He looked underneath the silver sedan again. The oil was in the wrong place. It wasn’t aligned with the engine block of the vehicle above it.
‘Which means this car’s been moved to hide the fact the black sedan’s already gone,’ he murmured.
‘Great powers of deduction, as always Dan,’ said a voice from behind him, a fraction of a second before he felt the cold steel of the barrel of a gun against the back of his neck and then heard the safety catch as it was released.
Chapter 28
South of the Sea of Japan
Miles Brogan took his hands off the controls and checked the readings printed out in front of him. A storm warning for the waters beyond Socotra Rock heading towards the Sea of Japan remained current and Brogan had ordered his men to ensure the cargo was lashed down to prevent the ship from rolling in high seas.
At fifty-six, Brogan had more than thirty years’ experience at sea. His brown hair, bleached by the sun, showed only a little grey whilst his skin had the deep-set tan of someone who had spent most of his life outdoors.
Unknown to his crew, he planned this to be his last voyage with the freighter named World’s End. A customer, booking at the last minute, had insisted his luxury sedan be included with the cargo and had paid highly for the two berths the car now occupied. It wasn’t unusual for people to ask for this service and Brogan had gone out of his way to accommodate the customer’s request. The client had been impressed and Brogan appreciated the bonus the customer had insisted on paying him for the effort. Brogan had no intention of telling his employer but the payment was going to fund his retirement plan of sailing around the world with his wife for the next few years before settling down for good.
The owner had been most insistent on keeping the extra space to either side of the vehicle, paying to have two bays in which to keep the extra distance. The owner had even insisted on sending an employee to drive the sedan onto the freighter himself, presumably not trusting the highly qualified stevedore staff at the port in Singapore.
Brogan shrugged to himself. The client was paying a premium price for the car to be transported to South Korea, so he could do what he liked as far as the captain was concerned. After the vehicle had been loaded, Brogan had leaned down and attempted to look through the tinted windows but couldn’t see anything. He knew there was no point trying the door handles – the employee had locked the doors and pocketed the keys while smiling at Brogan.
‘You won’t need these,’ the man had said to him as he polished his glasses, ‘I’ll meet you when you reach your destination.’
Brogan had taken the money and not asked any questions. All he had to do was sail towards the port of Busan in South Korea as originally planned. Just with an extra car on board. Easy.
He shifted in his seat at the controls, settling down for the next leg of the journey. The World’s End operated with a crew of nine, including Brogan. It was a lean operation, with most crew members being engineers to ensure the freighter’s engines ran smoothly over the course of its journey.
Brogan yawned. It would soon be time to swap shifts with the first mate. Brogan contemplated Chris Weston’s reaction when he found out about the extra cargo. Brogan hadn’t offered an explanation and Chris hadn’t asked for one. He’d just shrugged his shoulders when Brogan had told him to mind his own business when he’d found the sedan parked in the hold and the captain staring at it.
Brogan picked up the microphone for the tannoy system which linked to speakers around the ship.
‘Hey, Chris? Bring us back a mug of coffee on your way up, thanks.’
Brogan settled back into his chair and raised his feet up to rest on the controls. Not in the manual, obviously, but comfortable, he mused.
His eyes automatically scanned the horizon. The sun was beginning to set to his port side, pulling clouds and aircraft vapour trails over the edge with it. Brogan let his eyes drift over the horizon, the pinks and yellows of the sunset casting shadows over the ship’s deck. He daydreamed about what sort of yacht he’d buy on his return. Home. Retirement.
He heard the door open behind him and a gust of wind rustled the charts. Brogan knew he could rely on the GPS and radar but he liked the old-fashioned charts – they seemed to hold a lot more history than the computer did, evident in the telltale folds of the maps from years of use. He dropped his feet down from the controls with a sigh and inched himself up into the chair.
Brogan jumped as Weston tapped him on the shoulder, pulled a gun from his waistband and pointed it at him.
‘Change of plans, captain,’ said the first mate.
Brogan slowly sat up straight. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, Weston?’ he demanded.
Weston shrugged. ‘I got paid more than you. And they decided they couldn’t trust you to keep the car a secret.’
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile phone. Scrolling down through the text messages, he waited until he found the right one.
‘Change our course to bear north-north-east forty-five degrees,’ he said.
Brogan frowned. ‘There’s nothing there but bare coastline.’
‘Just do it.’
‘Where’s the rest of the crew?’
Weston smirked. ‘In the safe room. I expect they’ll start to smell after a couple of days.’
Brogan felt a chill down his spine. What the hell was going on?
His hand automatically covered the controls for the transponder – the system that tracked the ship’s progress and sent out a beacon at all times to other ships in the area.
‘Move away,’ said Weston. He aimed the gun at the console and fired.
Brogan reared back from the blast, his ears ringing from the noise in the confined space.
Weston grinned. ‘Now no-one knows where you are. Change course.’