Ashanti Gold

by James Crosbie

  ‘Where is he?’ Akaba demanded, roughly pulling Comfort to her feet as his men quickly searched the room for hiding places. ‘The man you were with … where did he go?’

  Comfort shrugged and moved her shoulders. ‘I do not know. I fell asleep and when I woke up he was gone, but there is still champagne so I party by myself.’

  Akaba turned and raced out of the room. ‘Back to the airport!’ he shouted. ‘There is still time to stop him.’ The cars raced away from the bar, sirens screaming as they cut a swathe through the late evening traffic. It took them seven minutes to make the journey and Akaba quickly checked the names of the already boarded passengers; Grant’s name was not among them, but a trickle of late passengers was still coming forward. Relieved, Akaba made his way to the plane and took up a position in the shadows at the foot of the passenger gangway; he would still have his moment of triumph, and looked up hopefully as a bunch of stragglers headed towards the steps.

  *

  Colin made his approach openly, not wanting to appear suspicious by skulking around. The gangway ahead of him looked clear and he mounted it, greeting the officer of the deck with a handshake. ‘Just made it,’ he said. ‘Ran into a bit of trouble getting here, but better late than never, eh?’

  ‘Had just about given you up for lost,’ the officer said. ‘Still, you’re on board now and we’ll be sailing within the hour. Welcome aboard, Mr Grant.’

  Twenty-four hours later Colin was once again in an open canoe heading for the riverbank in Lagos. His open ticket was transferable and he could still make a late-night flight to London.

  *

  Akaba sat at his desk in Accra, his brow furrowed in thought. Grant had proved cleverer than he had given him credit for. The discovery of an abandoned hire car in the docks at Takoradi had exposed his method of exit. But this had led to a new angle on tracing the stolen gold and he knew he could still recover the situation. Picking up his phone, he instructed the operator to get him a line to Scotland Yard. All he needed now was a little international police cooperation and the gold would be his again, as well as the satisfaction of arresting the remaining members of the gang.

  35

  Two beaming faces greeted Colin when he entered the main concourse of Gatwick Airport. He looked at Bert and Ray for a moment then a warm feeling of achievement suffused him as they clasped hands. The three of them together – safe – and the Lagos Palm was due to dock at Tilbury in just ten days! All they had to do was wait, and it would be all over bar the shouting.

  *

  The next week or so was a severe test of patience as the days dragged slowly by. But on the tenth day the three of them travelled to Tilbury to watch the Lagos Palm nudge gently into her berth. Excitement charged through them as the first hawsers looped round the dockside bollards and the ship was winched slowly alongside.

  ‘How long before the delivery?’ Bert asked, unconsciously licking his lips as he stared at the ship.

  ‘The agent says two or three days,’ Colin answered. ‘I didn’t want to press him in case he got curious, but someone will have to wait in the shop all day now, to be on the safe side – starting from tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll be there!’ Bert burst out. ‘You don’t think I’d chance missing out on the delivery of three million in gold?’

  Colin gave a good-natured laugh. ‘Aye, Bert, you’ve got a good point there,’ he said. ‘None of us will want to miss that. We’ll all be fucking there.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Ray’s voice was unusually subdued, as if he had something else on his mind. ‘Yeah,’ he repeated. ‘We’ll all be there.’

  *

  They never really expected delivery the first day, and although there was a better chance the following day, they weren’t surprised when it failed to materialise then either. But on the third day their hopes were very definitely high as they settled down with playing cards and flasks of tea and coffee.

  Colin was impatiently parting the venetian blinds when a lorry rumbled to a halt outside. It was a flat-platform vehicle and its tarpaulin was folded back, allowing him to see ten hessian-wrapped packages neatly stacked on its back. His sudden tensing and quick intake of breath alerted the others and they rushed forward from their chairs, voices quick with excitement as they peered through the venetian blinds.

  ‘Ye … e … e … ah,’ breathed Bert. ‘That’s it!’ He thumped Colin heartily on the back, his face wreathed in a delighted smile.

  They could see the lorry driver checking the address against his delivery note. Then he climbed down from his cab and walked towards the shop’s entrance.

  ‘Got some stuff ‘ere for you, guv.’ The driver thumbed over his shoulder. ‘Ten packages of cocoa butter – that be about right?’

  ‘I’ve been waiting for them,’ Colin told him straight-faced, trying hard to contain his impatience.

  Across the road in an unmarked van a detective thumbed the transmit button of his high-frequency radio. ‘It’s on!’ His voice quivered with excitement. ‘Golden Net is a go!’

  ‘Right then …’ The driver busied himself with untying a rope before clambering up onto the lorry’s back. He was surprised when he turned round to see a trio of uncommonly happy-looking faces eagerly waiting to help him unload, each taking a package onto a shoulder and striding urgently into the shop, repeating the process until the delivery was complete. The only job left for him was to obtain a signature for safe and satisfactory delivery.

  ‘Er … ‘scuse me!’ He stood in the shop’s doorway looking at the three men as they stood round the packages. ‘’Scuse me!’ He had to raise his voice to distract them, holding up his clipboard and a stub of well-chewed pencil.

  ‘Oh! Yes … sure.’ Colin dragged himself away from the booty.

  ‘That’s it, guv.’ The driver watched Colin scribble along the bottom line. ‘You’ll be … ?’ He squinted at the deliberate scrawl. ‘Mr Thompson?’

  ‘Yes, that’s me.’ Colin answered to the name he had given when ordering the cocoa butter.

  ‘Letter ‘ere, guv.’ The driver held out a thick manila envelope.

  Colin impatiently stuffed the letter into a pocket, fumbling for some cash as he shepherded the driver out on to the pavement before joining the victory celebration already beginning inside.

  ‘Come on! Give it a shake!’ Ray urged the thick-fingered Bert as he wrestled with the wire on a bottle of champagne and dodged aside when the cork exploded and he was caught in a spray of foam.

  The atmosphere was glorious, loud cheerful shouts rising as they ducked and dived to avoid the worst of the spray, trying to catch some of the flying foam in cracked mugs to toast the safe arrival of the gold.

  The sound of approaching sirens stopped them in their tracks. They stiffened like three dog foxes in cover, willing the hunt to pass. Suddenly, tyres were screeching, doors slamming and heavy boots thudding across the pavement outside. They looked at each other, eyes wide in shock as once … twice … three times something heavy battered against the door, sending spears of splintered timber flying as the lock burst and a posse of figures in blue berets, black overalls and flak-jackets stormed into the shop.

  ‘Police! Freeze!’ The officers crouched in the firing position, each of them gripping Heckler & Koch nine-millimetre machine guns in their hands. ‘Don’t move!’ More armed men charged through the broken doorway.

  ‘Up against the wall and spread!’ a voice screamed. ‘I told you! Spread!’ Rough hands pushed the stunned trio against the rear wall, kicking at ankles, forcing legs apart and hooking their feet backwards so that they were forced to lean on to the wall on outstretched arms as experienced hands felt expertly over them in a weapons search. Other footsteps entered the shop and Colin felt a hand on his shoulder spinning him round to face his captors.

  Colin stared for a moment at the black face confronting him, his mind so numbed that recognition took time. Then he saw an eyebrow twitch, as if deliberately attracting attention, and realisation came to him in a tida
l wave of shock.

  ‘You!’ He gasped into the leering face of Major Judas Akaba. ‘But … how?’ He stuttered into silence.

  ‘I’m sure you know the “why” of it, Mr Grant.’ Akaba’s voice hissed low and sibilant. ‘As to the how? Well, I’m afraid you must blame the death of your friend for pointing the way. And the mistakes you made too. The lies you told when I interviewed you that day. I knew then that you were the one I wanted, but I had to let you go temporarily so that you would lead me to the gold and to the fourth member of your gang. I would have settled this matter in Ghana, but you eluded me with your subterfuge at the bar and doubling back to Takoradi. But it seems my original decision to let you run has finally borne fruit.’ He looked at the other two, still spreadeagled against the wall. Then he looked directly at the packages.

  ‘That’s my stock.’ Colin stepped forward, pale with shock. ‘We were just celebrating its arrival. A big day for me.’

  ‘Big day?’

  Colin had been so stunned by Akaba’s appearance that he had failed to notice Inspector Lambert, but he recognised the voice and raised his eyes to look into the sneering face.

  ‘You know, Grant,’ Lambert said. ‘I’ve got the funniest feeling that you’re not exactly being truthful with us.’

  ‘What have I got to lie about?’ Colin was still reeling, trying to come to grips with the situation. ‘This is my shop and this is my stock – cocoa butter, all bought and paid for. There’s nothing wrong with that.’

  ‘As long as it is only cocoa butter you’ve got there,’ Lambert emphasised. ‘Because we certainly don’t want to find anything in these packages that might embarrass Her Majesty’s Government, do we?’

  ‘Of course it’s only cocoa butter! What else could it be?’ Bluff was the only weapon Colin had.

  ‘In that case you have nothing to fear,’ Akaba’s voice insinuated softly. ‘But then, we both know that you do have something to fear, don’t we?’

  ‘What have I got to fear?’

  Akaba smiled grimly. ‘Imprisonment … trial … Perhaps even death.’ His lips thinned even further.

  ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’

  ‘I’m talking about you and your accomplices being taken back to Ghana to stand trial for the hijacking of an airliner and stealing three million pounds’ worth of Ashanti gold. Both crimes of which I know you to be guilty.’ His voice rose and venomous spittle flew from his mouth in barely suppressed rage. ‘Either of those charges merit the death penalty in my country.’

  ‘Ahem!’ A polite cough sounded from one of the figures at the rear. ‘I rather think, gentlemen, that before further allegations are made some sort of evidence should be forthcoming.’ A slightly stooped, elderly man pushed forward, holding a briefcase in front of him like a badge of office.

  ‘Johnstone-Carruthers; Assistant Under Secretary, Foreign Affairs,’ he introduced himself – without shaking hands – to Colin. ‘I must witness the actual seizure of the gold so that there will be no delay in issuing extradition documents against the principals involved.’

  ‘Extradition!’ Colin stared dumbly.

  ‘A formality, I assure you.’ Akaba smiled grimly at him. ‘Hijacking an aircraft is an act of international terrorism which no responsible government can, or will, condone. Your government has assured me of its total cooperation in this matter. It will not be many hours before you and your accomplices find yourselves on your way back to Ghana.’ His tongue flicked round his lips hungrily, like a viper anticipating its next meal. ‘Then, Grant …’ His thin-lipped smile never reached his hooded eyes.

  ‘If you produce the evidence of the gold, Major Akaba,’ the stoop-shouldered Assistant Secretary gently reminded him. ‘I must see the gold before I can validate any extradition authorisation.’

  Akaba turned back to Colin. ‘Once Scotland Yard sent me the name of your company and the address of this store, your scheme to ship the gold became transparent. It was simply a matter of checking the company records and shipping manifests to discover the hastily arranged Hansel shipment on the Lagos Palm. From there it was only a question of waiting until the gold drew all of you into the net.’ He held his hands apart like a conjurer completing some sleight of hand. ‘And here we are!’

  ‘If you don’t mind, Major Akaba.’ The Assistant Secretary made an impatient sound and pointed at the packages. ‘The sooner this unpleasantness is over with, the sooner we can all get back to our offices. So, if you please?’ He looked pointedly at the hessian-wrapped packages.

  Akaba drew a knife from his pocket and held it in front of Colin’s face, pressing a switch that allowed six inches of honed steel to arc out and lock into position. He looked mockingly into Colin’s eyes and turned towards the packages.

  ‘That’s my stock!’ Colin took a step forward, desperately trying to avert the imminent catastrophe. ‘If you damage my stock, I’ll sue.’

  ‘They can’t do this, can they?’ Bert’s voice sounded hoarse.

  Ray, hands high against the wall, turned his head, looking under his arm as Akaba slashed at one of the bales, the hessian parting easily under the attack to expose two of the cardboard cartons.

  The stiff cardboard took a little longer, but seconds later it had been peeled away to reveal the carton’s contents. Akaba stared at Colin as he sliced confidently into the block of yellow cocoa butter, his avid expression fading as he reduced it to scraps under quick slashes of his knife to reveal … nothing. A strangled expression escaped him and he attacked the second carton.

  Colin’s mouth fell open. He looked at Bert, then at Ray, but could see only the backs of their heads. ‘I told you,’ his voice was strained as he shrugged off Lambert’s slackening grip. ‘It’s only cocoa butter.’

  Akaba was already slashing at the second carton, the scar above his eye pulsating madly as he stabbed wildly into the heart of the innocuous block of butter. Again … Nothing! A whimpering sound escaped him and his breath came in short sharp gasps as he slashed the hessian from the next package.

  The only sound was the panting of Akaba’s breath as the circle of absorbed policemen watched him slash yet another block of butter into pieces to no avail. Akaba became a man possessed and another package was ripped apart, chunks of the hardened cocoa butter exploding wildly as he levered his blade inside, as if disembowelling an enemy.

  Colin’s mouth was agape. ‘I told you …’ he tried again, not understanding, but keeping up his pretence of outraged innocence. ‘You’re wasting your time.’

  Detective Inspector Lambert glanced up at the man from the Foreign Office. Johnstone-Carruthers’ bushy eyebrows were raised like question marks, but he moved his head negatively, returning his fascinated gaze to the spectacle of Akaba hacking hysterically into yet another package. By now half the hessian packs had been ripped apart – their contents violently destroyed as Akaba’s voice rose in protest each time his thrusts revealed only pure, unadulterated cocoa butter.

  At last Akaba was done, kicking unbelievingly at the slowly liquidising mess he stood amongst. His complexion had gone strangely grey and his eyes were dangerous pits of darkness as he spun round.

  ‘Where is it?’ he screamed, thrusting the blade of his knife against Colin’s throat. ‘Where have you hidden it?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Colin spat back. ‘You’re a raving fucking lunatic!’

  Akaba seized Bert’s arm, spinning him round and pushing him hard back against the wall. ‘You! You must know where it is.’ His voice had an almost pleading tone to it.

  ‘Know where what is?’ Bert asked, puckering his face up like a puzzled bulldog. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re on about.’

  Like a man desperate for salvation, Akaba grabbed Ray by the shoulders and spun him round. He opened his mouth to speak, and instead froze, his eyes bulging in their sockets as a choking sound came from his throat. It was as if he had suddenly seen a ghost. Slowly he backed away, his hand rising to touch
the wide, inflamed scar above his eye which seemed to have suddenly increased in size, the tight skin becoming almost transparent as it pulsed and throbbed like a living thing.

  ‘You!’ His voice was a whisper of disbelief. ‘You are the fourth man!’

  A thin smile curled Ray’s lips and he came mockingly to attention. ‘Fourth man, Major Akaba? I don’t know what you’re talking about … Sir.’ His voice was deliberately goading.

  The scarred skin above Akaba’s eye bulged, pulsating with a life of its own as blood pumped into it, his face working through astonishment to rage as spittle frothed on his lips. He swayed backwards, like a snake preparing to strike, the blade of his knife gleaming between them. Then, like a man possessed, he lunged forward, thrusting upwards, aiming for Ray’s heart.

  Ray barely moved. One hand chopped paralysingly on Akaba’s wrist, sending the knife spinning to the floor. His other hand, equally fast, closed into a fist and hammered hard on to the pulsating scar tissue above the insane, staring eyes. Blood splattered widely as the drum-tight skin burst and Akaba’s eye disappeared behind a curtain of scarlet gore. Then Lambert was on him, clamping his arms around Akaba’s chest and swinging him clear. Ray stood his ground, smiling in grim satisfaction at the battered face. The other officers stepped close, positioning themselves between Ray and the frantically struggling Akaba. Colin and Bert looked on in amazement, totally baffled by the turn of events.

  ‘Arrest them!’ Akaba screamed, his face a mask of dripping blood. ‘Serve your papers!’ Released from Lambert’s grip, he stood in front of Johnstone-Carruthers breathing heavily. ‘Serve them!’ he demanded, as if he was shouting orders at a recalcitrant underling. ‘These men must return to Ghana with me to stand trial.’