The Collectors Book Six: Black Gold (The Collectors Series 6) (12 page)

             
His surprise apparent, the lieutenant winced as Bear described the men. “These are modern times, Mr Morris. Every criminal’s details is stored in a central data bank. We also have a direct link into Interpol. I doubt if we need to go that far as the two men you describe appear to be local street thugs. Amateurs hired to do the dirty work; they didn’t expect you to duck. They failed and whoever paid them will be unhappy and want their money back. With luck we’ll find them with a bullet in the back of their heads. Saves a ton of paperwork.”

              A constable entered and gave the lieutenant a sheet of paper. He steepled his fingers. “The woman who was shot will survive barring complications. The child is with its grandparents. I understand your friend has identified the shooters. Constable, bring a selection of photos including the two suspects.”

              “Yes, sir.”

              Bear gritted his teeth, folded his arms and closed his eyes.

              The lieutenant remained motionless until the constable returned and handed him an envelope. He removed the contents and placed them on the table in a line. “Mr Morris, can you identify any of these men?”

              Bear opened his eyes, glanced at the table top and pointed to two photos. “That’s them.”

              “Are you sure?”

              “You asked me a question and I picked out two men. That one drove the car and the other fired the fucking machine gun. Do you know it’s unhealthy to have your head so far up your own arse?”

              With his head cocked to one side the lieutenant grinned. “Can you give me any reason why these men were hired to kill you?”

              Bear forced himself to smile. “No.”

              “We have loose ends that require tying together, Mr Morris. You would agree with me it is unusual to be shot at.”

              With his hands behind his head Bear stared at the wall.

              The lieutenant stood and leant on the table. “Okay, Mr Morris, you and your friends can go. The boss of Ocean Shipping has confirmed you work for his organisation. A word to the wise. Don’t leave Cape Town without letting me know.”

              Bear stood, nodded and strolled to the door.

              After three hours, five unsmiling men descended the steps of the police station.

              Sat in the comfort of his car Stanley waited for the men to appear. Annoyed at having been sent for by the police he tapped John on the shoulder.

              Barry Higgins laughed. “Didn’t want a fucking lift anyway.”

              “We still have a run to finish,” said Bear.

              “Don’t you ever give it a rest?” asked Colin.

              “Stupid question,” said David as Petros and Bear set the pace.

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Henry sat by the window and stared towards the horizon. He attempted to organise his thoughts. As a hunter he was in the game until the end. The risks were high but for him it was worthwhile. Payback for the death of his father mattered. He finished his coffee, placed the cup on the table and pushed the first disc into the DVD player. He pressed the remote control.

              A wide angle shot of the breaker’s yard helipad filled the television screen. Out of view someone asked the female passenger to follow him. The clarity of the security camera images amazed him. A geek at the agency had been busy. He watched a woman of slim build with short, straight, dark hair alight from a helicopter and walk behind a man in uniform to the main airport terminal at Bhavnagar airport. The picture faded out and then returned with a sharp, clear image of the woman as she entered the toilets.

              Henry rubbed his eyes as a picture of a Muslim woman wearing a veil approached customs and handed her passport to the official. The scene changed as the camera appeared to zoom in on the woman’s right hand and focus on a red dragon’s head tattoo.

              His eyes fixed on the screen. “Got you.”

              The scene went back to the woman entering the toilet but this time it confirmed she was the same as the Muslim leaving. The geek overlaid the image with height, body details and date/time information. The tattoo validated his suspicions. He had found her.

              The picture faded and Jack Watson, the agency computer boffin, appeared. “Hi, Henry. Before you ask, she boarded a flight to Dubai and then onto Cape Town. The flight details are not necessary. Disc two shows her arriving at Cape Town International and jumping into a taxi. Don’t bother to look; I managed to recover the number plate of the cab she took. CA JN 832 987 WP.  And the company is Bobbi’s Cars. They have a contract with the airport. The rest is up to you but if I can help give me a call.”

              “Thanks, Jack.” He laughed at saying thanks to a computer. With the thought of killing this woman filling his mind he smiled as he began to pack his suitcase.

Chapter Nine

Two days later.

Constable Chris Martin parked across the street fifty metres from a silver Mercedes listed as stolen. He turned to Paul Wessels, his partner. “Let’s go and have a look.”

              The two policemen waited for confirmation from their office. The controller reported the car was also involved in a drive-by shooting and they should approach with caution.

              They jumped out of the car, pulled down their jackets and adjusted their caps.

              Wessels spoke into his radio, “I see two men seated in the rear. They appear to be asleep. We are investigating.”

              Martin drew his pistol and approached from one side while Wessels with weapon drawn stood back.

              “Hey, Wessel, someone didn’t like them. Both have a neat hole in the centre of their foreheads.”

              “Don’t touch anything, Chris. The boys from forensic will need to check it out.”

              “This door’s open.”  He removed a pair of blue surgical gloves from his pocket, put them on and opened the door.

              A blast of blinding white light lit the air. The shock wave and the body of Martin hurtled across the street bouncing off parked cars and walls.

              The power of the blast picked Wessels up and tossed him in the air. A wheel complete with its blazing tyre rolled along the road. Debris soared high into the air. His head hit the kerb. The roar of the blast echoed off the buildings. He came to with his ears ringing, crawled to a wall and rested his aching body. His eyes focused.

              Victims screamed and staggered as blood ran from open wounds.  Where the Mercedes had been was now a huge crater with a scrambled mess of scorched metal at its centre. Thick black smoke drifted on the wind. Windows in every direction were shattered; the street resembled a war zone.

              Wessels tried his radio. It was dead. With determination he used a nearby wall to stand as a sharp pain circled around his chest. His eyes scanned the street, people needed his help. He used the wall as a support and edged closer to an unconscious man. The flashing lights of police cars and ambulances filled his vision as they screeched to a halt.  An officer approached and started to speak. He couldn’t hear. He clenched his teeth as a paramedic helped him into the waiting ambulance along with three other walking wounded. As the doors closed he swore.

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Arthur Green, the dockyard’s senior engineer, a jovial African, worked his fingers as he guided Petros through the engine room of Leviathan. “We were lucky to find three suitable pumps for this job.” He pointed. “One, two, three in a row. Anyone can feed those water cannon but for full power I’d suggest one pump for one cannon.”

              “Interesting. And the controls are on the bridge?”

              “Local control from here and remote on the bridge as you require. Any pirate struck with a jet from one of these will wonder what’s hit him.”

              “How’s the camera installation progressing?”

              “A couple of days more for our electrician to finish the wiring. Your specification for armoured cable and locations didn’t make it easy. I’ve had to pay one of my men double time for the mast head camera.”

              Petros’ face never altered. “And the cutting edge around the stern bulkhead?”

              Arthur hesitated before he spoke, “I wasn’t sure that would work until I had one of my men try to climb a wire rope that we dropped from the stern into the dock. Once his full weight was suspended it held him for at best ten to fifteen seconds. No one can get on board from that direction. My worry would be the sides. This ship is low in the water when she’s full and on the main deck there’s plenty for a grapnel to snag on.”

              Petros nodded in support of the engineer’s thoughts. “Any suggestions?”

              The older man shrugged. “Fire axes will cut through a good thick wire.  Two or three placed near the deck entrance to the superstructure might help.”

              “I agree. Can you have them fitted today or at the latest tomorrow?”

              “I’ll have to clear it with Mr Stanley.”

              “That will not be a problem.”

              Arthur glanced at his watch. “If that’s everything, I’ve other jobs to visit before lunch.”

              “Thank you for your hard work. Leviathan is well protected.”

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Andy Young, waving a newspaper, sauntered over to where Bear and his team were stripping and cleaning weapons. “Have you read this? A thirty-five year old woman was injured in a shooting when unknown suspects fired shots from a moving vehicle. A police spokesperson stated that the motive for the shooting was unknown and no arrests have been made.”

              Bear looked up from inspecting an AK47. “Wrong place, wrong time, I reckon. A woman was shot but according to your police force she’ll be okay.”

              “It’s not unusual. At night you never stop at traffic lights just in case a local decides to shoot you before robbing you.”

              “The problem with that theory is, it was in the morning and these bastards were white.”