Redback

by Lindy Cameron

  ‘Tell me about the Australians,’ Janeway said.

  ‘Before you go there,’ the SAC said, ‘I have some bad news I’m afraid. It seems that witness you just spoke to at Arlington General passed away before the agents dispatched to take his statement could get there.’

  Laura and Scott stared at Special Agent Hayden, then at each other, then back at him.

  ‘Passed away?’ Laura said in disbelief.

  ‘You mean Kyle?’ Scott said.

  ‘Passed away,’ Laura repeated. ‘What do you mean passed away?’

  The SAC shrugged. ‘I don’t understand what it is you don’t understand.’

  ‘You are talking about Kyle McTeal?’ Scott said.

  ‘Yes, Mr Dreher. Kyle McTeal, the possible witness.’

  ‘No, sir. Kyle McTeal - the Dallas bomber,’ Laura said. ‘And a man who, just an hour ago, was hale, hearty and demanding a second breakfast. Missing a few fingers he was, yes; but no more near death than you or I.’

  Laura was livid. Scott was gobsmacked. Director Janeway was already asking questions.

  The agents reporting in from the hospital were instructed to secure Kyle McTeal’s body for an FBI autopsy, and obtain all security-camera footage from Arlington Memorial. Janeway also ordered an immediate but low-key internal inquiry into who else knew about McTeal’s name turning up; or Laura and Scott’s visit to the hospital.

  Laura pointed out that if someone, like Jesse-Jay Baggett, had killed Kyle the timing may have just been a coincidence. It may simply have taken him that long to find him amongst the survivors scattered around the different hospitals.

  Janeway said there was no such thing as a coincidence and wasn’t taking any chances, and took leave of them. Half an hour later she was back down with Laura and Scott to pick up where they’d left off. The SAC and two other senior Dallas Office agents joined them around the table.

  Janeway, who had been using the computer to access her own in Washington, began by returning to the Atlantes. ‘Do you know what the word means?’

  ‘They’re statues,’ Laura said. ‘First I thought the game-maker couldn’t spell Atlantis, but I looked it up just in case.’

  ‘Atlantes are not simply statues. They are building supports or columns, sculpted in the form of a man. Sometimes they’re a complete male figure, sometimes just the head and torso forms the top of the column. They are always holding something up. The plural of the word atlas, atlantes are therefore named after Atlas, one of the Titans who were forerunners to the Greek gods. Atlas was forced to hold the earth, or rather to keep the sky above the earth, on his shoulders for eternity.’

  Scott and Laura both nodded at Janeway as if to say, that’s nice.

  The Director’s return smile implied that there was, obviously, a point to this architecture lesson.

  Janeway swivelled the computer screen so everyone in the room could see. ‘They’re quite splendid really, and found throughout the world. We use them ourselves on our courthouses and other state and federal buildings. This row of atlantes is on a palace in Warsaw,’ she said.

  Before the captured audience could fully appreciate the muscle-bound godly figures holding up a portico on the other side of the world, Janeway clicked the mouse and brought up another image.

  ‘This is a variation on the theme. The female equivalent of atlantes is caryatid - the most famous of which grace the Parthenon.’

  Scott frowned. ‘Is that a tattoo?’

  ‘It is indeed,’ Janeway said. ‘And this particular tattoo graces the back of one Ilia Dushenko, mastermind of the Luxembourg train bomb, carried out in the name of Atarsa Kára under her codename Caryatid.’

  ‘Man,’ Scott moaned. ‘I new this was a Plot with a capital P.’

  He recounted his whole story for the benefit of the EAD, until Laura picked it up from when they’d joined forces and gone to Nuevo Laredo. They finally came full circle to the topic of the Australians and what they had learned from them.

  ‘So I’m thinking I might fly out to Sydney tomorrow and check out what they’ve got and see how it fits with what we’ve got.’

  ‘You see, now this is what I’m talking about,’ Special Agent Hayden said, as if he had been talking.

  ‘What?’ asked Scott.

  ‘You can’t just go off to Australia and give the Australians our Intelligence.’

  I doubt they’d want it. ‘Why not?’ Scott asked. ‘It’s mostly my information, now mixed with theirs. It’s certainly not yours, or ours to keep. This affects a hell of a lot more people than just us.’

  The SAC simply gestured at Scott like that explained everything to Director Janeway. ‘This has to be a matter of national security. We’ve already had one possible leak and allegedly lost the bomber. And now he wants to share intel with a foreign country. He’s a reporter for heaven’s sake. I mean we…’

  The sight and sound of Scott Dreher bumping his forehead on the table was the only thing that stopped the SAC from venting.

  ‘Scott, stop it. Scott,’ Laura said.

  Scott stood up, rummaged through their files and pulled out a photo. He turned it around so that everyone could see, as he waved his hand in front of it like a pre-school teacher with a picture book.

  ‘This is Jamal Zahkri al Khudri, known terrorist, arms dealer, and the Emissary of Atarsa Kára. This is Micah O’Brien, the murdered Fort Hood conspirator. This picture was taken a couple of years ago - not at some terrorist training camp in the Tora Bora Mountains of Afghanistan, but at the Dallas War Fair. That’s an arms convention held right here in Texas.

  ‘Now, sir, how about you explain that to Director Janeway, before you even mention the words journalist and national security in the same sentence. I mean, I for one am still wondering how Zahkri was right here in this very city, obviously under surveillance,’ Scott waved the photo, ‘and yet remains at large to wreak bloodshed and havoc all over the fucking planet.’ Scott blinked. ‘Sorry about that, I was trying very hard not to swear.’

  ‘May I see?’ Janeway said trying to catch hold of the photo. Except for a hint of displeasure, her expression was almost unreadable. Then she sighed. ‘Go see the Australians Scott. I will give you direct access to my office and any kind of assistance that is possible, practical and sensible.’

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Back Door, Sydney, Australia

  Thursday 3 pm

  Gideon took the stairs to the Redback Bivouac. Her run had only been 10 km today so jogging the last eight floors to her lounge room was the trade-off. She passed through the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water and headed down the west corridor to see who was up. Coop’s door was open. Triko’s door wore its big do not disturb red dot, but she banged on it and pushed it open anyway.

  ‘Game update in the Hub in nine minutes, Triko,’ she said.

  The door at the far end of the west wing was also shut, but even new recruits were required at this meeting. She smiled, entered the guest suite and walked on, through the small interior lounge, to the bedroom doorway.

  ‘Redback recruit Rossi,’ she said sharply, trying not to laugh. ‘Up and at em. We have a full briefing in the Recon Room in the Hub four floors down in 11.5 minutes.’

  ‘Bugger off Bryn,’ Jana said from beneath her pillow.

  ‘I’m serious Dr Rossi. You wouldn’t want to be the only one to miss out on the goss would you?’

  In a single neat manoeuvre Jana rolled over, sat up and swung her legs out of bed. She was wearing just undies and a singlet, her short hair was travelling in more directions that Qantas, and her face said: leave or, sometime around next Sunday, I’ll think about knocking you flat.

  ‘Have a quick shower Jana, there’ll be food and coffee waiting downstairs.’

  When Gideon entered the Recon Room 15 minutes after her own shower the place was full of people, including everyone she expected and a few she didn’t.

  Jana barrelled into the room but stopped dead in her tracks to avoid running into Gideon; and
so she could stand in awe.

  ‘My God, I’m in a James Bond movie. This is 007 HQ, NCIS command and the NASA control room - in a lounge.’

  The right half of the room was all computer banks and screens and the two people who operated them. The left half was a mini-movie theatre with a couple of rows of very comfy looking seats and a screen that filled the entire wall. In between was a huge boardroom table surrounded by chairs and laden with food.

  Gideon led her to the head of the table and sat her down. Coop placed a freshly brewed coffee in front of her. Then a disturbingly attractive man, old enough to be her father, with dark but greying short hair and a physique that screamed gym-jock, sat down next to her. She had a vague recollection of meeting him in a group of other strangers when they’d all arrived at Back Door yesterday evening.

  ‘Eric Ryder,’ he said helpfully.

  ‘The Boss Dog,’ Coop said, also helpfully.

  Jana nodded. ‘Right,’ she said, and smiled at Ruth Jardine who took the seat on her left.

  ‘Top Dog,’ Coop added, pointing at Ruth as he sat beside her.

  ‘Righto you lot, gather around,’ Gideon said.

  It took a couple of minutes for everyone, except Bamm-Bamm Kennedy who reclined across two of the theatre seats with his leg up, to settle around the table. Jana knew everyone: Coop, Triko, Brody, Mudge, Ryder, Ruth, Bryn, and Marco and Wade - two of the other Redbacks from Laui. The exception was the grinning young man who suddenly stood beside her.

  ‘Jana,’ Gideon said, ‘this is Oliver, our primo techie.’

  Oliver grinned again and shook her hand. ‘Welcome aboard,’ he said and returned to his computer station.

  Coop leant over to Jana. ‘Don’t ask how, but we think he’s got a crush on you.’

  Before Jana could even react, the big screen which had been showing a satellite map of the world divided into eight separate displays, each still bigger than the average home-theatre TV screen.

  ‘Oliver has been running a search on all the key words, phrases, images, names, notions, vague ideas, you name it, that he, we, you and the other American, the reporter guy, could think of in order to build a data map of everything we know,’ Gideon said.

  ‘Or should know,’ Ryder said.

  ‘Or would like to forget,’ Triko said.

  ‘Oh, and the American is on his way here,’ Ruth said.

  ‘Why?’ Jana asked.

  ‘He probably fancies you too,’ Gideon said.

  ‘He’s bringing his WarTek disk, his info and his journalistic curiosity,’ Ryder said.

  ‘Can’t his disk just be downloaded and sent via the ether?’ Jana asked waving at the room.

  ‘Not everything that’s on the disk,’ Oliver said. ‘And we need everything.’

  ‘Rawley also contacted me last night,’ Gideon said. She glanced at Brody, Mudge and Kennedy - the newbies to that part of their adventure. ‘He’s the US Marine from the botched raid on Laui who got nabbed in Thailand by the bad guy - or who or whatever the hell Nick Kelman is.

  ‘Anyway, Rawley’s heard something on the grapevine about the Titan Guards. He was going to check it out for us, and find an internet café to hook up with us about now-ish.’

  ‘What’s this about the Titan Guards?’ Ryder looked both baffled and surprised.

  Gideon filled him in about Kelman having trained the Titan Guards and how he’d been with them when they’d rescued Prime Minister Harvey and the Canadian PM from the attack by Groh Sitaarah at CHOGM in New Delhi.

  Ryder shook his head. ‘I had a call from Mick Fleming. Remember the Foreign Minister’s sidekick who hired us to retrieve Jana? He wanted to know if we’d consider providing close protection - well, one step back from the Secret Service - but protection for Arlen Conte, the Vice President of the United States, when he’s here on the weekend.’

  ‘I hope you told him we don’t do that,’ Gideon said.

  ‘Of course, Bryn. But the thing is he was hoping we’d make an exception because the original request came ‘direct’ via a circuitous route from the American VP himself; via their Deputy Secretary of State Adam Lyall, through Teddy Drake the head of one of Britain’s spy networks, and endorsed by Jennifer Leland, our High Commissioner to the UK. And it was not for us, but for the Titan Guards. He wanted visas granted for them to operate here.’

  ‘Oh. Shit,’ Gideon said. ‘I think.’

  ‘Yes, yes, do think that,’ Jana said. ‘Remember that Rawley told us it was Adam Lyall who sent him to Laui.’

  ‘And that it was possible, though he didn’t really think so, that it was also Lyall who’d placed Kelman on Lau to help the rebels that he, Rawley, was supposed to go in and rescue Jana from,’ Coop said.

  ‘Hey, don’t put me in their equation. I was your Prime Objective, not theirs,’ Jana said.

  ‘Except that it means it was probably Adam Lyall who sicked Kelman on to Rawley in Chiang Mai,’ Coop said.

  ‘What is it that you’re all saying here?’ Ryder asked.

  Gideon spread her arms as if it was obvious. ‘That there’s definitely something screwy going on.’

  ‘So if we said no to Mick Fleming…’ Ruth began.

  ‘It means that our Prime Minister will bend over for the Americans again. This time he’ll cave in and allow a bunch of mercenaries, led by a covert operative, provide Vice President Conte with security while he is at our SETSA conference,’ Gideon said.

  ‘Why does that not fill me with good things?’ Ryder asked. ‘What other bad news is there?’

  ‘I’ve got some,’ Oliver said. ‘News, I mean. You can decide whether it’s good or bad. Screen please everyone.’

  Everyone did as they were told and turned to face the changing images on the wall screen.

  ‘The guy on the right is Assad bin Khalid al Harbi. That picture was sent to us by a lovely woman named Brenda Janeway from the FBI Field Office in Dallas, where our new American friend Scott Dreher was before he left to come here.’

  ‘Oliver,’ Ryder said.

  ‘Sorry Boss. The guy, Assad bin Khalid al Harbi, had a connection to the shonky American version of the WarTek disk, and possibly to the Dallas bombings. He was photographed here, as you can see, with Jamal Zahkri, the Emissary of Atarsa Kára. This was at a weapons convention in Dallas a couple of years ago. And ‘had a connection’ is actually the operative phrase of that previous statement, because the guy was killed in a bus crash in Paris a couple of weeks ago.

  ‘At the time of his death he was studying engineering at Berkeley, but being of the vomitously-rich Saudi Arabian category, though not of the House of Saud, this Assad was as much a playboy as a serious student.

  ‘The photo on the right, same guy different place. This was seven years ago, also at the Uni of California where Assad was then studying anthropology, economics, literature - anything and everything apparently.’

  ‘Are we going somewhere with this, Oliver?’

  ‘Of course Boss, untwist your jocks. Seven years ago Assad bin Khalid wrote a paper on the subject of cults and how they manipulate their followers. To support his theories, he created a manifesto which he called a Document of Encouragement.’

  ‘Uh-oh,’ Gideon said, as copies of the document appeared on the screen

  ‘Yes Bryn, uh-oh,’ Oliver agreed. ‘Assad bin Khalid al Harbi’s Document of Encouragement is basically the Rashmana and/or The Atlantes.’

  ‘So Atarsa Kára just adopted it?’ Brody said.

  ‘I reckon Assad gave it to them, or one of them - this Emissary guy in the photo with him probably,’ Oliver said.

  ‘Or the mysterious but unknown Dárayavaus,’ Brody suggested. Jana drummed her fingers on the table. ‘Maybe Assad is this Dárayavaus.’

  ‘Except Assad is dead now, remember,’ Coop said.

  ‘And that changes what I said, how exactly?’ Jana asked.

  Triko cleared his throat. ‘Yeah, okay. Maybe that’s why he’s so mysterious and unknown.’

  ‘His p
lace of death coincides with that lovely blue dot on the Rashmana map,’ Mudge said, pointing to one of the other images showing on the split screen.’

  ‘Maybe the red dots equate to planned terror attacks and the blue dots are individual dead people,’ Triko said.

  ‘Except how would Bashir and Kali, the Groh Sitaarah guys in Peshawar, have a dot in their game for Assad, when they were in Pakistan with this disk when Assad got dead in a tourist bus accident in Paris - only two weeks ago?’ Brody asked.

  ‘Why was the playboy son of one of the richest families in the world even on a tourist bus?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘Good point,’ Jana said.

  ‘Maybe they’re assassination dots,’ Mudge said. ‘You know, and this Assad bloke was taken out by Atarsa Kára even though he gave them their book thing.’

  ‘Ooh, some kind of Eureka guys,’ Oliver said. ‘As is my habit, as you guys blabber on, I’ve been adding any new info, names and words that you mention, into my overall data search, and voila,’ Oliver pointed at the map again. ‘London.’

  ‘Yes,’ Bryn said, ‘Been there a while it has. And that blue dot was always there.’

  ‘But it came up with a match for the name Teddy Drake.’

  ‘The British spy guy?’ Triko said.

  ‘The Chairman of the Joint Intelligence Committee,’ Oliver said. ‘He’s only been confirmed in that role for a couple of weeks. Ever since the previous chairman, a Lord James McQuade, was killed in bizarre circumstances by an unknown assassin wielding a very sharp blade.’

  ‘This is getting ridiculous,’ Kennedy said.

  Oliver clapped and grinned. ‘Well you’re going to love this then. The blue dot hovering over Tokyo matches the homicide, also by very sharp implement, just last week of Hiroyuki Kaga.’

  ‘You’re shitting me,’ Triko said. ‘He’s the guy who designed, GlobalWarTek - the real one.’

  ‘We have an incoming transmission,’ Oliver alerted them.

  ‘Hey dudes,’ Rawley said, as his face loomed large in the centre of the screen. ‘Man there’s a lot of you there.’