Exhaling, Mac asked him to radio it out there – white LandCruiser, two Asian men – knowing, as he said it, that they could be anywhere.
They touched down at Amberley Base on the outskirts of Brisbane, Mac having spent most of the journey on the radio to John Morris in Darwin. He’d given the bloke everything, knowing that the search was about to go to a level in which live sightings by people like Mac and Robbo would become rare. Once you lost touch you relied on the public reporting strange things or you hoped the fugitives would go through an airport or a railway station or be reported by a hotel receptionist or a parking building operator. With Christmas coming up, there might even be a chance of picking up something from a random breath test.
Mac felt overwhelmed by the size of what was happening but Morris wasn’t annoyed with him, which was a nice step forward.
‘You took a shot, mate,’ said Morris, ‘and at least you’ve chased the bastards east.’
Morris had said that there was a Piper Cherokee logged in a 16.21 landing at Nebo, outside of Mackay. The fi eld wasn’t manned or under surveillance and a plane-spotter called it in.
‘We’re pretty sure this is in Queensland now,’ Morris had said. ‘It’s looking like a Christmas hit.’
The Hassan crew had split and they were well organised. And they’d managed to lose Mac, the Feds, Customs and the 4RAR Commandos.
For now. The whole purpose of JI had been to create outrages and Mac was leaning towards the John Morris view of Hassan’s crew. They were going to crop up in a place where their risk of capture was higher than in the Territory or western Queensland. There were going to be crowds and there was going to be decadence, at least as far as the jihadists saw it.
The new accommodation suites at Amberley had come way up in the world since Mac had last stayed there, but he wanted to get back to Jen and Rachel. A fl ight lieutenant from the transport pool was sent over and he grabbed his pack, thanked the 4RAR boys, wrote down his mobile number, and did the Harold.
The drive south was smooth and they listened to the ABC Radio news: Australian Federal P olice had confi rmed they were chasing several known terror suspects of Pakistani origin. They were last seen heading towards the east coast of Queensland and anyone with anything strange to report should do so on the AFP hotline. The report cut to a grab-style interview with John Morris, whose grumpiness translated perfectly for radio:
‘We’re looking for three men in their thirties and forties, of South Asian appearance.
One of these men has a noticeably heavy build. We believe they are travelling with a man, in his twenties, of Indonesian appearance. They were last sighted out of Mackay and we understand they are heading south. I make a serious request to the public: please do not approach these people, they are considered to be very dangerous and are heavily armed. Just call your local police command and please follow their instructions -‘
‘Sir, can you confi rm the rumour that these fugitives brought a bomb device into Darwin this morning?’
‘I repeat: do not approach these people, please let your local police…’
The RAAF girl dropped him two blocks south of the townhouse at Broadbeach. He thanked her and walked slowly, his pack over his shoulder. The lights were on in the house and he waved to the AFP duty agents as he opened the door. There was a noise from behind and he swung away, reaching into his pack for the Heckler. As he hit the deck and aimed up, he looked into a set of eyes he knew too well.
He froze, lowered the Heckler and breathed out.
‘ Fuck’s sake, Ari!’
The Russian-Israeli had his hands up, standing in the fading light of evening, in Levis and a blue trop shirt.
‘Sorry, McQueen – there’s no easy way, yes?’
Gulping as the AFP moved in with guns raised, Mac smiled and said it was okay.
‘I know this lunatic,’ he said to the closest AFP cop. ‘He’s taking his meds.’
Decocking the Heckler, Mac let Ari help him to his feet.
‘It’s not a question of if, mate,’ he muttered at Ari as he turned the key. ‘One of these days someone will shoot you for that.’
Inside, Mac instantly sensed something different. The smell was wrong, the cooking wasn’t burnt. He raised the Heckler and signalled to Ari, who fell quietly into step behind him. Moving slowly down the hallway, Mac checked the fi rst room, then the second, where Rachel snored in her cot.
A yell came from another room. ‘Is that you, Macca?’
Recognising the voice, he breathed easy again, got the gun out of the way before she could see it.
‘Hi, Mari,’ he said as Mari Hukapa came into the hallway and gave him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. He’d totally forgotten she was going to be on the Gold Coast for Christmas. She and Jenny had become very close after he’d introduced them in ‘02. Mac extricated himself from her grasp and said, ‘Mari, do you remember Ari?’
The two looked at each other and burst out laughing.
‘It is rhyming, yes?’ said the Russian, a huge grin across his big slab-like face. ‘I think this is good omen.’
Mari vaguely remembered meeting the Russian at the Hukapa compound six years ago in Sumatra. Ari couldn’t take the smile off his face. ‘I remember I embarrass myself. The tiger, she was so much in pain.’
They moved into the lounge room where Ke was watching TV.
Mari explained she was minding the kids while Johnny and Jen looked at some warehouse.
‘They say when they’re due back?’ asked Mac.
‘Seven-thirty, I think Johnny said.’
Looking at his watch, Mac pulled his Nokia out of the pack and rang Jen’s number, which went straight to voicemail. He tried Johnny’s and it picked up on the fi rst ring.
‘Just about to call you, brother.’ Johnny sounded breathless.
‘What’s up?’
‘Jen’s missing,’ rasped Johnny.
‘Missing? Shit, Johnny!’
‘I know. We were just having a poke around and she went down one side of the building and I went down the other and I can’t fi nd her.’
‘Where are you?’ asked Mac, adrenaline pumping again.
Johnny gave the address of a warehouse only ten blocks away. Mac grabbed the car keys and fl ipped the Beretta in the hall table to Ari.
‘Let’s go,’ he said, already dialling the Queensland cops.
They screamed through one set of lights and up to the second set
– which were on red – on Gold Coast Highway. After a quick check he gunned the Commodore through the red lights and sped past Pacifi c Fair, the V6 screaming.
‘Couldn’t use those cops outside your house?’ asked Ari, made nervous by Mac’s driving style.
‘They’re there for my daughter,’ Mac said as he took the wrong side of the road going across Rio Vista and fl ashed across Bermuda before screeching into the old mixed section out the back of Broadbeach Waters, where a small warehouse estate sat amidst housing.
Decelerating, they turned a hard left into a side street and quietly slid to a halt where Johnny was sitting in his silver Falcon.
‘Where did she go?’ asked Mac, in a low tone, checking his Heckler.
‘Down here on the side,’ whispered Johnny as they stealthed down. ‘There’s no doors unlocked, there’s no handles on the doors.
It’s a freaky place – and there’s some strange sounds in there.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like – like it’s a chicken farm or something – lots of rustling like a barn.’
They checked the doors and Ari shone a small Maglite on the entrances. ‘No entry here. Maybe none from inside too, yes?’
Stepping back, Mac saw a long ventilation roof running along the roofl ine.
‘You two,’ he gestured, pointing upwards. They pushed an industrial dumpster over and stood on the lid of it. Mac put the Heckler in the band of his pants and put a hand on either of their shoulders.
Then, stepping into the platform of their hands, he muttered Three, two, one, go! and they catapulted him up. Mac just managed to catch the lip of the building, and he swung there for a couple of seconds on the heavy-duty
