She typed in the data string again, more slowly this time, then sat back and watched as the screen refreshed. She shook her head in disbelief and flipped her phone open. Hitting the speed dial, she got up and stretched.
‘‘lo?’ a voice answered.
‘Dan, it’s me, Sarah. We have a problem.’
***
‘What do you mean, it’s gone? Where?’
Dan sat at Sarah’s desk, re-arranging data on the screen and re-checking her work.
‘If I knew where, I would’ve said so on the phone – and don’t look at me like that, I’ve already double-checked the information before I phoned you. Look – no transponder signal anywhere. The hijackers must’ve destroyed it.’
She pointed as the computer screen once more filtered through the search strings and stopped. They both looked at the screen – nothing. Dan threw his pen down on the desk and sighed. ‘We’re screwed.’
‘Maybe not.’ Philippa walked into the room and wandered over to Sarah’s desk, looking at the computer screen. ‘There are ways to find out.’
‘Right,’ said Sarah, sounding unconvinced. ‘Well, if you can find a missing freighter, she’s all yours,’ she added, and pushed the computer keyboard towards the other woman.
Philippa sat down at the desk and cracked her knuckles. Sarah glanced at Dan and rolled her eyes. He smiled, and put a finger to his lips.
‘You two get some rest – I’ll do this,’ said Philippa. ‘The thing is,’ she explained, ‘what you get on subscriber websites is filtered information. What we want to see is everything recorded by the tracking system and uploaded to the satellite.’
‘How do you do that?’ asked Sarah, now intrigued.
Philippa grinned. ‘Dial up the satellite and ask it – nicely, of course.’
Arctic Ocean
Brogan took a gulp of coffee and leaned against the side of the ship. The sun gave the grey clouds streaks of white and caught the waves in places, casting shadows across the sea. He squinted and glanced up at the ice-breaker in front of them. So far, they’d been making good progress but he guessed the ships would slow down once they reached Severnya Zemlya. He turned as the door next to him opened.
One of the hijackers stepped onto the deck and lit a cigarette. Brogan ignored him, took another sip of coffee and contemplated the endless grey scenery.
Brogan stepped through the studded metal doorway and into the cargo hold, the freighter’s engines rumbling through the soul of the ship and resonating through the walls.
The cargo hold resembled a large underground car park. Vehicles had been parked tightly together by the stevedores at Singapore. Four steel rope lashings held each car securely – two at the front and two at the rear of the vehicle to prevent any movement during the voyage.
Brogan walked between the lines of cars, occasionally stopping to check the tautness of the steel ropes. If the cars came loose in rough seas, they would move in the cargo hold and the combined shift in weight could sink the ship. The lashings creaked with the motion of the ship. Brogan nodded to himself, satisfied.
He made his way slowly to the front of the cargo hold, near the loading doors. As he walked around each of the vehicles, he bent down and checked the floor beneath them.
‘What are you doing?’
Brogan jumped. Another one of the hijackers stood behind him, an assault rifle resting across his folded arms. Brogan stood up.
‘I was just going round checking we didn’t have any fuel leaks. All these were loaded onto the ship with a full tank of petrol. We don’t want any accidents.’
The man grunted and left Brogan to carry on with his checks. The captain made his way over to the sleek black sedan parked on its own across two bays. He checked over his shoulder once more, and then bent down next to the vehicle’s front wheel arch.
Reaching under his thick sweater and into the waistband of his jeans, he drew out a small flat object. Sliding a switch on the side of it, he checked as a red LED light began to flash next to the switch. He reached forward and felt with his hand into the wheel arch until he found a lip of metal on which to place the object.
He withdrew his hand and untied his bootlace. He shuffled slightly in his crouching position and re-tied it to kill some time, then stood up slowly. He risked a glance around the hold, and saw one of the hijackers watching him.
He nodded, acknowledging his presence.
‘Can’t risk loose bootlaces round here,’ he shrugged. ‘Too many trip hazards.’
The other man nodded, then held up his gun and gestured for Brogan to move along. Brogan worked his way back through the rows of cars, back to the main staircase. The ship’s transponder might have been destroyed, he thought, but if anyone’s looking for the ship, they would now find the signal from the sedan somewhere in the middle of the Arctic.
Brisbane, Australia
Stephen Pallisder closed the door to his study, sat in the leather chair behind his desk and closed his eyes. Outside, his two children played in the garden, the sound of their shouts and laughter filtering through the window. He opened his eyes and reached out for the family portrait he kept on his desk. He held it carefully in his hands and smiled. It had taken half an hour just to get the kids to sit still and even then the photographer had been relieved when the ordeal was over.
Placing the photograph frame back on the desk, he opened a drawer and pulled out a business card. The Englishman had said to call him if he wanted to talk. Pallisder ran his hand over his face, feeling the damp from the sweat emanating from his cool skin. His hands shaking, he pulled his mobile phone from his jacket pocket and began to dial. Too late to turn back now.
The call was answered within seconds.
‘Mr Pallisder, I trust you’re well?’ said the man at the end of the line.
‘We need to talk, Mr Frazer,’ said Pallisder. ‘Now. Before I change my mind.’ He breathed out, and tried to stop his heart beating so hard.
‘I’m listening,’ said Mitch.
‘I need to know my family will be safe.’
‘We’ll move them until all this is over. What do you know?’
Pallisder took a deep breath and threw the business card on the desk. ‘He’s made a bomb. I-I had no idea it was going to get this serious. I thought we were just going to organise a few anti-environment rallies, scare a few people so they’d support us – I never would have given him the money if I knew what he had on his mind. He’s mad – he’s not listening to anyone any more. You’ve got to do something!’
‘Calm down,’ said Mitch. ‘You’re no use to us if you have a heart attack.’
Pallisder closed his eyes and gulped for air. He loosened his tie and threw it on the desk.
‘Who else knows?’ asked Mitch.
‘I don’t know – he won’t tell me who else is involved. But I think he might know someone in the government.’
‘Yours or ours?’
‘Yours.’
London, England
David stalked through the office, glowering. Agents changed direction and did their best to avoid his gaze, just in case it was their backside about to get a kicking.
Philippa glanced up over her glasses as he approached her desk. ‘Problem?’
‘Come with me,’ he ordered, as he walked past her without breaking stride and headed for his office.
Philippa stood up, locked her computer screen and picked up her notebook. She followed David and closed the door behind her. David was pacing the room. Suddenly, he stopped and turned, grabbed the cord for the window blinds and pulled them shut, shielding them from the prying eyes of other staff in the outer office.
Philippa calmly wandered over to the two-seat sofa and sat down, crossing her legs. She flicked her long hair over her shoulder and looked up at him. ‘What’s going on?’
He leaned against his desk. ‘We have an informant.’
Philippa paled. ‘But I screened all those agents out there myself – they’re solid. They’re…’
‘Who is it?’
David sighed and ran his hand over his face, exhausted. ‘The Minister for Energy. The fucking Minister for Energy.’
‘Holy crap.’
David nodded. ‘You said it.’
Philippa slouched back on the sofa. ‘Who else knows?’
Standing up, David walked round his desk and sat down in his leather chair. ‘So far, the Prime Minister, the Home Secretary and the head of the Ministry of Defence. They’ll be keeping it contained of course until this is all over, one way or the other. We’re arranging to take the Minister out of circulation – we’ll move him up to a safe house at Brecon tonight. With any luck, they’ll chuck him in a room and throw away the fucking key.’ David banged his fist on the desk.
‘How much does he know?’ asked Philippa. ‘We haven’t used Dan or Sarah’s names in the briefing papers so surely they haven’t been compromised?’
David shook his head. ‘No – but Delaney will know we’re onto him now.’
Philippa drew small flowers on a page of her notebook, deep in thought. ‘What are you going to tell the media about the Minister? We can’t just make him disappear.’
‘There will be a press release issued at five this morning stating the Minister has been diagnosed with cancer and has been ordered to rest.’
Philippa studied David’s face. ‘Is it a terminal case?’
He nodded grimly. ‘Very. He’s unlikely to make it to the end of the month.’
Brisbane, Australia
Delaney slammed the door behind him. He bit his knuckle to stop himself from screaming out loud. Three years of planning and it was all in danger of falling apart.
He stalked across the room, reached his desk, then stooped down. He picked up the wastepaper basket and threw it across the room. It hit a painting on the far wall and tore a hole through the million-dollar masterpiece. The wastepaper basket fell down onto a mahogany side cabinet, smashing a crystal decanter and six glasses before falling to the floor, where it rolled to a stop, the painting crashing down on top of it.
Delaney glared at it, and surveyed the damage, panting. He pulled a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and wiped his forehead, then turned and threw himself into the desk chair. He could feel his heart beating in his chest. He ignored the pain behind his ribs and concentrated on breathing heavily, pushing the oxygen into his system. He pinched his nose and closed his eyes. Think.
He had expected the Minister’s aide to tell him the politician was busy when he called. The message that the Minister was no longer at work and his whereabouts unknown had thrown Delaney off track. No-one could tell him where the Minister could be found.
He switched the television on in the corner of his room until he found the national twenty-four-hour news channel for the United Kingdom. The ticker-tape headline running across the bottom of the screen confirmed his fears. The Minister had made a mistake. Someone had found out.
He picked up the phone, dialled a series of digits for the UK and tapped his foot on the rug, waiting for the call to connect. A voice eventually answered. ‘Charles – are you watching the news? Right, get on a flight to Severnya Zemlya,’ said Delaney.’ I want you to board the ship there and make sure it arrives on time.’
He paused, listening.
‘Well, tell them you’re going on a cruise,’ he growled. He slammed the phone down, stood up and looked out his office window at the river below. No way would he let the plan fail now.
Near Denchworth, Oxfordshire, England
Dan woke, sweat beading on his brow. His heart was racing. He ran his hand over his eyes. How much longer?
He realised the lamp next to the bed was switched on, and frowned.
‘Are you okay?’
He jumped at the sound of Sarah’s voice. ‘What?’
She stood at the end of his bed, concern in her eyes. ‘Same dream?’
He nodded. ‘Sorry if I woke you.’
She shrugged, her arms folded across her chest. He noticed she was shivering. The t-shirt she was wearing was no match for the cold winter night.
‘Here, get in before you get cold again,’ he said, pulling the blankets back.
She rolled her eyes and smiled. ‘I’ve heard some excuses…’
Dan shuffled over and Sarah curled up next to him. He pulled the blankets up around them and propped himself up on an elbow. Sarah gazed up at him. His blue eyes pierced through the gloom. Dan lowered his face to hers, and she tilted her head up.
Sarah hesitated, unsure. ‘Dan – I don’t know if I can do this.’ She put her hand on Dan’s chest, closing her eyes.
He rested his chin on her forehead, breathed in her perfume, then leaned back and took her face in his hands. ‘It’s okay.’
He leaned down and kissed her on her neck, his lips caressing her collarbone.
She groaned and leaned back. ‘Dan…’
He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her towards him. She kissed him frantically, desperately searching out every part of him.
‘God, Sarah, you feel wonderful,’ Dan slid a hand down her body, caressing, touching.
Sarah dug her fingernails into his shoulder blades, relishing his touch. She pulled at his hair, desperate to get closer to his skin.
Then her mobile phone rang.
They both jumped. Sarah bit her lip. She sat up, torn between staying and finding out the identity of the caller. She pulled away.
‘Bloody mobile phones,’ said Dan under his breath, and let her go.
He could hear her padding about in the guest room as she switched on a light and tried to find her mobile phone before it stopped ringing. He groaned and let his head hit the pillow. Talk about bad timing. He heard Sarah answer the phone, then the murmurs of a short conversation before he heard her coming back to the room.
‘That was Philippa,’ she said, as she stood in the doorway and balanced on one leg, pulling on a pair of jeans. ‘David wants us back in the office. Now. She says they’ve found a trace of where the hijacked freighter’s been.’
***
Dan pushed open the door to the conference room and strode across to where Philippa sat staring at her computer screen. ‘Where?’
‘The Kara Sea, north of Russia. Turned up in an historical report on one of those satellite databases I told you about.’ Philippa handed him the report and glanced pointedly at Sarah, who blushed and sat down.
‘And,’ Philippa continued, ‘we just got a report in from the Japanese Coast Guard. They found the freighter crew. Well, what’s left of them anyway.’
‘Whereabouts?’ asked Sarah, leaning forward on the desk.
‘Orono-Shima – a small island off the coast of Japan,’ said David. ‘The bodies washed up two days ago – not much to go on after the fish had a go at them but our people in Singapore identified the second in command through his dental records – it seems logical to assume the remaining bodies are the other crew members.’
Dan glanced at the fax over David’s shoulder. ‘What about the captain?’
Philippa shook her head. ‘No sign of him – we’re assuming they’ve held on to him.’
‘He’s still useful to them,’ added Sarah, regaining some of her composure.
Philippa nodded. ‘Exactly my thoughts.’
David stalked across the room and threw the door open. He stopped and turned. ‘Pip, get us into a bigger ops room within twenty minutes – one with an electronic tracking map. Get two analysts to help us. We’re running out of time.’
***
David rapped the surface of the table, bringing the varied conversations around it to a halt. ‘Okay people. Let’s have your full attention.’
Five faces turned his way.
‘Let’s get down to business. It’s now confirmed Delaney has taken over a cargo freighter.’ He picked up a remote and hit a button. One side of the conference wall was bathed in white light. David pressed another button and
a map appeared. He dimmed the lights, and then turned to Dan. ‘I’ll let you run with this.’
Dan nodded, stood up and turned to face the room. He hit the remote and fired up the live satellite feed. The screen on the wall flickered, and then a series of dots and lines appeared across the top section of the map. ‘Okay, everyone listen up,’ he said. ‘Let’s see if we can spot our freighter.’
He typed a series of keys on the keyboard in front of him and the satellite picture changed. It swooped down to the surface of the Earth and showed the northern coast of Russia.
‘We know the ship left Singapore in December and has been travelling north. Thanks to Philippa’s intelligence report, we now know the ship passed Busan in January. We then have a reported sighting from Severnya Zemlya on the north coast of Russia. The freighter seems to have travelled through the Arctic Ocean.’
Sarah stopped writing in her notebook. ‘How on earth did a freighter go through the Arctic Ocean at this time of year?’
‘The sea ice doesn’t freeze like it used to,’ explained Philippa. ‘It hasn’t been as thick over the winter months during the past couple of years. Delaney’s still taking one hell of a chance though.’
‘So from there, he could be headed anywhere,’ said David. ‘At what point do we tell our American friends they might be the recipients of a potential atomic weapon?’
Dan shook his head. ‘I don’t think Delaney has sent it there,’ he said. ‘He hasn’t got any business interests there and he wouldn’t want to jeopardise a potential future market.’ He turned to the screen as the satellite’s camera began to zoom out. ‘I have a feeling it’s coming here,’ he murmured.
He faced the team. ‘The transponder signal stopped two weeks ago. We don’t know whether that’s because it’s been found, or if the captain’s using a battery-powered version which may have gone flat. So, ladies and gentlemen, the only way to do this is the hard way.’
White Gold: (A Dan Taylor thriller) Page 21
