Dawn of the Tiger

by Gus Frazer

  His mind was still cloudy. What was going on? Why was he here? He tried to retrace his last memories. He remembered being at work, going to Sarah’s, having a fight and then — that was it, nothing. He remembered what the fight had been over — the nuclear bomb. He remembered confronting her about the bomb. He must have been right — Matt remembered threatening to go to the press — this must be why he was being held captive.

  After finishing the food, Matt sat back on the bunk bed with his knees tucked up to his chest, both hands to his forehead. He had to get off this boat to warn people, stop this madness … But how? He was being held captive on a boat — God knows where or how far from shore. By the feel of the boat’s motion, they were in deep water.

  Come on, think! There has to be a way out of here, Matt thought to himself.

  General Draven was at his desk drumming his fingers when MiLA rang.

  Draven got straight to the point: ‘Jackson, what have you got?’

  ‘Nothing much, sir. The only things out of the ordinary are a missing political advisor — Matthew Lang, who did not come into work this morning and is not contactable. Though not suspicious, his disappearance is uncharacteristic and does not fit his psych profile. The only other anomaly is in New Zealand — Christchurch airport was closed last night for “unscheduled runway repairs.”’

  ‘What’s unusual about that?’ responded Draven.

  ‘Normally nothing, except it was raining all night there. We thought it strange to conduct repairs at night — in the rain, sir.’

  ‘That’s it? Nothing else?’ he barked.

  ‘Well, yes. The only other thing, which is not unusual,’ said Jackson, ‘is that we’re picking up a lot of coded chatter from the US Embassy. They do this now and then, so we don’t think it’s particularly unusual.’

  General Draven was silent. He was trying to piece it all together, to understand the link. What it all meant.

  ‘Anything else, sir?’

  ‘No, Jackson. But keep me updated on anything else that happens.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Draven knew there was a link — clearing the population in regional South Australia, a meteorologist, a missing political advisor, increased US communications and the closing down of a New Zealand airport. How did it fit together?

  ‘Matthew Lang,’ muttered Draven — the name was familiar.

  Picking up MiLA he hit redial. ‘Jackson, this Lang bloke — he was Hudson’s aide, then helped General Stephens to power. And now he’s missing. He’s involved somehow in whatever is going on. Find Lang — I need to talk to him. He’s the key.’

  ‘The key to what, sir?’

  ‘Just find him, Jackson. I want a report in an hour,’ said Draven impatiently.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ replied Jackson.

  An hour later and General Draven was on MiLA again to Jackson.

  ‘Where are you at?’ Draven demanded.

  ‘We’ve located his abandoned car at Bermagui, the small fishing village on the south coast of New South Wales. There is no sign of Mr Lang.’

  ‘Bermagui?’ repeated Draven. ‘Jesus, I know Bermagui. The Secret Service has a fishing boat there that they use to disappear people that need removing — temporarily or permanently.’

  ‘I don’t know anything about that, sir,’ said Jackson. ‘But we did learn something else, sir. All government cars are fitted with tracking devices. Even though his device was deactivated last night, I was still able to track where it had been.’

  ‘Yes, yes. Where has Lang been in the last 24 hours?’ demanded Draven, impatience getting the better of him.

  ‘You’re going to like this, sir: the last place he visited was Sarah Dempsey’s home.’

  ‘Dempsey?’

  ‘Yes, sir. He arrived at Ms Dempsey’s apartment at 2100 hours last night — and that’s it. The tracker was switched off at 2230. Federal police located the car first thing this morning.’

  ‘Why would he go from Dempsey’s to Bermagui? And why would he switch off his tracking device? I’m surprised he’d even know how to. It doesn’t add up,’ Draven mused.

  ‘I don’t know, sir,’ said Jackson, knowing full well that it wasn’t a question.

  ‘I need to get satellite imagery from last night at that time. Go back over the imagery and see if you can get anything on Sarah Dempsey’s place between 2100 hours and 0300 hours. Send it through to me as soon as you find something.’

  ‘Yes, sir. It might take a while though.’

  ‘Then get busy,’ said Draven, hanging up. Pressing MiLA absently into his chin, General Draven contemplated his next move. He needed to get to the bottom of this — and fast.

  Sarah Dempsey was in her office staring blankly at the BBCNN 4 pm newsfeed on her screen. In her mind she was convincing herself that what they were doing was the right thing for the country, despite the risks and the consequences.

  A knock at the door startled her from deep contemplation.

  ‘Come in,’ she said shakily, turning off the screen.

  ‘Ms Dempsey,’ said General Draven, stepping into the room. ‘May I have a moment?’

  ‘Yes, General Draven, of course. Come in,’ Sarah said, her stomach clenching.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Draven, taking a chair.

  ‘What is it General?’

  ‘Well Ms Dempsey —’

  ‘Sarah, please,’ she interrupted, trying her hardest to seem warm.

  ‘Of course, Sarah,’ Draven said, slightly irritated with her interruption. ‘See, the problem is Matthew Lang.’

  Sarah blinked quickly, her spine tensing. ‘Matthew Lang is a political advisor. Why would he be a problem?’ she said with what she hoped was a nonchalant smile.

  Draven allowed a thin smile to form on his lips. ‘Well, he’s missing and no one can get hold of him, which, Sarah, as I’m sure you know, is completely out of character.’

  Sarah looked composed. ‘Well, maybe he has gone to see his mother? Or his friends in Sydney, perhaps? I really don’t see how this concerns me, General.’ She glanced back at her screen as though she had other important work to get to.

  ‘So, when did you last see Matthew Lang?’ Draven asked directly.

  Sarah realised that somehow Draven knew Matt had been at hers last night and changed tact. ‘He came over last night, actually.’

  ‘Really, and where did he go after he left yours?’ asked Draven quickly.

  ‘I don’t know. We’d had a fight,’ Sarah allowed an upset look to flit across her face. ‘Look, we’ve been seeing each other and I broke it off last night. He didn’t take it very well, and when he left, he was in a terrible state.’

  Draven froze. This was entirely plausible. Perhaps he had just taken a break-up badly and gone off the rails. That instant, his MiLA beeped. He pulled it out, all the while holding his gaze on Sarah, scanning her face for the slightest nuance of a lie.

  Draven looked at MiLA’s screen. Jackson had sent him a message with an attached video file. Opening it quickly, Draven saw a black-and-white image of two men bundling a body into the boot of a car. Jackson’s message read:

  Location: Sarah Dempsey’s apartment

  Vehicle: Matthew Lang’s

  Body in car: Unknown but alive at the time

  Suspects: Unknown

  Time: 0118

  Sarah was frozen. She desperately wanted to see what was on his MiLA. Draven’s face was giving nothing away. Outwardly she remained a picture of calm; inwardly, her mind was racing at full speed.

  Draven, without showing any emotion or the slightest change of expression, put MiLA back in his pocket. Taking a deep breath, he leaned back in his chair. ‘Shall we start again, Sarah?’

  Sarah was fuming. She was being played here and she didn’t like it one bit. ‘What do you mean? I’ve told you everything. Now I’m very busy, so if you don’t mind, General Draven, please either leave or get to the point.’

  Draven, unflustered, leaned forward. ‘What have you done with La
ng?’

  Sarah was speechless, trying to form words ‘I … I told you …’

  ‘You told me lies!’ yelled General Draven, thumping his fist on the table.

  ‘No, I told you the truth,’ she insisted, regaining her voice. ‘I don’t know where he is, General.’

  Draven was losing his patience. ‘We have satellite footage of Matthew Lang’s body being put in the boot of his own car outside your apartment last night. We have found his car at a small fishing village on the south coast of New South Wales. Now, I want to know what happened to him last night — and you’re going to tell me.’

  Sarah glared at Draven. ‘I’m not telling you anything. If the police want to talk to me, then they can come and do so. Until then, I have nothing more to say.’

  Draven was fuming — he would have to get the police involved now, which would take up time that he didn’t have. Standing up, Draven headed for the door. ‘We’ll talk again soon, Ms Dempsey.’

  Sarah remained seated. ‘I look forward to it, General.’

  As soon as Draven had closed the door, Sarah collapsed forward onto her desk — head in hands, her whole body shaking.

  Draven stormed down the hall and called Jackson.

  ‘Jackson, good work. But this angle isn’t going to work. I need to find Lang another way.’

  ‘Sir, I’ve made some calls. At 0400 hours a navy-registered fishing vessel left Bermagui. I tracked it on satellite and it appears to be in a holding pattern, steaming up and down the coast about 10 kilometres offshore.’

  ‘That’s it — they’re holding him out there on the boat. Jackson, I want a full tactical Navy Special Forces team on that boat in one hour to secure Lang. Make it happen.’

  ‘Yessir — I’m onto it.’

  Chapter 21

  From the HMAS Creswell on the south coast of New South Wales, two MRH95 helicopters lifted off simultaneously. The lead chopper was heavily armed with air-to-sea torpedoes, missiles and a forward-mounted cannon. The other was carrying a nine-man Special Forces team, charged with boarding the fishing vessel and securing the target — Matthew Lang. They flew low and fast over the sea to avoid radar.

  Within 10 minutes they were upon the fishing boat. The lead helicopter fired a missile across the bow of the fishing boat then took its position, hovering above and in front of the boat. The co-pilot switched on the loud-hailer, ordering the boat to cut its engines, for all crew to come out on deck and lay down any weapons they were carrying.

  The second helicopter circled above and waited to see the crew out on the deck. On the boat, the skipper killed the engines, then he and the crew came onto the deck with their hands in the air. Seeing five men out on the deck with their hands in the air, the second helicopter swooped down in a steep left-hand turn, pulling to a hover 10 metres above the fishing boat. Six men, three on each side, threw black ropes down onto the deck of the boat and abseiled down — the whole movement taking less than 30 seconds. As soon as all six were on the boat and unclipped from their ropes, the helicopter pulled up and took position to the starboard side of the vessel. The Special Forces team secured the crew with zip-lock thumb ties and, after a brief interrogation of the skipper, the team moved below.

  The skipper had informed them of the whereabouts of the target and also that there were two Secret Service operatives somewhere on the boat. The Special Forces team moved through the upper cabins and bridge, swiftly but carefully — ensuring all the rooms were clear before proceeding below decks. The boat was old and had a heady smell of salt and dead fish. The light was dim down below and the space confined and claustrophobic. It was a terrible access route for the team. They were effectively boxed in and, even though they outnumbered the two agents, in this tiny corridor, numbers meant nothing.

  Inside Matt’s cabin, the agents had barricaded the door. One of them was on MiLA to Fletcher advising him of the situation.

  ‘We’ve been boarded by Navy Special Forces — we’re outnumbered and barricaded in the cabin.’

  ‘All right,’ said Fletcher calmly, ‘Do not engage, understood? Just surrender when they get to the cabin. But before they do, inject Mr Lang with a shot of the tranquilliser. That should keep him quiet for long enough.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Oh, and naturally, not a word of this to anyone — at least until tomorrow. Is that clear?’ said Fletcher.

  ‘Of course, sir.’ And with that he hung up.

  He handed the MiLA to the other agent. ‘Here, destroy this.’ While the other agent crushed the device under his boot, he reached for a small black rucksack, pulling out a rectangular box containing the tranquilliser. Expertly he measured out the right dosage into the syringe and turned towards Matt. Fearing the worst, Matt lurched back on the bed as far as he could, curling himself into a ball. He was scared and frantically trying to think of a way out. A loud bang on the door, followed by an order to open the door, made the agent pause for a second. Matt, seeing his attention diverted, seized the opportunity. He threw himself at the agent, screaming for help at the top of his lungs.

  The agent was stunned as Matt wrestled him to the ground. The second agent launched at Matt, trying to pull him off. The Special Forces were now smashing down the door, using the butts of their automatic weapons. They had smashed enough of a hole in the door to poke a rifle through and see what was going on. Matt was still screaming but the agents had regained control and had him in a submission hold on the ground. Matt was grunting in pain, still struggling against the two agents.

  ‘Stop, don’t move!’ yelled a Special Forces operative.

  The agent holding the syringe had just punctured Matt’s skin with the needle. He looked at the other agent briefly — both men were flushed and sweating from the exertion of controlling their charge. In a microsecond’s look, the agent holding the syringe pushed the button at the top, releasing the tranquilliser into Matt’s bloodstream.

  Seeing this, the Special Forces operative squeezed the trigger of his automatic rifle, delivering a round directly into the agent’s head. His brains exploded in the small confines of the cabin, painting everything red and white. Matt was already slipping into unconsciousness. He had a vague sense of noise and the feeling of something warm and wet on his skin. Then it all quickly turned black.

  The second agent froze, putting his hands in the air, not saying a word.

  The Special Forces team smashed through the rest of the door and entered, pulling the dead agent’s body off Matt and hauling the other agent out of the room.

  The Special Forces medic knelt beside Matt, checking for his pulse. ‘He’s still alive, but unconscious. We need to get him and the syringe to a hospital immediately to find out what they gave him,’ he said urgently.

  Within 10 minutes, Matt was aboard the helicopter, heading towards Creswell base.

  General Draven took the call from Jackson in his office. ‘Well? Is Lang secured?’ he demanded.

  ‘Sir, we have secured the target, neutralised one agent and taken another prisoner, along with the crew of the fishing boat.’

  ‘Get me on the line with Mr Lang. I need to talk to him immediately.’

  ‘That’s not possible, sir. He was administered a drug that has rendered him unconscious.’

  ‘God damn it! Well how long before we can talk to him?’ said Draven furiously.

  ‘Sir, he is on his way to Creswell base as we speak. Special Forces have recovered the syringe that was used, so that the sick bay people can work out what drug was used. And hopefully give him an antidote.’

  ‘Call me when he’s conscious,’ demanded Draven. He hung up and tossed MiLA on the desk. Standing with hands on his hips, he took a deep breath and stared at the wall, unclear on his next move.

  Reaching for MiLA again, Draven called Jackson. ‘And get a security detail on Sarah Dempsey and General Simon Fletcher. I want to know where they are going, who they are seeing and what they’re doing every minute. Is that understood?’

  ‘Sir, t
hat will take some time for clearance to sanction a tail for both of them, particularly General Fletcher,’ said Jackson.

  Draven was fuming. He spoke slowly. ‘Listen, Jackson! If you value your job, your life and your balls then I suggest you hang up right now and make it happen — immediately.’

  Draven hung up again and resumed his furious gaze at the wall.

  Sarah left her office at 5.30 pm. It was a short drive to the US Embassy, but she did not want to be late. She knew what had to be done. She also knew that it was not her responsibility to make the call. This was one decision she was relieved not to be making. Parking outside the embassy, on a wide, tree-lined street, Sarah got out of her car and noticed a dark blue Ford pulling in a hundred metres behind her. She knew this had to be a tail — and that Draven had arranged it.

  The man in the passenger seat spoke into a discreet headset. ‘Sir, Dempsey is parking outside of the US Embassy and is getting out of her car.’

  In his office, Draven was patched in to the live feeds between the agents, listening to every word.

  ‘Jesus! Don’t let her into the embassy — do you understand? Do not let her get inside the embassy!’ he yelled.

  The two agents in the car looked at each other, stunned. For a brief second they froze, then realised how close to the embassy Sarah was — and how far from her they were.

  Both agents leapt out of the car and sprinted towards Sarah, who was already walking towards the embassy gates. She sensed the commotion behind her. Turning, she saw the two men bearing down on her. She began to run. The embassy gates were close, but she could now hear the agents’ footsteps close behind her. Breathlessly, she ran to the security gate at the embassy, fumbling briefly with her bag to get out her security ID for the sentry. Glancing to her left, she saw that the two agents were less than 10 metres away now — they’d be upon her in seconds.

  ‘Thank you, ma’am. Please come in,’ said the smiling sentry, oblivious to the commotion.