Missing Presumed Lost

by Fred Lockwood

  No sooner had the Donatello cast off when the tug captain announced his imminent arrival. There was another flurry of activity as the captain of the tug and his crew inspected the engine room, the temporary repairs and completed a thorough inspection of the holds. It reduced Jack, Sandro and the others to the role of spectators but they realised that the tug master didn’t want to take an unseaworthy vessel under tow.

  An enforced side trip to Syracuse wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened. It merely delayed their return to Liverpool by a few days. The good news was that it would mean they were on the spot when negotiations commenced about their salvage claim and positioning of the Gronkowski 34. Steaming at an economical speed had them docked in Syracuse early next morning. Via Penny they had already fixed a morning meeting at the main police station and coast guard headquarters in Syracuse to give their statements. A couple of phone calls booked them on the shuttle from Syracuse to Split. Penny had also arranged for them to make statements to the Croatian authorities. This would allow them to fit in a quick side trip to see Marco. Both were eager to provide him with feedback on how well the Sultano was performing. With luck they could be back on the ship later that evening.

  The person listening to the conversation realised it was an opportunity to ensure they didn’t return to their ship.

  Jack and Sandro completed their statements to the police and coast guard well before lunch. The shuttle had them in Split a few hours later. It seemed the Croatian authorities were happy for them to merely sign a copy of their Italian statements. The whole process was completed in less than an hour. It gave them more than enough time for a quick visit to the dockyard before the flight back to Syracuse.

  Jack pushed open the glass door between the reception area of coast guard headquarters in Split and the outside. He held it open for Sandro and together they strolled down the smooth concrete steps towards the drive and pathway leading to the main road. It felt good to be outside in the sunshine rather than the air-conditioned rooms with artificial lights. He could even smell the perfume of the flowers and shrubs lining the roadside; it reminded him of Penny and her perfume. Jack suddenly felt better than good, he felt elated. Giving the final statement to the Croatian authorities seemed to be cathartic, as though a whole weight had been removed from his shoulders. The saga of the briefcase and Pancrovita, Pharmaco and Petra Kovačić was at an end. There was the prospect of an amiable chat with Marco, returning to the Sultano that evening and the trip back to Liverpool. They could now bid for the type of salvage contract they always hoped for. All he needed now was a taxi to take them to Marco’s boatyard, and one was parked at the end of the road. They didn’t know that it had followed them to the coast guard headquarters and had been waiting for them!

  Without a second thought Jack and Sandro acknowledged the driver, opened the rear doors, climbed in and gave the driver the address of the dockyard.

  ‘American? English?’ asked the driver.

  ‘Italian and British,’ replied Jack.

  ‘Ah, good,’ replied the driver, ‘I can practise my English, yes?’

  ‘Sure,’ replied Jack. ‘Practise away,’ he said with a smile.

  For the next few minutes Jack and Sandro were bombarded with questions about what they did for a living and where they lived. When Jack mentioned that they both lived in Manchester the driver asked if they supported Manchester United. It was Sandro who replied:

  ‘I support any team who is playing United,’ and everyone laughed.

  They had only driven a short way when the driver asked if it was all right if he made a quick detour to collect a spare wheel. He explained he had a flat tyre that morning and had dropped it off for repair. He went on to say he would reduce the fare as a result. Everyone was happy.

  A short distance later the taxi turned off the main road, into a side road and past a second-hand car lot and a couple of garages. The driver slowed before a tyre repair shop and proceeded to reverse the car into an empty bay. In the next bay was a white Mercedes with the boot open. As soon as the taxi stopped the driver got out and walked away. He was replaced by Anna and Luca. Each was pointing a gun at them and indicating that they should get out of the car.

  Both Jack and Sandro were frozen to the seat for a moment before they slowly opened their car door and were ushered towards the rear of the taxi and around to the Mercedes.

  ‘Get in the boot,’ ordered Anna, ‘you are going for a short ride. If you try to get out of the boot Luca will hurt you. I would rather deliver you to my boss uninjured,’ she added as though actually concerned about their welfare!

  Chapter 44

  Last supper

  It was hot, stuffy and cramped in the boot of the car. It was also uncomfortable as the car seemed to bounce over uneven surfaces and throw them from side to side. For several minutes neither Jack nor Sandro spoke.

  ‘Where do you think we are going?’ asked Sandro. ‘I thought their boss was Petra Kovačić,’ he added ‘and why the guns?

  ‘I’m not sure,’ replied Jack, ‘but I think we will find out pretty soon.’

  It was the sound of car tyres on gravel and the slow twisting road that made Jack think they could be close to the home of Petra Kovačić. It was confirmed when the car eventually stopped, the boot was opened and under waving guns told to get out slowly and make their way towards the house. Petra was waiting for them at the end of the pathway, beside an open door. Jack and Sandro’s attention was concentrated on Anna and Luca behind them as Petra led the way through the entrance hall and into the dining room. She stopped by the dining table, pulled two chairs away and turned to face her guests. There was no smile on her face when in a brusque tone, she ordered them to:

  ‘Sit down or Luca will make you sit down,’ with a gesture to Luca.

  Both Jack and Sandro were confused by the action and the tone but turned to look at Luca. He was pointing a gun at them! He signalled with the gun that they should sit – they sat.

  ‘Take off all your clothes and drop them on the floor in front of you,’ she demanded.

  Jack was intimidated by the guns and the tone but incredulous at the demand:

  ‘What’s this all about? I thought we were friends,’ he said with a puzzled expression on his face.

  ‘I need your clothes for later,’ replied Petra. ‘If it makes you feel better you can keep your shorts on,’ she added. Then, almost shouting, she repeated the demand, ‘Take off all your clothes and drop them on the floor in front of you, now!’

  What Jack and Sandro didn’t know was what Petra had arranged for them. Later that evening two young men, dressed in their clothes, would be seen by witnesses getting out of a white Skoda taxi in the old town and walking towards the lively centre. Jack and Sandro were to disappear.

  Under the gaze of Petra, Anna and Luca they stripped off their clothes and dumped them on the floor. Jack tried to retain eye contact as he undressed and saw there was no reaction on Petra’s face, just steely determination.

  ‘Anna is going to tape each of you to a chair. Please do nothing stupid. If you resist in any way Luca will shoot you, probably through a knee or leg; he is an excellent shot. If he has to do that I suspect your diving days will be over,’ she added in a tone that suggested she wasn’t bothered if they were shot or not.

  Anna started by taping Jack’s forearms to the arms of the chair. She then taped each leg to the front legs of the chair before wrapping tape around his chest and stomach. She pulled him firmly against the chair back. It took only minutes and when she had done he realised he was completely immobile. Jack watched in morbid fascination as Anna repeated the taping sequence on Sandro. Just as Anna was about to finish taping Sandro to the chair Jack tried to repeat his question:

  ‘What’s this all about? Why are you doing this? I thought we…’

  Jack never finished the sentence as Petra lunged forwards and slapped his face.

  ‘Shut up!’ she hissed at him.

  Petra walked slowly betwe
en the chairs where Jack and Sandro had been secured.

  ‘Cats with nine lives,’ she mumbled to no one in particular. Then, in a clear voice she said:

  ‘Your meddling with that briefcase has caused me a lot of trouble and cost me a lot of money. In a few days’ time I expect the two containers on board the Gronkowski 34 to be opened. It’s then just a matter of time before Inspector Tomich and your skinny friend come to see me… but I will be long gone. I am leaving tonight… and so are you.’

  ‘Why was the briefcase so important? How did you know we had salvaged the ship? How did you know your containers were to be opened and checked?’ asked Jack incredulously.

  ‘Walls have ears,’ replied Petra in a mocking tone. ‘I’ve been following your little chats and making plans accordingly. It will take me a few months to relocate and set up another factory in another country… I’ll just regard it as an enforced holiday as you float in the sea like your friend, Will Mayor.’

  Jack had suddenly realised that everything revolved around the briefcase and the vital information it contained.

  He realised that Petra knew the briefcase would be on board the Pharmaco. She had got them to locate the sailboat and waited hours before passing details of its position. Divers would have had plenty of time to search for the briefcase in and around the boat. When they couldn’t find it she persuaded them to salvage the sailboat in case it was hidden on board. Then there was another realisation.

  If Will salvaged the briefcase and told Petra it was on the Blizbanci, then blowing up the catamaran, and everyone on board, would be a sure way of destroying the evidence. What a fluke that it survived, what a fluke they had survived!

  It was all becoming clear. Everything that had happened was to conceal Petra’s plans to manufacture Pancrovita. The sums of money he and Sandro had seen on the spreadsheets were staggering. They were making tens of millions of dollars in profit.

  No, Pharmaco wasn’t sophisticated enough to make the drug, but they could produce a fake! Penny had told him that a few years ago the UK Border Force had confiscated illegal drugs worth millions. With no tangible evidence she could have blamed it all on Jim Blake and Lawrence Anderson. However, enquiries in Brazil, Russia, India and China were bound to reveal the network that Lawrence had created. No doubt examples of illegal drugs and packaging would be discovered. Once they had actual drugs and packaging from the container, linked to Pharmaco, it would be game over.

  ‘I think you underestimate Inspector Tomich and Senior Officer Pendleton-Price,’ said Jack in as calm a voice as he could.

  Jack craned his head to look at his watch.

  ‘I spoke to Penny before we left coast guard headquarters this afternoon. They have already found the illegal drugs in the container and are getting them analysed. They are working with colleagues in Brazil, Russia, India and China to unravel the entire network.’

  Jack looked again at his watch.

  ‘I think you should look forward to a visit in the next thirty minutes.’

  ‘I don’t think so. Luca, Anna, you know what to do,’ said Petra as she turned and walked out of the room.

  Chapter 45

  Present delivered

  The unannounced visitor was dressed all in black – fine black woollen balaclava, dull black jumpsuit, scuffed black trainers and thin black surgical gloves. He was standing impassively by the doorway listening to the ongoing interrogation. As Petra issued her final instruction to her bodyguards he turned away and glided a few steps along the corridor and into an alcove. He pressed himself against the wall. He could hear her heels clicking on the marble floor as she approached the doorway, turned and began to walk towards, and then past him. Silently, he moved out of the alcove and followed her, pointed the gun at the middle of her back and pulled the trigger. There was a pronounced “phut” and Petra seemed to trip and fall headlong onto the marble floor, her arms outstretched. The assassin didn’t even break stride but merely walked to where she lay, pointed the silenced weapon at the back of her head and fired again.

  He returned to the doorway where he had been listening and could hear the one-sided struggle inside. With the weapon raised he boldly stepped into the room and shot Luca. The heavy bullet hit him high in the chest, near the shoulder. It served to turn him towards his attacker and knock him off balance; he was a big man. The second bullet hit him squarely in the centre of the chest. It knocked him backwards and onto the floor.

  The woman had reacted quickly, quicker than he had expected. She dropped into a crouch with her right-hand snaking behind her back. She was trying to retrieve her weapon. He shot her in the middle of the chest. The force knocked her backwards and against the wall. She slid down as though attempting to sit on the floor and left a bloody smear on the wall where the bullet had exited. Her head flopped forwards with her chin on her chest. He walked forward, placed the end of the silencer on her brow and fired again. Her head bounced against the wall and back onto her chest.

  The two men taped to the chairs were dying. The white plastic bags were clinging to every contour of their faces and heads. He could see their desperate struggles as they strained against the broad sticky tape that bound them and tried, fruitlessly, to suck air through the plastic. He could see the vivid outline of their lips and teeth clearly and turned to leave. He suddenly recalled the phrase, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend” and turned to the first man in the chair. With one arm he cradled the man’s head in his arm, pulled it against his body, and with his other hand hooked a finger in the plastic covering his mouth and tore a hole in it. The effect was dramatic and immediate. Deep and noisy breaths were combined with spluttering, coughing and then retching. He’d live. He repeated the action on the other man with the same result. As he turned to leave he muttered ‘vash schastlivyy den.’

  He said “your lucky day” in Russian.

  Before he vaulted over the balcony wall and into the garden he checked his watch. In seventeen minutes the incendiary devices he had planted in the Pharmaco factory would go off. There would be no more drugs made there for the foreseeable future. He carefully retraced his route to the hire car, changed amongst the bushes and drove sedately to the railway station in Split and dropped off the hire car. He returned the small canvas grip containing his black clothing and weapon to the luggage locker from which he had collected them and dropped the key in a rubbish bin. His belongings would reappear in Moscow in a few days’ time. Whilst he waited for the evening train from Split for the long journey to Moscow via Zagreb, Budapest and Warsaw, he sent a simple text to his boss; it read “present delivered”.

  It had been an occupation hazard for Petra and those around her. They could never have imagined that a major crime boss in Moscow funded the treatment of his ailing mother, a mother who was dying from pancreatic cancer and who had been prescribed Pancrovita with the promise to extend her life. They could never have imagined his grief and then rage at seeing his mother deteriorate. They could never have imagined his outburst when he declared the treatment was rubbish and threatened those who had attended his mother. It was only some time later, through the enthusiastic cooperation of the clinic’s medical director, that his men got their hands on the sales rep who had provided Pancrovita. Via his numerous contacts an analyst confirmed the expensive drug was merely a multi-vitamin, a placebo! Other contacts, using threats and pliers to extract fingernails traced the consignment not to the USA but to Pharmaco in Split and to Petra Kovačić. It was detective work that Inspector Tomich would have been proud of.

  Jack was trembling with the shock of almost suffocating. He was still gasping and his throat felt raw as a result of uncontrollable retching. He tried to relax and breathe more slowly. He called to Sandro:

  ‘Sandro, are you all right? I can hear you breathing, are you OK?’ he pleaded.

  ‘Just give me a moment. Yes, I’m all right, I just need a moment,’ he replied.

  Jack still wasn’t sure what had happened. He had been so preoccupied trying to br
eathe he hadn’t followed the events of the last few minutes. Now he could sense the acrid smell of gunfire and the sickly-sweet smell of blood. The events on a faraway jetty in Kenya reminded him of the smell. He tried to free himself from the sticky tape but was held fast but as he struggled the chair moved on the marble floor. Jack suddenly had an idea. He tried to hop up and down in the chair and with his toes push himself backwards towards the wall. After a few dozen hops he touched what he thought was the wall and then hopped the chair twenty or so centimetres away from it. He leaned as far forward as possible and then threw himself backwards violently and pushed with his toes. The chair rocked backwards, hit the wall and bounced back onto his legs. He was too close. Jack hopped a few centimetres away from the wall and tried again. Still too close. On the third attempt he succeeded. The chair was balanced on its two rear legs with the back of the chair resting against the wall. Jack was now sweating and breathing heavily but he needed to compose himself. Grabbing the arms of the chair he tried to jump up and then force all of his weight onto the rear legs. He was trying to smash the chair. Jack was certain he had heard a creak as the chair jammed itself between the floor and the wall. He took another breath and jumped up and forced himself down again and he heard a crack as a joint started to give way. Another breath, another jump and a definite crack; the chair was starting to break under the strain. On the next attempt the chair disintegrated and Jack fell to the floor. He twisted and stretched, rolled and pulled as the frame of the chair broke up. Awkwardly Jack rolled onto his knees and stood. He still couldn’t see anything through the plastic and couldn’t remember where the dining table was! He hobbled in one direction until he bumped into the wall. He shouted to Sandro: