‘There’s been a change of plan,’ he said. ‘Drive to Brooklyn and go to the public jetty.’
‘Why? What’s happened?’
‘Should you care? It’s a shorter drive for you. Sara will be there.’
‘Where are you?’ she asked.
‘Somewhere,’ he said. ‘You want to get paid. Do what I ask.’
Narelle had unplugged herself.
‘Who’s that?’
‘Elliot,’ Grace said.
‘You’re stupid! Let me talk to him!’
She reached to grab Grace’s earpiece; Grace batted her down.
‘Too late, he’s gone. Change of plan,’ Grace said. ‘We’re going to Brooklyn. You know Brooklyn, don’t you?’
‘What’s there?’
‘A public jetty.’
‘Oh, his yacht! He said one day we’d sail away.’
She was close to Berowra, where she would have to turn off the freeway onto the old Pacific Highway for the run to Brooklyn, a small fishing village on the Hawkesbury River some fifty kilometres north of Sydney, best known for its marinas and oyster farms. Griffin had rung at too opportune a time for her liking. Someone was telling him where she was.
She had reached the turn-off. The old road was a single-lane highway left to deteriorate, its surface cracked and cheaply repaired. It twisted over the hilly, tree-covered ground leading up to the high ridge overlooking the river, much of which was national park or nature reserve.
‘He knows where we are. We’re being followed,’ she said, speaking not to Narelle but to the listeners on the end of her wire.
‘What are you talking about?’ Narelle asked. ‘You’re weird.’
Grace’s phone rang again. This time it was her backup.
‘There’s a motorcycle with a pillion passenger behind you. They’ve been with you for a while. They’re moving faster and getting closer. You’re going to need to take evasive action.’
‘Where are you?’
‘In range. Moving up behind them. Keep the line open.’
‘What was that about?’ Narelle asked.
‘Put your hood up and get down in your seat.’
‘Why?’
‘Just do it!’
Grace put her foot down, speeding up a winding hill towards a communications tower on the summit. She looked in the rear-view mirror. A motorcyclist with a pillion was speeding up to come alongside her on her right. Narelle hadn’t moved. She sat there looking sullen.
‘Get down now!’ Grace shouted at her.
‘What’s happening?’
‘Down!’
Grace swung out onto the wrong side of the road as the motorbike drew level with her, almost knocking the bike over. The rider swerved to avoid a collision, almost went off the road, drew back, and then followed her back to the left lane and was again trying to draw level. Grace saw her backup behind them.
‘What’s going on?’ Narelle’s voice was almost a shriek.
‘Keep quiet and don’t panic!’
The rider was accelerating to come alongside, only to find the backup car on his tail trying to nudge his back wheel. Then Grace’s back window and windscreen shattered almost instantaneously. The pillion on the bike behind her had fired. Narelle began to scream, curling into a ball in her seat. The on-coming air hit Grace like a wall. She hung on to the car, fighting to keep it under control and on the road.
On a tight bend, she came close to swerving onto the wrong side of the twisting road, almost colliding head on with an approaching vehicle, but managed to drag the car back. The car’s horn blared as she sped past it. Then there was a crash.
The bike had still been there, swinging away from her backup to come alongside on the left, beside Narelle. Pushed by the backup car behind, it had collided with Grace side on as she swerved back to her side of the road. She had hit it at full speed. Gripping the wheel, she dragged the car away from the bike up onto the shoulder, where she brought it to a stop. Then she radioed in.
‘We’ve had an incident. The pick-up is aborted. We may have two deaths as well.’
Clive was on the end of the line. ‘I’ll have an ambulance and police on the way ASAP. Expect me also.’
Narelle had got out of the car and was running along the road. Grace ran her down and dragged her back.
‘Let go of me,’ Narelle shouted, struggling.
Grace pushed her hard against the car. ‘Keep quiet. You will sit in this car and you won’t move.’
Narelle was quiet for a few moments, then made to run again. Grace was holding the girl’s wrists in a tight grip when a member of her backup arrived, carrying a pair of handcuffs.
‘Just sit still,’ he said, and cuffed Narelle to the steering wheel. Grace took the car keys.
‘Don’t do this to me,’ Narelle shouted. ‘What have I done?’
‘Sit in the car and be quiet,’ Grace snapped. ‘If it wasn’t for us, you’d be ending up dead. So count your lucky stars.’
‘What are you talking about? Elliot wouldn’t hurt me!’
Grace didn’t bother to answer. The car she had almost collided with head on had come back and pulled to a stop on the shoulder just near the bike. Its driver, a man, was hurrying towards the rider and the pillion passenger where they lay sprawled on the road. Behind them, another car had come to a halt and a small line was beginning to form. One car started pulling out to drive around the smashed bike; a concerned driver got out of another.
‘I’ll deal with the traffic,’ one of the backup team said, and went to move the cars on. The other backup was standing over the rider and pillion, pointing a gun at them. The pillion rider’s gun lay where it had finished up on the dirt. Grace reached the injured men at the same time as the driver from the first car.
‘Stop there,’ the Orion operative ordered him.
The driver stopped, white-faced, staring at the operative’s gun. ‘Who are you?’ he asked.
‘We’re with the police. Who are you?’
‘I’m a nurse,’ the man said.
‘Let him look at them,’ Grace said.
The operative stepped back, gun still at the ready. The nurse was calm, if pale.
‘I think your pillion rider’s probably dead,’ he said.
‘Can you help the other one?’ Grace asked.
‘Can I take his helmet off?’
‘Do it.’
The nurse removed the helmet and used his own coat as a cushion for the rider’s head. He was moving in and out of consciousness. Grace recognised Joe Ponticelli from Harrigan’s launch.
‘Probably internal bleeding,’ the nurse said. ‘Probably quite severe. We need an ambulance.’
‘It’s on its way.’
The nurse checked the other man, also taking off his helmet. This man was unknown to her.
‘Very dead. Probably almost instantly. His neck’s broken.’
Despite her years of training and experience, Grace swayed on her feet, feeling cold and sick. Briefly she closed her eyes.
‘Are you all right?’ the nurse asked.
She nodded. Glancing sideways, she saw the other operative looking at her speculatively.
‘I saw it happening when you almost ran into me,’ the nurse said. ‘I don’t think it was your fault. They ran
