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

by Sewell, Ron

  “It’s not rocket science. When a fool pokes the barrel of an AK47 out of a car window he’s out to hurt someone.”

  Four men lifted their gaze and glanced up and down the street before they stood and brushed the dust from their clothes. Bear crawled and knelt by the woman. Blood covered the pavement. He checked for a pulse, it was there but faint.

  “Put your hands in the air, you bastard,” shouted a uniformed police officer as he pointed a 9mm Beretta pistol at Bear’s head.

  “Officer, he’s trying to help the woman,” screamed Petros.

  “Hey, beer belly,” said Bear. “Get your arse in gear and call an ambulance or the baby in the pram will not have a mother.”

  Barry shouted, “Make the fucking call.”

  The officer pressed his radio and called for backup and an ambulance. His mind raced as his eyes darted in every direction.

  Petros held his hands high. “Officer, two white guys in a Merc opened fire. Don’t ask me why. I don’t know. The man you’re pointing your pistol at is my friend and colleague.”

  Sirens blaring and doors banging heralded the arrival of the police with weapons ready. The medics waited until summoned.

  “Sergeant,” shouted a tall, thin, grey-haired lieutenant. “Cuff all of them and go with them to the station.” He turned to the medics. “Will she live?”

  “Fifty-fifty. What about the child?”

  “Take it with you. A police station is the last place for a baby.”

  Petros scrutinized the man. “Those bastards shot at us. We’re the victims.”

  The lieutenant turned. “I need to know why they shot at you. Why are you in Cape Town? Who can vouch for you?” The doubt in his voice was obvious. “For the moment you are assisting us with our enquiries. If you resist, I will order my men to use force.”

  Petros frowned but held out his arms while the handcuffs were secured. One by one they were jostled into the rear of a police van.

  Bear began to laugh.

  “What’s up with him?” asked Colin.

  “No one will ever believe we were out for a run and got arrested,” said Bear. “It’s hilarious.”

  Barry shrugged. “Don’t try to be smart or give them a reason to use force. Their definition of reasonable can and has ended up with someone dying. Tell them what they want to know.”

  The van turned into a gated courtyard and stopped. A few seconds later the rear doors opened.

  “Step out one at a time, turn right and enter the door in front of you.” The truncheon in the sergeant’s hand tapped on the thin metal of the van. “If you need a helping hand I’m willing to oblige.”

  “Put the blond into interrogation room one,” ordered the lieutenant. “Make the others comfortable in our cells. And make sure they can’t talk to each other.”

  Petros glanced at Bear as he was led away by a young constable to an interrogation room. The man pointed. “Please sit in that chair.”

  Petros gave a feeble smile. “And the cuffs?”

  “They stay until a senior officer tells me to remove them.”

  The door opened and the lieutenant and sergeant entered and sat opposite Petros.

  “Why am I here?” asked Petros.

  “I’ll ask the questions” said the sergeant. “Name?”

  “Petros Kyriades That’s spelt – P E T R O S – K Y R I A D E S.”

  “Don’t get funny, Mr Kyriades.”

  He continued to ask questions as he filled in the printed form.

  Lieutenant Johnston turned to the constable. “Contact Ocean Shipping. Speak to Mr Stanley Ford and request his attendance at this station.”

  The constable closed the door with a bang as he left.

  The sergeant continued. “The man who fired at you. Can you identify him?”

  Petros peered at the ceiling for a moment. “Yes.”

  The lieutenant and the sergeant exchanged glances.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Petros stared at the lieutenant. “For two days they watched my colleagues and me on our morning run.”

  “You’re certain of this?”

  Petros shrugged. “What part of ‘yes’ do you not understand, Sergeant?”

  The lieutenant stopped himself from smiling. “Could you help us produce an identikit picture?”

  “I could do it better without handcuffs.”

  The lieutenant nodded to the sergeant who with a key removed them.

  “Sergeant, escort Mr Kyriades to the computer room. He is to assist Sergeant Viljoen and remain there until I say otherwise. On your way back collect the big black fella.”

  Five minutes elapsed before the sergeant returned. Bear’s cuffs were removed and the same questions asked until the lieutenant spoke. “Mr Morris, my job is to investigate crime and to see those guilty charged. Why did those men attempt to kill you? Do you know them? Do you owe them money?”

  Bear smiled to himself. “Based on my years of experience, I don’t fucking know.”

  The lieutenant leaned forward and in a whisper asked, “Can you identify these men.”

  Bear leant back in the chair, studied the officer and thought for a moment. “I’m as pissed off as a box of frogs and you asking stupid questions doesn’t endear me to your profession. Of course I can identify them. Low lives have the look of mongrels. They tried to fucking shoot me. By the way, how’s the woman who took a bullet?”

  “Constable, go and find out the casualty’s condition.” He turned back to Bear. “May I suggest it would be to your advantage to cooperate? I can hold you for a day or two without charge.”

  Bear held his chin, his eyes wide as he stared at the ceiling. “Two men, one with dark hair, the other fair, aged in their thirties, one fat, one slim. Height close to yours. One had an acne-scared face, right repulsive sod. Get me your mug shots and I’ll pick them out.”

  His surprise apparent, the lieutenant winced as Bear described the men. “These are modern times, Mr Morris. Every criminal’s details is stored in a central data bank. We also have a direct link into Interpol. I doubt if we need to go that far as the two men you describe appear to be local street thugs. Amateurs hired to do the dirty work; they didn’t expect you to duck. They failed and whoever paid them will be unhappy and want their money back. With luck we’ll find them with a bullet in the back of their heads. Saves a ton of paperwork.”

  A constable entered and gave the lieutenant a sheet of paper. He steepled his fingers. “The woman who was shot will survive barring complications. The child is with its grandparents. I understand your friend has identified the shooters. Constable, bring a selection of photos including the two suspects.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Bear gritted his teeth, folded his arms and closed his eyes.

  The lieutenant remained motionless until the constable returned and handed him an envelope. He removed the contents and placed them on the table in a line. “Mr Morris, can you identify any of these men?”

  Bear opened his eyes, glanced at the table top and pointed to two photos. “That’s them.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “You asked me a question and I picked out two men. That one drove the car and the other fired the fucking machine gun. Do you know it’s unhealthy to have your head so far up your own arse?”

  With his head cocked to one side the lieutenant grinned. “Can you give me any reason why these men were hired to kill you?”

  Bear forced himself to smile. “No.”

  “We have loose ends that require tying together, Mr Morris. You would agree with me it is unusual to be shot at.”

  With his hands behind his head Bear stared at the wall.

  The lieutenant stood and leant on the table. “Okay, Mr Morris, you and your friends can go. The boss of Ocean Shipping has confirmed you work for his organisation. A word to the wise. Don’t leave Cape Town without letting me know.”

  Bear stood, nodded and strolled to the door.

  After three hours, five unsm
iling men descended the steps of the police station.

  Sat in the comfort of his car Stanley waited for the men to appear. Annoyed at having been sent for by the police he tapped John on the shoulder.

  Barry Higgins laughed. “Didn’t want a fucking lift anyway.”

  “We still have a run to finish,” said Bear.

  “Don’t you ever give it a rest?” asked Colin.

  “Stupid question,” said David as Petros and Bear set the pace.

  @@@

  Henry sat by the window and stared towards the horizon. He attempted to organise his thoughts. As a hunter he was in the game until the end. The risks were high but for him it was worthwhile. Payback for the death of his father mattered. He finished his coffee, placed the cup on the table and pushed the first disc into the DVD player. He pressed the remote control.

  A wide angle shot of the breaker’s yard helipad filled the television screen. Out of view someone asked the female passenger to follow him. The clarity of the security camera images amazed him. A geek at the agency had been busy. He watched a woman of slim build with short, straight, dark hair alight from a helicopter and walk behind a man in uniform to the main airport terminal at Bhavnagar airport. The picture faded out and then returned with a sharp, clear image of the woman as she entered the toilets.

  Henry rubbed his eyes as a picture of a Muslim woman wearing a veil approached customs and handed her passport to the official. The scene changed as the camera appeared to zoom in on the woman’s right hand and focus on a red dragon’s head tattoo.

  His eyes fixed on the screen. “Got you.”

  The scene went back to the woman entering the toilet but this time it confirmed she was the same as the Muslim leaving. The geek overlaid the image with height, body details and date/time information. The tattoo validated his suspicions. He had found her.

  The picture faded and Jack Watson, the agency computer boffin, appeared. “Hi, Henry. Before you ask, she boarded a flight to Dubai and then onto Cape Town. The flight details are not necessary. Disc two shows her arriving at Cape Town International and jumping into a taxi. Don’t bother to look; I managed to recover the number plate of the cab she took. CA JN 832 987 WP. And the company is Bobbi’s Cars. They have a contract with the airport. The rest is up to you but if I can help give me a call.”

  “Thanks, Jack.” He laughed at saying thanks to a computer. With the thought of killing this woman filling his mind he smiled as he began to pack his suitcase.

  Chapter Nine

  Two days later.

  Constable Chris Martin parked across the street fifty metres from a silver Mercedes listed as stolen. He turned to Paul Wessels, his partner. “Let’s go and have a look.”

  The two policemen waited for confirmation from their office. The controller reported the car was also involved in a drive-by shooting and they should approach with caution.

  They jumped out of the car, pulled down their jackets and adjusted their caps.

  Wessels spoke into his radio, “I see two men seated in the rear. They appear to be asleep. We are investigating.”

  Martin drew his pistol and approached from one side while Wessels with weapon drawn stood back.

  “Hey, Wessel, someone didn’t like them. Both have a neat hole in the centre of their foreheads.”

  “Don’t touch anything, Chris. The boys from forensic will need to check it out.”

  “This door’s open.” He removed a pair of blue surgical gloves from his pocket, put them on and opened the door.

  A blast of blinding white light lit the air. The shock wave and the body of Martin hurtled across the street bouncing off parked cars and walls.

  The power of the blast picked Wessels up and tossed him in the air. A wheel complete with its blazing tyre rolled along the road. Debris soared high into the air. His head hit the kerb. The roar of the blast echoed off the buildings. He came to with his ears ringing, crawled to a wall and rested his aching body. His eyes focused.

  Victims screamed and staggered as blood ran from open wounds. Where the Mercedes had been was now a huge crater with a scrambled mess of scorched metal at its centre. Thick black smoke drifted on the wind. Windows in every direction were shattered; the street resembled a war zone.

  Wessels tried his radio. It was dead. With determination he used a nearby wall to stand as a sharp pain circled around his chest. His eyes scanned the street, people needed his help. He used the wall as a support and edged closer to an unconscious man. The flashing lights of police cars and ambulances filled his vision as they screeched to a halt. An officer approached and started to speak. He couldn’t hear. He clenched his teeth as a paramedic helped him into the waiting ambulance along with three other walking wounded. As the doors closed he swore.

  @@@

  Arthur Green, the dockyard’s senior engineer, a jovial African, worked his fingers as he guided Petros through the engine room of Leviathan. “We were lucky to find three suitable pumps for this job.” He pointed. “One, two, three in a row. Anyone can feed those water cannon but for full power I’d suggest one pump for one cannon.”

  “Interesting. And the controls are on the bridge?”

  “Local control from here and remote on the bridge as you require. Any pirate struck with a jet from one of these will wonder what’s hit him.”

  “How’s the camera installation progressing?”

  “A couple of days more for our electrician to finish the wiring. Your specification for armoured cable and locations didn’t make it easy. I’ve had to pay one of my men double time for the mast head camera.”

  Petros’ face never altered. “And the cutting edge around the stern bulkhead?”

  Arthur hesitated before he spoke, “I wasn’t sure that would work until I had one of my men try to climb a wire rope that we dropped from the stern into the dock. Once his full weight was suspended it held him for at best ten to fifteen seconds. No one can get on board from that direction. My worry would be the sides. This ship is low in the water when she’s full and on the main deck there’s plenty for a grapnel to snag on.”

  Petros nodded in support of the engineer’s thoughts. “Any suggestions?”

  The older man shrugged. “Fire axes will cut through a good thick wire. Two or three placed near the deck entrance to the superstructure might help.”

  “I agree. Can you have them fitted today or at the latest tomorrow?”

  “I’ll have to clear it with Mr Stanley.”

  “That will not be a problem.”

  Arthur glanced at his watch. “If that’s everything, I’ve other jobs to visit before lunch.”

  “Thank you for your hard work. Leviathan is well protected.”

  @@@

  Andy Young, waving a newspaper, sauntered over to where Bear and his team were stripping and cleaning weapons. “Have you read this? A thirty-five year old woman was injured in a shooting when unknown suspects fired shots from a moving vehicle. A police spokesperson stated that the motive for the shooting was unknown and no arrests have been made.”

  Bear looked up from inspecting an AK47. “Wrong place, wrong time, I reckon. A woman was shot but according to your police force she’ll be okay.”

  “It’s not unusual. At night you never stop at traffic lights just in case a local decides to shoot you before robbing you.”

  “The problem with that theory is, it was in the morning and these bastards were white.”

  “According to the police these men are known petty criminals and brain-dead. Thank God they were lousy shots.”

  “If Bear hadn’t spotted them, we’d be on our backs in the morgue,” chirped Barry. He stretched and straightened his back. “Morons can kill. Even they can figure out how to pull a trigger.”

  Colin was staring at the dockside. “Here comes trouble.”

  In the fading light, five men stared over the side at a police car as two men alighted.

  “My favourite police officer,” snapped Bear.

  “I’d better go an
d see what they want,” said Andy.

  “Pound to a penny they want to speak to us,” shouted David.

  Bear shrugged. His face showed no emotion.

  The lieutenant’s thin frame seemed to have acquired a stoop and the bags under his eyes suggested a lack of sleep.

  As he and his sergeant approached, he gave an icy stare that made everyone uncomfortable. “What is it you’re not telling me?”

  “Are you a pro at pissing people off or have you been practicing?”

  His gaze never left Bear. “I don’t like your tone.”

  “Suit yourself. We’re the victims and you treat us as suspects. Why don’t you leave us alone?”

  Colin rested his brawny arms on the guardrail.

  The lieutenant gave a thin, humourless smile. “You’ll be pleased to know we found the men who shot at you and their car. It fragmented, along with a police constable, when it exploded. Once again I ask, what is it you’re not telling me?” The explosion and the failure of his investigations did nothing for his confidence. He’d hoped to find the bomber within twenty-four hours.

  Petros ran along the main deck and stopped beside the lieutenant. “More questions? What’s going on in that twisted mind of yours?”

  The lieutenant’s face was a blank mask as he stared at the six men. As was his way he could sense when someone was mocking him but not this time. He spoke in a dull monotone. “I’ve investigated more murders than I care to remember. In each case the murderer had a connection with the victim. Every one of you signed a statement declaring you had no idea why someone wanted you dead. You’re either great at telling lies or you don’t know. I believe a connection between you and your assassins exists and your execution cost someone plenty. Maybe it’s staring me right in the face but I’ll find it.”

  Petros was struck by something the man said but remained silent.