The Stealers by Charles Hall

Author:Charles Hall
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781784625757
Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd

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Girard’s observation that Mullah was missing had stirred Crane into action. It was an easy run for him, as he stormed down the gentle grassy slope leading to the boathouse. Within a few metres, the raucous whine of an electric starter motor spurred him on. With a final effort, he increased his pace and burst through the rear door – gun in hand. He was in time to see Mullah adrift on board a speedboat in the calm waters of the boathouse, desperately trying to start the engine. Crane bent down and thrust his hand into the water and grabbed hold of the mooring rope trailing on the surface. Mullah turned to face Crane, who continued to wind the rope around a capstan. ‘Get out!’ Crane shouted angrily, levelling the Glock handgun.

Mullah’s face whitened. The boat was a few metres from the landing stage and he called back, ‘Pull the boat in then.’

‘Get in the water! If you don’t I’ll start shooting.’

‘Alright, alright,’ Mullah replied feebly, ‘I’m coming,’ and he jumped over the side of the boat. The water in the boathouse came up to his chest. Crane stood back and watched as, with some effort, Mullah clambered up spluttering onto the decking.

‘Try that again and you’ll end up dead,’ Crane barked. ‘Now we get back to the helicopter and you’d better just hope that your friend turns up.’

They returned to the helicopter landing site close to the house, where Durand was sitting on the grass nursing his wound with Simon close by. Like a sentry, Girard was keeping a close watch over the pair of them and turned when he heard Mullah approach with Crane trailing close behind.

Girard looked on approvingly and said, ‘I’ve got the keys to the helicopter in my pocket. I think one of us should take a look inside the house.’

Crane glanced across at the tall narrow building, with its steps leading up to a central front door, and said, ‘That’s a good idea, I’m not in the mood for any more surprises.’

‘My turn,’ Girard said, ‘so far there’s been no sign of life, so I’ll see if there is anyone at home,’ and delving into his bag, produced the magnum revolver, adding with a grin, ‘at least I can speak French.’

Crane smiled at that light-hearted remark and said, ‘Okay, but take care.’

As usual, the devil-may-care, big man shrugged his great shoulders. Crane stood for a moment and watched as Girard casually ambled off towards the chateau. Then he turned his attention back towards Mullah, ‘Sit down, you can join your friends on the grass.’

Holding the handgun behind his back, Girard approached the oak-panelled door and as he leant on the bell push he saw a weathered sign attached to the wall displaying the name of the house: ‘Maison Rouge’. A shuffle of feet could be heard trampling softly across the floor towards the entrance. All was quiet for a few seconds and suddenly the door snapped open, restrained by a security chain. The curious face of an elderly woman looked Girard up and down.

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