The Collectors Book Six: Black Gold (The Collectors Series 6) (8 page)

              Bear laughed. “Stanley, we’re not here to check on you or anybody else. You lost a large vessel to pirates. We will suggest certain measures which we believe will prevent another attack. You may have it covered already but if you have, how was Goliath hijacked?”

              Stanley shrugged. “I believe a member of the crew left a door open.”

              “Any idea who?”

              Stanley stared out of the window.

              Petros lost in his own thoughts, gazed at the different styles of building which made up Cape Town.

              The car stopped at a white-painted, two-storey building. “Your hotel, gentlemen,” said John. “I’ll carry your bags.”

              Stanley turned in his seat. “What time can I expect you tomorrow morning?”

              “What time do you start?” asked Petros.

              I’m in my office at seven.”

              “Perfect,” said Petros. “If you don’t mind can John pick us up on your way to work?”

              “Is that necessary?”

              “We’ll work your hours,” said Bear. “This is not a holiday.”

              “I’ll have John drive to the hotel when I’m in my office. Is seven thirty acceptable?”

              Both men alighted but before the door closed Petros stuck his head back in. “Stanley, we were asked to give your ships a safety check and we will. The sooner we get started the quicker we’re out of here.” He shut the door and bounded up the steps to reception.

              John waited and handed them their keys. “Don’t mind Stan. He’s one of the good guys when you get to understand him.”

              “Thanks, John, but somehow I get the feeling the sooner we leave the better.”

              John chuckled, waved and strolled away.

              Both men handed over their passports to the young black female receptionist with sparkling blue eyes. “We’ll collect them later,” said Petros.

              “What time do you serve dinner?” asked Bear.

              “The dining room is open from eighteen hundred to midnight. If you require room service out of these hours it can be brought to your room.”

              Bear rubbed his chin. “Half a dozen roast beef sandwiches, some English mustard and a large pot of fresh coffee. Petros, want anything?”

              “Yes please. One ham salad and more coffee.”

              “I’ll inform the kitchen.” She smiled. “Your rooms are on the second floor.” She pointed to the stairs. “The porter will bring your bags. Enjoy your stay.”             

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As the two men ascended the stairs Petros remarked, “Most unusual, she possessed the most gorgeous blue eyes.”

              Bear smiled. “No, it’s not. I read that some researchers found a genetic mutation which stopped the eyes changing from blue to brown. When we are born, everyone has blue eyes and in time they change colour. Eons ago, Mother Nature got it wrong and some eyes stay blue.”

              “She still has beautiful eyes.” Petros stopped. “Which room do you want?”

              Bear grabbed a key and opened the door. “Large bed and a sea view. I’ll take it.”

              Petros strolled along the corridor to the next, unlocked the door and entered. The doors to the balcony were open allowing the warm breeze into the room. With his hands behind his back he stared at the Atlantic Ocean.

              Ten minutes later a waiter arrived with his salad and a pot of coffee. He placed them on the table nearest the window. Petros signed the chit and the man left.

              From his briefcase he removed the transcript of the Goliath’s hijacking. Perched on the corner of the bed he scanned the pages until the end. At no point did it mention the possibility of a crew member being involved. He replaced the folder, poured a cup of coffee and nibbled at his salad.

              Weary from travelling, he unpacked and hung his few clothes in the wardrobe. To defeat jet lag he took a long shower, at first alternating the water from hot to cold. Refreshed, he dressed and opened the door adjoining the next room. “Bear, wake up,” he shouted. “We’re going to the docks.”

              Bear rolled off the bed and rubbed his eyes before stretching. “May I ask why it can’t wait until tomorrow?”

              “No.”

              Bear slipped his shoes on and stood. “No peace for the wicked.”

              At reception they ordered a taxi and waited on the steps outside. A red
Toyota Corolla
arrived within a few minutes.

              Petros sat in the front passenger seat while Bear stretched out in the back.

              “Sturrocks Dock, please,” said Petros, “and you’ll have to wait.”

              The driver, an unshaven, thick-set man, shrugged. “The meter’s running so take your time.”

              In ten minutes they circuited the Cape Town Yacht Club and the car stopped halfway along the dock next to a wire mesh fence. Petros and Bear alighted.

              Bear studied the ship in dry dock. “Her sides are upright walls of steel. Hard to believe when loaded most of her is underwater.”

              Petros shook his head. “A man-made iceberg. At first glance it appears, if you shut the doors, impregnable. But when you look again it’s an open door with a welcome sign on the mat.”

              “Plenty of razor wire along the guardrails.”

              “It gives the illusion of defence but you and any fit young man could clamber over. As Charles said, they have been lulled into believing the pirates are finished when all that’s happened is they’ve changed the rules of battle.”

              Bear scratched his backside. “Any thoughts?”

              “A good old-fashioned keep within a safe refuge. If the bad guys can’t get at the crew, we win.”

              Bear studied the vessel. “A few cameras but I see no defence systems. This ship is about as vulnerable as a blind man searching for water in the Sahara.”

              “I wonder what Stan the man will say when we recommend spending a lot of money.”

              “At the moment I couldn’t give a toss. It’s time to return to the hotel,  and sample their food.”

              “I agree.”

              The taxi driver waited until they were seated before starting the engine. “They build the ships to fit the dock.”

              “Why this dock?” asked Petros.

              “The company loads oil in the Gulf and delivers to America. This is the first and last major repair yard between here and the States. Labour costs are cheap so it makes sense.”

              Petros let the man talk. “How do you know this?”

              “I sometimes work in the yard. When these boats come in for a scrape and paint they need extra painters.  I give this job up for a week and double my money. They insist on a fast turnaround. Time for tankers is mega-bucks a day and let’s face it, a ship in harbour does not make money.”               The car slowed and stopped. “Your hotel, guys, and my card.”

              Petros stuffed a hundred rand note in the man’s
hand. “For
waiting.”

              A smile crept over the driver’s face. “Whenever you need a cab, call me.”

              Throwing his arm around Bear’s shoulder the two men strolled into the dining room. “We need to talk.”

              A waitress directed them to a table next to the window. “Is this acceptable, gentlemen?”

              Bear nodded. “Does your chef cook large portions?”

              “Our chef will cook you a whole ox if you pre-order.”

              “A couple of rare and large T-bones plus a mountain of fries. The ox I may order tomorrow.”

              She turned to Petros. “And you, sir?”

              “Whitebait for starters and the lamb’s liver with onions and whatever your chef serves with it.”

              “Will that be standard or extra large, sir?”

              “For me, standard please.”

              “And to drink?”

              “Fresh orange juice and tonic for me. Bear?”

              “A pot of coffee.”

              The girl sort of bowed and backed away before turning towards the kitchens.

              “What’s bothering you, PK?”

              For a moment, Petros closed his eyes and churched his fingers. “Things ain’t what they seem. I saw a ton of razor wire, nothing else to prevent pirates boarding. A grappling hook fired at the stern would find a thousand places to secure onto. With modern climbing equipment an agile man or woman could climb and secure rope ladders in less than five minutes.”

              The waitress arrived with the coffee and fresh orange juice. “The chef asked me to say your main course will take fifteen to twenty minutes but the whitebait is ready.”

              “As that’s my starter, I’m ready.”

              “One moment, sir.”

              “But the insurance company paid out. So are you suggesting someone briefed the pirates?”

              “Your whitebait, sir.”

              Petros’ eyes met those of the girl’s. “They look excellent. Thank you.”

              “I have no proof but after leaving Somali waters the Goliath could have taken any route the captain considered favourable.” He ate a few forkfuls of the fish. “They were five hundred nautical miles from landfall. The pirates boarded without being seen because they knew exactly where she was. An inside job in more ways than one. Someone on that boat opened the door.”

              “Your dinner, sir.” The waitress placed an overflowing platter in front of Bear and a plated meal for Petros

              “You may be right but I’m sure the whole scenario was investigated. Funny they never found any trace of the ship.”

              “Have you seen a ship breakers’ yard? Organised chaos.
At Alang, in India, six-miles of beach exist where 40,000 men tear apart half of the world’s forgotten ships. Swamp it with men and your tanker disappears.”

              Bear cut a large chunk from his steak and shoved it in his mouth, chewed, swallowed. “It’s an interesting theory and you might be right but those who steal ships are not our problem. We’re here to stop them or at best make it difficult. And since when have you been an expert on ship breaking?”

              “So who left the door open on Goliath?”

              “Don’t know and don’t care. Now can I eat this superb steak without you wittering?”

              Petros nodded. “You’re right, enjoy your meal.”

              Bear opened his mouth and filled it with steak. Petros ate his liver.

              With their meal finished both men enjoyed large brandies.

              “Why can’t we do the job we’re paid for and go home?”

              Petros shrugged. “Because someone might not let us.”

              Bear shifted in his chair. “I’m knackered and need my beauty sleep. I’m off to bed. John’s picking us up at seven-thirty. I’ll book us an alarm call for six, can’t miss breakfast.”

              Petros’ mobile rang. He glanced at Bear. “It’s Maria. See you in the morning.”

              Bear stood. “Give her my love.” He waved and left.

Chapter Five

Petros woke when the telephone rang with the automated alarm. Not thinking he said, “Thank you,” to the machine. Rested and ready to face the day, he tossed back the sheets. Prior to taking a shower he phoned Bear to check he was awake. His second call was to order breakfast.

              At twenty-five past seven, Bear and Petros stood on the steps to the hotel chatting as they waited for John.

              To the second the car stopped at the entrance. John jumped out. “Good morning, gentlemen. Stanley’s in his office with copy plans of Leviathan. A disused office has been cleared and furnished for your use.”

              “Morning, John,” they said in unison.

              Both men strolled to the vehicle. As was John’s duty he opened the rear door of the car, closing it once they were seated.

              “John, do us a favour, take us straight to the ship. We don’t need an office this morning,” said Petros.

              “Whatever you say.”

              Fifteen minutes later both men alighted and stood at the bottom of the gangway which led to the main deck of Leviathan.

              Petros turned to Bear. “Time to take a wander. Let’s start at the bow.”