. He apparently earned in excess of a million a year and paid his taxes. Considering his client portfolio, Bear surmised it did not ring true.

  The surveillance of Spink’s office was straightforward but, as always, caution came first. As a hound sniffing out the fox he chose the faster and easier form of travel, the tube. With the ‘Daily Mail’ fixed under his right arm, he walked out of Camden underground station and checked his bearings. The air smelled of fried onions wafting from the many burger and hot dog stands situated in the market, alongside the prettiest part of the canal basin. He strolled past the surfeit of stalls where traders sold a mish-mash, from clothes to tacky souvenirs of London.

  In ten minutes he stood on the opposite side of the road from Spink’s office. The properties at the far end of the street had a modern outer shell, recently renovated to preserve their original form. Ahead and twenty yards to his left, a TO LET sign indicated an empty property. With long strides, he walked the short distance, paused and leaned against the wall next to the door. A casual observer would assume nothing of a tall, black man reading the ‘Financial Times’. His eyes took in the hasp and staple entrance door. Access from the front was bad news. Folding his paper, Bear strolled further along to where narrow cobbled alleys led to the rear of the building. A rough concrete slab replaced what had once been a garden. Good news, he covered the lock with his body and after a few attempts heard it click. With no hesitation, he pushed the door open and entered.

  Once inside, he propped a chair under the knob to make sure it remained shut. The rooms still contained the basic office furniture; chairs, desks and filing cabinets. A thick layer of dust covered their surfaces; obviously, the owners had not visited of late.

  With a desk and chair in the right position,
Bear stared straight across the road into Spink’s office window. Away from the constant noise and the bustle of the market, the narrow street remained quiet. From his pocket, he removed his iPod, selected his music, sat, and waited.

  Spink left his workplace at six in the evening. Bear followed him at a distance of twenty metres. At Camden tube station both men used their Oyster cards and boarded the same train, Bear alighting at Tottenham Court Road. For two days he monitored his target, but had no intention of proceeding with his idea until the right time.

  * * *

  Bear entered his house and the aroma of a not-long-out-of-the-oven steak and kidney pie assailed his nostrils. “My favourite.”

  “Marks and Spencer at its best,” said Jocelyn. “Good day?”

  “Okay. With help from my friends in the Met we’ll convince our man to co-operate.”

  “Wash your hands. Dinner will be on the table in two minutes.”

  “Can’t wait. I’m starving.”

  Jocelyn raised a brow.

  Later, Bear made a phone call. “James, tomorrow night, Camden market.”

  “No problem, Night-Fighter. Zack and Brian are happy to lend a hand. We owe you a few favours from Iraq. You dragged us out from the perfect military cock-up.”

  “Did my job. D’you know I still have the photo of us before that covert op. Hangs in my office.”

  “We must be mental, the same one hangs in mine. The thing is, if you’d left us to die, no one would have known.”

  “Not my style. Did you manage to find a place for our little party?”

  “Yes, a disused industrial site. The owners are waiting for the local council to give permission to demolish. What you asked for is in position.”

  “If this goes tits-up, you’ll be out of a job.”

  “If someone finds out, you might be right but it’ll be more fun than surveillance duties. You told us no one will get hurt.”