they’ve got a sick crewman onboard but Harbour Control’s not buying that and neither am I. And be careful, the way this morning’s shaping up, they may not be all they seem.’
‘Roger Eagle, out to you. Blackhawk 02, Blackhawk 03, proceed with the escort of the Ocean Venturer and take up your positions on the port and starboard side of the bridge. I’ll deal with the cargo ship.’
The two Blackhawks acknowledged the altered plan as all three choppers climbed to get over the Harbour Bridge. The lead Blackhawk and Major Gould’s men veered to the south, using the Opera House for cover as they lined up for a risky fast roping drop onto the decks of the Jerusalem Bay. The other two Blackhawks vectored on towards the big tanker that was now halfway between Bradley’s Head and Kirribilli Point, 2 kilometres from the bridge.
In the State Crisis Centre, Curtis and Kate were looking at the left-hand plasma screen which had been switched to track the big tanker and the Jerusalem Bay. The Destiny was lurking behind the northern lee of Fort Denison.
‘As well as the tunnels, I think we should also shut down the bridge and the trains,’ Assistant Commissioner Mackey said to the Minister for Transport, who had arrived with his advisor in tow.
‘All of them?’ the Minister asked.
‘Certainly those trains that are running in the city.’
‘That will effectively shut down the entire network across every electorate,’ the Transport Minister’s advisor warned.
‘Trains are not my long suit, Minister,’ Brigadier Davis interjected, ignoring the political advisor, ‘but let me give you a feel for what’s going on here. We’ve been attacked in three separate locations. As yet we don’t know for sure that it’s Khalid Kadeer, but like the attacks on September 11, these have got Kadeer’s stamp of careful planning all over them. There’s no guarantee this operation is over or that it won’t include a subway attack along the lines of the one in London. We’re talking about the protection of people’s lives and if closing the network under the city means the rest of it comes to a halt, I think people in the other electorates will understand.’
As the 9.47 from Strathfield pulled into Wynyard, the train driver looked at his watch, still angry over the bawling out he’d received from his supervisor earlier in the day. He’d tried to explain that on the day in question there’d been a succession of red lights all the way from Parramatta to Hornsby. To make up lost time he would have had to exceed the speed limits. ‘I don’t give a shit,’ his supervisor had said, his own job on the line. ‘Get it through your thick head that we run on time.’
The officer on duty at Wynard leaned into the microphone.
‘The train on Platform One goes to Hornsby. The next stop is Milsons Point. Alight at Milsons Point for Luna Park.’
The driver of the northbound Hino could hear the sirens as he left Woolloomooloo and headed towards the western harbour tunnel. Jamal had ensured that the detonation point for both 5-ton trucks was towards the southern ends of both tunnels, so that they did not interfere with the explosives on top of the tunnels at the northern end.
Across on the north shore, the other driver, Abdul Azzam, could hear the sirens too. He calmly drove down the main approaches that led to the Bridge and the eastern harbour tunnel, smiling as he contemplated the carnage he was about to inflict on those who had taunted him. Even though it was past peak hour the traffic was still heavy. Abdul’s one regret was that the infidel’s buses didn’t use the tunnel.
‘ Allahu Akbar. God is Great,’ he whispered, touching the detonator in his pocket. The entrance to the tunnel under the harbour symbolised his entry into heaven and it had just come into view. Down on the harbour, he could see the huge bow of the Ocean Venturer but the sirens behind him were getting closer and, as he glanced in his rear-view mirror, he began to worry that he might not make it to the tunnel.
As the police car sped past with its siren wailing and blue lights flashing, the officer in the passenger seat signalled angrily for Azzam to pull over. Two hundred metres further on, the police car slewed to a halt across the entrance to the tunnel. An officer leapt out and held up his hand. The traffic in front of Azzam began to slow down.
Murray Black dialled Anthea’s mobile. He’d left two messages asking her to ring him but for some reason she hadn’t answered.
‘Hi. You’ve reached Anthea Black. If you leave a nice message, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.’
‘Sweetheart, please call me when you get this,’ Murray said. There’d been no answer at home and he wondered if she’d been listening to the news. ‘I need to know you’re all okay.’ Murray put his mobile back on his desk beside the photograph, reassuring himself that she’d just forgotten to turn her mobile on. He turned back to the Jerusalem Bay. The two tugs were still ploughing along behind her and he reached for the radio again.
On the Montgomery, Malik al-Falid directed his helmsman to hold course behind the Jerusalem Bay as three Blackhawk helicopters appeared over the top of the Bridge. One helicopter disappeared towards the city and Malik watched as the other two took up positions protecting the Ocean Venturer. Through his binoculars he could see the infidel’s soldiers sitting in the back and in the side seats. ‘SAS or perhaps commandos,’ Malik mused. With four missiles they could only afford one miss. He reached for the microphone dangling above him.
‘ Wavell, this is Montgomery, take out the helicopter on the starboard side of the tanker, we’ll take out the one on the port side,’ he said, nodding to the missile teams who were out of sight in the aft area of the Montgomery’s bridge. The time for subterfuge had passed.
‘It will be a pleasure, Montgomery. Allahu Akbar!’
Murray Black swung his binoculars onto the Montgomery and then the Wavell. He stared in disbelief as men dressed in black suddenly tumbled from the tugboats’ bridges. On each of the powerful tugs crew members raced forward and tossed tarpaulins to one side to reveal. 50 calibre heavy machine guns mounted in the bows. On either side of each bridge crew members were hoisting missile launchers onto their shoulders and bracing themselves against the heavy steel gunwales as the tugs ploughed on towards the city. The missiles were instantly recognisable.
‘Jesus Christ,’ Murray muttered, reaching for the red phone to the State Crisis Centre.
‘Davis.’
‘Murray Black, Tony, Harbour Control. Get your cameras on the tugs. They’re both armed with. 50 calibre machine guns in the bows and I’ve counted four stinger missile teams, two on each tug. Montgomery is maintaining a westerly course behind the Jerusalem Bay but the Wavell is altering course towards the northern side of the harbour and is heading towards the Ocean Venturer.’
‘Thanks, keep me posted,’ Davis replied evenly, as he reached for the direct line to the Special Forces Headquarters.
The orange sensor light flashed urgently on the instrument panel in front of the pilots in Blackhawk 02 and an alarm shrieked in their headphones.
‘Missile inbound! Bearing 1800!’ the co-pilot yelled and instinctively the young captain at the controls of the Blackhawk hauled on the collective and banked the aircraft in a sharp turn, turning the heat of the engine cowlings away from the missile. The warning and the manoeuvre had been carried out quickly and calmly by one of the world’s best trained pilots but it was too late. Travelling at over 1500 kilometres an hour, the deadly missile slammed into the side of the helicopter’s engine cowling.
Murray Black watched in horror as the Blackhawk disintegrated in an explosion of flame and smoke. As if in slow motion, the giant blades separated from the aircraft, lifting into the air before falling into the sea, narrowly missing one of the RHIBs escorting the Ocean Venturer. The tail rotor flew across the harbour, disappearing into a luxury penthouse not far from the Prime Minister’s residence. The fuselage broke into three jagged pieces. The bodies of the commandos and the pilots fell into the harbour as first one RHIB and then the other broke from their escort positions. From the decks of the Montgomery and the Wavell, cheers of celebration and defiance could be heard across the harbour, accompanied by shouts of ‘ Allahu Akbar! God is great!’
The nose on Blackhawk 03 tilted forward sharply as the pilot powered forward in search of cover. As the aircraft banked and disappeared from view behind one of the northern pylons of the bridge, the missile warning alarm on the instrument panel lit up. Suddenly deprived of the heat signature of the helicopter the guidance system on the stinger automatically searched for another target. Having given priority to the harbour tunnels, more police were now racing to close the bridge and although they’d successfully shut down the myriad of lanes from the city side, traffic was still coming on to the bridge from the north. Murray Black watched helplessly from the control tower high above the harbour. The deadly smoke trail left by the missile’s rocket motors was surreally graceful. The
