Kadar, too, was considering whether he should just shoot the man opposite, or persevere. This was his strategy, his idea. It was going so well. If he killed Duat, he himself would not get out of the encampment alive. While he had relationships with a few of them, the men were largely loyal to the Indonesian. And where was the glory in such a death? ‘Duat,’ he said, grinding the cigarette into the leg of the table and sending a shower of red embers to the earth, ‘aside from amassing wealth, we have done nothing, achieved nothing. We are at the beginning of our enterprise, really, the very start…’
‘Kadar, in the past you’ve used an analogy: that to set off a large explosion, it must be done with a smaller charge, a primer. But the primer you’re suggesting will bring the whole world down on us.’
Kadar Al-Jahani thought he saw a glimmer of compromise. ‘So what if we were to do as I suggest, but not claim responsibility for it?’
Duat had considered that. ‘So then what would be the point of it?’
‘The people we need to impress would know and at this moment, that is all that matters,’ said Kadar.
Perhaps, thought Duat…We would need to shift the camp simultaneously…
‘It’s time to move anyway.’
Duat sucked on his tooth. ‘Do you believe your plan can work?’ he said, somewhat mollified.
‘Mohammed, may His name be praised, is with us.’
‘Do we have the right man?’
‘I believe so. His name is Dedy.’
Duat nodded. Good choice.
Townsville, Queensland, Australia
The waitress’s pencil was poised above the pad.
‘We’ll also have two dozen oysters to share. Tom?’
‘Two dozen?’
‘Yeah, don’t think you’re off the hook yet, bucko,’ said Annabelle, a mischievous twinkle in her luminous blue eyes, a flute of French champagne resting on her bottom lip. She took a sip and set the glass down. ‘You’ve been away one month three days, and a girl has needs, you know.’
‘Okay then, two dozen it is. Thanks,’ said Wilkes, trying to hold back the smile and failing.
The waitress couldn’t hide her smirk. ‘Thank you,’ she said as she pencilled the order on her pad.
‘Now, where were we? Oh yes, in bed — me on top, you begging for mercy,’ said Annabelle.
Tom Wilkes’s cheeks hurt. He’d worn that smile all day. It was good to be home and in his girlfriend’s arms. His eyes swept over her and her beauty again took his breath away, exactly as it had when he met her two years ago at a defence forces open day. She was doing an outside broadcast at the time. Along with the rest of the squadron, he’d been attracted to her at first glance.
She was wearing the blue dress, his favourite. The colour matched her eyes. The fact that it was tight and short also had something to do with his fondness for it. She never exercised, except for a half-hour walk three mornings a week. She didn’t need to. Her metabolism, the envy of all her girlfriends, kept her looking like she worked out every day of her life.
Annabelle Gilbert had become one of the bestrecognised faces in Townsville. She read the six o’clock news, consistently the city’s highest rating television program and enjoyed by a huge male audience. Jokes were made about that at the station, but Annabelle was used to the attention.
The other talk about Annabelle at work, most of it behind her back, regarded her boyfriend, Tom Wilkes. Rumour had it he was more than just a soldier. Townsville was a military city, host to the Ready Reaction force and other elements of Australia’s crack operational combat units. It was well known that he was SAS, and maybe something beyond that. Annabelle never fuelled these rumours. Indeed, it was the one sticking point in their relationship — Tom’s career.
‘Surely it’s my turn to be on top, Belle,’ he said. ‘In fact, we can skip dinner if you like. I’m happy just to eat you.’
That made Annabelle blush. Tom knew how to push her buttons. ‘Okay, you win. Let’s change the subject, we can come back to this by candlelight later.’
Under the table, Tom discreetly ran his fingers along the skin of her calf muscle. ‘You sure, Belle…?’
‘Phew, it’s hot in here, isn’t it?’ she said, fanning herself with her hand.
‘No,’ said Tom, teasing. ‘Okay, later then.’ He withdrew his hand and Annabelle cleared her throat and shifted on her chair.
‘Hey,’ she said suddenly, ‘we haven’t toasted your promotion.’ She picked up her champagne. ‘Congratulations, Warrant Officer.’ Their glasses came together with a tinkle.
‘Thanks, baby. There’s something else I’d like to celebrate.’
‘What’s that?’ There was nothing else that she could think of. She looked down between his hands and saw the light blue box. The blue box. She swallowed, somewhat in shock. This was her dream. A perfect sunset by the sea with the man she loved, and a ring from Tiffany’s. He’d been a little strange on occasion throughout the afternoon’s lovemaking. She’d put it down to the job he’d just returned from. As usual, he’d told her nothing about it. At least he’d come back this time with no scars that she could find. But no, he was anxious because he was planning to pop The Question. Annabelle stared at the box and was momentarily paralysed with fear. Maybe it wasn’t a ring, maybe it was…earrings.
‘Well, go on,’ he said. ‘Open it.’
‘Nothing you want to ask me first?’ she said.
‘Do you want me on bended knee?’
‘No,’ she whispered, her eyes sparkling like aquamarine in the golden late afternoon light.
Wilkes opened the box in front of him and then turned it around so that Annabelle could see the flawless onecarat stone. ‘Annabelle, will you marry me?’
The answer was not something she had to think about. ‘Yes, Tom, I’d love to marry you.’ Annabelle and Tom leaned forward and kissed each other, the warm breeze blowing off the shore break. Annabelle took the ring from the box and placed it on her finger. ‘Hmm,’ she said, ‘my brand. How did you know?’
‘Oh, only the barrage of hints you’ve given over the past year.’
‘It looks good on me, don’t you think?’ She held her hand away and examined it, tilting her head from side to side, appraising it.
‘Doesn’t everything?’ he said, sipping his beer.
‘So, when?’
‘When what?’
‘When will we get married?’
That one caught Tom completely on the hop. When? Jesus, he had absolutely no idea.
‘It’ll take a while to get the wedding guest list together, venue, church, organise relatives. Nine months, minimum,’ she said. ‘And what about the army? Will they release you?’
‘Sorry?’ Tom suddenly felt like he was tied up in a car careening down a hill, out of control.
‘If we’re going to get married, you’ll want a steady job.’
‘Hang on a sec,’ said Tom. ‘Don’t I already have one of those?’
‘Maybe one that’s a little less full contact?’ She ran her finger down his cheek, chasing the scar. ‘Look, I know the ANTV Network has been after a military analyst, what with all the things going on around the world at the moment. I could talk to someone. What do you think?’
Tom Wilkes wasn’t thinking at all. He was panicking, and that was not a state he was given to. He rubbed the flat of his hand across the top of his head.
‘Two dozen oysters natural,’ said the waitress with a knowing smile and a not-too-subtle wink at Wilkes as she placed the stainless-steel platter on the table between them.
‘I’ll just have two. You have the rest, darling.’ Annabelle gave him the look of a hungry predator. ‘You’re going to need them.’