In a better mood, John strolled home. At least Angela agreed to take time out, albeit with a proviso. He enjoyed his walks in the fresh air, preferably when the weather was dry, but the cold never bothered him. He needed space and to be alone.
His plan was progressing, and there was no reason he could think of why the brothers would either be caught red-handed or suffer the fate they deserved.
He stopped at the newsagents, purchased the daily mail, two packs of cigarettes and chatted to the shop's owner.
At home, John sat in the kitchen. Out of habit, he had left his answer machine on record. There was one message from David Little. He wanted to meet John at the mausoleum at ten. He chuckled as he glanced at the kitchen clock and muttered. "Two hours ago. He can wait. I'll read my paper first."
Over an hour later, John telephoned David Little.
"Where the hell have you been?"
"Out."
"Heavy night?"
"No. What do you want?"
"I need to show some associates the wall under discussion. You have the keys."
"I'm busy but can meet you at eleven tomorrow."
"You're retired. What's more important than our agreement?"
"The Duchess of Hamilton."
"Who the fuck's she?"
"Someone rather special. See you tomorrow." The call ended as he slammed the receiver into its cradle.
"That should increase the bastard's blood pressure." John made himself unavailable to annoy and show David Little he did not drop everything and run when he called.
John made himself an egg and bacon roll for his lunch. Then, deep in thought, he went over his plan for the umpteenth time. "Shit," he muttered as the egg yolk dribbled onto the carpet.
Outside, the rain started. John grimaced and decided to go for a run. As his feet pounded the pavement, water streamed across his face, but he needed space and time to think, and the harder he ran, the clearer his mind became. David Little was a scheming bastard, and if somehow any of the brothers crawled from the drain, he must plan their alternative future.
In his workshop, John gathered his resources together. First, he cut a steel tube into eighteen-inch sections before threading one end. The lathe work took longer than expected. It was painstaking work accomplished with patience and accuracy. Late into the night, he sat at his workbench and assembled one unit. The firing mechanism operated with a smooth action. Removing one shotgun cartridge from a steel cabinet, he carefully sliced the case in half and dropped the shot into a bin. The primer and powder half he inserted into the body. Into the barrel slid a dart.
Tired, he cleaned the workshop and locked everything away. Satisfied, he returned to the kitchen, lit a cigarette, removed a beer from the fridge and seated himself at the table. He lifted his head towards the ceiling. "Jackie, don't you dare say a word. I know what I'm doing and the consequences. Some might think they know but will be quiet, while those who matter will not want to stir the pot."
With a final gulp, he downed his beer, stubbed his cigarette out, set his intruder traps and went to bed. "Goodnight, Jackie."
***
The following morning John rolled out of bed and showered. Instinctively he dressed in his overalls from the previous day. Five minutes later, he entered the kitchen. When the kettle boiled, he made a coffee and dropped two pieces of white bread into the toaster.
He finished his breakfast, washed the single plate, and strolled to his workshop. With a fresh coffee in his hand, he gave thought to his weapon. After finishing his coffee, he secured his gun in an engineer's vice. At the far end of the garage, four-inch-thick wooden boards became the target. He removed the explosive and proved the trigger operation. Ready, he inserted the cartridge, turned his head away, and operated the trigger.
The blast reverberated off the walls, and his ears buzzed. His eyes focussed on the end of a polished steel spike which now projected from the target. "Bloody hell." He went to remove the projectile but found it impossible without splitting the wood.
"One down, two to go and then I hide them.
***
At ten-thirty, he gave David a call. He did not recognise who answered but said, "Tell David I'll be at the church at eleven. If he is late, I'll be gone." He ended the call.
John arrived at ten minutes to eleven. The rain was constant as he held an umbrella over his head and unlocked two padlocks. Inside the mausoleum, nothing had changed since his last visit. From his bag, he removed a crowbar and opened a stone cover to a single crypt that contained enough space to hold the remains of an individual. Unused, a thin layer of dust covered the base. In less than a minute, his three harpoon style weapons rested inside, and the cover pushed back into place.
From outside, he heard David Little curse the weather. "It's open, and Daniels must be here."
John glanced at his watch. "You made it on time. I can't stand people who are late. If nothing else, it's bad manners." He pointed at two men, one middle-aged with cropped black hair and an expensive Burberry covering his suit. The other, bald, unshaven, well built, wore a costly black leather full-length coat. Who are they?"
"Experts in removing reinforced concrete," said David.
"Colin Mann," said the older, and this is Bob, my builder. "David told me you have a rather thick wall which prevents access to a bank vault. Can we take a look?"
"Follow me," said John, "David should have told you to wear working clothes." Smiling, he bent, lifted the metal cover, and placed it to one side. He dropped through the hole with ease, slid to the bottom of the dirt slope, stood, and switched on his torch.
Close behind, David and his associates followed.
"What's this place?" asked Colin.
"Many years ago, it belonged to the Catholic Monastery. The monks lived and prayed in those rooms to each side," said John sounding like a tour guide.
"We'll need lighting," said Bob.
"Not a problem," said Colin. "We can rig up a generator."
"You do have a problem," said John as he clambered into the drain. "You'll need long cables to reach, and if you poke the exhaust into the fresh air, a passer-by might become inquisitive and ask awkward questions."
"Okay clever clogs. What do you suggest?" asked Bob.
"I haven't a clue," said John. "That's why you are here, or have I got that wrong?"
Twenty-five minutes later, John's torch lit up the concrete wall. "I believe it's eighteen inches thick with half-inch reinforcing rods vertical and horizontal. Before you ask, I was on the other side as the contractor poured the cement."
Colin rubbed his right hand across the surface. "From what I can see and feel, he did a great job which is a pain in the arse. Bob, what do you reckon?"
"Without a generator, by hand will take an age. How far below ground are we?"
"Come with me," said John.
"They walked another two hundred yards to where the was once a ladder to the opening far above.
"I'd say forty to fifty yards," said John.
"We do it by hand," said Bob. "Four teams working nonstop in thirty-minute shifts. Let's return to the wall."
From his coat, Bob took a marker pen and steel rule. "If we allow enough room for one man to enter the vault, we should be able to cut a hole in ten to twelve hours. Start on Friday night which should give us most of Saturday and Sunday to take whatever we want."
"You'll need lighting," said Colin.
"Half a dozen lanterns and a ton of batteries will do the business. Once we start, we'll need one light. Not ideal, but it will do."
"What about food and drinks," asked John.
"That's easy," said Colin. "I noticed many takeaways. We organise two men to purchase meals and soft drinks for us from different places."
"Can we discuss such details anywhere but this rat-infested drain," said David.
"This drain is dry," said Colin. "Has it ever been used?"
"Not that I'm aware of," said John. "It has been here a long time."
"What's it for?" asked Bob.
"It's an overflow culvert, whatever that means," said John. He glanced at his watch, surprised an hour had elapsed since they entered the drain. "Time we made a move."
"I agree," said David.
In a line, the four men returned to the undercroft and crawled into the mausoleum.
Colin turned to David. "I am assuming we contact John to gain access."
"No. You ask me, and I contact John. That way, we both know what is happening and when. In the meantime, I'll take you for lunch and discuss our next move."
John removed a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, took one out, lit and inhaled. He did not offer the others the opportunity. "I have things to do. Enjoy your lunch. Now, if you do not mind, I would like to secure the main door." He almost pushed the three men out and into the rain. With the security padlocks in place, he turned and walked away.
Colin watched and waited. "Do we need him?"
"For the moment," said David smiling.