‘Fine,’ Gideon said and smiled in mock defeat. ‘We are an Australian Retrieval Agency. Basically we get people back from places they don’t want to be. We rescue captives from hostage situations - hence we were on Laui.
‘We retrieve corporate executives from ransom situations, we re-abduct kids taken abroad by foreign spouses. Basically we go where regular law enforcement types can’t, in order to bring Aussies home. You?’
Rawley sighed. ‘My team and I were on Laui to liberate the hostages and, you know, generally save the day.’
‘You fucked up,’ Coop noted.
‘On both counts,’ Gideon added.
‘Didn’t even come close,’ Jana finished.
‘All right, already,’ Rawley raised his hands. ‘The thing is I’m not altogether sure, now, that we were supposed to succeed. I mean it wasn’t you guys who stopped us was it?’
‘Nope,’ Gideon said.
‘But it was us who got all the hostages off Laui, and without shooting anyone,’ Coop said.
Almost. Jana caste a glance at Gideon who responded with a slight lift of her chin.
‘But, as she pointed out,’ Rawley said, motioning towards Jana, ‘we didn’t even get close to the hostages before the excrement hit our fan.’
‘Why was your mate Kelman already on the island?’ Gideon asked. She noted the American looked uncomfortable, or pissed off. Not a poker player either way.
Rawley rolled his shoulders and took a swig of beer. ‘First of all, Nick Kelman is no friend of mine. We did basic together, and we served in the same unit in the first Gulf War. Since then we’ve bumped into each other on army bases, and in war zones and areas of conflict from Kabul to Kentucky. These days, however, Kelman is strictly an off-the-grid black ops specialist.’
‘As was your Laui mission,’ Coop pointed out. ‘You even told him, ‘black ops are black, man’. And you said ‘this kind of shit gets denied every day’. Am I right?’
‘Well yeah,’ Rawley frowned, wondering just how much these Aussies heard before they barged in and rescued him from almost certain death.
‘Covert missions are, by their very nature, deniable affairs. But even so, there are black ops and there are black ops. Yours for instance are probably more like mine, you know: under-the-radar, back alley, in-and-out kinda deals. Kelman’s gigs, however, are long term, deep-core drilling expeditions, carried out in the pitch dark.’
‘So, again I ask, what was he doing on Laui Island before you?’
Rawley rubbed his forehead. ‘Probably helping Mila Ifran and his Pacific Rebel Alliance gunslingers organise the crisis in which a bunch of delegates were taken hostage and held against their will for nine days.’
‘But…but you guys are American soldiers. Aren’t you?’
When Gideon, Coop and Rawley turned as one to stare at her, Jana threw up her hands and added, ‘What?’
Rawley smiled at her. ‘Although I’m currently assigned to a covert squad, I am indeed a US Marine,’ he said. She sensed the pride in his words. ‘Nick Kelman, on the other hand, now works for the highest bidder, which means his sponsors these days could be anyone from big business to the US military to a foreign interest. Basically, he’s a merc.’
‘That’s a mercenary, Doc,’ Gideon elaborated.
‘I got that one,’ Jana said.
‘So Kelman works for anyone,’ Coop said. ‘Who were you working for on Laui?’
Rawley shrugged, ‘Apparently, the second-highest bidder. Mind you, the way my luck’s been going lately, Kelman’s mission sponsor and my boss are probably the same.’
‘Is that possible?’ Gideon asked.
‘Oh yes,’ Rawley laughed, finally lighting the cigarette he’d been fiddling with. ‘In this case though, I doubt it; or rather I hope not. And not just because, as a possibility, it’s too depressing to consider seriously, because it would mean my own government wants me dead.’
‘But you don’t really know for sure?’ Gideon asked.
‘I don’t know who Kelman was there for,’ Rawley said. He downed the rest of his beer. ‘I can, and will tell you I was deployed, indirectly of course, by Adam Lyall.’
Jana, noting that she wasn’t the only person waiting for a punch line this time, asked, ‘Are we supposed to know who that person is?’
Rawley raised his eyebrows. ‘The US Deputy Secretary of State.’
‘Bloody hell,’ Gideon said.
‘Well said,’ Rawley nodded.
‘But there were only two Americans amongst those hostages,’ Coop said. ‘Why on earth would a grand pooh-bah like this Lyall bloke risk the political fallout of sending in the cavalry, albeit undercover, for only two US citizens?’
‘Oh come on, man, those dudes, all those powers-that-be, do that shit all the time. Y’all just don’t hear about it. And of course the higher up the food chain they are, the better they’re covered by the whole command-chain of plausible deniability. Especially if it’s a screw-up.
‘Case in point,’ Rawley said, pointing at Jana. ‘How many people out there know it was you guys who rescued her and the others from Laui? Alan Wagner certainly didn’t - and he was there.’
‘He’s got a point,’ Jana remarked. ‘Especially given who secured your services to retrieve us.’
Gideon smiled. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. Remind me later.’
‘Not likely,’ Jana said, figuring Bryn wanted to know about her connection with the Foreign Minister. She changed the subject back again. ‘It is still a valid question though, Rawley. Why would Lyall do that? I mean it’s not like we had Tiger Woods and Madonna on that island with us. Was he perhaps related to the otherwise-unknown Colin or Mary?’
‘Not that I know of,’ Rawley said. ‘Lyall has got this whole backroom push going for the establishment of an international anti-terrorist armed force, so he does take any opportunity to weigh in, one way or another, to prove the need for it.’
‘I thought that Counter-Terror Army concept was President Brock’s big idea,’ Gideon said. ‘Or is it true that he doesn’t actually generate those things on his own?’
‘If you mean ideas,’ Rawley smiled, ‘then no, Garner Brock would think he’d been assaulted if one of those crept up on him. It was the previous Secretary of Defense, Brock’s good buddy Chet Barber, who originally came up with the CTA proposal. The President has been running with it ever since, even though no one else, not even the Willing Coalition countries wanted to come on board.
‘Lyall’s pet project is, allegedly, something that might just get up though. He’s advocating a small mobile force, dedicated to reacting instantly to any insurgents or terrorists who target diplomatic missions, foreign nationals, businesses or tourists - wherever they are. And it would be an official multinational force, so whichever countries belonged would be protected or assisted. It would deal with situations like the PRA one on Laui, the DFA in Peru, the IJA in Algeria, or with cross-border acts of terror wherever they’re committed. He envisions a kind of anti-terror SWAT team.’
‘Thunderbirds are go,’ Gideon said.
‘Precisely,’ Rawley smiled.
‘If someone like the Secretary of State…’
‘He’s only the Deputy Sec,’ Rawley interjected.
‘Whatever,’ Coop waved. ‘If he was behind your deployment, why do you now suspect you were supposed to fail? Did you think that was his intention?’
‘No, not at all,’ Rawley said. ‘You see, some politician from Texas or Tennessee got wind of the mission, or rather the fiasco, and just happened to mention it on CNN. So suddenly, my team was going to be named as having failed the rescue bid. That is not how we work.
‘Another thing that kinda raised my suspicions was Kelman - as witnessed by you guys - tracking me here and threatening to kill me.’ Rawley shook his head. ‘But mostly I now believe that we were supposed to fail, because Nick Kelman was there on Laui.’
‘Yeah, but he was already there,’ Gideon reminded him. ‘Mayb
e he was hired by Mila Ifran.’
‘Only remotely possible,’ Rawley said. ‘I doubt that Ifran’s PRA would come close to affording Kelman’s services. Also, I don’t necessarily think it was personal - not against me and mine specifically. I believe that whoever turned up on Laui, and someone was bound to - as we both did - was supposed to crash and burn, spectacularly. You guys are just lucky it wasn’t you.’
‘Why go to all that trouble?’ Gideon asked.
‘No idea. I’m sure Kelman was there working someone else’s agenda, by which I mean not Ifran’s and certainly not mine.’ Rawley butted out his smoke. ‘The man’s a false flag expert.’
‘What does that mean?’ Jana asked.
‘A false flag is a covert operation designed to appear as if it was carried out by another group,’ Gideon explained, then turned back to Rawley. ‘So you think someone elsewhere wanted or needed the PRA to cross the line from local rebels to dangerous insurgents?’
‘That would be my guess.’
Gideon looked at him as if he was missing the absolute bloody obvious. ‘And you really don’t think that person is Lyall?’
Rawley shook his head. ‘I really don’t, because us failing would not help his agenda,’ he explained. ‘If it is someone else back home it’s far more likely to be one of his political enemies. And believe me, Adam Lyall has more than a few of them. The dude from Texas or Iowa or wherever, who dropped the story on CNN, is probably one of them.’
Gideon noticed that Jana was frowning, and tapping the table. ‘What’s with you?’ she asked.
‘If all that Rawley suspects is true, then that means Kelman not only set up anyone who was sent to rescue us, but Mila Ifran as well.’
Rawley just raised his eyebrows.
‘I quite liked Mila Ifran,’ Jana admitted.
‘Are you mad? He took you hostage,’ Coop said scratching the top of his ear.
‘Yeah, the worst part of which was being confined with Alan. Ifran, comparatively speaking, was friendly, intelligent and charming.’ Jana turned to Rawley. ‘Why didn’t you shoot Kelman somewhere more permanent?’
‘You go girl,’ Coop cheered. ‘Sorry, inappropriate. But you were right about one thing earlier tonight, Rawley, Nick is a prick.’
‘A-grade,’ Rawley nodded. ‘Mind you, in his defence - although why I should bother I don’t know - he’s not all bad. He has helped train, and therefore keep alive for longer, a lot of personnel now working for those private security companies operating in Iraq, and other hot spots.’
‘You mean those mercs who get paid squillions to ride around Baghdad in armoured vehicles?’ Gideon smiled.
Rawley nodded, ‘The very same.’
‘And the very same ones who risk their lives on a daily basis to protect a bunch of shiny-arsed suits who are only over there to make their own fortunes rebuilding something their countrymen knocked down or blew up in the first place.’ Coop shook his head, ‘I’m not cynical.’
‘Well I’d never call you that,’ Rawley grinned. ‘Kelman also trained the Titan Guards. You remember, those private security dudes in India last year? They were providing personal security for…somebody, in Delhi, when they saved the Canadian Prime Minister and your own I believe, from that terrorist plot. I think Kelman might even have been there with them.’
‘Really?’ Gideon was surprised. ‘Well, it’s a pity he and his Titans weren’t in Sydney today, they could have saved that lanky pinguid bastard of ours a second time.’
‘Boss. Did you call our injured Prime Minister a penguin?’
‘No Coop, I said pinguid, and I merely implied that Mr Harvey is lean, greasy and fatherless.’
‘Um, back up guys,’ Jana requested. ‘What happened in Sydney today?’
‘Oh, Jana, didn’t you hear?’ Gideon turned to face her with an expression that indicated ‘very bad news indeed’ - until she pushed down the corners of her mouth to keep the serious look in place.
‘What? For goodness sake, what?’ Jana begged.
‘Our nation has suffered its first-ever political assassination. I know I should be outraged, but,’ Gideon shook her head slowly.
‘Oh Kael,’ Coop sang out to the manager of the Picot Bar. ‘Could you bring us a bottle of champagne and four glasses, please?’
Gideon placed her hand comfortingly on Jana’s arm, and said solemnly, ‘This afternoon, as they were emerging together from the water at Bondi Beach, our Prime Minister and the Attorney-General were shot at by an unknown assailant.’
‘You’re kidding,’ Jana exclaimed.
‘We kid you not,’ Coop verified, as Kael arrived with the bottle of champers. ‘Robert Harvey and Barnaby Cross were snipered this very arvo.’
As Kael popped the cork and began filling glasses, Jana Rossi found herself at a complete loss for words that made any sense. ‘What, how, what, um…’
‘Harvey was only,’ Gideon began, ‘I mean, Prime Minister Harvey was shot in the leg. Barney Cross, however - and may he never rest - was killed instantly by a bullet through the heart.’
‘And a nice clean single shot it was too, by all accounts,’ Coop said.
‘Oh my, I feel terrible.’ Jana dropped her head into her hands. ‘No really,’ Jana looked up at Gideon, her beautiful green eyes moist with emotion, ‘I feel truly awful about wanting to celebrate.’
Hotel Marhaba, Peshawar, Pakistan
Sunday 9 pm
Ashraf Majid and his kan kardes, his blood brother, sat grinning at each other in celebration of their small victory. Together, as a team, they had again defeated the foes of Dárayavaus, in the secret game within Global WarTek.
‘So Aga Ashraf, do you think we are ready?’
‘Most definitely Aga Bashir. And while I am still amazed that our first Trust could be manifested so accurately here on our television screen, I am glad it has given us a way to rehearse.’
‘Without leaving our room unless we wish to,’ Kali smiled.
‘And right under the probable gaze of the Future Bringer’s very opponents,’ Majid added.
‘What of our fellow role players?’ Kali asked.
Majid got to his feet and crossed the room to take a jug from the fridge. ‘The two seniors I breakfasted with today have also reached the game’s last level. And the three junior players are due to ring any moment and give me their final scores.’ He poured two glasses of iced water and returned to sit cross-legged on the floor beside Kali.
Although they swept their room for electronic bugs every time they returned to it, on this last night before the execution of their inaugural Trust, the young men were being especially careful about their choice of words. They knew the Americans or British or whoever might be trying to listen in, might also have remote sensors they could train on their third floor window, or devices that could be set against adjoining walls.
Majid was very much looking forward to leaving this stark hotel and this northern city. Kali had said their second Trust would be somewhere in the Pacific, once the Emissary had promoted them to duumvir and given them command of a permanent Cohort. Ashraf Majid had never been somewhere in the Pacific. He was exhilarated by the reality that by following the new way of Rashmana, as an adherent of Atarsa Kára, he would live long and see so many things of which he’d only dreamt.
The vibrating shoebox on the floor beside him brought him back to the stark Peshawar hotel. Majid lifted the lid and searched through the 20 cell phones for the one with the incoming call.
‘We have reached the finale, Aga,’ announced the young voice on the other end.
‘Excellent Jalees,’ Majid said. ‘This means you are ready for the grand tournament.’
‘Yes Aga. We will be at the start line, according to the rules.’
Majid switched off phone, slid off the back cover and removed the SIM card. He dropped the piece of plastic containing all evidence of the preceding phone call, into the small jar of acid that Kali had opened for him.
‘Only four left,
’ Kali said as he peered into the shoebox at the now, mostly dead communication devices. They both jumped as one of the four began vibrating. Kali answered this time.
‘Greetings Aga Bashir,’ said the unexpected caller. ‘Do you know who this is?’
Kali’s eyes widened in surprise and he tapped Majid on the knee and pointed at the phone. ‘Yes indeed, Emissary. And I hope that one day everyone everywhere will recognise your voice.’
Jamal Zahkri al Khudri laughed. ‘You are cheeky young Bashir. I am calling to wish you a safe journey to Oahu. So my friend, bissalama to you and your kan kardes.’
‘Shukran Emissary.’
The phone went dead. This time as they destroyed the SIM card, the young men could barely contain their pride and excitement. For the Emissary to risk a call merely to wish them luck on their first Trust was an honour indeed.
Kali, still smiling, placed his hands on his dear friend’s face and leant in close. He whispered ‘we are indeed blessed,’ and kissed Majid with a passion that neither man had ever denied.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Sydney, Australia
Monday 10 am
Aaron Danby resisted the urge to stem the flow of liquid by bending the tube of the saline drip lying near his hand. He used to do that to the garden hose when he was a kid, just to annoy his father when he was watering the plants. Danby sighed, there were times when he really hated being an adult. Perhaps he could press the other thing instead, and up the bastard’s morphine dose. It wasn’t like anyone’d notice the difference at the moment, what with Bob chucking a wobbly about next weekend’s SETSA meeting. Blah bloody blah! Anyone’d think the man had been shot or something.
Danby glanced up to catch Mick Fleming giving him the ‘don’t you even think about it’ look. It was often irritating that Mick knew him so well; other times it was a hoot.
‘Oh for goodness sake Bob,’ Danby finally snapped. ‘You’re right in the middle of a tragic and disturbing incident. And while we all know you’ve got the intestinal fortitude of a Mallee bull, the world will not actually end if you’re not fit enough to line dance with the other world leaders on Sunday night.’
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