Liquid Gold

by James Phelan

  He walked into the café and looked out at the figures in the lake—they all seemed okay, alive at least. He retrieved the hidden digital voice recorder, pressed stop, backtracked, played it—a loud and clear recording of Fox and Babich talking. They had got their man.

  Fox and Kate trod water and held on to each other.

  The helicopter dropped a life preserver, which Gammaldi grabbed on to. The police boat was almost to them.

  There was a bigger world around them, but in that moment it was just the two of them.

  Fox looked into Kate’s eyes: this is real.

  All that had been, all that was, would never be the same. She looked at him, smiled and rested her head on his shoulder. As they floated there, the sunlight warming them, he kissed the top of her head, whispered, “It’s over.”

  Epilogue

  HIGH OVER EUROPE

  Captain Garth Nix sat in the noisy cargo hold of a C17 cargo plane, flying his boy home. A group of soldiers rotating back home sat silently around the flag-draped casket.

  These would be the last hours he would spend with his best friend, the closest thing to a brother he had ever known. He was reading to him—Garry Trudeau’s The War Within, a collection of Doonesbury cartoons he knew the Sergeant loved. Nix laughed as he read, imagined his mate laughing too, hoped that voice in his head would never truly go away.

  WASHINGTON DC

  Bill McCorkell sat back in his chair as he watched the news report: the wash-up of the shoot-out in Bellagio. Italian press were reporting it as a botched US rendition, while the CNN reporter on the scene called it pretty close to the truth. A Russian official came on and McCorkell switched channels. The BBC had a couple of well-dressed anchors commenting on the UN’s progress with a new trans-boundary water treaty.

  McCorkell switched off the screen as his secretary entered with a pile of manila folders for his in-tray. Under the official White House symbol, the top file was labelled: India–Pakistan Water Negotiations. The two countries were at the peace table, working out a new water treaty under the guidance of the UN. Kashmir was still an issue, would be for a long time, but at the very least the water was to be shared, and that was a step in the right direction towards some greater measure of peace and reconciliation. Iran—well, that was a potential problem for the future.

  McCorkell packed his case and headed home; the files could wait until the morning. He decided that he would take that UN job. He liked the idea of brokering peace for times ahead, rather than dealing with security problems as they arose.

  He walked out of the foyer and into the cold Washington night as his internal page beeped. McCorkell dialled and indentified himself.

  “Sir, this is the Situation Room. Russia and Georgia is happening—”

  He looked back over his shoulder at the White House all lit up, then looked away again.

  “Can’t the National Security Advisor handle it?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir—I—I just thought you’d like to know…” the White House military aide replied.

  He smiled. Still a figure to be trusted and relied on. “I’ll catch up to speed in the morning.”

  The Russian Ambassador would be called into the Oval Office first thing. He would ask for the release of their national, Roman Babich. The story was opening up; Babich’s take-down was big news. He had been identified with Americans in Italy’s Lake Como via shaky footage of tourists’ digital cameras and cell phones; something like a low-budget Paul Greengrass film. The ambassador would have a list of demands; the President’s team would be resolute.

  The UN would be another interesting chapter to an already full life. A final snow was meant to dump overnight, and tomorrow would look very different.

  SOUTH KENT, CONNECTICUT

  In the main house of Tas Wallace’s sprawling farm in Litchfield County, Fox sat at his new MacBook, finishing an editorial for gsrnews.com.

  … India and Pakistan have entered peace talks and are implementing a new water treaty that the UN is setting up as a model for other nations.

  This story isn’t going away, it’s developing. Thankfully, in the right direction—towards peace.

  As he emailed it through to the sub-editors at the Seagram Building, Faith Williams stood behind him, reading over his shoulder.

  “You’re like Carrie Bradshaw with a gun.”

  Fox turned, looked up at her, realised he had been speaking aloud as he typed. Faith put her hand on his shoulder and he held it for a bit.

  Tas Wallace came in, fresh from Washington. “You did good, again,” he said, smiling. “And you’re relatively unscathed this time.”

  Fox smiled. He felt the pain in his crushed hand, but that wasn’t what bothered him; there was pain of a different kind. “I find that the harder I work,” Fox said, “the more luck I seem to have.”

  “That’s a fact,” Wallace said, clapping him on the back. “You did real good, Lachlan, real good.”

  “There are no facts, only interpretations,” Fox said, closing his computer and packing it away in his backpack. “But as long as good people don’t need laws to tell them to act responsibly, and bad people continue to find ways around the laws, I’ll keep interpreting for you.”

  Outside, the fog had lifted. Fox put on his jacket, looked around. The FBI presence was heavy and visible: six vehicles, both gates covered, agents in tactical gear around the perimeter. A few GSR security people were about, too; a last line of defence if needed. A helicopter was parked on the north lawn, rotors still slowing to a stop from Wallace’s arrival.

  Fox joined Hutchinson on the lawn, from where they had a view of the glass sitting room that jutted off the converted barn. Inside at a table sat Kate Matthews, her parents at either side of her, listening, talking.

  “Their world has changed, again,” Hutchinson said. He sighed and looked sideways at Fox. “Umbra—or what’s left of it—wants Babich back. They probably won’t stop until you’re dead, one way or the other.”

  Fox smiled, looked at the lawman. “He’d be enormously improved by death, himself.”

  “Unfortunately, Lach, it ain’t that simple.”

  “Of course not,” Fox replied, looking back at Kate. She may have been looking at him but it was hard to tell.

  The Feds had picked her parents up and driven them here two hours ago. The family had been together ever since; an FBI shrink and medical team were also around someplace. Kate’s parents seemed to grow younger with each minute they sat with her. What a feeling—he felt that way, too.

  “Where’s Al?” Hutchinson asked.

  Fox almost laughed. “Purgatory,” he replied. “Shopping with the missus for wedding stuff.”

  “Serves him right,” Hutchinson said. “Tas and Faith are there in the main house?”

  “Business as usual,” Fox replied, picturing the pair of them working the phones, putting out fires.

  The two men were quiet for a few minutes.

  “Look, Lach—”

  “Save it, Andy,” Fox said, zipping up his leather jacket. “Seriously. Kate and I had something. A lot of shit happened. She left—you fucking hid her.”

  “I did what I had—”

  “You didn’t tell me, even after all I was doing for you!” Fox was up close in the agent’s face with a tight fistful of the lapel of Hutchinson’s coat. “I trusted you and you left me out. I could have helped protect her; this might never have happened like this—”

  Kate came out of the guesthouse door and started across the wet grass lawn, her arms wrapped around herself for warmth.

  “Yeah, and maybe you would have been the one taken captive,” Hutchinson said, freeing himself from Fox’s grasp and taking a step back. “Maybe they would have just popped you or her off somewhere, somewhere we never would have found you.” He paused. “Look, I know this is all a shock to you.”

  A look from Fox said it all.

  “I know you’re not one to back do
wn from a fight,” Hutchinson said. “And this is the good fight, Lach. Keep doing this, and not just for Kate’s sake—do it for everyone. Babich’s trial is going to be the biggest since Saddam’s—and you made that happen.”

  Fox watched Kate approach, silent.

  “Babich is rolling, giving us some of what we need to go further, but the old boys at Umbra won’t like it. They’ll want you to drop the story.”

  “Fine, I’ll drop it. Done.”

  “Or … you can join my team. It’s growing—come check it out at least, you’ll like it. Or you could get on a plane and bug out, no hard feelings. But we’ve got one shot at this,” Hutchinson said, his tone quiet and final. “One chance to deal out the biggest piece of real justice against these guys since the Wall came down. This is a defining moment in history. This is just what we need to do post 9/11 and Iraq.”

  “And what do I need? What does Kate need?” Fox looked at Hutchinson, angry. He spoke quietly as she came within earshot. “It hasn’t been easy for her. There’s a defining moment in history occurring for the people right here today. It wasn’t easy at her funeral.”

  “Lach…” Hutchinson said. “We were on a boat out on the Hudson, Kate and me, watching—watching her own funeral.”

  Kate reached them, stood in close to Hutchinson. The lawman put an arm around her shoulders. “It was the closest goodbye to her family she could get,” he said, “wasn’t it, Kate?” She gave the briefest of nods, distraught. “Do you think it was easy for her to move on? Do you think she wanted to? I mean, fuck, the people in witness protection lose everything—no more family, no old life. They have to make a new life, fast, or they go nuts. This doesn’t end for her, Lach. She has to go back under. It will be like dying again.”

  “Is that what you want to do, Kate?” Fox searched her eyes, red from crying. She shrugged, looked at Hutchinson.

  “Part of me wants to stop hiding now,” Kate said. “I’m sick of fighting and hanging on. Yeah, Lachlan, for you this is a big story, and we’re both part of it now, but it feels almost too late to do anything except stand in the dark and let them come.”

  Fox gritted his teeth.

  “You know you can’t be lucky all the time, Lach,” Hutchinson said. “This isn’t over. Stay here where we can protect you. They’re out there and they’re probably closer than we know.”

  Fox thought back to the moments he had shared with Kate earlier that morning. They had walked along the creek, watched the Connecticut sunrise through broken clouds.

  “This will get messy,” he’d said. “But it’s all right; I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

  Kate had looked off to the distance, at the FBI agents on perimeter duty. “I’m so sorry,” she had said.

  Fox had looked at her, nodded.

  “You’re really there for me, after everything?”

  Fox had smiled, touched her shoulder, let his hand rest on her face and neck. She had looked so happy. In that moment she should have been sad …

  “I’ll be in touch, Andy,” Fox said, back in the moment. He walked over to his motorbike. Kate followed him.

  The FBI man gave the pair some space. Rain fell.

  “Lachlan, please, stay here with me until we know more,” Kate asked. “Please?”

  Fox began to put his helmet on but she stopped him, holding his face in her hands. He turned in to her, close, gently pushed her wet hair out of her eyes.

  “Why go now?”

  “It’s complicated,” he replied.

  “Complicated? Stay. Stay for me.”

  Fox shook his head, looked across at the long gravel driveway. They were out there, coming for him, coming for her. Either way, he’d find them or they’d find her. It was only a matter of time.

  “Please don’t leave me again.”

  Fox smiled, looked into those eyes he’d dreamed about for so many sleepless nights. He kissed her, held her … Such a familiar embrace.

  “Kate, look at me.” Her eyes met his. “I never left you.”

  She bit her lip, took a step back. Maybe she understood. Time would tell.

  Fox started the bike up and thundered down the driveway. He knew what lay ahead wasn’t much different from what he’d already been through. He knew he could either watch it unfold or deal with it as it happened.

  He turned onto the highway and hit a hundred in three seconds. He buzzed around a few cars, wound out third gear to nine thousand rpm, then fourth, fifth. Two hundred clicks per hour and the bike had plenty more to give.

  He knew his life, like Kate’s, was changed forever, again. Nothing that had happened could be undone, nothing could be redeemed.

  Another turn. Another gear. Whether his future lay ahead or behind him he was unsure. Either way, it was a new place and a new life that was going to get more dangerous before it got easier. He wished he could head west, follow the sun—but they were out there, somewhere, close. He headed south.

  It’s never over.

  Acknowledgements

  Big thanks to the talented crew at Hachette Australia. Vanessa Radnidge, Claire de Medici, Roberta Ivers, Joan Beal, Louise Sherwin-Stark, Fiona Hazard, Luke Causby and many more not only have helped shape this novel and get it out there but have been guiding me along for four years and four books now. It’s a nice family to be in.

  As usual I am indebted to all my family and friends. Special thanks go to my early readers, Tony Wallace, Malcolm Beasley, Emily McDonald and Tony Niemann.

  Thanks to my agent Pippa Masson and the team at Curtis Brown for another year of dedicated representation and many more books contracted … Busy times ahead.

  Nicole Wallace, thanks for giving me a reason to put my pen down at the end of the day.

  More from Lachlan Fox

  Fox Hunt

  It’s hard to bury a past. Lachlan Fox is about to discover it’s ever harder to dig it back up.

  While most of the world’s Intel resources have been tied up in Afghanistan and Iraq, the president of Chechnya has been making plans— and the clock is ticking. A world away, off Christmas Island, ex-navy operative Lachlan Fox is on a diving trip with his best friend, Alister Gammaldi. From the moment they lift a mysterious metallic object off the sea floor of the Indian Ocean, the two men set in motion a chain of events that will drag them into the corrupt world of international politics and arms races.

  From East Timor to Grozny, Washington to New York, and Venice to Iran, Lachlan Fox is forced into an adrenaline-fuelled quest to save his friend, himself … and the world.

  Patriot Act

  When knowledge is power, every bit of information can be a lethal weapon.

  September 11th changed everything. The US Patriot Act has given the UK/USA treaty countries free reign to use their echelon surveillance program to monitor every spoken or written word transmitted throughout the world. In the wrong hands it could bring down governments and threaten the safety of millions.

  Ex-navy operative and investigative journalist Lachlan Fox has information hinting at the true reach of echelon, and he is starting to suspect someone is ruthlessly trying to access its power.

  Can he uncover the answers before the course of history is altered forever?

  Blood Oil

  What is the price of a human life? Lachlan Fox is about to pay it.

  Oil prices are rocketing. Terror attacks have destabilized the global economy. The White House believes the Nigerian oil fields are the key to safeguarding America’s future, but someone else sees them as an opportunity to consolidate power.

  Travelling from New York to Nigeria, investigative journalist and ex-navy operative Lachlan Fox is hunting the story. He’s seen action in Afghanistan, East Timor and Iraq, but this time it’s personal. Wrestling with demons that push him right to the edge and leave him exposed like never before, will Fox uncover the truth in time? Or will his quest for revenge see him go too far?

  Red Ice

&n
bsp; If he’s going to save lives, starting with his own, Lachlan Fox has very little time to kill.

  Investigative journalist and ex-navy operative, Lachlan Fox, is holidaying with friends in the French countryside, but when the extradition of an infamous criminal goes horribly wrong, and is somehow tied to the assassination of a Russian diplomat in Paris, Fox is forced back into action.

  Over one relentless day, Fox travels from Paris to Shanghai to unravel a 100-year mystery. With a price on his head, navigating between the FBI, the CIA, and the French police, who can he trust? Racing against time, Fox is the one man who can stand in the way of a global catastrophe.

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