Jaws of the Tiger Page 15

  Dulac looked incredulously at Wade. “Really? So you don’t intend to investigate P & W’s officers?”

  “Not for the moment. We’ve asked for certain information from P & W and so far they’ve been quite cooperative. From what we’ve seen, we have no reason to suspect any foul play on their part. At worst, P & W has been lax in its hiring practices. If we were to investigate every shipping line on that basis we…”

  “We’re talking about the death of twenty-seven people, Mr. Wade,” said Dulac.

  “Well, as I say, we don’t have any reason to believe in—”

  “Any foul play.”

  “Apart from Singh, at least not for the moment.” Wade turned to Coe. “Jonathan, perhaps you can update us on workflow management.”

  Coe tapped his computer’s keyboard and the video monitor showed a new image titled Caravan Star: Workflow Management. “Here we have the management chart with all potential agencies that have information on the case. As you can see, it’s pretty broad-based and includes data from British, American, Russian, even Pakistani agencies. As the information gets typed in from the various services, Holmes 3 analyzes the relevancy of the data source in different categories, from 1 to 6, one being most relevant, six being basically irrelevant areas. The first four categories are classified by selection of categories, such as profile, fingerprints, past criminal records, memberships of organizations, criminal or not, etc. Then weaponry owned or used by the individual, individuals or organizations and their likely provenance and—”

  “Tell me, Mr. Coe,” interrupted Dulac. “Can I input data from right here, in this room? For instance, a person’s name?”

  “Of course.”

  “And will Holmes 3 analyze the relevance of the name it categorizes?”

  “Absolutely. We can give it a go. Right now. What’s the name?”

  “Try Adrian Bolding. Sir Adrian Bolding.”

  “Now really Mr. Dulac,” interjected Wade, his air one of contemptuous reproach. “This is no time to jest. I—”

  “Humor me.” Dulac’s tone wasn’t a request. Coe punched in Bolding’s name. The video flickered for a moment and the information came on line:

  Sir Adrian Bolding – Born Southampton August 13th 1958, attended Eaton and Oxford, divorced, son Mark aged 22. CEO of P & W Lines, shareholder of 19.5% class A voting shares, and 35%. Class C non-voting shares. Board memberships: P & W, P & W International, Frankfurt Trust, Bankers’ Trust, Barrick Gold Canada. Weapons owned: four 12 gauge Browning shotguns. Registered use: hunting. One Smith and Wesson .38 revolver. One .22 Remington High Power rifle. Registered use: target practice.

  All corresponding registrations and licenses are current.

  Subject’s Classification: 3.

  Dulac looked at Wade, whose rosy cheeks were slowly turning purple. “Well, Mr. Wade. It seems Holmes 3 doesn’t agree with you.”

  “Could be because of the guns,” said Wade lamely. “Besides, the computer has been known to err on the side of caution.”

  “Or it could be something else since Holmes 3 has an intuitive capacity. In any case I don’t need probable cause, so I think I’ll pay the people at P & W a visit.”

  Wade looked askance at Dulac and heaved a long breath of exasperation.” I suppose it won’t do any good if I say you’ll need to have someone from the Yard with you.”

  “I’m a big boy, Wade. I don’t need a babysitter.” Dulac got up to leave. “As you were saying, let’s not get this wonderful relationship off on the wrong foot.”

  Chapter 43

  P & W Headquarters, next day

  Dulac had managed to schedule a meeting with Bolding at 11 am. After a one and a half hour train journey to Southampton, Dulac took a cab, destination Caravan House, P & W’s headquarters. As the cabdriver wove in and out of the morning traffic in pouring rain, Dulac rubbed his arthritic hands vigorously and reminded himself why he disliked Britain. He reached in his coat pocket, grabbed the plastic bottle and extracted an anti-inflammatory pill, which he swallowed with difficulty. After a moment, the pain subsided slightly. The rain increased when he opened the taxi door. Of course. He grabbed his satchel and dashed up the steps to Caravan House’s glassed entrance. Inside, an information booth at which sat a plump woman with a significant double-chin. She raised her eyes from her desk and inspected the soaked Dulac.

  “P & W’s offices are..?”

  “Fifth floor. Take the elevator to your left.”

  “Thanks.”

  Moments later, Dulac stood in front of dark mahogany doors embossed with the bronze inscription, “P & W Cruise Lines PLC”. He entered and asked the receptionist for Sir Adrian Bolding. Shortly thereafter, a petite woman with an oily complexion and a welcoming smile proffered her right hand. “Mr. Dulac, I’m Sheila Brown. Sir Adrian is expecting you. This way, please.”

  Dulac followed her across the open room, where men and women were busy at their computers and telephones.

  “Our booking agents.” She gave Dulac a quick side-glance.

  “Business is still good?”

  “Oh yes. Very good.”

  Dulac made a mental note of the contrived answer. They stopped in front of another mahogany door at the far corner of the room. The secretary knocked.

  “Come in.” The voice behind the door was firm and commanding.

  Sheila Brown opened the door. “Sir Adrian, I have a Mr. Dulac, inspector from—”

  “Of course. Come in, Inspector. Finally we meet.” Bolding rose from his seat and make his way around the large desk. From their exchange during the hijacking, Dulac had not expected such a short person. Bolding’s deep, baritone voice seemed incongruous with his small stature.

  “I can’t thank you enough for what you did on board the Star. That took a lot of courage,” said Bolding.

  “Well, I was going on instinct alone. I guess E for effort doesn’t cut it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The ship still landed up on the reef.”

  “Yes, I suppose. But many lives were saved. Please, have a seat, Inspector. Coffee, tea?”

  “Coffee, black.”

  “The usual for me, please Sheila.” The secretary turned to leave and closed the door behind her.

  “Now then, I gather this isn’t only a social visit.”

  “Correct.”

  “Then how can I be of help, Inspector?” Bolding smiled.

  Dulac opened his computer on his lap and looked up at Bolding. “We have a problem. I don’t think the hijackers pulled this off without inside help. There is lot of, shall we say, convergence, such as the convenient disappearance of your safety officer Tajar Singh, the smuggling of weapons on board, the lack of screening of your safety personnel. In our trade we call it convergence.”

  “Yes, I suppose. You’ll know a lot more when you find Singh, of course.” Bolding leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingers together in the form of an arc.

  “I’m not waiting for that to happen.”

  Bolding stopped smiling. “I see. Then how can I be of assistance?”

  “I’d like to start with your officers. I’d like to talk to each of them. By the way, what’s the status of the ship? Will she be re-floated?”

  “We’re discussing that with our insurers at this very moment.”

  “I’ve heard they might refuse to pay.”

  Bolding’s face reddened. “Oh? And where did you hear that?”

  “Not important. Judging from your reaction, there’s obviously truth to the rumor.”

  “This is a private matter, Mr. Dulac.”

  Dulac paused a moment before leaning forward. “Mr. Bolding, let’s get one thing straight. There is nothing private in the murder of two people, the deaths of twenty-seven passengers and the taking of hostages by armed terrorists.”

  “I fail to see what our insurance problems have to do with—”

  “Nothing is private, Mr. Bolding. It will be best if you simply accept that.” Dulac relaxed his po
sture and leaned back into his chair. “First, I’d like to talk to the Staff Captain the one that replaced Peterson.” Dulac looked at his computer screen. “Peter Rhodes, I believe is his name.”

  “Actually, he’s on sick leave. He’s suffering from severe post-traumatic stress. I doubt you’ll be able to get anything from him.”

  “Where is he?”

  “At Southampton General.”

  Bolding’s secretary walked in and deposited a tray with two coffees on the table beside Bolding’s desk.

  “Thanks Sheila,” said Bolding.

  “Welcome sir,” She smiled and walked out.

  Bolding picked up his cup and took a sip of his coffee.

  Dulac looked at his computer screen again. “What about First Officer Sandra Brown?”

  “She’s on sick leave also. She’s suffering from side effects of the Bezorban.”

  “Are there any of the ship’s officers on the premises?”

  “Jeremy Tate, the radio operator. I can send for him if you wish.”

  Dulac looked at his watch. “Please. Perhaps I can buy him lunch.”

  “I’d join you but I have a previous luncheon engagement. I’ll see if he’s free.” Bolding picked up the phone and dialed Tate’s extension.

  Dulac leaned over and picked up his coffee.

  Moments later, a thirty-something man wearing an open-collared blue shirt entered Bolding’s office.

  “Jeremy, please meet Inspector Dulac, from Interpol. He’s got questions about the hijacking.”

  Tate hesitantly offered Dulac his right hand.

  “Are you free for lunch?” asked Dulac.

  “I… I was planning on having my sandwich here but—”

  “Can you recommend a restaurant nearby?”

  “Well, there’s the dining room at The Lancet Hotel.”

  “Good.” Dulac closed his computer and got up to leave. He eyed Bolding. “I’ll need your security staff employment records for the Caravan Star for the past two years, along with the CV’s and employment records of all P & W’s officers.”

  Bolding bolted up from his seat. “Now see here, Mr. Dulac—”

  “Oh, and before I forget, I’ll also need the videos from aboard the Caravan Star during the hijacking.”

  “The Yard already has those. Surely you’re coordinating with them?”

  Interesting. “Of course.” Dulac said smoothy. “I just thought you might have a copy handy and that I’d take a peek while I’m here.”

  Tate and Dulac went downstairs and hailed a cab, which wound its way through the busy docks area towards their stated destination. On route, Dulac recognized the unmistakable, dark blue hull of the Queen Elizabeth II, her elegant silhouette and nautical lines in marked contrast with those of the white behemoths berthed in front of and behind her.

  Tate saw him looking at the beautiful vessel. “Probably the last time we’ll see her.”

  “Oh, why is that?”

  “Rumor has it she’s been bought by some rich Arab who wants to transform her into a floating hotel.”

  “Like her sister ship the Queen Mary. So apart from the cruise ships, what is there to see in Southampton?”

  Tate shrugged. “Nothing much.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, if you’re into planes, there’s always the Aviation Museum. Southampton is where the Spitfire was manufactured during WWII.”

  “I gather you’re not from Southampton,” said Dulac.

  “London.”

  They left the docks area and the cab took a right along Muir Street. Moments later, they crossed the bridge over the Itchen River and entered the city’s historic section, past the decaying remnants of its medieval wall. A couple of intersections later, the cab stopped before a Tudor-style building, incongruously flanked by two pseudo-medieval turrets. A gold-lettered sign between the turrets read Lancet Hotel. Dulac paid the cabbie and they walked through the small lobby. Tate opened the stained glass doors into the dining room.

  Inside, patrons were taking an early lunch.

  “Over there.” Dulac pointed to the small alcove.

  Tate and Dulac sat down. A young waiter with a nonchalant stride approached and inquired in a Cockney accent. “Gentlemen, what’ll it be?”

  “Bitters with a twist of lemon,” said Tate.

  “Same,” said Dulac.

  “Right.” The waiter handed them the menus.

  “What do you recommend?” Dulac scanned the options.

  “The fish and chips are quite good actually. So are the lamb chops,” said the waiter.

  “I’ll have the chops,” said Tate, “medium rare”.

  “Same,” Dulac handed the menus back to the waiter.”

  “Out in a flash, gents,” the waiter assured them as he left.

  Dulac eyed Tate. “So how long have you been at P & W?”

  “Just over two years.”

  “And before that?”

  “I was with Carnival for six years. Joined them out of the Academy.”

  Dulac heard warning bells in his head. Something had to have happened to make Tate leave Carnival for P & W. That would have been like going from Manchester United to some local soccer club.

  “That’s a bit of a change, I’d imagine. P & W’s culture is quite, ah, different, isn’t it?”

  Tate crossed his arms protectively. “They’re more human at P & W.”

  “Good place to work?”

  “If you don’t mind the long hours.”

  “How’s that?”

  “We’re a bit short-staffed at the moment.”

  “Just the radio operators or all around?”

  “I’d say all around.”

  The waiter arrived with their drinks. Dulac took a swig of beer and eyed Tate. “Do you mind talking to me about the hijacking?”

  Tate sighed deeply. “I guess it’s unavoidable, isn’t it?”

  “Afraid so. You see I—” Dulac’s cell phone rang. He looked at the screen. Lescop.

  “Sorry, got to take this. Yes Daniel.”

  “I’m at the Mirador hotel in San Jose. I have good news and bad news.”

  “Whatever.”

  “I went with inspector Juarez to arrest Leon Binagro this morning at his office.”

  “And?”

  “We found him sitting at his desk. Dead. Shot twice in the head.”

  “Merde,” said Dulac. “And the good news?”

  “Someone must have disturbed the killer because he didn’t have time to take Binagro’s files with him. I was able to convince Juarez to let me download a ton of stuff on wire transfers relating to the hijacking.”

  “Good work. Anything else?”

  “No point in me staying here until they get more info from their forensics people. They say that could quite a while. I’ve told them to keep me in the loop.”

  “Fine, see you back in Lyon then.” Dulac pressed the end-call button.

  The waiter arrived with their food.

  “So Jeremy, any side effects from the gas?”

  “At first I had a few bouts of dizziness. Seems to be getting better though.”

  “I had the same. They’re gone now. Tell me, let’s talk about the hijacker Tariq. He—”

  “Bloody psycho. He killed Peterson over nothing.”

  “Jeremy, what I’m after is this. Did Tariq seem to have any familiarity, did you notice any signs of acquaintance with any of the officers or crew of the Caravan Star?”

  “You’re saying he might have had a contact on board?”

  “Don’t you think it’s possible, likely even?”

  “I guess, but I didn’t notice any sign of familiarity or—”

  “Complicity?”

  “Nothing comes to mind. Oh, but one thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “I remember being surprised the whacko guy who shot Peterson knew the ship’s speed and track were being monitored at Head Office.”

  Dulac pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows slightly
. “Interesting. Very interesting. Were all the radio and video transmissions to and from the Caravan Star done through you?”

  “Yes.”

  “They’re all recorded?”

  “There are two copies. One on the Caravan Star and the other here at Head Office.”

  “Where in Head Office?”

  “In the archives section, on the first floor.”

  “So I could get a copy?”

  “With the proper authorization, I suppose.”

  “And who is in charge of archives?”

  “Emma Watson.”

  “Is she in today?”

  “No. She’s on partial maternity leave. She only works Thursdays and Fridays. She’ll be in tomorrow.

  Chapter 44

  P & W Headquarters, 1.55 pm.

  Bolding found a letter marked Personal and Urgent on his desk when he returned from lunch with his Vice-President Finance Mills. He opened it and started to read. His left hand started shaking when he put the letter down on his desk. His heart pounded and he felt his blood pressure skyrocket. He reached in the desk drawer for his bottle of hydrochlorothiazide pills. Bastards. Bolding dry-swallowed a couple of pills, picked up his phone and dialed the Home Secretary’s number. “Sir Terence Hays, please. Adrian Bolding calling.”

  Bolding tapped his fingers impatiently on his desk. He didn’t have to wait long.

  “Hays.”

  “Hello Terry, it’s Adrian.”

  “How goes the battle?”

  “Not well. I think we should meet.”

  “What’s this about?”

  “Not over the phone. It’s urgent, Terry.”

  “I see. Then why don’t you drop by the cottage for supper? Pamela is preparing a roast. You can take the afternoon train and I’ll pick you up at Holbrook station.”

  “I’ll drive down. It’ll be quicker. I’ve got to see Toombs first.”

  * * *

  Bolding’s Bentley drove up Hays’ pink gravel driveway three hours later. The English Baroque manor Hays called his cottage came majestically into view.

  The car stopped, and Bolding’s chauffeur got out to open the rear door. Simultaneously, an elderly man dressed in butler’s uniform shuffled his way down the steps of the portico and greeted Bolding.