Sea of Gold

by Nick Elliott

  ‘Nyet!’ he said and pushed me backwards. I stumbled but regained my balance before I fell.

  He spoke to Levan.

  ‘He’s telling us to get out, Angus.’ Levan sounded anxious.

  ‘We need to look, Levan. What’s he so worried about? Tell him we’re not interested in the cargo, just the girl.’

  Again Levan translated but it did nothing to placate the man.

  I stepped towards him. He raised his rifle. From the way he held it I was reasonably sure he was going to strike me with the butt. With my arms open in what I hoped looked like a conciliatory gesture I lifted my right foot and brought it diagonally across and down onto his left ankle, heavily, pulling his rifle away from him as I did so.

  The human foot and ankle together form a complex mechanism consisting of some twenty-six bones, thirty-three joints and over a hundred muscles, tendons and ligaments. The sound of this lot crushing beneath my boot came before the scream. Ivan went down grabbing at his ankle, the scream turning to a bellow of fury.

  It had happened in seconds. Keeping hold of the gun I turned to Levan and Gia. They were staring aghast, frozen to the spot.

  ‘Keep an eye on him while I look around, okay?’ My voice trembled as I spoke. I was shaken but I was committed now and I didn’t want us hanging around there longer than necessary.

  I was about to step into the first container when I heard a shout. It came from the furthermost container. I ran over to it and into the back of the forty-foot steel box. They’d got her locked in a makeshift cage. A mesh of steel reinforcing bars had been cut to size and welded across the width and height of the container. A section a metre high and less than half a metre across had been cut out then repositioned and held in place with four heavy padlocks – two on either side.

  ‘Hang on,’ I said and returned to where Levan and Gia were standing over Ivan. I guessed the keys to the padlocks would be in his pocket and reached down to get them. We exchanged looks. His face was contorted with pain. He didn’t look happy. I took the keys and went back to let the girl out.

  ‘You’re Claire, I take it,’ I said superfluously as I unlocked two of the padlocks and pulled the mesh open. There was an old mattress, a table and chair and some bottles of water inside the cage. On the table was the remains of what looked like the khashi soup Levan had been telling me I should try. It didn’t look very appetising.

  ‘Yes, and you are?’ Any thought that she’d fall gratefully into my arms was quickly dispelled. Claire Scott defied assumptions.

  ‘Grant Douglas asked me to find you. We now need to get out of here before Ivan there or his pals decide otherwise.’

  She hesitated so I grabbed her arm and marched her towards the car.

  ‘Levan, we’re leaving now.’

  ‘Wait!’ the girl shouted. She pulled away and ran back to the container.

  ‘Get the car turned round, Levan,’ I said and went back after her. She had found her handbag into which she was stuffing papers lying on a table near the container’s doors. ‘I’m not leaving without these,’ she said defiantly.

  She was a little dishevelled-looking but considering she’d been held captive for a couple of days at least I guessed, she didn’t seem too much the worse for wear.

  I went searching for something to constrain Ivan with and found a coil of rope in the container which was being used as a workshop. We trussed him up as best we could. He wasn’t putting up much resistance.

  Then I grabbed hold of young Gia by his jacket, shook him hard and pushed him to the ground. ‘As for you, you little shit, don’t think we don’t know you’re in on this.’ Levan caught on and reiterated the message in his native tongue. I hauled Gia up and propelled him towards the car, the little charade being for Ivan’s benefit. He was lying on the ground gaping at us. I didn’t want him thinking Gia was our accomplice.

  Levan drove like the wind; that is to say in his normal manner. We dropped Gia off near his office in the port. He was agitated. He told Levan he was going into hiding. I passed him the gun I’d taken off Ivan for which he seemed grateful. Then we picked up the road back to Tbilisi.

  ‘Levan,’ I said. ‘Call your office and tell them to book us seats back to Istanbul on tonight’s flight will you?’

  ‘Sure. We’ll head straight for the airport,’ he said punching in a number on his phone.

  Claire Scott was looking at me. We were both in the back of the car. ‘Well aren’t you just the all-action hero then. Do you make a habit of crippling people when you first meet them?’

  ‘Look,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry if I disturbed your cosy little moment with Ivan back there but it didn’t look to like he was just about to start serving you afternoon tea. Or am I missing something?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said without too much conviction. ‘I do appreciate you coming to the rescue, really.’ She was examining herself in a small mirror she’d fished out of her handbag. She began wiping her face with a cleansing tissue.

  ‘My bag’s back in the hotel, bugger it.’

  ‘You’ll just have to manage I’m afraid. Maybe we can get you something at the airport.’

  She was slightly built with dark hair which she’d tied back into a ponytail. Wide cheekbones, eyebrows that swept upwards slightly, clear grey eyes and flawless skin.

  ‘Were you mistreated?’ I asked. ‘It wasn’t exactly the Ritz they had you in back there.’

  ‘No I wasn’t. I was getting lecherous looks though. They let me wash. There was a bathroom of sorts. It was disgusting.’

  The drive back seemed to take forever although Levan flogged the old Merc to its limit. I just hoped it would last the journey. I didn’t ask Claire what she’d thought she was doing playing at Lara Croft. That could wait.

  Levan’s office had got us seats on Turkish Airlines’ evening flight. We had time but I was worried about Levan and said so. He’d spotted a couple of black BMWs behind us as we were approaching the Tbilisi suburbs. They were keeping their distance but if it was our gang then they must have travelled fast to catch up with us.

  ‘Don’t worry Angus,’ he replied cheerfully. ‘They’re cheap crooks. Their interest is in getting that ethanol up to North Ossetia, turning it into bootleg vodka and selling it into Russia on the black market. They’re not interested in me or you.’

  ‘I wish I shared your optimism,’ I said.

  We reached the airport and Levan pulled in to drop us off. Almost immediately the two BMWs were there, one in front, one behind us. Four men came towards our car, two from the front and two from the rear. They were all wearing black leather coats and dark glasses as if it were a uniform. Behind them was another man wearing a long, expensive-looking grey coat with a black fur collar, and no shades. One of the thugs yanked open Levan’s door and gestured for him to get out. Grey Coat, flanked by two of his goons, stood with his arms folded. He spoke to Levan for a few moments, everything nice and calm. Levan came back to my side of the car. I wound down the window, about an inch.

  ‘It’s okay, Angus. He wants to talk to you, that’s all.’

  ‘Really, well that’s reassuring.’

  ‘Stay put,’ said Claire. I got out and walked with Levan to where Grey Coat was standing, arms still folded. We looked each other up and down. He was in his early fifties I guessed, medium height, thin and ascetic-looking. His grey hair was swept back from his forehead and he sported a Lenin-style goatee beard and moustache. It was a sharp, angular face with a hooked nose. And dark, piercing eyes that never left mine for a second.

  ‘Hi,’ I said.

  ‘Listen, English.’ He spoke slowly, his voice soft and guttural. ‘You and your woman went a step too far back there, you know? You keep your nose out of my business and I don’t trouble you, okay? You ever come back here, you never leave. Understand?

  ‘I will let “Ivan” do what he wants with you – and it’ll be very bad if you ever call him that again. He’ll break more than just your foot after what you did to him.’ He was p
rodding me in the chest now. I took it to be a threat.

  ‘Yes, sorry about that, my foot slipped. But listen to me, pal,’ I said. ‘If you’re responsible for the theft of that cargo then sooner or later the forces of law and order will catch up with you. Maybe not me, or this guy,’ I gestured to Levan, ‘but sooner or later they’ll get you. Don’t imagine your Procurator Fiscal doesn’t know about this case. And remember, when you point a finger at someone like that, three fingers are pointing straight back at you.’

  I walked back to the car and got in. I looked back. Levan was talking to Grey Coat, waving his arms around in an effort to placate him I sensed.

  ‘For God’s sake, are you crazy?’ Claire exploded. She’d wound the window down and listened to the exchange. ‘They could have shot you there and then.’

  ‘I didn’t want them thinking they could just intimidate us with impunity like that. Levan has to live and work here, remember?’

  ‘I just hope you haven’t made matters worse, that’s all.’

  ‘Well without labouring the point, who the hell got us into this in the first place?’

  Levan returned to the car.

  ‘Well?’ I said.

  ‘It’s okay I think, but Angus you shouldn’t have done that. The guy’s a big cheese in these parts. He has blat.’ It was an all-purpose Russian word for influence and corruption. ‘And by the way, his name’s not “pal”, it’s Boris Kaliyagin. He’s, how would you say, a lesser oligarch but with many fingers in many pies. Not just the cacha market, other things too. He’s from Svaneti in the north and they say he controls the illegal gold prospecting business there. And he just said he can stop your plane departing if he wishes. He said to tell you this.’

  ‘Oh? And how would he do that?’

  ‘He has the franchise on the fuel supply to all planes flying out of this airport. Believe me, he can.’

  ***

  Istanbul. A city I’d never tired of, until now. We’d gained two hours on the flight back from Tbilisi, but I was weary and that evening Claire Scott and I headed straight for the hotel Levan’s office had booked for us.

  I needed a drink. ‘I’ll be in the bar if you want to join me for a nightcap,’ I told her as we checked in.

  ‘I’ll be down,’ she said and went up to her room to change.

  I ordered a large Scotch and slumped into a leather armchair in a corner of the dimly lit bar. I was beginning to relax.

  Claire appeared when I was well into my second drink.

  ‘Wow! That’s quite an outfit.’

  ‘Spare me the sarcasm. It’s all I could get in the hotel shop here. The one I was wearing was ruined.’

  She’d put on a silky black cocktail dress. She looked wonderful.

  ‘I meant it.’

  She smiled as if she knew I didn’t. I’d never understand women’s take on fashion. I guess the dress was out of style or something, but it still looked great on her.

  The waiter was hovering over us before she even sat down. She ordered a Scotch, downed half of it as soon as it arrived and asked him for another.

  I decided to get to the point. ‘We can do this now or tomorrow but I need to ask you what in the name of God you thought you were doing back there, following those heavies. You could have got yourself killed and that’s not the kind of risk we’re expected to take. Didn’t they tell you the limits of the investigation when they briefed you back in Leith?’

  ‘I might have got a bit carried away,’ she said without conceding that she’d screwed up. ‘I thought if I could find the chief guy I could at least interview him. And that would strengthen our own defence when it came to negotiating a settlement with cargo underwriters.’

  ‘That’s true. But how about the legitimate consignee in Georgia? Did you talk to him?’

  ‘I tried to find him through Gia, the agent, but his office said he was travelling.’

  ‘My guess is he was mixed up in the whole scam,’ I said. ‘Think about it. It would be a win–win for him. He’d benefit from the black market sale of the cacha and recover the value of the ethyl alcohol from his cargo insurers too.’

  She looked at me. ‘You think I’m a fool don’t you.’

  ‘Not at all. A little naïve perhaps.’ I was finding it difficult to maintain my frustration with her.

  ‘It was foolish. But I knew I could talk my way out of it once Boris the boss man arrived. You saw at the airport. He didn’t want any more trouble. He just wanted us off his back.’

  She paused. ‘Anyway, it’s such an adrenaline rush.’ She was high-spirited all right.

  I sighed. ‘Okay, I know what you mean. I get carried away myself sometimes, but learn from this. I mean it.’

  ‘I will, honestly,’ she said contritely. I wasn’t convinced.

  ‘How did you get into this game yourself then, Angus?’ she asked.

  ‘By accident.’

  ‘What, you fell over a claim you mean?’ She had a smile that was both mocking and inviting.

  ‘Very funny,’ I said and ordered more drinks.

  ‘I was working on a Greek ship. I wanted to come ashore. The owner offered me work in his claims department.’

  ‘Working on a Greek ship?’

  ‘I was an able seaman, then bosun.’

  ‘I thought those jobs went to Filipinos.’

  ‘Often they do. But this owner liked to mix his crews and in my case I was looking for some travel and a bit of adventure, not a career.’

  ‘So we’re not unalike, you and me: looking for something different to do with our lives.’

  ‘I guess so. It was a while back.’

  She sat up and pushed her glass away. ‘Fancy a quick spin in the nightclub downstairs?’ She saw me hesitate. I’d drunk three whiskies and they weren’t British measures.

  ‘Come on!’ she insisted.

  ‘I’m not a Whirling Dervish you know. I can’t spin. I can’t even dance.’

  She giggled. We went down anyway.

  ***

  When I woke next morning sunlight was seeping through a gap between the curtains. I looked down at her asleep beside me. After a while she opened her eyes.

  ‘Good morning,’ she murmured, reaching her arms up and pulling me towards her.

  CHAPTER 1

  Eleven years later

  After all these years, looking at the file lying open on the desk in front of me brought that madcap escapade in Georgia back. Had it really happened? I’d made little reference to the drama in the case report other than to say someone we believed to be a member of a North Ossetian criminal gang had attempted to abduct Claire Scott. But I’d made it plain to Grant Douglas that in my view the decision to send her to Georgia in the first place had been reckless.

  ‘It was her own decision,’ he’d said at the time, as if that made it all right. ‘Neither she nor we had any way of knowing she’d come into harm’s way out there.’

  Claire had gone on to carve herself a successful career out of the CMM, but we had little to do with each other now. It wasn’t the thought of her that had awoken those memories, so much as something about this current case. From first advice of the claim up to now, two weeks on, something about it had been nagging me.

  I was looking at what seemed to be a fairly straightforward charterparty fraud, whilst the Georgia case had been one of cargo theft. But reading through the statements and documentation of this latest case, a bell kept ringing faintly in the back of my mind. I just couldn’t place it. The Med Runner had been a long time ago.

  Our records showed we’d handled over six hundred cases since then – each reference recorded on a spreadsheet with a link through to its own digital case file. But the Med Runner was an old one and the computer records were sparse.

  ‘Zoe, can you get me the Med Runner files?’

  ‘The Med Runner? Is that an old case? I haven’t come across it before. I’ll have to go to the store room. Can I go after lunch?’

  ‘Actually, I need them now, Zoe.’
Zoe’s lunchtime was something of a movable feast. It was only eleven o’clock.

  ‘Ella, Angus, how come it’s so urgent?’ she grumbled. Zoe grumbled frequently but that didn’t mean she wasn’t my loyal and obedient servant – when she felt like it.

  A few minutes later she returned. There were hundreds of similar-looking files in the poky little storeroom. Some were no more than a centimetre thick; others consisted of several bulky folders bundled into their own cardboard carton. Zoe’s filing system was good but she’d had to rummage around to get at this one.

  She marched in triumphantly, contriving to make the simple event seem like a royal occasion. She was twenty-three and, in a peculiarly Greek way, combined beauty and brains with a flamboyant manner. Her dress was short, her top was low-cut, her make-up dramatic and her blonde hair big. She had worked in her father’s office until she joined me. He was a shipowner I knew and I’d hired her as a favour to him, on an apprenticeship basis. She was studying law in her spare time.

  ‘It’s okay if I study in the office isn’t it,’ she’d told me, ‘when we’re not busy?’

  ‘We’re always busy in this office, Zoe.’

  ‘Yes, but when you’re travelling. I can’t be busy all the time when you’re away, which is at least half the time.’

  ‘That’s why I leave lots of cases for you to keep on top of, and to study and learn from.’

  ‘I know Angus, and I do.’

  ‘Well that’s fine then,’ I said, caving in.

  ‘You are my hero, Angus. You know that don’t you?’ She’d fluttered her eyelashes and leaned over the desk provocatively.

  Zoe had a Greek boyfriend who, like myself, was considerably older than her. He occasionally came to the office and made little secret of his suspicions about our relationship, but so long as he declined to make an honest woman of her I considered Zoe was free to flirt with whomever she liked, and that included me. That’s as far as it ever got though, and that perhaps was just as well.

  The old case occupied three bulky files tied up in pink ribbon, each titled ‘Med Runner – Misdelivery of containers against fraudulent documentation’. The date of the charterparty was inserted beneath.