It's Personal

by Philip Bond

  Reality kicks hard… “What the fuck,” Neate exclaims… “It’s a set up!”

  Weapon a ready, Sanders sees three officers in front running toward him, another coming out of the office in the storage compound. Choosing the single officer first and fires. He falls as Neate raises the shortened pump action shotgun also fires. As another officer falls, Sanders assesses the situation, two groups of two officers each about ten meters away on his left, another group coming directly toward him and still another group of three, about twenty meters in front.

  “Neate! Take out the group on the left. I’ll look after the front.”

  Sanders fires, the bullet hits its mark. Neate pumps the action firing, killing Rod instantly. Richard’s running to the rear of the car to stop the rear exit. En masse the officers stop to open fire. Sanders reads the situation, dropping below the car’s window line, grabbing Neate as a shield.

  Neate’s hit in the neck and shoulder.

  Sanders lifts his head to see another officer coming toward the car. He aims, pulling the trigger, firing a three-shot burst killing the officer instantly.

  Inside the storage compound, the vans occupants see several officers running toward them and more coming from behind also yelling… “NCA don’t move! NCA don’t move!”

  The occupants of the van each decide not to resist, drop what they were holding, raising their hands.

  Sanders starts the car, lying low, using the car metal as cover from police bullets. On his side, he grabs the passenger’s door handle bursting it open. Neate’s bleeding heavily from wounds. Time to discard excess baggage. Unceremoniously disgorging Neate as disposing of garbage out of the open door at the same time, hitting the accelerator, crunching the gearshift into reverse.

  The car accelerates back towards Richard, knocking him to the road. Sanders raises his head to see and steer the car. With the increased speed and alternated concentration, he loses control of his weapon. Executing a brilliant 180-degree turn, the weapon exits the open passenger door. He speeds from the scene toward the railway station.

  Richard’s lying on the road in pain. One of the remaining officers calls in an ambulance and emergency backup.

  Too late, Sanders is on his way to the railway station.

  Parking the car in the commuter car park, he looks for his gun… “Damn, my gun, prints and DNA, fucking hell, time to punch out.”

  He walks briskly towards the station as if hurrying to catch a train.

  *

  Walking into the kitchen… “There’s a call for me?”

  Wes hands the cellphone… “Harry Reisner, hello?”

  “We have your voice-over and it packages well. The piece is great television, great journalism, but the NCA has put a hold on it. Sorry, Harry.”

  “What do you mean put a hold on it?”

  “Christ, Harry, it means that it doesn’t go to air at this time.”

  “Ever?”

  “Christ, Harry, don’t give me a hard time. I’m on your side; I want it on the air too.”

  “So what happens now?”

  “I don’t know. We have to wait to see where the police investigation takes it. Maybe we can at least get some of it out, I suppose.”

  “Great.”

  While looking at Wes… “Looks like we have packaged the case against these guys, the cops now just need to join the dots.”

  “Looks like it.”

  Silence deafens until, Wes’ cellphone screams for attention; after a lengthy discussion, he allows… “Harry, there’s been significant developments. Graeme Neate’s dead, killed in a shoot-out about 14:15 this afternoon, also killed, two NCA officers and four wounded. We’ve seized just 100 kilograms of high-grade heroin along with three individuals who seem to be only muscle for the collection. A sandy-haired male about mid to late forties escaped.”

  “Wes, that’s Sanders.”

  “Not substantiated, that’s still only speculation.”

  Events are moving quickly for everyone… “Look Harry, I’m going to leave tonight, off to Sydney for a short period. You’ll stay here until I’m back, then I think it’ll be safe for you to resume as you like.”

  “Can I make a phone call now?”

  “No. You can get your information tomorrow from the radio news services.”

  “What about Matt Leveaux, did you get word to him?”

  “No luck so far; I’m trying to be careful and unobtrusive.”

  “Keep trying please.”

  “Okay, I will. I’ll get back to you.”

  *

  The NCA officer runs up to the superintendent… “Sir, the street search turned up a gun down the street. Do you want to see it, or shall I send it to the forensics?”

  “Send it to the forensic people.”

  Richard still refuses to go to hospital, remembering… “What’s it the caller said, if you are good, you possibly might just catch those who are actually responsible? If you do, it will blow your mind.”

  Richard’s cellphone rings… “Westway?”

  The caller announces… “Richard, it’s Mike. Just had the feds on the phone. It appears they have an interest in your drugs bust from a different angle. There’s a Wes Ryan coming up from Canberra to meet with you. Give him total assistance.”

  “Sure, any idea on what their interest?”

  “None at this stage, but if anything develops, I’ll come back to you.”

  “Well, I’m looking forward to meeting with this Wes Ryan.”

  “Oh and Richard, he’s a commander. Let’s get a win on this one.”

  “Sure will. Bye.”

  Escape Plan Activated

  Not for the first time, Sanders is running the escape route. First contract is the Sydney embassy man tasked the regular meets of US military transports.

  Nick Geiger is a light sleeper, jumping on hearing knocking on his door.

  The clock reads 6:07 am… “Lloyd,” although unanticipated history suggests this be inevitable… “You look like shit. Come on in, want some food?”

  “Just coffee? I want the next flight out, what’s available?”

  “You’re in luck, there’s a flight leaving Alice Springs about now and due at Richmond about nine this morning.”

  “Good, get me onto the base and onto the aircraft.”

  “Can do, I’m always there to meet the flights and yes, I’ll get you onto the aircraft.” Unable to resist… “What’s this about?”

  “Nick, I’m disappointed. You know better than to ask questions, just do as I ask. When do we leave?”

  “Sorry, Lloyd,” he’s not really… “In another country, I wouldn’t question, but this is Australia.”

  “You know the drill, act when and where required without fear or favour to anyone or country other than the United States of America. It’s your duty to support your fellow agents at all times, understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” Nick decides to milk the occasion… “But I’ve no authorisation for this operation.”

  “Goddamn it, I’m your fucking authorisation. Now, answer my question or I’ll arrange a field assignment for you in Iran!”

  A good school for the kids, not being shot at going to and from work, Australia is a great assignment. Pragmatism prevails… “We leave within the hour, sir.”

  “Good. Now, I’ll have that coffee and maybe freshen up. Where’s the bathroom, maybe too a change of clothes?” Looking at the blood splatter on his clothes… “Incinerate these straight away!”

  “Yes, sir.” All enjoyment of the situation vanishes realising, Lloyd’s fucked up again… “I’ve military fatigues and a full kit to make your movement look real at the other end.” And for effect offer… “What rank do you want?”

  “Colonel will do. Where do we land?”

  “Refuelling at Hickam Field Hawaii. The flight terminates at Travis, California.”

  “Great. Where’s the bathroom?”

  A point down the hallway sends him on his way.

  *
r />   Wes pauses at the door.

  “Come in,” welcomed reinforcements arrive… “My name’s Richard Westway; you’re Wes Ryan, I presume. I’m the bloke in charge of things this end. We have something in common?”

  “Richard, it’s good to meet you. Yes, we do,” he sits to offer in a serious tone… “A shipment of drugs!”

  “We busted a large shipment yesterday but at a costly price: three dead and three wounded officers.”

  “The media’s all over it and that’s where I come in.” Settling into his chair… “The television news reporter Harry Reisner was abducted. The felons are stopped by a random breath test on the Tuggerawong Parkway. We also lost a valued officer.”

  “Yes, I see the news reports; these events are connected?”

  “We have Harry in a safe house, documenting events. The participants are organised and well trained.”

  Even with drugs in hand, Richard refuses to pay same price again… “Our death toll yesterday attests to that also. Who are they?”

  “What I’m about to tell you, Richard, MUST remain confidential; you cannot tell anyone else until we are in a position to arrest the culprits. It’s imperative that this knowledge remains on a need to know basis only. You’ll inform me before you pass any information to anyone else, including the results of your activities.”

  “I’ll agree if it results in the felons being charged.”

  *

  The only phone number he has is her cell. Although leaving two messages, he remains desperate to hear her voice albeit ignorant of events. After a couple of calls and speaking to an operator finally, Matt finds a number for Wellington Fairchild.

  Shaken by the story he tells… “I have to visit someone later today; after that, I’ll grab the next flight to Australia.” Coolness under pressure is Matt’s hallmark, but something changes, he’s losing objectivity.

  “Wait,” correcting his impulsiveness… “She’s okay and in no danger. I will get word to her you called and, of course, pass on your telephone number. Sit tight, young man, wait until I have updated information. Locking yourself in an aircraft for nineteen hours without speaking to her will only eat you up.”

  “My discharge formalises 16:00 tomorrow my time. I promised something to a friend, and I’ll do that tomorrow. I’ll check you again in twenty-four hours unless we’ve spoken.”

  “Fine, do that; in the meantime, I will pass your message to Harry.”

  His voice mirrors the words… “Thank you, sir.”

  “You are welcome.”

  *

  Nick Geiger and Lloyd Sanders stop at the main gates. Nick produces ID.

  “G’day mate; here meeting your transport?”

  “You got it.”

  The guard directs them down to the flight control centre.

  “Lloyd, wait here. I’m going inside to meet with the controller. There won’t be any problems and more importantly, no questions.”

  “Good.”

  Geiger enters the reception area.

  “G’day Nick.”

  Turning to face the voice, he sees Flight Lieutenant Michael Phelam striding toward him.

  “Hi guy. Can we talk somewhere?”

  “Sure, in here. What’s up?”

  “I have a package for today’s flight. Can you see any problems?”

  “None. We’ll do the usual. Okay?”

  Geiger reaches into his pocket and produces an envelope.

  “I thought it might be.”

  *

  Just before 9:00 am, a Starlifter C141B from the 60th Military Airlift Wing comes into view over to the northwest. The aircraft does a long slow turn before lining up with the glide path.

  Touchdown, tyres send up a blue smoke plume. Within a short distance, the noisy beast slows to a suitable speed turning onto the taxiway. Minutes later, the four-engine transporter stops before Geiger. Ground crew busies themselves poking fuel pipes into appropriate openings while others use special lifts, clamouring up inspecting an engine.

  “Now sir, we move. We will walk out with three other people screened from the tower and all other possible observation positions at this point for the walk to the plane. Someone will exit the aircraft and get into this car to leave with me. You’ll take his place; the numbers remain the same.”

  “Good work, Nick. I’ll remember it.”

  “Take care, sir, and good luck.” Hopefully, this is their final encounter.

  On boarding the aircraft, Sanders secures himself in the crew section up in the tail until the aircraft is airborne.

  After two hours, the first engine whines into life, then the remainder.

  With decibels piercing even the strongest ear protection, the aircraft taxis slowly out to the threshold before forcing the winged tube down the runway to thunder into the sky.

  Quiet returns to Richmond… “Now Sanders,” Geiger relaxes… “You’re safe and best of all, someone else’s problem.”

  *

  Richard looks to Wes… “Someone has a great deal to lose if implicated and prepared to remove anyone who becomes too close.”

  “The main character seems to be this Lloyd Sanders, head of the Central Intelligence Agency here in Australia.”

  “Okay, Wes, what do we do now? Where do we take this? To whom do we report this?”

  “We don’t,” leaning forward offering in all seriousness… “Richard, we handle this like any other investigation. We leave Sanders to last. Let us do all the spadework before we tackle Sanders. An air tight case that implicates Sanders, only then do we go to the DPP and ask for his backing in laying charges against Sanders.”

  “I lose two officers, one a close friend; I have all the backing I want. What about you?”

  “They kill one of our highway patrol officers, I have unlimited backing.”

  “Where do we start? How do we nail these pricks?”

  “Well, there’s a line from Sanders to the PM’s Press Secretary, Brian Pullman and the Minister for Immigration, Samuel Duffield. Under them we have the union man Graeme Neate, the personnel manager Daryle Watford and his friend Isadora Wetherill. We’ll leave Malcolm Lieu for later; he’s not a player, for him it’s the money.”

  “Okay, Graeme Neate’s dead, so let’s bring in the last two squeeze them to implicate the others.”

  “I agree. Can you handle it Richard?”

  “Yes. I’ll put two officers on each and pull them today.”

  The enormity of what lays before them causes Wes to offer… “Attorney General, Samuel Duffield! Oh hell, we could be investigating criminal activities of the chief law officer in the country! You’ll never feel pressure like the political pressure we are going to get once they know we are about to blow the lid off this thing.”

  “What do we do now, Wes?”

  “Let’s continue with Watford and Wetherill and see what comes of it. Maybe, tomorrow, we could take everything we have to the DPP, see what she wants to do with it.”

  “Wes, we’ve Wetherill in the building. His mate Watford is a bit harder to locate. Let’s go with Wetherill.”

  *

  Wes and Richard have been questioning Isadora for a little over an hour. Richard’s going hard… “I don’t know why you persist with your attitude of innocence. I’ve already explained to you, we have a mountain of evidence connecting you to the now dead and known drug dealer Graeme Neate, an airport Customs Officer named Malcolm Lieu and your close friend Daryle Watford. It’s now just after one o’clock, let’s get this straight, we have three dead police officers and you’re implicated right up to your ears. These people have also attempted to kill witnesses. Why don’t I let you go and put out a statement you’re cooperating and see how your friends react?”

  “You couldn’t? You wouldn’t? You cannot endanger lives.”

  “Watch me. These guys do horrible things to people. It comes from associating with the nasties you find in the drug business. They use electric drills to drill into knees and shoulders, chainsaws to cut
off feet and arms. They’ll put a pipe up your arse and pour acid down it. Why don’t you get smart and cooperate? You and your friend Daryle won’t do your time in prison very well.”

  Realisation hits hard… “I will cooperate in exchange from immunity for Daryle?”

  “Not on, no immunity! This is an investigation involving the murder of policemen. We want the top people. Now cooperate or go to purgatory on earth. What will it be, information or, as my colleague describes, your soon-to-be lifestyle?”

  “I will not cooperate unless I get some guarantee as to the safety for Daryle.”

  “First, where is he?”

  “He is at my house in Watsons Bay.”

  “What’s the address?”

  Sobbing loudly, she writes down the address for the investigators. With note in hand, Richard exits the room. Wes again puts his face close to the ear of the gallery director… “Now, what’s your involvement in this messy business?”

  “Daryle and I are being blackmailed; we devised a plan to import a large shipment of drug into Australia with the sole purpose of divulging the plan to the authorities, hoping to have Neate killed in a shoot-out. We put the first part of the plan to Neate; he introduces the others into the group.”

  “Who’s involved?”

  Richard Westway re-enters the room as Isadora continues… “Neate you know. There is Brian Pullman and an American who we know as Tallboy. Oh, and the airport customs officer.”

  “Now Isadora, we have some photos we want you to identify.”

  Richard places photographs before Isadora.

  Sometime later, a knock on the door, another officer whispers… “We have Daryle Watford in interrogation room four.”

  *

  For the remainder of the day and into the early evening, both Wes and Richard intern question the conspirators, verifying facts and comparing versions.

  Later sitting in Richard’s office, Wes offers… “The story from each supports the other, implicating the person in charge as the CIA guy, Lloyd Sanders. It’d seem the groups business is the sale and distribution of heroin throughout the Sydney and Hunter Valley regions.”