‘All four got in?’
Dave winced with pain. ‘No, only two.’
Mac eased up and let the bloke go. Dave collapsed in the grass, sobbing and holding his arm out like the further he could get it away from his body the less it would hurt.
‘Two?’
‘Yes,’ he nodded. ‘I was going to tell you -‘
‘So tell me, Dave.’
‘We dropped the other two in Betoota. It’s in my log, YBEO.’
‘What happened?’
‘They got on another plane – white Cherokee.’
‘Did they take anything with them?’ snapped Mac, at the end of his rope.
‘Yeah,’ moaned Dave. ‘They took a green plastic case.’
CHAPTER 58
Dave ID’d Hassan and Lempo from Mac’s fi les as the two who switched planes in Betoota, a dot on the map consisting of two gas pumps in the middle of a rock fi eld on the road to Birdsville. Dave fi ngered the photo of Gorilla, identifi ed him as the one who stayed on the plane and got into the LandCruiser in Cooladdi.
Dave tried to describe the man who travelled with Gorilla; he was a fi ner looking bloke, the pilot said, and might have been Indonesian.
Mac had a sudden fl ash of intuition – he now knew why Freddi had been so defensive at the Idi airfi eld. That fi ner-featured Indonesian would have to be Freddi’s underling, Purni. Purni, who had gone to Monash University. Purni, with his beautiful English and knowledge of Australia, was probably Hassan’s Australian scout. And if Purni was being protected in Jakarta, the whole smell of this thing went higher than Mac had fi rst suspected.
Dave and Mac got back to the local cop, who told Dave to get in the back of the Patrol.
‘What do you reckon?’ the cop asked Mac, waving fl ies from his face as if he was born doing it.
‘I’d like to be able to stay in touch with him,’ said Mac. ‘But other than that, he’s a friendly.’
The cop read out Dave’s mobile number from his notes and Mac input it into his phone.
‘Where would a fugitive go from here?’ asked Mac.
The cop smiled. ‘It’s a crossroads, mate. You could go in any direction and get yourself lost.’
Exhaling, Mac asked him to radio it out there – white LandCruiser, two Asian men – knowing, as he said it, that they could be anywhere.
They touched down at Amberley Base on the outskirts of Brisbane, Mac having spent most of the journey on the radio to John Morris in Darwin. He’d given the bloke everything, knowing that the search was about to go to a level in which live sightings by people like Mac and Robbo would become rare. Once you lost touch you relied on the public reporting strange things or you hoped the fugitives would go through an airport or a railway station or be reported by a hotel receptionist or a parking building operator. With Christmas coming up, there might even be a chance of picking up something from a random breath test.
Mac felt overwhelmed by the size of what was happening but Morris wasn’t annoyed with him, which was a nice step forward.
‘You took a shot, mate,’ said Morris, ‘and at least you’ve chased the bastards east.’
Morris had said that there was a Piper Cherokee logged in a 16.21 landing at Nebo, outside of Mackay. The fi eld wasn’t manned or under surveillance and a plane-spotter called it in.
‘We’re pretty sure this is in Queensland now,’ Morris had said. ‘It’s looking like a Christmas hit.’
The Hassan crew had split and they were well organised. And they’d managed to lose Mac, the Feds, Customs and the 4RAR Commandos.
For now. The whole purpose of JI had been to create outrages and Mac was leaning towards the John Morris view of Hassan’s crew. They were going to crop up in a place where their risk of capture was higher than in the Territory or western Queensland. There were going to be crowds and there was going to be decadence, at least as far as the jihadists saw it.
The new accommodation suites at Amberley had come way up in the world since Mac had last stayed there, but he wanted to get back to Jen and Rachel. A fl ight lieutenant from the transport pool was sent over and he grabbed his pack, thanked the 4RAR boys, wrote down his mobile number, and did the Harold.
The drive south was smooth and they listened to the ABC Radio news: Australian Federal P olice had confi rmed they were chasing several known terror suspects of Pakistani origin. They were last seen heading towards the east coast of Queensland and anyone with anything strange to report should do so on the AFP hotline. The report cut to a grab-style interview with John Morris, whose grumpiness translated perfectly for radio:
‘We’re looking for three men in their thirties and forties, of South Asian appearance.
One of these men has a noticeably heavy build. We believe they are travelling with a man, in his twenties, of Indonesian appearance. They were last sighted out of Mackay and we understand they are heading south. I make a serious request to the public: please do not approach these people, they are considered to be very dangerous and are heavily armed. Just call your local police command and please follow their instructions -‘
‘Sir, can you confi rm the rumour that these fugitives brought a bomb device into Darwin this morning?’
‘I repeat: do not approach these people, please let your local police…’
The RAAF girl dropped him two blocks south of the townhouse at Broadbeach. He thanked her and walked slowly, his pack over his shoulder. The lights were on in the house and he waved to the AFP duty agents as he opened the door. There was a noise from behind and he swung away, reaching into his pack for the Heckler. As he hit the deck and aimed up, he looked into a set of eyes he knew too well.
He froze, lowered the Heckler and breathed out.
‘ Fuck’s sake, Ari!’
The Russian-Israeli had his hands up, standing in the fading light of evening, in Levis and a blue trop shirt.
‘Sorry, McQueen – there’s no easy way, yes?’
Gulping as the AFP moved in with guns raised, Mac smiled and said it was okay.
‘I know this lunatic,’ he said to the closest AFP cop. ‘He’s taking his meds.’
Decocking the Heckler, Mac let Ari help him to his feet.
‘It’s not a question of if, mate,’ he muttered at Ari as he turned the key. ‘One of these days someone will shoot you for that.’
Inside, Mac instantly sensed something different. The smell was wrong, the cooking wasn’t burnt. He raised the Heckler and signalled to Ari, who fell quietly into step behind him. Moving slowly down the hallway, Mac checked the fi rst room, then the second, where Rachel snored in her cot.
A yell came from another room. ‘Is that you, Macca?’
Recognising the voice, he breathed easy again, got the gun out of the way before she could see it.
‘Hi, Mari,’ he said as Mari Hukapa came into the hallway and gave him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. He’d totally forgotten she was going to be on the Gold Coast for Christmas. She and Jenny had become very close after he’d introduced them in ‘02. Mac extricated himself from her grasp and said, ‘Mari, do you remember Ari?’
The two looked at each other and burst out laughing.
‘It is rhyming, yes?’ said the Russian, a huge grin across his big slab-like face. ‘I think this is good omen.’
Mari vaguely remembered meeting the Russian at the Hukapa compound six years ago in Sumatra. Ari couldn’t take the smile off his face. ‘I remember I embarrass myself. The tiger, she was so much in pain.’
They moved into the lounge room where Ke was watching TV.
Mari explained she was minding the kids while Johnny and Jen looked at some warehouse.
‘They say when they’re due back?’ asked Mac.
‘Seven-thirty, I think Johnny said.’
Looking at his watch, Mac pulled his Nokia out of the pack and rang Jen’s number, which went straight to voicemail. He tried Johnny’s and it picked up on the fi rst ring.
‘Just about to call you, brother.’ Johnny sounded breathless.