‘But still . . .’
‘Still nothing,’ she countered. ‘If you want to make Morales a priority, and particularly if you want to get to the bottom of what he’s doing raking over the coals of the Falklands with the Argentinians, then Echelon will have a stake. It may be nothing to do with us, Ty. Did it ever occur to you, to either of you, that the meaning of this information is what it is? That Morales is looking to grab up the Falklands and their offshore deposits? If that were so, there would be no avoiding Echelon’s involvement. Because the Brits would need to know.’
McCutcheon shook his head, but not in denial. It was more a gesture of surprise. As though the idea had never occurred to him.
‘Data and meaning,’ repeated Caitlin. ‘It’s all about frame of reference. General Musso?’
The de facto ambassador shook his head. He did not look happy.
‘Mr McCutcheon, this is disturbing on so many levels,’ he began. ‘Firstly, on the face of it, I agree with you that what you have uncovered should be of some concern. However, I am also disturbed by the way in which it was uncovered. You’ve spoken a number of times this morning of the need to repair relations between Seattle and Fort Hood. Now, one of the reasons that relations have come to the present sorry state is because of Governor Blackstone’s insistence on running a virtual shadow state down here. Duplicating our capabilities, usurping the federal government’s prerogatives, abrogating agreements signed in good faith, and bending us over for an ass fucking with malice – for no reason other than the Governor’s unseemly enjoyment of fucking the President in the ass whenever the mood should take him.’
Righteous indignation was turning to genuine anger.
‘Did it ever occur to you or Governor Blackstone that by running your own foreign intelligence service, you could potentially be crossing over with legitimate operations of the National Intelligence Agency, or any of the service intelligence agencies, or Echelon or allied agencies, with whom, I both hope and presume, you would have no formal or informal liaison arrangements?’
If he meant to unsettle or intimidate McCutcheon, he failed. Blackstone’s aide waved off the attack.
‘We took our concerns to Seattle and they blew us off,’ McCutcheon replied. ‘I can understand that. The President has a lot more to worry about than half-a-dozen wrinkled old fascists coming out of retirement to dance the Macarena for Roberto. But we are a lot closer to what we perceive as a growing problem down here and, granted, we don’t have national responsibilities to divert us. Governor Blackstone is a big believer in self-sufficiency. This is a problem. We decided in the first instance to look into it ourselves. We decided it’s bigger and more complicated than even we imagined, so we’re kicking it upstairs to the big boys. We figured you’d be happy about that. It’s a growth experience for us. We’re learning to let go and trust you.’
‘Oh, spare me . . .’
‘Gentlemen, please. I don’t know how many times I have to say the politics are irrelevant. At least for the moment. Can we at least agree that we’ll deal with this as quickly as possible?’
‘So you’re on board for the big win?’ asked McCutcheon, sounding hopeful.
‘I will prepare a threat assessment for Mr Culver,’ she promised. ‘And I’ll make sure it gets to him with priority, but that will require some give on your part. As much as the domestic politics are irrelevant, they’re also inevitable. You’re just going to have to accept that, Ty. The NIA, in particular, are going to be pissed.’
‘Oh, those weenies are always pissed. It’s their natural state of being.’
‘Well, for once they’ll have reason to be,’ Caitlin stated firmly. ‘Nobody’s saying you can’t gather intelligence. Or that you shouldn’t. But if you’re going to do it, would it kill you to let us know?’
McCutcheon was gracious enough to look abashed. ‘I suppose not. As long as we know we’ll be taken seriously.’
‘That I can guarantee,’ she said. ‘I’ve only been working for the Chief of Staff for a short time, but he impressed me as man who takes threats seriously. Now, if we can finish reviewing these files, we should talk to the Governor again before heading back to Temple and reporting in. Then, if you have no objections, I would like to set up an office over here.’ She framed the statement as a question and left it hanging.
‘Colonel Murdoch, are you sure about that?’ asked Musso.
‘I’m sure I need to be here, sir, but whether or not they will have me is another matter.’
She smiled at McCutcheon, suffusing more warmth into the gesture than she’d allowed herself to display all morning. He still seemed a little nonplussed by the suggestion, but as she suspected, Tyrone was a sucker for a pretty girl.
‘Well, I’m sure we’d love to have you for a sleepover, Kate, if General Musso can bear to let you out of his sight.’
‘Good,’ said Caitlin. ‘I’d like to wrap this up as quickly as possible.’
44
DARWIN, NORTHERN TERRITORY
Julianne had called a taxi for the trip from Doctors Gully out to Coonawarra Base Hospital, before adding the number to the phone’s contacts list, growing ever more adept at negotiating the Nokia’s wealth of functions. Her new jacket was just long enough to conceal the SIG Sauer holstered in the small of her back, but she’d have to be careful about bending over or raising her arms. Not a good look for a young lawyer on the rise, letting everybody know you’re armed. Even in free-port-era Darwin. On the other hand, she’d been able to augment her disguise after coming across a pair of suitably bookish-looking spectacles in a bedside drawer, obviously left behind by the previous occupant.
She shouldn’t have been surprised when Shah’s man Granger turned up to drive her to the hospital. But she was, just a little. She’d become so used to the idea of her invisible security blanket that there were times when she wondered whether they were there at all.
‘Nah, you’re stuck with us now, mate,’ Granger told her.
‘But how did you even know to come and get me? I just called the switchboard.’
‘Magic!’ he said in a stage whisper. ‘So your mate’s over at the Coonawarra, is he? Fuckin’ swish. It’s where I’d want to be if I got my arse blown up.’
Granger put the car into drive and pulled out, heading back towards the city centre.
Jules, still holding the phone in her hand, was surprised to see the screen light up, displaying a Microsoft Where 2 map. A blue dot moved slowly along the representation of the street they were driving down. The stupid-looking paperclip with the big cartoon eyes was back, though, jumping up and down and pointing at the dot. A speech bubble appeared next to it. I see you are travelling to your destination, it read. Would you like directions?
‘What the fuck . . .’
Granger looked over and down at the handset in her lap. ‘Oh, not fucking Clippy,’ he grunted. ‘Do you mind?’
She passed the phone over to him. A series of quick, bewildering thumb gestures later and the Australian handed it back, without the animated paperclip.
‘Fucking Microsoft,’ he said. ‘If only the Wave had been just a little bit bigger. Used to be an Apple man myself. Fucking sad, eh?’
For the next few minutes they drove north, as if heading out to Shah’s compound. Granger explained that the hospital, like so much of the city, was new. It had been built over the bones of an old naval base, eccentrically located some distance inland. Like the army, Australia’s senior service had been persuaded to give up a piece of valuable real estate by the promise of a massive new facility, including the docks currently being built to home-port the Combined Fleet not far from her motel.
‘Had to happen,’ added Granger, as they slipped past the turn-off near the airport that would have taken them on to Shah’s. ‘There were so many new people in town, the place was bursting at the seams. They needed to build new everything – roads, houses, bloody hospitals. There was plenty of land, but not everybody wants to live next to a military base. They’r
e noisy. Things go boom all the time.’
Darwin International Airport looked even busier than the last time she’d driven past. A couple of jet fighters screamed down the main runway, moving so quickly it was difficult to make out the markings on their tails, but she thought she recognised the Singaporean flag. A massive construction zone glided by on the right, looking for all the world like an open-cut mine. A small patch of bare waste ground separated the cyclone fencing on the eastern edge of the building site from a multi-level car park belonging to the new hospital.
‘Used to be a detention facility, a jail for illegal migrants,’ said Granger, indicating the massive structure. ‘Course, they had to move that as well, once they started getting hundreds of boatloads of reffos turning up every week. Got a huge place out in the desert now. Fucking Sandline got the contract for that. They can have it, for all I care.’
Jules could see no evidence of the site’s former use. To her, the campus of the Coonawarra Base Hospital looked like a modern business park, with gleaming white and blue glass offices separated by verdant walking paths that must have been watered constantly to keep them such a lustrous green. Young saplings stood at short, regular intervals, and would eventually shade most of the grounds.
‘So the development authority built this too?’
‘With a bit of federal money, yes, but mostly it was the FPDA.’
She took that in without comment. The money and power politics reminded her of some of the Asian Tiger capitals back in the early ’90s, before their economies imploded. She didn’t imagine that would happen here. Darwin seemed to be thriving as the terminal point for insane volumes of money seeking shelter from the torments of the post-Wave world. Pete would’ve loved this, she thought.
Yes, poor Pete Holder, her former doofus in crime on board the old Diamantina, he would’ve seen a dollar to be made at every turn, especially somewhere like New Town. Jules could only begin to imagine the trouble he’d have landed in there.
‘Fuck, forgot to put the meter on,’ Granger said as they pulled up at the main entrance to the hospital. ‘Guess we’ll call it a freebie.’
‘I don’t know how long I’ll be here, Mr Granger, or even whether I’ll get to see Rhino,’ she told him, preparing to step out into the blistering heat. ‘Will you be around?’
‘We’re always around, love,’ he replied. ‘Just call for a taxi using that same phone. Me or one of the other boys will turn up.’
‘And the other boys, they would be . . .’
‘Around.’
*
‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible.’
‘But I was sent out here specifically to talk with him,’ said Julianne, trying her best to match the officious tone of the matron. She’d dealt with this type before: punishing old dykes of a kind often found in large institutions populated by women. They being boarding schools, hospitals and female prisons.
‘I’m sure I could not care less about what you were sent out here to do, young lady. Mr Ross is under deep sedation. An induced coma, indeed. He has been very badly injured and I have very specific instructions from his surgeon and, I might add, from the police, that he is not to be disturbed. I don’t know what you hope to achieve, anyway. Do you understand what a coma is?’
Jules drew on all her reserves of patience. She’d at least made it past reception and into the office of this terrible battleaxe. The room seemed to have been decorated by the same designer with a disregard for budget as the police station at Bagot Road. The chair in which matron’s ample behind was parked, for instance, looked like about three thousand dollars’ worth of arse-planting technology.
‘Look,’ Jules said, softening her tone. ‘I’m sorry if we got off on the wrong foot. But I’m new in this job, I’m just finding my way through, and quite frankly my boss is a rather scary South African man and, I suspect, eats puppies for breakfast. If I have to return to the office and tell him I didn’t even get past the front door, let alone see our client, I fear for my safety. And for the puppies.’
She had found in the past that playing helpless and needy often worked with these old buzzards. You had to appeal to their sense of importance. This one was no different. Jules could actually feel the older woman weakening at the pathetic plight of this blue-suited pretty young thing, out of her depth, far from home, in desperate need of indulgence by a firm-handed matronly type.
‘I accept it will be impossible to talk to him, if he’s unconscious,’ Julianne went on, adjusting her square-rimmed glasses for maximum effect. ‘But it would mean a lot if I could just lay eyes on him, Matron. Make sure he’s all in one piece.’ She hesitated. ‘He is all in one piece, isn’t he?’
Such heartfelt concern for a client seemed to strike a nerve.
‘He hasn’t lost any limbs or organs,’ the woman replied, gradually losing her battleaxe demeanour. ‘But he does have some bad burns, and quite a few stitches . . .’ She held up a meaty hand suddenly, to ward off Julianne’s distress. ‘He’s in good hands, though. Royal Darwin Hospital is a world centre of excellence for the treatment of burns and explosive trauma, and some of their best people are consulting surgeons here. Mr Ross is under their care.’
‘But still, if I could just see him?’
She wasn’t going to relent, and the head nurse could see that.
‘Oh, I suppose I could let you put your head in the ward for one minute. But you must stay well within the infection control zone. Under no circumstances must you approach him or attempt to communicate with him. Do you understand?’
‘I do. Thank you.’
She had thought the matron might summon an underling to escort her up there, but apparently she didn’t trust this eager young thing to behave herself. Almost expecting to be hauled along by the ear, like a naughty child, Jules followed along in her wake. She passed through a number of infection barriers to end up masked and gowned in an observation room, where she was able to see the Rhino through a large window. She had to remind herself to stay in character as her throat clenched and tears threatened to well up.
Two nurses in bio-hazard suits were changing his dressings, allowing her a glimpse of incinerated flesh. She forced herself to remain composed lest she be overwhelmed with pity and rage. If Cesky had walked into the room, she would’ve pulled out her pistol and shot him in the face. The consequences be damned.
Cesky wasn’t here, yet he was a spectre, hovering over all of them. Would this particular outrage be enough for him? Or would he send his people back to finish the job? She resolved to shut the bastard down before he got another chance.
‘Thank you, Matron,’ she said quietly.
‘It’s very upsetting,’ replied the older woman. ‘Even when you don’t know them personally.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Jules. ‘It is.’
She bade a silent farewell to her old shipmate before following the matron out of the observation room, and retracing their steps back to her office. Julianne thanked the woman again as she left. She was just about to call up Granger, but instead found herself hurrying into the nearest bathroom, first to splash cold water on her face, and then to stagger into a cubicle and vomit up her breakfast.
She emerged, shaky and light-headed after a few minutes. The driver answered on the second ring when she eventually made the call, and pulled up outside the hospital entrance just two minutes later.
‘Jeez, you look like death warmed up,’ he said as she half climbed, half fell into the seat beside him. ‘A bit rough, was it?’
‘It could’ve been better,’ she muttered.
‘Okay, sorry to hear that. Where to now?’
She wanted to talk to Shah, but they had agreed to keep their distance while she trailed her coat about town, looking to draw out Cesky’s hitter.
‘I think I’d like to go down to the marina at Gonzales Road,’ she said. ‘See if I can find anybody down there who saw anything that might help. You know, suspicious-looking coves planting bombs and such like. I suppose ther
e’d be surveillance cameras everywhere, but the Old Bill have probably laid hands on those already.’
‘Without a fucking doubt,’ agreed Granger.
He pointed the car west for the drive to the waterfront. The driver seemed to appreciate that his passenger was not in much of a mood for any conversation.
Julianne closed her eyes and concentrated on not seeing visions of the Rhino lying comatose, crippled and burnt in a hospital bed. She found she had no choice, though. She couldn’t stop thinking about the Rhino. So she forced herself to remember him in some of his better moments. Lecturing her about boutique beer in New York, for instance. Smoking Greg Norman’s cigars with Miguel on board the yacht. Flirting outrageously with Fifi while grilling out on deck . . .
Good times. Amazingly good, considering how they’d come about.
Jules was almost smiling when the other car hit them.
45
TEMPLE, TEXAS ADMINISTRATIVE DIVISION
The timer beeped on the ballistic gel mould. She gave it another thirty seconds, just to be safe, before opening the little unit and removing the small, yellow, thumb-sized gel disc. The rubbery blob was about the size of a slightly elongated dime. Caitlin held it up to the light to check the impression.
Perfect.
She now had Ty McCutcheon’s thumb-print, lifted from his bourbon glass in the bar the previous evening. Securing the print had been a matter of little concern. Musso had arranged the staff roster and spoken to their waitress before she’d come on duty. The woman, an army comms specialist in her day job, kept Caitlin’s glass topped up with iced tea instead of Highland Park, and had whipped away McCutcheon’s smooth-sided tumbler, securing it in a Ziploc bag as soon as he’d finished his first Maker’s Mark.
Caitlin stowed the thumb-print away in a small plastic container that she snap-closed and zipped into the pocket of her leather jacket. Low clouds scudded across the sky outside the window of the empty room on the top floor of the Kyle Hotel. She had a good view across downtown from here, a vantage point that let her to appreciate how much the tiny federal settlement resembled a village carved from a deep forest. Just a block or two back from the cleared streets, Temple was reverting to nature. Head-high razor grass grew thick and wild, and small stands of trees obscured the roof lines of low-set buildings that had not burnt or collapsed. A thick, dark cloud, a flock of birds, lifted off from the forest canopy a few streets away, startled by something on the ground perhaps. A feral cat? A dog pack? She’d heard plenty of both the previous night.
Angels of Vengeance: The Disappearance Novel 3 Page 46
