Dan grinned. ‘Just enough.’
London, England
The Minister paced his room, nervous. The phone call was late. The Minister always insisted on promptness. He straightened his tie, looked at his worn fingernails. The sooner the next two months were over, the better. His doctor had already warned him about his high blood pressure and his wife had commented on how much shorter his temper was these days. Dark shadows were forming under his eyes and he was noticeably thinner.
The phone rang and the Minister jumped involuntarily. Part of him still believed they’d be found out before the project was finished. He picked up the phone.
‘Yes?’ He sounded more confident than he felt. His press officer’s careful training kept his voice steady, even if he did notice a slight shaking in his hand as he pressed the receiver closer to his ear.
‘It’s all going according to schedule.’
The caller didn’t identify himself – there was no need.
‘Where is it at the moment?’
A chuckle at the other end of the line. ‘Never mind. The less you know, the more protected I feel.’
The Minister was relieved. He didn’t really want to know. The project scared the shit out of him. ‘W-what do you need me to do?’
A pause, then –
‘Nervous, Minister?’
Fuck you, thought the Minister. ‘No, just concerned. I want to make sure this will all go to plan,’ he lied.
The caller chuckled. ‘I’m sure you are. Don’t be concerned – it’s coming together nicely. Not only will this thing blow the European Union emissions trading legislation clean out of the water, it’ll probably take the Australian and the United States’ emissions trading schemes with it too. How’s it going with the alternative energy lobby?’
The Minister sighed. ‘They’re a stubborn bunch of bastards.’
The caller laughed. ‘Watch them change their minds when your coal-fired power stations close down under European Union climate change legislation and you haven’t got enough gas to last the United Kingdom over winter. Ask them where their wind farms are then.’
The Minister grunted. ‘We’ll be back in the middle ages before you know it. Do you know we have enough coal in this country to last three hundred years but the European Union won’t let us burn it, so it just sits there while we buy gas from the Russians?’
Another laugh, twelve thousand miles away. ‘That’s why I’m going to sell my coal to your government when you’re all freezing your nuts off and come begging.’
The Minister chuckled. ‘Yes, well thanks to your kind donations, I’ll be sure to winter in the Caribbean when that time comes.’
He looked at his watch. Time to end the call. ‘Keep me posted on developments. I don’t want any surprises.’
‘Neither do I, Minister, so you make sure you keep your eyes and ears open.’
The Minister put down the phone as a knock at his office door pre-empted his personal attaché entering the room. ‘Thirty minutes until your meeting with the Prime Minister, sir. I’ve ordered the car – traffic’s horrendous this morning.’
The Minister nodded, took his thick winter coat from the attaché and threw it around his shoulders.
Stepping out of the ugly building into a rain-ravaged morning, he walked quickly to a waiting car where the driver was holding the back door open ready for him. He climbed inside and spent the journey daydreaming about a holiday home in the Caribbean.
Brisbane, Australia
Uli Petrov tapped on the privacy glass between him and his driver with a fat forefinger.
The glass lowered slowly. ‘Sir?’
‘Stop here, by the traffic lights,’ Uli instructed and leaned back in his seat.
‘Yes sir.’ The glass raised once more.
Uli loosened his tie. The car was air-conditioned but his Siberian bulk wasn’t designed for the short walk from the vehicle to the building, his ultimate destination.
The car swung into a drop-off zone below a towering skyscraper. Uli waited while his driver got out, walked around the vehicle and opened the rear door. Uli forced his huge bulk off the rear seat and stood up. He almost gasped from the humid air. He swore he could feel it sucking the oxygen out of his lungs.
‘Wait here,’ he said to the driver and limped towards the revolving doors at the base of the office block.
Uli glared at the people milling around the reception area and stalked towards the elevators. He stepped into the next available elevator car and held his hand up to a hopeful young secretary who tried to enter the elevator at the same time.
‘Room for one only,’ he intoned. ‘The sign says this has a maximum weight capacity.’ He chuckled to himself as the elevator doors closed and began to rise through the bowels of the building. No such thing as a skinny rich Russian.
The elevator stopped and Uli stepped out into a sumptuous reception area. A woman behind a granite-effect desk looked up, smiled at him as he approached, then stood up.
‘Mr Petrov?’
He nodded.
‘We’ve been expecting you,’ she said. ‘I trust you had a good flight yesterday?’
‘Yes,’ said Uli, not wanting to waste time talking to his business partner’s minions.
The receptionist interpreted his curtness correctly and beckoned him to take a seat. ‘One moment please, Mr Petrov,’ she said, ‘Mr Delaney is waiting for you.’
She dialled a number and announced his arrival, then turned back to her work.
Uli looked up as a door opened down the corridor next to him and Delaney appeared. Petrov stood up and walked over to him, his hand outstretched. Delaney laughed loudly as he walked down the corridor towards the reception area, shook Uli’s hand and held the door open to the boardroom for the other man.
‘Uli, it’s good to see you.’ Slapping the man on the shoulder as he walked past, Delaney followed him into the room and closed the door behind him. ‘Have a seat.’
Uli ran his hand through his hair, looking around. ‘Is this room clean?’
Delaney nodded. ‘I had my security experts sweep it half an hour before you arrived – they check it every morning but we delayed it today so we could seal the room off once they’d finished until you got here.’
Uli nodded, visibly relaxing. ‘I got your message. Exactly how is this idea of yours going to help us?’
Delaney walked round the board table, stopping to look down through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the river traffic passing below. ‘I’ll keep it simple – and only because I don’t have time to run through the science of the stuff today, okay?’
The other man nodded. Delaney outlined his plan while the Russian stared at him, open mouthed.
Delaney finished, pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘That should protect your gas interests and my coal business for the next thirty years at least.’
Uli held up his hand. ‘Okay. You’ve convinced me. Now – what do you need?’
Delaney grinned. ‘I was hoping you’d ask. I need one of your Russian ice-breakers. The fastest ship you can get.’
Uli raised an eyebrow. ‘An ice-breaker?’
Delaney nodded. It needs to be in the East Siberian Sea by the beginning of February. Without fail. Think you can do it?’
Uli scratched his chin. ‘Let me make some phone calls. I’m sure I can come up with something.’
Delaney grinned maliciously. ‘You’d better. All or nothing, remember? I expect all the stakeholders in this joint venture to deliver on time. That’s what you agreed to.’
Uli smiled and held up his hands. ‘Morris, I’m sure you’re a Russian at heart,’ he chuckled. ‘There’s no need for threats. You can count on me.’ He stretched back in his seat.
Delaney stood up, striding across to a small cabinet on the far side of his office. ‘Drink?’
Uli nodded. ‘Of course, if you are.’
Delaney poured two glasses of brandy and handed one to Uli.
Uli sat down on the leather sof
a. ‘So what are your plans?’
Delaney grinned. ‘Well I never divulge all my aces, as you know.’
The other man inclined his head slightly, in agreement. ‘And what are you going to do to make sure this can’t be pinned on us?’
‘Hit a big enough target so everyone will automatically assume it’s another extremist terrorism group. They’ll never pin it on us – they’d never believe this industry would do anything so extreme to protect its assets.’
Uli blew the air out of his cheeks. ‘You’re a genius. Who else is on board with this?’
Delaney grinned. ‘You know I give every stakeholder the same protection as you. No-one, apart from me, knows who else is an investor in this project. Let’s just say one or two like-minded individuals who are concerned about their businesses.’
Uli nodded. ‘Fair enough. Can you tell me what the target is going to be?’
‘Not yet.’
Uli stood up, drained his drink and stretched. ‘Alright. How many casualties?’
Delaney shrugged. ‘A few. Think of it as collateral damage, as the military like to say.’
Uli laughed out loud. ‘Perfect.’ He turned towards the door. ‘What happened about that English academic causing all the trouble in Europe?’
Delaney laughed. ‘Oh, it’s all gone quiet on that front. I don’t think he’ll be causing us any problems in future.’
Sutton Courtenay, Oxfordshire
Dan steered the car down the narrow lane. As they neared Sarah’s cottage, he pulled out to drive around a parked car and jumped when she gasped and clutched his arm.
‘Dan, stop!’
‘What is it?’ he asked, slowing.
‘It’s him! Oh my god – he’s at my house!’ Sarah pointed. A man stood outside the cottage, staring up at the building.
Dan turned the car in the opposite direction, executed a smooth turn and began to drive back down the lane.
‘Are you sure it’s him?’
‘Yes! Yes – I’d recognise him anywhere!’ Sarah turned and looked over her shoulder as they drove away.
‘No, don’t! Look the other way – I don’t want him to spot you.’ Dan risked a glance at the house. Sure enough, the man now stood in the parking bay outside the property, polishing his glasses as he watched the car pull away.
‘Shit!’
He floored the accelerator. Sarah held onto her seat to steady herself as Dan shot out of the lane onto the road which led through the village and gunned the car forward. He looked in the rear view mirror.
‘I don’t think he’ll find us – with any luck, he didn’t have time to get back to his car.’ He turned left onto a lane which wound its way out of the village and towards a main road. ‘We’ll put a bit of distance between us and the house before we stop.’
Sarah chewed on her nails.
‘Do I phone the insurance company now and tell them I’ll be making a claim after my house blows up from a gas explosion?’
Dan leaned over and squeezed her arm.
‘Try not to think about it. Let’s just concentrate on getting away from here for the moment.’
Sarah nodded. ‘God knows when I’ll be going home now. How did he find me, Dan?’
He shrugged. ‘People like him will have access to all sorts of information. We were right to hide your car from view. He’s obviously got your address from the licensing records – he tracked Peter down, remember? I’ll bet he’s working for someone too.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s just too clinical, the way everything’s happening. First, Peter is killed – probably because of the content of his lectures – then his house is destroyed to make sure any research he may have had there couldn’t fall into anyone’s hands.’ He punched the steering wheel in frustration. ‘And now this.’
He slowed as they approached a junction and took a right turn back in the direction of Oxford.
‘Dan? Why don’t you contact that old university lecturer of yours and Peter’s, see what he can work out?’ asked Sarah.
‘Who? Harry? Bloody hell, Sarah. I don’t know.’
‘Well, Peter always spoke highly of him. I met him once – he seemed very knowledgeable.’
Dan exhaled loudly. ‘Do you want to get him involved?’
Sarah drummed her fingers on the door frame. ‘I’m just thinking he might point us in the right direction – we can take it from there. I mean, what other choice do we have?’
Dan grunted. Glancing at his watch, he did a quick calculation. ‘Look, I’ll drop you off at my place.’
‘What will you do?’ asked Sarah.
‘I’ll speak to Harry.’ He grimaced. ‘Given the way our last conversation ended, I should probably go alone. Do you know where he lives these days?’
‘Somewhere near Uffington,’ said Sarah. She rummaged in her bag and pulled out a battered address book. ‘Here, I’ll write down the address for you. I still think I should go with you though.’
‘When did you last see him?’
She frowned. ‘A couple of years ago, I think. Peter and I took him out to lunch over at the White Horse pub.’
‘Is he still pissed off at me?’
Sarah grinned. ‘He’ll always be pissed off with you – he said you were his star student. Peter reckons Harry was truly upset when you quit the field.’
‘I’ll bet.’ Dan changed up a gear as they reached the ring road and filtered into the busy traffic. ‘Look, I really need to speak to him alone. I’m going to drop you off at the house, no hanging around. I’ll go over and talk to Harry. Lock the doors and don’t switch on any lights – I’ll be back before it gets dark anyway. Don’t open the door to anyone. I’ll phone the house before I knock on the door. Understand?’
Sarah nodded.
Dan glanced at her, then back at the road. ‘I mean it, Sarah. No deviations from the plan. I don’t care how important you think it is. Don’t phone anyone either – we don’t know if outgoing calls on your mobile are being monitored.’
Sarah paled. ‘Y-you think they could?’
‘I don’t know what to think any more. I’m just going into survival mode.’
London, England
David Ludlow slammed the phone down and turned to his aide.
‘Bring me the files on a guy called Delaney – immediately. I want photos, shareholder reports, satellite maps of his mines and refineries, especially Australian ones, everything. And keep it classified. No-one outside these four walls is to know.’
As the aide scuttled out of the office, David stood up and looked out the window at the dreary cityscape below him. Jesus, of all the times for this to happen – the Olympic Games only months away, the Prime Minister struggling to maintain any sort of lead in the opinion polls, then this.
‘Shit!’ David kicked the corner of the filing cabinet, and then jumped as his office door swung open.
‘David – glad you’re here. What’s going on?’
David pulled his jacket straight and forced his shoulders to relax.
Stephen Lowe strolled across the office and sat in David’s chair, swinging it round to face him. ‘Well? Unusual to see you so worked up about something.’
David walked over and leaned against the window sill. ‘Yeah, I know.’
He glanced down at the cold winter morning. Rain lashed against the window, the cold air spilling around the frame, while outside it tried to turn to snow. Commuters dashed backwards and forwards under umbrellas while cars splashed by, headlights blazing.
Lowe coughed politely and David turned his attention back to his boss.
‘Sorry sir,’ he said. ‘Just the thought processes ticking over.’ He forced a smile and wandered back to the desk, pulled out a chair opposite Lowe and sat down.
‘Come on then, out with it,’ said Lowe. ‘What’s the problem?’
David sighed. ‘An organisation we’ve had our eye on for some time,’ he said. ‘At first glance, it looks like a legitimate business but I�
�ve had a small core team working on it, looking into some of its acquisitions over the past five years or so.’
Lowe leaned back and folded his hands in his lap. ‘Nothing wrong with mergers and acquisitions, David. What raised the flag?’
‘The death of Peter Edgewater,’ said David.
Lowe sniffed. ‘Name rings a bell. Remind me?’
‘Oxford lecturer. Earth sciences and the like. Completed a very successful lecture tour over the past month or so. He presented a lecture at his college in Oxford on his return to the country, then two days later turned up dead in a nearby nature reserve. Police reckon it was a mugging.’
‘And you don’t?’
‘It’s a bit too convenient, isn’t it?’ said David. ‘His lecture tour was causing quite a stir amongst the oil, gas and coal sector. Rumour has it he’d just entered into negotiations with a publisher and one of the national newspapers to do a serialised version of his lecture. Nothing libellous, but enough for people to work out who he was pointing the finger at.’
‘So you think he was murdered?’ Lowe asked.
‘I’m sure he was,’ said David. ‘I think someone was following the progress of his lecture tour very closely. I’m sure he was threatened at least once. I certainly got that impression when I spoke with him.’
‘You contacted him?’ Lowe sat upright. ‘When?’
‘In Paris, just after the New Year,’ said David. He looked away and shrugged. ‘I could be wrong, but he seemed on edge. Scared. He certainly didn’t appreciate me being there.’
‘I’m sure,’ said Lowe. ‘Did I authorise that trip?’
David glanced at him. ‘No need. It’s part of an ongoing investigation your predecessor sanctioned. Sir.’
Lowe shrugged his shoulders. ‘Well, I’m sure it’s just a coincidence,’ he said, getting up and looking out the window. ‘Oxford has its crime problems, same as anywhere else.’
David stood up and stretched, then joined him.
White Gold: (A Dan Taylor thriller) Page 6