Dan looked at Harry carefully. ‘You mean, one of those organisations might’ve had something to do with Peter’s death?’
Harry paused to put his glass on the table, the soft clink of ice cubes breaking the short silence. ‘I believe you have to consider that, yes. I think you’re going to have to go through those notes very carefully. And be very wary who knows you’ve got them. Who does know about them anyway?’
Dan picked up the bundle. ‘Only myself and Sarah. I think her journalistic instincts have kicked back in and she wants to do some of her own research to try to make some sense of Peter’s death.’
Harry grunted. ‘Then I would strongly suggest you tell her from me to watch her step. Both of you need to watch your backs if you’re going to investigate this.’
Dan nodded. ‘We will.’ He peered into his drink as if it would provide the answers. He gave up and took a sip instead. He glanced up at a low cry from Harry. ‘What?’
‘Look at this!’ Harry held up a sheet of paper, several diagrams haphazardly scribbled across the page.
‘Sorry, I don’t get it,’ said Dan. ‘You wouldn’t believe how long I’ve looked at that.’
Harry grinned. ‘It’s not what you’re looking at,’ he said. ‘It’s how you’re looking at it. Come over here.’
Dan stood up and crossed the room.
‘Here,’ instructed Harry.
Dan crouched down next to Harry’s armchair and stared at the familiar notebook page in Harry’s hand. ‘What am I looking for?’ he frowned.
‘This,’ said Harry. He tilted the page until the glow from the fireplace illuminated it from behind.
Dan grabbed the page and held it still. ‘You’re a genius, Harry.’
In the light of the fire, the imprint of another note could be seen. Invisible to the eye when the page was held flat, it jumped out once silhouetted from behind.
‘Can you read it?’ asked Harry.
‘Looks something like the letter D. Maybe an E. Is that a C? Christ, his writing’s bad. Then there’s some numbers. Six. One. Seven. Three?’
Dan sat back on his heels. ‘What the hell does that mean?’
Harry glanced down at the page and tilted it towards the firelight. ‘There’s a plus sign in front of the six.’
They looked at each other. Then spoke simultaneously.
‘It’s a phone number!’
‘Where’s your phone book?’ asked Dan.
‘Hallway.’
Dan jumped up and ran from the room. He saw a small table next to the front door and pulled the phone book out from one of the shelves. He walked quickly back to the room, desperately flicking the pages.
‘Found it?’ asked Harry.
Dan shook his head and kept turning the pages. He growled in frustration.
‘Dan – slow down,’ said Harry. ‘Just start at the beginning and work methodically.’
Dan perched on the arm of his chair. He turned one page at a time, running his finger down the country listings. He flipped the next page – and there it was.
He walked over to Harry and showed him.
Harry looked at the number, then up at Dan.
‘Looks like you’re going to Brisbane.’
Chapter 12
London, England
David sifted through the documents strewn across the walnut-coloured boardroom table. He chewed on a ragged thumbnail thoughtfully as he turned over pages. He rubbed his hand over his forehead wearily. He felt tired and was becoming increasingly aware that a permanent frown line was developing from the sheer concentration of the past few months.
He picked up a document, caught his finger on a staple, and swore. He flicked through the pages, which contained copies of mining leases, exploration permits and equipment leasing contracts.
‘Exactly how many gold mines has Delaney purchased?’ he asked his assistant.
Philippa looked up from the document she was reading and pushed her glasses up onto her head as a hair band. She brushed a stray flame-red strand of hair out of her eyes and looked at her boss.
‘Twelve in the past four years,’ she said. ‘He started off slow – bought one out in Queensland then seems to have become a bit obsessed with it. Five out of the twelve were purchased last year – all under different company names of course and a bitch to trace according to our mergers and acquisitions expert.’
David swore under his breath. ‘How many has he purchased in Australia?’
Philippa dropped her glasses back onto the bridge of her nose and consulted her notes. ‘Nine. The others are in South Africa and Eastern Europe purchased through his UK subsidiary.’
‘Any in the United States?’
Philippa shook her head. ‘He’s never bothered with the US – he probably thought that if he started purchasing companies there now, it’d raise a bloody big flag for us to see.’
David grunted and put down the document. He sank into one of the faux leather chairs and pulled a manila-coloured folder towards him. Flipping it open, he started to empty the contents onto the table.
Philippa looked up at the sound of him tipping out the papers and frowned at him. It had taken her two days to organise everything into a coherent library of information. David ignored her and sifted through the new documents strewn across the table in front of him.
He pushed the paperwork to one side and collected all the photographic evidence together. Then he slouched back in his chair, and worked his way methodically through the pictures.
Some were aerial photographs, obtained from US spy satellites. David inwardly groaned. He could only imagine the sort of favours his contact at the National Security Agency would call in over the ensuing years for capturing the images. He glanced up at Philippa.
‘How on earth did you convince the NSA to get photos of Australia?’ he wondered.
She didn’t look up from her work. Just smiled. ‘I told them we’d heard a rumour terrorist cells were possibly using the outback as a training ground in some places.’