White Gold (19 page)

Oxford, England

Sarah turned to Dan and shoved her hands into her jacket pockets. ‘What the hell are we doing here?’

Dan locked the car and walked on ahead of her before turning on to the track leading to the River Cherwell. Looking around at the stalactite-like ice on the trees, he sighed. ‘I miss Peter as well, Sarah. I just thought if we came here, I might be inspired – that’s all. I just don’t understand why he didn’t tell the authorities what he really knew while he still had the chance. I mean, it’s a lonely place to die here, isn’t it?’ He shrugged and turned, stomping off into the trees, away from the path, careful not to slip on the ice-covered puddles.

Sarah lowered her head and blew into her jacket, desperately trying to create some sort of warmth. Despite her boots and warm socks, she could feel her toes slowly turning to ice. She raised her head and squinted at the bright sunlight streaking through the empty trees and began to follow Dan, her footsteps crunching on the ice-strewn undergrowth. She stamped her feet as she walked, trying to get the circulation flowing through her veins again.

Dan had stopped a few metres ahead of her and was standing, staring up at the tree branches, lost in thought.

Sarah slowed as she approached him, then stopped. ‘What now?’

Dan lowered his gaze and looked at her, almost startled to see her there. ‘Sorry – lost in thought.’ He scuffed at the frozen earth at his feet before speaking again. ‘Did Peter ever mention being contacted by anyone from my old army unit?’

Sarah frowned. ‘No. Well, not that he mentioned to me – why? Why on earth would someone contact Peter about you?’

Dan grunted to himself and continued walking.

Sarah threw her arms up in exasperation, and then followed. ‘I’m sorry – that came out wrong. Wait.’ She jogged to catch up with him and grabbed hold of his sleeve. ‘Wait.’

Dan stopped and turned. ‘It’s okay – I know. Why would someone I used to work with want to speak with Peter? But someone did – I’m sure of it.’ He ran his hand through his hair.

Sarah folded her arms. ‘Okay – there’s something you’re not telling me. Out with it.’

Dan grinned. ‘Is that how you journalists approach potential interviewees?’

Sarah shoved him, hard. Dan slipped on the frozen path and grabbed a sapling to steady himself.

‘Hey – watch it!’

‘Stop changing the subject – what do you know?’

Dan took hold of her hand and pulled her over to a large fallen log. Brushing the frost off the surface, he sat down, gesturing for Sarah to join him. As she sat down, he turned to her.

‘I met with David Ludlow when we got back here last week.’

She stared at him. ‘Was that wise?’

He smiled. ‘I didn’t think so at the time, but let’s face it – who else is going to help us?’

Sarah nodded. ‘Go on.’

‘He thinks one of the guys in our team we thought was killed in Iraq actually survived.’

Sarah’s breath was reflected in the winter air as she exhaled deeply and considered the consequences.

Dan looked around the icy woodland. ‘If he’s right, I think we might have found a motive – at least from the bomb-maker’s point of view.’

Sarah wrapped her arms around herself. Her eyes flickered as she took in the scenery around the clearing while she processed the information. Finally she spoke. ‘Why on earth did you go there, Dan? To Iraq, I mean. It just seems so unlike you.’

Dan smiled. ‘I just had to get away, do something a bit more meaningful than just do what everyone expected me to do. I suppose it was my own sort of rebellion. A bit later in life perhaps, but I don’t regret it.’

Sarah glanced over at him. ‘What about the recurring nightmares?’

‘How did you know?’

Sarah reached out and took hold of his hand, noting it was much warmer than hers, despite the freezing temperatures. ‘I could hear you crying out in your sleep again last night. Sorry.’

Dan squeezed her hand before letting his slip out of her hold. ‘It’s okay.’ He stood up and stretched. ‘Are you cold enough yet?’

Sarah smiled. ‘Bloody freezing.’

He grinned and held out his hand. ‘Come on – let’s find a pub with a nice open fire.’

Sarah stood up and brushed off the back of her jeans. ‘That has to be the best idea you’ve had all day.’

Sarah looked up as Dan walked over from the bar, a drink in each hand. Approaching the table, he put a wine glass down in front of Sarah.

‘There you go – mulled wine. That should thaw you out.’

Sarah held the glass in both hands, warming her fingers. ‘Oh, that’s great – bliss,’ she breathed.

Dan grinned, sitting down on the cushioned bench seat next to her. ‘You’re such a wimp.’

‘I know. But I’m happy being a wimp.’ She took a sip, the cinnamon flavours mixing with the red wine, warming her from the inside. She loosened her scarf and put it with her gloves on the seat. She glanced at the window, condensation running down it while outside, the sun ducked behind ominous clouds. She sighed. ‘I can’t help feeling we’re being manipulated.’

Dan took a swig from his pint before putting the glass down on the table. ‘I know. I had a good talk with David – almost friendly really. The problem is, he’s spent so long playing the political game, it’s hard to know if he’s being honest or not.’

Sarah leaned back, stretched out and tapped her foot along with the pub’s sound system gently playing in the background. ‘I don’t want to give up now, Dan. I know you’ll just say it’s my journalism background but it’s more than that – I feel like I owe it to Pete. And myself.’

Dan nodded. ‘I know. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.’ He squeezed her hand.

Sarah felt herself instinctively pulling back from his grasp, then relaxed.

‘What are you thinking?’ he asked.

She smiled to herself. ‘Just that I think we need to keep going. We have to stop this guy. I know we’re completely out of our depth but I’ve got this gut feeling we’re on the right track. We can’t give up now.’

London, England

Dan gestured to Sarah to follow him through the door, walked over to David’s desk and pulled out a seat for her. Sarah stood at the threshold, and cocked an eyebrow at Dan before stepping towards him. As she approached the desk, Dan made the formal introductions. Sarah held David’s proffered hand briefly and then sat down. Dan shut the office door, pulled out a chair next to Sarah’s and gestured to David to begin.

David held Sarah’s gaze and slid a sheet of paper across the desk to her. ‘Before we begin, I’m going to have to ask you to sign this.’

Sarah glanced down at the document. ‘Official Secrets Act?’ She slid the document back towards David and stood up. ‘I don’t think so, thanks.’

‘Sit down.’

She looked down at Dan. ‘What?’

‘Sit down – and sign it.’

‘Wh…’

‘Just do it – please.’

He nodded at her.
It’s okay
.

Sarah sat down and began reading the document.

‘It’s a formality,’ explained David. ‘I just need to be able to control what you tell the general public. Before, during and after the event. The last thing we need is mass hysteria. You can sign it now and continue to be part of this investigation, or I can have you imprisoned until after this is over. It’s up to you.’

Sarah nodded. Then signed the document.

‘Thank you,’ said David, taking the pen from her. His face softened. ‘A few months ago, I don’t think you’d have done that.’

‘A few months ago, I didn’t have a dead ex-husband, a dead friend nor the sneaky suspicion you know a lot more than you’re letting on,’ said Sarah defiantly. She folded her arms and glared at David, then at Dan. ‘Now we have the pleasantries out of the way, are you going to bring me up to speed on what you two have been discussing behind my back?’

David reached out for a file on his desk and slid it towards himself. Opening it, he brought out a large photograph then spun it around to face Dan and Sarah.

What is it?’ asked Sarah.

‘Forensics from the explosion in Singapore,’ he said.

Sarah stared at him.

David shrugged. ‘We were still close by. I could’ve given you a lift to the airport if you’d waited another ten minutes.’

Dan picked up the photo and studied it before staring at David. ‘What the hell did they use?’ he asked. ‘I’ve never seen anything like this before.’

David flicked through the notes in the file. ‘Nothing conventional. Tech nerds reckon it’s a new form of propulsion. They’re still investigating. Which to me,’ he said, throwing the file shut in disgust, ‘means they haven’t got a clue.’

David stood up and beckoned Dan and Sarah to follow him. He pushed open the door and walked across the open-plan office to a separate room.

‘You can set yourselves up in here,’ he explained. ‘If you need anything, ask Philippa – she’s quite resourceful.’ He turned to Dan. ‘Meet me back in my office in five minutes. Let’s see if you can help fill in some of the gaps we have in our investigation.’

Dan nodded, sank onto a sofa in the corner of the room and began to read the report provided by the technicians about the car bomb. It was woefully short on detail. He wondered if he’d have found anything more, if he’d had the chance. His first priority had been to get Sarah to safety.

He glanced over while she set up her laptop on the empty desk, unravelling wires and checking phone lines were working. He smiled – she was tougher than he’d first thought, her mind always on the new story she hoped would propel her into journalistic stardom.

Dan re-arranged the photos in the file, then clipped them back together and stood up. ‘I’m going to get a coffee then go and see David,’ he said. ‘Back later.’

Sarah nodded. ‘Okay. I’ll catch up on some work emails, then have a dig around to see what I can uncover about shipping movements out of Singapore to see if I can find that car.’

David looked up as Dan entered the office, stood up and walked over to the incident board. ‘Come here and take a look. See if you can fill in any of these other gaps for us.’

Dan put his coffee mug down on the desk and joined David. He scanned the evidence David’s team had managed to collate so far. Suddenly he pointed to a photograph on the wall – a man, stocky build, wearing a dark grey suit and glasses.

‘Who’s he?’

David took a closer look. ‘A rather nasty character by the name of Charles Moore. Hired gun we reckon, although we’ve got nothing to prove it at the moment – why?’

‘He’s the one who destroyed Peter’s house. We saw him outside Sarah’s house before we went to Australia. My bet is he was responsible for the deaths of Peter and Hayley too.’

David unpinned the photograph and handed it to Philippa. ‘Organise a few copies of that would you?’

She nodded and left the room.

David turned back to Dan. ‘Anything else?’

‘I reckon Delaney’s hired him – he’s a contract killer. Very clever. Seems to have a knack of making his hits look like accidents most of the time. When Sarah’s friend Hayley was killed last month, it was meant to look like a car accident while we were in Brisbane. She’d been helping us find out more about Delaney and he obviously didn’t like us poking around.’

‘What do you think Delaney’s up to?’ asked David.

Dan rubbed his chin. ‘Looking through Peter’s research notes, I reckon it’s something to do with that white gold powder he was lecturing about. It appears to have the capability of being the future of energy. More environmentally friendly than nuclear or any fossil fuel and pushes out four times the power.’

David studied him carefully before continuing. ‘Delaney has been getting more and more obsessed with protecting his coal business against any environmental legislation. We know he’s been lobbying politicians here in the UK and using his contacts to do the same in Australia. Let’s face it, he’s not the only one.’

Dan nodded. ‘He’s just more extremist about it.’

‘To put it mildly,’ David agreed. ‘He seems to have become fanatical with the thought that white gold powder is going to wreck his empire – it’s already being used for fuel cell technology because it uses a lot less power than oil-based fuels. When the UK Defence Department started putting out feelers for how that power could be harnessed to drive military aircraft at supersonic speed, the Government also began to look at how white gold powder could fuel power stations instead of coal.’

Dan grinned. ‘Bet your lot are kicking themselves for selling off the UK’s gold bullion in the nineties then.’

David ignored the remark and continued. ‘The last couple of winters have proved our existing gas supplies can’t cope without us buying in more. Oil supplies are a lot lower than we’re telling the public. Of course, that information has somehow leaked out to Delaney and he appears to be doing all he can to protect himself.’

Dan picked up his coffee and took a sip. ‘So – what do you think he’s up to? Are you going to tell me?’

David sat back down at his desk. ‘We’ve got reason to believe Delaney’s been buying up gold mines over the past five years specifically to refine the method of producing this white gold powder so he can defeat the science we’ve been investigating. If we’re right, he’s managed to find a way to create radioactive material when turning the white powder back into metallic gold.’

Dan looked at David. ‘Are you saying he’s managed to create a weapon with this stuff?’

David nodded. ‘We think he’s been successful too. If he can prove to the world that white gold powder is too dangerous to consider as an alternative fuel source, he’s going to buy himself a good number of years to exploit the coal and oil markets. No-one will go near the white gold powder. Look at hydrogen – no-one’s designed an aircraft using that fuel since the Hindenberg disaster – you’d never get enough passengers to make it a viable project.’

He paused. ‘In the meantime, he’s using profits from his coal mining ventures to buy up gold mines. In twenty years’ time, he’ll probably begin to sell the idea of white gold powder as an alternative energy source and start reaping the rewards himself.’

Dan frowned. ‘How does he expect to get away with it?’

David shrugged. ‘Come on. It won’t take much for the media and public to assume any attack on the Western world would be made by the usual extremists. Why not just pin it on them? Unless you and I can track down this weapon and prove it’s Delaney behind it before it goes off,’ he said, ‘we haven’t got a hope in hell.’