And you, skinny man, he thought, will not be coming out of the church. Fatso, though, I will keep close, in case rations are hard to come by someday soon.
“Open it, open it,” Adam practically shouted.
“Shh,” Danny and Len hissed.
For a moment there was silence. Adam took a deep breath and controlled himself, then nodded at the other two. Danny slowly pried the lid off the box. A sound behind him made him gasp, and the three of them spun round.
There was nothing but the pitch darkness with a lighter patch right at the back where the stained-glass window reigned supreme. Len wiped the sweat off his brow, and Adam placed a shaking hand over his heart.
“Just the fucking rats again,” Danny snapped.
The lid was off the box now, and all three peered inside, holding their breath in anticipation.
Tarasov, followed by Dupri and Grey, quietly made his way past the old gravestones to the church. When they reached the door, Tarasov held his hand up and stared in dismay at the broken lock.
He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. He had searched for years for the box, and wasn’t going to be outdone now. He put his finger to his lips to quell any outbursts from the others, and cocked his head like an inquisitive dog listening, stretching his senses.
At first he heard nothing. He stepped through the door and paused, listening again, concentrating hard, then looked towards the altar. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he saw the light beneath the altar, beckoning like a beacon.
Bastards!
“Hurry up, hurry up.” Adam was unable to control himself any longer. “What is it... Is it gold coins? Fucking tell us, man.”
Len squashed up to his cousin on the other side, every bit as excited. “Are we rich? I can’t stand this any more — how much?”
Danny pulled a large piece of carefully folded canvas out of the box and held it up. The other two shone their torches on it. “For God’s sake, it’s just a bloody painting.” Unable to hide his disappointment, he shook his head. “It’s a painting of a woman, who believe me is no Elizabeth Taylor.”
“Yer can say that again.” Adam stared at the painting. “I’ve seen that ugly mug somewhere before though.”
Len tutted. “Oh you bloody pair of idiots, for God’s sake, it’s the Mona Lisa.”
Danny and Adam stared at Len. After a moment Danny said, “Do yer think it’s the real I am?”
Len looked in awe at the signature. Slowly he nodded.
“Is it worth anything?” Adam beat Danny to the question.
The answer came from behind them. “Yes, gentlemen... millions.”
For a moment they froze, then slowly, as if trained by a choreographer, they turned together. Danny swallowed hard, feeling Adam and Len tremble beside him — and who could blame them, faced with a huge man holding a large knife in each hand?
Tarasov moved closer. “For years I have followed this painting, then seven years ago the trail went cold. The fools in the museum think they have the real one. Ha.”
“What, er, what yer gonna do, like?” Danny didn’t quite succeed in keeping the tremble out of his voice. Judging by the man’s face, he could guess exactly what he was going to do.
He smiled at them, and Len trembled even more. Adam though found his voice. “Who are you like? Standing there like some crazy fuck out of a horror movie. Think we’re frightened, like?”
“You should be, cocky twat.” Grey stepped out from behind Tarasov.
“Oh God,” Len moaned. “We’re well and truly up shit creek without a paddle this time, guys.” A second later he screamed as he was grabbed from behind.
The scream forced Adam into action. Without thinking he threw himself at Grey, leaving Danny to deal with Tarasov and his knives. Len bent over then quickly threw his head back, snapping his assailant’s nose. More by luck than anything else, Adam kicked Grey in exactly the right spot on his injured leg; when he yelled in pain and reached down, Adam launched a left hook and knocked him out flat.
As Len peeled himself away from the dead weight still clinging to him, Adam quickly moved to Danny’s side.
Tarasov laughed. “You think you can take me? Ha, I don’t think so. Not even two or three of you.” He jumped forward and the knife in his right hand slashed down, taking a piece of Adam’s ear off and slicing the side of his neck. Blood spurted, and Adam collapsed to his knees in shock.
Advancing on Danny, Tarasov laughed again.
“Fuck off,” Danny yelled, wondering if this would be a good time to run, but knowing he couldn’t leave Adam at the mercy of this grinning freak.
Then he had a brainwave. He snatched the painting up and shook the canvas. Tarasov stopped, a look of pure horror on his face.
“No, no... Do not damage it.” His eyes burned into Danny’s. “I will give you anything.”
“Do yer honestly think for one minute that I’d trust you, yer creepy bastard?” Danny shook the painting again, as Len, finally untangled from Dupri, bent down to help Adam.
Tarasov curled his lip, “Enough of this,” he shouted, his arms held high. Each long blade caught the light as he prepared to leap forward again.
“Oh yes, well said, definitely enough of this.” DI Lorraine Hunt hurried into the church with Luke Daniels and Carter close behind.
They had been cruising round the Seahills estate, visiting a couple of known criminals recently released from Durham prison when Lorraine had suddenly remembered something Carter had said about the church. On a hunch they had quickly sped up to Houghton.
“Kirill Tarasov, I am arresting you on... Well, just about any crime known to man.”
“Fucking hell.” Danny wiped sweat from his brow. “Talk about saved by the bell.” He bent down to see to Adam, but Len stared at him and shook his head.
“NO!” Danny yelled.
Using the sudden distraction Tarasov ran at Lorraine, but she was ready for him. Using a karate sidestep, she swiftly moved to one side, and as Tarasov ran past her she kicked his leg from under him. He fell to the floor, and Carter and Luke were on top of him in seconds.
Luke cuffed him. Tarasov looked at Lorraine; mixed with the contempt was a smattering of admiration. “Brought down by a woman.”
“Save it, creep.” Lorraine moved to check on Adam. It took her a few moments to find a pulse, but find it she did: erratic, but still a pulse. She took Len’s hand and pressed it over the wound in Adam’s neck. “Keep it there...” She looked over her shoulder. “Carter? Ambulance.”
“On its way, boss.”
Danny and Len breathed twin sighs of relief. Lorraine looked at them, shook her head and said, “Please tell me why I am not at all surprised to find you bloody lot here.”
Homework
Phil Lovesey
In your opinion, is Hamlet merely faking his madness, or is he really insane?
This term we have been studying Hamlet, a play written ages ago by William Shakespeare. It’s quite good, though the words are all strange for modern people to really understand. There’s lots of stuff that is really, really old, that Sir needed to try and explain to us before it made any sense, not that most of the class seemed bothered, goofing around as usual.
Most of us thought that the film was better than the book, but that Mel Gibson bloke still used all the old words, so that when there wasn’t much going on except him talking, I noticed quite a few of the class were either mucking about or texting. I even told Sir about this after one lesson, but all he did was sort of smile at me, then tell me that Shakespeare wasn’t for everyone, and maybe it was better for me if the class didn’t think I was telling tales, which seemed quite harsh, as I was only trying to help him.