Sarah blinked quickly, her spine tensing. ‘Matthew Lang is a political advisor. Why would he be a problem?’ she said with what she hoped was a nonchalant smile.
Draven allowed a thin smile to form on his lips. ‘Well, he’s missing and no one can get hold of him, which, Sarah, as I’m sure you know, is completely out of character.’
Sarah looked composed. ‘Well, maybe he has gone to see his mother? Or his friends in Sydney, perhaps? I really don’t see how this concerns me, General.’ She glanced back at her screen as though she had other important work to get to.
‘So, when did you last see Matthew Lang?’ Draven asked directly.
Sarah realised that somehow Draven knew Matt had been at hers last night and changed tact. ‘He came over last night, actually.’
‘Really, and where did he go after he left yours?’ asked Draven quickly.
‘I don’t know. We’d had a fight,’ Sarah allowed an upset look to flit across her face. ‘Look, we’ve been seeing each other and I broke it off last night. He didn’t take it very well, and when he left, he was in a terrible state.’
Draven froze. This was entirely plausible. Perhaps he had just taken a break-up badly and gone off the rails. That instant, his MiLA beeped. He pulled it out, all the while holding his gaze on Sarah, scanning her face for the slightest nuance of a lie.
Draven looked at MiLA’s screen. Jackson had sent him a message with an attached video file. Opening it quickly, Draven saw a black-and-white image of two men bundling a body into the boot of a car. Jackson’s message read:
Location: Sarah Dempsey’s apartment
Vehicle: Matthew Lang’s
Body in car: Unknown but alive at the time
Suspects: Unknown
Time: 0118
Sarah was frozen. She desperately wanted to see what was on his MiLA. Draven’s face was giving nothing away. Outwardly she remained a picture of calm; inwardly, her mind was racing at full speed.
Draven, without showing any emotion or the slightest change of expression, put MiLA back in his pocket. Taking a deep breath, he leaned back in his chair. ‘Shall we start again, Sarah?’
Sarah was fuming. She was being played here and she didn’t like it one bit. ‘What do you mean? I’ve told you everything. Now I’m very busy, so if you don’t mind, General Draven, please either leave or get to the point.’
Draven, unflustered, leaned forward. ‘What have you done with Lang?’
Sarah was speechless, trying to form words ‘I… I told you…’
‘You told me lies!’ yelled General Draven, thumping his fist on the table.
‘No, I told you the truth,’ she insisted, regaining her voice. ‘I don’t know where he is, General.’
Draven was losing his patience. ‘We have satellite footage of Matthew Lang’s body being put in the boot of his own car outside your apartment last night. We have found his car at a small fishing village on the south coast of New South Wales. Now, I want to know what happened to him last night — and you’re going to tell me.’
Sarah glared at Draven. ‘I’m not telling you anything. If the police want to talk to me, then they can come and do so. Until then, I have nothing more to say.’
Draven was fuming — he would have to get the police involved now, which would take up time that he didn’t have. Standing up, Draven headed for the door. ‘We’ll talk again soon, Ms Dempsey.’
Sarah remained seated. ‘I look forward to it, General.’
As soon as Draven had closed the door, Sarah collapsed forward onto her desk — head in hands, her whole body shaking.
Draven stormed down the hall and called Jackson.
‘Jackson, good work. But this angle isn’t going to work. I need to find Lang another way.’
‘Sir, I’ve made some calls. At 0400 hours a navy-registered fishing vessel left Bermagui. I tracked it on satellite and it appears to be in a holding pattern, steaming up and down the coast about 10 kilometres offshore.’
‘That’s it — they’re holding him out there on the boat. Jackson, I want a full tactical Navy Special Forces team on that boat in one hour to secure Lang. Make it happen.’
‘Yessir — I’m onto it.’
Chapter 21
From the HMAS Creswell on the south coast of New South Wales, two MRH95 helicopters lifted off simultaneously. The lead chopper was heavily armed with air-to-sea torpedoes, missiles and a forward-mounted cannon. The other was carrying a nine-man Special Forces team, charged with boarding the fishing vessel and securing the target — Matthew Lang. They flew low and fast over the sea to avoid radar.
Within 10 minutes they were upon the fishing boat. The lead helicopter fired a missile across the bow of the fishing boat then took its position, hovering above and in front of the boat. The co-pilot switched on the loud-hailer, ordering the boat to cut its engines, for all crew to come out on deck and lay down any weapons they were carrying.
The second helicopter circled above and waited to see the crew out on the deck. On the boat, the skipper killed the engines, then he and the crew came onto the deck with their hands in the air. Seeing five men out on the deck with their hands in the air, the second helicopter swooped down in a steep left-hand turn, pulling to a hover 10 metres above the fishing boat. Six men, three on each side, threw black ropes down onto the deck of the boat and abseiled down — the whole movement taking less than 30 seconds. As soon as all six were on the boat and unclipped from their ropes, the helicopter pulled up and took position to the starboard side of the vessel. The Special Forces team secured the crew with zip-lock thumb ties and, after a brief interrogation of the skipper, the team moved below.
The skipper had informed them of the whereabouts of the target and also that there were two Secret Service operatives somewhere on the boat. The Special Forces team moved through the upper cabins and bridge, swiftly but carefully — ensuring all the rooms were clear before proceeding below decks. The boat was old and had a heady smell of salt and dead fish. The light was dim down below and the space confined and claustrophobic. It was a terrible access route for the team. They were effectively boxed in and, even though they outnumbered the two agents, in this tiny corridor, numbers meant nothing.
Inside Matt’s cabin, the agents had barricaded the door. One of them was on MiLA to Fletcher advising him of the situation.
‘We’ve been boarded by Navy Special Forces — we’re outnumbered and barricaded in the cabin.’
‘All right,’ said Fletcher calmly, ‘Do not engage, understood? Just surrender when they get to the cabin. But before they do, inject Mr Lang with a shot of the tranquilliser. That should keep him quiet for long enough.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Oh, and naturally, not a word of this to anyone — at least until tomorrow. Is that clear?’ said Fletcher.
‘Of course, sir.’ And with that he hung up.
He handed the MiLA to the other agent. ‘Here, destroy this.’ While the other agent crushed the device under his boot, he reached for a small black rucksack, pulling out a rectangular box containing the tranquilliser. Expertly he measured out the right dosage into the syringe and turned towards Matt. Fearing the worst, Matt lurched back on the bed as far as he could, curling himself into a ball. He was scared and frantically trying to think of a way out. A loud bang on the door, followed by an order to open the door, made the agent pause for a second. Matt, seeing his attention diverted, seized the opportunity. He threw himself at the agent, screaming for help at the top of his lungs.
The agent was stunned as Matt wrestled him to the ground. The second agent launched at Matt, trying to pull him off. The Special Forces were now smashing down the door, using the butts of their automatic weapons. They had smashed enough of a hole in the door to poke a rifle through and see what was going on. Matt was still screaming but the agents had regained control and had him in a submission hold on the ground. Matt was grunting in pain, still struggling against the two agents.