Ted nodded.
‘So Canberra wanted to know who was behind the deal and confi rm exactly what was involved before they wrote a loan guarantee for this big export of control systems to this consortium. A political safety check, really.’
‘And what were the Aussies really selling?’
‘Uranium-enrichment codes, for running the centrifuge cascades and the camera fl ashes and vacuum processes.’
‘Heart and soul of a nuclear weapons program, right?’
‘A South African would know,’ said Mac, smiling.
‘Don’t get cheeky, mate! So what happened?’ said Ted.
‘The two Aussie businessmen were executed on the Shangri-La tennis courts, and my partner on the op - who was playing tennis with them - was shot twice. She’s now recovering under guard at the British compound.’
‘Shit!’ said Ted, looking out to sea.
‘And for good measure they had a hit man posing as a room-service guy who came up to see me - and probably her. He missed me by twenty seconds. It was a fl uke. Dumb luck.’
‘And you think Tony - and Vi - were killed the same afternoon?’
‘Almost certain. Wipe the slate clean.’
Silence sat between them. Ted wanted to know and Mac was too embarrassed to say.
‘So, you’re down here -‘ Ted began.
‘My people ordered me out of Jakarta.’
‘Why?’
Looking at him in the glow of the fl ares, Mac thought very hard about what he was going to say next. It was against every instinct to tell anything to someone from another intelligence agency, even if they had retired. ‘Because they think I’m peddling conspiracy theories, told me I’ve been hanging around with the boys from BAIS
and Mossad for too long.’
‘What’s the theory?’
‘Six years ago, two mini-nukes were stolen from the Israelis. One was -‘
‘Used in Kuta?’
Mac stared at Ted, shocked. ‘You know this?’
‘We jointly developed the mini-nuke with Israel. Did joint testing in the Indian Ocean in the late seventies.’
‘So?’
‘Well, I’m not sure -‘
‘Come on, Ted, I’ve spilled.’
‘It’s complex.’
‘I need to know, Ted,’ Mac insisted. ‘I think that second nuke is on its way to Australia.’
Ted sat up at that. ‘Australia?!’
Nodding, Mac kept it simple. ‘It disappeared from its storage place yesterday and we’re pretty sure it’s being peddled to JI’s Mantiqi Four, the JI cell responsible for bombing down here.’
‘Holy shit,’ said Ted, his eyes focusing downward.
‘So where does South Africa fi t in?’ asked Mac.
‘Well, it’s embarrassing.’
‘So blush - I just need to know.’
Clearing his throat, Ted fi ddled with his wineglass. ‘You heard of a person called Hassan Ali?’
Mac nodded, unable to speak.
‘Well, a bunch of old brothers -‘
‘You mean, white guys from MID?’ said Mac, referring to the old South African Military Intelligence Division.
‘Let’s not name names, eh Alan?’
Mac nodded and drank.
‘The brothers were being kept around by the new regime, but with no tenure. We were being used and then dumped and then re-employed. One day you could be standing in front of some tribunal, being accused of genocide. Next thing you know, you’re in the new Air Marshal’s offi ce designing a covert action against Mugabe. It’s been a shit-fi ght, mate.’
‘Yeah?’
‘In the late 1990s, the new regime found out that a number of the old nukes jointly tested by Israel and South Africa were being stored by the Israelis,’ said Ted, shaking his head, as if annoyed with himself.
‘Anyway, the new regime wanted them back. They were safely stored in the Negev, no threat to anyone, but these Marxist politicians in the new regime demanded their return. It was a point of African pride, they said. They wanted a nuclear military.’
‘What did the Israelis say?’
‘Weren’t keen. All but said that deal had been with another government. But then the new regime started stirring the White House, which under Clinton couldn’t be seen to be discriminatory to the new regime in South Africa.’
Mac picked up. ‘So they warn the Israelis, Just give the South Africans their goddamn nukes or we’ll stop sending our cheques?’
‘That’s it.’
‘What happened then?’
Ted exhaled, face regretful. ‘A bunch of us did something very stupid.’
‘What?’
‘We contracted Hassan, who at this stage was a well-known handler and transporter of nukes for Dr Khan.’
‘Fuck’s sake,’ said Mac, everything becoming clearer. ‘You didn’t -‘
‘Yes, Alan - we did.’
‘Not Hassan!’
‘He was the best - he was deniable,’ said Ted.
‘He’s a psycho.’
‘Thanks for the tip.’
Pretty much the full story came out of Ted over the next hour. How a bunch of old MID stagers raided the last of their corporate fronts’
bank accounts from the old days, bought Hassan’s services with the intention of having the nukes stolen and then destroyed. There were nine nukes that the South African government laid claim to - all of the sub-5-kiloton variety - and the Israelis had declared seven of them either inoperable or unstable. So they shipped two.
Hassan’s team had swooped on the six-thousand-container Aden Lady as she steamed out of the Gulf of Suez and into the Red Sea in February 2001. They had jumped off from Al Wajh in Saudi Arabia, seized the two mini-nukes and fl own off into the dark.
The brothers never saw their nukes.
‘It sounds too easy,’ mused Mac.
‘Yeah, well,’ said Ted, with rheumy eyes. ‘You know how it goes.’
‘Do I?’ asked Mac.
Ted looked away. ‘Jesus, as soon as you sat down in the Sierra I knew you were trouble.’
‘Just saying -‘
‘Okay, Alan, but only because I’m old and ashamed, not to mention a little drunk.’
‘And you see a chance to get the bastards who killed Tony and Vi?’
‘And that too,’ he said. ‘You’re right, it was too easy: fi nding the right container, at night, on a fully laden container ship? That’s hard, mate. But turning the whole op around in eleven minutes? That’s impossible.’
‘So, insiders? The Israelis were in on it?’
‘Half right. There were security mercenaries on board, but they were all shot. Hassan sent a frogman team on fi rst to soften it up. They knew where the security was.’
‘So, why not the Israelis?’
‘Because they weren’t doing the shipping.’
‘Who was?’
‘The Israelis didn’t trust the new regime in Pretoria and Pretoria didn’t trust the Israelis. So Tel Aviv organised a neutral intelligence outfi t to broker the hand-back. I always thought it was those guys who were the insiders.’
‘Who?’ asked Mac.
‘Our friends in London,’ snorted Ted.
CHAPTER 52
The RAAF Hawker Falcon corporate jet collected Mac at Marcoola airport on the Sunshine Coast at six am and brought him straight to Sydney. Easing back in the light brown leather seat, Mac looked out on the tarmac of the government annexe of the airport as a silver Ford Fairlane was driven to the stationary plane.
He’d used the trip to have another look at Freddi’s second latent from the Galaxy Hotel pad. There were a few lines, if you looked closely, and there were what looked like Hebrew or Arabic scrawls.
Perhaps not useless, but not obvious. It was disappointing.
A clanging of aluminium steps presaged the arrival of the Brass and suddenly the small cabin was fi lled with suits. Leading them was Greg Tobin, the ever-bouncy, glamour-prince of Aussie intelligence who, a
t the age of forty, had got the job most of his predecessors had not been offered till they’d been at least fi ve years older.
‘G’day, Macca,’ said Tobin, putting out his hand. Tobin sat in the facing seat, crossed his legs, peered out the window and shot his expensive cuffs. He was a good-looking, athletic man with a habit of speaking in short grabs, which irritated the serious thinkers of intelligence.
Mac looked up and saw a face he knew from the Nudgee dorms: Dave Urquhart. ‘Hi mate,’ said Urquhart. ‘Been in the wars, huh?’
Urquhart took the rear-facing seat on the other side of the aisle.
An APS bodyguard in a cheap blue suit walked back to the cabin door and stood lookout.
‘So, we’ve been talking with the Queensland cops - nasty business, eh?’ Tobin started.
Mac nodded.
‘So, Macca,’ said Tobin, discomfi ted. ‘What were you doing there?’
‘In Noosa?’ asked Mac.
‘Yeah - thought you were going home?’
Holding his temper in check, Mac went with it. ‘I was, but I had to check on Tony. He hadn’t answered his phone for almost three days and his voicemail was locked out, which means -‘
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ said Tobin. ‘So how did you fi nd him?’
‘Tony?’
‘No one at the fi rm knew his address.’
‘I found out, fi eld work … Look, Greg. We have some bigger things to talk about here.’
‘Hmm?’
‘I mean, there are circumstances around this -‘
‘Yes, mate,’ said Tobin.
Looking around him, Mac felt a sudden burst of fury. The talk he wanted to have couldn’t take place in extended company.
‘You can talk, Macca,’ said Tobin.
‘Okay. I need a guard on Jenny and Rachel.’
‘Got it.’
‘And one on … um, another girl and her grandmother -‘
‘Yes?’ asked Tobin, confused. He looked across at an ASIS employee called Sandra, who was taking the notes.
‘In Sydney …’
‘Well, sure,’ said Tobin. ‘And these people would be?’
‘Look,’ Mac began. Then turning to the wide-eyed faces of Urquhart and Sandra, suddenly lost it. ‘Guys, please - time to go, eh?
I just have to talk with Greg.’
‘Come on, Macca,’ said Urquhart, his smooth voice dripping with condescension.
‘ GET OUT! ‘ Mac screamed, lunging at Urquhart, who recoiled.
‘ NOW! ‘ shouted Mac, pointing at the cabin door.
Mac sat back, head in his hands, until the rumbling of the aluminium stairs stopped. Sitting up, his eyeballs itchy with stress and fear, he looked at Tobin.
‘Sorry, Greg.’
‘It’s okay. So let’s talk.’
‘The girl in Sydney is my daughter - Sarah.’
‘Okay,’ said Tobin, deciding not to push with the questions. ‘Got an address?’
Mac handed over the piece of paper he’d prepared on the way down. Then he told Tobin the story, from the NIME investigation through to the shootings and the fact that Mossad were looking for a second device. He left out Ted’s story. He needed more time to work out what the MI6 involvement might mean. But he ended on the point that meant the others could not be present.
‘Greg, someone has been operating from within -‘
‘Mac -‘
Mac held his hand up to stop him. ‘Mate, I’m not saying it’s anyone in the fi rm. It could be someone in a friendly agency, a friendly country. Someone with enough access -‘
‘That’s a big call, mate,’ said Tobin, his mood darkening.
‘I’m saying what I know, Greg. A simple verifi cation of an NIA has pushed all the way back to an address that not even you or I knew. It was a straight line, okay?’
Tobin thought about it. ‘There’s a whole network of old spooks around Noosa. The address was hardly a secret.’
‘Those old boys are tight,’ said Mac. ‘Few people outside the inner circle would have known where he lived, and those who found out by fl uke wouldn’t have known what he did for a living. Tony Davidson was just a Perth businessman to most civvies.’
Tobin cocked an eye, looked out the cabin window. ‘Okay, so a straight line?’
‘Yeah. A new outer circle of economic operatives is hardly a blip on a terrorist’s radar,’ said Mac. ‘Davidson’s team was new, it was our fi rst gig.’
‘So why was there a shooter ready for Tony?’
‘Precisely,’ snarled Mac, happy that Tobin at least saw what he was talking about, even if he went back to Canberra to cover everyone’s arses. ‘The Hassan crew knew there’d be due diligence, and when the enrichment code was handed over, Davidson was going down. Then, Hassan’s people got nervous that it was me doing the investigation.’
‘You’re saying that an operator like Hassan would have learned of your involvement and assumed you’d be on to something?’
‘Correct - he would have at least heard the name, connected me with all sorts of stuff that had nothing to do with lawyers and accountants.’
‘But he wanted the enrichment codes fi rst?’
‘Yes. He didn’t want Canberra getting spooked and shutting the thing down. The hit was timed for post-settlement, post-handover because by then Hassan knew what we’d found out. He must have had an intercept on my phone or the email, and I reckon that required some inside help. Diane and I weren’t supposed to live - she’s under guard in Jakarta with two bullets in her.’
‘I’ll put the security in place this morning. What else do you need?’ said Tobin.
‘I need to be back, on full grade. And we’ll need military support.’
Tobin stared at him. ‘Military? Not AFP?’
‘AFP too,’ said Mac, ‘and they’ll need to do their ct coordinations with state police and ASIO. But this is a nuke and Hassan’s gang are all soldiers. If we fi nd them, there won’t be many arrests, I can promise you.’
‘Got it,’ said Tobin. ‘Not my call, but I think I can sell it.’
‘Not going to tell me it’s a conspiracy theory?’ asked Mac, still wary.
‘The dots join. Well, they join enough to at least check our borders, see if Hassan is in the country with this thing.’
‘So I’m back?’
Tobin nodded.
‘I can answer to you?’ Mac pushed.
Tobin hesitated, looked away and looked back. ‘Yes, McQueen, but you’re still economic, okay? Once I sell this upstairs then the whole CT apparatus kicks in and then it’s out of my hands and it’s defi nitely out of yours. Deal?’
‘So I’m an economic guy?’
‘Yeah, and no empire-creep with the counter-terrorism guys, all right? You know how they get. Besides, with Tony gone I’m going to need a controller for the economic team. Think about it.’
Tobin made to stand, impatient to get things underway, but Mac didn’t budge.
‘That everything?’ asked Tobin, hunching slightly in the small cabin.
‘No, Greg, there’s something else,’ said Mac. ‘Atkins tell you why he wanted me out of Jakarta?’
‘Yeah, sure,’ said Tobin.
‘It wasn’t true.’
‘You weren’t treading on a CT operation?’
Mac fl inched. He’d trapped Atkins in a straight-out lie. ‘No, mate, I was doing my job.’
Tobin clanged down the stairs, instructions pouring from his mouth. As the voices faded across the tarmac, Mac mulled a conclusion: in order to get Tobin focused he’d deliberately said that the insiders needn’t be from ASIS, they could also be friendly agencies or friendly countries. There was something in that. Maybe MI6’s involvement with Hassan and the mini-nukes hadn’t stopped with the Red Sea heist? The British might still be active in the Hassan fi asco. And if they were there was a good chance they were pulling some Australians along for the ride.
CHAPTER 53
The Falcon landed at Coolangatta at 7.38 am and taxied a
round the side entrance. Grabbing his suit bag, overnighter wheelie and backpack, Mac headed down the alloy stairs to where a large man from the Australian Protective Service stood in front of a white Holden Commodore. Sliding into the back seat, Mac asked if they could go the Gold Coast Highway route and the driver said, ‘No worries.’
They made good time north to Broadbeach and Mac thought over the conversation with Tobin. He didn’t particularly like the bloke but he had no reason to mistrust him. Tobin had listened to Mac and he’d acted, in stark contrast to Atkins’ and Garvs’s responses. Even sadder was the revelation that Atkins had lied about Mac’s recall by Canberra, the fact he hadn’t asked Mac for a report effectively sidelining him.
Mac was slightly hungover from drinking with Ted and his mind spun with what he could or should be doing about Hassan. A clear way forward wasn’t obvious. He’d told Tobin and from there it should become a case for the counter-terrorism machinery, of which Mac was not a part. If a situation presented itself, Mac would leap in. But for now he was focused on his family’s security.
As they went through Burleigh Heads, with the Norfolk pines towering overhead and the morning walkers doing their thing along the beach, Mac keyed in Rod Scott’s number in Canberra and hit the green button. Scotty liked to be at his desk at eight am and he picked up on the second ring.
‘Yeah?’
‘Scotty, it’s Mac.’
They joked around a bit. Scotty had been Mac’s fi rst mentor in the fi rm, way back when Mac was straight out of the Royal Marines and into the tail-end and clean-up of the fi rst Gulf War. Scotty had shown him not just how to be cool in a war zone, but how to be safe in a post-war zone - a much more dangerous place in some respects.
Scotty never strove for great heights in his career - there were other things he got off on - and he was ASIS’s odd-jobs man. He could tail, entrap, interrogate, induce and fi x up other people’s mistakes with some clever craft tricks. He was Old School, with an elephantine memory and a gift for deceptions and provocations. Mac often turned to him when offi cial channels were fruitless.
‘So you’re back in, eh Macca?’
‘How’d you know?’ asked Mac.
‘Phone call from Tobin an hour ago - war room stuff. Got a meeting with the Feds and Defence in a few minutes and Customs and Immigration are already on alert. Then Tobin and Urquhart are going to sell the action plan to the PM.’
Alan McQueen - 02 - Second Strike Page 34
