Both General Howard and Brigadier Davis knew that the Blackhawk helicopters were only lightly armed with 7.62mm machine guns, and the RHIBs – the sinister, black Rigid Hull Inflatable Boats – each carrying ten Special Forces troops were also lightly armed. Hopefully it would be enough, but the attack seemed to be thoroughly planned. Without the Tigers they might be in trouble, Davis thought, as he watched the images of the two burning 747s on one screen and the ambulances and fire engines struggling to get through the traffic chaos around the eastern and western entrances to the tunnels, on the other.
‘I think we should close the harbour,’ Assistant Commissioner Mackey said to the Police Minister after the Brigadier had briefed them both.
The Minister looked uncertain.
‘And cancel the ferry services?’ the Minister’s advisor asked.
‘We don’t know the extent of this attack yet,’ Mackey replied, and ‘if the bridge is also a target the ferries might be an unnecessary complication,’ he said, giving the ministerial advisor the benefit of a steely glare.
On board the Destiny, Jamal’s monitoring of the police and Harbour Control channels was interrupted. He nodded in satisfaction as another series of beeps on his mobile phone announced that the two remaining trucks were on their way to their detonation points.
Earlier in the day, Anthea Black had stood in front of the mirror on the back of her wardrobe door. She was tall and slim, her jeans fitted snugly and she’d put on the white cotton shirt Murray liked. ‘Not bad for an old girl,’ she said to herself. She had turned thirty-four a month ago. Anthea had looked up the City Rail timetable on the internet and the 9.47 out of Strathfield would get them to Milsons Point just after 10 a.m. From the train station, it was a short walk down to Luna Park and hopefully the kids would’ve had nearly enough by the time Murray joined them for lunch. Anthea shook her head and smiled. Who am I kidding? she thought. She’d already suggested to Louise that they postpone Luna Park to another day because of the rain. ‘The weatherman said the showers will ease later in the day,’ Louise had said. Eight going on forty-eight, Anthea had thought.
‘Come on, birthday girl, are you nearly ready?’
‘Coming, Mummy, I’m just doing my hair the way Daddy likes it.’
‘The boys, dressed in their yellow raincoats and hats, pulled faces in the direction of their sister’s room.
Bob Muscat and Murray Black stared at the scenes shot from outside the Chinese Consulate that were being relayed to the Harbour Control Tower. Firemen were desperately trying to bring the blazing building under control but a burst gas main was fuelling the fire, while ambulances were rushing the wounded and dying to the Royal Prince Alfred Hospital a short distance away. There, as at other hospitals around the city, the medical staff were on full alert. A second camera was relaying images of the carnage at the airport. The intense heat from the burning aviation fuel was preventing the fire trucks from getting as close as they wanted to, and despite massive amounts of foam being sprayed over the burning wreckage, the fire was still out of control. Murray Black’s thoughts for those still inside the aircraft were interrupted by the ring of the red phone that connected the Harbour Control Tower with the State Crisis Centre.
‘Paul Mackey here, Murray; the harbour is to be closed to all shipping until we get a better handle on the extent of this attack. What have we got moving at the moment?’
‘The Ocean Venturer is abeam Fort Denison en route to Gore Cove,’ Murray said. ‘A big tanker can’t be stopped so we’ll have to let her berth. The remaining traffic is the Jerusalem Bay, a small container vessel already in the Eastern Channel and two tugs, the Montgomery and the Wavell, just astern of her. I can turn the tugs around easily enough but at best I can only hold the Jerusalem Bay where she is.’
‘Thanks, get her to stop and let me know if there’s a problem.’
‘Understood, Paul. I’ll get her to drop anchor in the channel.’ Murray Black put down the phone and brought Bob Muscat up to date.
As he reached for the Channel 13 mike, Murray Black could see first one, then another RHIB tear out of HMAS Waterhen just to the west of the Harbour Bridge. Commandos armed with light calibre weapons, including a MAG-58 machine gun mounted in the bows, clung grimly to the safety ropes. The boats were powered by twin Mercury 250 outboard motors, reaching well over 50 knots; their blunt bows rose off the choppy harbour before crashing back on to the surface, foaming spray exploding either side.
‘All Ships. All Ships. All Ships. This is Sydney Harbour Control. Port Jackson from the Parramatta River in the west to Line Zulu in the east is closed until further notice. There is to be no, repeat no maritime movement of any description without the express authority of Harbour Control. Ocean Venturer you’re exempt. Proceed to Gore Cove, acknowledge.’
Captain Svenson and the pilot on the bridge of the Ocean Venturer exchanged glances.
‘Very odd,’ the captain said, looking back towards the Jerusalem Bay and the two big tugs following her. ‘I wonder why they’re closing the harbour?’
‘Not sure,’ the pilot replied, ‘but we should be thankful they don’t want us to try and stop.’ The distance required to stop a fully laden tanker of this size at full speed was measured in nautical miles, and even at slow speeds, she couldn’t be stopped quickly.
Captain Svenson nodded to the First Mate, who reached for the radio mike and transmitted the response.
‘This is the Ocean Venturer, received and will comply.’
The only other person on the bridge was the helmsman, Mussaid ibn Khashoggi, who maintained his inscrutable expression as he looked towards Kirribilli Point. When they were abeam of the Prime Minister’s residence coming up on the starboard side, he would act. Keeping one hand on the helm, he felt for the. 380 Beretta pistol in the pocket of his dark blue overalls.
‘Romeo, Ocean Venturer, out to you,’ Murray replied. ‘ Jerusalem Bay, you’re to go astern immediately and drop anchor in your present position, acknowledge.’
Murray Black lifted his binoculars and focused them on the bridge of the Jerusalem Bay as he waited impatiently for an answer. The cargo deck was packed to capacity with 10-tonne containers.
‘Might be fairer to hold the tugs off Balmoral?’ Bob ventured. ‘It’s still bloody rough outside the Heads.’
Murray Black nodded, his attention still on the Jerusalem Bay. The container vessel was now abeam of Clarke Island.
‘ Jerusalem Bay, this is Harbour Control, acknowledge my last transmission.’
Murray Black’s eyes narrowed; something was not right. The Jerusalem Bay was silent and she kept coming.
Bob Muscat raised his binoculars to the west. A fishing boat, the Destiny, was powering past Darling Harbour towards the bridge.
‘ Jerusalem Bay. Jerusalem Bay! This is Sydney Ports. You’re to go astern and drop anchor where you are and await further instructions. Acknowledge!’ Murray Black’s voice held a note of urgency as he let go of the transmit button.
‘Don’t stand on the seat, sweetheart. People have to sit there,’ Anthea Black said to her daughter as the 9.47 from Strathfield arrived at Town Hall station in the city.
‘Harbour Control, this is the Jerusalem Bay, can you read me, over?’
‘About bloody time,’ Murray Black muttered as he pressed the transmit button on his radio mike.
‘She’s speeding up,’ Muscat observed, as he watched the container ship through his binoculars, the Destiny momentarily forgotten.
‘My apologies, Harbour Control, we’ve been having trouble with our radios. Could you say again?’
The captain of the Jerusalem Bay had a thick, Middle Eastern accent, something that would not normally have bothered Murray except that his gut feeling that something was amiss on the Jerusalem Bay was getting stronger. As he focused his binoculars past the ship’s stern he realised that Bob Muscat was right. The wake turbulence behind the container ship was increasing alarmingly and she was now headed for Fort Denison. If she p
assed the fort Murray knew that it would be impossible to anchor her before she reached the bridge.
‘The port is now closed to all traffic. You are to go astern immediately, drop anchor and await further instructions. Acknowledge and comply.’
‘The two tugs have speeded up as well,’ Bob said, still sweeping the harbour with his binoculars, ‘and there’s a fishing vessel approaching the bridge from the west,’ he added. The Destiny was moving out from the entrance to Darling Harbour. ‘She’s got to be doing about 12 knots as well. What the bloody hell’s going on, Murray?’ Harbour speed limits were strictly enforced and when they were exceeded the culprits were almost always pleasure craft operators. Commercial operators were well aware of the heavy penalties and breaches by them were very rare.
‘I’ve got a nasty feeling about this, Bob,’ Murray said, glancing at the images of the blazing 747s before refocusing on the bridge of the Jerusalem Bay.
‘Harbour Control, this is the Jerusalem Bay, we have a very sick crewman on board with acute appendicitis. Request permission to continue on course.’
Murray Black shook his head. ‘I’m not buying that, Bob. Their radio was working perfectly in the approach to the Heads. If he’s that sick they would have radioed ahead hours ago.’
Muscat nodded grimly. ‘I agree, the police will need to board her.’
‘It’ll have to be the military, she’s too high for the police to board while she’s underway.’ Murray Black reached for the direct line to the State Crisis Centre.
At the Army’s big military base at Holsworthy, 40 kilometres to the west of the city, the commandos were working furiously to try and reverse a readiness state that had allowed them leeway to train on the ranges adjacent to the base. Without any warning, ‘four hours notice to move’ had suddenly dropped to ‘move now!’. Normal activities had been cancelled and with the professionalism for which they were renowned they had managed to assemble their personnel, issue live ammunition and get three of their big Blackhawk helicopters airborne, each carrying ten commandos. Over at Luscombe Field the aviation mechanics were working as fast as safety would allow to get the two Tiger armed reconnaissance helicopters they’d been maintaining back on line, and the soldiers were racing against time to configure the gun turrets with 30mm rounds and 68mm rockets.
The pilot of the lead Blackhawk scanned the harbour ahead as the three aircraft powered towards the city. They were staying low, just above the water, and at 190 knots the airspeed indicator was nudging into the red. The co-pilot turned back towards Major Gould, the commander of Team Delta, who was still finalising his plans and speaking on another frequency to the section commanders in the other two aircraft.
‘Eagle is trying to contact you on Channel 3,’ the co-pilot said.
Gould acknowledged the message with a double squelch on the internal mike and he switched channels.
‘Sunray Delta over.’
‘Good morning, this is Eagle.’ Major Gould didn’t need the General’s call sign. He would have recognised the deep modulated tones of his commander anywhere, not to mention the eccentricity of General Howard’s radio procedures. No matter what the crisis, General Howard always managed to sound as if he was contemplating a Sunday afternoon stroll in the park.
‘In addition to escorting the Ocean Venturer to her berth at Gore Cove we have another small problem.’
Major Gould grinned. General Howard’s definition of small problems invariably meant you were about to be issued with a very large shit sandwich.
‘There’s been a slight change of plans. The Jerusalem Bay is being difficult. She’s refusing to comply with the Port Authority’s orders to drop anchor and is still heading up the harbour, just reported passing Clarke Island. Board her and, short of garroting the captain and his miserable crew, persuade the little pricks to comply. They’re claiming they’ve got a sick crewman onboard but Harbour Control’s not buying that and neither am I. And be careful, the way this morning’s shaping up, they may not be all they seem.’
‘Roger Eagle, out to you. Blackhawk 02, Blackhawk 03, proceed with the escort of the Ocean Venturer and take up your positions on the port and starboard side of the bridge. I’ll deal with the cargo ship.’
The two Blackhawks acknowledged the altered plan as all three choppers climbed to get over the Harbour Bridge. The lead Blackhawk and Major Gould’s men veered to the south, using the Opera House for cover as they lined up for a risky fast roping drop onto the decks of the Jerusalem Bay. The other two Blackhawks vectored on towards the big tanker that was now halfway between Bradley’s Head and Kirribilli Point, 2 kilometres from the bridge.
In the State Crisis Centre, Curtis and Kate were looking at the left-hand plasma screen which had been switched to track the big tanker and the Jerusalem Bay. The Destiny was lurking behind the northern lee of Fort Denison.
‘As well as the tunnels, I think we should also shut down the bridge and the trains,’ Assistant Commissioner Mackey said to the Minister for Transport, who had arrived with his advisor in tow.
‘All of them?’ the Minister asked.
‘Certainly those trains that are running in the city.’
‘That will effectively shut down the entire network across every electorate,’ the Transport Minister’s advisor warned.
‘Trains are not my long suit, Minister,’ Brigadier Davis interjected, ignoring the political advisor, ‘but let me give you a feel for what’s going on here. We’ve been attacked in three separate locations. As yet we don’t know for sure that it’s Khalid Kadeer, but like the attacks on September 11, these have got Kadeer’s stamp of careful planning all over them. There’s no guarantee this operation is over or that it won’t include a subway attack along the lines of the one in London. We’re talking about the protection of people’s lives and if closing the network under the city means the rest of it comes to a halt, I think people in the other electorates will understand.’
As the 9.47 from Strathfield pulled into Wynyard, the train driver looked at his watch, still angry over the bawling out he’d received from his supervisor earlier in the day. He’d tried to explain that on the day in question there’d been a succession of red lights all the way from Parramatta to Hornsby. To make up lost time he would have had to exceed the speed limits. ‘I don’t give a shit,’ his supervisor had said, his own job on the line. ‘Get it through your thick head that we run on time.’
The officer on duty at Wynard leaned into the microphone.
‘The train on Platform One goes to Hornsby. The next stop is Milsons Point. Alight at Milsons Point for Luna Park.’
The driver of the northbound Hino could hear the sirens as he left Woolloomooloo and headed towards the western harbour tunnel. Jamal had ensured that the detonation point for both 5-ton trucks was towards the southern ends of both tunnels, so that they did not interfere with the explosives on top of the tunnels at the northern end.
Across on the north shore, the other driver, Abdul Azzam, could hear the sirens too. He calmly drove down the main approaches that led to the Bridge and the eastern harbour tunnel, smiling as he contemplated the carnage he was about to inflict on those who had taunted him. Even though it was past peak hour the traffic was still heavy. Abdul’s one regret was that the infidel’s buses didn’t use the tunnel.
‘ Allahu Akbar. God is Great,’ he whispered, touching the detonator in his pocket. The entrance to the tunnel under the harbour symbolised his entry into heaven and it had just come into view. Down on the harbour, he could see the huge bow of the Ocean Venturer but the sirens behind him were getting closer and, as he glanced in his rear-view mirror, he began to worry that he might not make it to the tunnel.
As the police car sped past with its siren wailing and blue lights flashing, the officer in the passenger seat signalled angrily for Azzam to pull over. Two hundred metres further on, the police car slewed to a halt across the entrance to the tunnel. An officer leapt out and held up his hand. The traffic in front of Azzam began to s
low down.
Murray Black dialled Anthea’s mobile. He’d left two messages asking her to ring him but for some reason she hadn’t answered.
‘Hi. You’ve reached Anthea Black. If you leave a nice message, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.’
‘Sweetheart, please call me when you get this,’ Murray said. There’d been no answer at home and he wondered if she’d been listening to the news. ‘I need to know you’re all okay.’ Murray put his mobile back on his desk beside the photograph, reassuring himself that she’d just forgotten to turn her mobile on. He turned back to the Jerusalem Bay. The two tugs were still ploughing along behind her and he reached for the radio again.
On the Montgomery, Malik al-Falid directed his helmsman to hold course behind the Jerusalem Bay as three Blackhawk helicopters appeared over the top of the Bridge. One helicopter disappeared towards the city and Malik watched as the other two took up positions protecting the Ocean Venturer. Through his binoculars he could see the infidel’s soldiers sitting in the back and in the side seats. ‘SAS or perhaps commandos,’ Malik mused. With four missiles they could only afford one miss. He reached for the microphone dangling above him.
‘ Wavell, this is Montgomery, take out the helicopter on the starboard side of the tanker, we’ll take out the one on the port side,’ he said, nodding to the missile teams who were out of sight in the aft area of the Montgomery’s bridge. The time for subterfuge had passed.
‘It will be a pleasure, Montgomery. Allahu Akbar!’
Murray Black swung his binoculars onto the Montgomery and then the Wavell. He stared in disbelief as men dressed in black suddenly tumbled from the tugboats’ bridges. On each of the powerful tugs crew members raced forward and tossed tarpaulins to one side to reveal. 50 calibre heavy machine guns mounted in the bows. On either side of each bridge crew members were hoisting missile launchers onto their shoulders and bracing themselves against the heavy steel gunwales as the tugs ploughed on towards the city. The missiles were instantly recognisable.
The Beijing conspiracy Page 28