me, McQueen, whatever?!
Let me tell you what-fucking-ever! You get it wrong between hill six-twenty at zero fi ve-fi fty hours or hill fi ve-fi fty at zero six-twenty hours, and you are in the shit, mate. You’re in the wrong place at the wrong time, and your extraction team won’t know where you are and your commanding offi cers won’t know where you are and the men under your own command could be walking up a hill that the enemy is camped on. So don’t tell me whatever, you stupid fucking tit!’
The Falcon jet started its descent thirteen minutes later and they all buckled in. A minivan was waiting on the tarmac at RAAF Base Darwin and they were at Skycity Casino within twenty minutes.
Federal cops were obvious in the foyer of the hotel and conference section of the complex as they walked in. Mac recognised some faces and saw the code-red lanyards and the police radios. A heavyset cop in a charcoal suit and blue shirt broke from his pack and moved towards Mac as they entered.
‘John,’ said Mac, hoping it would be a fast conversation.
‘Macca,’ said John Morris, the AFP’s ranking counter-terrorism expert. ‘Wasn’t expecting you up here.’
‘Just the economic team, you know.’
Morris looked over Mac’s shoulder and clocked the soldiers trying to look inconspicuous in their civvies. ‘Economic team, with a bunch of SAS?’
‘Commandos, John – Four RAR. SAS are the ugly ones, right? So, what have we got?’
‘I wouldn’t worry yourself.’
Mac laughed. ‘Given that I called in the water purifi er theft, John, a thank you would be nice.’
Morris chewed his gum, making his black moustache move up and down on his round face. Mac guessed the bloke was dying for a ciggie.
‘That was you?’ said Morris.
‘Sure. So what does the security footage show us?’ asked Mac.
‘Nothing,’ said Morris.
‘I might take a look,’ smiled Mac. ‘What about Dr Gough? He been debriefed?’
Morris breathed out and looked at the fl oor. He looked beaten – these details were almost impossible. ‘He’s been interviewed, McQueen, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Which one was it?’
Morris shook his head, irritated and confused. ‘What does that mean?’
‘The person who collected the water canister – Lempo, Shareef or Hassan?’
‘I don’t think we have an ID yet,’ said Morris, looking away.
The AFP techie ran the hotel security tape back and forward of a man in a dark blazer and chinos getting out of the elevator on the fourth fl oor – Dr Gough’s fl oor – and making for a room. The man was clearly Lempo, with that same feminine, bum-out walk Mac remembered from Sumatra and the Shangri-La. There was also good footage of Lempo walking across the Skycity car park with a large hard case in one hand and then getting into a white HiAce van. The van had been parked far enough from the security cameras that there was no rego plate evident.
‘That’s it?’ asked Mac.
‘That’s it,’ said Morris, who Mac now suspected was chewing Nicorettes.
‘So what now? We wait for the wide-area alert?’ asked Mac, impatient for action.
‘Shit, McQueen,’ said Morris, looking pale. ‘Give me a break?
I have ten tons of brass breathing down my neck on this, okay? The next level after code red is civilian evacuations, and that’s the last thing the politicians want. So believe me, we’re doing everything we can.’
Mac walked out and saw the 4RAR boys lounging in the lobby chairs. Moving through into the ballroom where the conference was set up, he recognised the man he’d seen on the website. Dr Gough was sitting alone near the stage while a bunch of AFP men and women talked among themselves, ignoring the engineer.
‘G’day, Hamish,’ said Mac, holding out his hand. ‘Richard, Richard Davis – we spoke this morning?’
‘Ah, yes. I remember,’ he said, standing and shaking Mac’s hand.
‘First things fi rst. Are you okay, mate? Not hurt?’
‘No, no. I’m fi ne, but my pride took a beating.’
‘Happens to all of us, mate,’ laughed Mac. ‘These people are professionals.’
‘Well, hopefully not too professional, Mr Davis,’ said Dr Gough.
‘I’m sorry?’ said Mac.
‘I was just thinking about the case.’
‘That you carry the water purifi er canister in?’
‘Yes. A few years ago I was playing around with security labels, you know for travellers and what have you?’
‘Yes?’
‘I invented a luggage name-tag that has a GSM transmitter in it,’ he shrugged.
Mac smiled. ‘A transmitter?’
‘It never caught on – but it might be useful now?’
CHAPTER 56
Walking from the private mail centre on Daly Street, Mac felt reassured by the weight of the Heckler he’d just grabbed from his stash box. He jumped back into the HiAce as his phone sounded.
‘Yep,’ he answered.
‘Hi, Mr Macca. Won’t hold you up.’
‘Jen.’
‘I’ve lost Johnny Hukapa’s mobile number and he’s not at home.’
‘Okay, I’ll text it to you,’ said Mac, as the van lurched into the traffi c, bound for RAAF Base Darwin. ‘So what’s the deal? Why do you need Johnny?’
‘Oh, you know. Just thought I’d check out a few leads for getting Ke back. Routine stuff.’
Covering his mouth with his hand, Mac tried to stay cool. ‘You’re not back in for a few weeks, Jen. We talked about this, remember?
I wanted to make sure I can schedule it so I’m on the Gold Coast while you’re rostered on.’
‘I just want to have a bit of a chinwag,’ said Jenny, too casual.
‘You need an SAS guy for a cuppa and a chat? What’s up?’
‘Ke’s started talking, and -‘
‘Shit, Jen! Can’t the Feds or Immigration handle this?’
‘Sure, but, you know, they’re overworked and… it may be nothing.’
‘ Mate,’ he said, exasperated. ‘If you’ve put Benny and Ke together and come up with KR, then forget it, okay? I want you out of that.’
It had occurred to Mac not to pass on Benny’s information precisely because of the likelihood of this happening.
And then it clicked: ‘Jen, did that AFP bloke, Doug, tell you about George Bartolo’s friend? Is that it?’
‘He might have said something…’ said Jenny, after a pause.
‘Shit, Jen! This is the Khmer Rouge, they’re slavers and killers.
They don’t give a shit and this is not a good time for both of us to be -‘
But Jenny wasn’t backing down and he couldn’t argue this long-distance, over the phone. They signed off and as the HiAce swung onto the freeway out of Darwin, Mac phoned Johnny on his mobile.
‘Yep,’ said Johnny Hukapa.
‘Mate, it’s Mac. Jen’s going to call you, she wants to check out something to do with that boy Ke.’
‘Yeah, sweet as,’ said Johnny.
‘No, mate. It’s not sweet. She’s getting into stuff with Khmer Rouge gangsters and the Bartolos, and I’m not happy about it.’
‘She’s been doing this stuff for a long time, bro. Jen knows what she’s doing.’
