The cargo hold resembled a large underground car park. Vehicles had been parked tightly together by the stevedores at Singapore. Four steel rope lashings held each car securely – two at the front and two at the rear of the vehicle to prevent any movement during the voyage.
Brogan walked between the lines of cars, occasionally stopping to check the tautness of the steel ropes. If the cars came loose in rough seas, they would move in the cargo hold and the combined shift in weight could sink the ship. The lashings creaked with the motion of the ship. Brogan nodded to himself, satisfied.
He made his way slowly to the front of the cargo hold, near the loading doors. As he walked around each of the vehicles, he bent down and checked the floor beneath them.
‘What are you doing?’
Brogan jumped. Another one of the hijackers stood behind him, an assault rifle resting across his folded arms. Brogan stood up.
‘I was just going round checking we didn’t have any fuel leaks. All these were loaded onto the ship with a full tank of petrol. We don’t want any accidents.’
The man grunted and left Brogan to carry on with his checks. The captain made his way over to the sleek black sedan parked on its own across two bays. He checked over his shoulder once more, and then bent down next to the vehicle’s front wheel arch.
Reaching under his thick sweater and into the waistband of his jeans, he drew out a small flat object. Sliding a switch on the side of it, he checked as a red LED light began to flash next to the switch. He reached forward and felt with his hand into the wheel arch until he found a lip of metal on which to place the object.
He withdrew his hand and untied his bootlace. He shuffled slightly in his crouching position and re-tied it to kill some time, then stood up slowly. He risked a glance around the hold, and saw one of the hijackers watching him.
He nodded, acknowledging his presence.
‘Can’t risk loose bootlaces round here,’ he shrugged. ‘Too many trip hazards.’
The other man nodded, then held up his gun and gestured for Brogan to move along. Brogan worked his way back through the rows of cars, back to the main staircase. The ship’s transponder might have been destroyed, he thought, but if anyone’s looking for the ship, they would now find the signal from the sedan somewhere in the middle of the Arctic.
Brisbane, Australia
Stephen Pallisder closed the door to his study, sat in the leather chair behind his desk and closed his eyes. Outside, his two children played in the garden, the sound of their shouts and laughter filtering through the window. He opened his eyes and reached out for the family portrait he kept on his desk. He held it carefully in his hands and smiled. It had taken half an hour just to get the kids to sit still and even then the photographer had been relieved when the ordeal was over.
Placing the photograph frame back on the desk, he opened a drawer and pulled out a business card. The Englishman had said to call him if he wanted to talk. Pallisder ran his hand over his face, feeling the damp from the sweat emanating from his cool skin. His hands shaking, he pulled his mobile phone from his jacket pocket and began to dial. Too late to turn back now.
The call was answered within seconds.
‘Mr Pallisder, I trust you’re well?’ said the man at the end of the line.
‘We need to talk, Mr Frazer,’ said Pallisder. ‘Now. Before I change my mind.’ He breathed out, and tried to stop his heart beating so hard.
‘I’m listening,’ said Mitch.
‘I need to know my family will be safe.’
‘We’ll move them until all this is over. What do you know?’
Pallisder took a deep breath and threw the business card on the desk. ‘He’s made a bomb. I-I had no idea it was going to get this serious. I thought we were just going to organise a few anti-environment rallies, scare a few people so they’d support us – I never would have given him the money if I knew what he had on his mind. He’s mad – he’s not listening to anyone any more. You’ve got to do something!’
‘Calm down,’ said Mitch. ‘You’re no use to us if you have a heart attack.’
Pallisder closed his eyes and gulped for air. He loosened his tie and threw it on the desk.
‘Who else knows?’ asked Mitch.
‘I don’t know – he won’t tell me who else is involved. But I think he might know someone in the government.’
‘Yours or ours?’
‘Yours.’
London, England
David stalked through the office, glowering. Agents changed direction and did their best to avoid his gaze, just in case it was their backside about to get a kicking.
Philippa glanced up over her glasses as he approached her desk. ‘Problem?’
‘Come with me,’ he ordered, as he walked past her without breaking stride and headed for his office.
Philippa stood up, locked her computer screen and picked up her notebook. She followed David and closed the door behind her. David was pacing the room. Suddenly, he stopped and turned, grabbed the cord for the window blinds and pulled them shut, shielding them from the prying eyes of other staff in the outer office.
Philippa calmly wandered over to the two-seat sofa and sat down, crossing her legs. She flicked her long hair over her shoulder and looked up at him. ‘What’s going on?’
He leaned against his desk. ‘We have an informant.’
Philippa paled. ‘But I screened all those agents out there myself – they’re solid. They’re…’
David shook his head. ‘It’s not one of them.’
‘Who is it?’
David sighed and ran his hand over his face, exhausted. ‘The Minister for Energy. The fucking Minister for Energy.’
‘Holy crap.’
David nodded. ‘You said it.’
Philippa slouched back on the sofa. ‘Who else knows?’