Black Gold

by Chris Ryan

  She stumbled into open space and her feet met hard tarmac. A blare of horn and a screech of brakes – a long, dusty red bonnet, then the back end of a pick-up truck flashing past. Amber found even more adrenaline and pumped her legs faster, plunging into the plantation on the other side of the road. She heard the horn again and hoped to hear a thump, but nothing came. Still, even if the truck hadn't knocked the hit man over it would have given her a lead. She raced on. Now the ground was sloping downwards . . . and under her feet was short, close-cropped grass.

  Suddenly in front of her – a cliff edge. Below was the sea, white waves thrashing on jagged rocks. Her arms windmilled madly, then she recovered her balance and staggered back. She had nearly gone over.

  But he was still coming, crashing closer and closer. Could she get past him again and back into the plantation? No. He would be able to stop and then he could shoot her. He'd certainly get her.

  There was nowhere else for her to go.

  Amber looked into the water below. It was at least thirty metres down, more than the height Danny had dived in his championship – a competition in which his opponent had been seriously injured. What chance did she have? She pulled herself up sternly. No good panicking, she told herself. You've seen a lesson. Focus. She thought of Danny doing his champion dive; she would pretend she was him. She launched herself up.

  But her feet hadn't left the ground. She was still standing on the edge of the cliff. A dead goat was slumped bonelessly on a ledge halfway down, its eye staring up. Her body wouldn't allow her to jump.

  The sugar cane crunched and snapped behind her. The hit man was there, his face red. He skidded to his knees and she turned and looked down the black hole of his gun barrel. Even after running like that he was ready to fire.

  Time stopped. She was in the air, aware not of falling but of the wind. She struggled to keep her body straight, as though she was a mummy bandaged to a board. When she hit the water, feet first with her toes pointed and her legs clamped as hard together as it was possible, it was hard, like hitting a pane of glass. It shook her teeth.

  She burst to the surface, spluttering, inhaling seawater and shooting it out again. Her first thought was that, after the brine, it tasted positively sweet. Then she got a mouthful of oil and it was like licking an engine. The jagged rocks were a few metres away and she began to swim towards them, but the current was sweeping her away.

  Already exhausted, Amber couldn't fight it. She saw the bulky figure up on the cliff she'd dived from; the hit man looking down like a vulture. The choppy water kept closing over her head like a counterpane. When she next surfaced she saw him turning away, as though he no longer had to check whether she was being pulled out to sea.

  17

  MAYDAY

  Hex and Alex sat in the plantation monitoring the traces. Amber's blip raced through the plantation, paused – and went into the sea.

  Alex grabbed his mobile and phoned the coastguard. 'I've just seen a woman go into the sea at—' Hex handed him the palmtop and Alex read off the co-ordinates. He finished the call. 'Greg's going to get her now.'

  Hex nodded. 'Li and Paulo are quite close. They should be here in a few minutes.'

  Alex stared at the screen with its three dots for a moment. 'Can you tune into coastguard frequencies on that thing? We could listen to what's going on.'

  Hex shook his head. 'It's not a radio, you berk.'

  They settled down to wait for Li and Paulo, watching as they drew closer on the screen. Amber's trace was still there too, but it would continue working whether she was alive or not.

  Alex asked, 'Will that thing still work underwater?'

  Hex shook his head. 'Not if she goes more than fifty centimetres below the surface.'

  They fell silent. That wasn't much help. Drowned people didn't always go under immediately.

  'She's the strongest swimmer of all of us,' said Alex.

  He meant it as a comfort, but it gave Hex a vivid mental picture – of Amber fighting for her life between the waves.

  Amber was out in the wide sea. The land had become alarmingly small and all around her was vast blue. If she lost that scrap of white cliff she would be lost for sure. She had given up fighting the current and was just trying to keep her head out of the water, letting the sea carry her where it wanted, moving up and down with the gentle rhythm of the waves as if carried in a cradle. Her senses were drowning in salt – salt and the alien, metallic smell of oil. Her mouth was bitter and slimy. It was as if the sea was all around her, insistently trickling through every crevice and orifice, claiming her like a wrecked boat.

  She became aware of another smell. Diesel fumes. Something hit her; something solid. It bounced off her and bobbed on the water. She looked at it angrily.

  A lifebelt, bright orange. Drifting away from her. And beyond it, a diesel-belching silver dinghy.

  She managed to find a shred of strength, kicking towards the lifebelt. When her hand touched its solid, smooth surface she had so little strength she couldn't get it over her head; she was just able to hang on with both hands. Then strong arms hauled her up, over the rope looped on the sides of the dinghy and into a space that wasn't wet, or moving, but dry and warmed by the sun.

  On all fours, racked by coughs, she couldn't stop shivering. Someone put a red blanket over her and she pulled it around her tightly and coughed her heart out.

  When the spasm subsided she saw a face she knew. He had thinning blond hair, a deep tan and a lifejacket printed with the word COASTGUARD. Danny's friend Greg. And there, at the helm, was Danny himself.

  She managed a weak grin. 'Hi, Danny.'

  Danny was looking at her in astonishment. 'Amber, how on earth did you get in this mess?'

  Amber's sense of humour began to return. She considered saying that she'd just done her first cliff dive and that he wouldn't have to worry about her as competition for his world title, but she suddenly felt very sick. She clawed her way to the side not a moment too soon. Her stomach heaved and she vomited into the sea.

  'Danny, slow down,' said Greg. 'She looks seasick.'

  Amber glared at him. She was an experienced sailor; the last thing she would be was seasick. But as she tried to say something her body had other ideas. She coughed and retched, unable to speak.

  'She might have swallowed some of that oil,' said Danny. 'We'd better get her to M—' He had been about to say 'Mara', but then remembered that she was still at the police station. 'I mean, the medical centre,' he said instead. He opened the throttle and the nose of the boat came up in the water as the propeller bit.

  Amber leaned back feeling groggy and exhausted, her mind filled with images of the dead birds slowly poisoned by oil. I'll be all right if I get help quickly, she said to herself. Those birds never got any help. Another bout of retching seized her. The spasm was so strong she had to twist her hands into the ropes on the edge of the dinghy.

  Suddenly the radio was squawking: 'Mayday – mayday – mayday. This is Black Gold, Black Gold, Black Gold.' A distress call; Amber knew the protocol well, the message repeated three times on VHF Channel 16 in the hope that someone was nearby.

  Greg flew to the radio. 'This is the coastguard, coastguard, coastguard – what's your position, position, position?'

  The voice gave a position then suddenly went silent.

  'Hello, Black Gold}' said Greg urgently. 'Come in, Black Gold?'

  He was answered only by static.

  He tried again.

  Moments later the radio crackled into life again. 'Hello, coastguard? Over.'

  Greg hit the button. 'Coastguard receiving, go ahead. Over.'

  'Coastguard, let's go to Channel Twelve, I'm afraid that was a false alarm.'

  Greg frowned and switched to the different channel. The voice came through again.

  'Hello, coastguard. I'm very sorry about this. My son got hold of the radio. I'm very sorry and it won't happen again. Over.'

  Greg replied. 'Understood. You're quite sure you'
re not in any danger? Over.'

  'Quite sure. It was a mistake. I'm very sorry. Over.'

  Greg spoke again. 'We're always happy to answer emergencies but we'd appreciate it in future if you kept your son away from the equipment. You must tell him this is not a toy . . .'

  Amber didn't hear the rest. She felt the queasiness return and had to lean over the side again. Her reflection in the choppy water reminded her of seeing herself in the salt pan. With the memory of its taste, she started vomiting once more.

  Hex breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the small figure huddled miserably in a blanket in the dinghy. He left Alex, Li and Paulo standing on the veranda and skipped down to help Amber out as the boat rasped up onto the coral beach.

  As he put out a hand to help her, she clung to it, quivering like an exhausted bird. His relief changed to worry. Are you OK?' he blurted.

  She opened the red blanket. In her sunken, bloodshot eyes there was a twinkle. She was still wearing the uniform. Hex took in the short black dress with its white lacy pinafore, like a French maid's costume, now wet and clinging, grabbed the blanket and pulled it back around her.

  'What have you been doing? You were supposed to be hunting for Bowman, not playing kinky games!'

  Amber chuckled and allowed him to hurry her along to the others. It was as if he was trying to get away from this strangely dressed creature next to him. By the time they reached the others she felt miles better.

  Paulo was looking at Amber with concern. 'We'd better get you to the medical centre,' he said.

  Greg walked up behind them, a palm pilot in a rugged protective case in his hands. Behind him Danny was checking the boat over after the trip. 'Sorry, guys,' he said. 'Got to do some paperwork. I need some details about Amber.'

  'Hex, you give them,' said Paulo. 'You know Amber best. I'll get her to the medical centre.'

  Amber coughed as Paulo led her gently away. 'I reckon I look a bit rough.'

  'No, you look lovely in that dress,' chuckled Paulo. Amber scowled at him and pulled the blanket tight around herself again.

  'What do you need to know?' Hex asked Greg.

  'Just statistics,' the coastguard replied. 'Every call we get we have to log.' He handed Hex the palm pilot and a plastic stylus.

  Hex zipped through the questions. It was all quite efficient – already there were details of how the call was logged, where the victim was, whether a boat was involved and what action was taken. One box asked if the cause of the accident was known. Hex had his suspicions but wrote 'no'. Once he was finished, he clicked 'done'.

  The screen indicated there was another page to follow. He clicked on it, but the page wasn't about Amber but about a different incident. Greg had already filled in some details: 'Mayday call'. Hex was about to give the palm pilot back to Greg when something caught his eye. The palm pilot obviously had a link with a central computer because it had already logged the source of the call, identifying the vessel's position and registration – a big motor yacht called Black Gold.

  Black Gold – another name for oil. Then Hex saw something that really made him take notice. He nudged Alex and Li, making them look too. They gasped.

  The vessel was registered to Neil Hearst.

  Danny and Greg were carrying the dinghy towards a trolley parked at the top of the beach. 'Hey, Danny, look at this,' said Alex casually. 'This is someone from ArBonCo. Poetic justice, eh?'

  The two men paused as they went past Alex and peered at the screen.

  A big grin spread across Danny's face. 'Oh yes, that twerp from the oil company. He keeps a yacht at the marina on the other side of the island.'

  'Mayday call,' said Li. 'Has he sunk?'

  'No,' replied Greg, 'it was a false alarm. He said his son had got hold of the radio.'

  Danny grinned. 'You could fine Hearst for misuse of emergency resources.'

  Greg and Danny heaved the dinghy up onto the trailer. 'Yes, we probably should,' said Greg.

  'Do you need a hand with that boat?' said Li.

  Danny went up to the terrace and unwound a hose. 'No thanks – we just need to wash it down, get the seawater off.'

  Hex handed back the palm pilot back to Greg. 'Is there anything else you need?'

  'No, that's fine,' said Greg, 'thanks.'

  'Let's go and see how Amber's doing,' said Li.

  They found Amber and Paulo in one of the treatment rooms in the clinic. Amber was sitting on a couch wearing the now-familiar cotton T-shirt and boxer shorts, her wet clothes in a bag beside her. She was sipping from a tall glass of black liquid. Hex watched her hand as she tilted the glass up, remembering how she had trembled when she tried to get out of the boat. But the glass didn't shake at all.

  Amber saw him looking and held the glass out. 'Here, try some.'

  Hex took a sip. It was disgusting. He spluttered and gave it back to her, one hand over his mouth.

  'Well, what's it like?' said Amber. 'I can't taste a darn thing.'

  'Coal,' said Hex, still trying to get rid of the taste.

  'It's activated charcoal, apparently,' said Amber. 'To soak up any residual poison. Although it might as well be rose water for all I can tell. It's just a precaution, really. The doctor thinks I got rid of it all over the side of Danny's boat, otherwise I'd be a lot more ill.' She drank a bit more. 'Anyway, before all that happened I had quite a good trip. Bowman's not at Ter Haar's house. But they've definitely got him. They want him to sign something. Ter Haar and someone else – probably Neil Hearst, but I didn't hear that for sure – are going to get twenty-five million dollars each. Once they've got Bowman to sign they're going to kill him. I heard him say "Over the side", so I guess they've got him on a boat somewhere and are going to toss him overboard.'

  Hex looked at Alex. 'Neil Hearst's yacht,' he said, then explained his reasoning to Amber and Paulo. 'Hearst has a yacht, normally moored on the other side of the island. It would be an ideal place to keep Bowman. Easy to guard and difficult to escape from.'

  Li came back and handed Amber a tall glass, this time filled with bright yellow hydration liquid. 'So that's why nobody knows where he is.'

  'Ah,' said Hex, 'but we do know where the yacht is now. It gave a mayday call. Only it wasn't in trouble – some little kid was larking about with the radio.'

  Amber was glugging back the yellow potion. Her eyes grew enormous. She swallowed hard, then spoke. 'Black Gold! Of course! I was in the dinghy when that call came through. I heard it. There's no way that wasn't genuine.'

  Hex was playing scenarios in his head. 'Maybe Bowman got free and made a mayday call before they caught him again.'

  Alex's face was grave. 'He probably won't have long before they get him to sign that document. 'Then . . .' He mimed a knife being drawn across his throat.

  The door opened. Mara's colleague came in, holding a chart, and came over to Amber, one hand in the pocket of her white coat. 'How are you feeling?' Her accent was Australian.

  'OK.'

  'No more nausea?'

  Amber waggled her hand to indicate so-so.

  The doctor pinched the skin on Amber's arm and watched it, then nodded. 'You're hydrating well. I don't think you're poisoned but your stomach is very irritated, so you'll keep feeling sick. You can go, but carry on drinking the hydration solution – reception will give you some more on the way out.'

  Amber's face lit up. Freedom again. Now they could get back to work.

  The doctor was looking at her chart. 'You're staying at the dive centre, aren't you?'

  Amber nodded.

  'No diving for a week. Being sick in a regulator can seriously damage your health.'

  Paulo looked at Amber sympathetically. 'Join the club.'

  Hex was in the dive centre library. A map of the island and its surrounding waters was spread on the big central table; his palmtop lay beside him, open and the screen glowing. He did some calculations, then drew a circle with some compasses on a pad of tracing paper and laid it over the map. He looked at it, sa
tisfied. That was it.

  Amber and Paulo came in, Amber sipping at a glass of the yellow hydration mixture. Paulo was carrying a tray of sandwiches; he put them down on the big table.

  Alex and Li joined them just as Paulo was starting his second sandwich and Amber was gingerly nibbling at her first.

  'Danny's given us free rein with all his gear,' said Alex. 'So, have we found the boat?'

  Hex indicated the diagram with a flourish. 'Here it is.'

  The others huddled round eagerly and looked. Hex's tracing paper circle covered a large area at least as long as the island of Curaçao and its neighbour, Bonaire – which together had a diameter of about forty-eight kilometres.