Her voice muffled by her scarf, Madame Komarovski asked the men in Russian their names. A
string of short words answered her. She mouthed, “Expletives” to Sowerbutt who
winked at One-Line. The giant man knelt over one of the Russians, clamping his
left hand over the man’s mouth. Pushing the strong fingers of his right hand
into a point, One-Line began systematically jabbing the Russian’s ribcage,
armpits, neck and groin. Sweating profusely, the Russian rolled on the floor in
agony, muted screams and grunts could be heard behind One-Line’s huge hand.
Tuesday, 31 December 2013
Sowerbutt's Snatch
It had taken seconds for
Spaghetti and Tipper to fell the Russians with well-aimed cosh blows; Sowerbutt
and One-Line catching the beefy men as they fell and dragging them through the
open door into the empty shop. Hands on their shoulder holsters, Cocker and
Missionary had kept close watch on the alley-way where the ambush was sprung.
Passers-by in the nearby street went about their business without a second
glance.
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Sowerbutt's Thoughts
The three men flitted out of
the Soviet Embassy grounds as silently as they had entered, dodging a couple of guards
enjoying a smoke of evil-smelling cigarettes near the high
wall. Before they split up to make their separate ways back to Poplar,
Sowerbutt said: “There might
be a line in embassies with the war on, information, papers and so on. I bet Mr Bracken would be interested
in what Joe Kennedy is up to over in Grosvenor Square.
He’d have a few compromising letters from high-up wives, I bet.”
Sunday, 29 December 2013
Sowerbutt's Generosity
Tipper, a balaclava pulled over his blond crew-cut, sidled up to the edge of the
steps to the Soviet Embassy. Pulling a cloth bag from his jacket, he emptied
the contents on one of the steps. Two plain gold rings, two wallets with papers but minus several pound
notes which were safe in Tipper’s pocket, a miniature Orthodox icon and two bloody
thumbs that he had bought from the elderly undertaker at the end of High Bob
for two pounds. He froze at the sound of a car door banging outside in
Kensington Palace Gardens. “Society set back from a night out on the
tiles,” Sowerbutt whispered to Spaghetti. “We’ll pay a visit round here soon,
plenty of open windows no doubt. The owners just begging for help
with storing their valuables.”
Sowerbutt's Climb
The three men had brought
sacking with them to cover the broken glass as they climbed over the high brick
wall surrounding the Soviet Embassy in South Kensington. All three were experienced burglars.
Safely in the extensive
grounds, Sowerbutt kept watch on the front of the ornate building,
Spaghetti stared at the shadows among the trees and bushes in case the
armed patrol returned unexpectedly. All three men carried shooters. Sowerbutt
told his two lieutenants: “We don’t want a Shoot-out at the OK Corral, but just
in case we have to wave goodbye to one of the guards in a hurry.” http://www.amazon.co.uk/Colour-of-Red-ebook/dp/B00B1CWM5M/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1358353851&sr=1-1
Sowerbutt's Expedition
Spaghetti whispered: “Never seen such security - barbed wire, trip wires, electrified wire, broken
glass, traps, strips of nails, armed guards. I even spotted a couple of sound
detectors, don’t see many of those about. Wonder which of the 20 bedrooms His
Gloriousness the Ambassador, Maisky isn’t it, kips in?”
Sowerbutt watched as
Tipper, ghost-like, slipped through the shadows on the manicured lawns of the
Italianate mansion in South Kensington which housed the Soviet Embassy. He froze, waiting for a couple of armed
guards to pass, then picked his way towards the marble steps leading to the
imposing entrance.Sowerbutt's Visit
The two men
had slipped through an unlocked rear door in the Savoy Hotel and found the Spanish businessman’s
suite. Seconds later,
Sowerbutt was concealed behind the velvet curtains and Tipper was
sitting at the back of a settee; the two men hardly pausing for breath
after the lock on the door had succumbed. Through the open door to the
bedroom, they could hear regular light snoring.
As his eyes adjusted to the
dark, Sowerbutt checked the room for a briefcase. Was that it by the desk, no. A dark patch on
Tipper’s settee, no. A loud banging on the door interrupted Sowerbutt’s chain
of thought. The snoring stopped, a light went on in the bedroom and a ghostly figure in a white robe swept across the room.
“Senor Gonzales, I am so sorry to wake you so early. It is a matter of life and death,” a voice exclaimed.
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