In spite of the late hour, hundreds of people streamed in and out of the foyer of the Mirage. Unlike the mob scene just a few blocks away in front of the Grecian-themed casino, the crowds here were all dressed in business attire, resort wear or, in a couple of cases, black tie and formal gowns. Limousines and town cars idled bumper to bumper, the drivers undoubtedly running the air-conditioning against the sweltering evening. It appeared that taxis weren’t allowed in the forecourt of the hotel, but there was a rank full of them on the opposite side of the road.
The police presence was much heavier now, although it didn’t seem to be needed. She had seen none of the Northern Territory’s brown-shirted cops anywhere near where the construction workers had been kicking the life out of that little Chinese man. Here though, she counted four horse-mounted patrols clip-clopping through the large well-behaved crowds.
‘Have a look at these dickheads, would you,’ said Granger. He pointed down a street on the less developed side of the road.
At first Jules wasn’t quite sure what he was pointing at, but then she picked them out of the gloom, maybe a hundred metres or so back. Two armoured cars painted in black and grey urban camouflage, surrounded by a dozen troopers in similarly patterned uniforms.
‘Sandline,’ he explained before she could ask. ‘What they call their “Public Safety Response Team”. Fuckin’ beat-down artists mostly. Truncheons, tasers, capsicum spray, rubber bullets, and real ones too, in case somebody who really knows what they’re doing decides to have a go.’
He was driving quickly enough that she’d only caught a glimpse of them. ‘They didn’t seem to be doing much,’ she ventured.
Granger took a right-hand turn two blocks beyond the Mirvac Mirage Hotel. Jules found herself disoriented by how quickly the streetscape changed. They were now back on a quiet suburban lane, tree-lined, with family homes buttoned up, and only porch lights and occasionally little solar-powered garden lights burning in the night. There was no foot traffic, and the street was lined with cars, each one obviously parked outside its owner’s home at the end of the working day.
Her driver returned to the topic of the Sandline security squad they’d passed. ‘Not much for them to do since they kicked out the black fellas, and after them, some of the refugee gangs that fetched up here back in the early days after the Wave. Proper reffos, I mean - boat people. Indonesians mostly, but lots of Malays too. Jesus Christ, there were some willing fuckin’ stoushes in those days, mate. That’s how those Sandline bastards got a look in. Cops couldn’t handle it, so the FPDA contracted in their own security. It worked so fucking well, they outsourced everything they could in the end. As long as they don’t crack the wrong head open, the private forces pretty much have a free hand.’
They’d driven on another block and Jules could see the lights of the harbour through the trees. In fact, it looked as though one of the giant warships of the Combined Fleet, sporting a South Korean flag, had parked itself at the bottom of the street. Of course, that was merely an illusion. It’d probably dropped anchor half a mile out.
‘Forgive my impertinence,’ she said with a smile. ‘But aren’t you working for a private security force?’
‘Yeah, but we’re more of an old-fashioned outfit. We don’t do much work in Darwin, or even the Territory. This is just a base for us. Most of our business is up in New Guinea, securing the mines and keeping loggers out of the forests along the border. Old-school stuff. Not this crypto-fascist bullshit.’ He waved his hand back in the direction they’d come. ‘Anyway, here we go. Just give me a second …’
Granger pulled a small hand-held radio from a pocket inside his jacket.
‘I’m in the golf buggy,’ he said. ‘On approach. Can I play through?’
A heavily distorted voice replied through a rush of static: ’You are clear. Come on through.’
‘What on earth?’ Jules asked, bewildered by Granger’s out-going message.
‘A little in-joke,’ he admitted. ‘Reference to your stealing Greg Norman’s yacht.’
She shook her head as he accelerated smoothly towards the lit-up sign of the Banyan View Lodge, the motel she’d checked into after arriving in Darwin the previous night. It had begun life as a low-budget travellers’ rest, but there weren’t many low-budget travellers in Darwin these days. Most of the guests seemed to be miners transiting to and from the ore fields hundreds of miles south or deep out in the western deserts. She’d seen a shuttle bus running a large group of them out to the airport when she’d arrived.
As planned, two men were waiting for them in the car park. Neither was wielding an obvious weapon like the cut-down shotgun Granger had handed her, but she imagined that, like him, they were probably carrying concealed side arms. It made her feel a lot better. Her mood improved even more when she recognised one of them as Birendra.
‘Miss Julianne,’ said the young Gurkha. ‘I am sorry I did not get to talk with you at Mr Shah’s party. I had to leave early to supervise your arrangements here. We have swapped your room again, and myself and the other men will be keeping watch overnight. Mr Cooley has equipped you, I see?’
She found herself at a loss for a moment until she realised he was talking about Granger, the cab driver. And the shotgun he’d given her.
‘Oh yes,’ she replied. ‘All good.’
Birendra handed her a set of room keys and walked her over to a stairwell. She waved goodbye and thanks to Granger, even though, apparently, he would be hanging around. ‘No worries,’ he called back.
‘We’ve put you up on the second floor,’ said Birendra. ‘Fewer lines of attack than the ground-floor apartment you were in. I hope that is okay.’
She laid her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. ‘It’s perfect, thank you.’
The wharves still rumbled with the noise of heavy construction work. It would continue through the night, but her eyes were drooping, filled with sand, and Jules didn’t think she’d even notice. She promised herself that, come morning, she would find some way of making contact with the Rhino. For now, she could barely walk in a straight line.
It did not occur to her to ask Birendra how he’d gained access to her room to move her bags into the new lodgings. Perhaps a bribe to the manager? Perhaps a spot of standover. She didn’t care. When she was alone again, after he had done a final sweep of the new room and left her to rest, Jules forced herself to have a shower, washing away the grime and sweat of a long and terrible day. By the time she crawled into a tee-shirt and then into bed - having carefully placed the shottie, pointing away from her, on the bedside table - she was struggling to remain conscious. She fell into a deep sleep within seconds of laying her head down.
34
TEMPLE, TEXAS ADMINISTRATIVE DIVISION
Unlike the prim dormitory suburbs of Killeen, the ruination of Temple announced itself from a great distance. They approached from the south-west, sweeping up along Interstate 35, the wheels of the Humvee throwing up small fantails of water from the puddles that had gathered on the tarmac. Caitlin could tell from a few minutes out that large parts of the town had burned back in ‘03. The southern suburbs seemed to grin at her through the rain like shattered teeth in a skull. Thick stands of trees grew up through the foundations of houses that were now no more than blackened stumps and stagnant pools of run-off, festering in former cellars. The site reminded her of ruins she had seen in the jungles of South America and Asia.