various woodlands. And there's a big river that runs right around the church. It really is a nice area."
"And popular?" Abby asked.
"No, it's a hidden gem. It's a small stone church with only a single room and it sits in isolation, hidden from view by fields and hedges. There was a manor house that stood nearby but this has long since turned to ruins and disappeared leaving the church in a lonely, eerie position. There are a few farm houses nearby, but they are out of site and won't be of any bother to us."
Mark turned off the main route leading from Exeter to Tiverton down a typical Devonshire lane. High hedges on one side, houses on the other. The road only wide enough for one vehicle at a time. Mark pulled up and parked along a dusty farm track, careful to leave enough room for a tractor to pass. He got out and opened the trunk revealing three different sized cases. Opening one displayed a range of cutting tools, knifes and spades of various sizes. He pulled out a scratched black folded army spade and slid it into a worn looking canvas bag. He clipped this to his belt and put on a green jacket concealing the canvas bag.
"Okay," Mark said closing the trunk. "This will only take a minute. The church is towards the end of this track."
"Take my hand," Abby suggested as they began walking. "It will look more natural like a couple taking a country walk."
Mark did as she suggested, giving her a smile as he held her hand. Just then Mark heard a multi-tone bleep of a text coming through. He pulled out his phone.
"It's from Lyons. Someone wants the coin. Bloody hell, they are offering two hundred thousand."
"That's fifty thousand more than the estimate. What do we do? Shall we take it?"
"Let's see how bad they want it," Mark said as he reply texted Mr. Lyons asking him to turn it down.
The deeper they got down the track, the more concerned Mark became at the level of noise he could hear. He started to slow his pace, listening intently as took the next few steps.
"What is it?" Abby asked.
"I don't know," Mark replied, "It's normally quieter than this."
"Could it be a tractor ploughing the fields?" Abby asked as they walked past a huge open barn by the side of the track.
"They don't plough the fields in this part," Mark explained. "These fields are normally pasture for cows to graze. The fields for ploughing are half a mile back near the main road."
A rumble came from behind and Mark turned in time to see a large cement mixer pass the entrance gate and start on down the track in their direction. Mark pulled Abby into the barn area and out of the way as the cement truck blew a cloud of dust up in its wake. Mark watched with growing concern as the brake lights disappeared into a right turn.
"Shit," Mark muttered in a defeated tone. "He's heading down the track we need to take. I have a bad feeling about this."
Still holding hands, Mark and Abby continued down the single farm track until they reached the next track, leading off on the right, dust still in the air from the cement truck. There was no sign of the truck, just a dust cloud falling between the hedge rows. After two hundred yards Mark let go of Abby's hand and climbed onto a field gate.
"Shit, shit, shit."
"What is it?" Abby asked looking up at him. Mark held out his hand. "Come up and take a look." Abby climbed up the metal bars of the gate and leaned into Mark for support.
"They're building bloody houses right next to the chapel," Mark said looking out across the fields. "Is nowhere sacred ground anymore?"
Several brick framed structures now stood on the fields between the last farmhouse and the chapel. Builders were busy at all corners, carpenters were in the roof struts and the cement mixer that just passed them was reversing into position.
"You're stash is buried in that graveyard?" Abby asked pointing to the wall circling the chapel. Several men in florescent jackets and yellow hard hats were sitting along the wall eating and joking around.
Mark just
"And popular?" Abby asked.
"No, it's a hidden gem. It's a small stone church with only a single room and it sits in isolation, hidden from view by fields and hedges. There was a manor house that stood nearby but this has long since turned to ruins and disappeared leaving the church in a lonely, eerie position. There are a few farm houses nearby, but they are out of site and won't be of any bother to us."
Mark turned off the main route leading from Exeter to Tiverton down a typical Devonshire lane. High hedges on one side, houses on the other. The road only wide enough for one vehicle at a time. Mark pulled up and parked along a dusty farm track, careful to leave enough room for a tractor to pass. He got out and opened the trunk revealing three different sized cases. Opening one displayed a range of cutting tools, knifes and spades of various sizes. He pulled out a scratched black folded army spade and slid it into a worn looking canvas bag. He clipped this to his belt and put on a green jacket concealing the canvas bag.
"Okay," Mark said closing the trunk. "This will only take a minute. The church is towards the end of this track."
"Take my hand," Abby suggested as they began walking. "It will look more natural like a couple taking a country walk."
Mark did as she suggested, giving her a smile as he held her hand. Just then Mark heard a multi-tone bleep of a text coming through. He pulled out his phone.
"It's from Lyons. Someone wants the coin. Bloody hell, they are offering two hundred thousand."
"That's fifty thousand more than the estimate. What do we do? Shall we take it?"
"Let's see how bad they want it," Mark said as he reply texted Mr. Lyons asking him to turn it down.
The deeper they got down the track, the more concerned Mark became at the level of noise he could hear. He started to slow his pace, listening intently as took the next few steps.
"What is it?" Abby asked.
"I don't know," Mark replied, "It's normally quieter than this."
"Could it be a tractor ploughing the fields?" Abby asked as they walked past a huge open barn by the side of the track.
"They don't plough the fields in this part," Mark explained. "These fields are normally pasture for cows to graze. The fields for ploughing are half a mile back near the main road."
A rumble came from behind and Mark turned in time to see a large cement mixer pass the entrance gate and start on down the track in their direction. Mark pulled Abby into the barn area and out of the way as the cement truck blew a cloud of dust up in its wake. Mark watched with growing concern as the brake lights disappeared into a right turn.
"Shit," Mark muttered in a defeated tone. "He's heading down the track we need to take. I have a bad feeling about this."
Still holding hands, Mark and Abby continued down the single farm track until they reached the next track, leading off on the right, dust still in the air from the cement truck. There was no sign of the truck, just a dust cloud falling between the hedge rows. After two hundred yards Mark let go of Abby's hand and climbed onto a field gate.
"Shit, shit, shit."
"What is it?" Abby asked looking up at him. Mark held out his hand. "Come up and take a look." Abby climbed up the metal bars of the gate and leaned into Mark for support.
"They're building bloody houses right next to the chapel," Mark said looking out across the fields. "Is nowhere sacred ground anymore?"
Several brick framed structures now stood on the fields between the last farmhouse and the chapel. Builders were busy at all corners, carpenters were in the roof struts and the cement mixer that just passed them was reversing into position.
"You're stash is buried in that graveyard?" Abby asked pointing to the wall circling the chapel. Several men in florescent jackets and yellow hard hats were sitting along the wall eating and joking around.
Mark just
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