Dead Heat Page 11

  ‘Did they say what this bad thing was? This damage?’

  ‘I didn’t hear any of that because I had to go.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Mum called me from the kitchen, and I didn’t want to get into trouble. For eavesdropping on Uncle. Which is what I was doing, I guess.’

  ‘But you weren’t snooping intentionally.’

  ‘Yeah, but, you know.’

  ‘What else did they say? In the back bedroom?’

  ‘That’s all.’

  ‘What about your uncle’s relationship with Kylie?’

  ‘Still on about Uncle! Okay, well, it was father–daughter as far as I know. Mum reckoned she was his daughter. She said he wouldn’t keep Kylie around, otherwise. And they were close. So close it felt awkward sometimes. Like, after I made it clear I wasn’t interested in politics, they’d talk between themselves when I was there, and always about politics, which was their way of excluding me.’

  ‘So your relationship with your uncle isn’t good.’

  ‘It’s not too bad. I mean, I’m not close to him like I am to my Kiama family. And I’m not desperate to keep living at his place, either. But I want to be with Mum. And there’s work around the bay, so that’s good.’

  ‘Coming back to Kylie and your mum,’ I said, ‘did your mum have something in particular against Kylie? Something she really didn’t like about her? Something bigger than her belief that Kylie was a bad influence on you?’

  ‘Mum reckoned Kylie was bad news, and that she’d get the family into trouble. Not because she wanted to, but because of who she was. Mum said Kylie attracted trouble like a turd attracts flies.’

  I smiled and shook my head. But it was the sort of image that stuck. I looked out at the road and thought about what Jade had told me. The story about the tunnel. And Bynder and Manassa’s conversation about some unspecified damage to be inflicted on the bay. I tried to integrate what she’d said with the bigger picture as we knew it, but saw no apparent connection.

  I gazed down the length of the cutting and wondered about our would-be rescuers. I pictured them scouring the desert for us. So, where were they? Had the bikies ambushed them, as I’d feared might happen? I was imagining the grim fate that might have befallen them, when a burbling noise drifted in on the wind. It was there only for a moment. I held my breath and tuned in. There it was again. This time, it persisted. Was it our rescuers coming to get us? No. I knew the sound of those engines. The bandits were on their way back.

  I took out my Glock, pulled back the slide, and released it. I eased myself into the middle of our saltbush thicket, and Jade slipped in beside me. I put a finger to my lips. She swallowed hard and nodded. The roar closed in on us, and seven bikes in tight formation popped up over the eastern rise and entered the cutting. A rumble like thunder bounced back and forth off the walls and rattled my innards.

  I lifted my Glock and drew a bead on the lead rider. I was waiting for them to slow before I fired, but they maintained their speed and zipped passed us. The rumble waned as they exited the cutting and went over the western rim. After a couple of minutes, the noise from their machines suddenly stopped. The breeze chased itself between the rocks. A bird’s call went unanswered. I waited, stock-still, desperate for something, anything, on the breeze.

  Another noise drew my attention back to the east. A harmony of altogether different engines. Sonorous in the distance, it grew deeper and more resonant by the second. The cavalry was finally on its way. I assumed they were chasing the bandits that’d just passed. But was the rescue party riding into an ambush? Probably. And even if it wasn’t, I had to assume it was.

  I leant forward and parted the fronds of saltbush. A convoy of vehicles topped the eastern rise and rumbled into the cutting — two armoured personnel carriers, followed by three bikes and a humvee. A multi-propped drone flew a criss-cross pattern high above them all.

  When the lead APC was about thirty metres from us, I holstered my Glock, took Jade’s arm, and we slipped out from behind the bushes and moved quickly to the side of the road, our hands high above our heads. The APC braked so hard it slewed off the blacktop and into the gravel at the side of the road. Surprised faces framed by helmets rotated behind the windows of the braking humvee, and tyre smoke filled the air as the bikes came to a halt.

  Men and women in camouflage outfits jumped from the APCs, and within seconds a dozen or more of them were running at us, their weapons up in firing position. Jade and I stood with our shaking hands above our heads, and I shouted my name.

  ‘I’m Detective Darren Glass,’ I said, ‘Australian Federal Police. I’m Detective Darren Glass, Australian Federal Police.’

  Five of them moved in on us, weapons up, fingers on triggers. Their jittery eyes underlined the tension caused by our sudden appearance. They forced us onto our knees, and then pushed us onto our stomachs. Pain electrified my injured shoulder as they cuffed our hands behind our backs and patted us down. They took my Glock and my ammunition pouch. All the while, I continued to identify myself. They sat me up, and one of them cupped my chin while another compared my face to an image on a phone.

  ‘It’s him,’ said the guy with the phone, looking up at his colleagues. ‘It’s him!’

  And with that, they lifted us to our feet.

  ‘This is Jade Rawlins,’ I said, nodding at Jade. ‘The young woman we came up here to locate. But before anything else, I must tell you that two navy people I was with were killed on the highway west of here some hours ago.’

  ‘Yes, sir. They’ve been found.’

  I turned to the voice. A guy of some rank stepped through the circle of soldiers. His lapel badge said simply ‘White’. He nodded at one of the soldiers, who removed our cuffs.

  ‘Tell me, Agent White,’ I said, rubbing my wrists, ‘were you chasing some bandits when we flagged you down?’

  ‘We were, sir,’ said White. ‘Six or seven of them. The drone lost them, and we were on the hunt. Why, sir?’

  ‘They stopped a short distance from here. I figure they’re waiting for you down the bottom of the rise. They’ll scarper if they think you’re onto them — but I’m assuming your chase is irrelevant now. I mean, your primary task would be to get us out of here quickly and safely. Is that right?’

  ‘Definitely, sir. To get you home, sir — those are my orders. But for the safety of everyone on the highway, it’d be best if we dispersed the bandits before we move off.’

  ‘Okay. That makes sense. Now, can we have two canteens of water, please? And I need to borrow your phone.’

  White pulled a canteen from his belt and gave it to Jade, and one of the soldiers gave me his. After I’d slaked my thirst, White handed me his satphone, and I moved twenty metres down the road, turned my back on everyone, and rang through to McHenry’s direct line. He answered in his usual way, by growling his name.

  ‘Hi, boss,’ I said, picturing the surprise on his face.

  ‘Glass!’ he said, sounding shocked as much as delighted. ‘Are you alright? Where are you?’

  ‘Still in the desert. I’ve got Jade Rawlins with me, and we’re fine. But things aren’t stable, so I won’t talk long. First up, Ken Bynder was the star attraction at a secret meeting up here last night. He had about fifty bikies hanging off his every word. Young black radicals and old-school city types mostly. During his speech, Bynder hinted at a major militant action in the pipeline, and it’s not the first time he’s talked about it.

  ‘He had a friend up here with him. Possibly a bloke named Phil Manassa. I don’t have a name spelling, but according to Jade, this Manassa works for a construction tycoon in the Jervis Bay area named Dave Calder. Anyway, one time at their house in Steeple Bay, Jade heard Bynder and this Manassa talking about some unspecified damage that was going to be inflicted on Jervis Bay.

  ‘There’s reason to take this threat to the bay seriously, because
last week, Bynder insisted that Jade and Daisy leave Steeple Bay immediately and come up here to Alice. It’s possible he thought they needed a holiday, but I doubt it, because when Jade refused to come up, she was doped to the gills, as you know, and I found her passed out in a sidecar metres from where Bynder held his little desert gathering.’

  ‘Interesting,’ said McHenry, ‘because Daisy’s there right now — in Alice. She told Cherry she couldn’t stand waiting alone in Steeple Bay for news about Jade, so she flew up last night to be with her sister. Military intelligence will be talking to Jade, obviously. No doubt they’ll want to talk to Daisy now, as well, about what prompted her to head north. And to Bynder, too, after what you’ve just said. They’ll have to find him first, of course. Now tell me, Glass, you’ve been through a lot up there — are you sure you’re okay?’

  No one knew I’d been knocked out hours earlier, and I hadn’t been planning on telling anyone about it. I felt fine, and I wasn’t slurring my words as far as I knew, but McHenry’s query had me fearing I might be exhibiting symptoms of some kind. Even a mild concussion like the one I’d suffered would require mandatory days off work for medical tests and rest, if I reported it. But the thing was, despite my earlier misgivings, I didn’t want to be taken off the case. Not now. As much as anything, I felt I owed it to Coombs and Bain to see this business through.

  ‘Better than fine,’ I said, sounding as upbeat as I could. ‘Really, I am. But back to Bynder: could you get someone to see if he, Manassa, or Calder own a light aircraft? I think there might have been one parked on an airstrip close to the little meeting last night.

  ‘Will do,’ he said.

  ‘And, one last thing. Jade told me a story about a tunnel from the Cape St George lighthouse down through the cliffs to the water. Sounds unlikely, I know, but if it does exist, it may explain how Kylie’s phone got down there.’

  ‘Interesting, interesting,’ said McHenry. ‘Well, my news is certainly not unexpected. John Sheridan’s body turned up a couple of hours ago. In a fishing net, three kilometres west of Murrays Beach. He’s in much worse shape than the girl was.

  ‘And … lastly, Glass, I don’t want to alarm you unduly, but things have turned very ugly in Jayapura. The Indonesians hit the blockade with heavy weapons a little while ago, and I’m sorry to say it, but Jean’s people have lost contact with her. I’ll send you a screen shot of Rolfe’s latest blog. Call me back when you’ve had a look.’

  BLOOD OATH NEWS BLOG

  THURSDAY 1 DECEMBER, 7.00AM

  In the past half-hour, the Indonesian military has pounded the Jayapura occupation site with mortar rounds and missiles, and raked it with heavy weapons fire. The attack follows the deaths of dozens of Indonesian troops in explosions at the site a few hours ago.

  Adding to bad news out of Jayapura, about half an hour ago international cable broadcaster QTV released a statement saying it feared for the safety of its correspondent Jean Acheson. Jean has been reporting from the protest site since its inception three weeks ago. She was filing a report when her line suddenly went dead, either due to a technical glitch or some outside intervention. QTV’s attempts to contact Jean have failed. I wait and hope for good news about my dear friend and colleague, Jean Acheson.

  Here’s a transcript of Jean’s truncated report: ‘Papuan fighters briefly used a four-storey building on the southern side of the square to fire at Indonesian positions. Ten minutes ago, Indonesian rockets reduced that building to a smoking ruin. The surviving Papuans are firing back, but without proper fortifications, they’re easy pickings …’

  Canberra has lodged a strong diplomatic protest with Jakarta over its use of military force in Jayapura, and Australia will seek a United Nations–sponsored ceasefire so that all non-combatants can be evacuated from the protest site.

  8

  Dread rose from my guts and filled my throat. The world was a blur. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply a dozen times. When almost steady, I ran through possible explanations for why Jean’s report had been cut short. It might’ve been a technical glitch, as Rolfe had suggested in his blog, but outside intervention seemed a much more likely cause.

  Jean had been about twelve seconds into her report when her equipment had failed. I recalled what she’d said about foreign journalists being targeted by nationalists in the Indonesian military. As she described them, they were capable of truly atrocious acts when their blood was up, as it would be now.

  I shook my head, desperate to erase the images that came with these thoughts. I was trembling and sweating, but at least I was thinking, which meant I hadn’t experienced a full-blown panic attack. Maybe the panics had stayed away because my fears for Jean had been realised. Or maybe I’d been desensitised by the situation I’d just escaped.

  The phone pinged with a text from McHenry, asking if I was okay. I had to convince him I was better than that, otherwise he’d drag me back to Canberra where I’d have to sweat it out waiting for news about Jean. I couldn’t help her, so it was best that I stay focused on other things, which meant staying busy. And the best way to do that was to continue working the case.

  I glanced back at White, twenty metres away, talking to his people in the middle of the road. Jade leant against the wall of the cutting, drinking from a canteen. I turned east again, closed my eyes and counted sixty breaths to myself in lots of twelve. I opened my eyes, took a swig of water, and called McHenry. He answered on the second ring, but I got in first.

  ‘So, what’s the government doing about it all?’ I said, sounding strangely belligerent, even to myself.

  ‘The Prime Minister has called President Maharani,’ said McHenry, attempting a calming tone, which came off sounding patronising. ‘But the President is said to be unavailable, and we’ve had nothing out of Jayapura for forty minutes.’

  I was sure Maharani would remain ‘unavailable’ until he got the Jayapura situation under control. I’d followed these things closely since Jean had left. The occupation had hurt the President domestically. Ending it with violence would restore his standing with many of his people. If dozens of foreigners died in the process, and he became an international pariah, he’d happily pay that price. I winced, picturing Jean, scared and alone in the moments before she tried to file that last story.

  ‘Now, listen to me, Glass,’ said McHenry, suddenly emphatic. ‘I want you back in the office asap. For a debriefing, and for your own health and welfare. I’d be failing you if I didn’t insist on it.’

  ‘I’m okay, boss,’ I said, trying to sound upbeat. ‘And it’s best I keep busy, so why don’t I put Jade Rawlins on the back of one of the bikes they’ve got here and ride with her to Alice? She’s been talkative, but it may not last. Shouldn’t we milk her while we can?’

  ‘You’ve got to get her to Alice somehow, I suppose,’ said McHenry, thinking the proposition through. ‘So, yes, if you can organise a bike, do it. But you drop her off, and then you fly straight back here, okay? You’ve had bad experiences up there, and now with Jean on top of it all, I worry it may affect your judgement. And I’ve got a duty to protect you, and those who work with you, are we clear?’

  ‘We are, sir.’

  Agent White and two of his people led Jade and me to a spot just beyond the western end of the cutting. We took cover behind a long flat rock and looked down at the desert floor, where the drone hovered about fifty metres above a deep gully. Two shots rang out from the gully. The drone answered with a burst of automatic fire. Flames and debris flew up out of the gully, followed seconds later by the sound of an explosion. The drone gave them another burst and produced more flames and smoke, and another explosion.

  Eight people dressed in black clambered up out of the gully and disappeared into the smoke. Seconds later, five motorcycles, three with pillion passengers, roared out from between some big rocks and raced up a track towards the highway. The drone hovered for a few seconds, and then desce
nded so its handlers could assess the damage it’d done.

  On White’s orders, one of his riders surrendered his bike, helmet, and jacket to us. I mounted the bike and pulled my helmet back on. Jade put on the borrowed helmet and jacket, and got up behind me. I tested the intercom between our helmets, asking her if she was ready to go. She replied in the affirmative, her voice as clear as a bell. I started the bike and moved off through the cutting. Going down the eastern slope, we picked up so much speed that I had to slow down for the convoy to catch up. The humvee and two other motorcycles soon went past us, and then immediately dropped back, so that we were sandwiched between them and the APCs coming up behind.

  I’d stowed my jacket in one of the pannier bags before we’d taken off, thinking it’d be too hot to wear on the ride. The sun was well and truly up, but I still felt slightly chilled in my T-shirt, except for where Jade clung to my back. We had a two-and-a-half-hour ride ahead of us — plenty of time to finish my preliminary interview with her. I waited till we’d been cruising for a while, then eased her into it.

  ‘You said you spent time up here as a kid,’ I said, gesturing at the flat desert. ‘What’s your family’s link to this place?’

  ‘Stolen generations,’ said Jade, a sad voice in my ear.

  ‘I’m sorry. Where were they taken from?’

  ‘Great-Grandma Dulcie was Arunta. She was stolen from a camp near Alice when she was a baby. They eventually adopted her out, and she lived with a white family in Sydney till she was a teenager. Then she moved to the south coast where she met Great-Grandad. Their daughter Wendy was my Grandma, and she brought Mum and Uncle Kenny up here all the time when they were kids. And Mum’s always brought me up here.’