Redback

by Lindy Cameron

  Coop rolled back to the two Secret Service agents. ‘Okay, let’s see what these Guards have planned, shall we?’ He helped them shield the Vice President as they helped him to a crouched, ready-to-run position. ‘Mr Conte, are you good to go?’ he asked.

  ‘Ready as I’ll ever be, Shane.’

  ‘Are you sure you want to do this, sir?’

  ‘No arguments John,’ Conte said to his own agent, and started moving. They all had no choice but to run with him.

  Ten seconds later, when they reached the veranda of Kirribilli House, the three Titan Guards assigned to the garden converged on the Vice President’s party - just as the day’s operating protocol said they should. So far, so correct. In an emergency involving the VP, at any of the venues on the SETSA itinerary, the Titan Guard Over-Protection detail was charged with taking control of the situation.

  As expected, they escorted the Vice President and his three Secret Service Agents out through the house and into a waiting Humvee. Another four of Arlen Conte’s own men, alerted by radio mike, saddled up their two security cars, and the four remaining Titan Guards leapt into an armoured jeep.

  The VP was secured in the centre of the middle seat, with two of his own agents to his right - one beside, another behind. The third claimed the front passenger seat. The three Guards took the driver’s perch, and Conte’s left, and left back. They were loaded in six seconds, by which time the vehicle was already on the move.

  ‘Yes we are rocking,’ Coop said from the front.

  ‘Copy that Coop. You are on the way - hopefully to us.’ Gideon said.

  ‘You okay Mr Conte?’

  ‘Yes Shane. Is everyone else okay? John, Terry?’

  ‘Yes sir,’ the Secret Service guys said.

  ‘Okay everyone, this is your captain speaking,’ said the Titan Guard at the wheel, ‘remain in your seats, with your tray tables in the upright position. We will be landing as soon as possible.’

  The Vice Presidential motorcade proceeded north-west up Kirribilli Avenue, at as much speed as the narrow street would allow. One Secret Service car led the way, one brought up the rear, and in between were the Humvee followed by the Titan Guard jeep.

  ‘Coop, you have incoming, off Jeffrey Street on your right,’ said Marco in Coop’s head. ‘It’s a blind corner, so watch it.’

  A block later a purple Monaro, of all things, hurtled out of the next side street, slammed into the lead Secret Service car and pushed it clean up the other side of Kirribilli Avenue.

  ‘Oh man, we are under attack. Verify Big Duke. Do you copy?’ the Humvee driver said, possibly to the jeep behind; maybe to the late great John Wayne.

  ‘We are under attack,’ Coop said, imitating his inflection.

  The three remaining cars hit the right turn at Broughton Street and picked up speed again.

  Coop half-turned to face the Vice President, who was now whiter than his shirtfront. His main-man John, over the back, was looking a bit like thunder and a lot like the person who really wanted to shout: ‘I told you so’.

  ‘You okay Coop?’ Bryn asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Coop replied. When the driver glanced at him, he pulled a face and said again, ‘we are under attack.’

  ‘Yes you are,’ Marco said. ‘Incoming, on your right again - coming the wrong way out of a one way street.’

  Coop tried to brace himself without being too obvious. He needn’t have bothered, but he did point as another Monaro - what a bloody waste - sped out of Pitt Street after they’d gone by. It collected the rear Secret Service vehicle and took it out of the parade.

  ‘Okay, what the fuck is going on?’ Agent John demanded of no one in particular. Given that he had only a vague idea, his acting at least had feeling to it.

  ‘I suggest a plan change,’ the Guard beside Conte said.

  ‘Roger that,’ said the driver. ‘Executing emergency plan Alpha Bravo Bravo Alpha.’

  Coop looked at him. ‘ABBA?’

  ‘What?’ asked the driver.

  ‘Is that a new code?’ Gideon asked.

  ‘No, nothing,’ Coop said.

  The driver hung a left under the Cahill Expressway towards Milson’s Point, and then a quick right at the T-intersection onto Alfred.

  ‘Um, what’s this Alpha Bravo ABBA shit?’ Coop asked, playing the Titan Guard game. ‘We should’ve stayed the other side of the Expressway to get back on it and into the city. This is very Mudgee.’ Coop did not need to look back to make sure.

  ‘Yes, I am on you six,’ Mudge said. ‘Can’t quite see your sorry arse, but I swear I’m right up it.’

  ‘Shut up Mudge,’ Gideon said, because she knew Coop couldn’t.

  ‘This is our contingency plan,’ said the Titan behind the VP. He tapped Agent John on the shoulder, ‘You better report in, dude. Tell whoever that we’ve been hijacked.’

  ‘But we haven’t been hijacked,’ Conte said.

  ‘We’ve been attacked,’ Coop said, ‘Not hijacked.’

  ‘No really, we have been hijacked,’ said the driver.

  ‘Oh shit,’ Agent John said. ‘We seem to have been hijacked, Shane.’

  The Titan Guard in the back seat with John, gave Coop a cheery little wave with his Glock.

  Coop hit the roof with his fist. ‘Oh well now, fuckaduck.’

  ‘Righto,’ Mudge acknowledged. ‘Oh, I mean Skippy. And shut up Oliver, or I’ll leave you home next time.’

  ‘Incoming,’ Marco said, again.

  The Humvee skidded to a halt this time, as three other vehicles, just like it, forced it off the road, across the traffic, and into a small landscaped park.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  St Leonards Park, Sydney, Australia

  Saturday 1.15 pm

  ‘Hey Bryn.’ Triko was up a tree that gave him a view of the two main roads.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think I know why Kelman isn’t leading his Titans from the front on this mission.’

  ‘Because he’s got a bullet wound in his leg and can’t walk?’

  ‘Oh no, he can walk okay. With a cane. He’s got a bit of a limp but it’s not slowing him down much.’

  ‘You idiot Triko. Where is he?’

  ‘He just walked under my perch. Came in from the direction of the other oval. Reckon he’s got a car back there. He’s not alone.’

  ‘Who with?’

  ‘Looked like an Indonesian.’

  ‘What the hell are they up to?’

  ‘If we knew that I wouldn’t have my bum wedged in a tree. Kelman’s taken a pew at the north end of the bowling club clubhouse.’

  Gideon tapped her throat-mike to talk to the non-Redback on the day’s team. ‘Spud, did you get that about Kelman?’

  ‘Loud and clear.’

  ‘Good, you ready to flip up and over?’

  ‘You’re lucky I haven’t done it already.’

  ‘Yeah well, beat the crap out of him if you like; but he will be more useful alive.’

  Brody blew a raspberry into his mike.

  Gideon spotted their target vehicles out on the road. ‘Okay boys, the VP’s Humvee is on its way in. Just tearing up Miller Street. Whoa, I think the driver is a bit out of control there.’

  Gideon grabbed the rope she’d secured to the commentary box, abseiled down the tower and hit the ground, just as the Humvee turned into the park. She headed around the back of the sheds on the north side, to the spot she’d picked out earlier; but remembering she now had to watch out for Kelman.

  Brody meanwhile went the opposite direction. He shimmied up the downpipe from the top level of the eastern stand, gabbed the edge of the roof and flipped silently up on top, about nine metres from his target.

  The Pakistani had been sitting crossed-legged and motionless like a meditating yogi for hours. Fifteen minutes ago, according to Gideon, he lay flat on his back stretched every muscle he could find and then set about readying his grenade launcher.

  Brody smiled to himself. This guy might be able to tran
ce himself into a statue, but the practice obviously affected his other senses. Brody stayed low, and got within ten feet of the bastard before he stopped again.

  Hurry up and bloody wait.

  The Humvee, and the jeep that followed it, barely slowed before skidding to a stop. Then…nothing. Nobody got out, no one approached, nothing blew up.

  And then it did.

  The grenade from Bashir Kali’s launcher hit the Humvee dead centre. The whole vehicle lifted, crumpled and exploded.

  Bloody hell. What was in that grenade? Gideon had thought armoured Humvees were made of much tougher stuff; but there wasn’t much left of the Titan Guards’ vehicle that had been transporting the American Vice President. And Coop.

  Gideon was itching to run out there; but now she had to wait for Kelman to make his move.

  ‘Here you come, you bastard,’ she said, so her boys could hear as well.

  Kelman and the Indonesian moved out from the tree line to inspect the damage. He then signalled Kali on the roof to scarper.

  ‘Closing in behind,’ Triko said.

  ‘Okay; go guys,’ Gideon said.

  The elation that Bashir Kali felt as the vehicle erupted, reflected his supreme pleasure at a Trust carried out to the letter, and a promise kept to a friend to do better than his best. Until…

  Brody loomed up behind; not bothering to be quiet any more. Kali heard the click behind him and began to turn - too late.

  Brody belted him across the back of the head, grabbed the scruff of his shirt and yanked him down onto his back.

  Bashir Kali lay stunned, and surprised beyond belief.

  ‘Remember me, you vicious murdering little shit? How’s your boy Ashraf? Did he live?’

  The unexpected dump - from delirious peak to depressive pit - was like losing his entire being down a great hole in the world. Kali’s mind now registered only failure, while his body itself prepared for the certain death that was to come. All he got was a large fist in his face.

  Nick Kelman meanwhile limped around the wreckage of the Humvee. He wondered why no one had gotten out of the back-up jeep; yet then figured the remaining Titan Guards were worried there’d be another grenade. But, unless the wrong guys had ended up in the wrong vehicles, they should know that wasn’t going to happen.

  A strange noise from Arjuna, who was following behind, made him turn.

  ‘G’day Nick,’ Gideon said, strolling across the road, her pistol already in hand. ‘And, let me guess, you must be Dumadi Arjuna.’

  ‘What the?’ Kelman began.

  ‘Hello again,’ Triko said cheerfully, approaching from their other side.

  Kelman looked from Gideon to Triko. ‘What the frigging hell is going on?’

  ‘Perhaps he doesn’t remember us,’ Triko said. ‘Losing a lot of blood can do that.’

  Gideon nodded. ‘Keep an eye on Arjuna will you, he looks like he wants run for it.’

  ‘Okay Boss, but if you’re planning to shoot Kelman in the other leg, can I help?’

  ‘Who the fuck are you people?’ Kelman shouted. ‘Goddamn fucking Australians; you keep screwing everything three ways from frigging Sunday.’

  ‘Too right mate,’ Triko said, sounding more like his brother Mudge than himself.

  Approaching sirens heralded the imminent arrival of the forces of law and order but before that happened three 4WDs swooped to a stop beyond the jeep.

  Triko ignored them. ‘I tell you what though, Nick, if my best mate Coop was still in that Humvee I am gonna shoot you where you stand.’

  ‘Nah, I’m over here mate,’ Coop said climbing out of the lead vehicle that had just arrived.

  Arjuna chose that moment to turn and run. He was fast and he’d reached the first tree before Triko, who was even faster, grabbed his arm and flung him into the trunk.

  Kelman took off in the other direction; but he was never going to get far.

  Gideon jogged after him. ‘Are you mental? I’ve got a gun. You can barely walk.’

  Kelman turned and swung his cane. Gideon caught it, pushed him backwards with it, tripped him over her foot. She pinned him to the ground with his own walking aid.

  ‘Where were you going?’

  ‘Well I wasn’t just going to stand there, and wait for you to shoot or arrest me.’

  ‘What the hell is your deal here?’ Gideon demanded. ‘You’re a soldier, Kelman, you’re supposed to kill these bastards not do their bidding. They’re terrorists for fuck’s sake.’

  He shrugged, or tried to. ‘They think they’re soldiers.’

  ‘Oh bloody hell, that’s a stupid argument. What could you possibly get out of whatever this is?’

  ‘War is profit, sweetheart. Pure and simple. It’s profit and power. Without it the human race would just wither and friggin die.’

  Gideon couldn’t help herself - she punched him in the nose.

  ‘Now get up you prick.’ She hauled Kelman to his feet and dragged him over to where the New South Wales Police Force was now converging on what had, in her absence, turned into an international summit around a burning Humvee.

  The extra 4WDs that had arrived with Coop had been emptied of passengers. Triko and Coop were dealing with Arjuna, but had been joined by the US Secret Service Agents known as John and Terry, as well as Marco, Wade, Mudge, Bamm-Bamm and Kennedy. They were followed by Jana bloody Rossi, and Scott Dreher. Even Oliver, who never ventured out of Back Door, was standing out in the open still holding the gizmo he’d devised to remote-control the empty Humvee and the other Titan Guard jeep into the park. No wonder it looked like a drunk was at the wheel.

  ‘What on earth are you lot all doing here?’ Gideon demanded.

  ‘We came to see you work dear.’ It was Ruth Jardine, on the arm of the Vice President of the United States of America. Arlen Conte gave her a wave.

  You’ve got to be kidding me. ‘That’s it,’ Gideon said, throwing up her hands. ‘You’re all grounded.’

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Honolulu, Hawaii

  Friday 7 pm

  The legendary Jamal Zahkri al Khudri was feeling less than spectacular. He and Samir had just received a room service order of club sandwiches in their Penthouse suite at the famous Ilikai Hotel, when the sorry news came on the television.

  There had been an attempt - a failed attempt - on the life of the American Vice President while on his visit to Sydney Australia. The incident had happened barely two hours before and it was already all over the news, all over the world.

  ‘Now, who do you think would do such a dreadful thing?’ Samir asked.

  ‘My question, Samir, is how on earth they could have failed such a thing.’

  ‘You have a point Jamal. The Bringer of the Future is not going to be happy.’

  ‘I am not happy Samir. We’ve been planning the funeral procession here in Honolulu for months. Now what are we going to do?’

  ‘Plan B?’ Samir suggested.

  Zahkri laughed and reached for his champagne. ‘Why not? Or Plan C or D perhaps.’ He was feeling better already. He loved it that there were always more plans than idiots who failed at them.

  His No. 2 mobile began ringing. ‘Dárayavaus, it is I,’ he said, trying not to laugh.

  ‘Would that thing in Sydney be described as a cock-up, Jamal?’

  ‘It would indeed, my brother.’

  ‘Be a good fellow then and round up the agas and associates and see who is still of use to us.’

  ‘Of course Dárayavaus. And then, I believe Samir and I will travel to San Francisco.’

  ‘Good idea. Atarsa Kára, Jamal.’ The line went dead.

  ‘I think we need a new toast,’ Samir said.

  Jamal Zahkri al Khudri, the Emissary of Atarsa Kára, deliberated on that for a moment, then raised a finger.

  ‘I have it, my friend. Here’s to perpetual war.’

  ‘Oh yes, Jamal. To perpetual war.’

  Houston, Texas

  Saturday 5pm

  George Gan
try, the Lieutenant-Governor of Texas, entered his study to be met by an unexpected but always-welcome guest. Abigail van Louden West was standing, hands behind her back, as she bent slightly over the glass case to peruse his collection of Civil War memorabilia.

  ‘My dear Abigail, what a pleasant surprise,’ he said. ‘What brings to you my humble home on this fine day?’

  ‘George,’ she said, looking up with a thin smile.

  ‘My housekeeper tells me you have something for me. How intriguing.’

  ‘Yes, I rather thought so,’ Abigail said. ‘But first George, I’d like you to tell me about the Texas Star Brigade.’

  ‘The what?’ Gantry stroked his goatee to cover his shock.

  ‘The Texas Star Brigade, George dear. You mentioned it the other day. You know, the kind of boy’s club of which you are the sponsor.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course. What would you like to know?’

  ‘Well firstly,’ Abigail said thoughtfully, ‘I’m wondering if you let these boys play a game, one of those computer game things, George, called WarTek.’

  George Gantry felt sick to his stomach. A noise behind him reminded him that they were not alone in the house. He expected to see his housekeeper in the doorway but it was his young houseguest instead.

  ‘Oh here he is, one of your Star Brigade boys. Jesse isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes ma’am,’ Jesse-Jay said. ‘Colonel sir, is everything okay?’

  ‘Of course, of course, go wait in the den Jesse.’

  Jesse nodded and left the room.

  ‘So, your Star Brigade boys play this WarTek game…’

  Gantry noticed it wasn’t a question anymore.

  ‘Do they also have international summer camps with the other brigades, like the Boy Scouts do?’

  ‘What other brigades, Abigail?’

  ‘The Brigade d’Etoile d’Euro in France. No? How about Groh Sitaarah in India and Pakistan?’

  Gantry was truly at a loss. ‘I honestly do not know what you are talking about Abigail.’

  ‘You remember, George; after all it was you who told me about the Brigade d’Etoile d’Euro,’ Abigail said, as if she was trying to prompt a fond memory. ‘Or didn’t you know that the English translation for that terrorist group in Europe - the one that blew up the train and my darling grandson - is Euro Star Brigade.’