Black Gold (14 page)

As the morning sun glittered on the sea, Paulo, Li, Alex and Hex walked slowly along the beach, spread out in a line like police searching a crime scene. They didn't talk, just walked, heads bowed, looking for dead birds washed up during the night. This was now as much a part of their morning routine as cleaning their teeth.

Li's foot touched a bird. She scooped it out of the sand and into the basket she carried. The sand was greyish. Below the first couple of centimetres it was darker but already fresh sand was coming in to cover the tainted layers, like skin closing over a wound. In time, the beach would become white again and the sea would bring only sand, not these drifting black remains.

But they didn't need the masks any more. The most volatile chemicals that irritated the lungs were gone. Gloves were the only protection they needed now. That was an improvement too.

Paulo was thinking that such a lot had changed since he had last done this. Just twenty-four hours ago Bowman had been a prisoner with two conspirators preparing to kill him and begin a course of action that would ruin the environment. And Mara had been held by the police for questioning over the assassination attempt. Now Bowman would make a statement to the police and the government's fraud department would go through ArBonCo's records with a fine-tooth comb. All the evidence Hex had found when he hacked in illegally would come out in the open. It would clear Mara and would put Neil Hearst in jail. But Paulo still puzzled about one thing – where the conspirators were going to get their haul of $50 million.

Alex was thinking about that too. But, he figured, you could never know everything. When his dad went on a mission with the Regiment, he was given a specific task – rescue this hostage, destroy this base, find this information. Sometimes he didn't know why but he had to focus on the job in hand. One of the strengths of Alpha Force was that they were a unit on their own; they found problems and they solved them. When they went into action, they knew what would happen if they failed. And that made success all the more sweet.

Amber came out onto the veranda, sipping a glass of water very slowly. As soon as she had put her trowel into the grey sand to remove a bird the oily smell had turned her stomach over again.

Hex had filled his basket. He brought it up onto the veranda and put it down while he fetched a black plastic sack. Something in it caught Amber's eye. On top was a pair of birds, their scrawny blackened necks twined together like betrothed swans. He had dug them out together so that they were united in death. It was so poignant, such a symbol of how helpless everyone had been when a few men got greedy. There was a rustle behind her. Hex was coming back with a sack, shaking it to find the opening. He flapped it again and it sent a waft of oil over to her. Her insides suddenly felt like a cola can being shaken hard. This was not good. "With as much dignity as she could muster, she hurried into the bar.

Hex saw her rush by, hand over her mouth. 'Amber, are you OK?' he called. 'Do you need anything?' He watched as she sat down in a dark corner and pulled the zip down on her wetsuit to get cool. She began sipping water. Hex decided she was probably all right and went back to work, head down, carefully digging.

After a few minutes someone came out onto the veranda, put on some gloves, picked up a trowel and basket and walked down onto the beach. Surely Amber shouldn't be doing that, Hex thought, turning round.

Instead of her close-cropped hair and ebony arms he found himself looking at a head of silvery hair.

It looked up. Grey eyes met his.

Hex gulped. 'Mr Bowman?'

Bowman straightened up and grasped Hex's hand. His grip was warm and firm as he shook it. 'Nice to meet you properly. There wasn't really time for introductions before.'

That was an understatement. The last time they'd met, Hex had been trying to keep his balance on a jet ski as Bowman had clutched his chest and gasped behind him. Now he looked rested and well. Hex didn't know what to say. 'I thought you were having a heart attack,' he said, and then thought that was probably a bit tactless.

'Not a heart attack, just a touch of angina,' replied Bowman. 'Brought on by stress. I've had so many tests this morning I'm like a pincushion.'

Amber came out, her big brown eyes amazed. Bowman turned and offered her his hand. 'Miss Mayday, isn't it?'

Amber smiled and shook his hand firmly. The last time he'd seen her she'd been at the helm of the
Fathom Sprinter,
shrieking, 'Mayday!' into the radio. 'I'm Amber. You frightened the life out of me last night.'

The others had put their trowels and baskets down. Alex stepped forward and shook Bowman's hand. 'I'm Alex. So this is what you look like without a mask and regulator.'

Bowman grinned. 'Any time you want to be thrashed at Hangman again, let me know.'

He spotted Paulo next and shook his hand. 'The other cameraman, eh, along with Hex? Mara showed me the video evidence you got at the drill site.'

At once they all said, 'Is Mara out of custody?'

'She certainly is,' said Bowman. He turned to Li. The last time she'd seen him he had been facing death. His face was serious. 'The brave little undercover maid,' he said quietly. 'Your note saved my life. I thought I was done for.'

'Note?' said Paulo.

'I slipped him a note on a coaster,' said Li. 'It said,
Play dead – take disc.
Then Hearst wouldn't know I'd swapped the pills.' She touched Bowman's arm. 'You did brilliantly, you were so brave to go along with it. And when you took the disc on the coaster, you were taking the tracer so we could keep tabs on you from that moment on.'

Bowman bent over and began to dig out a bird. 'You guys were the brave ones.'

Quietly, they went back to work.

Alex's patch was beside Bowman's. Working side by side brought back the sense of camaraderie he'd felt while waiting underwater with him. 'I knew Ian Davidson, your security chief,' he said. 'He was my dad's friend.'

Bowman removed a bird from its sandy tomb and placed it carefully in the basket. 'He was a good man. When Hearst and his thugs took me they had to take him too because they knew he'd come after me. The assassination attempt was a set-up, as I'm sure you have realized. I wasn't supposed to die, just disappear. They took me and Ian to the yacht immediately. Hearst tried to make me sign that contract but I wouldn't. We never left that cabin – until Ian jumped the guard and got out. I don't know what happened but there was a terrible scuffle and I heard shots. Then they took me up to the main deck and showed me his body. I thought that was it. Ian had kept me going. Without him there, I had no choice but to sign. I thought they'd won . . .' His voice trailed off.

The others had put their trowels down, fascinated and appalled.

Amber was sitting on the veranda, her chin propped on her hands. 'Ian made a mayday call when he escaped. Because of that, we knew where to find you. So he carried on doing his job, right to the last minute. He saved you, really.'

They worked quietly for a while in companionable silence, turning over sand, lifting out blackened remains.

Bowman emptied his basket and came back to dig again. 'I'm going to talk to my lawyer about that contract. I want to make sure there's nothing that can be done with it.'

Li straightened up and tried to scratch an itch on her cheek with the back of her hand. 'There's no need. I got it.'

Bowman looked at her, incredulous. 'Did you?'

'From his safe. I was going to bring it back but I had to use it to distract Hearst. I left him picking up little pieces of it from all over the water.'

Bowman chuckled. 'I'd like to have seen that. He's a slimy double-crossing toad. I'd worked with him for ten years. We'd had our differences, but that doesn't excuse what he did. He didn't care how many lives he ruined; he just wanted to make a profit. Nature has given us a priceless resource and we should use it wisely . . .' He lifted out another bird. 'Sorry. I just got my campaigning hat on then for a moment.'

Paulo was working his way closer to Bowman's patch. 'Why do you think he did it?'

'He was frustrated because I stood in his way,' said Bowman simply. 'And then he found a loophole and a corrupt official. You see, in order to drill, ArBonCo had to pay the government for the rights because it's Curaçao land – that's what the contract was, a document giving them the right to drill. But Hearst inflated the price ArBonCo would pay – by fifty million dollars. ArBonCo would pay the government, then the official would use some very clever accounting to cream off the fifty million so the government only got what they expected, then the official would transfer twenty-five million dollars back to Hearst.'

Alex picked up his basket. 'Whereas now, they're taking early retirement in jail.'

'Only Hearst, I'm afraid,' said Bowman. 'There's not enough proof to implicate his accomplice. He was clever about covering his tracks.'

Amber's hand dropped from her chin. 'We know who he is,' she insisted. 'Simon Ter Haar.'

Bowman looked at her. 'I know who it is too, but we have no proof. Yet. It looks like Hearst did most of the running, even if Ter Haar did most of the thinking. Still, the fact that Hearst is in jail will be enough for me. His betrayal was by far the worst. And I have some very clever people looking at all the records to see if we can nail Ter Haar too. But at the moment, yes, he's still free.'

The others read the disappointment in Amber's face. The memory of the time she'd spent in Ter Haar's house wasn't going to go away in a hurry.

She swallowed hard. Bad flashbacks were one of the hazards of a job like this. You had to deal with them. She closed her eyes. After a while, the gentle rasp of trowel on wet sand and the voices of her friends made her feel more calm.

'What's going to happen to the tanker?' said Paulo.

'I'm having it removed by a specialist team,' said Bowman. 'No more accidents.'

'What about the concert?' said Li.

'It's rescheduled for next week. But I'm afraid if you come you'll have to hear me make my long boring speech about a prosperous future looking after the environment.'

Amber opened her eyes and looked out into the bay. She felt optimistic. And now that she looked, something
was
different. At first she couldn't see what had changed. Then she realized – the sorbent booms had gone. The horizon was clear, the sea was blue. It would be some time before the ecosystem recovered, but the view looked almost normal again.

Behind her, Lynn, Danny and Carl watched from the bar window. Lynn had taken a few pictures and was showing them to the two men, clicking them up on the display on the back of the camera.

'That'll make a nice story,' said Danny quietly.

'Yeah,' agreed Carl. He imagined the headline:
BILL BOWMAN, BACK IN CHARGE AND SHOWING THE WAY AHEAD.

Lynn walked through to her office and sat down at the phone. But before she phoned Ray on the
Amigoe,
she had another call to make. She dialled her sister.

'Sarah? There's something I want you to do.'

Simon Ter Haar manoeuvred his Mercedes into the garage, put the handbrake on and cut the engine. The silence was welcome – peace and quiet at last. As he pulled the key out he let his forehead rest on the leather steering wheel for a moment.

It had been a draining day – the police coming into the department, questioning him, looking through the files. But they hadn't found anything. Thank goodness he'd been careful. There were only two links to Hearst. First there were the calls on his mobile, but he'd got that covered; he had bought a pay-as-you-go unit from a dodgy dealer on a back street in Willemstad for cash so no one could trace it, and when everything went wrong he'd taken the sim card out and dropped it down a drain. Now no one could tell they'd ever talked to one another. The second link was in the e-mails. Ter Haar was a bit more worried about these. He'd been very discreet – there was nothing specific – but how long would it be before the police started asking questions about them? He would have to play it very, very cool.

The hit man might have been a problem, but he'd got away. The police had followed him to a cavern by the coast and then he had, quite simply, disappeared. They had found his boat, abandoned, but nothing else, and had concluded that he must have had a cache of dive gear in the cave and escaped underwater. Ter Haar could well believe it. 'John', if that was his name, had always been self-sufficient and secretive from the word go. It was a relief not to have him in the house any more.

Ter Haar reached for his Gucci briefcase and got out of the car. He slammed the door hard. How frustrating for all that work to come to nothing. Months of planning and hopes had gone down the drain with that sim card. Ter Haar blamed Hearst. He'd been outsmarted by a bunch of environmentalists who didn't even look old enough to be out of school. It was right that Hearst should end up in jail – for being stupid.

Ter Haar put his key in the front door. It's time to calm down, he told himself. And indeed, just seeing the fine grain of the antique oak made him feel better. Inside was his oasis, his beautiful things that made the world feel special.

He twisted the key and stepped into the tiled hall.

It was when he closed the door that he noticed the smell. Heavy, like sulphur. Perhaps the drains were leaking.

'Mary?' he called. He listened for his housekeeper's response. No one replied. She must be out in the laundry room. Or maybe it was her evening off. He'd speak to her about it tomorrow. He put his keys on the marble hall table and went through to the lounge.

The smell was so strong it nearly made him retch. And what was all this?

A black mess, frosted with sand, lay in the middle of his pale grey carpet. At first he couldn't work out what it was; just a spiky jumble of rubbish dug up from the beach. Then his brain began to make sense of it – a tumble of wings, beaks, claws and eyes.

Dead seabirds.

They lay in a heap like leaves collected for a bonfire. More had been dumped on the ivory sofa and chairs. Around each heap was a black halo, which the pale furnishings were soaking up like blotting paper.

There must have been hundreds of birds there, slowly bleeding seawater and oil.

His damask suite – grimy like a mechanic's overalls. His silk cushions – smeared like rags. His pure wool carpet. Stained like a garage floor.

He stepped back, gagging.