He started to respond but Angie stopped him. “We both stand to gain. Besides, I’d hate to think I let these bastards get away with it. The dealer’s name’s Alynski. He’s up in Queensland in a part of Australia heaving with birds found nowhere else on earth.”
“What about the wife?”
“Still willing to help, last I heard, though she’s worried about word getting back to Alynski. What are you aiming to do, catch these people red-handed? In case I have to arrange backup.”
“Definitely not, Ang. We need to get at what they’re smuggling – birds or eggs – and make them invisibly identifiable. Either that, or the crates they’re travelling in.”
He could see Angie waiting to respond.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he continued, “but we’ll worry about how we get them marked as and when we have to. We have several interesting gadgets to help with that.”
“I’ll grant you it all sounds very high-tech, but it lacks any guarantee of success,” Angie suggested. “You can’t beat catching the bastards in the act.”
Royle decided not to take the bait and instead changed subjects. “I’d value your advice on whether we let the local police in on this.”
“I think you should, or at least let them know you’re about. Now, if we don’t quickly get ourselves outside all the food will be gone. Why don’t you two use this place tonight?”
Royle was quick to accept the offer of overnight accommodation. “I’m thinking of getting out west into the dry country tomorrow. Something else I extracted from the muddle of Dan’s notebook.”
* * *
Royle was in the shower when his mobile rang next morning, so Charlie took Mindy Goldsmith’s call and updated him over breakfast.
“They found over four million in US dollars at the Columbians’ place.”
“What happened at Cordero’s aviaries?”
“There’s only half the number of birds there now, but there’s no list yet of what was on board the yacht.”
“What about Cordero’s breeding records?”
Charlie took time stirring her coffee. “Cordero wrote peoples’ names against incubator details in his records. Mindy’s matched these to names in his address book and on his phone.”
However, what Charlie failed to mention was that she had seized the opportunity to have time alone with his phone, and searched for the mysterious Todd Shepherd, the same man who called him on their way back from Sharon Morgan’s apartment. Shepherd was listed in the ‘Contacts’ folder and there were several recent calls to and from that number.
Royle glanced at his watch. “We need to get away from here and sort ourselves out back at my place.”
“Remind me what we’re doing today?”
“We’re looking for a man Dan went on about in his notes. Trapping cockatoos in the outback before transporting them up north, probably to the dealer Angie just gave us details of.”
“And you think we have a chance of finding him?”
“Dan’s notes suggest he’ll be out there now. If he is, we have every chance of tracking him down.”
* * *
Mid-afternoon saw Royle’s Land Cruiser far into outback New South Wales, driving west over the Blue Mountains as far as Broken Hill, close to the South Australia border, then north up the Silver City Highway – mostly just another dirt track – and through Sturt National Park, heading for the gate in the Dog Fence on the Queensland–South Australia border. Dropping down off the Blue Mountains, they had quickly left any so-called ‘civilisation’ behind, the scenery becoming much dryer, the main visible inhabitants now being kangaroos and numerous unfamiliar birds, including emus and parrots. Lots of parrots.
Unlike other countries Royle had worked in, out here there were no dangerous large animals. No lions or elephants, for example. Nevertheless, a whole new set of potentially serious dangers confronted the unwary traveller, in addition to the obvious ones like vehicle breakdowns or water shortage. Not least amongst these was an impressive collection of poisonous snakes, most of them worth staying well away from.
“Supposedly the world’s ten most poisonous snakes occur right here in Australia,” he explained. “The basic rule is the same as anywhere: watch where you put your feet.”
Nothing in that appeared to worry Charlie – hadn’t she grown up in a country where rattlesnakes proliferated? And she said as much.
“I guessed you might think that, but you’re missing the point. Some of these snakes are poisonous to an additional degree, plus some are extremely aggressive compared to your average rattler. Get bitten out here and there’s little possibility of urgent help, assuming you can actually contact anyone.”
Charlie picked up on the communications issue. “Cell phones don’t work well in the outback?”
He looked across at her as he drove. “If we relied on mobile phones then we’d be in trouble; we’ve been out of service most of the afternoon.” He indicated the glove compartment. “My satellite phone’s in there.”
“Anything else I should know, if I hope to stay alive out here?” she responded, leaving him in no doubt she was getting bored with the conversation.
Suspecting he may perhaps have exaggerated the dangers, Royle tried making amends. “Anywhere as wild and remote as the outback has its hazards, the trick is to keep your mind focused. Not a lot different to downtown Miami on a Saturday night.”
They were booked overnight in a remote area known as the Corner Country, where the borders of New South Wales, South Australia and Queensland all meet. Other than a small community a couple of hours back they had seen no other habitation for the last five hundred kilometres. All on dirt tracks. They were also the sole overnight customers at The Corner Roadhouse.
Royle crossed to the bar and shook hands with the owner.
“Ready for a cold beer?” the man queried.
Royle confirmed their need for cold drinks, then, formalities exhausted, he and Charlie unloaded their bags, ordered meals and occupied a table in the bar. Spreading his map, Royle ran his finger along what was shown as a driveable track, west from where they were, a hundred and fifty kilometres into South Australia, where it joined the main Strzelecki Track.
“Turn south there,” he explained, indicating the Strzelecki junction, “and it’s four hundred kilometres to the next occupied building. So, if you still haven’t got the point, this is a big country.”
He drew a circle around a section of the Strzelecki Track some forty kilometres south of the junction. “We’re looking for our man around there.”
“How will we know him?”
“He’s probably in a small truck with a big green water tank. Except the tank’s been adapted to hold live birds.”
“He got a name?”
“Mickey Bird, appropriately enough. Has convictions for bird trapping, plus a couple of serious firearms matters.”
“Sounds like a bit of a headcase.”
He nodded his agreement. “The standout parrot around here is the large pink cockatoo. I’m guessing that’s what Mickey’s after.” He saw her studying the map.
“Okay, then, so here’s my question. Won’t we have our work cut out looking for one man in all this desert country?”
“It’s nowhere near as bad as it seems,” he rationalised. “Like us, this guy needs his vehicle, and that restricts him to the few drivable dead-end side tracks. There are a handful of abandoned buildings up those tracks and my money’s on him using one of those.”
Next morning involved an early departure from The Corner Roadhouse, though not before they had refuelled; Royle had an unwritten rule where the outback was concerned: if you see a petrol garage, you fill up.
They had a lot to accomplish and Royle was keen to get some kilometres behind them before the worst of the midday sun. He took the wheel, aware of the notoriously testing nature of the t
rack up ahead: deep soft sand, dust-filled wombat holes and frequent rocks, plus numerous sand dunes to cross. Charlie entertained herself watching the scenery, beginning to appreciate what attracted Royle to the outback. After all, wasn’t this a prime contender for the world’s number one away-from-it-all experience? Almost no human habitation for thousands of square kilometres, and with some of the most exhilarating scenery imaginable. Plus of course a crowd of animals and plants found nowhere else on the planet.
Given the near absence of other traffic Royle could afford to take in some of these delights for himself as he drove. So, for the second successive morning it was Charlie who took a call for him, this time on the satellite phone.
It was Paula. “Charlie, I need to speak with Phil.”
Charlie explained he was driving, so could she help?
“Doug’s in hospital with a rattlesnake bite. Are you sure he’s too busy?”
“Whitland’s been bitten by a snake,” she explained, covering the phone with her hand. “Paula’s in a state.”
Without a word he pulled the vehicle over to the edge of the track and took the phone. “What’s Doug been up to?”
“You need to be careful, Phil. He checked Dan’s apartment – someone put a snake in the mailbox.”
“He say anything?”
“He said it was too much of a coincidence. That whoever they were, they had to be after you.”
Royle was trying to imagine all possible implications arising from this latest development. “Give me the emergency number for Warren Garcia in Washington.”
Paula read out the number while Royle scribbled on his hand.
“I’ll make sure Winnings is not sent to cover for Whitland,” he explained, beginning to realise he had been wrong not mentioning the suspected Winnings connection in Washington.
Paula sounded better already. “Be careful. Both of you.”
Royle made the all-important Washington call and then rang Paula back, confirming that a temporary department head would be arriving. But not Gus Winnings.
“Just another day at the office?” Charlie asked as he switched off the phone.
Royle checked his watch and started the engine. “What do we make of Whitland’s predicament?”
“What we should ask ourselves is not just where Winnings fits into this, but why? Is he protecting some personal interest?”
He did not respond immediately, staring instead at the distant horizon. “There’s probably no easy explanation. But if I’m right about Winnings being involved, then why not assume he did this snake thing to take charge of the Department. And, therefore, of this whole investigation.”
What really concerned him, though, was that despite all their running around, they still had no firm idea who might be responsible for Dan’s death. Or the subsequent threats to their own safety. Equally frustrating was the growing feeling, tucked away at the back of his mind, that all along they were failing to spot something crucially important.
Royle pushed on now and they soon reached the Strzelecki junction, where he turned south as he had said they would. Charlie continued to voice her doubts of them finding one reclusive bird trapper in all this uninhabited desert. Her partner, though, seemed full of confidence as he passed her the map.
“See for yourself. There just aren’t any side tracks, or none going anywhere far. Most go to water boreholes and that’s where the main concentrations of birds will be, around any standing water.”
Charlie seemed unconvinced still.
“Mickey’s difficulty is that the boreholes are mostly close enough to the main track for his trapping activities to be seen.”
“So why doesn’t he get caught?”
“Even if someone does catch him at it, what can they do? The nearest police are several hundred kilometres away.”
He pulled the vehicle over and stopped.
“Some years back I was driving through here and stopped at that borehole,” he indicated a point on the map some twenty kilometres further south. “The place was heaving with cockatoos and parked there was a vehicle matching the description of Mickey Bird’s. I knew immediately what he was up to, but he roared off up the main track.”
He paused for a sip from his water bottle.
“On the ground was a cockatoo with a broken wing, fresh blood on its snowy-white feathers. Mickey had somehow been using it to trap others. I had no satellite phone on that occasion.”
Ten minutes further south they reached one of several side tracks shown on the map and could see fresh tyre marks disappearing along it! The map also showed an abandoned building two hundred or so metres further in.
“We need to see what’s going on,” he suggested, reversing the vehicle out of sight into the track-side scrub.
Reaching beneath the seat he extracted a pair of hand radios, passing one to Charlie and slipping the other into his shirt pocket. They then headed in the direction of the mystery building, Royle tucking the Browning into his belt and pulling on his rucksack. It took just minutes to top a large sand dune and get their first view of the dilapidated building, now only metres away. Even from there they could hear what they both recognised as the sound of parrots, coming from the direction of the building.
It very much looked like they had found their man. The problem now, though, was that they couldn’t tell from there whether Mickey’s vehicle was parked behind the building, or if he was away somewhere.
“I need you to stay here and keep watch,” he explained. “Call me if he turns off the main track up towards here.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to try making some of those birds identifiable.”
He had already decided on an approach from the rear, mainly because there were no windows overlooking that direction. Reaching the building he cautiously moved around to the front, confirming there was no parked vehicle. Rusty old wire netting had been stretched across the two downstairs window openings, and glancing through each in turn he could see mostly the commoner white cockatoos, with fewer of the larger and more valuable pink ones, the latter easily identifiable by their flashy pink and yellow crests.
He checked with Charlie there was nothing moving out on the main track, before producing a small box containing a tube of superglue and what looked a lot like medicinal tablets. They were in fact a mixture of transponders and satellite micro-cards – the first normally injected under the skin of birds or other animals to identify them if lost or stolen, the second recording wherever in the world the creature had been.
Quickly he caught twenty pink cockatoos, gluing each of the two devices out of sight beneath each bird’s feathers. Then, still moving quickly, he checked upstairs where it was obvious their man was staying, taking some photographs.
The timing of Royle’s activities seemed perfect, for no sooner had he returned downstairs than he heard Charlie warn of an approaching vehicle.
“Where?”
Her response was equally brief. “Up the side track towards you, now.”
Quickly he exited the building, moving around to the rear. He heard the approaching engine stop, followed by the distinctive sound of stairs being climbed. Cautiously he sneaked around the end of the building and photographed the vehicle – the same he had seen a couple of years back. He also reached behind the adapted water tank, seeking somewhere to attach the magnetic tracking device.
Their mission now accomplished, the pair retraced their steps to the hidden Land Cruiser, where Charlie noticed the attention Royle’s hands had received from the cockatoos, though only some of the bites had drawn blood.
“We need to get away from here,” he urged. “Which direction did our man appear from?”
“From the south, presumably where you disturbed him last time.”
Royle needed to update his notebook with details of the tracking devices he had applied to the
birds. He settled back to attend to this, leaving Charlie to start heading the vehicle in the direction of first the Corner Country and then Sydney. He also made two satellite calls, the first to his Australian assistant, Madge Broome, who was already up in Queensland in his other vehicle.
“I reached Cairns mid-morning,” she explained. “I’ve not had time yet to look at Alynski’s place, though I talked to his wife. She told me where to find a young Aboriginal lad who until recently did most of Alynski’s trapping.”
“Did she mention him collecting eggs?”
“She did, mate, yeah. Mostly parrot eggs.”
His second call was to Miami, and he was relieved to hear Whitland’s snake bite had not been as serious as expected. He’d still had on his leather driving gloves and so only received part of the poison. Royle also knew it would take an extremely determined doctor to keep Whitland in hospital once he felt able to return to work.
Thirteen
Mid-afternoon, the day following their close encounter with Mickey Bird out on the Strzelecki Track, the pair buckled up in preparation for landing. Although no stranger to Cairns, Royle never tired of the spectacular views as the aircraft made its final approach, with wall-to-wall rainforest dominating the landward aspect, and breathtaking sea views from the other window. Also noticeable were the number of international airlines using the airport, from seemingly all corners of the world. It occurred to him that any airport handling that diversity of international traffic must surely qualify as a target for smugglers. Of one kind or another.
Madge Broome met them in the arrivals hall and Royle introduced the two women, interested to see how they got along together. Typically, Charlie had travelled up from Sydney in something ‘cool and comfortable’, whereas with Madge you pretty much got what you saw. And away from the office what you normally saw was Madge dressed for outback Australia; she would be the first to admit she was not strong on ‘dressing up’.
The Consequences of Finding Daniel Morgan Page 14
