missile curved to the south as its guidance systems locked on to the exhaust of a 30-ton semi-trailer. The guidance computer onboard the missile wasn’t about to make any subtle distinctions over heat signatures and the huge truck exploded in a flash of flame and smoke. A bus and several cars travelling either side of the semi collided and veered across four lanes of the Bridge.
‘Harbour Control, this is the pilot on board Ocean Venturer, a Blackhawk has just exploded on the port side!’ Not sure what was happening, both the pilot and the captain of the Ocean Venturer were acutely aware that they were standing on over 60,000 tonnes of light crude.
‘Romeo, Ocean Venturer, ’ Murray replied calmly. ‘The harbour is under terrorist attack. As yet we’re not sure what the main target is but maintain your present course.’
Ibn Khashoggi again felt for the cold steel of his Beretta.
Abdul Azzam judged that there might just be enough room to get past the front of the police car and he floored the accelerator. Veering around the slowing traffic, he raced for the gap between the police car and the tunnel wall, aiming at the policeman waving frantically for him to stop. Abdul said a silent prayer to Allah as the policeman standing in the middle of the gap stopped waving and drew his pistol. Sixty metres, 40 metres – his jaw was set as the truck gathered speed down the ramp. Two bullets whistled past the truck and then the left side of the windscreen shattered as one of the policeman’s bullets found its mark. Two more shots ricocheted off the top of the cabin roof as Azzam held his nerve, the detonator in his right hand. The policeman was desperately loading another magazine and the side window of Abdul’s truck shattered as his partner opened fire, but in an instant the speeding truck was on them both. The heavy bumper struck the front fender of the police car, spinning it in a grinding crunch and a shower of sparks, killing one of the policemen instantly. The truck was now up on two wheels and Azzam fought desperately to bring it under control. He braked, bounced off the wall and fishtailed down the long ramp towards the bottom of the harbour tunnel and the heavy traffic ahead. Coming the other way in the western tunnel, the driver of the other truck was closing on his detonation point.
The earlier attacks were being covered live on the Hino’s radio, but suddenly the broadcast was interrupted. ‘This is a message from the Sydney Harbour Tunnel Authority. We are closing both tunnels. All vehicles are to clear the tunnels as soon as possible.’
Azzam once again put his hand on the detonator as he approached the southern end. ‘You are too late, far too late,’ he said, and as his brothers had done before him, he raised his fist in defiance.
‘ Allahu Akbar! God is great!’ he screamed. Ten kilograms of plastic explosive detonated nearly 2 tonnes of ammonium nitrate and the heavy steel casing directed the massive blast towards the roof of the tunnel.
In the control tower Murray Black and Bob Muscat were watching the tugs and the Jerusalem Bay and neither noticed the stubby plume of dirty seawater, carrying rocks, concrete and steel, rise only a metre or so above the harbour; nor did they notice a second plume moments later. The twin plumes of boiling water subsided, leaving two widening circles of oily foam on the surface of the rain-lashed harbour, belying the death and devastation below. Thousands of tons of water were pouring through the holes torn in the tunnel casings. As black smoke was forced out of the ends of both tunnels, the fires in the burning vehicles, along with the screams of the dying were slowly extinguished, replaced with the sound of the sea splashing eerily against the tunnel walls.
As the Ocean Venturer reached abeam the Prime Minister’s residence on the end of Kirribilli Point, Mussaid ibn Khashoggi kept one hand on the helm and took out his Beretta with the other.
The blast was deafening. The pilot collapsed onto the steel deck, blood spurting from his neck. Khashoggi fired again and the First Mate collapsed beside the pilot. The Saudi helmsman calmly turned his pistol on the Captain and fired twice more. Captain Arne Svenson was dead before he hit the deck, a look of chilling understanding in his eyes.
Khashoggi moved the big throttles forward to full ahead. The engine on the Ocean Venturer was the size of a small building and weighed over 2000 tonnes. She only had ten cylinders but each of them was the size of a household water tank and the chief engineer looked up in alarm as the electronic telegraph suddenly registered maximum revolutions. He reached for the microphone dangling above him in the control room.
‘Bridge, this is the engine room.’
Locking the rear access bulkhead, Khashoggi ignored the call from the engine room and the increasingly urgent calls from the tug captain of the Wilberforce. With override activated and control of the engines transferred to the bridge, 90,000 horsepower turned the massive 304 tonne crankshaft ever more quickly. Deep below the surface the Ocean Venturer’s huge propeller thumped in ever-increasing revolutions. Khashoggi swung the small, stainless steel helm hard to port, transmitting 10 tonnes of hydraulic pressure to the big rudder. For a while, nothing happened, then degree by degree, the bow began to turn towards the city and the pylons on the southern shoreline. Mussaid ibn Khashoggi raised his fist. ‘ Allahu Akbar! God is great! God is great!’
‘Where are we, Mummy?’ Louise asked.
‘Wynyard, sweetheart. We get out at the next stop which is Milsons Point and guess what?’ Anthea said, adjusting the yellow hat that had slipped over Matthew’s eyes. ‘We get to go over the big bridge!’
The twins’ eyes widened as they looked at each other in delight, big smiles on their little faces.
General Howard weighed up his options. To use the lightly armed Blackhawk behind the pylon against the tugboats armed with stingers would be the modern equivalent of the Charge of the Light Brigade, but it was looking more and more as if the Jerusalem Bay was part of the plan. If Major Gould and his men were to have any chance of getting onboard, the tugs would have to be distracted. Whoever was behind this was a brilliant military planner, Howard thought grudgingly. If only he’d had the Tigers on line they could have engaged the tugs with missiles and heavy cannon. ‘Fucking Minister. Fucking minders,’ the General muttered as he prepared to issue fresh orders to the commandos in the powerful boats searching for life among the debris of the downed Blackhawk. General Howard reached for the radio handset.
‘Team Charlie, this is Eagle, over.’
‘Sunray Charlie, over.’
‘This isn’t going to be a picnic but I want you to distract those tugs and cover Team Delta for their assault on to the container ship, over.’
‘Sunray Charlie, Roger, over.’
‘Sunray Delta, copied, H-Hour in two, over.’ Major Gould and his men on Blackhawk 01 were making final preparations for a fast rope assault, hovering behind the sails of the Opera House just above the water in Sydney Cove.
‘Eagle, good luck, out.’
The General let out a deep breath. There was only one thing he hated more than not being in the middle of the action and that was sending his troops in to do a task that they weren’t properly equipped for.
Captain Jeffery was in command of the two RHIBs and he didn’t hesitate. He was angered by the loss of his mates in the Blackhawk and he’d hoped to find some of them alive, but the mission came first and he knew the dead and dying in the water would have it no other way. The Jerusalem Bay had just passed Fort Denison and in another few minutes she would reach the Opera House. Jeffery scanned the harbour with his binoculars. The rain was still coming down but beyond the Naval Base he could make out the dark shapes of the big tugs charging towards them. Jefferey called his second-in-command in the other RHIB.
‘Charlie 2, this is Charlie 1, I’ll take the tug on the right, you take the one on the left,’
‘Charlie 2, Roger, over.’
‘Charlie 1, Go Go Go!’
The RHIBs were capable of a staggering 60 knots and with the outboards screaming, the bow gunners hung on and opened fire on the tugs with their 7.62mm MAG-58 machine guns. They might as well have been firing at two charging elephants with a pop-gun.
Dozens of terrified residents in apartments in Kirribilli took cover on their floors as the bow gunners onboard the Montgomery and the Wavell returned fire. The sound of the heavier and far more stable . 50 calibre machine guns was unmistakable, but Malik and his terrorists had an even bigger shock in store for the commandos. White- faced security guards at the Prime Minister’s and the Governor-General’s residences on Kirribilli Point crouched behind the biggest trees they could find. Dealing with unarmed protestors climbing onto roofs with banners was one thing; their training had not equipped them for this.
With the tugs distracted Major Gould didn’t wait any longer.
‘Go, go, go!’
The pilot powered Blackhawk 01 out from behind the Opera House, skimming the water and keeping the
