Brisbane, Australia
Delaney burst through the door to his office, slammed it shut and locked it. His eyes darted around the room. Sweating and out of breath, he forced himself to breathe slowly. It was all falling apart.
Delaney pulled his mobile phone from his jacket pocket and hit redial. He put the phone to his ear, closed his eyes and leaned back against the door. He listened as the same tone-flat recorded message informed him Uli Petrov’s mobile number was no longer available.
He disconnected the call, and then looked up sharply as his desk phone began to ring. He strode across the office and snatched it from its cradle. ‘What?’
He closed his eyes and rubbed his hand over his face as he listened and processed the information. ‘When?’
He leaned against the desk. His heart raced. This couldn’t be happening. ‘Send the report to my private fax line.’
He put the phone down and walked around the desk. Pulling out a drawer, he felt around until he found a small plastic bottle. Pulling it out, he twisted open the lid and shook it until two small white pills fell into his hand. He shoved them in his mouth, swallowed them and threw the bottle back in the drawer. He slammed it shut and turned as the fax machine began to print.
He snatched the single sheet of paper from the machine, read the contents and exhaled loudly.
It was a copy of the latest edition of the Moscow Times. Uli Petrov had been found dead in his Krylatskoe mansion, the victim of a burglary gone wrong, the police said. The Kremlin had undertaken to seize control of his oil and gas assets immediately, to secure production over the European winter, and was not expected to relinquish control of the business for the foreseeable future.
Delaney tore up the sheet of paper and threw it in the wastepaper basket in disgust. He picked up his phone and dialled the number for Charles. He eased himself into his chair, breathing heavily.
No answer. Delaney held out the phone at arm’s length and stared at it in disbelief. Where the hell was he?
Delaney reached down and pulled out one of the desk drawers. Tipping the contents out over the Chinese silk rug under his chair, he turned over the empty drawer. A thin manila envelope was stuck to the base of it. Delaney carefully peeled it away and threw the drawer on the floor.
He opened the envelope, looked at the carefully planned schedule, and then at his watch. It still might work. The freighter would have docked at Tilbury on the Thames. Terry would have unloaded the car and be on his way.
Delaney paused. What if Terry and Charles had been apprehended? Was he next?
He crouched down and began to gather the documents on the floor. He placed them in the wastepaper basket and pulled out his lighter. Holding the flame to the edge of the page, he noticed his hand was shaking. Rage, fear, frustration, anger – it boiled up through his veins and consumed him.
He growled – a long, low primeval sound, and then the paper caught fire. He stood up, grabbed the manila envelope and its contents and dropped them into the flames. Spinning round, he walked over to the opposite corner of the office where two filing cabinets stood. He pulled open the drawers, tearing out anything that could be used against him. He glanced over his shoulder at the wastepaper basket, then turned and began to feed the files in his arms to the flames.
He looked at the pages as he fed them one by one into the inferno – the plans, test results, land acquisitions, the covering up of accidents and fatalities as Terry had perfected the weapon.
Delaney stopped and looked at the next file in his hand. Inside was a list of all the politicians and business associates he’d ever bribed through lobbying for his coal enterprises. He smiled to himself, and held onto the file tightly. If his empire was going to be destroyed, then he’d take down a few people with him.
He looked up as he heard a sharp crack and saw the wastepaper basket fall over. The flames began to lick at the rug at his feet. He stepped backwards, alarmed at the speed at which the flames spread across the office, sweeping across his desk. He raised his eyebrows in alarm as he saw the fire burn effortlessly towards the decanter and spirit bottles behind his desk.
Time to leave.
He strode across the room and slid a bookcase to the right. It revealed the entry to a small private elevator. Delaney held the file of lobbying activity tight to his chest and stepped into the elevator. He turned and pulled the small concertina gate across and hit the button for the underground car park. As he descended, the spirit bottles exploded, sending shards of glass down the elevator shaft.
Delaney ducked, holding the file over his head to shield himself. He snarled as a glass shard embedded itself in the back of his hand. Cursing, he lowered his arm and looked at the damage. Blood poured over the back of his hand and began to drip on the floor of the elevator. He pulled out the glass and flicked it onto the floor, crunching it under the heel of his shoe.
The elevator ground to a halt just as fire alarms began to sound throughout the building. Delaney grabbed the gate and pulled it open. As he stepped out of the elevator, he glanced to his left towards the car park exit. People were walking away from the building but then stopped and pointed upwards at the thick smoke emanating from the remains of Delaney’s office.
He turned and jogged towards his car. He felt in his pockets for the keys and slowed to a brisk walk while he looked through them, selecting the right one. He held it between his teeth, then took the key between his finger and thumb and aimed it at the vehicle.
Nothing happened. He frowned. The alarm system wasn’t on.
He hurried over to the car. As long as he could still get into it, he’d be fine. He’d still be able to get away.
As he approached the vehicle, he could hear sirens in the background. He smiled. The trucks would create enough of a diversion for him to slip away, drive to the house and organise a council of war with the lawyers. Damage limitation.
Delaney pulled open the car door, threw the file on the passenger seat and lowered his bulk behind the wheel. He pulled the door shut and held the key to the ignition.
‘Hold it right there.’
Delaney jumped and looked in the rear view mirror at the face peering over the back of his seat at him.
‘You broke into my house!’ spat Delaney.
Mitch grinned back. ‘No – we had an invite, remember?’
Delaney reached for the door handle, kicked the door open, and then ran. A loud, short burst of gunfire broke the silence. Delaney sank to the floor, clutching his leg and growling through gritted teeth.
Mitch got out of the car and walked over to Delaney, his gun in his hand at his side. He crouched down and lowered his face to the other man’s. Delaney glared at him, his skin pale from the pain.
‘You bastard!’
‘That was for Hayley,’ said Mitch. He stood up. ‘And this is for Pete.’
He kicked Delaney hard where the bullet had penetrated.
Delaney screeched, the sound ricocheting off the walls of the car park.
Mitch turned away, held up his hand and waved. A team of agents, dressed in black and carrying assault rifles, appeared from behind various vehicles and walked towards Mitch.
‘Get him bandaged up, then put him on a flight to Canberra,’ he said. He reached into the car and picked up the manila file from the passenger seat. ‘I think we’ve got some mutual friends down there who will want to have a quiet word with him.’
London, England
Dan spun the wheel and slid the car to a halt. He switched off the headlights and stared into the darkness. He lowered his window and strained his ears. He could hear the sound of a helicopter drawing closer.
‘Keep your head down,’ he said to Sarah, and slouched behind the wheel. Sarah took off her seatbelt and lowered herself into the foot-well of the passenger side of the vehicle, just as the headlights of another vehicle lit up the back of the car seat.
Dan threw himself across Sarah, keeping his face close to hers as the other car sped past theirs. Its brake ligh
ts flared as it flicked round the corner of the building next to them. Dan and Sarah raised their heads and peered out after it.
‘Was that him?’ asked Sarah.
Dan nodded. ‘That was our bomb-maker. And the car we’ve been searching for.’
‘Now what do we do?’ said Sarah, impatiently shuffling in her seat.
Dan put his hand on her arm. ‘Just wait. It’s a dead-end – he’s not going anywhere.’
They both looked up at the sound of the helicopter as it hovered above them. It began to drop closer to the ground, a searchlight skimming the road beside them.
Dan turned to Sarah. ‘Phone David and tell him we’ll get out the car after he’s landed. I don’t want to lose my night vision with that searchlight shining right on us.’ He closed his eyes and looked away while the helicopter continued its descent.
Sarah made the call, and then put her phone away. ‘He’s here, Dan.’
The helicopter landed and Dan looked up as the searchlight died away. The rotors slowly stopped and David and his team climbed out. Dan walked over to them.
‘Where did he go?’ asked David.
Dan pulled up his jacket collar against the cold breeze coming off the river and pointed. ‘It’s a dead-end. I haven’t taken a proper look yet though. I thought I’d wait for the cavalry to arrive.’
He glanced across as Sarah joined them. ‘You stay right behind us. We have no idea what this guy could do.’
She nodded, up zipped her coat and shoved her hands in her pockets. She looked to where David had walked over to his team.
‘What are they going to do?’
Dan followed her gaze. ‘They’ll work their way along the buildings to wherever Terry’s parked the car.’ He glanced up, tilting his head slightly to one side. ‘I can still hear the engine running.’
He walked over to where David was speaking with his assault team, Sarah following close behind. David turned as they approached.
‘Right, well we’re ready. You stay behind us.’ He pointed at Dan. ‘You too. I need you in one piece to take apart whatever this maniac has designed.’
Dan nodded and watched as David’s team broke away and began to filter across the open expanse of the riverside wharf and headed towards the buildings. He walked over to their car, opened the door and reached inside for the gun David had given him. He shut the door quietly and looked up, realising Sarah was watching him steadily.
‘This is really happening, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘You’ve really got to stop him.’
Dan nodded. ‘Any way we can.’
She walked up to him, wrapped her arms around him, and looked up at his face. ‘Be careful.’
He nodded, bent down, and kissed her. ‘Behave yourself. Stay out of the way when I tell you to.’ He took her hand and led her down the track between the buildings, staying close to the side of the warehouses. He glanced ahead and saw the shadowy figures of the assault team methodically working their way down the line of buildings.
At the end of the track, about seventy metres away, the buildings formed a u-shape. Parked in the middle of the space, its headlights switched off and its engine running, sat the black sedan.
Dan stopped and looked at it. He felt relief, thankful they’d finally found it. He realised the adrenaline had kicked in. It felt like a lifetime since he’d felt it properly like this. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, hard, rapid. Already, he was thinking. Imagining what the bomb would look like, how it would be wired.
He stopped dead as a shout from one of the assault team members reached his ears.
‘It’s him!’
Six bright torches switched on at once, illuminating a figure walking away from the black sedan.
Dan stepped out from the building into the path of the figure and stared in disbelief at the wretched form pacing towards them. He jumped instinctively as another figure loomed out of the darkness to the side of him and pulled him close to the opposite wall.
‘Concentrate, Dan!’ said David. ‘For Christ’s sake, we don’t know if he’s armed and there you go walking out right in front of him!’
Dan shook his head in disbelief. ‘I just can’t believe it’s him.’ He peered around David and watched the figure approach.
David walked out from the shadows and yelled. ‘Stay right there, Terry, otherwise we shoot!’
The figure stopped and a cackle emanated from the shadow in front of them.
‘Well, what have we got here? A fucking reunion?’ laughed Terry. ‘I hope your bomb disposal skills have improved, Dan.’
Dan made a lunge for Terry but David held him back and muttered in his ear. ‘Leave it. We don’t know if he’s wired himself up.’
Dan shrugged off David’s grip and nodded.
‘It’s not too late, Terry,’ yelled David. ‘Tell us how to disarm the bomb. Tell us how we can help you.’
Terry growled. ‘Help me? It’s a bit fucking late for that, isn’t it? You bastards – you were always going to leave me behind…’
He trailed off, rambling. Dan strained his ears to listen but couldn’t make out the words. He looked at David and shook his head. ‘I don’t think we’re going to be negotiating.’
David nodded. ‘Reckon you’re right.’ He turned back to Terry. ‘Okay, Terry. Game over. We’ve got Delaney in custody. Uli’s dead.’ He nodded at Terry’s look of disbelief. ‘That’s right – it’s just you. So, raise your hands and get on the ground.’
Terry nodded. He raised his hands halfway to his chest. And then began to laugh. He turned his hands away from Dan and David’s view. Dan saw something glint in the light of the torches. He saw Terry wince as if he’d been struck by something. And then David screamed.
‘Everybody down! He’s injected himself! He’s going to blow himself up!’
The assault team ran for cover as Terry walked slowly towards them, laughing. Dan grabbed Sarah and pulled her behind an industrial waste bin, just as David landed on top of them.
‘You’re never going to take me alive,’ Terry called. ‘That’s what I told them. That’s what I said. They chased me over that damn desert. But they couldn’t catch me, they couldn’t…’
Terry’s voice was swept away by the sound of a sickening explosion.
As the sound died away, Dan raised his head. There was nothing human left. Terry’s body had been completely incinerated, wiped away by the force of the explosion and ensuing soundwave.
‘What the hell was that?’ said Sarah, her face pale in the glow of David’s torchlight.
David visibly shuddered. ‘The next phase in terrorism. Forget suicide bombers strapping explosives to themselves.’
Dan spun round to look at him. ‘What do you mean?’
David leaned against the wall, his face tired and drawn. ‘What I mean is we have reason to believe, now proved, that in future terrorists will simply inject themselves with the chemicals needed to make themselves into a walking time bomb. And we have no way of telling. They use the same sort of needles as diabetics. Can’t spot them.’
He eased himself off the wall and looked at Dan. ‘Ready to go and play?’ He began to walk away, in the direction of the black sedan.
Dan pulled Sarah to her feet. ‘I need to take a look at that bomb. Don’t look at the walls. Do you hear me?’
She nodded.
‘I mean it. You don’t want nightmares like mine. Ever. Just keep your head down. I’ll lead you past it.’
She grasped his hand tightly and squeezed. He pulled her towards him and turned, running towards the car, David leading the way. They edged around what was left of Terry and approached the vehicle.
Sarah ran up to the car and grabbed hold of one of the door handles.
‘No, don’t!’ yelled Dan, running towards her and slapping her hand away.
Sarah looked at him, bewildered.
‘Look!’ he pointed.
Sarah peered through the back window and shuddered. A silver canister perched on the back seat of t
he car. Half a metre in length, it was held in place by two metal posts drilled into each of the back doors of the sedan. She shuddered.
Dan scratched his chin. ‘I’ll have to go through the front door – it’ll make it more awkward to defuse it though.’ He studied the canister. ‘I can’t see a timer from here – it must be inside that panel there.’
He stood back, crossed his arms. Closing his eyes, he recalled every scenario he’d experienced before, desperately trying to think of a solution from his catalogue of memories. He squatted on the floor, taking in the details of the car, how to gain access and how to defuse the bomb.
One of the team members ran over, placing a small tool kit next to him. ‘Sorry sir, it’s all we could find.’
Dan opened the lid and looked through the contents. ‘It’ll have to do – thanks.’ Standing, he stretched and cricked his neck muscles.
‘Everybody out,’ he commanded, picking up the tool box.
The group of people milling about the car began to run out of the enclosed space, making as much distance between themselves and the impending explosion.
‘I’ll stay,’ said Sarah.
He shook his head and gave her a slight push. ‘No – get going. There’s nothing to be gained by playing hero around a bomb. I want everybody out of this area – including you. Follow the team to their muster point and wait there.’
Sarah nodded, knowing he wouldn’t change his mind. She put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. ‘Good luck.’
Dan looked up at her briefly and smiled.
‘Well, look at it this way – whatever happens, you’re going to have one hell of a story to write.’
She didn’t return his smile, but turned on her heel and walked away.
Dan watched her go until she was out of sight, and then reached out for the front door of the car. He rubbed his thumb across his fingers, took hold of the handle and pulled the door slowly open.
Nothing happened. He breathed out slowly. He climbed in, pulled the tool box in with him and placed it in the foot-well of the car. He leaned behind the front seat and looked down at the silver surface of the canister. Taking a small screwdriver from the tool box, he began to gently remove each of the screws holding a small panel in place. Once each screw was halfway out, he placed the screwdriver on the front seat and began to gently remove each screw in turn, careful not to let the panel drop from its slot until he was ready.
White Gold: (A Dan Taylor thriller) Page 24
