As a reward for good work, both Ferallo and Monroe were transferred to Canberra, Australia. Once a backwater, CIA Station Canberra had become the centre of the agency’s push into the increasingly dangerous and unpredictable region of South East Asia. Ferallo and Monroe were both young and ambitious. As Monroe had put it, this was their ‘time to shine’, and the way things appeared to be shaping up, fate was going to give them plenty of opportunity to do just that.
‘They could just be having a friendly cup of coffee, checkin’ out the sights, you know…’
‘Do you believe that, Atticus?’ Ferallo said, examining the high-grade digital colour print with a lupe, a powerful magnifying glass designed especially for the purpose.
‘Not for a nanosecond.’
‘We’ve got our pal Kadar Al-Jahani having a friendly chat with three unknowns,’ said Ferallo, sifting through the sheaf of photos. ‘Why? Who are they and what’s it all about?’
‘If the tape is anything to go by, they’re having a lovely conversation about fruit and trees and stuff. Maybe they’re thinking about setting up a nursery.’
‘Hmm.’ Ferallo found what she was looking for, the transcript of the terrorists’ recorded conversation. It was frustratingly incomplete.
‘Well, how does the seed grow, my friend?’
‘(static)…a sapling that grows daily. Soon it will be a large tree that bears fruit…(static)’
‘(static)…heard all this before…(static)…will be edible? There have been attempts in the past to cultivate this area profitably…(static)’
‘(static)…and so is the climate today. Also, as you know, caring for the tree as it grows takes money…(static)’
‘Allah be praised.’
‘As I said, there would be a lot of money to be made…(static)…expert banker in Sydney…’
‘Shit,’ said Ferallo, reading through the transcript again. ‘The quality of the recording is so bad we don’t even know who the hell said what.’
‘The bit about the banker in Sydney is interesting,’ said Monroe.
‘Yeah, but who is he, what’s he doing for them and is the fact that he’s in Sydney significant? Jesus! And what about this Duat character, the guy with the great dental work. Do we know where he is?’
‘In a word, no,’ said Monroe. There was no point sugarcoating it. ‘We’ve lost Kadar too, but it’s hard to hide in South East Asia when you’re a rag head. He’ll turn up. And if he goes home, well, we’ve got eyes and ears all over that part of the world, thanks to the Israelis. Basically, if he farts, we’ll find him,’ said Monroe, trying to find something positive to add.
‘Thanks for that image, Atticus.’
‘These Aussies must be rubbing off on me. Speaking of which, is anyone in particular here rubbing off on you?’
‘In this town? They’re all politicians,’ said Ferallo disdainfully.
‘What about that soldier, Wilkes? He seems like your type.’
‘And what’s my type?’
‘The short, strong and silent type.’
‘He’s not short.’
‘Ah-ha!’ said Monroe.
Ferallo’s face filled with a hot flush. She had found herself aware of Wilkes’s presence, but hadn’t realised her attraction had been so obvious. ‘Can we just concentrate here?’ she said evasively.
A short while later, Monroe left Ferallo’s office with nothing resolved, whistling a merry tune. Goddam field agents, thought Ferallo. No responsibility whatsoever. The photos of the men were strewn across her desk. ‘Who are you?’ she asked them collectively, hoping one of them would speak up.
Australian Federal Police HQ, Canberra, Australia
The knock on the door didn’t penetrate Jennifer Tadzic’s concentration. Not the first time, nor the second. When she was focused on something, the world shrank away to background noise. But it wasn’t just one thing clamouring for Tadzic’s attention. Indeed, her desk was swamped with files and reports relating to various ongoing investigations. It was at times like these that she felt overworked and underpaid. She wished she had at her disposal a small fraction of the funds available to the organisations and individuals she was up against. Then, perhaps, she’d be able to make a difference. Just once.
‘Federal Agent…?’
The sound found it’s way through Tadzic’s brain, finally, as an annoying distraction that had to be dealt with. She glanced up, the crease between her eyes a deep furrow. While Tadzic didn’t know the woman standing at her door, she’d seen her around. But there was something in her face, something that told her she shouldn’t snap.
‘Sorry to bother you, Federal Agent. The name’s Rachael Ying, legal. We haven’t met, not officially, anyway. I worked on that aircraft hijack thing of yours.’
‘Yeah, I remember,’ said Tadzic. That was both true and false. She remembered the bust, though she didn’t recall anyone by the name of Ying connected with it. But that wasn’t entirely surprising. The AFP was a big organisation and a signature on the bottom of a few forms wasn’t exactly a formal introduction. ‘How can I help you, Rachael?’
‘We’ve got a mutual friend, Federal Agent.’
‘Call me Jenny. Who’s that?’
‘Angie Noonan.’
Yep, Tadzic knew Noonan well. They went to the same Pilates class. Noonan was the super-fit type, a gym junkie. Nice kid, though. Forensics. Good at her job, too. ‘Sure, come in, Rachael, take a seat.’ Ying was young and pretty, and from the accent — or lack of it — second-generation Chinese Australian, with blue-black hair held in a tight ponytail. She wore comfortable jeans and, like Tadzic, no make-up. A no-bullshit type. Ying was Angie’s buddy and her alarm bells were ringing.
‘Okay,’ Ying said, sitting. ‘Basically, the problem is Angie’s late back from holidays. Should have been back at work three days ago. I rang her home, no answer. No joy from her mobile either. She told me you two hit the same gym and I thought maybe you could —’
‘Didn’t she go to Thailand?’
‘Yes.’
‘With her boyfriend?’
‘That’s right.’
‘You don’t think she just decided to, well, extend?’
‘No. You know her. She’s like totally committed to this place, her job. No way would she just decide not to front for work. And especially not without at least calling in.’
That was true, thought Tadzic. Angie was the keen worker-bee type. The enthusiasm was a bit nauseating sometimes, maybe, but there was plenty of time for the job to knock that out of her.
‘I called the boyfriend’s work,’ said Ying. ‘He’s an architect, works for a small firm. His father’s the boss. He hasn’t heard from his son either. The man’s worried. He’s made a report. I promised I’d try and bump him up the queue.’
‘Have you heard anything from Angie at all?’ Tadzic was thinking she might have to get the Department of Foreign Affairs onto this. No, maybe immigration first, run a passport check and see whether they’d at least made it back into the country.
‘Yeah, got heaps of postcards. Got one every second day there for a while — her way of laying a trail, maybe. You know, doing a Hansel and Gretel? Then they just stopped coming. At the time I thought the silence had more to do with the mail than anything sinister.’ Rachael placed a small stack of postcards on Tadzic’s desk. They pictured golden Thai temples, water buffalo, the hill tribesmen — the usual tourist fare from a holiday in Thailand.