The Stolen Trophies

Chapter 5 - Taxi Rides After about five minutes of driving the Signora was overcome with emotion and asked the driver to stop the car at some convenient point so that she could compose herself. He was naturally concerned to see one of his passengers so distressed and asked if there was anything he could do for her. She explained that she had just received some bad news about the nephew she had come all this way to see and happened to remark that if she were at home, rather than on the other side of the world, that she would go to her local church, Saint Phillip’s, to pray and seek solace. “But Signora, we have a wonderful cathedral dedicated to Saint Phillip, here in Chile,” he informed her, “I could take you there to pray, if you wanted me to.” “Is the cathedral here in Santiago?” she asked innocently. “No it is not Signora, but it is only a short drive away, an hour maybe. It is situated in the city of San Felipe up in the mountains, pilgrims come from all over Chile to visit it, I am certain that you would find the solace you seek, there.” “Very well you have convinced me; please take us to San Felipe,” she said. It was in fact closer to a two hour drive to San Felipe, rather than the one hour the driver had suggested, so while the Signora was finding solace in the cathedral, the taxi driver took Mac to a small hotel, where he booked two rooms for the night. He carried their bags up to the rooms, apart from the one containing the guns of course and then got the driver to take him back to the cathedral, where he was handsomely paid once again, for all the services he had rendered them that day. Mac had spent several minutes walking round inside the cathedral looking for Patience, before he spotted a middle-aged woman, waving to him from a pew at the other side of the church. He walked over to her and said, “I didn’t recognise you without the wheelchair, where did you leave it?” “Hidden where no-one will find it, until long after we have gone from this place. That door over there,” she said pointing, “leads to a small chapel, there is no-one in there at the moment, so I suggest that now would be a good time to put on the false beard and cap you wore yesterday, as we need to be on our way as soon as we can, as I expect they have found our dead German by now and will have started to work out what has happened to him and who was responsible for it.” “There is a side door behind your right shoulder; I spotted a couple of taxis in the square earlier, so I will meet you outside that door in five minutes,” Mac replied, as he headed off in the direction of the chapel. No-one noticed the middle-aged lady and the man in the cap and beard board a taxi at around four o’clock which headed off out of town in the direction of La Ligua, on the pretext of wanting to purchase some of their famous confectionery, before heading for Los Vilos, where the couple planned to spend a few days, under the pretext of being newlyweds on holiday from Europe. The driver stopped outside a confectioners and Patience got out of the cab and went inside the shop and Mac noticed that the driver had walked over to a group of rough looking men leaning against a wall and was having an intense conversation with them, which seemed to include himself and Patience, from the way that the driver was gesticulating. When the men jumped into a battered old truck and headed off up the road in the direction of Los Vilos, Mac got the distinct impression that this was not going to be a very pleasant journey for himself and Patience. He was able to share his concerns with Patience before the driver finally returned to the cab and she, in turn, shared the contents of the bag she was carrying with Mac, before climbing into the front passenger seat, next to the driver. The driver did not seem too happy about Patience sitting next to him, but after she explained that she was often sick in the back of taxis, he made no further objection and drove off down the road. “How far is it to Los Vilos?” Mac asked the driver in English, after tapping him on the shoulder. The driver shrugged and said in Spanish that he did not understand the question, so Patience asked him again in Spanish and he replied, “About forty miles.” “I seem to remember that the road was quite narrow and rocky about six miles from Los Vilos, I expect they will try and jump us there,” Said Mac quietly, as he leaned forward in his seat. “I agree, but I think these men are opportunistic amateurs, rather than professionals, so I would not expect anything to elaborate from them Mac. At the first sign of trouble, I will shoot matey here in the leg and get him out of the car, and you take over the driving, understood?” “Understood!” According to the speedometer the taxi was travelling at about forty five miles an hour, so it was no surprise to Patience when she spotted the old truck Mac had mentioned earlier, casually parked at the side of the road, as the road narrowed in order to pass through a bit of a ravine. “Stop the car,” Patience ordered in Spanish, whilst at the same time pointing her pistol at the side of the man’s head.