The Collectors Book Six: Black Gold (The Collectors Series 6) (26 page)

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With his heart pounding, Petros paid the driver his fare and entered the courtyard adjoining the house. Before he reached the entrance the door opened.

              “I waited up for you,” said Maria as tears filled her eyes. She buried her face against his chest.

              “You’ll catch your death out here. Let’s go inside.”

              She stepped back inside pulling him with her. He shut the door with his foot.

              They sat together on a wooden bench in front of the fire. Maria was shaking as in the dim light she looked into his eyes. Her heart beat faster being close to him. “I’m sorry. I should have told you before you left.”

              He held her soft hands. “If I’d known I wouldn’t have gone. How are you and the baby?”

              “Not good.”

              “Tomorrow, I’m taking you to the hospital.”

              Maria bowed her head, crying. “I think this one has gone. I’ve been suffering strong period-type cramps and heavy bleeding. Aunt Eleni agrees.”

              “I still want a doctor to give you the once over.”

              “You worry too much. Come to bed and keep me warm.”

              He held her hand as they climbed the stairs. “When the doctor gives you the all clear, we can have fun making Alysa a brother or sister.”

              She squeezed his hand.             

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In a bland concrete bunker sat six senior Chinese officers.

              “Linda Liu’s accrued funds have been transferred via Swiss banks to specific individuals in China,” said the aged general with a lined face but well turned-out appearance. “She was a brilliant strategist, one of the best to come out of our training establishments.” He shrugged. “Then it’s agreed, we close the company managed by Linda Liu.”

              Each man raised his right hand in agreement.

              “The next item on the agenda is...”

Chapter Twenty Four

“We have an appointment to see Charles,” said Petros to the young man at reception.

              The man with tinted blond hair and a touch of eye makeup glanced at the two men with little interest as he lifted the telephone.

              Moments later. “Please go right in,” .

              Charles Haskell sat back in his black leather swivel chair behind his desk and focused his gaze on Petros and Bear. He gestured for them to grab a seat. “Tea or Coffee? I’ll have Frances make fresh.”

              The two men shook their heads.

              “I gather you succeeded in eliminating the competition.”

              Petros frowned. “We won the battle but the war, I’m not so sure.”

              Charles lifted two sealed envelopes from his desk. “The President of Ocean Shipping asked me to present you with a bonus. He also offers you full time employment as security consultants. You would, of course, be hired at a fee to other shipping companies.”

              Petros looked him squarely in the eyes. “I’ve retired. I intend to learn how to race a sail boat. It’s time to move on.”

              Charles leant forward and gave Bear an old-fashioned look. “Interested?”

              He raised his eyebrows. “Forget it. Not in a million years and I’m not hard up. I’m fast approaching my sell-by-date and hate having to duck to avoid bullets.” Nodding, he continued. “But I know a couple of great guys who might.”

              “For the moment I believe you. But you two love the action and will never be nine to five.”

              “We’re still alive,” said Petros. “If, and it’s a big if, we take on another job we’ll be very selective on who we work for.”

              Charles’ voice resounded with authority, “And if the price were right?”

              “As we said, neither of us needs the money,” said Bear.

              Charles nodded. “Bear, your recommendation? Are you going to tell me your choice or do I have to guess?”

              “Amadou and ZZ should be in the States by now. They’re intelligent men and need work.”

              “Okay,” said Charles. “With your commendation Ocean Shipping might take them on.”

              “Charles, stop messing around. If you want good men to train others to take the fight to the pirates, Amadou and ZZ are as good as us,” said Bear, his voice raised. “The report on Goliath detailed that those pirates knew how to operate super-tankers so the first thing on the agenda is to stop them from boarding. If the pirates make it on board, the role of the ship’s armed security team is central or do we pray no one is shot?” Worked up he continued. “Bollocks, even our own government gives lip service to protecting shipping. They don’t give a toss. At the moment its tankers and cargo ships. Cruise liners carrying thousands of passengers will be targeted next and at the moment the bad guys will win. The half-hearted war against pirates, terrorists, and their like is not good enough. Time to fight back and make them run.”

              “Bear, well said and I couldn’t agree more. That’s why I asked if you were interested. I understand many of the large American shipping companies are meeting members of Congress to have laws past but as we know, that takes years. Give me Amadou’s contact number and I’ll have a word. Thanks for your time.”

              Petros held up his envelope. “This is straight into the bank and you still owe us our fee and expenses.”

              “It’s being electronically transferred into your accounts.”

              Bear laughed. “Thanks, but I am retiring. I must admit I hate ships but that last cruise ended well and the good guys won.”

              Petros and Bear stood and offered their hand to Charles across the desk.

              Charles shook them. “If you ever become bored, give me a ring.”

              “The answer is we’re out to grass,” said Petros with a grin.

              “Time to have a chat with Amadou,” said Charles.

              “Do that,” said Bear. They left the room and made their way along the thick-carpeted passage to the lift.

Epilogue.

The Commodore of the East Coast Sailing Club suggested several weekend courses of instruction. Eager to learn, Petros sailed at every opportunity during the following months and learnt to use the tide to his advantage and honed his boat-handling skills. With a few minor races under his belt, he entered the Commodore’s challenge cup.

              On a windy but sunny Saturday afternoon in June, the Kyriades, along with the Morris family, and Petros’ crew Andreas and his wife Phoebe, finished lunch in the bar of the sailing club.

              Petros glanced at his watch. “Time to get ready.”

              Maria grabbed his hand. “Take care of our little girl and don’t forget she’s eleven, going on fifteen when it suits her.”

              “I’ll make a deal, I’ll keep her safe providing you look after our son.”

              She grinned. “He’s snug as a bug and kicks like David Beckham.” She rested her hands on her swollen tummy. “I’ll be glad when he arrives.”

              “I’ll remind you of what you said in two months.”

              “While you play sailors. I might just sample a desert,” said Bear, his eyes fixed on the sweet trolley.”

              Petros, Andreas, Phoebe and Alysa left the warmth and comfort of the club and sauntered towards the marina where
Alysa II
waited. The water in the marina was mirror-calm. One of his rules was once on board life jackets must be worn.               With a glint of fatherly love in his eyes, he said, “Are you ready to take her out, Alysa?”

              She saluted. “Yes, Papa.”

              Andreas stood amidships and held two ropes. “Ready to slip.”

              Petros looked up at the large number of cirrus clouds, a sign of a change in the weather. With a final glance to ensure that no other craft blocked their exit, “Ready when you are.”

              Alysa pressed the engine start button, removing her finger as the motor turned and started. “Oil pressure okay, Papa. Let go.” She engaged astern and at a slow speed reversed until clear of the pontoon. With the tiller arm hard to starboard she engaged ahead and in a sweeping turn followed thirty other vessels for the open sea.

              “Was that okay, Papa?”

              He rubbed her hair. “Perfect. Go and sit in the cabin while we set the sails.” He waited until she was safe and turned the craft into the wind.

              In minutes Andreas and Phoebe hoisted the sails.

              “Starboard tack,” said Petros in a loud clear voice.

              With the wind gusting at fifteen knots, the race began well for Petros and his team.
Alysa II
skimmed over the water as she crossed the line two seconds after the start gun fired.

              They were fourth rounding the first buoy and third approaching the next. With the wind astern, the bright red spinnaker blossomed. Andreas pushed the mainsail out to its limit and attached a preventer with a quick release slip. Petros’ spirits were high.

              Andreas pointed. “We’re gaining.”

              Petros, aware of his inexperience, glanced at the sky. The wind was increasing in strength and the waves higher. “When we turn on the next marker, we’ll be on a port tack. The wind’s stronger than when we started.”

              Andreas nodded and waved to the crew of
Voyager
.

              On approaching the next buoy the commodore’s crew fluffed retrieving the spinnaker, and it fell into the sea.

              Petros noted the flow of water around the mark and retrieved his sails early. Andreas and Phoebe dropped the huge spinnaker straight into the forward hatch while hoisting the genoa.

              Petros missed the buoy by a fraction and took the lead. “As a team, you’re marvellous. Trim the sails.”

              Andreas and Phoebe eased their sails until they luffed and then trimmed when held its shape.

              Alysa stood on the cabin steps, held on and watched.

              “Must be our lucky day,” shouted Petros.

              Andreas turned his head. “Don’t count your chickens. The Commodore will chase you to the line.”

              Petros maintained the lead and turned to the final leg with the second boat one hundred metres astern.

              On completing the turn he realised he might have too much sail for the conditions and was about to give the order when he heard a noise from astern. The commodore’s yacht slapped the waves and was gaining.

              Spray lifting from the sea ran from their waterproofs. Undeterred, Andreas adjusted the mainsail.

              Phoebe concentrated her attention on managing the genoa.

              Alysa sat next to her father with the safety line secured to her lifejacket. With water running down her face she turned. “Are we going to be first, Papa?”

              He hugged her. “If papa does nothing wrong we should be.” He played with the sails and the boat’s balance and maintained his slim lead.

              From the shore the finish gun sounded.

              Alysa screamed excitedly, “Papa, we won.”

              “Go into the cabin, Alysa, and hold onto the bunk.”

              He waited until his daughter was out of the way. “Ready about. Lee helm.”

              The boat turned, its foresail flapped until it grabbed the wind. As soon as they were clear of the course and numerous other craft Petros turned into the wind. Andreas and Phoebe took their cue and lowered the sails.

              Petros started the engine and called to Alysa. “Take the helm and drive us home.”

              Concentration filled her face as she stood in the cockpit and steered the craft towards the marina.

             
Alysa II
entered her berth with the gentlest of bumps.

              Andreas jumped onto the pontoon and secured the springs before the head and stern ropes. “Okay, Alysa,” he shouted.