The Collectors Book Six: Black Gold (The Collectors Series 6) (7 page)

              Charles shrugged and selected the smallest. “As always professional fees are negotiable. Fifty thousand for starters, plus costs and you travel first class.”

              Petros grimaced. “I hate travelling by air but where to this time?”

              “Simon’s Town, South Africa. In a couple of days a tanker belonging to the company who owned Goliath will be dry-docked and its hull cleaned and painted. You’ll have two weeks to study the problem, produce a plan and make it pirate proof.”

              Time raced as they debated their options.

              “Bear, fancy a couple of weeks in Cape Town, all expenses paid?” said Petros.

              “And why not? I’ll book the flights tomorrow. PK, do you want that last roll?”

              “Your need is greater than mine.”

              “Cheers.”

              Charles grinned as he took a white envelope from his jacket pocket. “Two first class tickets from Heathrow to Cape Town. You leave at two tomorrow afternoon.”

              Bear grabbed the envelope and tore it open. “How did you know?”

              He sighed with relief. “Simple, you’re both bored out of your skulls. I reasoned, whatever I offered you’d accept.”

              “You crafty bastard but it’s good to be doing something,” said Bear.

              “But you don’t like boats,” said Petros.

              “I’m just along for the money and this boat I can live with. It’s in dry-dock. Can’t move and therefore I won’t be getting my feet wet.”

              “Charles, before we start, I read somewhere the use of armed guards has neutralised Somali piracy. Right or wrong?”

              “So far not a single ship with armed guards has been taken but Goliath was different. When hijacked, she was five hundred nautical miles from any land, had negotiated the protected route between Somalia and Yemen. At two hundred million pounds plus a time, steal one ship a year and you’re in profit. The pirates were led by a woman, a nasty piece of work who is, we believe, Chinese and understands the workings of tankers. Her armed team were, apart from a few, professional thugs who didn’t give a toss so long as they were paid. As we speak I have people trawling the salvage yards of western India for information on this vessel and the woman. Hiding a crude carrier even on a six mile stretch of beach surrounded by rusting tankers and cruise liners isn’t easy.”

              “Why bother about the woman?”

              Charles placed his elbows on the table, hands clasped and leaned forward, his face fixed. “Number one rule, know thy enemy and believe me the shipping industry has become smug. It’s just a matter of time before the next vessel is taken. The pirates are a part of professional organisations. If you want to catch a criminal follow the money. The most common method of laundering is to run it through the books of a legitimate business. A breaker’s yard is ideal.”

              “Give me a couple of hours,” said Petros, drinking the remains of his cold coffee. “I need to talk to my wife but I don’t see a problem. You get our expertise for two weeks and then we return home.”

              Charles nodded. “I assume your normal rules apply.”

              Petros stood. “Never assume.” He checked the time. “Bear, give me a ring if you have any problems. Charles, as always, great to see you again.”

              They shook hands and walked out of the store room. Petros went to pay but Andreas waved him away.

Chapter Three.

Petros stepped through the door when his mobile bleeped. He removed the phone from his trouser pocket and checked the display. “It’s a text from Bear,” he shouted to Maria who was in the kitchen.

              “Leave it. Dinner’s ready.”

              Maria eased her way from cooker to sink as Charlie waited for any crumb to drop. “Alysa, call this animal out of my kitchen before I tread on him.”

              “Yarlie,” she shouted.

              “Alysa, his name is Charlie. You’re old enough to say it as it should be said.”

              “Mama, it’s Yarlie, my Yarlie.”

              With his paws slipping on the polished floor he scampered into the other room. “Sleep, Yarlie.”

              Maria chuckled as the animal lay on the floor and her daughter snuggled close.

              Petros sauntered into the kitchen. “Something smells good.”

              Maria turned to face him. “When are you leaving?”

              He looked into her eyes and smiled. “You’ve spoken to Jocelyn.”

              “The deal is Bear can go with you to South Africa providing I say yes.”

              “I know.” The kitchen telephone rang making him jump. He lifted the receiver. “Petros Kyriades.”

              “Jocelyn has spoken to Maria.”

              “Right in one.”

              “Are we going?”

              Petros covered the mouthpiece. “Bear wants to know if I can go out and play?”

              She nodded. “I’ve never said no before. Why should I start now?”

              “Bear, I’ll see you at Heathrow tomorrow morning.” He laughed an instant before the line went dead.

              Maria stood with her arms crossed. “Sorry, I should have let you tell me first.”

              “Do you want the long or short version?”

              “Short and sweet or dinner will be a burnt offering.”

              “Piracy’s the problem we’ll help to resolve. The shipping companies believe it’s going away. In fact they have reduced the security teams and their wages. Let me assure you the threat is as big as it ever was, maybe bigger. The pirates have proven to be tough and creative. Our job is to come up with a full-proof method to stop them boarding.”

              “What do you know about ships?”

              “Charles says we are inventive, understand attack scenarios and by turning them around, defence.”

              “And tomorrow you’re galloping off to Cape Town.”

              “Max two weeks and I’ll be home.”

              “Alysa, wash your hands. Dinner’s ready.” She turned. “And you show a good example and wash yours.”

              “Yes, boss.”

Chapter Four

The Jumbo jet engines roared as they raced to full power. A jerk and the plane charged along the runway, the fuselage tilted and in seconds Heathrow was beneath them.

              Petros’ stomach tightened as did his hands on the armrests. A wave of nausea swept over him. He closed his eyes and breathed deep until the craft levelled out and he opened them. He pulled the insurance report from the seat pocket to read, study and pass the time.

              Bear, his eyes closed, sat next to him and dozed.

              He began searching for sensible answers to the ever-growing problem. He was probing for facts or anything which might help their task. One thing was certain, the pirates boarded from the stern and used the external ladders to enter the bridge. He took his pen and underlined the appropriate paragraph.

              After lunch Petros tilted his seat and closed his eyes. He dreaded the end of the flight, aware that most crashes occurred on final approach and landing.

              Bear, as usual, slept the sleep of the dead, ate and slept some more.

              The tone of the engines altered as the aircraft began to descend and the automated announcement began. A member of the cabin crew strolled along the aisle checking seat belts were secure and seats upright. A rumble followed by a thump told everyone the landing gear was in place.

              The increased noise woke Bear. He peered out of the window. “We’ve been here before. Thank God this time we’re not wandering around on the wet stuff.”

              By the time the aircraft’s tyres hit the runway in Cape Town, Petros had evolved a plan of sorts.

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A tall, muscular man with white hair cropped short, wearing steel-rimmed glasses, glanced through the windows of the first class lounge as the Boeing 747 from London Heathrow landed. The continuous roar of jet engines annoyed him. He understood the men he waited for would ask serious questions. Stanley Ford, the South African Vice-President for the Ocean Shipping Line, contacted his chauffeur. “John, my guests have landed. Bring the car to arrivals in thirty minutes.”

              At arrivals he checked their photos on his iPhone. To his surprise both men with their bags hoisted over their shoulders exited ahead of schedule. He stepped forward to greet them. “Petros Kyriades and William Morris; Stanley Ford.”

              The three men shook hands.

              Stanley’s face wrinkled into what might have been a faint smile. His guests could not have been so different in appearance. One white, athletic and slim, the other, black and built like an American football player. “Hurry. My driver’s waiting.”

              Petros and Bear glanced at each other, fell in step and followed.

              As they approached a shining red
Mercedes-Benz S-Class
, the black driver jumped out and opened the passenger door.

              “John, Mr Kyriades and his associate, Mr Morris.”

              Petros followed by Bear shook John’s hand.

              The man grinned. “In the rear please, gentlemen. Leave your bags and I’ll put them in the boot.”

              Petros settled himself in the back seat while Bear hunted for the seat belt buckle.             

              John lifted the bags and placed them with care into the boot.

              Stanley slid into the front passenger seat and waited for John to close the door before speaking. “I’ve booked you into Blackheath Lodge. It’s been renovated and is the best in the area. You will not have any problems and it’s close to the city centre. John will collect you in the mornings and return you in the evenings. Nothing against you, gentlemen, but why my CEO brought in outsiders I do not understand.” He tapped the dashboard and the car edged away from the curb and into the traffic.