‘It says here she’s a reporter with the Telegraph in the UK. Strange – she seems to be a prolific writer but hasn’t filed a story for a number of weeks now. Hang on.’ The man opened the next page of text. ‘It says here her ex-husband was killed last month.’
Delaney stopped pacing the room and turned to stare at the two images on the screen. ‘What’s her name?’
The head of security hit a key, bringing up a new window with a driver’s licence displayed on it. ‘Sarah Edgewater.’
Delaney blew the air out of his cheeks. He glanced down at the holster hanging from the other man’s belt. He reached down and pulled the gun out of it. ‘Are these any good?’ he asked, turning the weapon over in his hands.
The man looked at him. ‘I wouldn’t use anything else.’
Delaney grunted. He released the safety catch and strode over to where the young security guard sat. And then shot him between the eyes. Delaney turned back to the screen showing Sarah’s image and pointed at it.
‘Call Charles.’
Hayley walked through the car park, rummaging in her handbag for her keys. The basement echoed with the sound of car doors slamming shut and engines being started as the last of the day’s commuters settled themselves in for the journey home.
As she approached her car, Hayley hit the remote, killing the alarm system. Opening the door, she tossed her handbag onto the passenger seat and turned the key in the ignition.
The engine coughed, then stalled.
Cursing, Hayley turned the key again and lightly tapped the accelerator. The car roared into life and Hayley breathed a sigh of relief. It was old and temperamental but she wasn’t in a position to buy a new one just yet. Besides, she had a soft spot for it – it was a small two-door four wheel drive, ideal for getting around town without being a gas-guzzler.
While she waited for the engine to warm up, Hayley pulled off her three-inch heels, slipped on a pair of flat sandals and then released the handbrake.
As she pulled out of the parking space, she hit the brakes hard. A man had walked out in front of her car, obviously lost in thought as he polished his glasses. Hayley gestured at him to hurry up and he raised his hand apologetically before picking up speed and jogging past her through the car park.
Easing the car out of the space and weaving her way out of the basement area, Hayley noticed a stream of traffic queuing to get in – early theatre patrons, eager to find a place before they went for their pre-show evening meal.
Reaching the exit, Hayley leaned out the window and pushed her prepaid ticket into the machine. She tapped her fingers absently on the steering wheel as she waited for the barrier to rise. As she slipped through the exit, a white rental sedan pushed its way into the line of traffic, ignoring the frustrated gestures from other drivers and slipped into the queue behind Hayley, waiting for the traffic lights to turn green.
Hayley turned right, drove over the bridge spanning the river and switched on the radio. Water from a brief summer storm earlier in the afternoon glistened on the bitumen. The white sedan behind her kept a respectable distance, while all the time making sure no other cars could slip in between them. Unaware, Hayley pulled up at the next red light before making her way down Caxton Street and up through Paddington.
The temperature had dropped a little after the rain. Hayley powered down her window and switched off the air-conditioning, enjoying the breeze that blew through the car. Pulling up at a pedestrian crossing, she gazed at the restaurants to her right, already beginning to fill with the evening’s patrons. The lights turned green and she accelerated, turning right and headed towards Ashgrove. There would be no restaurant outing for her tonight, she thought sadly – too much work to do. She smiled. At least there was a good bottle of Verdelho waiting in the refrigerator.
Her house on Mount Nebo was a good twenty kilometres out of the city and it never ceased to amaze her that within an hour she could be winding her way up the mountain and into the bush, away from the frantic pace of the city. She passed the last set of traffic lights at The Gap and relaxed, pushing the accelerator a little. As she did so, she checked her rear-view mirror and frowned. The headlights of the car behind her hadn’t changed since leaving the city.
As Hayley eased the car round the left-hand bend, she accelerated hard, the small car protesting against the sharp incline at the start of the mountain road. Red dirt lined each side of the narrow bitumen highway before dropping away sharply to dry rainforest and granite rocks.
She reached the top of the first incline and glanced in the rear-view mirror – the other car’s headlights were still on her tail. Her heart beat faster as she tried to visualise the upcoming bends in the road. The road was the only direct route along the mountain – any roads leading off it for the next eight kilometres would simply lead to scenic viewpoints and picnic areas.
Properties along the road had long driveways, often sealed with steel gates. She wouldn’t be able to simply drive off the road and onto someone’s private property for help – if it turned out they weren’t home, she’d have nowhere to turn and no way to escape her pursuer.
Hayley forced herself to ease off the accelerator a little as she approached a notorious double-bend – the small memorials on the corner erected by friends and families of previous crash victims served as a reminder of the road’s reputation.
As she exited the bend, the car behind her accelerated hard, hitting her small four wheel drive and throwing her forwards in her seat. Hayley screamed and hit the accelerator, swerving round the next bend and almost hitting a car coming in the opposite direction. She forced herself to slow down again, her hands shaking as she changed gear.
Hayley braked hard, trying to steer the car round another sharp curve in the road. As she did so, the car behind her sped up and slammed into the back of her vehicle, turning it into the granite hillside. Hayley screamed and flicked the steering wheel to the right, desperately trying to avoid an impact but the back of the car began to slide across the wet bitumen. Instinctively, she stepped on the accelerator to try to control the skid but the vehicle swung too far the other way.
Hayley screamed and threw her hands up to protect her face as the car pivoted, smashed into the barrier at the edge of the ravine and crashed down through the trees lining the mountain road.
The car rolled side over side before landing upside down against an old eucalypt, the tyres spinning slowly as the engine spluttered to a stop.
***
The driver of the sedan pulled over into a small parking area a few metres along the road and switched off his headlights.
Opening the door, Charles got out and slipped on his jacket. He casually shrugged it over his shoulders and fastened the two buttons down the front. Looking both ways, he checked there was no other traffic coming and switched on a small high-beam torch. He slipped on a pair of gloves, then pulled plastic bags over his shoes and walked over to the barrier. Telltale skid marks showed where Hayley’s car had left the road. Burning rubber from her car tyres filled the air, permeating the sticky-sweet scent of the eucalypts.
Charles stepped over the skid marks and churned up grass verge, being careful not to leave tread marks from his shoes. The plastic bags would only serve to disguise the tread a little. Leaning over the edge of the ravine, he shone the torch down to where the car was lying upside down, the bonnet crumpled against a tree and the side panels dented and scraped apart by its uncontrolled descent. Glass glinted on the ground around the vehicle, while various parts lay strewn down the ravine, showing the car’s progress as it rolled.
Charles caught the sound of movement from the vehicle below and strained his ears. It was Hayley, calling for help. He held the torch up as a hand appeared, waving desperately out of the driver’s window.
Charles placed the small torch between his teeth, holding it while he reached into his pocket. He pulled out a cigarette lighter and methodically flicked it to life. He held up the flame to his face, mesmerised by the heat and colour.
Calmly lowering the lighter, he took the torch from between his teeth and held the beam steady while he tossed the lighter towards Hayley’s upturned vehicle, aiming it at the fuel dripping from the rear of the wreckage.
The car lifted off the ground with the force of the explosion before rocking to a halt at the base of the tree, flames beginning to lick at the undergrowth and surrounding bushes.
Charles stood and watched the flames as they engulfed the car. Hayley’s screams penetrated the night air. He smiled as they gradually died away. Swinging the torch beam across the grass verge at his feet, he scuffed the faint tread marks from his shoes into the mud, obliterating any chance of a forensic team finding a trace of his existence. Switching off the torch, he hurried back to the car and started the engine, coaxing the vehicle back down the mountain.
By the time he reached the outer suburbs of Brisbane, two fire engines had raced past his car, heading up to the scene of the accident.
The caller dialled a sixteen digit number then put the mobile to his ear and heard the tell-tale ring tone of a foreign exchange.
He walked briskly through the park as he waited for the call to be answered. He looked up as a fruit bat swooped low over his head then watched as it flew, screeching, into the trees. The lights from the city shone through the trees in places near the boundary of the gardens. He walked deeper into the park, away from the light and disappeared into the shadows near the river, following a concrete bike track which swept around the park and past the university campus.
As he walked, he turned his head and looked around to check if he’d been followed. Finally, the phone connected.
‘Philippa Price.’
‘Pip, it’s me,’ the caller said. ‘Is this line secure?’
‘It is.’
‘We’ve got company.’
Silence at the other end.
The caller waited for Philippa to speak and began to pace along the pathway circling the gardens. He stopped and stepped off the path as a lone cyclist pedalled past him. Looking back to check his progress, the caller continued to walk.
Eventually, Philippa spoke. ‘How much does she know?’
‘Not she, they,’ corrected the caller. ‘And they’re making good progress.’
‘Who’s helping her?’
The caller chuckled. ‘Tell David it’s an old friend of his. He’ll work it out if you can’t.’ He smiled to himself, knowing Philippa would make sure she found out before telling their boss.
The caller could hear Philippa’s breathing over the line. Calm, calculating. ‘Does she have the lecture notes?’
‘Yes. And photos. And stuff her ex-husband didn’t want the public eye to see. It’s explosive stuff, Pip. I wouldn’t want to see her publishing any of it.’
‘What are their plans?’
‘Right now, they’ve located a shipping container which left Brisbane for Singapore. I reckon they’ll be on a plane there within the next couple of days to try to find out what’s in it.’
‘A shipping container?’
‘Uh-huh. Do you think that’s what Delaney’s using?’
Silence. Then, ‘Maybe. Can you find out anything to confirm that?’
‘I can try.’
‘Will you follow them to Singapore?’
‘Not unless David says so. It might make them suspicious.’
‘True.’ Silence again.
The caller stopped, glanced around him, then sat on a park bench. His eyes ached. He rubbed them with his free hand and yawned. He slouched, trying to get comfortable against the rough surface of the seat. ‘How much closer are you getting?’
He could hear a sigh at the end of the phone line before Philippa spoke. ‘It feels like we’re getting nowhere fast. At the moment, I’m going through mergers and acquisitions to find out what gold mine interests Delaney has. We can’t find out what he’s really up to though. We think it’s something to do with when the white gold powder is turned back into metallic gold – some sort of atomic reaction.’
‘Like a dirty bomb?’
‘Yeah, something like that. David’s trying to get information from the other agencies here but of course, chances are they’re playing around with the stuff themselves so they’re not exactly being helpful at the moment.’
‘I’ll bet.’
‘Listen, I’m going to have to go – we’ve got a briefing with the Minister in half an hour I’m supposed to be preparing for. Was there anything else you needed?’
‘Not at the moment. Look out for them in Singapore in a couple of days. I’ll phone you if I find out anything else.’
‘Okay, take care Mitch.’
***
The elevator car rose through the building. Dan cast his eyes sideways at the mirrored walls and noticed how tired they both looked. He could feel the adrenaline through his veins, keeping him fired up in spite of the exhaustion. He smiled to himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so energised, so focused. As the elevator ground to a halt, Sarah brought out her swipe card and waved it at him.
‘Nightcap at mine?’ she asked, raising an eyebrow.
He grinned. ‘If your expense account can afford the mini-bar prices here, then you can definitely count me in.’
He followed her down the hallway and waited while she unlocked the door to her room.
She flicked on the light and dumped her bag next to the television. ‘I’m too excited to sleep anyway,’ she explained. ‘I feel like we’re finally getting somewhere at last. Get yourself a drink – I want to change out of this dress.’ She closed the bathroom door behind her.
Dan walked over to the refrigerator and turned back, holding two beers. Twisting the lids off, he handed one of them to Sarah as she emerged from the bathroom dressed in jeans and t-shirt. They clinked their beer bottles together and grinned at each other.
Sarah turned and picked up her bag. Pulling out her mobile phone, she reached over and picked up her laptop. ‘Might as well take a closer look at those documents I photographed,’ she said. She sat down on the bed and switched on the laptop.
Dan slumped on the small two-seater sofa, his legs hanging over the end. He swung them lazily while he sipped his beer and held up the manifest to the light to read it again.
Sarah took a swig from her bottle of beer, waiting for the laptop to finish its start-up routine. She reached behind her and pushed the pillow further up her back. Curling her legs under her, she sat back and sighed as she flipped through the pictures as they downloaded from her phone. ‘I took some pictures of some invoices,’ she explained. ‘It looks like they’re for small amounts of chemicals. Will that help?’
Dan looked up briefly from the manifest, and then continued reading. ‘I’m not sure – Harry reckons you’d need a ton of equipment to manufacture it – I think we’re missing something on that one.’
Sarah continued to flick through the images they’d downloaded, carefully looking at each one as it appeared on the screen. ‘I might have something here. Letters to government ministers. Here and back in the UK. Looks like Delaney’s been a bit busy lobbying them to support mining industries rather than the environmentalists. I wonder if he…’
They both jumped as the phone on the small desk began to ring.
Dan looked at Sarah. ‘Did you give anyone this number?’
She shook her head. ‘Should we answer it?’
Dan walked over to the phone, his hand hovering above it. He turned to Sarah. ‘You answer it.’
He stepped away, waving her over to the phone. ‘Quickly.’
Sarah stumbled across the room. ‘Why me?’
‘Because you’re a known entity with friends in this city – I’m not. Whoever is phoning might not know about my existence yet – I’d like to keep it that way as long as possible.’
Sarah nodded. ‘Okay – pass me that notepad and a pen would you? If this is anything important, I don’t want to forget anything.’
She picked up the receiver. ‘H-hello?’
<
br /> A chuckle permeated the line. ‘Well, well. You are there after all. For a minute there, I thought you were going to ignore me.’
Sarah clutched the receiver. ‘Who is this?’
‘You’re not much of a journalist if you can’t work that out for yourself.’
Sarah heard a sigh, as if the caller was sitting himself down for a long chat.
He then continued. ‘Now, I’m only going to say this once because you’re an intelligent woman and will probably take good advice when it’s given.’
‘Save the flattery,’ Sarah interrupted. ‘What the hell do you want?’
Again, the chuckle. ‘Okay, if you won’t be civil, then I’ll get to the point.’
‘At last,’ said Sarah.
‘What are you doing next Wednesday?’ The caller paused, waiting for a response.
‘Next Wednesday? Why? What’s happening next Wednesday?’ asked Sarah, snatching the notepad and pen Dan waved at her.
‘I presume, as a journalist, you’re writing all this down?’ asked the caller.
‘Yes.’
‘Good. I hate repeating myself.’
‘Go on,’ urged Sarah.
‘Write this down – two o’clock, next Wednesday. Place called ‘Pinaroo’ on Albany Creek Road.’
Sarah did as she was told.
‘What’s there?’ she asked, as she held up the notepad for Dan to read. He shook his head, not knowing the answer.
‘It’s a crematorium,’ said the caller. ‘You wouldn’t want to be late for Hayley’s funeral, would you?’
The phone went dead as Sarah dropped the receiver, covering her mouth with her hands.
‘What is it? What did he say?’ urged Dan, grabbing hold of Sarah and turning her towards him.
She shook her head in response, unable to answer. She shrugged off his grip from her shoulders and ran to the bathroom. He began to follow her, and then stopped as the sound of her vomiting reached him. He spun round in the room, running his hand through his hair, feeling utterly helpless and unsure what to do. What the hell had just happened?
White Gold: (A Dan Taylor thriller) Page 12