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The Cherokee twin engine prop AL321 was taxiing along the runway. It would only be the forth departure of the morning from the Cairn’s Regional Airport. The three preceding it had been the remote mail service, a geological survey flight and a charter flight. AL321 had been waiting its turn in a quiet corner. It was carrying two occupants: a tall, bulky sixty-something male, whose silver ponytail was an oasis of hair on an otherwise barren scalp; and a squat, middle-aged woman in a white half-sleeved shirt and grey slacks. The woman had moved with a grace and defiance that belied his frame. Not the kind of woman that would be lugging around a bulky duffel bag as luggage – or it was closer to the truth to say that duffel bags were a lot more common a sight in these parts than this kind of woman: a woman with the soft touch and blistering glare better suited to business class in major airports.
The man, a more earthy typed, had given the engines a final inspection before transferring two more duffel bags from his General Motors pick up. There were few people about the airport to witness the takeoff. The local skydiving club, which accounted for the bulk of the airport’s activities, would not be doing its first runs a couple of hours yet.
The flawless take off was not about to draw attention either. The empty windsock draping its mast, there could not have been a more accommodating sky.
Furn, decked out in khakis, intently watched through roof prism binoculars the plane’s smooth ascent and lazy banking northward. Having spent half the night in the long grass on the airports outskirts, his neck had pretty much locked itself in an upward position already.
Rolling beads of perspiration started to sting his eyes. The razor sharp sun rays, however, had suddenly transformed from menace to reward. The difference between baking alive in an overgrown snake infested field and sun baking on a strip of pristine white sand were obvious enough.
He took a large gulp of water from his canteen, clearing his voice for the call he needed to get out of the way first. The finger usually used for pressing buttons had lost its nail during the previous evening’s maelstrom, something he was painfully reminded of now.
He was still grimacing when Azu Nashy answered the call.
‘Yes.’
‘How’s Canberra?’
‘Hectic. Word’s just come in that Barry Jewel’s been found dead in his apartment. It might be the Sapiens tying off loose ends. Perhaps, he should have stayed in prison, after all.’
‘Well tying up loose ends sounds like a good idea,’ said Furn, ‘and that’s what I’m doing here. In fact, I think it’s time to give Detachment 88 a call. AL321 is on route. Anticipated destination is Papua, but the CIA has given them enough tracking equipment that they can take care of the job themselves. The cargo consists of substantial illicit funds and narcotics. The narcotics will take a screwdriver to find and I’m not telling then where it is. I wouldn’t want to make it too easy for them. But assure them it’ll be worth the look.’
Nashy sighed. ‘Anything else?’
‘Actually, yes.’ The light aircraft carrying Zulma Pei and Canter Collins was now just a distant spec in the sky. Furn turned away from it with a wry smirk.‘I’m following up on a suspect. First name Jalice. Family name unknown. Part time employee at the Black Gate Pub in Melbourne. I’ll take whatever you can get on her.’
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