Musso’s words. He did reply, eventually.
‘One way or another, we have to address this. Not so much the immediate question, I agree. Morales won’t be setting up any wildcat colonies now that we’ve tumbled his scheme. But everything I said before about reaching a discontinuous moment in history, Kate, I stand by,’ Blackstone said, returning his attention to her quite pointedly. He accepted a pastry from his offsider, but didn’t eat it straight away. ‘There was a time when no power on earth would have dared contemplate a claim on this continent. Now, there are days I wonder which of them wouldn’t. You know, Governor Palin can see Russia from her front porch, and she tells me they seem to be getting closer every day.’
Caitlin put down her coffee cup and uncrossed her legs, making as if to stand up.
‘Gentlemen,’ she said again. ‘You will understand that before saying anything else I would like to examine these documents in detail. I’m happy to go with Mr McCutcheon to do so, if you don’t want to release them into our custody.’
Blackstone looked like he was about to answer, when his fixer spoke up. ‘We had these copies made up for you. But if you’d like some time to study them, I’m happy for you to use my office, Colonel Murdoch.’ McCutcheon raised an eyebrow at Blackstone. ‘Perhaps an hour’s break, Governor?’
‘An hour sounds about right. If you’d like to take carriage of our guests, Ty?’
‘Be a pleasure, sir.’
Caitlin stood up, hoping her impetus would draw Musso along behind her. She had what she wanted. McCutcheon’s documents were interesting, but what she really needed was access to his office. That was where they obviously kept the administration’s sensitive files.
42
DARWIN, NORTHERN TERRITORY
It was an unsettling experience, shopping while being stalked by your would-be murderer. An experience made worse by Nick Pappas’s recommendation yesterday of a rather depressing-looking department store in the centre of the old town as the place where Julianne might get herself suitably attired for her second cameo as a junior with Downing, Street and Kemp.
This part of Darwin did not look as deeply changed by the enormous volumes of money that had flowed into the city over the last few years. Two new high-rise towers were emerging from holes in the ground that covered entire blocks, but most of the old streetscape remained unaffected. The city had been rebuilt in the late 1970s following Cyclone Tracy, and the aesthetically worthless architecture of that period was everywhere. It rather did Jules’s head in, seeing the many global-brand boutiques, all sparkling and shining like exquisite jewellery boxes, trading within the tatty shells of these buildings. While some outlets, one being the department store towards which she was walking now, were obvious diehards from an earlier era, the long unbroken stretches of high-street retail, expensive cafes, bistros and bars all evidenced a rapid shift away from a utilitarian CBD towards something more akin to a playground for super-rich outcasts. She didn’t recognise many of the fashion names and could only assume they were the local franchises of start-ups from Chinese city states.
It would be lovely, she thought, to have been the mistress of some obscenely wealthy mining magnate who was only around to bother you one week out of every two or three months. In which case, she’d probably have spent a few days swanning around this strange, isolated mini Monaco, melting her sugar daddy’s plastic with some gold-medal-standard shopping.
On the other hand, not getting sniped at from a rooftop or run over while crossing the street was a reality she could live with, too.
Julianne did her best to try to pick out Shah’s men from the crowded footpath, and thought maybe she caught a glimpse of somebody who looked like a Gurkha, across the road. But then, in Darwin, you could quickly amass examples of people from all over the world. Her best estimate was that maybe a third of those teeming through this part of town had grown up here. The rest were new arrivals and, specifically, members of the city’s new, arriviste class. Wealthy, displaced and not a little anxious to embed themselves as deeply as possible in their new home. For all the fuck-off money and ostentatious display of significance here, as a child of one of the oldest surviving aristocratic lines in the world (even if, or perhaps because, her own family’s position in that line had come a cropper), Jules was aware of a low-grade, sub-aural hum vibrating just under the surface of things in this place. Status anxiety. The gnawing fear that having survived one cataclysmic break-up of the established order, one might find oneself at the pointy end of any subsequent reordering, no matter how much smaller in scale.
She began to understand why Shah and his neighbours felt their positions were so tenuous. Nothing was settled here, in spite of the clean streets and the gleaming newness of everything. It was all still in furious motion. Convulsed. Deranged. And dangerous with it. As if to emphasise the point, she saw an armoured vehicle roll through an intersection further up the street.
Jules hurried into the store, out of the heat, and sighed with relief after pushing through another super-chilled air curtain. She’d noticed the same effect at the Sirocco Cafe. It felt something like walking through a gentle waterfall, but it was a piece of technology she’d not encountered before then. Perhaps the design had been stolen from some Wave-washed laboratory in the US, where researchers were still puddled wherever they happened to have been standing. The market for Disappeared intellectual property had run white-hot for a while in ‘04-05, until Seattle regained some semblance of control over its borders. She’d even considered getting into the game herself, except that the Rhino had been such a complete bloody Boy Scout over the issue.
He still thought of himself as one of the good guys at heart, even with all the people smuggling, the stealing, and the murder on the high seas. Thoughts of her friend and former business partner brought with them a confusion of emotions. Fond recall. Concern for his wellbeing. And a rekindled anxiety about whoever might be trying to fuck with her own wellbeing. Jules reached around and lightly touched the SIG Sauer holstered in the small of her back. She could always feel the pistol was there, digging into her spine, but the gesture gave her some comfort anyway.
The department store was doing its best, but it still looked shabby and somewhat down at heel compared to its newer, smaller rivals. There seemed to be more old-time locals shopping in here, though, she noticed. Sticking with the tried-and-true out of pure stubbornness, no doubt. It was the work of only a few minutes to find the womenswear department, where a question to a sales assistant - an Aboriginal girl - soon had her fingering through a carousel of off-the-rack business suits. She chose a conservative, lightweight navy-blue suit with matching pants, before wasting another hundred and fifty bucks on a pair of cheap medium heels.
God, it was like being back at college again - scrimping, saving, making do. How dreadfully fucking depressing this could get …
As she was paying for the purchases, and holding back a creeping sense of ennui at having to wear them, the Nokia buzzed in her pocket. A text message from Pappas: the Rhino had been transferred to the Coonawarra Base Hospital, where she could find him in intensive care. Downing had contacted the hospital and told them that one of his juniors would be in to look after Mr Ross’s arrangements.
At last, she could look in on him. Jules was comforted also by the knowledge that so many people were putting themselves out on her behalf. She doubted she’d have been as helpful as Nick and Piers if a complete stranger had bowled up to her in need of succour and protection. But, of course, she had Mr Shah to thank for that. She undoubtedly had Pappas to thank for the final piece of information, however.
She was so surprised and so grateful she almost forgot to collect her change from the salesgirl. Then she nearly left the two bags of shopping behind on the counter.
After thanking the young woman, Jules hurried out of the store and flagged down a pedicab. She’d have preferred an air-conditioned taxi, but a quick check up and down the street confirmed there were none to be had. The pedicab driver, a thin wiry foreigner of indeterminate race, asked her where she wanted to go before quoting a price of ten dollars. Unsure of whether one was supposed to haggle, she agreed, keen to return to the motel and make contact with her dear old friends.
Again, she checked for evidence of Shah’s men following her, of anybody following her, but saw nothing. The pedicab was shaded but open to the elements, allowing the speed of their passage to create a breeze that offered scant relief from the heat of the afternoon. She wondered how her driver endured it.
She played with the phone, a model she’d never seen before. It had no keypad, an obvious omission that had thrown her for a second while trying to open the text. Apparently, the screen itself was the keyboard. Gadgets and
