Fair Game (43 page)

‘No, sorry,’ said Liam.

The woman looked at her clipboard and frowned. ‘Mr Daniel Shepherd, is that right?’

Liam nodded. ‘That’s my dad.’

She handed him a glossy brochure filled with photographs of cars. ‘I wanted to ask if he would take part in a survey we’re doing about SUVs,’ she said. ‘Your father owns a BMW and a CRV.’ She half turned and pointed at the two cars in the driveway. ‘Which one does your father usually drive?’

‘The X3,’ said Liam.

‘That’s good because we wanted to ask him about his driving experiences and offer him a test drive of the new BMW X6.’

‘Really?’ said Liam. ‘The X6 is a cool car. Really cool.’

The woman smiled. ‘You’re a fan, are you?’

‘Of the X6? Sure.’

‘So when will your father be back? As soon as we do the survey he can get the test drive. We’ll deliver it and let you have it for a day or two.’

Liam sighed. ‘I don’t know when he’ll be back, actually.’

The woman clicked a ballpoint pen. ‘If you give me his mobile phone number I’ll give him a call.’

‘That won’t work,’ said Liam, looking at the brochure. ‘He’s not in England. And he always turns his mobile off when he’s away.’

‘Oh dear.’ The woman sighed. ‘That’s not much fun, is it? What job does he do that keeps him away from home for so long?’

‘He’s a policeman, sort of.’

‘Sort of?’ The woman chuckled. ‘How can he be sort of a policeman?’

‘He’s not really a policeman. But he used to be.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s complicated.’

The woman put her pen away. ‘Probably best if I come back again in a week or so, then,’ she said. ‘You can keep the brochure. What’s your name?’

‘Liam,’ he said. ‘Thanks.’

‘Is your mum home?’

Liam shook his head. ‘She’s dead.’

‘Oh, honey, I’m sorry.’

Liam shrugged. ‘It’s OK. It was a long time ago.’

‘So who looks after you?’

‘Katra. She’s an au pair.’

The woman smiled. ‘That’s good,’ she said. ‘You take care now.’ She waved and walked down the path.

Liam closed the door and went back to the sitting room. ‘Who was it?’ called Katra from the kitchen.

‘No one,’ said Liam, dropping down on to the sofa and picking up his exercise book.

Chris Thatcher looked at the clock on the wall. It was just after ten o’clock in the morning. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Let’s give it another go.’

Charlotte Button nodded and hit the button to dial the number of the sat-phone on the
Athena
. They were both wearing headsets but Button had removed the microphone from hers. She had a notepad and pen in front of her.

The phone rang out and was answered after half a dozen rings. Thatcher was holding the handle of his coffee mug in his right hand and a bright orange stress ball in his left. He squeezed the ball as he spoke. ‘Blue? This is Chris. Is everything OK?’

‘You have my money?’

‘Blue, you know it isn’t as easy as that. We have to talk to the insurance company, it’s their money. And they say that ten million dollars is not possible. You know that nobody pays ten million dollars for a ship.’

‘The
Athena
is a big ship with many containers.’

‘Yes, but the insurance company says that it won’t pay ten million dollars. I’m sorry, I’m as upset as you. I’m on your side, Blue. I want to get the crew back with their families and I will do whatever is necessary to do that.’

‘So pay me ten million dollars.’

Thatcher smiled at Button. He seemed relaxed but his left hand was working the orange ball hard. ‘They say they won’t pay ten million dollars.’

‘How much will they pay?’ asked Blue.

Thatcher sighed theatrically. ‘They say that the ship’s insurance policy only allows them to pay two million dollars.’

‘Liar!’ shouted Blue.

‘Blue, I’m telling you the truth,’ said Thatcher, speaking slowly and clearly. ‘They’ve told me that they can pay two million dollars. They have the money ready. You can have it right away.’

‘Two million is not enough!’ shouted Blue. ‘I will kill the hostages! They will die and you are to blame.’ He cut the connection.

Thatcher took off the headset. ‘That went well,’ he said.

‘You’re not worried that he’ll carry out his threat?’ asked Button.

Thatcher shook his head. ‘They rarely kill the hostages,’ he said. ‘And it’s early days yet. He’s just playing his part, the same as we are.’ He looked across at Yusuf. ‘What do you think?’

The Somali nodded thoughtfully. ‘He is tense,’ he said. ‘But I think that is the khat.’ He smiled at Button. ‘They tend to chew a lot of khat while they are on the skiffs. The boats are small and the seas are rough and the khat helps prevent seasickness. But khat is also a stimulant, and I think that’s why he sounded so aggressive.’

‘What happens now?’ asked Button. ‘Will he call back?’

‘He’s left the ball in my court,’ said Thatcher. ‘Now he’ll wait for us to phone him. And we can’t do that too quickly because then we’ll appear too eager.’

Button nodded. ‘It’s a mind game,’ she said.

Thatcher nodded. ‘On both sides,’ he said. ‘But he’s up against experts. We’ll get him to do exactly what we want, don’t worry.’

Shepherd finished eating an apple, took a swig from a bottle of water, then checked his watch for the hundredth time. It was one o’clock in the morning. He switched on the sat-phone but after several minutes it had failed to log on to a satellite. He figured that the container was blocking the signal so he eased himself out and down to the walkway, then crept across to the starboard deck. He took a quick look left and right, then went back along to the bow. By the time he’d crouched down by one of the two huge anchor chains the sat-phone had a signal. He phoned Charlotte Button but kept the call short, talking just long enough for her to log on to his position, which was now just twenty miles off the coast of Yemen. Button gave him a rundown on the negotiations and then ended the call. Shepherd phoned Martin O’Brien to check that he was ready to go and then switched off the sat-phone to conserve what power it had left. He knew that he should go back to his container but he couldn’t face sitting in the metal box all night so he stayed where he was, staring out to sea and allowing the wind to blow across his face.

At some point he fell asleep but he was jerked awake by the sound of the massive anchor chains playing out. They had stopped and were dropping the anchors. It was still dark and according to his watch it was just after four o’clock. He’d only been sleeping for half an hour. He got to his feet, checked the starboard deck was clear and then hurried back to his hiding place.

The captain looked across at Blue. ‘The anchors are down,’ he said. The pirate was looking out across the sea, north towards Yemen. Dominik glanced at the GPS display. The nearest ship was forty miles away, sailing towards the Red Sea.

Blue was holding his portable GPS unit and staring at the display. He nodded. ‘Good,’ he said.

‘You are going to wait here until they pay the ransom?’

Blue put the GPS down on the shelf in front of the window. He turned around slowly, pointing the barrel of his AK-47 at Dominik’s stomach. ‘Out,’ he said.

Dominik frowned. ‘Out?’

Blue waved the gun towards the door. ‘Out of the bridge,’ he said.

Dominik climbed out of the chair and Blue followed him out, jabbing him in the small of the back with the weapon. Blue marched him down to G-Deck and along to the chief engineer’s cabin, where Marlboro was standing with a teenage pirate. They were both leaning against the wall smoking and laughing but straightened up when they saw Blue and the captain.

‘Everything OK in there?’ asked Blue in Somali.

Marlboro nodded. He squashed the butt of his cigarette against the wall and threw it on the floor. ‘They want more toilet paper but I told them to lick themselves clean,’ he said, and laughed.

‘Give them toilet paper,’ Blue said. ‘We are not animals.’

The smile vanished from Marlboro’s face and he nodded.

‘What about food?’ asked Blue. ‘You feed them twice every day.’

Marlboro nodded again. ‘Rice and meat and they have water.’

‘No glasses or bottles or knives or forks, nothing they can use as a weapon,’ said Blue. He prodded Dominik with the AK-47. ‘Inside,’ he said.

Dominik opened the door to the cabin. Cigarette smoke billowed out and there was a cheer from the men inside when they saw it was the captain. Dominik waved and walked in. The Filipinos were whooping and slapping him on the back and Hainrich gave him a thumbs-up. Blue closed the door.

‘What about the money?’ asked Marlboro.

‘They will pay,’ said Blue. ‘We are just agreeing the figure.’ He went back on to the bridge and placed his AK-47 on the map table, then went over to the sat-phone. He took out a small piece of paper from his back pocket and smoothed it out. It was the number of a mobile phone in London. He carefully tapped out the number and put the receiver to his ear.

The phone rang out for almost a minute and Blue was about to dial again when Crazy Boy answered. ‘Yeah?’ he said.

‘We’re in position,’ said Blue.

‘Excellent,’ said Crazy Boy. ‘And how are the negotiations?’

‘They are offering two million,’ said Blue.

‘Which means they will pay five,’ said Crazy Boy. ‘But make no agreement until tomorrow, no matter what they offer.’

‘This ship is one of the biggest I have ever seen, son of my brother. With thousands of containers. They will pay a lot more.’

Crazy Boy chuckled. ‘Do not be greedy, brother of my father,’ he said. ‘This time it is not just about the money, remember that.’

Shepherd was sleeping on his side, his head resting on his left arm. It was stuffy in the container but the air was breathable. He woke to the sound of a helicopter flying overhead. He looked at his watch. It was five o’clock in the afternoon. He sat up and ran a hand through his hair. The helicopter sounded like it was big, or very close, and for a while it sounded as if there were two rotors, but that could have been an echo. He crawled over to the doors and gently pushed them open. The ship was rocking from side to side, buffeted by the waves. The engine had stopped again. He squinted upwards but there was only a thin strip of sky between the towering containers. He didn’t want to risk going out in daylight so he pulled the doors closed and sat back on the wooden floor, wondering what was going on.

Chris Thatcher sipped his coffee as Charlotte Button put on her headset and sat down next to him. ‘Ready?’ he asked. Button nodded and tapped out the number of the
Athena
’s sat-phone.

Thatcher squeezed his stress ball with his left hand and took a deep breath. The phone rang out and then it was answered. ‘Blue? This is Chris.’

Yusuf put on a headset and listened intently.

‘You have my money?’ asked Blue.

‘I have good news for you, Blue. The insurance company say that they are willing to pay three million dollars.’

‘That’s not enough!’ interrupted Blue. ‘I said ten. I want ten million dollars.’

‘I know you do, Blue. But they just won’t pay that much.’ He paused for effect and winked over at Button. ‘But there’s a way we can maybe get them to pay more.’

‘How?’

Thatcher paused again. ‘You have heard about a yacht called the
Natalya
? Some of your people seized it several weeks ago.’

‘How do you know about that?’ snapped Blue.

‘I’m just telling you what the insurance company is telling me,’ said Thatcher. ‘They want the crew of the yacht and are willing to pay for it. If we can include the yacht crew then I think we can get them to pay more.’

‘How much more?’

‘Four million dollars maybe. That sounds like a good idea, doesn’t it, Blue? I know you’ve had problems getting a ransom for the yacht crew. This way you get more money and you get rid of the hostages. Can we go ahead and agree on that?’

‘I need time,’ said Blue.

‘Take all the time that you need, Blue. But this is a very good deal for you. Four million dollars is a good price and the company tells me that they can get that money to you right away. So can we agree on this, Blue? Can we move this forward?’

‘Four million is not enough!’ shouted Blue.

‘OK, OK, then let me talk to the company again. But we want to release the ship and get the crew of the
Natalya
back. Can we do that?’

‘I will think about it,’ said Blue.

‘That’s great, Blue. Thank you. And what we were thinking was that we could pay the ransom wherever you have the crew of the yacht. We can deliver the money there and collect the hostages. Can you arrange that?’

The line went dead.

Thatcher sat back in his chair. ‘He can’t make the decision,’ he said. ‘He’s got to ask someone else.’

Button nodded. ‘That’s right.’

‘But I think we’re getting there. This is the home stretch.’

‘I hope you’re right,’ said Button.

The entryphone buzzed and Two Knives went over to look at the CCTV monitor while Crazy Boy sat on the sofa listening to his iPod, nodding his head back and forth in time with the 50 Cent song. Crazy Boy was a big fan of 50 Cent. Like Crazy Boy, the American rapper had come from nothing to be a rich and powerful man, a convicted drug dealer who was now one of the world’s most successful rappers. In 2000 he was shot nine times and survived. That impressed Crazy Boy, as did the fact that 50 Cent had a fortune of more than four hundred million dollars. But despite all the money 50 Cent had never lost touch with his roots and his songs spoke from the heart. Crazy Boy’s plan was to one day own his own record label and record his own songs.

Two Knives looked over at him. ‘They’re here,’ he mouthed, and Crazy Boy grinned and gave him a thumbs-up. He’d ordered four hookers from one of the escort agencies that he used regularly. It was run by a group of Bosnians who brought in fresh young girls from Europe, and they made a point of notifying Crazy Boy whenever they had in a new batch. He’d been promised that the four that were being sent around were very young, very blonde and almost virgins.

Two Knives pressed the button to open the front gates and watched on the monitor as the minicab drove in.