Dan laughed. ‘By ‘controlled’ you mean you want control of it – government, not private enterprise, right?’
David looked at him. ‘It’s the safest way, believe me. There are other things about this white gold powder you have absolutely no comprehension of, Dan. And I’m not at liberty to tell you.’ He stood up. ‘But you will help me find Delaney’s car.’
‘I’ll have to think about it. I’m not even sure I want to help you.’
‘There’s nothing to think about,’ said David. ‘You’re going to help me whether you like it or not.’
Dan stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’
David brushed some papers off a table. They fluttered to the floor as he leaned back and folded his arms. ‘I don’t care whether you use the journalist to help you, but you’re going to help me stop Delaney. You’ve got the skills, the knowledge – and you owe me.’
‘I owe you?’ asked Dan. ‘What on earth for?’
‘Because you’ve given up on yourself,’ said David. ‘I’m doing you a favour. Giving you a sense of purpose.’
‘I don’t need a sense of purpose.’
‘Really? What have you been doing for the past few years?’ asked David.
Dan scowled. He stood up and wandered over to the large office window which overlooked the warehouse. He could see Philippa and Sarah, deliberately ignoring each other, leaning against opposite cars.
‘It’s not healthy, Dan,’ continued David. ‘I’ve seen too many just bury their head in a bottle every night.’
‘Have you been spying on me?’ asked Dan, as he turned to face the other man.
‘Looking out for you,’ said David. ‘Like any mate would.’
‘Bullshit. You just want me to solve this so you can take all the credit and add another award to your office wall.’
David shrugged and stepped closer to Dan. And then punched him in the stomach, hard.
Dan collapsed to the floor, taken by surprise. He grasped the edge of the table, wheezing, a fire burning in his abdomen.
David bent down and sneered in his face. ‘I’ll give you a week. You either help me or I’ll start investigating Hayley’s death a little more closely. You never know where your name might turn up.’ He stalked past Dan and walked down the stairs.
Dan watched him go, his eyes watering. He rubbed his stomach, thinking hard.
Chapter 30
Orono-Shima, Japan
Brogan peered out the window of the freighter as the landmass drew closer. An occasional light blinked out of the darkness but otherwise, the coastline was pitch black.
‘Slow here,’ instructed Weston. ‘Keep her level so the coast is on our port side.’
Brogan obeyed and hoped to hell someone didn’t run into them. Weston had switched off all the ship’s running lights, all the lights in the cabins below and the control room. Brogan’s face glowed green from the reflection of the radar and GPS systems.
‘Okay. Now stop,’ Weston said and stepped away from Brogan. He looked at his watch and nodded to himself.
Brogan shook his head in disbelief. Weston would know as well as he did that stopping a ship quickly when it was the size of the freighter they were on wouldn’t be easy. Brogan reached out and pulled back the throttle levers for each of the engines. He did it in stages, mindful of the irreparable damage he’d cause the enormous engines if he tried to stop too fast. As the ship began to slow, he steered hard to port to add more braking power, and then straightened the ship out before the engines went completely silent.
Weston walked over to the door and opened it. Cold air filtered through the room. Brogan shivered. Not from the cold. His mind was racing. It had to be something to do with the mysterious black sedan in the cargo hold, it had to be. Weston had more or less confirmed it. But what the hell had he been paid to do?
Brogan risked a glance over his shoulder. Weston was staring out at the coastline, as if he was searching for something. Brogan followed his gaze. No beacon shone, no signal was being emitted from the coast.
Brogan knew they must have already taken a kilometre or so to stop. The ship would now be drifting, wallowing in the tidal flow.
Brogan turned sideways in his chair and strained his ears. He could hear an engine, something heading out of the darkness, aiming for the freighter. He stood up.
Weston glanced at him and grinned. ‘Reinforcements,’ he explained.
Brogan’s heart was racing. He glanced around the control room, looking for something, anything he could use as a weapon.
Weston watched him and laughed. ‘Don’t bother,’ he said. ‘I was busy cleaning up this afternoon. You won’t find anything here you can use on me.’ He turned back to watch the sea.
Brogan walked over to the door and stared out. As the clouds parted, he glimpsed a dinghy with a powerful outboard engine approaching the freighter. As it drew closer, Weston reached around outside the door and threw down a coiled rope. It fell down the side of the ship, pulling taut when it had reached its length.
Brogan stared in amazement as he heard the dinghy’s engine die then, one by one, five figures ascended the rope and boarded the ship. He backed into the control room, holding up his palms in surrender.
He looked on helplessly as the hijackers crawled over his ship. They were experienced at sea, he could tell. Orders were being carried out efficiently, deftly. Special Forces, he thought. Mercenaries.
He watched as one of the men fitted a silencer to a gun then fired over the edge of the ship. The man turned to face Weston with a grin on his face. ‘Won’t need the dinghy any more I guess,’ he said.
Weston didn’t smile back. Brogan noticed that since the boarding, he had ceased to look like he commanded the group any more. Instead, he deferred to another man who had his back to Brogan and issued instructions to the four other invaders. He turned to Weston.
‘Where’s the safe room?’