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

by Sewell, Ron

  Amadou braced against the movement and peeked through an armour-plated slot. “We have a group following in a pick-up with something strapped to the back.”

  “I’ll drive. You stop them.”

  Durrah placed her hand on his. “Be careful.”

  In the half light of the interior he grinned and kissed her hand. “We prepared for this.” He crouched, cocked the heavy calibre weapon.

  “Slow down and drive in a straight line.”

  With his free hand he opened the turret hatch, aimed and fired one long burst. The vehicle chasing them swerved one moment before one front wheel buckled and its nose ploughed into the road. A burst of gunfire rattled the armour plating of the Humvee. “You can hit the gas but I recommend we get off this road.”

  “Doing it right now.” The engine revolutions increased as they charged along. With skill Hassim took a sharp right, his foot pressed hard on the accelerator. “Shit,” he shouted.

  Amadou peered through the driver’s slit at a pile of wrecked cars which formed another barricade. He tapped Hassim on the shoulder. “Go through.”

  “That’s crazy,” shouted Hassim. “Hold on to anything.” The vehicle struck at sixty miles per hour, shuddered for a moment as the shells of cars tumbled and crashed on top of them.

  Hassim laughed as they broke through. “This bus goes anywhere.”

  Half an hour later Hassim brought the Humvee to a standstill in the centre of a deserted warehouse and in front of his petrol dump.

  He grinned at Amadou. “We top up the tanks and load what’s left into my storage racks.”

  “I’ll help,” said Durrah.

  “Stay inside.”

  “I need the ladies’ room.”

  Amadou chuckled. “Anywhere you like but when you’re finished you get back in the Humvee. You seem to be forgetting if any of those factions catch you, your death will not be pleasant. As an American you’re created from Satan’s womb.”

  Durrah disappeared behind a mass of empty packing cases.

  @@@

  Police Lieutenant Johnston sat behind the drab grey desk in his office and doodled on the sheet of paper in front of him.

  The office door opened. “Sir. Mr Kyriades. Which interview room?”

  Johnston looked up. “In here, Sergeant, and two coffees please.” He stood. “Thank you for coming, Mr Kyriades. Please relax and make yourself comfortable.”

  The sergeant frowned and gave him a strange look.”

  “Am I under suspicion or arrest?”

  “Neither, Mr Kyriades. You are in South Africa where we have fifty plus murders a day. Even this police station employs a private security firm. Do you know there are almost six million firearms in this country? What I don’t understand is why two men, now deceased, fired at you from a moving car. Paid assassins never miss; they deliver a kill-shot every time. Either they were stupid or you’ve annoyed someone. I tend to believe the latter. Contract killings are expensive and to have those morons liquidated because they failed means someone wants you out of the way. Tell me again, why are you in South Africa?”

  The sergeant arrived with two polystyrene cups filled with black coffee.

  The lieutenant nodded. “And close the door when you leave.”

  Petros explained from the moment Charles Haskell hired them.

  Johnston rested his elbows on his desk, churched his fingers and listened without interruption.

  “Any closer to an answer?” asked Petros when he finished.

  “Very simple, those two villains didn’t give a toss when they fired at you and a woman was hurt. You’re here giving advice on how to prevent pirates boarding a vessel. Somehow, whoever controls this band of brigands has discovered this and wants you stopped. I suggest you pack your bags and go home. They might not miss next time.”

  Petros guessed Johnston was a shrewd man and was watching for some sort of reaction. “And if I don’t?”

  “Your decision. I’m employed to pick up the pieces. May I suggest you leave your hotel and take up whatever accommodation the ship has to offer? No more running around our streets and as a favour, I’ll arrange a police car to take you to the airport.”

  “I hear what you say but I’ll be finished soon. I will look into living on the ship”

  “Good. Your belongings will be removed by my men from the hotel and delivered. If you have nothing further to say I’ll have a car take you back.”

  Petros’ eyes narrowed. “Will you continue your search for those who killed your constable?”

  Good judgment filled the lieutenant’s eyes as he stared at him. “The explosion destroyed any evidence which may have existed. In my professional opinion we’ll keep looking but I doubt if any arrests will be made.” He stood and held out his hand.

  Petros shook it noting the firm grip.

  “The car park is at the rear, please follow me.”

  In a daze, Petros remained silent as the police car drove him back to the dry dock.

  On alighting from the vehicle he strolled up the gangway and smiled to himself when he saw Bear talking to Andy.

  “What did they want this time?” asked Bear.

  Petros laughed. “They want us to leave.”

  Bear’s smile expanded to a broad grin. “And of course you agreed.”

  “It appears someone doesn’t like us. I’ll stay on and enjoy some sea air. Oh, by the way, the police recommend we live on board.”

  “You can stay for as long as you want. When these three security guards are ready, I’m on the next flight out of here.”

  “I’ll have a word with the steward and have two cabins made ready,” said Andy.

  “We need to retrieve our clothes.”

  “Not a problem,” said Petros. “The lieutenant has that in hand as we speak.”

  Bear shook his head. “Why is it trouble follows us wherever we go?”

  Petros shrugged. “Shall we go and see what the chef has for dinner.”

  “Good God, the man does have a heart. Lead on, McDuff, I’m right behind you.”

  @@@

  Linda blinked her eyes open and stared at the sleeping Frankie beside her. She gave her a nudge.

  Half asleep, Frankie dragged her into her arms. Their lips met in a frenzy of lust and passion.

  Linda checked for email messages, there were three. Two from Malaysia and the other from Stanley. One hour later, dressed in a bright red suit, an open-necked white shirt, and long blonde wig, she strolled through the main gate and hailed a taxi.

  “Where to miss?”

  “Cape Grace Hotel.”

  On entering reception she nodded to the armed guard at security. He chuckled as she sauntered into the lift.

  She gave him a cheeky wave as the doors began to close. “Fuck me,” she mouthed.

  Drenched in sweat Stanley rushed to open the door. Linda gave him a sharp look. “What’s wrong with you? You look like death warmed up in a microwave. I need a drink.”

  She strolled to the bar and poured a large brandy before positioning her rear on a bar stool. “Speak to me before you have a heart attack.”

  He settled into a leather-covered armchair and breathed deep. Calmer, he began. “I had a visitor yesterday. Henry Wood, the captain of the Goliath’s son. He wants to see you dead.”

  She sipped her brandy and spoke with contempt in her voice. “He isn’t the first and won’t be the last.”

  “You don’t understand, he’s in Cape Town and he’s discovered you’re here.”

  “If he finds me I’ll see he dies as fast as his father. While I’m here do you want to fuck?”

  He winced. “I’m not in the mood.”

  She grinned as she studied his face. “I know the cure for sagging flesh. Get undressed and lay on the bed” As he did so she removed several sachets of cocaine and mixed them in a small glass of tonic water. With the seductive movements of a professional stripper she undressed. Naked,she handed him the glass. “Drink this and you’ll become super-st
ud.”

  In one gulp the liquid vanished.

  With slow deliberate actions she straddled him. His erection told her he was as high as a kite in a gale.

  In a spasm of euphoria he arched his back. Without warning he clutched his chest and attempted to scream.

  She laughed and worked him faster until a death rattle erupted from his mouth. She grunted. “It’s the way most men want to go.”

  Linda sat on the edge of the bed as she dressed, took a quick look at Stanley and planned her next move. She glimpsed at the time on the bedside alarm. When ready she stripped the bed and tossed everything down the laundry chute. She washed Stanley but left his body naked on the bed. Finished she went to the balcony and stared over to the harbour in the distance. A fresh wind rustled the branches of nearby trees.

  She left the bi-fold doors wide open to the bedroom, completed one final check and departed. The lift stopped on the second floor. With her head bowed, she clambered down the fire escape. Unseen, she strolled to the road and mingled with other pedestrians going about their daily business.

  As she walked along the paved path she made a mental note to cancel her Cayman Island Bank standing order to Stanley.

  Chapter Twelve

  The sun behind the horizon struggled to shine its rays through the morning haze. Hassim whistled as he drove his Humvee through a labyrinth of narrow streets. He drove at speed onto the A4, the main highway out of Tripoli. Once clear of Gharyan he relaxed. “Looks like we’re in the clear.”

  Amadou sipped tepid water from a plastic bottle. “When we find ZZ, Scarlet and Abraham then I might start to believe you. I’ll be happier when we’re clear of Libya.”

  “You worry too much.”

  They thundered through tiny communities consisting of a few shacks and a water well that somehow eked out an existence in a barren land.

  “Time for a fuel stop,” shouted Hassim. The vehicle slowed and came to a stop fifty metres from an abandoned mud and brick single-storey building.

  Taking no chances, Amadou scanned the vicinity before climbing out. With his AK47 ready to fire he ran in a zigzag line towards the structure. Out in the desert one wrong move got you killed or blown up. Sand swirled at his feet; the entrance door lay on the ground and gaps in the brickwork formed windows.

  One circuit of the building confirmed it was safe and he returned and banged on the side of the wagon. “Let’s get this machine fuelled. I don’t like being stationary for too long.”

  Hassim clambered out and began removing fuel cans from their brackets and lowering them to Amadou.

  Durrah peered out from the turret. “Can I stretch my legs?”

  Amadou nodded. “Yes, but don’t go far. The red-handled lever next to the steering wheel opens the rear doors.”

  Moments later, still wearing her full Arab garb, she disappeared into the building.

  With the sun high the temperature climbed and cloudless skies caused Amadou and Hassim to sweat buckets.

  “One more,” said Hassim.

  “What about the empties?”

  “Leave them. As far as I know petrol stations don’t exist between here and where we’re going.”

  “We can’t stay here too long. What’s our next move?” asked Amadou as he wiped his forehead with a rag.

  “We eat, drink, go for a piss, and get back on the road.”

  “I’ll second that,” said Durrah as she dragged one of her cases from the wagon. “We have bread, cold meats and more water. Not a feast but beggars can’t be choosy.”

  The three of them ate their fill and drank a bottle of water each.

  “We should refill these empty bottles from the well,” said Durrah.

  “Trust a woman to be sensible,” said Amadou as he collected the empties. He trudged to the well and heaved the rope until a rusty bucket came into view. The water was clear and did not smell. He filled his mouth and spat it out. “It’s ok,” he shouted as he topped up each bottle.

  “Hurry,” shouted Hassim as he waved his AK47 and pointed back along the road. “Something heavy, you can tell by the dust. Get in, we’re leaving.” Without another word he clambered into the driving seat and started the engine. “The air-con remains shut down; it uses too much fuel.”

  Durrah repacked the food and water and jumped in. Amadou took one look at the inhospitable land surrounding them and followed her.

  The road ahead remained empty as they thundered along at maximum speed.

  Amadou, wearing goggles, stood in the turret and searched the vicinity.

  The hours passed. Durrah slept while Amadou kept a watchful eye. In the distance he noticed a plume of dust. Three kilometres further along the road he spotted a vehicle and as a precaution checked the heavy machine gun was ready. He trained the weapon on a red Toyota pick-up as it drove off the road and stopped.

  “Doesn’t look good,” snapped Hassim.

  The unease on Amadou’s face was evident. “I'm ready. Just hit the gas.”

  “They’re checking us out. Don’t think they want a fight with this beast.”

  “We can’t stop.”

  “Never gave it a thought,” muttered Hassim as he gripped the wheel.

  “A man’s flagging us down.”

  “They must be stupid if they believe we’re going to stop. Shall I take him out?”

  “No, but drive as close as you can and scare the shit out of him.”

  The thin man with a long black beard, dressed in desert combat fatigues, jumped to one side and fired.

  “He’s running to the truck,” said Amadou.

  “They’re following but not closing the gap.”

  Hassam’s face turned grave. “The problem’s in front.”

  Two white Mitsubishi trucks flying the black flag of IS blocked the road.

  Somewhere behind, a cloud of dust concealed those who followed.

  “Drive off the road behind the one on the right. Try and take out those with weapons and I’ll fire on the trucks.”

  “That sounds dangerous.”

  “I’m open to suggestions,” said Amadou as he cocked the machine gun.

  “Amadou, give me your AK. I’ll slow those following.” Durrah slid the gun port open, aimed at the centre of the dust cloud and fired single shots.

  As the Humvee closed the distance between the waiting trucks, Amadou opened fire. Pot holes in the road affected his aim but his next burst ripped into one truck. The second went to move as tracers struck its windscreen and butchered the driver. The stuttering roar of gunfire and heavy tyres pounding the ground shattered the desert silence. Men dressed in black flung themselves clear and hugged the ground. Bullets hammered into the vehicles punching jagged holes and sending torn metal spinning into the air. Amadou continued to fire long bursts until one exploded.

  “Hassim, get back on the road.”

  “What about the one behind us?” shouted Durrah.

  “They stopped way back. Don’t know what you hit but it worked.” He glanced at his watch. “Five more hours.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Henry Wood left the complex and strolled to the waiting taxi. “Good morning, Darren.”

  He smiled. “Morning. Where to today?”

  “Bobbi’s Cars.”

  Deep in thought, Henry travelled in silence. Darren was a likeable man; he had no illusions about his life and was a credit to his profession.

  “Here you are. Do you want me to wait?”

  “Yes, please. If I’m going to be a long time I’ll come out and pay you what I owe.”

  “No problem. I’m safer working for you than looking for a fare.”

  Henry strolled into and gazed around the clean and tidy garage. He breathed in the smells of oil and cigarette smoke. Half a dozen taxis in diverse stages of repair rested on ramps or in marked out zones. Two mechanics worked on each. A sign pointed to the office at the rear of the workshop.

  He ambled to a small reception room. The young, attractive black woman behind the co
unter looked up. “Where to?”

  He remained silent for a moment. “I would like to speak to your controller or someone in a position of authority.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Henry Wood.”

  “Why do you want to see the boss?”

  “A private matter which is rather important.”

  “Follow me.” Her dark blue jeans fitted like a second skin and her four inch ankle boots clicked as she walked. At a glass panelled door, she ushered him into a room filled with car manuals and a computer. The man seated behind the desk stopped writing and looked at them.

  She pointed. “His name’s Henry and he wants a word.”

  He nodded, stood and held out his right hand, each finger had at least one gold ring adorning it. “Robert Powel. What can I do for you?”

  Henry produced his FBI ID, let him see it for an instant before he shoved it back in his pocket. He explained that he was searching for a woman, maybe Asian in appearance, who used a taxi belonging to Bobbi’s Cars.

  “Can I ask why?”

  “We are investigating piracy and believe she is a key player.”

  Robert shrugged. “Can’t see how I can help.”

  Henry handed over a sheet of paper. “The date, time and taxi registration. Just tell me where the driver dropped his fare.”