‘Everything okay?’ asked Mac. ‘CNN’s not saying it’s over. It is over, right?’
‘Umm, our friends.’
‘Yep.’
‘They got into the container.’
Mac assumed they had, to wire their IED. ‘Yep?’
‘And we’ve disabled the device.’
‘Yep?’
‘And we’ve secured the agent.’
‘Yep?’
‘Umm – you sure this is clear?’
‘It’s clear.’
Don cleared his throat. ‘McQueen, we shipped one hundred and eighty bombs.’
‘Yep?’
‘There’s only a hundred and seventy-nine bombs in that container.’
There was a big pause.
‘Shit. You know where it is?’ asked Mac.
There was a sudden commotion, Hatfi eld bellowing in the background. Mac could envisage the Chinook’s situation room: incoming calls from the Oval Offi ce, the Singapore President and the Pentagon. Soldiers, spooks and scientists wincing at having the paint stripped off them.
Mac thought fast. ‘Have you searched the seabed? They may have tossed it, trying to extend this as long as possible.’
‘We’re got divers down there. But once you start on that, you have to retrace its route. We’ve got the SONAR birds doing that as well. It’s not there. We’re assuming our friends are travelling with it.’
Mac exhaled. ‘What about the ship? It’s a big tub, lots of areas to conceal something like that.’
‘All over it with explosive detectors. Been going all night with revolving shifts. We’ve got our Europe team here too. Nothing. It’s with them.’
Mac thought about the ro-ro ship, the one he and Paul assumed had been hijacked by Sabaya.
‘Look, here’s a left-fi eld one, okay?’ said Mac. ‘On our way into Singers yesterday we came through Brani Island and there was this large unmarked ro-ro ship on the south side of the island.’
‘We searched that area, I think,’ said Don.
‘I don’t think they dropped the VX bomb there. But my hunch is they stole the ship. They were last seen motoring for Brani Island on a tender boat fi rst thing in the morning. The Golden Serpent offi cers told us that,’ said Mac.
‘Could have been getting a helo from Brani or Sentosa,’ said Don.
‘In that case you’ll have to check fl ight logs. They were going to controlled airspace that morning because of Xiong coming in so air traffi c control would have been noticing everything.’
‘You said the ro-ro ship was unmarked?’
‘Yeah. No name, no shipping line, couldn’t see any fl ags. If it’s unmarked then there’s something fi shy about it. Like your transporter for the VX, right?’
‘Okay.’
‘The thing to do is get the Singaporeans to tell us exactly what the ship is for, who owns it and why it was docked there. We have to get access to that warehouse, too.’
‘Warehouse?’ asked Don.
‘Yeah, the tailgate of the ship was down and I heard sounds in this security building. It’s built like a bunker. You’ll know what I mean when you see it.’
‘Okay.’
‘If we can identify the ship then we have something to chase.
And if we know what’s in that warehouse, we have some kind of clue about where they’re headed.’
‘Think I can swing that,’ said Don.
‘The thing to remember,’ said Mac, ‘is that these guys had the chance to do what Garrison did and just fl y away to another country.
But if I’m right, they’ve taken the most conspicuous escape they could have taken.’
‘See what you mean.’
Mac felt he’d done his bit, helped out a fellow professional. But Don wasn’t fi nished with him.
‘Look, I thought we could use a Sabaya expert. Most of your calls have been correct so far,’ said Don, almost sheepish. A big change of attitude.
‘What, you want me by the phone for the next couple of days?’
‘Umm, no. I was hoping we could get you on the bird with Sawtell’s unit?’
Mac hissed air, neither body nor mind up for this. ‘I would, but I’ve got things to sort out with the embassy, and -‘
‘All done,’ said Don.
‘All done?’
‘Yeah – sorry, McQueen. I took the liberty. Forgive me, willya? I’ll buy you a beer sometime.’
Don was in a tough place, to be throwing a beer into the deal.
‘You took the liberty?’ asked Mac.
‘Umm, yeah. You’re seconded. Call it a specialist rotation.’
Mac laughed. ‘Where?’
‘Halim. Noon. Firefl y.’
CHAPTER 44
It was 8.36 am. Mac had a few hours up his sleeve before he had to make for Halim on the outskirts of Jakarta. He dialled the number Paul had left and waited. It went to voicemail. He rang off and checked on the ovies to see if they were dry.
Mac’s Nokia rang as he was looking for a wayward sock in the dryer.
Jogging into the kitchen, he leaned over and grabbed the phone.
‘Davis.’
‘Hi sweetheart, get the fl owers?’ It was Paul.
‘Oh those were fl owers? Sorry, just wiped my arse with them,’ said Mac, thinking Paul was sounding alert for a guy with a gunshot wound.
‘Mate, thought you might like to come down and have a chat with a new addition to the team?’ said Paul.
‘Voluntary new addition?’ asked Mac.
‘Haven’t decided yet, mate. Come down, have a natter.’
The address was four blocks from Jenny’s. Paul had a subject in what they called a ‘cabin’. It was like a safehouse, except in a cabin you generally interrogated people. There was nothing safe about it.
Mac stretched out as he walked. He had his ovies and Hi-Tecs on but no Heckler.
The address was a duplex on a quiet, tree-lined sidestreet away from the main boulevards. Mac knocked, saw an eye fl ash over the peep hole. Someone had been standing or sitting right there.
The door opened. A burly bloke with a holster pouch around his middle stepped out and gestured for a pat- down. Mac submitted.
Bloke checked in and behind his ears too then ushered him through.
‘They’re in the living room, sir.’
Mac clocked Paul and two other men: trop shirts, hip rigs. Clean-cut, athletically built. Sitting on coffee tables and chairs, they were gathered around something of interest. Not a TV, but a blonde woman wearing jeans and a pale blue polo shirt. Very good-looking, curvy.
Big black eye. Bruised neck.
