At the ground floor a bruised and panting Hutchinson clung onto the hand rail in desperation and groaned in pain as the butt of a handgun smashed down onto his already battered knuckles forcing him to release his grip.
Dennis could see more spots of blood on the white marble stairs and he jumped down the last flight of steps, landing heavily. He landed harder than he’d intended to and his muscles and tendons screamed at him. His feet were stinging. He gritted his teeth and carried on, slow at first until the numbness wore off. He rounded the last corner and descended the last flight of stairs. Ahead was the already open door that led to the alley outside. It could only be opened from inside and Dennis charged through it. There were some wheelie bins here and a large dumpster. Ahead where the alley ended he could see the men half dragging, half carrying Hutchinson. A dark 4x4 was waiting and they bundled their captive inside. It roared away as Dennis reached the end of the alley at a sprint. It was a dark, possibly black or navy blue BMW X5.
“Damn these Italian registration numbers,” he said out loud, cursing the small numbers that couldn’t be read from very far.
Nearby was a street vendor selling hamburgers and doner kebabs from a window of his fast food venue and Dennis noticed people queuing for a late night snack. There was a scrambler motorcycle parked next to two motor scooters at the kerb. One of the mopeds had a full face helmet on its seat and
Dennis wandered over to the bikes. He was amazed to see the scrambler’s keys were in the ignition. He checked the queue of people and saw the man at the front now being served had a crash helmet in his hand. Dennis picked up the helmet on the moped and put it on. He swung his leg over the saddle of the scrambler, gently leaned his weight until the bike was upright off its parking stand. Then as quietly as he could his foot brought the stand up with a click. Not once taking his eyes of the unsuspecting rider Dennis turned the ignition key and stood up in the saddle and jumped down with all his might onto the kick starter. The engine roared into life and Dennis selected first gear, twisted the accelerator while holding the brake, spun the back wheel round in a semi-circle accompanied with a cloud of black smoke and raced off down the street as the motorbikes owner turned in astonishment with tomato ketchup oozing out of the bottle he was squeezing and dripping onto his clothes.
Peter Dennis kept a big distance from the BMW X5 as it turned into the docks at Naples. He followed slowly and as the X5 turned through a gate with stop barriers he had no choice but to continue straight on. The security guards on the gate watching him as he rode past. He knew he must look out of place riding a scrambler dirt bike with a full faced crash helmet and a dinner suit and he hoped they wouldn’t get suspicious. He’d followed the BMW for the 140 miles from Rome and had managed to remain undetected. The BMW had kept to the 125km speed limit which the little Honda motorcycle had at times struggled with. In his thin suit at that speed Dennis had been freezing.
He continued going straight for a distance then took the next right. There was a barrier here also but it was unattended and down and he was able to squeeze the bike past it. He rode along this stretch of road which was lined with containers. In the gaps between them he caught glimpses of the BMW X5 running parrallel to him. Beyond the BMW was a large container ship moored at the dock. As he passed the next gap Dennis realised the BMW had stopped. He shut off the engine of the very noisy scrambler dirt bike and got off it and wheeled it between two containers and propped it against one. He crept along the rows. At the end was a chain link fence at least ten feet high with razor wire atop it. Dennis kept in the shadows when he got to the fence. The BMW was a couple of hundred metres away and Dennis watched as all the doors opened and men got out. They half dragged, half carried Hutchinson whose hands were tied. A hood was placed over his head. They bundled him to a metal gangway and pushed and prodded him up it. Twice he tripped and stumbled and was yanked roughly back to his feet and forced on.
“Bastards!” Dennis said out loud.
He watched until they’d disappeared inside the ship and then took his phone out. The battery was almost dead. He selected Natalie from his contacts list and rang her and she answered almost instantly.
“Peter is that you?”
“Yes….”
“Where the bloody hell have you been?” she cut him off, “I’ve been worried sick.”
“I haven’t got long. My battery is almost dead. I’ve followed the kidnappers to Naples….”
“Naples?”
“Yes. Listen don’t interrupt I don’t have much time. They’ve taken Hutchinson onto a ship. I can’t see what it’s called but it’s a large container ship. I need you to get hold of De Luca….”
“He’s here now.”
De Luca looked up from the notes he was taking. He and his men were going over Hutchinson’s hotel room for clues.
“Is that him?” he called out to Natalie, who nodded.
De Luca clicked his fingers at Ferrara.
“Get forensics up here.”
He took the phone from Natalie.
“Mr Dennis it’s De Luca.”
“Cesare my battery is almost dead. I’ve followed Hutchinson’s kidnappers to Naples port. They’ve taken him onto a container ship, I don’t know its name, I can’t see it, sorry. I’m going to try and get on board….”
“No Mr Dennis. That is precisely what you’re not going to do. I will give you the address of the nearest police station once this call is finished and you will report to them and wait for me to call you again. Understood?”
“Understood,” Dennis said.
The phone bleeped and he took it away from his ear to look at the screen. The battery symbol was now flashing. The display said ’insert charger’
“My phone is almost dead.”
“Okay Peter. So we don’t have much time. We’ve received a demand from the kidnappers. They want something called the Von Brest journal. Natalie has told us all about it but she doesn’t know where it is. We’re assuming Hutchinson doesn’t have it, though they’ve turned his room over looking for it.”
“It’s in the safe in our room, my room.”
“Natalie will look. Where is the key she’s just asked.”
“In the pocket of my red and white check shirt.”
“She’s got the key. She’s just going to look.”
“Cesare I stole a motorbike to follow them.”
“Don’t worry about that Peter. I’ll get my men to sort it out. Right we’ve got the journal, thank you. Now Peter I need you to….Hello….Hello….”
The phone was dead. De Luca clicked his fingers at Ferrara again.
“I need you to get hold of the port authorities in Naples. I want the name of whoever is in charge there. Find out the name of a large container ship moored there. There can’t be that many and find out who is head of the police in Naples. I want to speak to him as soon as possible. Once you’ve done that get the car. We’re taking a trip to Naples.”
Dennis looked at the blank screen. He pressed the power button on the side of the phone. Nothing. He put the phone back in his pocket. The wind was getting up. Strong gusts had begun blowing. He looked up at the sky, the clouds were scudding across rapidly. A few spots of rain hit his face. Dennis looked down at himself, he took his bow tie off and shoved it in his trouser pocket. The rain began now, coming down hard.
Dennis looked up at the razor wire.
‘There must be a way over it’
He moved along the containers and saw that the fence ran the entire length of the docks and extended over the water. Then on his way back he noticed a container that was on its own near the fence. The doors were open on it and he peered inside. There was just a pile of smelly rubbish and some pages of a newspaper blowing about within. Dennis tested the bars of the door lock. He was sure they would take his weight and he began to climb up them. It was difficult with the wet and he slipped frequently but finally he made it to the top. He pulled himself up and knelt on the roof of the container. He rubbed the palms of his hands together. The cold wet metal had been painful to them.