White Gold (8 page)

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.’

David rolled his eyes. Philippa had a nerve, but she always got results fast. He’d worry about telling the Americans it was a false alarm once he worked out what the hell was
really
going on in Australia.

He reached across, switched on a small desk lamp and angled the beam of light onto an aerial photograph of a patch of scrubland. The scaling printed on the photo told him he was looking at an area approximately two hundred kilometres square. He frowned, then peered closer.

‘Philippa?’

‘Hmm?’

‘Anyone in the photo laboratory working late tonight?’

‘Probably. They increased the shift cover with the Olympics coming up. Guess they reckoned on a few more nutters being around.’

David held up the photograph. ‘Can you get some copies of this done straight away?’ He picked up a permanent marker and circled an area in the top right-hand corner of the picture. ‘Get a couple of close-ups of this area.’

Philippa stood up, stretched her tall frame and wandered over to the table. She held out a hand for the photograph. ‘Do you want a coffee when I come back?’

‘Yeah, thanks. I’ve got a feeling it’s going to be a long night.’

He watched as Philippa left the room then looked down at the remaining photographs in the folder.

As well as aerial reconnaissance pictures, the folder also contained photographs of various people, captured as they left buildings or sat in restaurants. He gathered the photographs together, stood up and walked over to a large whiteboard which covered the length of one wall at the end of the room. Methodically, he stuck each photograph to the whiteboard, then stood back with his arms crossed and stared at the pictures.

Delaney was easily recognisable. The man was over six feet tall, broad shouldered with a mass of thick white hair combed back away from his face. He looked tanned, rich, and completely at ease with his guest at a restaurant.

David’s focus shifted to the next photograph. A shorter, broader man was emerging from a chauffeur-driven car. The man was thick-set and appeared to be unused to the hot Australian summer, tugging at his tie as he clambered out of the vehicle. Uli Petrov, Russian entrepreneur – rumoured to be buying up gas commodities with a view to breaking into the lucrative European market at a rate which even alarmed the Kremlin, according to David’s sources.

He glanced briefly at the next picture. Steven Pallisder, Delaney’s joint venture partner. David frowned. What the hell was going on?

He turned round as the door opened and Philippa walked in, the photographs tucked under her arm and a coffee cup in each hand. David gratefully took one of the coffees and the photographs from her.

‘Let’s see what we’ve got here,’ he said and put the coffee cup down on the table. He strode back to the whiteboard and pinned up the enlarged photographs. He stepped back and tilted his head, taking in the increased level of detail.

Philippa pulled out a chair, sat down and began scanning through a series of financial reports.

David stepped closer over to the enlarged satellite photograph pinned to the whiteboard. The photographic team had enhanced the image and had highlighted the area of David’s interest.

An angry red felt tip pen mark circled an area of the surface, which seemed to be erupting.

David cocked his head to one side as he looked at it. ‘Philippa?’

‘Hmm?’ Philippa looked up from the report she held in her hand.

David turned to her. ‘Do me a favour. See if we’ve got any satellite images in the library that show the effects of underground atomic testing.’

He turned back to the photograph.

‘I have a bad feeling I might know what this guy is up to.’

Dan raced through the dark country lanes, braking hard when he saw headlights travelling from the opposite direction, then accelerating the car around the tight, narrow bends.

His mind raced. They finally had a breakthrough, thanks to Harry.

He risked a glance at the bundle of notes lying on the passenger seat and wondered what other secrets they would reveal in time. He and Harry had spent another hour carefully poring over the other documents, holding them up to the light in case more imprints could be found. In the end, Harry had shaken his head and started to gather up the papers.

‘It’s no good,’ he said. ‘That was our lucky break. You’re just going to have to find out what D.E.C. means – otherwise you risk a wasted journey.’

Dan nodded then, glancing at his watch, realised how late it was. ‘Christ, Sarah’s going to be worrying where I am.’ He’d taken the documents from Harry and had given the older man a brief hug. ‘Thanks for everything, Harry. I don’t think I ever said that enough in the past.’

Harry nodded, patted his arm, and then walked with him to the front door. ‘You’re always welcome, Dan. You should know that.’ He opened the door and a gust of cold air rushed into the narrow hallway. ‘Come back and tell me how you both get on in Australia.’

Dan had insisted Harry return to the warmth of the house while he hurried to the car, hugging himself against the chill of the night air.

Now, he braked as he entered a small, dimly lit village. He leaned forward and turned down the heater a little. He drummed his fingers impatiently as he drove down the main street of the village, the street lights casting orange pools of light in between the shadows. As he passed the speed limit signs on the boundary of the village, he floored the accelerator once more.

After a while, the country lane spat him out onto the main dual carriageway into Oxford. Within half an hour, he’d reached the outer limits of the city and followed the ring road back to his house. As the car pulled up in the driveway, he saw a curtain twitch open, the light from the living room illuminating the gravel surface. He took out his phone and dialled.

‘It’s okay, it’s me,’ he said as he cut the engine and climbed out. He hung up, locked the car and crunched over the gravel to the front door. An automated security light snapped on above his head, just as the front door swung open and Sarah burst out from behind it and across the driveway.

‘Where the hell have you been?’ she demanded. ‘I was worried sick!’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and squeezed her arm. ‘Come on, let’s get inside.’

She shrugged, nodded and followed him. ‘Sorry – I’ve just been so worried.’

Dan closed the door behind him. ‘Well, Harry’s got us onto something,’ he smiled. ‘Let’s open a bottle of wine and I’ll show you what we’ve been up to.’

Sarah held the page up to the light, the lettering silhouetted in front of her. ‘Do you think D.E.C. is a person?’ she asked.

‘Or a month,’ suggested Dan. ‘No idea. But that’s definitely the dialling code for Brisbane and the beginning of a phone number. So we need to find something which connects those letters to Brisbane.’

Sarah leaned across the kitchen table and pulled her laptop towards her. ‘Luckily I had this in my car, not at home,’ she said. She tapped her fingers on the surface of the table as she waited for the computer to complete its start-up routine.

As soon as it was ready, she clicked onto a search engine. ‘Might as well start with the obvious,’ she said, and typed in D.E.C., Brisbane. Then hit the search key.

Nothing happened for a few seconds. It felt like an age. A list of potential combinations then appeared on the screen. Sarah’s eyes scanned down the list, her fingers hovering over the computer mouse.

Dan stirred the pasta and added seasoning to the sauce, reached up and pulled two wine glasses out of a cupboard. He had just set them down on the worktop when he heard an exclamation from Sarah.

‘I don’t believe it.’

He heard the sound of the mouse as Sarah clicked frantically through internet pages and turned to see what she was doing. ‘What have you got?’

She looked up, smiled, then turned the laptop so the screen faced his way. It displayed the home page for Delaney Energy Corporation.

‘Bingo,’ she said.

Dan turned around, put the red wine back on the rack and opened the refrigerator. He pulled out a bottle of champagne and held it up to Sarah.

‘I think we’ve earned it today,’ he grinned.

FEBRUARY 2012

Brisbane, Australia

Dan followed Sarah away from the baggage carousel and headed towards the customs queue. Twenty minutes later, they stepped out of the cool airport into what seemed like a hot shower – the humidity was intense.

As they climbed into a taxi, Dan gave the driver their destination, sat back and felt his shirt sticking to him. Once the car started moving, the air blew through the open windows, carrying the scent of the eucalyptus trees along Kingsford Smith Drive.

Dan pulled his sunglasses down over his eyes as the taxi edged through the traffic heading into the city. To his left, the river wound its way past restaurants, ferry terminals and offices as it headed out to the bay, while cruise ships docked at the Hamilton terminal, spitting out their passengers before sending them on to the boutiques of the Queen Street Mall via ferries and taxis.

Sarah sat next to him, turning her head in all directions, trying to take in everything she saw. As they progressed along the river, she realised it twisted and turned, so she soon lost her sense of direction as they headed into the city.

Half an hour later, the taxi pulled up to the hotel. Dan climbed out, picked up their bags and paid the driver. Walking towards the entrance, his clothes quickly began to stick to his skin – the humidity would take some getting used to after the cold British winter.

They stood in the cool reception area, filling out forms. Once checked in, Sarah handed him her room key.

‘If you dump our bags, I’ll go and grab us a coffee,’ she said.

Dan nodded and, taking the keys, took the elevator up to the fourteenth floor. He waited until the elevator ground to a halt. He walked along the hallway until he found Sarah’s room, put her bag inside the door, then continued to the next room. Opening the door, he put the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the handle and dropped his bag on the floor. He bent down to pick up the complimentary copy of the
Courier Mail
and sat on the bed to read it.

As he swung his legs up, he saw an article on the front page promoting Delaney’s latest project. Although Delaney had offices near Eagle Street Pier, he didn’t appear to spend a lot of time in town and seemed to be treated as a minor celebrity when he did choose to arrive.

Dan threw the newspaper onto the small coffee table and turned at the sound of a knock on the door. He strode across the room and yanked the door open.

Sarah stood in the hallway, two Styrofoam cups of takeaway coffee in her hands. ‘Come on. No rest for the wicked. Here,’ she said, thrusting one of the cups at Dan. ‘Might as well brainstorm to fight off the jetlag.’

She brushed past him. Dan closed the door and followed Sarah into the room, sipping his coffee. He winced. It was still hot.

Sarah stood at the window, happily drinking her coffee, taking in the view. She turned and gestured at a large skyscraper towering over its neighbours. ‘That’s Delaney’s place,’ she said.

Dan wandered over to join her and peered through the glass. ‘How do you know?’

‘I got talking to someone in the coffee shop downstairs. Told them I was killing time before a job interview at Delaney Energy Corporation and they pointed it out to me. Friendly place this.’ She turned and sat on the edge of the bed. ‘I was thinking on the way back here – we need to find out more about Delaney. From a local perspective I mean. Find out if he has any business problems – you know, investment troubles or something. Maybe that will help shed some light on what Peter thought he was up to.’

Dan nodded. ‘It sounds as good a plan as any. Got any ideas how we’re going to do that?’

‘We need access to a fast computer system – and somewhere that’s not going to attract attention to what we’re going to be looking for.’ Sarah stood up, paced the room, then suddenly stopped, and looked out the hotel window over the river.

‘I know what we can do.’ She spun round, turning to Dan. ‘I know someone at ABC Radio here in Brisbane. Let’s see if she can get us in there. No-one is going to think twice about a reporter digging around, are they?’

A figure at the far end of the park stood up and waved as Dan and Sarah approached.

Sarah grinned as the lanky woman walked over to them. Dressed in a pale green skirt, white top and wearing flat shoes, she hurried over the plaza to hug Sarah.

‘It’s so good to see you! You should’ve told me last week you were heading out here – I could’ve taken some time off to show you around.’

Sarah stepped back. ‘I know. I’m sorry. It was just so last-minute. It’s a bit of a whistle-stop trip anyway.’ She turned to Dan.

‘Dan, this is Hayley Miller, assistant editor at ABC Radio – Hayley, this is Dan, a…’

‘…friend of Peter’s,’ he finished helpfully, shaking Hayley’s hand.

Hayley reached out and gently squeezed Sarah’s arm. ‘Oh, Sarah – I was so sad to hear about Peter. Are they any closer to catching the guy who did it?’

Sarah and Dan glanced at each other, before Sarah spoke. ‘No, the police haven’t got a clue…’

‘…which is why we need your help,’ added Dan.

‘Me?’ Hayley asked. ‘Okay – now I’m really interested.’ She turned to Sarah. ‘What are you up to?’

Sarah shrugged. ‘I’m trying to find out the truth about Peter’s death. I’m – I mean, we’re – not convinced it was a random attack.’

‘And you’ve come all the way to Brisbane?’ Hayley glanced around the park. ‘Tell you what – I’m just on my way back to the office. Why don’t you both come back with me, then we can talk properly?’

Hayley pushed a door open for Dan and Sarah. Closing it, she surveyed the small office then strode over to a side table and began to sweep paperwork and reference books to one side.

‘Okay, Sarah,’ she said, handing over a folder of documents, ‘Here’s what I’ve got on Delaney so far. Help yourself to the photocopier over there. Sorry it’s a bit cramped – I’m lucky to have an office at all.’

‘This is fine, don’t worry,’ said Sarah as she pulled over a chair and began to sift through the paperwork.

Dan wandered over to the window and looked out. The air-conditioning belied the fact the outside temperature was hitting the mid-thirties. He turned and leaned against the window sill. ‘What do you know about Delaney Energy?’ he asked Hayley. ‘Does it have much of an influence around here?’

Hayley nodded. ‘Absolutely. It’s owned outright by a guy called Morris Delaney. He likes to give the impression he’s a bit of a philanthropist. You know, hands out money to various arts events, a couple of high profile charities. Of course, it’s all about marketing his brand.’ She stepped round her desk, sat in a chair and indicated to Dan to take the seat opposite before she continued. ‘His father owned mining interests in South Australia. When he died about forty years ago, Morris Delaney inherited the business and just kept acquiring more and more assets. He’s a shrewd businessman, but there are rumours surrounding him that he’s very violent. No-one will say anything to the media though – they’re too frightened.’

Sarah walked over to Hayley’s desk and began to unravel the bundle containing Peter’s lecture notes. ‘This is what Peter sent to me, just before he was murdered,’ she said. ‘We’re still trying to fathom exactly what he was investigating but there is a phrase that keeps cropping up – white gold. Especially as a powder. Have you ever heard it mentioned in connection with Delaney?’

Hayley shook her head. ‘No – can’t say that I have. What’s it supposed to do?’

Dan shrugged. ‘We’re not too sure. We spoke to a friend of ours back in England and he reckons it’s to do with alternative energy.’ He stretched out his legs. ‘Not like wind farms though – apparently this stuff packs a punch if it can be manufactured on a large scale.’

Hayley turned in her chair and began sifting through a pile of loose papers, then dragged out a white card from beneath a file. ‘This might help shed some light – at least where Delaney’s concerned,’ she said, and slid it across the desk to Dan.

He picked it up and read the ornate writing. It was an invitation to a press conference – to be given that evening, by Morris Delaney. Dan held it up to Hayley. ‘Aren’t you going?’

‘Hell, yes,’ she grinned. ‘That one was for a colleague of mine but something kicked off in far north Queensland yesterday and he’s gone up there to file a report for our six o’clock bulletin tonight.’ She turned to Sarah. ‘I’m sorry – there’s only one. Are you going to fight over it?’

Dan smiled. ‘No – because I’m going.’

Sarah looked up sharply and glared at him. ‘I’m the journalist around here.’

Dan shrugged. ‘And that’s precisely why you’re not going – I want to gauge what this Delaney character is like, not tip him off to the fact we’re onto him. And I know you won’t be able to stop yourself asking some rather pointed questions.’

Sarah shrugged. ‘Okay, you go. I’ll spend the time finding out if there’s any connection between Peter’s notes and what information Hayley’s given me.’ She put all the documentation into her bag. ‘I’m fascinated by this guy – he’s manipulated laws and everything to get his own way over the years. There must be something here to give us an idea of what he’s really up to.’

Hayley nodded, then looked at her watch. ‘What I’ve managed to uncover is more information than what you’ll pick up on the internet articles, so at least you’ll get a head start,’ she said. ‘I’m really sorry but I’ll have to kick you out so I can get ready for our six o’clock bulletin and get a team prepared for the press conference – is there somewhere at the hotel you can get your head down?’

Dan nodded. ‘They have a business centre there we can use.’ He stood up as Hayley got up to leave the room. ‘Thanks for your help.’

Hayley smiled at him and Sarah as she held the door open for them.  ‘Hey, it’s the least I could do for you – and Peter. Good luck.’

‘Did it help?’

They were walking along Southbank, a ferry sauntering past them on the mud-coloured river. Dan walked a little ahead of Sarah, then stopped to look at her.

She caught up and shrugged. ‘A little bit. I’ve managed to get Pete’s notes into some sort of coherent order but I feel like I’ve still got a lot of catching up to do. The sequence jumps around a bit.’

She stood to one side to let a cyclist pass. She shrugged her bag further up on to her shoulder. ‘I thought I might go back to the hotel and see if I can reorganise it all. Follow a timeline or something to try to make more sense of what we’ve got here.’

Dan nodded. ‘Okay, well I’m going to go over to this press conference of Delaney’s – I want to know what he looks like in person, rather than us relying on photographs all the time.’

Sarah glanced back towards the river, then turned to Dan. ‘Just behave yourself,’ she said, as she swung her bag over her shoulder and headed back to the hotel. ‘And remember to bring me back some canapés!’