White Gold: (A Dan Taylor thriller)

by Amphlett, Rachel

  Sarah nodded. Then signed the document.

  ‘Thank you,’ said David, taking the pen from her. His face softened. ‘A few months ago, I don’t think you’d have done that.’

  ‘A few months ago, I didn’t have a dead ex-husband, a dead friend nor the sneaky suspicion you know a lot more than you’re letting on,’ said Sarah defiantly. She folded her arms and glared at David, then at Dan. ‘Now we have the pleasantries out of the way, are you going to bring me up to speed on what you two have been discussing behind my back?’

  David reached out for a file on his desk and slid it towards himself. Opening it, he brought out a large photograph then spun it around to face Dan and Sarah.

  What is it?’ asked Sarah.

  ‘Forensics from the explosion in Singapore,’ he said.

  Sarah stared at him.

  David shrugged. ‘We were still close by. I could’ve given you a lift to the airport if you’d waited another ten minutes.’

  Dan picked up the photo and studied it before staring at David. ‘What the hell did they use?’ he asked. ‘I’ve never seen anything like this before.’

  David flicked through the notes in the file. ‘Nothing conventional. Tech nerds reckon it’s a new form of propulsion. They’re still investigating. Which to me,’ he said, throwing the file shut in disgust, ‘means they haven’t got a clue.’

  David stood up and beckoned Dan and Sarah to follow him. He pushed open the door and walked across the open-plan office to a separate room.

  ‘You can set yourselves up in here,’ he explained. ‘If you need anything, ask Philippa – she’s quite resourceful.’ He turned to Dan. ‘Meet me back in my office in five minutes. Let’s see if you can help fill in some of the gaps we have in our investigation.’

  Dan nodded, sank onto a sofa in the corner of the room and began to read the report provided by the technicians about the car bomb. It was woefully short on detail. He wondered if he’d have found anything more, if he’d had the chance. His first priority had been to get Sarah to safety.

  He glanced over while she set up her laptop on the empty desk, unravelling wires and checking phone lines were working. He smiled – she was tougher than he’d first thought, her mind always on the new story she hoped would propel her into journalistic stardom.

  Dan re-arranged the photos in the file, then clipped them back together and stood up. ‘I’m going to get a coffee then go and see David,’ he said. ‘Back later.’

  Sarah nodded. ‘Okay. I’ll catch up on some work emails, then have a dig around to see what I can uncover about shipping movements out of Singapore to see if I can find that car.’

  ***

  David looked up as Dan entered the office, stood up and walked over to the incident board. ‘Come here and take a look. See if you can fill in any of these other gaps for us.’

  Dan put his coffee mug down on the desk and joined David. He scanned the evidence David’s team had managed to collate so far. Suddenly he pointed to a photograph on the wall – a man, stocky build, wearing a dark grey suit and glasses.

  ‘Who’s he?’

  David took a closer look. ‘A rather nasty character by the name of Charles Moore. Hired gun we reckon, although we’ve got nothing to prove it at the moment – why?’

  ‘He’s the one who destroyed Peter’s house. We saw him outside Sarah’s house before we went to Australia. My bet is he was responsible for the deaths of Peter and Hayley too.’

  David unpinned the photograph and handed it to Philippa. ‘Organise a few copies of that would you?’

  She nodded and left the room.

  David turned back to Dan. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘I reckon Delaney’s hired him – he’s a contract killer. Very clever. Seems to have a knack of making his hits look like accidents most of the time. When Sarah’s friend Hayley was killed last month, it was meant to look like a car accident while we were in Brisbane. She’d been helping us find out more about Delaney and he obviously didn’t like us poking around.’

  ‘What do you think Delaney’s up to?’ asked David.

  Dan rubbed his chin. ‘Looking through Peter’s research notes, I reckon it’s something to do with that white gold powder he was lecturing about. It appears to have the capability of being the future of energy. More environmentally friendly than nuclear or any fossil fuel and pushes out four times the power.’

  David studied him carefully before continuing. ‘Delaney has been getting more and more obsessed with protecting his coal business against any environmental legislation. We know he’s been lobbying politicians here in the UK and using his contacts to do the same in Australia. Let’s face it, he’s not the only one.’

  Dan nodded. ‘He’s just more extremist about it.’

  ‘To put it mildly,’ David agreed. ‘He seems to have become fanatical with the thought that white gold powder is going to wreck his empire – it’s already being used for fuel cell technology because it uses a lot less power than oil-based fuels. When the UK Defence Department started putting out feelers for how that power could be harnessed to drive military aircraft at supersonic speed, the Government also began to look at how white gold powder could fuel power stations instead of coal.’

  Dan grinned. ‘Bet your lot are kicking themselves for selling off the UK’s gold bullion in the nineties then.’

  David ignored the remark and continued. ‘The last couple of winters have proved our existing gas supplies can’t cope without us buying in more. Oil supplies are a lot lower than we’re telling the public. Of course, that information has somehow leaked out to Delaney and he appears to be doing all he can to protect himself.’

  Dan picked up his coffee and took a sip. ‘So – what do you think he’s up to? Are you going to tell me?’

  David sat back down at his desk. ‘We’ve got reason to believe Delaney’s been buying up gold mines over the past five years specifically to refine the method of producing this white gold powder so he can defeat the science we’ve been investigating. If we’re right, he’s managed to find a way to create radioactive material when turning the white powder back into metallic gold.’

  Dan looked at David. ‘Are you saying he’s managed to create a weapon with this stuff?’

  David nodded. ‘We think he’s been successful too. If he can prove to the world that white gold powder is too dangerous to consider as an alternative fuel source, he’s going to buy himself a good number of years to exploit the coal and oil markets. No-one will go near the white gold powder. Look at hydrogen – no-one’s designed an aircraft using that fuel since the Hindenberg disaster – you’d never get enough passengers to make it a viable project.’

  He paused. ‘In the meantime, he’s using profits from his coal mining ventures to buy up gold mines. In twenty years’ time, he’ll probably begin to sell the idea of white gold powder as an alternative energy source and start reaping the rewards himself.’

  Dan frowned. ‘How does he expect to get away with it?’

  David shrugged. ‘Come on. It won’t take much for the media and public to assume any attack on the Western world would be made by the usual extremists. Why not just pin it on them? Unless you and I can track down this weapon and prove it’s Delaney behind it before it goes off,’ he said, ‘we haven’t got a hope in hell.’

  Brisbane, Australia

  Morris Delaney threw the whiteboard pen onto the desk and grinned at his guests. He took a long swallow of the twenty-year-old single malt in his glass and savoured the warm burn in his throat.

  ‘You’re absolutely sure this is going to work? We won’t have a second chance,’ asked Petrov.

  Delaney nodded. ‘We built a smaller one and detonated that down one of the mine shafts to test it.’

  Uli smiled. ‘I like your thinking. I presume it was remote?’

  ‘Yeah – middle of nowhere.’

  Pallisder looked at the photograph in his hand and quickly put it down on the desk, realising his hands were beginning to shake. �
��How did you design the chamber?’

  ‘It’s easier if I show you rather than describe it,’ Delaney explained and gestured to Pallisder to sit down. Taking a marker pen, he drew the rough shape of the canister on a pad, and then added a smaller box shape with a series of dots around the frame.

  ‘The super-conducted precious metal – white gold powder in this case – is currently housed in a borosilicate glass cylinder. The glass cylinder sits in one side of this panelled housing. On the other side sits the timing device.’ He drew in a rough circuit system and connecting wires. ‘Once the timer begins its countdown, you’ve got about nine minutes to get clear of the area – otherwise you’re toast. The cylinder itself is just there for protection. The more we package the glass cylinder, the better protected it is and we can control the explosion with the timer.’

  ‘Why the glass cylinder?’

  The other man grinned.

  ‘It’s the only way to stop the white gold powder from quantum tunnelling its way out and into the atmosphere before we’re ready. We’re the first to create a weapon using this stuff – most people are more interested in converting it back into gold because it generates a higher yield. Both the British and American governments are trying to build aircraft which will use its anti-gravitational capabilities. Using it as a weapon probably hasn’t crossed anybody’s radar.’

  He threw the pen on the desk and sat down opposite Pallisder and Petrov. He pointed at the sketch of the glass cylinder. ‘During those nine minutes, we instigate a chain reaction which will begin to turn the white gold powder back into metallic gold.’

  Petrov looked at him and raised his eyebrow. ‘When I agreed to help fund this project of yours, I said I wanted to create a major impact – lining the streets with gold wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.’

  Delaney chuckled. ‘We’re a long way off from achieving that on any great scale, so you don’t have to worry. When we tried to turn white powder gold back into metallic gold, it created radioactive material. Now we’ve just increased the quantities so when the two electrodes in the canister begin to burn…’

  ‘… you’ve got the equivalent of an atomic bomb,’ finished Pallisder.

  Delaney nodded. ‘A small one compared with some, but it’ll get us the impact we’re after.’

  Pallisder studied the drawing carefully. ‘What’s the radius of the blast?’

  Delaney flicked through some notes. ‘Here you go – we added a bit more than the test device. I reckon you ought to hold fire buying any real estate within a twenty mile radius.’

  Petrov laughed with Delaney. Neither man noticed Pallisder’s face go pale.

  ‘It’s the superconductivity created by this stuff that’s the threat to the coal, gas and oil industries,’ said Petrov. ‘If anyone works out how to generate power using this white gold stuff on a large scale, we’re finished.’

  Delaney laughed and stood up, slapping the other man on the back. ‘I don’t think you need to worry there. By making an explosive device out of super-conducted heated gold – white gold powder – we can derail any further research into its viability as an alternative energy for years – probably decades.’

  Uli shuffled in his seat. ‘Yes, but will it have the effect we want?’

  ‘Absolutely. Remember the old black and white film footage of that airship disaster? That was decades ago and people still won’t reconsider hydrogen as an alternative fuel on a large scale. When people think of hydrogen, they immediately think of the Hindenberg or hydrogen bombs.’

  Pallisder glanced out the window. The sun was high over the city, reflecting the river traffic onto the windows of the skyscraper opposite. He stood up and stretched, trying to appear relaxed in front of the other two men.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘You appear to have it all under control Morris. When do you think you’ll be able to give us another update?’

  Delaney walked the two men to the reception area. Pallisder blinked in the bright open space. He could feel the beginning of a headache starting to pulse in his temples.

  ‘I’ll know more in a few days,’ smiled Delaney. ‘I’m just waiting for confirmation from a contact to make sure our plan is still safe, then I’ll let you know.’

  Pallisder nodded and, shaking hands with the two men, headed for the elevator.

  He stepped out through the atrium of the office block and walked across to the waiting limousine. The driver stood next to the passenger door, waited until Pallisder was ready, then opened the door for him. Pallisder climbed in and savoured the cool air-conditioning. It was proving to be a hot summer.

  ‘Take me home,’ he said, and settled back into the leather seat for the ride.

  London, England

  Dan turned as Sarah appeared in the doorway of David’s office, her face flushed. ‘Both of you – come and look at this.’

  She disappeared again. Dan looked at David. They both shrugged and hurried to where Sarah sat at the spare desk, a series of printed documents in her hand.

  ‘Okay, sit down,’ she said. ‘I want to run a theory by you.’

  Sarah waited until Dan and David gave her their full attention.

  ‘What have you got?’ asked Dan.

  Sarah handed them each a copy of the paperwork. ‘I was just having a flick through the stories on one of the news wires, catching up, when I came across this one. There was a house invasion at the beginning of January in Ramsgate in Kent. Nothing was taken but the place was trashed – presumably to make it look like a burglary.’

  Dan opened his mouth to interrupt but Sarah held up her hand.

  ‘Hang on. There was a woman in the house at the time. The police think there was more than one intruder. By the time they’d finished with her, there wasn’t much left intact.’ She shivered. ‘The police report states she probably died as a result of blood loss.’

  Dan leaned forward. ‘What’s it got to do with us?’

  Sarah looked at him, a grim expression on her face. ‘I did a bit of digging around,’ she explained. ‘It turns out the woman is, sorry was, married to the captain of a freighter called World’s End. She paused. ‘He and the ship haven’t been seen since it left Singapore in January.’

  David frowned. ‘I hate coincidences. The ship should have a transponder fitted to it – we should be able to track its current location with that.’

  Sarah nodded. ‘I already thought of that.’ She turned back to her laptop. Her hands flew over the keyboard, a staccato string of commands flowing into the computer. She brought up two websites, and spun the computer monitor to face the two men.

  ‘Okay, we have couple of ways to track the ship. One, Lloyds Register – this will tell us who owns it and what it’s being used for. Two, we can use the transponder manufacturer’s website to track its progress.’

  Dan scrolled through the screens. ‘This is a good start,’ he conceded, ‘but it only tells us where the ship is. We know Delaney’s using a car and it might be in a container, so how are we going to track that?’

  Sarah smiled. ‘You’ve just voiced the concerns of western civilisation.’

  She swung the keyboard back to her side of the desk and hit a couple of keys. ‘Here, look at this. A couple of years ago, several western governments worldwide demanded the maritime industry provide a better way of monitoring shipping containers. Through a Singapore-based financing initiative called the MINT Fund, several systems designers developed and manufactured tracking devices for containers.’

  She flicked through various web pages. ‘All the devices in use now are reasonably effective at preventing theft of goods from container ships, as well as trying to stop them being used by terrorist organisations to move weapons and explosives.’

  Dan stood up, stretching his back. ‘How do they work?’

  Sarah swung her chair around to face him as he paced the room. ‘From what I can gather, the devices have sensors which monitor temperature control – you set it up just as the container is sealed and any fluctuation �
�� whether warm or cold, or the container being opened before it’s timed to do so, or the angle of the container changes –an alarm is set off.’

  ‘On the ship, or at a remote location?’ asked Dan.

  Sarah glanced at the screen. ‘According to this, it’s designed for electronic tracking, so it looks like most devices feed information via satellite up to a central database these shipping companies subscribe to and it provides them with real-time data, so remote would be my guess although I’d expect the ship’s bridge to receive notification of the same time. That would make sense in, say, cases of piracy – it would give the crew time to arm themselves, or get to a safe room on the ship.’

  Dan sat on the edge of the desk and looked at the computer screen. ‘I wonder how reliable it is?’

  Sarah tapped her forehead with her pen as she continued to scroll through the web pages. ‘I guess it’s fine – unless it gets switched off.’ She threw her pen down on the desk.

  ‘Okay,’ said David. ‘Here’s the plan. Go through the manufacturers’ websites. They should have subscriber databases you can log on to. Enter the ship’s name and search to see if there’s a transponder signal available for the freighter or each container they’re carrying.’

  Sarah nodded. ‘I’ll do my best.’

  David pointed at Dan. ‘You and I are going to start planning what to do when we find this bloody ship. Come with me.’

  ***

  It was late, the office cleaners had nearly finished their rounds and the coffee machine had broken down two hours ago.

  Sarah pushed her hair away from her face and continued her work, long fluid keystrokes creating strings of data on the computer screen, illuminating her face. Stopping, she sighed, ran her fingers through her hair – realising it needed a cut last month – then stopped and stared at the screen. She exhaled loudly.

  ‘What the…?’