The Collectors Book Six: Black Gold (The Collectors Series 6) (10 page)

              The look in Stanley’s eyes remained harsh. “You can go but stay on Leviathan. Someone will ask for you by name to discuss the works you’ve proposed and as you say, time’s running out. Whatever happens, my vessel sails for the Gulf in ten days.”

              Petros made no comment as they eyed each other. He glanced at Bear, they stood and left the office.

              As they strolled through the yard Bear spoke, “I’ll stay until you tell me to piss off but I do not want to go to sea,” he pointed, “on that or any other ship.”

              Petros slapped Bear on the back. “You’ve always watched my back and I feel safe when you’re around. The deal was to help me stop the pirates. You can leave whenever you want but I’d like you to stay until we finish.”

              “I’ll stay until the new equipment is tried and tested. In the meantime, from what I’ve seen of the four armed guards they don’t pass muster in my book. Ex-service they may be but I reckon they were in the catering corp. I suggest we order some armed reinforcements.”

              “Cooks kill people, don’t they?”

              “It has been known on the odd occasion. While you’re playing with water cannon, I’ll transform the armed guards into something useful.”

              “What’s your plan?”

              “Telephone a couple of friends in Libya and order a few items. With reference to the in-house security, we’ll start with a twenty mile route march.”

              “They won’t be happy bunnies.”

              “I couldn’t give a shit. It’s arse-kicking time. Be prepared is my motto. It’s doubtful the pirates will attack a defended vessel but Murphy’s Law has been known to happen when you least expect it. If they don’t like it I’m sure plenty of volunteers are waiting in the wings.”

              Petros added, “They don’t pay much but it’s easy money.”

              Bear frowned. “Not worth being killed for.”

              Petros’ eyes wandered towards the Leviathan “Looks like I’m needed. Don’t push the men too hard, they might break.”

              “Those we don’t need and if push comes to shove, we’re better off without them.”

              “I agree.”             

@@@

Bear strolled across the Leviathan’s deck to where four men sat on plastic chairs and stopped behind the biggest. “Excuse me, I’m supposed to meet four men employed as armed security guards.”

              A tall, dark-haired man with well defined muscles stood but the hostility in his eyes made him dangerous. “Who’s asking?”

              Bear gave him the once over and grinned. “William Morris, and by the end of the day I decide whether you have a job or not.”

              “And who might you be, old man?”

              Bear turned his head as he looked left and right. “Are you talking to me?”

              “Dark-hair went to poke Bear’s chest but found himself flat on the deck with one arm twisted behind his back.”

              A short, tubby, blond-haired man edged forward, the tension increasing.

              Bear glared. “I’ll break his arm and play marbles with your balls if you as much as blink.”

              The blond man froze.

              “You’re breaking my arm,” said dark-hair.

              “You’re breaking my heart. Strange as it seems I can’t tell if you’re stupid or just a plain arsehole. I’m going to let you go. Stand up and join the others. Any more kick-the-old-man ideas and a shit storm will destroy you”

              Dark-hair stood and rubbed his shoulder before holding out his hand. Bear shook it and the three others held out theirs.

              “Shall we start again? You four are this boat’s defence if pirates board. Those on Goliath failed. You will not have that luxury. Two of you will be awake every moment this ship is not attached to the wall.”

              A fresh-eyed, grey-haired man but youthful in attitude laughed. “Not a problem in my book.”

              “It's wrong to assume you’re ex-military?” He pointed to dark-hair. “Name, rank and regiment?”

              “Barry Higgins, sergeant, the Paras.”

              “You?”

              “Colin Jones, corporal, Royal Signals.”

              “You?”

              “David Ramsbottom, corporal, Royal Engineers.”

              “Last but not least, grey-hair.”

              “Donald Mactavish, able seaman, Royal Navy.”

              Bear rubbed his chin. “A motley crew by any standards. Barry’s the professional but out of date. Well as from now you’re on a refresher course. If you don’t like the idea you leave.”

              “Speaking of qualifications,” Barry interrupted with an air of indignation. “What’s yours?”

              “A Hereford sergeant. Bear to my friends. For your information, I was crawling along stinking ditches in Iraq while you lot filled nappies. From tomorrow we begin a keep-fit regime starting with a ten mile run. Last man back pays for the beer and I love my beer. Where are your weapons?”

              Barry looked Bear straight in the eyes. “In our cabin. Why?”

              “Donald, go fetch.”

              “Why me?”

              “Because I said so. One more word and you’re out of here.”

              “Fuck you. I’m out of here.”

              “You have half an hour to pack your bags and get lost. Barry, your weapons.”

              Barry grinned, saluted and jogged to the accommodation section and in less than ten minutes returned with four American assault rifles.

              Bear grabbed one and stripped it to its component parts. “When was this last fired?”

              “No idea,” said Barry with a cheeky grin. “The chief officer handed them over when we left the States.”

              “First job, clean these until they’re fit for purpose. Second, you will carry them at all times, full mags and safeties on. This weapon will be your girlfriend until you leave the ship.”

              “That’s a bit over the top?” muttered Colin.

              Bear chuckled. “A good card player knows when to dump a bad hand. You must want to go home.”

              “No, no,” stammered Colin. “It’s just we’re not in the army anymore and well...”

              “Well fucking what? A pirate bullet is as good as any other. You don’t hear the one that kills you. I’m being paid to make sure this boat is ready if attacked. I’ll be at home when it happens and if I train you to be the best, I’ll sleep in my bed without any worries.”

              “He’s right,” said Barry. “The more wide awake we are the better and my wife would kill me if I went home in a wooden box. Bear, I’m with you.”

              “What about you two?”

              “You’re the boss,” was the joint answer.

              “Right, at six tomorrow morning we begin. By the time I leave you’ll be back thinking and acting like soldiers. You never know, it might save your lives. In the meantime strip those weapons and clean them.” He turned and walked towards the stern of the vessel.

              “You heard the man,” said Barry.

@@@

Bear glanced around the bridge at the computer-managed control systems. “Looks like something out of Star Trek. How are the changes progressing?”

              Petros stopped reading the water cannon operator’s manual and placed it open on the chart table. “Not bad. I ask stupid questions and the engineering foreman smiles before telling me I‘m wrong. These control systems almost make the crew obsolete. What about you?"

              “Lost one who didn’t want to play but the other three seem keen enough. A dozen rocket-propelled-grenade-launchers and a ton of ammo would increase the odds. I wonder if Amadou can get them to us before this boat loads with crude.”

              "Give him a ring. But you and I will be long gone before then.”

              “You better believe it. Ships and the sea are not my favourites. What time are we finishing tonight?”

              “I’m done. Let’s stroll over to the office and cadge a lift back to the hotel.”

              I’ll contact Amadou later.

@@@

When his mobile buzzed Amadou barked, “Who is it?” in Arabic.

              “If it’s not convenient, I can call tomorrow.”

              “Sorry, Bear. Bad day.”

              “From what I read Colin Powel was right. If you break it you own it.”

              Amadou chuckled. “Who wants to own a country overrun by militia? At the moment the inmates are running the madhouse. Speak out of turn at a road block and your journey ends.”

              “I saw on the news some group seized an oil tanker but US troops regained possession.”

              “I live in a country of chaos which under the present militia rule is disintegrating.”

              Bear hesitated. “Can I place an order on this line?”

              “No problem. It’s my sat-phone.”

              “I need a dozen Rocket Propelled Grenades (RPG). More if you can get them.”

              “This country is awash with weapons. My friend, Libya has become the primary source of illicit weapons. You ask and we have tons to sell. Gaddafi’s armouries are empty. The problem is delivery. Where do you want them?”

              “Cape Town preferred but somewhere close to Das Island will do.”

              “You must be joking. Cape Town is a no-no, and Egypt has tightened its border controls.” He paused. “Leave it with me and I’ll get back to you. How long have I got?”

              “A week, maybe eight days at most.”

              “I have a few problems of my own but I’ll see what I can do.” The line went dead.

Chapter Seven

As the sun streamed through his bedroom window, Petros showered. Revitalized, he dressed and ordered breakfast for one in his room.

              At seven twenty-five he waited on the hotel steps. To the second John arrived at seven thirty.

              Petros ran to the car and jumped into the front passenger seat.

              “Are we waiting for Mr Morris?” asked John.

              “Not today. He was up and out over an hour ago.”

              “Very good, sir. Mr Stanley is meeting suppliers today. What time will you finish?”

              Petros, in thought, stared at him. “If I don’t require a lift, do you have the day off?”

              John manoeuvred the car out and onto the main road. “No. Mr Stanley pays me well to be available twenty-four hours a day.” He hit the brakes. “Idiot,” he muttered softly as a red convertible edged into the gap in front. “He’s a good man and only in emergency will he call me out at the weekend. I have no complaints; my children are well fed and attend school every day.”

              “Stanley sounds almost too good to be true. Bear and I will return to the hotel by taxi tonight.”

              John continued driving, his eyes fixed on the road and traffic ahead. “If you change your mind, it’s no problem.”

              Petros sat back in the seat. “As soon as you drop me at the ship you can enjoy your day.”

              John stopped alongside the Leviathan’s gangway, waited until Petros shut the door before driving away.

              As Petros clambered onto the main deck he chuckled. Near the bow Bear and three men were in the progress of doing press-ups.

              He strolled forward and waited.

              “Forty-nine, fifty. You can rest for five minutes before you go for a shower and a late breakfast. I want you back here for weapon inspection by nine. If you’ve cleaned them to my standard we move on to a firing range where you’ll become better at hitting the target than you ever were. You’ll be honing dormant skills and working on your accuracy. Once you have that the rest should fall into place. The targets move and you need to drop them with your first shot. The alternative is not an option.”

              Exhausted, the three men trudged along the deck.

              “How did it go?”

              Bear completed a series of muscle relaxing exercises before answering. “Better than expected. They put their backs into the run even though it killed them. They get bonus marks for that.”