Страница 66 из 98
There is a lonely stretch of road between Brugge and Ghent, which lies 44 kilometers to the east. Because the road twists and winds through flat farmland, most motorists prefer to take the new motorway E5, which also links the two Flemish towns as it runs from Ostend to Brussels. Halfway along the old road the two mercenaries found the abandoned farm that Boucher had described, or rather they found the faded notice board pointing down the track to the farm, which was hidden from view by a clump of trees.
Sha
“Anyone in the house or outbuildings?” asked Sha
“The house is locked front and back. No signs of interference. I checked out the barns and stables. No one there.”
Sha
When Marc had gone, Sha
The truck he was expecting turned up at five to eight. As it slowed and swung down the track to the farm, Sha
Sha
“Monsieur Boucher,” he called into the gloom. He stood in darkness himself, well to one side of the glow of his own lights.
“Monsieur Brown,” he heard Boucher wheeze, and the fat man waddled into view. He had evidently brought his “helper” along with him, a big, beefy-looking type whom Sha
“You have the money?” asked Boucher as he came close.
Sha
Boucher waved a pudgy hand at his own truck. “In the back.”
“I suggest we get both our consignments out onto the ground between the trucks,” said Sha
“Your friend is not here?” asked Boucher.
Sha
There was silence. Sha
He stayed close to Boucher as the fat man flicked through each bundle, counting with surprising speed for such plump hands, and stuffing the bundles into his side pockets. When he had reached the last he pulled all the bundles back out and selected a note at random from each. By the light of a pencil flashlight he sca
“All in order,” he said and called something to his helper. The man moved aside from the truck doors. Sha
It took him twenty minutes to check all ten cases. While he did so the big helper brought by M. Boucher stood nearby. Sha
“All in order,” he said.
“Would you ask your friend to help mine load them up?” asked Sha
When the crates of arms were loaded, Marc placed the board in position as a tailgate which came halfway up the back of the truck. Taking a knife, he slit the first sack, hefted it onto his shoulder, and emptied the contents into the back of the van. The loose potatoes rolled about furiously, finding the cracks between the edges of the crates and the sides of the van and filling them up. With a laugh, the other Belgian started to help him. The quantity of potatoes they had brought more than covered every trace of the ten crates of guns and the carton of magazines. Anyone looking in the back would be confronted with a sea of loose potatoes. The sacks were thrown into the hedge.
When they were finished, both men came around from the back of the truck together.
“Okay, let’s go,” said Marc.
“If you don’t mind, we’ll leave first,” said Sha
He waited till Marc had started the engine and turned the truck around so that it was facing the drive back to the road before he left Boucher’s side and leaped aboard. Halfway down the track there was a particularly deep pothole, over which the truck had to move with great care and very slowly. At this point Sha
Two minutes later, Boucher’s truck came along. It too slowed almost to a halt to negotiate the pothole. Sha
By ten-thirty the pair was back in Ostend, the truck loaded with spring potatoes was garaged in the lockup Vlaminck had hired on Sha