the stormy weather and reflecting on the first part of the attack that was to be launched with the trucks. One by one, his drivers arrived, all of them suicide bombers, all of them sombre and determined. The videos with their last messages to family and friends had all been completed. They had woken to their last day on earth. Soon they would all be reunited with Muhammad, peace be upon him, and they would receive the rewards of heaven that were promised to all those who martyred themselves for the Faith.
Jamal disappeared into the warehouse’s small bathroom to conduct the ablutions that were mandatory before a Muslim could get in touch with his creator. First he washed his face, then his arms to the elbows, then he wiped his head with his wet hands and finally, he washed his feet. When the other cell members had completed washing, they laid out their prayer mats on the floor of the workshop where they’d loaded the trucks with ammonium nitrate. Jamal began the dawn prayer. Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar! God is Great! God is Great! Bismillah ir-rahman ir-rahim In the name of God, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful… Ash-Hadu Allaa Elaaha Ellaa Allah, Wahdahu Laa Shareeka Lah – I bear witness that there is no other god beside God. He alone is God; He has no partner. Assalaamu Alaikum Peace be upon you.
Jamal stored his prayer mat beside a battered filing cabinet in the office at the back of the workshop. He spread the big map of the city streets over his grimy wooden desk and switched on the scanner that was tuned in to the channel the tow-truck operators used to monitor police responses to traffic accidents. As a back up, he switched on a local radio station that encouraged people to call in with information on the traffic. Unbelievers, he thought bitterly. Soon the information on the traffic would jam the airwaves but so far the roads seemed remarkably clear. One truck had been allocated to the first target and the other six would attack in pairs with the routes to each of the four targets being worked out to the last second. Nothing had been left to chance.
Just before 8 a.m., Jamal kissed each one of his seven drivers three times on the cheek.
‘Your place in heaven with the Prophet, peace be upon him, is assured,’ Jamal said, and he pointed toward the seven trucks lined up at the front of the warehouse. ‘It’s time for you to start your engines. May Allah, the Most Kind, the Most Merciful go with you.’
Less than an hour later, Jamal parked his car at the boatshed to which the Destiny had returned after picking up the divers from Clarke Island. After final prayers, he and two other crewmen opened the old boatshed doors and one of them started the winch motor. Jamal took his position at the wheel as the Destiny slid down the greased rails into the water. He pressed the starter button and the big re-conditioned diesel throbbed into life, and he waited until his two crew members had rolled the doors on the boatshed shut. As he pushed the heavy chrome throttle levers forward, Jamal switched on the radios that operated on the Police and Harbour Control channel. Almost immediately, there was a transmission on Channel 13.
‘Harbour Control, this is the pilot aboard the Ocean Venturer; we are now rounding the sea buoy and inbound on the Western Channel with four tugs in attendance.’
‘Romeo Ocean Venturer, you are cleared to proceed to Gore Cove.’
Jamal nodded to himself in satisfaction. The trap was closing. The first truck was due to be detonated at 10.05 a.m., followed by the others in quick succession.
CHAPTER 68
K ate stirred, her head still on Curtis’ chest. Curtis brushed her blond locks away from her forehead and kissed her gently. There was a faint aroma of whiskey on her breath.
‘We smell of sex,’ Curtis whispered, as he ran his hand slowly over her back, moving down to Kate’s small, firm bottom.
‘Mmm,’ Kate responded dreamily.
The rain was lashing the balcony where they’d stood the night before, and Kate moulded herself against Curtis’ body. It was one of those mornings where they both would have preferred to stay in bed.
‘Come inside me,’ she said softly, caressing his hair.
Back in her own bathroom, Kate set the shower nozzle to ‘pulse’ and let the warm water massage her back. Her thoughts were in turmoil. The sex the night before had been urgent and passionate but this morning they had taken their time. The roguish Irish-American she’d decided to have a fling with had also turned out to be a wonderfully caring lover. As she stood in the shower she reflected on the early morning. She had felt very comfortable and safe with this man but she tried repeating her mantra with more conviction. ‘This is a one night stand and I can’t get involved with him.’ But Kate knew Curtis was different and realised her mantra had come a little too late.
The rain lifted momentarily as Kate and Curtis arrived at the State Crisis Centre on the southern side of the city. Kate spotted a postbox as she waited for Curtis to pay the taxi fare.
‘Won’t be a second. I’ll just post this off to Richard,’ she said, waving a postcard. In an instant Curtis recognised the photograph. He remembered he’d seen it years ago at the time of the Sydney Olympics. Taken when the smoke of the fireworks heralding the start of the 2000 Olympic Games had cleared, the word ‘Eternity’ was illuminated in the middle of the arch of the Sydney Harbour Bridge.
‘Wait. Can I see that?’
‘Want to read my mail now that we’ve slept together?’ Kate saw that Curtis was serious. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Do you remember Kadeer’s first warning attack – “beneath Eternity”?’
‘You think this is what he was referring to?’ Kate frowned as she suddenly recalled something else Kadeer had mentioned in his broadcast.
‘It’s possible,’ Curtis replied. ‘Is there a significance to the relationship between Sydney and the sign of Eternity?’
‘It has its origin in the 1930s,’ Kate explained, remembering a long-forgotten history lesson. ‘Arthur Stace was a homeless alcoholic who lived on the streets of the city. One night he went in to the Baptist Tabernacle in Darlinghurst where he listened to a sermon from a minister called Ridley. Ridley was urging his congregation to think about their mortality and the promise of eternity with God and he concluded his sermon with something like “Eternity! Eternity! Oh that this word could be emblazoned across the streets of Sydney!” For the next forty years, while the city slept, Arthur Stace wrote ‘Eternity’ using yellow chalk in an immaculate copperplate hand in every doorway, and on every footpath, train station and ferry wharf where he thought people would see it.’
Curtis shook his head.
‘You don’t think this has anything to do with the warning?’
‘On the contrary, I think it might have everything to do with it. It’s just that you seem to have swallowed the Britannica.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment but if you’re right, Kadeer is going to attack the Sydney Harbour Bridge, and now that you mention it, there was something else in Kadeer’s video. Didn’t he say that his first warning would take place where we least expect it, beneath Eternity where the windmill has been stolen?’
‘The stolen windmill has always confused me,’ Curtis admitted.
Kate looked thoughtful. ‘Can we get access to a computer at the State Crisis Centre? I vaguely remember that the area known as Dawes Point was once called Windmill Hill.’
‘Let’s go,’ Curtis said.
By the time they reached the foyer, Brigadier Anthony Davis, the Australian Defence Force’s senior liaison officer in the State Crisis Centre was waiting for them.
‘Curtis! Welcome back. Great to see you again.’ The Brigadier shook his old friend’s hand warmly. ‘Still travelling in the company of beautiful women?’ he said, turning to Kate.
‘Brigadier General Anthony Davis,’ Curtis said, introducing him to Kate.
‘I prefer Anthony,’ Davis said, shaking Kate’s hand firmly and smiling. ‘Welcome to Fort Fumble. We’re preparing for a major anti-terrorist exercise so you’ve come at the right time. The Prime Minister’s hosting APEC next week and the politicians are in a flap,’ Davis said as he pressed the lift button for the sixth floor. ‘The State Police Minister’s here at the moment,’ the Brigadier said, ‘and right now he’s arguing with Cecil Jensen, the Defence
