White Gold (14 page)

South of the Sea of Japan

Miles Brogan took his hands off the controls and checked the readings printed out in front of him. A storm warning for the waters beyond Socotra Rock heading towards the Sea of Japan remained current and Brogan had ordered his men to ensure the cargo was lashed down to prevent the ship from rolling in high seas.

At fifty-six, Brogan had more than thirty years’ experience at sea. His brown hair, bleached by the sun, showed only a little grey whilst his skin had the deep-set tan of someone who had spent most of his life outdoors.

Unknown to his crew, he planned this to be his last voyage with the freighter named
World’s End
. A customer, booking at the last minute, had insisted his luxury sedan be included with the cargo and had paid highly for the two berths the car now occupied. It wasn’t unusual for people to ask for this service and Brogan had gone out of his way to accommodate the customer’s request. The client had been impressed and Brogan appreciated the bonus the customer had insisted on paying him for the effort. Brogan had no intention of telling his employer but the payment was going to fund his retirement plan of sailing around the world with his wife for the next few years before settling down for good.

The owner had been most insistent on keeping the extra space to either side of the vehicle, paying to have two bays in which to keep the extra distance. The owner had even insisted on sending an employee to drive the sedan onto the freighter himself, presumably not trusting the highly qualified stevedore staff at the port in Singapore.

Brogan shrugged to himself. The client was paying a premium price for the car to be transported to South Korea, so he could do what he liked as far as the captain was concerned. After the vehicle had been loaded, Brogan had leaned down and attempted to look through the tinted windows but couldn’t see anything. He knew there was no point trying the door handles – the employee had locked the doors and pocketed the keys while smiling at Brogan.

‘You won’t need these,’ the man had said to him as he polished his glasses, ‘I’ll meet you when you reach your destination.’

Brogan had taken the money and not asked any questions. All he had to do was sail towards the port of Busan in South Korea as originally planned. Just with an extra car on board. Easy.

He shifted in his seat at the controls, settling down for the next leg of the journey. The
World’s End
operated with a crew of nine, including Brogan. It was a lean operation, with most crew members being engineers to ensure the freighter’s engines ran smoothly over the course of its journey.

Brogan yawned. It would soon be time to swap shifts with the first mate. Brogan contemplated Chris Weston’s reaction when he found out about the extra cargo. Brogan hadn’t offered an explanation and Chris hadn’t asked for one. He’d just shrugged his shoulders when Brogan had told him to mind his own business when he’d found the sedan parked in the hold and the captain staring at it.

Brogan picked up the microphone for the tannoy system which linked to speakers around the ship.

‘Hey, Chris? Bring us back a mug of coffee on your way up, thanks.’

Brogan settled back into his chair and raised his feet up to rest on the controls. Not in the manual, obviously, but comfortable, he mused.

His eyes automatically scanned the horizon. The sun was beginning to set to his port side, pulling clouds and aircraft vapour trails over the edge with it. Brogan let his eyes drift over the horizon, the pinks and yellows of the sunset casting shadows over the ship’s deck. He daydreamed about what sort of yacht he’d buy on his return. Home. Retirement.

He heard the door open behind him and a gust of wind rustled the charts. Brogan knew he could rely on the GPS and radar but he liked the old-fashioned charts – they seemed to hold a lot more history than the computer did, evident in the telltale folds of the maps from years of use. He dropped his feet down from the controls with a sigh and inched himself up into the chair.

Brogan jumped as Weston tapped him on the shoulder, pulled a gun from his waistband and pointed it at him.

‘Change of plans, captain,’ said the first mate.

Brogan slowly sat up straight. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, Weston?’ he demanded.

Weston shrugged. ‘I got paid more than you. And they decided they couldn’t trust you to keep the car a secret.’

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile phone. Scrolling down through the text messages, he waited until he found the right one.

‘Change our course to bear north-north-east forty-five degrees,’ he said.

Brogan frowned. ‘There’s nothing there but bare coastline.’

‘Just do it.’

‘Where’s the rest of the crew?’

Weston smirked. ‘In the safe room. I expect they’ll start to smell after a couple of days.’

Brogan felt a chill down his spine.
What the hell was going on
?

His hand automatically covered the controls for the transponder – the system that tracked the ship’s progress and sent out a beacon at all times to other ships in the area.

‘Move away,’ said Weston. He aimed the gun at the console and fired.

Brogan reared back from the blast, his ears ringing from the noise in the confined space.

Weston grinned. ‘Now no-one knows where you are. Change course.’

Brogan’s hand hovered over the navigation system. As he plotted the course Weston had set, he noticed his hands were shaking. He trembled as he realised he was on his own, on a large ship in the middle of nowhere, with a psychopath for a crew member.

Suddenly retirement seemed a long way away.

Singapore

‘Put your hands in the air – slowly,’ said the voice.

Dan did as he was told.

‘Now stand up.’

Dan stood and turned, then his arms lowered slightly and snorted in surprise.

‘Pleased to see me?’ asked David.

‘I’ll let you know,’ said Dan. ‘What are you doing here?’

David backed away, keeping the gun trained on Dan.

‘Probably best I ask the questions,’ he said then turned slightly and called over his shoulder. ‘Philippa?’

A figure appeared from the side of another car – Sarah, followed by another woman who was holding a gun at Sarah’s back.

Dan turned to David. ‘Let her go.’

David shook his head. ‘Sorry – no can do.’

‘What do you want?’

David smiled. ‘Well, for starters you can tell me what you’re doing breaking into private property with a journalist.’

‘Why – are you working in private security now?’

David scowled. ‘Very funny. Answer the question. I’ve got enough authority to make the pair of you disappear for a very long time. Don’t push your luck.’

Sarah glanced at Dan, fear in her eyes. ‘Dan? Do you know this guy? Just tell him, yeah?’

Dan ignored her and looked at the other man. ‘How long have you been following us, David?’

David shrugged. ‘A while. You saved us some legwork. Let’s say we don’t want to show our hand to Delaney just yet so it’s time to get you two out of circulation.’

He turned to Philippa. ‘Stay here with our friend the journalist – I’m going to take Mr Taylor for a walk.’

Philippa nodded, leaned against one of the cars and folded her arms, keeping her gun pointed at Sarah.

David took Dan by the arm and shoved him further down the pathway formed by the lines of vehicles. Dan glanced ahead of him and saw a steel staircase leading up to a solitary office. David indicated to Dan to climb the stairs ahead of him. Dan grunted. He would have done the same if their roles had been reversed.

When he reached the top of the stairs, he turned and opened the door to the office. David followed him in and switched on the lights. Dim fluorescent tubes flickered to life. Dan cast his eyes around the room. The office was a mess. Four filing cabinets to the left of the door had their drawers open, the contents strewn over the floor. He looked around the room – a desk stood in the middle of the office, facing the door. It too had been trashed, the contents of its drawers littering the desk surface and the floor.

‘Been busy?’ asked Dan as he turned to face David.

‘Like you wouldn’t believe,’ said David. He sat down in a chair behind the desk, put the safety catch back on the gun and laid the weapon on the desk.

‘Close the door,’ said David, and motioned Dan to the seat opposite him.

Dan closed the door and then slumped into the chair. He looked at David and noticed how weary he looked. ‘You’re trying to stop him too.’

David nodded and said nothing.

‘So, what have you got?’

‘We know Peter sent some notes to Sarah before he died. And we know you’ve used them to get this far. Impressive,’ said David. ‘I wonder what else is in those notes?’

Dan shrugged. ‘Not as much as you’d like to think. I presume Mitch works for you?’

David nodded.

Dan grunted. ‘Figures. There’s no way you’d have worked out we were here on your own.’ He leaned back in the seat. ‘Forget the notes. If we hadn’t broken into Delaney’s house and found the shipping manifest, we wouldn’t have got this far. And now we know he’s using a car for some reason. But we don’t know where it’s gone.’

He looked over at the other man. ‘What’s going on, Dave? What’s so important about this white gold powder? Why are you all chasing it?’

David sighed and leaned forward. ‘Academics in the UK have already pointed out to our government there that existing green energy technology is still decades behind demand, and as the old coal-burning power stations are decommissioned, wind and solar power won’t be ready to take its place. We’re talking nation-wide blackouts before 2020,’ he explained.

‘The coal mining and oil production companies are lapping this up – they know they’ve got at least another thirty years or more where despite protests from the green lobbyists, they’re still set to make billions – and they’re not letting that chance go without a fight. Delaney is just one of them – a particularly nasty one. There’s plenty who would take his place, given the chance. All these organisations are distorting the truth for their own means, so the general public doesn’t know who to believe – and, frankly, they’re starting not to care either. Think of it as apathy caused by information overload.’

Dan nodded and motioned to David to continue. ‘Where does white gold powder come in to all of this?’

David smiled and stood up. He paced the room. ‘White gold’s the answer to buying us some time – a lot of time – without having to consider nuclear energy; something that will give us the extra thirty years we need to develop sustainable, alternative energy.’

‘Which the coal mining and oil companies don’t want.’

‘Exactly. To the point where some of them are paying substantial amounts of money to some very questionable characters to keep the whole concept quiet.’

Dan leaned forward. ‘So where does your lot come into this?’

David shrugged. ‘We’re just making sure it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands. Or gets used for the wrong reasons. White gold has to be produced in a safe, controlled environment.’

Dan laughed. ‘By ‘controlled’ you mean
you
want control of it – government, not private enterprise, right?’

David looked at him. ‘It’s the safest way, believe me. There are other things about this white gold powder you have absolutely no comprehension of, Dan. And I’m not at liberty to tell you.’ He stood up. ‘But you will help me find Delaney’s car.’

‘I’ll have to think about it. I’m not even sure I want to help you.’

‘There’s nothing to think about,’ said David. ‘You’re going to help me whether you like it or not.’

Dan stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’

David brushed some papers off a table. They fluttered to the floor as he leaned back and folded his arms. ‘I don’t care whether you use the journalist to help you, but you’re going to help me stop Delaney. You’ve got the skills, the knowledge – and you owe me.’

‘I owe you?’ asked Dan. ‘What on earth for?’

‘Because you’ve given up on yourself,’ said David. ‘I’m doing you a favour. Giving you a sense of purpose.’

‘I don’t need a sense of purpose.’

‘Really? What have you been doing for the past few years?’ asked David.

Dan scowled. He stood up and wandered over to the large office window which overlooked the warehouse. He could see Philippa and Sarah, deliberately ignoring each other, leaning against opposite cars.

‘It’s not healthy, Dan,’ continued David. ‘I’ve seen too many just bury their head in a bottle every night.’

‘Have you been spying on me?’ asked Dan, as he turned to face the other man.

‘Looking out for you,’ said David. ‘Like any mate would.’

‘Bullshit. You just want me to solve this so you can take all the credit and add another award to your office wall.’

David shrugged and stepped closer to Dan. And then punched him in the stomach, hard.

Dan collapsed to the floor, taken by surprise. He grasped the edge of the table, wheezing, a fire burning in his abdomen.

David bent down and sneered in his face. ‘I’ll give you a week. You either help me or I’ll start investigating Hayley’s death a little more closely. You never know where your name might turn up.’ He stalked past Dan and walked down the stairs.

Dan watched him go, his eyes watering. He rubbed his stomach, thinking hard.

Orono-Shima, Japan

Brogan peered out the window of the freighter as the landmass drew closer. An occasional light blinked out of the darkness but otherwise, the coastline was pitch black.

‘Slow here,’ instructed Weston. ‘Keep her level so the coast is on our port side.’

Brogan obeyed and hoped to hell someone didn’t run into them. Weston had switched off all the ship’s running lights, all the lights in the cabins below and the control room. Brogan’s face glowed green from the reflection of the radar and GPS systems.

‘Okay. Now stop,’ Weston said and stepped away from Brogan. He looked at his watch and nodded to himself.

Brogan shook his head in disbelief. Weston would know as well as he did that stopping a ship quickly when it was the size of the freighter they were on wouldn’t be easy. Brogan reached out and pulled back the throttle levers for each of the engines. He did it in stages, mindful of the irreparable damage he’d cause the enormous engines if he tried to stop too fast. As the ship began to slow, he steered hard to port to add more braking power, and then straightened the ship out before the engines went completely silent.

Weston walked over to the door and opened it. Cold air filtered through the room. Brogan shivered. Not from the cold. His mind was racing. It had to be something to do with the mysterious black sedan in the cargo hold, it had to be. Weston had more or less confirmed it. But what the hell had he been paid to do?

Brogan risked a glance over his shoulder. Weston was staring out at the coastline, as if he was searching for something. Brogan followed his gaze. No beacon shone, no signal was being emitted from the coast.

Brogan knew they must have already taken a kilometre or so to stop. The ship would now be drifting, wallowing in the tidal flow.

Brogan turned sideways in his chair and strained his ears. He could hear an engine, something heading out of the darkness, aiming for the freighter. He stood up.

Weston glanced at him and grinned. ‘Reinforcements,’ he explained.

Brogan’s heart was racing. He glanced around the control room, looking for something, anything he could use as a weapon.

Weston watched him and laughed. ‘Don’t bother,’ he said. ‘I was busy cleaning up this afternoon. You won’t find anything here you can use on me.’ He turned back to watch the sea.

Brogan walked over to the door and stared out. As the clouds parted, he glimpsed a dinghy with a powerful outboard engine approaching the freighter. As it drew closer, Weston reached around outside the door and threw down a coiled rope. It fell down the side of the ship, pulling taut when it had reached its length.

Brogan stared in amazement as he heard the dinghy’s engine die then, one by one, five figures ascended the rope and boarded the ship. He backed into the control room, holding up his palms in surrender.

He looked on helplessly as the hijackers crawled over his ship. They were experienced at sea, he could tell. Orders were being carried out efficiently, deftly.
Special Forces
, he thought.
Mercenaries
.

He watched as one of the men fitted a silencer to a gun then fired over the edge of the ship. The man turned to face Weston with a grin on his face. ‘Won’t need the dinghy any more I guess,’ he said.

Weston didn’t smile back. Brogan noticed that since the boarding, he had ceased to look like he commanded the group any more. Instead, he deferred to another man who had his back to Brogan and issued instructions to the four other invaders. He turned to Weston.

‘Where’s the safe room?’

Weston nodded in the direction of the stairwell. ‘They’re all down there.’

The man nodded and dismissed the four men in front of him. Brogan’s heart sank as he watched their progress along the side of the ship, then saw them disappear through another door. In a matter of seconds, he heard shouting, gunfire. Then silence.

His attention snapped back to the man listening to Weston, stooping to hear him. Brogan watched as the man nodded to Weston and barked an order.

‘Start her up. We need to be out of here before sunrise.’

Brogan was shoved out of the way by Weston as he stepped back into the control room and flicked a switch. Brogan felt the rumble of the enormous engines as they roared into life. He took a deep breath and looked out at the coastline, its dark outline silhouetted by clouds. He shuddered. Somehow he didn’t think he’d get the chance to pay it another visit.

He jumped as a door further along the ship crashed open. A man backed out of the doorway, stooped over as he dragged a heavy load after him.

Brogan broke out in a cold sweat as he realised what was happening. He leaned against the railing enclosing the deck. The hijacker caught the movement from the corner of his eye. He turned and grinned maliciously at Brogan. A shout from behind the door made him look back and continue to drag the body out. A second man came through the door after it. Once the hijackers had dragged the body across the deck, they kicked at it until it rolled over the side.

‘Six to go,’ said one, then they disappeared back through the door, closing it behind them.

Brogan turned away from them and closed his eyes. His hands gripped the rail. He couldn’t think straight. A shout from behind him made him open his eyes. Brogan stared at the man walking towards him. The man’s face was a mess. One side of it was torn, with blotchy pink new skin poking out from behind old scars. Brogan shivered. A malevolent glint shone in the man’s tawny eyes. Like he knew the world owed him.

The man stopped in front of Brogan. He grinned and held up a mobile phone, the screen pointing at Brogan. ‘Watch carefully,’ he said, then hit a button.

Brogan felt the tears rolling down his cheeks as he watched the recording. It didn’t have sound. It didn’t need it. His wife, his poor wife.

The man lowered the phone and placed it in his pocket. ‘If you refuse to cooperate, we’ll pay a visit to your daughter next,’ he said. ‘Understand?’

Brogan closed his eyes and nodded.

‘Good,’ said the man. ‘Now show me where the car is parked.’