Redback

by Lindy Cameron

  ‘Good grief, imagine what it must be like not having al-Qaeda on your side,’ President Brock said.

  ‘Indeed,’ Janeway said as everyone laughed.

  ‘So Brenda, what’s the latest on the situation in Texas?’ Bonney asked.

  ‘The tattoo?’ the President repeated.

  ‘Oh sorry sir,’ van Louden said. ‘Ilia Dushenko’s body art is a visual representation of the code name given by the otherwise-anonymous woman who rang the French authorities on behalf of the Brigade d’Etoile d’Euro. Now luckily, the Frogs recognised her immediately from Justin’s cell phone photos alone; but even if they hadn’t, this tattoo might have at least given away her involvement in the plot.

  ‘You see Dushenko, or the woman who put her hand up for the bombing, called herself Caryatid. So the European authorities would eventually have connected the two and searched their databases for any known female terrorist, criminal or even lap dancer, tattooed with Greek statues. And so, a circle of identification was accidentally completed, ironically by the woman who started drawing it, and through the instrument she chose to use.’

  Brock blinked. ‘I don’t get it.’

  ‘That type of Greek statue, in the tattoo, is called a caryatid, Mr President,’ Martin explained. ‘They’re support columns, you know, like those big statues of women that hold up the veranda roof of the Parthenon in Athens. And that’s Athens Greece, sir; not Athens, Georgia or Ohio.’

  ‘Oh,’ Brock said, none the wiser. He peered closely at the tattoo and then flipped back through the photos. ‘Well, I feel I need to say this, so that there is no question hanging here in the room. Nate, you are not ever to think that, because of your relationship to young, ah your nephew, that you - or in fact he - is in any way to blame for this tragedy. The boy was obviously used. And just look at her, I mean honestly, which one of us would not have been tempted by such a beauty?’

  The President looked up at the EAD of the FBI’s NSB. ‘Sorry Brenda. That probably sounded crass. Not my intention. And naturally the, ah, reference to being tempted, well it doesn’t include you. But, Harry did describe her as a femme fatale, and she’d certainly qualify, in my book, as a Hata Mari.’

  For an interminable moment, until they were rescued by a knock on the door and the entrance of Deputy Secretary of State, Adam Lyall, there was no eye contact made in the Oval Office. Lyall apologised for his tardiness, and the President took the opportunity to confirm with his personal secretary that coffee was on the way.

  ‘I’m glad you’re still here, Mr Vice President,’ Lyall said, taking a seat next to Arlen Conte on one of the couches. ‘My staff just re-confirmed your attendance at the SETSA meeting this weekend.’

  Obviously taken aback, Conte said, ‘But Adam, they’ve had an assassination down there in Sydney. I was sure the summit would be cancelled. I mean, good heavens, even their Prime Minister was wounded.’

  ‘Don’t you worry about Bob Harvey, he’s made of Teflon,’ the President declared, and then frowned. ‘Or, Kevlar. And the man’s got balls.’

  ‘I’m sure, had the Prime Minister been the one killed, the Australians might have considered cancelling SETSA,’ Lyall said. ‘But he wasn’t, and apparently he’s already trying to get out of bed. I seriously doubt any government would cancel a summit of this magnitude, only a few days before dignitaries start arriving. Harvey has, however, already tripled the security arrangements.’

  ‘Besides, cancelling would be giving in to the damn terrorists,’ van Louden said, getting up to stretch his legs. ‘And right now, none of us should be seen to be doing that.’

  ‘Well, we wouldn’t cancel unless, God forbid, the President himself was assassinated. Or you, Mr Vice President,’ Bonney stated. ‘In fact, if we’re being honest, I doubt we’d even put off a Rose Garden photo-op for the winners of the World Series, if our Attorney-General was killed.’

  Conte sighed, ‘I guess I was just hoping I didn’t have to go.’

  ‘Someone has to, Arlen,’ Brock stressed. ‘We can’t let our Aussie friends down, especially when they’re having a moment like this one. I’d go myself of course, but I can’t because diabolical things are happening here that need my attention.’

  ‘You can’t go anyway, Mr President,’ Rob Martin said. ‘Our geographic position in the world only qualifies us for SETSA representation, not full membership.’

  ‘Thanks to Hawaii we are entitled to be a SETSA associate,’ Bonney said. ‘But, as Rob said, being an associate does not qualify us for Head of State invitation status. Custom and common sense, however, dictates we send our next available highest ranking dignitary to make sure our interests are visible and vocal.’

  Brock frowned. ‘So Arlen gets to go because he hails from Hawaii?’

  ‘No Garner,’ Conte sighed inaudibly. ‘I get to go because I’m the Vice President.’

  The President smiled at his own little joke.

  ‘Can I ask you about Texas now, Brenda?’ Secretary Bonney asked.

  ‘Yes, please,’ Janeway said, but looked at the President as she replied. ‘As of Friday, the separate though linked investigations into the Dallas and Fort Hood incidents have come under the joint command of the FBI’s Agent Kerry Townsend, and Homeland Security’s Paul Grainger. Under the authority of my National Security Branch, everything - and there is already a truck load of intel - is now going through their command post at Fort Hood in Killeen.

  ‘The moment it was suspected, and unhappily verified, that these twin attacks were the actions of our very own home-grown, non-Islamic, corn-fed American terrorists it was like everyone involved in the investigation got steely-eyed instead of horrified. I swear, gentlemen, Operation Nighthawk took on a completely different tone.

  ‘We’ve got every federal, state and local law enforcement agency working on the same page. Even the CIA is sitting down with us, and not skulking around the corridors pretending they know more than they do.

  ‘All of us are angry as hell about this being a domestic crime and not an international plot; which is obviously a perverse reaction. But the greatest miracle so far is that there have been no turf disputes at all; not about jurisdiction, the chain of command, or even the quality of the coffee.

  ‘We have yet to identify the dead conspirator at Fort Hood. All we can say for sure is that he’s a white male aged in his late 20s. Agent Townsend suspects he was murdered and left on purpose to make sure, that after first jumping to the wrong conclusion about the perpetrators, we would then discover the truth; and sooner rather than later. Whoever he was, he was shot execution style with a bullet to the back of the head.’

  ‘That’s a mighty strange theory,’ Conte said. ‘I trust that this certainty you all have, that we’ve entered McVeigh territory with these attacks, is not based solely on this dead American boy. My natural assumption would’ve been that foreign terrorists killed an innocent bystander, either because he stumbled in on what they were doing, or to throw us off the scent. I’m sure Agent Townsend has better insight than I, but it seems a great leap for him to take.’

  ‘Believe me there’s plenty of evidence to support her theory,’ Janeway said. ‘Not the least of which is that unlike the two radio-controlled aircraft that destroyed those very expensive Apache helicopters, the model airplane found crushed beneath the dead body of the victim-slash-alleged-terrorist was incapable of flying. And I don’t mean because it was squashed. It actually had no motor, no explosives, nothing.’

  ‘Speaking of the Apaches,’ Bonney said. ‘What’s the latest on the two pilots?’

  ‘Only one was a pilot; is a pilot. First Lieutenant Angie Tovey was released from hospital on Friday I believe. Sadly the ground crewman with her, Specialist Garber, ended up losing a leg.

  Chapter Forty-One

  United 838, Bangkok to Houston

  Monday 11.30 am

  Cruising at an altitude of, too high to consider as being reasonably possible, Scott stared out the window at the summits of a skyscape of mou
ntainous clouds. He used to be afraid of flying until a hypnotist gave him the skills to defeat the terror and imagine he was anywhere else. He still wasn’t sure how it worked, but he no longer wondered how the aircraft got up in the air, and therefore didn’t worry that it would drop like a brick.

  It was just after 11.30 am Thai time, but he was already two hours from Bangkok, and that was after the one hour flight from Chiang Mai to meet his hurriedly arranged international flight.

  Ari had been able tell him three things when he woke him at sunrise: the GlobalWarTek disk was not a dud; he had gained access to a new room, which meant the Rashmana part of the game was more extensive than just two levels; and a Commander Blaze-Lali was about to ring back from Japan.

  The latter turned out to be Ari’s serious-nerd friend from Nayazuki Firebolt in Tokyo. She rang while they breakfasted on tropical fruits, fresh crepes and coffee-to-die-for; all enjoyed in the Zen zone of the HiroshAri garden patio. As it turned out, Blaze-Lali couldn’t give them much more than a company name. Hiro Kaga had done his multi-million dollar Director’s Cut for a British-American company called Blue Atlantico, based in San Francisco.

  Ari then showed Scott how to get into the Rashmana Map Room inside the WarTek game. The incredible 3D graphics of this ‘inner sanctum’ made it look like a cross between a mediaeval war room and NASA control. It was cluttered with globes, rolled parchments, books, wall maps, planetary-system mobiles and obsolete computer equipment.

  All of this surrounded what was obviously the room’s raison d’être: an enormous terrain-model table map of - and that was the question. It appeared to be a relief plan of a section of the world. But as Ari had not been able to crack the code for complete access, they were unable to pull back for a bird’s eye view of the table to determine if it was a map of the real world. If it was, then the new question was: what was it telling the people who did have the correct passwords?

  Ari had pirated the pirate disk and promised he’d keep trying; so Scott took his leave of the late Hiro Kaga’s best friend, his twin brother, and his mistress. He was now, a few hours later, barely into a tedious 20-hour trip to Houston that involved three touchdowns and connecting flights. The reward at the end of his journey, fortunately, would take the form of the lovely Laura Serrano, CIA spook and ex-lover, now friend, who had promised to meet him at the George Bush Intercontinental Airport.

  Chiang Mai, Thailand

  Monday 11.30 am

  Jana stepped from the terrace on the Picot Bar roof into the first-floor place the Redbacks called home when they were in Chiang Mai. She’d learnt last night that Gideon and her boys had several such homes, in too many places to list on a drink coaster. This one was simple but pleasant, with all the basics like kitchen, lounge, two bathrooms, and four bedrooms with a total of 12 beds.

  Last night, Jana had wandered like Goldilocks into a room with two double beds where she sat down, simply to test the bounce, and woke up five hours later to discover someone had kindly covered her with a sheet. She didn’t spend too much time wondering who, as Gideon was sleeping face down on the other bed, with her head under the pillow.

  Where a little earlier there’d been no one about, she now found Coop and Triko in the kitchen.

  ‘Kalimera Doc.’

  ‘Good morning to you too, Triko. You must have returned very late from your valiant volunteer mission to dispose of Alan.’

  ‘Stupid bastard wouldn’t let me leave in case someone else tried to kidnap him,’ Triko said. ‘His mate Bob and I finally got him very drunk and put him to bed in a room I’d taken for them on a different floor; in the name of Ally Wiggler. I’m hoping Bob took my suggestion and got some bar girls up to the room to take a few compromising photos of him.’

  ‘Oh, I would’ve helped with that plan.’ Jana rubbed her hands together with mischievous glee.

  ‘Anyone for tea, coffee, juice? Name your poison,’ Coop said, as he arranged a platter with mouth-watering slices of mango, jackfruit, rambutan, jujube and banana.

  ‘I’ll fix the coffee,’ Triko offered.

  Jana took a seat at the breakfast bar. ‘Are you a frustrated chef or something, Coop?’

  ‘Not frustrated at all,’ he said grinning contentedly.

  ‘He does most of the cooking for all of us here and at home,’ Triko said.

  ‘I’m doing a course.’

  ‘He’s always doing a course,’ Triko said with a laugh. ‘Thai, Japanese, French, Spanish, Greek, you name it. He’s master of the tapas, chief of the curry, and my Greek grandmother - who thinks he’s God’s gift - shares all her family recipes with him.’

  ‘She loves me,’ Coop said ducking his head.

  ‘She’s in love with you, mate.’ Triko turned to Jana, ‘My 78-year-old Yaya wants him to be her toyboy. She’s always saying: “Shane agapi mou, Shane my darling”. It’s very creepy.’

  ‘Oh knackers, Christos Perdicus Trikopoulis. You love it that she loves me.’

  Triko lifted his chin in mock dismissal then noticed something behind Jana. ‘Oh, I forgot to tell you I collected your gear from the hotel.’

  Jana, turning to see what he was pointing at, was surprised to discover it was her suitcase, cabin bag, laptop. ‘How did you… Second thoughts, forget I didn’t quite ask. But why?’

  ‘In case Kelman came looking for any of you,’ he said.

  ‘Before or after he gets his bullet wound tended to?’ she asked.

  Triko shrugged. ‘Bryn just told me to go get your stuff and bring it here.’

  ‘Oh did she? And where is she?’ Jana asked, choosing another piece of jackfruit. ‘Still in bed?’

  ‘Not bloody likely,’ Coop said. ‘That woman thrives on about five hours sleep. She was probably out running at dawn.’

  Jana narrowed her eyes. ‘Not unless she went back to bed afterwards. She was asleep at 7 am.’

  ‘In that case I have no idea where she is.’

  ‘Don’t look at me,’ Triko said.

  ‘Well, this little black duck has an appointment with a new colleague at 12.30,’ Jana announced. ‘So I’d better go make myself presentable.’

  ‘Oh yeah? With whom and where?’ Coop asked.

  Jana raised her eyebrows. ‘Are you asking out of interest, or because El Capitan told you to keep an eye on me?’

  ‘Yes,’ Triko and Coop said in unison.

  Jana grinned. ‘I am meeting, and I quote, “a roving Australian field agent” of my soon-to-be employer…’

  “The Helix Foundation,’ Triko finished for her; offering her the fruit plate again. ‘You told us the new job bit last night, but neglected to mention the appointment.’

  ‘Neglected? Ooh, should I ring and postpone it, until Ms Gideon gets back to approve my leaving the premises? Or do you two just want to come with me?’

  ‘No need,’ said a familiar female - but not Bryn’s - voice behind her. That in itself was weird because Jana was pretty sure there’d been no other women in the house with them.

  ‘The meeting has come to you,’ the woman added.

  Jana shook her head slowly as she swivelled on the bar stool.

  This is not happening. The world could not be this small, this coincidental, this ridiculous.

  She sighed. Yes it could.

  There, standing before her, with Bryn Gideon, was the CEO of Rankin Jardine Inc., founder of the Helix Foundation, Jana’s soon-to-be employer, Ruth Jardine.

  ‘She’s not often this lost for a helluva lot to say,’ Gideon noted.

  Jana was not game to get off the stool in case she suddenly woke up in La-La Land. ‘Okay, I’m actually in a coma in a loony bin in Budapest, right; and my mind, or the meds, are playing merry hell with someone’s reality.’

  ‘Hello Jana,’ Ruth laughed. ‘I just happened to be in the neighbourhood and thought I’d sit in on your meeting.’

  ‘No, I’m sorry,’ Jana raised her hands. ‘No one just happens to be in the neighbourhood of a semi-secret organisation’s safe h
ouse in a far-away city of a foreign land. This is not happening.’

  ‘Want some more jujube fruit?’ Coop asked.

  Jana flicked him a don’t be absurd look and then turned back to Gideon.

  ‘Bryn! What the hell did you do? Go through all my stuff and check my diary, and track down my appointments, and lie in wait at the hotel for anyone who came looking for me? I mean, you even picked up one,’ she pointed at Ruth, ‘I wasn’t even expecting.’

  Ruth cast a glance at Gideon and said, ‘She wasn’t speechless for very long at all.’

  ‘I told you she never draws breath.’ Gideon strolled into the kitchen, opened the fridge and took out a bottle of cold water. ‘And no, Jana; I didn’t need to rummage through your diary,’ she added.

  ‘What is going on?’ Jana looked from Gideon to Ruth; as her employer-to-be sat next to her and patted her arm. Now that felt real. Unasked, Coop poured two cups of green tea and pushed them across the counter.

  ‘Thank you, Shane,’ said Ruth.

  Jana cricked her neck. Thank you, Shane? Thank you, Shane!

  ‘How you doing, Ruth?’ Triko asked.

  ‘I’m just tickety-boo, thank you sweetheart.’

  Sweetheart? Worried that waking from her coma too suddenly might risk permanent damage to her psyche, Jana slid off her stool and without another word, left the room and locked herself in the toilet. When she returned five minutes later Ruth, Gideon and the boys were in the kitchen talking as though they were old friends - which they obviously were.

  ‘Explain everything to me now, or I’m packing my bags and going home.’ Jana said, retaking her seat. ‘Oh, look, they’re already packed for me.’ She raised her eyebrows.

  Despite their pact not to, Ruth and the Redbacks all laughed at once.

  ‘I’m glad you all think this is so funny. But honest-to-God I feel like I’m the butt of some huge cosmic joke. So knock it off, the lot of you.’