No Man's Land - A Russell Carter Thriller (4 page)

11

Carter drained his teacup and looked out the open window, studying the shedding bark of a ghost gum. He wondered what Thomas wasn’t telling him. Thomas only shared information on a need-to-know basis.

“How do you know it’s not just the mad ranting of a fanatic preaching to the converted?” Carter asked. “Why take it so seriously?”

“In case you’ve forgotten, three clan members did try to kill you this morning.”

“Could’ve just been a one-off act of revenge.”

“I can assure you it’s not just about you. We have evidence that Samudra has set up a military-style training camp on Batak Island at the top end of Sumatra.”

“A bunch of radical Muslims running round in army fatigues on a remote tropical island and a revenge attempt on my life hardly constitute a threat to Australia’s national security.”

“Perhaps not, but we’ve discovered a Sungkar clan cell four hours west of here, on a cattle property close to Boggabilla on the Queensland–New South Wales border.”

Carter put his hands behind his head and stretched back. There had been a couple of credible terrorist threats against Australia in the late nineties and in the aftermath of 9/11, both involving local branches of Jemaah Islamiah. One had involved the group Mantiqi IV, who had a base in the Blue Mountains, an hour and a half drive west of Sydney. Another group had set up a military-style training operation in Western Australia – it had been run by the Ayub twins, who fled Australia after the 2002 Bali bombing. Despite the initial concern, neither had amounted to anything.

“What else?” Carter asked, knowing there must be more to it.

“Samudra’s sister Kemala strongly maintains the Sungkar clan intends to wipe out the order and execute a jihad on Australian soil,” Thomas said. “Most likely in Sydney.”

“Samudra’s sister? Is she a reliable source?”

“Absolutely. Kemala has been actively watching Samudra’s activities since he assumed leadership of the Sungkar clan shortly after you went walkabout.”

Carter detected a sly glance in his direction from Wayan, indicating that Thomas’s interest in Kemala went beyond the purely professional. If that was the case, it was out of character. He filed the information away.

“Erina is in Boggabilla investigating the clan and has confirmed some disturbing activity,” Thomas continued. “And there’s one piece of information that will be of particular interest to you.”

Carter didn’t respond. It felt like Thomas was playing him, drip-feeding information.

“Alex Botha has joined Samudra’s clan.”

The mention of Alex’s name caused Carter to sit up straighter in his chair.

In many ways Alex was his alter ego. He was South African by birth, a former member of the order and, like Carter and Erina, a sanjuro. He and Carter were the same age and shared the same birthday, 19 November. For a number of years they had been close friends. Alex and he shared a passion for the Japanese samurai tradition and both were master swordsmen. When Alex was training to be a sanjuro, they had often sparred for hours with wooden swords. But about five or six years before Carter left the order, Alex’s arrogance and pride had begun to take over his personality.

They both collected replicas of famous swords, and when one of Carter’s favorites disappeared – the “Drying Pole,” used by the famous samurai Kojiro – he confronted Alex, who claimed he’d never touched it. Their relationship had never been the same after that.

Alex had become increasingly competitive with Carter and started using his substantial talent for the martial arts and combat in a cruel and self-serving way. He’d stopped paying attention to the spiritual principles of the order and Carter suspected he was taking drugs, too.

When he shared his suspicions with Thomas, Thomas had tried to counsel Alex and bring him back into the fold. But it soon became clear that he was not only using drugs but also running them while on assignment with the order.

The problem had resolved itself two years ago when Alex was arrested at Jakarta Airport carrying half a kilo of heroin. Alex had sent messages to Thomas and Carter from jail, asking for their help, but they’d decided to let him sit in prison for six months, hoping it’d give him time to reflect on the choices he had made, and find his way back to the true path. Unbeknown to Alex, Thomas had used his influence to make sure the case would never come to trial. If he’d been convicted, he would’ve faced a firing squad.

After only a few months Alex had escaped – and that was the last they had heard from him. He hadn’t created any trouble for them, and Thomas had decided against pursuing him.

“So what happened?” Carter asked.

“It turns out that he converted to Islam, joined the Sungkar clan and is now going by the name Abdul-Aleem.”

The fact that the clan had got to Alex both surprised and didn’t surprise Carter. Muslim fundamentalists had for years maintained a level of covert control across many Indonesian prisons.

Following the Bali bombings, the Indonesian security forces and the Australian Federal Police had tracked down and arrested many terrorists. While incarcerated, they’d set up shadow governments in prisons, recruited members, sent money from jail to jail and, at least once, coordinated an outside terrorist attack. They also ran businesses, used cell phones to preach sermons to followers outside and dominated prison mosques. Alex had a weakness for power and influence, and would naturally have been drawn to them. His use to them would have been immediately obvious – a westerner with his training and connections, bearing a grudge against their common enemy.

“The clan used their influence to get him out of jail,” Thomas continued, “and helped him establish a new identity.”

“That’s about the only path that’d lead Alex to God.”

“I agree. His conversion was, I suspect, motivated by his desire to save his skin rather than his soul.”

Carter nodded.

“Alex’s reappearance is a major concern,” Thomas said. “With his knowledge and experience, he could cause us a great deal of trouble – but Erina is taking care of things in Boggabilla for now. What I want you to do is go to Sydney and check out Trident for me, as I believe the bureau’s security has been compromised.”

He reached into the bag sitting on the floor next to him and slid three stapled A4 pages across the table.

Carter leaned forward. His curiosity had been piqued. But before he had a chance to finish the first paragraph, Wayan’s computer started to beep.

“You expecting more guests?” Carter asked.

Thomas shook his head.

Wayan hit a few buttons on the computer keyboard.

A map of the property appeared on screen. A red light flashed one-third of the way along the entrance road.

12

Carter and Thomas stood on either side of Wayan, staring at the blinking light on the screen. The freshening nor’-easter rustled the stacked papers on the table and Carter placed his teacup on them.

Wayan explained how the property’s security system worked. The laptop was linked wirelessly to eight motion sensors placed around the property, designed to alert them to intrusions along the perimeter.

Once alerted, four cameras, one pointing in each direction of the compass, could be used to determine what had set off the alarm. As Carter had noted earlier, though, the dense foliage that led into the property made it difficult to identify who or what had triggered the sensors until the intruder moved onto the open lawn.

Wayan clicked through four camera icons, north, south, east and west. The images that came up on his screen revealed nothing out of the ordinary.

He tapped another key and a map of the property appeared. A red light flashed along the track leading into the property about twenty yards from the point where the foliage and bush turned into lawn.

“Maybe it’s Erina?” Carter asked.

“No. She would’ve called first.”

Wayan stood and picked up a daypack that was resting against the wall. “I’m going to the ridge at the back of the house to see what I can from there.”

“No,” Carter said without hesitation. “You stay on the computer. I’ll go.”

Wayan looked at Thomas. “But I know the layout of the property.”

Thomas gave his head a slight shake. “You’ll get your chance soon enough.”

Carter understood how Thomas operated. He knew the value of dealing in hope. All warriors in training craved recognition and the opportunity to prove themselves.

Wayan nodded and handed Carter the daypack. Carter placed it on the table, slid the zipper open, reached inside and pulled out a Gore-Tex holster holding a Glock 18, his favored handgun.

The beautifully balanced weapon had a sighting range of fifty yards, but it was only accurate up to twenty. It had a seventeen-shot magazine, which allowed the shooter to fire the first round without any preparation. Carter slid the weapon out of its holster and ran his hands over the cool steel of its lightly oiled barrel.

After checking the magazine, he hung a set of black Vivitar binoculars around his neck and returned the handgun and holster to the daypack, which he slung over his shoulders.

Thomas handed him a bluetooth earpiece and a satellite phone. Both looked like they had just come out of their packaging.

“Since when did satphones come with bluetooth?”

“It’s the latest technology.”

“That’s one benefit of working with the government,” Carter said, unable to hold back the barb.

“It’s brand-new for you.”

“You’re that confident I’ll come on board?”

“You need to get moving,” Thomas said, ignoring the question. “I’ve preset it with my number. As soon as you’re in position, press 1 and report. Keep the line open.”

Carter nodded and headed toward the back door.

It took him a couple of minutes to climb the rocky ridge that ran along the top of the summit, using the trees and bushes for cover.

A wild rabbit ran across his path and disappeared. He followed it into the bushes and went as far along the ridge as he could without being exposed from below. He crawled into a small clearing surrounded by thick low scrub, lay on his belly, placed the bluetooth in his ear and the satphone in front of him.

He was about eighty yards from the back of the house, giving him a clear view of the property all the way to the highway he and Erina had driven along, about a quarter of a mile away. In the distance beyond the rich green of the long valley, he glimpsed the blue of the ocean. Thomas’s four-wheel drive, parked in the shade of the gum tree, sat ten yards to the right of the house.

The only problem with his position was that he couldn’t see the front or the left-hand side of the building. But that shouldn’t be an issue. All he needed to do was identify what had triggered the alarm and warn Thomas.

He took the Glock and its stock out of the daypack and laid them next to the satphone, then focused the binoculars in the direction of where the sensor had been triggered. He scanned further along to the right, following the track to the highway, trying to locate anything through the foliage.

Nothing.

He pulled out the antenna on the side of the satphone, turned on the bluetooth and pressed 1. Thomas answered straightaway.

“What can you see?” he asked.

“All clear for now. Has the intruder changed position?”

“No change,” Thomas replied. “Keep me posted.”

“Will do.”

All he could do was watch and wait.

13

Carter lay motionless under the scrub, watching the property below through the binoculars and trying to get his head around everything Thomas had told him.

Most Australians believed a major terrorist attack on Sydney would never happen, but logistically it wouldn’t be difficult. Security around Sydney, especially the harbor, the bridge and its foreshores, was lax. Which, if the clan was planning a significant strike around New Year’s Eve, could create a serious problem.

He knew of plain-clothes police who’d entered the naval base at Garden Island on the harbor using library cards as ID. And, not so long ago, two state police agencies had discovered that a company subcontracted to guard HMAS
Penguin
and the Garden Island naval base was closely linked to the well-known organized crime figure Hassan Bakir, a member of the Iron Dogs outlaw motorcycle gang.

Also of concern was another hardcore bikie group, the Soldiers of Allah. Even before Carter had left the order, they’d been on a Trident watch list. Members of the group were known to have jobs in harbor security and were suspected of engaging in weapons smuggling and drug trafficking on a significant scale. If the clan had infiltrated one of these groups, they could use them to orchestrate an act of terrorism on Sydney Harbour, making the threat very real.

Carter ran his binoculars over the track that ran from the lawn to the highway, looking for any movement under the foliage. There was none. He switched his attention to the road leading to the ocean.

Did he want to get embroiled in a fight that’d been going on for centuries and where there were no winners?

The issues were far from simple. During his training with the order, Carter had studied Islamic history in an effort to understand the deeper dynamics of the fundamentalist Muslims’ conflict with the West and what motivated modern-day terrorists.

It’d surprised him to learn that the period of Islamic supremacy, beginning in the eighth century and continuing into the twelfth, had been a time of relative peace, prosperity and cultural and technological advancement. Different religions, including Judaism and Christianity, had been tolerated under Islamic rule. This was known as the Golden Age of Islam.

The fuelling of the jihadists’ religious fervor began in the eleventh century with the first of the Christian crusades, initiated by Pope Urban II; the aim had been to restore Christian access to the holy places in and near Jerusalem. The city was a sacred site for all three major Abrahamic faiths: Judaism, Christianity and Islam.

Throughout the next two centuries, the Muslims maintained the strength of their powerful empire, which stretched across Middle and Eastern Europe and into Asia, managing to repel the crusaders, who came from all over Western Europe. In later centuries, though, the western invaders had more success, and many Muslims came to see westerners as the enemy, intent on humiliating and subjugating all devout followers of Islam.

In Europe the period from the fourteenth to the seventeenth centuries was a time of great scientific, artistic, philosophical and – most importantly – industrial expansion, propelling the western world out of the Middle Ages and into the modern era.

As Islamic power waned and the western powers seized control of large parts of the globe, Muslim clerics claimed that the followers of Islam were suffering because they’d strayed from the path laid out in the Koran and were being punished for their sins. The solution, they preached (according to historians), was to return to the practice of Islam as it’d been in the time of Mohammed, more than a thousand years earlier. They rejected industrialization and modernization, and instead sought to enforce the strictest possible interpretation of the Koran.

While the twentieth century witnessed the independence of numerous Muslim countries from colonial rule, many of their leaders regarded the establishment of Israel as an extension of a historic campaign against Islamic lands. The West, particularly the United States, was held responsible for supporting the original intrusion and for subsequently sustaining the Jewish state in the Middle East.

Ironically, in the 1980s, the United States worked with the Afghan Muslims in their fight against the Soviets. The CIA gave over nine hundred surface-to-air Stinger missiles to the mujaheddin, handing them out like they were lollipops.

All that changed in the early nineties, when George Bush snr sent armed forces into Saudi Arabia. Osama bin Laden described the huge influx of US troops into what he regarded as the holiest land of Islam as the greatest disaster since the death of Mohammed. He saw it as the final insult after centuries of western victimization of the Muslim world.

According to bin Laden, that was the action that drove him to strike back at “the American soldiers of Satan and their allies of the devil.”

In the current international climate, post 9/11, there was a tendency to view the historical relations between Islam and the West in simplistic terms. The current conflict was often portrayed in the western media as the struggle of freedom versus oppression, tolerance versus fanaticism, civilization versus barbarism. When put into religious terms, it became Christianity versus Islam, and finally it was reduced to the ultimate moral battle of good versus evil.

A flock of squawking white cockatoos flew across the sky above Carter, interrupting his thoughts. He watched them swoop down as if dive-bombing the ground before flying away.

Again he scanned the property and the bushland surrounding the perimeter. Still no sign of activity.

Like most people, he had no time for fundamentalism of any sort – and that included Christian fundamentalism. He believed every individual ought to be free to worship any god and follow their own path to him or her. Many roads led to the top of the mountain.

The struggle between religions brought out the worst in both sides. He’d seen it firsthand, and it was ugly. The fact that Alex had joined the Sungkar clan disturbed him. Alex was highly trained, dangerous and almost certainly driven to seek revenge against the order.

But that didn’t mean Carter had to be the one to stop him. If Thomas had listened to him earlier, none of this would have happened.

He made a decision.

As soon as this present trouble with the Sungkar clan was resolved and Thomas, Erina and Wayan were free to go about their business, he’d head back to Lennox, grab his stuff and disappear.

Margaret River with its cranking waves and remote location was looking as good as anywhere.

A movement to his right on the highway that ran alongside the property caught his attention. He pointed his binoculars toward it. A large white freight truck, with the words
Rapid Transfer
painted on the side in red, slowed. It passed the entrance, stopped and then started reversing into the dirt track leading to the property.

“Thomas,” Carter said.

There was no answer. The line had dropped out. He pressed 1 on the keypad.