Read The Collectors Book Six: Black Gold (The Collectors Series 6) Online
Authors: Ron Sewell
The Collectors Book Six: Black Gold (The Collectors Series 6) (15 page)
She sipped her brandy and spoke with contempt in her voice. “He isn’t the first and won’t be the last.”
“You don’t understand, he’s in Cape Town and he’s discovered you’re here.”
“If he finds me I’ll see he dies as fast as his father. While I’m here do you want to fuck?”
He winced. “I’m not in the mood.”
She grinned as she studied his face. “I know the cure for sagging flesh. Get undressed and lay on the bed” As he did so she removed several sachets of cocaine and mixed them in a small glass of tonic water. With the seductive movements of a professional stripper she undressed. Naked,she handed him the glass. “Drink this and you’ll become super-stud.”
In one gulp the liquid vanished.
With slow deliberate actions she straddled him. His erection told her he was as high as a kite in a gale.
In a spasm of euphoria he arched his back. Without warning he clutched his chest and attempted to scream.
She laughed and worked him faster until a death rattle erupted from his mouth. She grunted. “It’s the way most men want to go.”
Linda sat on the edge of the bed as she dressed, took a quick look at Stanley and planned her next move. She glimpsed at the time on the bedside alarm. When ready she stripped the bed and tossed everything down the laundry chute. She washed Stanley but left his body naked on the bed. Finished she went to the balcony and stared over to the harbour in the distance. A fresh wind rustled the branches of nearby trees.
She left the bi-fold doors wide open to the bedroom, completed one final check and departed. The lift stopped on the second floor. With her head bowed, she clambered down the fire escape. Unseen, she strolled to the road and mingled with other pedestrians going about their daily business.
As she walked along the paved path she made a mental note to cancel her Cayman Island Bank standing order to Stanley.
Chapter Twelve
The sun behind the horizon struggled to shine its rays through the morning haze. Hassim whistled as he drove his Humvee through a labyrinth of narrow streets. He drove at speed onto the A4, the main highway out of Tripoli. Once clear of Gharyan he relaxed. “Looks like we’re in the clear.”
Amadou sipped tepid water from a plastic bottle. “When we find ZZ, Scarlet and Abraham then I might start to believe you. I’ll be happier when we’re clear of Libya.”
“You worry too much.”
They thundered through tiny communities consisting of a few shacks and a water well that somehow eked out an existence in a barren land.
“Time for a fuel stop,” shouted Hassim. The vehicle slowed and came to a stop fifty metres from an abandoned mud and brick single-storey building.
Taking no chances, Amadou scanned the vicinity before climbing out. With his AK47 ready to fire he ran in a zigzag line towards the structure. Out in the desert one wrong move got you killed or blown up. Sand swirled at his feet; the entrance door lay on the ground and gaps in the brickwork formed windows.
One circuit of the building confirmed it was safe and he returned and banged on the side of the wagon. “Let’s get this machine fuelled. I don’t like being stationary for too long.”
Hassim clambered out and began removing fuel cans from their brackets and lowering them to Amadou.
Durrah peered out from the turret. “Can I stretch my legs?”
Amadou nodded. “Yes, but don’t go far. The red-handled lever next to the steering wheel opens the rear doors.”
Moments later, still wearing her full Arab garb, she disappeared into the building.
With the sun high the temperature climbed and cloudless skies caused Amadou and Hassim to sweat buckets.
“One more,” said Hassim.
“What about the empties?”
“Leave them. As far as I know petrol stations don’t exist between here and where we’re going.”
“We can’t stay here too long. What’s our next move?” asked Amadou as he wiped his forehead with a rag.
“We eat, drink, go for a piss, and get back on the road.”
“I’ll second that,” said Durrah as she dragged one of her cases from the wagon. “We have bread, cold meats and more water. Not a feast but beggars can’t be choosy.”
The three of them ate their fill and drank a bottle of water each.
“We should refill these empty bottles from the well,” said Durrah.
“Trust a woman to be sensible,” said Amadou as he collected the empties. He trudged to the well and heaved the rope until a rusty bucket came into view. The water was clear and did not smell. He filled his mouth and spat it out. “It’s ok,” he shouted as he topped up each bottle.
“Hurry,” shouted Hassim as he waved his AK47 and pointed back along the road. “Something heavy, you can tell by the dust. Get in, we’re leaving.” Without another word he clambered into the driving seat and started the engine. “The air-con remains shut down; it uses too much fuel.”
Durrah repacked the food and water and jumped in. Amadou took one look at the inhospitable land surrounding them and followed her.
The road ahead remained empty as they thundered along at maximum speed.
Amadou, wearing goggles, stood in the turret and searched the vicinity.
The hours passed. Durrah slept while Amadou kept a watchful eye. In the distance he noticed a plume of dust. Three kilometres further along the road he spotted a vehicle and as a precaution checked the heavy machine gun was ready. He trained the weapon on a red Toyota pick-up as it drove off the road and stopped.
“Doesn’t look good,” snapped Hassim.
The unease on Amadou’s face was evident. “I'm ready. Just hit the gas.”
“They’re checking us out. Don’t think they want a fight with this beast.”
“We can’t stop.”
“Never gave it a thought,” muttered Hassim as he gripped the wheel.
“A man’s flagging us down.”
“They must be stupid if they believe we’re going to stop. Shall I take him out?”
“No, but drive as close as you can and scare the shit out of him.”
The thin man with a long black beard, dressed in desert combat fatigues, jumped to one side and fired.
“He’s running to the truck,” said Amadou.
“They’re following but not closing the gap.”
Hassam’s face turned grave. “The problem’s in front.”
Two white Mitsubishi trucks flying the black flag of IS blocked the road.
Somewhere behind, a cloud of dust concealed those who followed.
“Drive off the road behind the one on the right. Try and take out those with weapons and I’ll fire on the trucks.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“I’m open to suggestions,” said Amadou as he cocked the machine gun.
“Amadou, give me your AK. I’ll slow those following.” Durrah slid the gun port open, aimed at the centre of the dust cloud and fired single shots.
As the Humvee closed the distance between the waiting trucks, Amadou opened fire. Pot holes in the road affected his aim but his next burst ripped into one truck. The second went to move as tracers struck its windscreen and butchered the driver. The stuttering roar of gunfire and heavy tyres pounding the ground shattered the desert silence. Men dressed in black flung themselves clear and hugged the ground. Bullets hammered into the vehicles punching jagged holes and sending torn metal spinning into the air. Amadou continued to fire long bursts until one exploded.
“Hassim, get back on the road.”
“What about the one behind us?” shouted Durrah.
“They stopped way back. Don’t know what you hit but it worked.” He glanced at his watch. “Five more hours.”
Henry Wood left the complex and strolled to the waiting taxi. “Good morning, Darren.”
He smiled. “Morning. Where to today?”
“Bobbi’s Cars.”
Deep in thought, Henry travelled in silence. Darren was a likeable man; he had no illusions about his life and was a credit to his profession.
“Here you are. Do you want me to wait?”
“Yes, please. If I’m going to be a long time I’ll come out and pay you what I owe.”
“No problem. I’m safer working for you than looking for a fare.”
Henry strolled into and gazed around the clean and tidy garage. He breathed in the smells of oil and cigarette smoke. Half a dozen taxis in diverse stages of repair rested on ramps or in marked out zones. Two mechanics worked on each. A sign pointed to the office at the rear of the workshop.
He ambled to a small reception room. The young, attractive black woman behind the counter looked up. “Where to?”
He remained silent for a moment. “I would like to speak to your controller or someone in a position of authority.”
“What’s your name?”
“Henry Wood.”
“Why do you want to see the boss?”
“A private matter which is rather important.”
“Follow me.” Her dark blue jeans fitted like a second skin and her four inch ankle boots clicked as she walked. At a glass panelled door, she ushered him into a room filled with car manuals and a computer. The man seated behind the desk stopped writing and looked at them.
She pointed. “His name’s Henry and he wants a word.”
He nodded, stood and held out his right hand, each finger had at least one gold ring adorning it. “Robert Powel. What can I do for you?”
Henry produced his FBI ID, let him see it for an instant before he shoved it back in his pocket. He explained that he was searching for a woman, maybe Asian in appearance, who used a taxi belonging to Bobbi’s Cars.
“Can I ask why?”
“We are investigating piracy and believe she is a key player.”
Robert shrugged. “Can’t see how I can help.”
Henry handed over a sheet of paper. “The date, time and taxi registration. Just tell me where the driver dropped his fare.”
Robert beamed a smile that would have melted ice. “Can’t do that but I know a woman who can. Come with me.”
On leaving the office they walked along a narrow corridor and into a room that buzzed with activity. Four women in their twenties wearing headphones and microphones sat behind computer screens. No telephone rang but each call without any human intervention joined the shortest queue and flashed until answered on a screen.
Robert strolled to one of the operators. “Ruby, can you check a pick-up at the airport? Here’s the date, time and reg.”
Her fingers dashed across the keyboard and in seconds she turned to her boss. “Ready?”
“Yes. Every one of our cabs has twenty-four hour surveillance cameras as security against the driver being robbed or the fare complaining. You’ll be able to see who used our taxi.”
Henry laughed at the picture of a woman wearing the Muslim Hijab. “Where was she dropped off?”
Ruby chuckled as Robert peered over her shoulder. “Fort Knox or its comparable in Cape Town. To be precise, Golden Palms, private armed guards and one of the most secure gated communities in the country. The owners sleep easy in their beds.”
“They should be so lucky,” said Robert. “Sorry we couldn’t help.”
“Thanks for trying.” He nodded, went back to his waiting taxi and got in. “Golden Palms please, Darren.”
“That’s a bit up-market. Who lives there?”
“Someone I need to talk to.”
“I can drive you to the main entrance but unless the guard at the gatehouse has a note of your visit from a resident he will not let you in.”
“Will money work?”
“Not a hope in hell. Never been through the gates but I’m told there’re bars on every window and state-of-the-art alarms with beams connected to ADT. The estate is enclosed by stone walls and on top a razor-wire electrified fence. Armed guards patrol twenty-four hours a day.”
“I’ve known less security in prisons.”
“Rich people feel safe inside their cages.”
“Take me anyway. I might have to buy a house.”
“Are you that loaded?”
“No, but don’t tell anyone. Drop me off near the Golden Palms; I’m going for a walk. I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”
In the officers’ mess on Leviathan, Petros and Bear sat and drank their second cup of coffee of the morning.
“Cabins okay?” asked Andy as he sat next to them.
“Great mattress, slept like a log,” said Bear.
“Not quite up to five stars, but when needs must,” said Petros.
“They’re junior officers’ cabins. When I first started I shared a cabin with three others. No en-suite in those days.”
The steward hovered at Andy’s side. “Excuse me, sir. Mr Ford’s secretary telephoned and asked for you to visit the office straight away.”
“No rest for the wicked.” He took a gulp of his coffee, grabbed his cap and left.
“Anymore of those sausages left?” asked Bear.
The steward smiled. “I’ll have a word with the chef. I’m sure he’ll fry a few more if I tell him they’re for you. I think he likes you.”
Bear raised his mug. “Cheers.”
Petros placed his cup on the table. “Bear, what’s your programme for today?”
He shrugged. “Since we’re confined to the ship, not a lot. A few circuits of the deck should be enough. What about you?”
“Like you, not a lot. They should finish installing the cameras sometime today. I want to test them at night with the deck lights off. Tomorrow we undock and test the water cannon and then we’re finished. Time to go home.”
The steward positioned a plate with four cooked sausages in front of Bear. “The chef has cooked a dozen more and says you can have them cold later in fresh baked rolls.”
“Wonderful,” said Bear as he covered them with brown sauce.
Petros smiled to himself, finished his coffee and left Bear chatting to the steward.
On the bridge an electrician tidied the camera cabling before securing the cover plates to the consul. Each screen gave a good clear picture of the main deck.
“Are they operational?” asked Petros.
The man stopped fastening the cable ties. “Working as designed but don’t change them to night mode. Brilliant sunshine buggers the system. I’ll fit a cover over the switch when I’ve finished.”
Petros studied the screens and operated the zoom feature along with the left or right movement. Port and starboard sides, the stern and bow were covered. Last of all he played with the main mast camera, rotating it a full three- sixty degrees.
“Job done.”
The electrician looked up. “With a bit of luck they’ll want the other vessels fitted.”
“Guaranteed.”
“Ah, found you,” said Andy. “Bear said you might be up here. Some bad news. Stanley Ford is dead. A cleaner went to make the bed and found him. Why he was in the company’s penthouse suite and not at home no one seems to know.”
Petros smiled. “Thank goodness his wife will never admit it.”
“Ridiculous, you don’t mean…”
“Why not, he’s not the first man to have a mistress. Nell Gwyn was the long term lover of King Charles.
Madame de Pompadour
kept King
Louis’ bed warm.
If you have the money it’s not difficult.”
Andy shook his head. “His wife will still shed tears at his graveside.”
“I’m sure she will but I bet a pound to a penny she knew he was having it off.”
Andy chuckled. “My wife would kill me if I touched another woman and my mother-in-law would make sure I was dead.”
A half smile played around Petros’ lips. “Takes all sorts. When’s your captain arriving?”
“Tomorrow, before they flood the dock.”
Petros realigned the cameras and switched the system off. “I’ll give you and your team instructions on these, the water cannon and the new electronic door locks tomorrow when you’re free. Your three security guards are, thanks to my partner in crime, one hundred percent motivated. It seems the heavy artillery I wanted is not going to arrive but I’m sure you’ll cope.”
Andy shrugged. “Between you and me, my captain intends to be well away from the shore. The Goliath was unlucky.”
Petros rolled his eyes. “Unlucky, my arse.”
Andy’s eyes narrowed. “I’m listening. What do you know, I don’t?”
“You were targeted. Somehow they knew where you were and waited. You can’t for a moment believe they had two tankers cruising the Indian ocean just in case. The operation to take over Goliath was well planned and executed to perfection. Your captain was killed for one reason, to scare the shit out of everyone else.”
The blood drained from Andy’s face. “You’ve watched too many films.”
“The truth’s a bummer but someone knew your route and location on a particular time and date. And I’d place money they homed in on your AIS (Automatic Identification System) which is always operational. You need a laptop and a satellite link.”
Andy moved to the huge bridge window and gazed at the buildings surrounding the dock and then into the distance. His mind wandered to the overpowering of Goliath. He clasped the guardrail to stop his hands shaking. “Petros, what would you do in my position?”
“These people never play games, they’re well-trained professionals. Vegetius had it right. If you want peace prepare for war. These ships used to be easy targets but not anymore. If I were a pirate I’d look for an easier option but these people want the cargo and the ship. You know as well as I do that’s mega millions. You decide whether you fight or seek another profession. My decision would be to hit these bastards head-on. You must defeat them or others like them will feast on your bones.”
“I wish it was that simple. My captain will not risk his ship, his life and any of the crew in a battle. We’re seamen not marines. You’re experienced in the art of war. I’m an American who doesn’t own a gun. If you and Bear were onboard the odds might change. We’re told no resistance and to let the pirates take what they want. I’m still here because of those guidelines.”
“And you’re scared it might happen again. Next time they might just decide to take you out.”
A pained expression crossed Andy’s face. “I want to see my wife and kids again. Is there anything wrong with that?”
“No there’s not, and I’d feel the same way but the risk exists and will not go away.”
Andy was silent for a long while. “I made Chief Officer which gives me a certain lifestyle. If I give this up everything changes. If you and Bear stay I’ll have a word with the captain.”
Petros gave Andy a sharp look. “I never said I’d stay and I have to discuss this with Bear.”
“You do what you have to do. Let me know your decision.”
@@@
Henry strolled along the boundary wall surrounding the Golden Palms until dusk. The security cameras were located in positions for anyone to see from the perimeter. Trees of varying types ensured they could not be seen by the owners. The razor-wire topping the wall appeared haphazard in its installation.
He wandered into MacDonald’s, ordered a Big Mac and a cup of coffee. Whichever way he thought about gaining entry into the estate it was a no-go. With four entrances he could never cover them.
Thirty minutes later he stood facing a uniformed security guard at one of the entrances to the Golden Palms.
The guard nodded but stayed inside his reinforced brick-built booth. Henry noted the glass was branded bullet resistant. Whether it was or was not didn’t matter. The single steel-plated door made it impregnable. “Excuse me, I’m told this estate is as safe as Fort Knox”
