‘Where am I?’ he asked the doctor.
‘You’re safe. You’re at Creswell naval base in New South Wales,’ replied the doctor.
‘What happened? How did I get here?’ he asked, trying to sit up.
The captain of the Special Forces team stepped forward, motioning for the medical staff to leave the room. ‘Mr Lang, you were kidnapped and being kept on a boat off the coast. We rescued you, but as we did they knocked you unconscious with a tranquilliser.’
‘Jesus,’ said Matt, rubbing his head, noticing the drip that was hooked up to his hand.
‘Sir, I need to ask you some questions — do you know why the Secret Service wanted you kidnapped?’
Matt sat there rubbing his face with both hands, trying to comprehend everything he had been told.
‘Mr Lang, please can you tell us why someone wanted you kept quiet?’ repeated the captain.
Matt suddenly remembered. He dropped his hands to the bed, his eyes red and swollen, skin pallid and unshaven. ‘I remember, the nuke — they’re going to bomb Australia, they’re going to drop a nuclear bomb on Australia!’
‘What do you mean? Who’s dropping a bomb?’ said the captain, stunned as much by the mad look on Matt’s face as the words ‘nuclear bomb’.
‘Sarah… Sarah Dempsey and General Stephens — they’re planning to drop a nuclear bomb on Australia.’
The captain didn’t waste any time, immediately calling Jackson.
‘What is it?’ Draven demanded into MiLA.
Jackson was on the other end. ‘Sir, Mr Lang has regained consciousness, although he’s not making sense.’
‘What’s he babbling about then?’
‘Well, sir, he’s saying Ms Dempsey is going to drop a nuclear bomb on Australia.’
General Draven sat at his desk, frozen, staring at the wall opposite in silence.
‘Sir? Did you hear me?’
‘Christ! Of course, of course! That makes sense,’ he said in a hushed tone, to himself more than Jackson.
‘Sir, one other thing. We have reports of two US military planes taking off from Christchurch. They are, however, unconfirmed by the US or New Zealand military.’
‘It’s on its way already. They’re actually going to do it. They’re going to nuke the mines in South Australia,’ said Draven incredulously. ‘Thank you, Jackson. That will be all. Not a word of this to anyone, do you understand?’
‘Of course, sir. Let me know if there is anything else.’
Throwing MiLA on his desk and sitting back in his chair, Draven considered his next move. What they were doing was illegal, unethical, bordering on insanity. But, at the same time, there was method to the madness — he could see that instantly.
MiLA rang. The room seemed excruciatingly quiet — between the rings was a tense silence that seemed to strain Draven’s ears. Looking at the screen, Fletcher’s name flashed up. Answering it, Draven brought the device slowly to his ear.
The words were out of his mouth before he was even aware of what he was saying. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, Fletcher?’
‘Saving this country is what we’re doing, and you know it.’ Fletcher knew how to control his voice to suit the audience. He knew that a man like Draven responded to a firm hand.
‘Seems to me like you’re willing to destroy a very large chunk of it in doing so!’ said Draven.
‘Look, Draven!’ Fletcher said impatiently, ‘We don’t have time to debate the ethics of what we’re doing. The reality is the wheels are in motion. It’s too late, it’s happening. I need to know that you’re on board. We cannot risk the Chinese finding out at the last minute through a leak. You know that if they make a threat, they’re likely to follow through on it — if only to save face. Then we’ll be hamstrung and forced to abort.’
‘It’s a little extreme, don’t you think, Fletcher — nuking our own country?’ Draven said dubiously.
‘Cut the bullshit, Draven,’ Fletcher retorted, getting heated now. ‘You know the pointlessness of a conventional war against the Chinese — we’d be turning Australia into the Middle East of the South Pacific.’
Draven sat there, silently. He could see what they were doing was the right thing, in a perverse way. But his pride wasn’t letting him see clearly. He felt belittled that he wasn’t involved in the planning, that he had been lied to — and now he felt like a fool.
‘Why didn’t you bring me in on it sooner?’ asked Draven, finally.
‘Plausible deniability, Draven,’ responded Fletcher, glad the conversation had turned. ‘After this event, we will, in all likelihood, go to prison. The country will need you to rebuild our defences quickly — if the plan works, that is.’
Draven immediately felt ashamed. They were sacrificing their careers and lives for all Australians, including himself. He saw his resistance now as absurd. ‘Yes, you have my word that I won’t go to the press — or anyone else, for that matter.’
‘Thank you. You’re doing the right thing,’ said Fletcher, trying to keep the relief out of his voice.
‘No, you’re doing the right thing — I’m just staying out of your way,’ replied Draven.
‘One other thing,’ said Fletcher, with an air of sombreness. ‘Tomorrow morning, provided everything goes to plan, you need to pick us up and take us into federal custody. I’ve already spoken to the general about it — you need to stay beyond reproach on this and the best way for you to do that is to arrest us. You’ll need to act quickly to secure the defences — particularly in WA — despite that idiot of a premier doing a deal with the Chinese.’
‘I understand,’ said Draven.
‘Very good. Well! I guess we’ll be seeing you tomorrow, then?’ Fletcher said, his tone cheerful.
‘Yes, until tomorrow. And good luck.’
With that, the conversation ended.
Draven went back to staring at the wall, contemplating the enormity of what was about to happen.
In the ops room of the US embassy, Fletcher went back to the table to monitor the progress of the B-5s with a spring in his step.
In the dark cockpit of one of the stealth bombers, the two pilots had climbed to their cruising altitude and had just made their final turn into the approach path. The sky was clear, and at their altitude the stars were like searchlights, bathing the huge aircraft in light.
‘Opening bomb-bay doors,’ said the captain.
‘Two minutes from Alpha drop-point,’ followed the co-pilot.
‘Received final confirmation code for arming of device,’ said the captain.
‘Requesting final verbal clearance from General Stephens,’ said the co-pilot.
Over the satellite link, General Stephens’ voice was crystal clear. ‘This is General Stephens. You have my authority to proceed with Operation Fulcrum.’
‘Voice recognition confirms General Stephens. Confirming order to proceed,’ said the co-pilot.
‘Confirmed,’ returned the captain. ‘Thirty seconds to drop-point.’
‘Switching to computer-release mode,’ said the co-pilot, reaching forward to engage the computer that would determine the exact moment of release from the B-5.
In the ops room, General Stephens was looking down at the satellite image of South Australia, staring intently. The tension was palpable.
Fletcher’s hands were shaking mildly. He had to remind himself to breathe, his chest tight and shoulders clenched. Sarah was staring at General Stephens, unnerved by the real-time updates and hearing the calmness of the pilots.
Back in the B-5, a screen on the instrument panel flashed three times and a soft electronic beep sounded. ‘Bomb is away. I repeat, Alpha bomb is released. Thirty seconds to detonation.’
General Stephens, who was stooped over the table staring at the image, looked up at Sarah.