White Gold (3 page)

‘The increasing price of oil is just the start. Consider the fact that when oil prices rise, so do gold and platinum. Many reasons are given – the weak dollar, global inflation … except oil prices fluctuate depending on what’s going on in the world. Gold, however, has continually increased in price and shows no sign of stopping …’

 
Extract from lecture series by Doctor Peter Edgewater, Paris, France

Paris, France

Peter stood in the doorway leading out of the lecture theatre, elated and high on adrenaline after another successful presentation.
The risk was worth it
. The audience took a while to file past, some shaking his hand, others stopping to chat as they went.

Peter excused himself from the throng and began to walk back to the podium for his water glass. He took a sip, and then started to gather up his notes, snapping his briefcase shut before stepping off the small dais.

‘Doctor Edgewater?’

Peter turned to the man on his left. ‘Yes?’

The man stepped forward, and offered his hand. ‘An impressive lecture, Doctor Edgewater – I see it’s proving popular.’

Peter put the glass down and shook the proffered hand. ‘Thank you – yes, it seems to be; although I’m not sure how many audience members see this as another conspiracy theory instead of what it really is.’

‘And what would that be?’ asked the man. He fell into step with Peter as he walked out of the lecture theatre and through the ornate hallway.

Peter stopped in his tracks and considered the question briefly before answering. ‘An organised takeover of the world’s precious metal resources by large conglomerates who have failed to disclose their interests and ulterior motives would be a good start… sorry, have we met before?’

‘No, sorry, forgive my rudeness. My name’s David Ludlow – I’ve been following the reviews of your lecture series with interest. You seem to have stirred up a hornet’s nest in high places.’

‘Is that so? Would you care to elaborate?’

David looked down the hallway, before taking hold of Peter by the elbow and steering him to a small alcove. ‘Here – where we can’t be overheard.’

Peter followed, puzzled. ‘Who did you say you worked for?’

‘I didn’t,’ said David dismissively.

Peter folded his arms across his chest. ‘Then why should I listen to you?’

The other man looked at him closely, appraising him. ‘Because your life is at risk.’

‘So you’re threatening me?’

‘No, Peter, no I’m not.’ David checked the hallway before continuing. ‘I work for an agency which, let’s just say, advises the government about threats to national security.’

He held up his hand to stop Peter interrupting.

‘Hear me out. Twelve months ago, we started looking more closely into an organisation which had been actively purchasing or forcibly taking over gold mining operations over the space of two to three years. Australia, South Africa, Eastern Europe, South America – you get the picture. For a while, we couldn’t work out why – it wasn’t the usual mergers and acquisitions strategy of a normal mining company, neither was it money-laundering activities we’d associate with either drugs or terrorism. Still, we added it to our watch list.’

‘Then you began your lecture tour in Europe. The communications traffic increased dramatically – particular phrases kept cropping up – white gold, super-conducted precious metals.’

Peter frowned. ‘Well, without sounding like I have a huge ego, I would imagine that would be because a lot of what I’ve been presenting has been highly controversial – I’d expect a flurry of activity on the internet,’ he said.

David shook his head. ‘What I’m talking about couldn’t be described as a ‘flurry’, Peter. We’re talking a snowstorm of incredible proportions – some of it covert, and not ours.’

‘I still can’t see how all this means my life is in danger,’ said Peter, exasperated. ‘All I’m doing is raising people’s awareness about what’s going on – same as any journalist would.’

‘And how is Sarah these days?’ asked David.

‘What?’ Peter was taken aback. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, she’s a journalist – with a deserved reputation for digging up stories like this. What does she think about your lectures?’

‘You leave her out of this – we’ve been separated for the last eighteen months, as you’re probably aware, given you’ve been spying on me – and she knows nothing about this research.’ Peter stepped closer to the other man and lowered his voice. ‘And if you’re going to threaten me or my family, then you can piss off.’ Peter began to turn away.

‘Doctor Edgewater, I’m sorry you feel that way inclined,’ said David. He took hold of Peter’s arm. ‘I’ve been asked to convey the message that you tread very carefully. Some of the comments you’ve been making during your lecture tour could be construed by others as being inflammatory, at least.’

‘That’s the idea.’

‘Have you received any threats in recent weeks?’

Peter shrugged the other man’s grip off his sleeve. ‘Apart from the one you just gave me? No.’

David looked at him. ‘I hope you’re telling me the truth, Peter. I am not a threat, and I don’t like being lied to – my superiors are actually very concerned for your safety. If you get yourself into trouble before we’re ready to make a move against this organisation, you’re on your own – I certainly can’t vouch for your safety. We’d much rather work with you than against you.’

‘Thank your superiors for me, David. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a meeting to go to.’ Peter brushed past the other man and walked down the ornate steps to the door, heart racing.

He pushed the door open and stepped out onto the busy street. He looked both ways, willing himself not to start panicking. The lecture notes and research were in an envelope in his briefcase.

Call it instinct, but he’d decided from the outset of his lecture tour in Europe he’d need a back-up plan. He expected the conglomerates and organisations involved in blocking the research would sit up and take notice, but this was suddenly becoming more extreme than he’d bargained for.

As he hurried along the street, he raised his umbrella and pushed past commuters heading out to lunch. He turned left at the intersection, careful not to slide on the wet pavement. He spotted the post office on the other side of the road and tapped his foot while he waited for the traffic lights to change. He stepped back as a bus splashed past him. He couldn’t help a surreptitious glance over his shoulder.

He was convinced he saw David Ludlow standing with a woman, watching him from a distance, but the crowd shifted and he lost sight of them. An electronic
zap
brought him to his senses as the pedestrian crossing lights flashed green and he hurried across the street. Increasing his pace, he hurried along the street to the post office and pushed the door open, lowering his umbrella and nearly knocking over a young mother and her child. ‘
P-pardon, Madame
,’ he stuttered as he held the door open for them.

The woman glared at him with the child’s face echoing hers. Peter closed the door and turned to the counter. He breathed a sigh of relief – the lunchtime rush hadn’t yet started.

He opened the briefcase against his leg and slid out an envelope. After checking the seal was secure, he took a pen from his jacket pocket and scribbled an address on the outside.

As he paid the postage to send the package, Peter turned and glanced up out the post office window as a woman passed by. He was sure it was the same person he’d seen standing with David Ludlow.

He swallowed, and felt a drop of sweat streak down the side of his face. This was real. It was really happening. A thought raced through his head –
I was right
! It did nothing to calm him. If people really were following him, it meant his research was correct and he had to protect that.

Peter moved over to a corner of the room, away from the growing queue and took out his mobile phone. Scrolling through the contact list, he glanced outside the window again. No-one there. He found the name he wanted, hit the send button and waited for the connection.

Dammit
! It went straight to voicemail.

‘Dan, it’s Peter here. I think I’m in trouble. I-I don’t know who else to call. I’m in Paris at the moment. I’m going to get a train back to Ashford this afternoon then I’ll drive up to Oxford to do the last lecture tomorrow. I’ll call you after the lecture. I’ve no idea where you are these days so I’ve sent some information to Sarah – it’ll explain everything. I don’t know if I’ll be able to. If I don’t make it, please go to her – and be careful who you give the information to or discuss it with. I’ve already received some threats I didn’t think were serious, but after today, I’m beginning to think my life’s in danger. I’ll call you as soon as I can.’

Hanging up, Peter realised his hands were shaking.

‘Events continue to prove the rush for precious metals is real. People continue to struggle against multi-national takeovers of their gold mines, with more and more control of these resources being lost to foreign organisations. Further, takeovers are little-publicised affairs, despite the size of the organisations involved. More importantly, it would seem it is the coal, oil and gas companies seeking to control the precious metals market.’

 Extract from lecture series by Doctor Peter Edgewater, Paris, France

Brisbane, Australia 

Morris Delaney stood with his hands clasped behind his back, and looked out of the smoked glass office window. Below, he could see people dashing backwards and forwards across the busy intersection.
Ants
, he thought.
No – cockroaches
.

Tall, broad shouldered, a slight limp was the only indication of his old rugby-playing school days. He ran his hand through his white hair, still thick after all these years and cut slightly longer than his contemporaries. He tipped his head backwards and heard a satisfying crack as a muscle stretched. He grimaced, conceding that over the past few years he’d spent too much time in an office instead of being outside, getting his hands dirty.

He glanced down at the reproduction paddle-steamer going up the river, the late afternoon sun casting its shadow along the embankment as it went along, full of tourists clamouring for a three-course buffet dinner. He snorted with amusement.

His gaze shifted to the plaza below, where a small group of protestors gathered around the entrance to the building, their sad placards flapping in the breeze coming off the river.
Down with Delaney. Wind not Coal. Coal Equals Global Warming
. Apparently the London office was attracting the same sorry bunch of misinformed members of the public.

Delaney didn’t mind protestors – any publicity was welcome as far as he was concerned – it gave him an opportunity to go to the media and explain to the masses why the environmentalists had it so wrong and then publicise his latest mining acquisition.

He glanced down at the newspaper on his desk and smirked. The
Mail
always misquoted him. He tossed it into the bin. He knew his facts, even if the journalists didn’t.

Only three years ago, the UK government had received information from one of its key advisors that the country would be facing blackouts within the next five years as the old coal-powered power stations were decommissioned, because the wind and solar plants wouldn’t be operational in time and gas was so expensive. Delaney shook his head in wonder. The public always wanted renewable energy – as long as the wind farm or solar array wasn’t built next door. It made it so much easier for organisations like his to continue touting coal as the fuel of choice. Dirty, yes, but so what? Coal was still cheap, it was safe – and there was plenty to go around, not to mention export opportunities.

He noticed the reflection in the glass of his office door opening as his secretary knocked and entered the office, her high heels silenced by the thick carpet.

‘What is it?’

‘A new report from the mine – it just came through.’ She held up an envelope and stood in the doorway, hesitant.

He nodded to his desk. ‘Leave it there; I’ll get to it in a minute. Any surprises?’

‘I- I didn’t read it.’

‘Good,’ he growled. He knew how secretaries in the small city networked and gossiped; it was a strict policy at the organisation that access to senior managers’ post and emails was never provided to administration staff. Still, he figured it didn’t hurt to check and keep them on their toes on a regular basis. ‘Leave it and get out.’

The secretary placed the package where he indicated then turned and quickly walked out of the office, closing the door quietly behind her. Delaney wandered over to his desk, ripped open the envelope and scanned the pages of the report.

The equipment development had been going well. Now the extraction method had been perfected and scaled upwards, the schedule was going smoothly. Building the entire operation near the existing coal mine had ensured the process hadn’t raised suspicion.

A piece of notepaper protruded from under one of the reports. Removing a fountain pen from his jacket pocket, Delaney drew out the notepaper carefully with the nib of the pen. He had a team of security agents which monitored all reporting about his company. More diligent than a typical press agency, his agents also monitored conferences, lectures and government campaigns. If anything threatened the reputation or success of his organisation, it was brought to his attention.

A vein on the side of his head began to pulse as he read the message. His fingers tightened on the file cover. Pulling out the notepaper completely, he read it again before he picked up his phone, dialled a three-digit number then slammed the receiver back down. No need to say anything – his number would be displayed at the other end. No-one asked questions. They came when they were summoned.

A minute later, a knock on the door preceded a small man, buttoning up his jacket and straightening his tie.

Delaney waited until the door was shut. Glaring at the other man, he walked around his desk and sat down, the chair creaking under his weight. He left the other man standing nervously in the middle of the room, shuffling uncomfortably on the carpet.

‘Who have we got in Europe at the moment, Ray?’

The other man visibly sweated as he wracked his brains. ‘Um, that would be, um, Charles, Mr Delaney. That is, er, if we’re talking about someone you need to
kill
.’

Delaney pressed his fingers against his lips. ‘Shhh, Ray. Never mention that word in here, or anywhere else in my presence.’

Ray nodded, sweat patches beginning to show under his arms, despite the air-conditioning. ‘Right, Mr Delaney. Of course.’ He changed his weight from leg to leg.

‘Where is Charles at the moment?’ asked Delaney.

Ray pulled out a palmtop computer and ran a sequence of numbers. ‘London. Just arrived from Berlin.’ Ray put the device away and nervously played with a ring on his left hand. ‘He’s the source of the information you’ve just received from us,’ he added.

‘Is he trustworthy?’

Ray nodded again, more enthusiastically.  ‘Oh yes. Loves his work. That is, he’s very dependable. Tidies up nicely too.’

Delaney smirked. ‘Perfect. Tell him to get to Oxford. There’s a conference there I want him to attend tomorrow. One of the presenters is starting to become a bit of a pain. Tell Charles to get a feel for what this guy’s movements are.’ He scribbled on a piece of paper and handed it to Ray. ‘Tell him to phone me on this number once he’s had a chance to speak with Doctor Edgewater and be ready to accept orders directly from me.’

Ray almost ran across to the desk and took the note from Delaney. Retreating to the middle of the room, he opened his mouth to speak then thought otherwise.

‘What is it, Ray?’

The other man looked at the piece of paper, then at his boss. ‘There’s a ten-hour time difference between here and London at present, Mr Delaney.’

Delaney glared at the small man. ‘Wake him up.’

Ray nodded and retreated as quickly as he could from the room. As the door closed, Delaney got up and turned, looking out the window. He closed his eyes, replaying the plan in his mind.

Nearly three years of extensive research in a remote area of central Queensland followed by six months perfecting the sequence. Only two months remained until everything fell into place. He opened his eyes and glared down at the protestors.

It couldn’t come soon enough.