Sword of Allah (19 page)

‘Was any evidence of bomb-making found there, in the camp?’ Monroe asked. ‘They’d need some reasonably sophisticated equipment to make the sort of device used at the embassy.’

‘No, nothing.’

‘Does that surprise you?’ Monroe asked. It surprised him.

‘Not really. The bomb could have been made anywhere.’

The CIA field agent shrugged. Okay, good point.

‘How many members does this group have?’ asked Ferallo.

‘We don’t know,’ said Mahisa, opening his hands out to emphasise the point. ‘There are many sympathisers scattered around, but they don’t wear badges of membership. We doubt they even know they belong to a group called Servants of God. This is the nature of what we’re dealing with.’

‘Sand,’ said Ferallo.

‘Pardon?’

‘Sand, through your fingers?’

‘Yes, exactly,’ the captain said.

‘So Duat has vanished?’ Hardcastle got in before Wilkes.

Mahisa nodded.

‘And what about Kadar Al-Jahani?’ asked Hardcastle.

Ferallo received a nod from Griffin. ‘Kadar has been positively identified at El Arish airport. We got a report in yesterday.’

‘Where’s that?’ asked Mahisa.

‘Egypt, Captain, just south of the border with Israel. It’s a holiday town. He apparently got into a Mercedes with Gaza plates,’ Ferallo said. ‘Shin Bet believes he’ll probably head to Ramallah in the West Bank. When he does, we’re going to catch up with him.’

‘Catch up?’ enquired Wilkes.

‘Kidnap,’ Monroe replied, putting Wilkes in the picture.

‘Everyone wants Kadar Al-Jahani. Washington and the Israelis have green-lighted the operation.’ The ASIS chief cleared his throat. ‘The CIA director called me just prior to this meeting. This is top priority.’ Privately, the ASIS D-G
didn’t particularly like the maverick American bull-in-a-china-shop approach, but he recognised that terrorism was impossible to combat if the game was played by Marquis of Queensbury rules. The gloves had to come off. These people were street fighters and the new rules were no rules.

‘Sir, so this is to be a joint US–Israeli op?’ asked Monroe.

‘No, it’s an Israeli operation with USCENTCOM oversight. That’s you, Atticus, and one of our people. That’s why Colonel Hardcastle and Warrant Officer Wilkes are here.’ He turned to Hardcastle. ‘Andrew? What do you think?’

Ramallah, the West Bank, Israel?
Wilkes hadn’t seen that coming.

‘I’ll be honest with you, sir,’ Hardcastle said, massaging his chin, ‘I don’t like it.’

‘Andrew, I know it’s not ideal. My people now carry weapons and can use them in self-defence, but our charter won’t allow us to launch offensive ops. The ball’s in your court. If you’re not prepared to write Tom’s orders, I can always ask the AFP or ASIO…’

‘I can see you have a problem, sir, but, with respect, the SAS aren’t in the kidnap business,’ said Hardcastle, who thought he caught more than a whiff of bureaucratic buck-passing in all of this.

‘I know what I’m asking here, Andrew,’ said Griffin, an edge of anger in his voice. ‘I don’t like to muck around like this but I’m not given any choice.’

‘Can’t the CIA handle this on their own, sir?’ the SAS officer asked.

‘Yes, of course, but we’re not happy about leaving it
totally up to the US. If we abdicate all responsibility here, we’re concerned that we might get stuck with an unpleasant fait accompli by the Americans down the track. We need to continue to play a lead role in this. We found Kadar Al-Jahani in the first place. And it is our own backyard we’re trying to protect, after all. Call it participation insurance.’

‘So would we be the second division team on this, sir?’ asked Hardcastle.

‘No. Nailing Kadar Al-Jahani is our job.’

Wilkes found the discussion more than a little interesting. Here was Hardcastle giving the ASIS boss a difficult time of it. It was obvious the SAS lieutenant colonel didn’t want his men shat on by bureaucrats – not Griffin himself but the people behind the D-G – and Wilkes’s respect for the man soared.

‘And you think Tom’s the right man for the job?’ Hardcastle was not entirely convinced – not least because Wilkes had no experience in that part of the world – but he could see that people a lot further up the food chain had already made up their minds.

‘I’ve asked for Wilkes because he did a good job for us in the past. I guess it’s just bad luck that I can put a name to a face – his.’

The conversation had taken a turn that Wilkes found a little unsettling. He felt a bit like the runner-up in a beauty contest being discussed by the judges. But Hardcastle was correct, he probably wasn’t the right man for the job.

‘Personally, and with all due respect to the warrant officer, I think there are better qualified assets for this job,’ said the colonel, taking the words out of Wilkes’s mouth.
‘I won’t order Tom to do it.’

Okay, thought Wilkes, back to the beach
.
That’s not a bad outcome, is it? At the same time, he was a touch concerned that the CO didn’t have unconditional faith in his abilities.

‘He’ll have to volunteer.’

Shit!
thought Wilkes.

‘Fair enough,’ said Griffin.

‘And what about those legal issues?’ said Hardcastle. ‘If they’re real, we can’t just ignore them. Whose uniform’s he going to wear?’

‘Sir,’ said Ferallo, ‘if I can suggest…a way round might be to consider putting the warrant officer on temporary secondment to the CIA.’

That option had already occurred to Griffin. It was a good idea, but he was nonetheless uncomfortable. Send an Australian to Israel to help America abduct a Middle Eastern terrorist? The whole idea was something no one would seriously have considered even eighteen months ago. Now, well, it almost seemed, if not exactly normal, then not entirely unreasonable either. Next question? Would Langley approve the secondment? They might. The Australian intelligence services had managed to present an early suspect for the bombing, and that gave ASIS some short-term clout with the American agency. And the CIA was under intense pressure to deliver. With all the terrorist warnings about, the US Congress was demanding to know how the agency had managed to let yet another attack slip through the cracks. The bottom line? Langley wanted a quick resolution, whatever it took.

Then there was the Indonesian consideration. Of
course, Jakarta was anxious to have the bombers nailed asap. Their country’s image had taken another severe dent in the wake of the attack: that the place was a haven for terrorists and Jakarta wasn’t doing enough to stamp it out. Furthermore, the country was in an uproar with increasingly violent anti-US and -Australian demonstrations. Finding the people responsible for the attack and dealing with them quickly would quieten Indonesia…Griffin was getting off the track.

‘Sir?’ asked Ferallo.

‘Sorry, I was just thinking,’said Griffin. ‘Tom, if you volunteer for this op, it’s to go as an observer up until the point of capture. I don’t want you participating in the operation itself. Colonel?’

‘I’m more comfortable with that, sir,’ said Hardcastle.

‘And if the Israelis manage to bag Kadar Al-Jahani, you and Atticus will accompany him out of the country,’ said Griffin.

Hardcastle nodded agreement.

‘There’s a C-5 departing Townsville to Diego Garcia tomorrow, sir,’ Monroe said cheerfully. ‘I can have Warrant Officer Wilkes loaded as my excess baggage.’

‘Tom,’ said Hardcastle, ignoring Monroe, ‘if you refuse to take on this assignment I promise you it will not reflect badly on you in any way. We’ve discussed your operational status already and this is as good a time as any to put it to the test. The final decision is up to you.’

The D-G stood and shuffled together a sheaf of papers. ‘Let me know your answer quickly, Tom,’ he said.

‘The answer’s yes, sir,’ said Wilkes, kicking himself. He needed a good stretch of R & R and he wanted – no,
needed –
to spend some time with Annabelle. And while
he’d never been to Israel, he was well aware of the situation there, as was everyone who had access to a news bulletin. The place was a mess, despite all attempts to restart the peace process. So why go? This was his job, what he was trained to do. Sort of
.
And as for not reflecting badly on him if he chose to sit on the beach instead? Bullshit. When you started turning things down, people started questioning your commitment. Simple as that.

Griffin paused at the doorway. ‘Thanks, Tom. Why am I not surprised? Andrew, thank you also.’

Hardcastle stood to go. The meeting was concluded. ‘Watch out for yourself, Tom,’ he said as he left the room.

‘Tom,’ said Griffin, popping his head back around the door, ‘I’ll get DIO to put some background notes together for you to read on the plane so you know what you’re walking into. And by the way, meet your new boss.’ He gestured with his folder at Gia Ferallo. ‘Ms Ferallo.’

‘Welcome to the CIA, Tom,’ said Ferallo.

The woman was standing, looking straight at him, and her hands were on her hips. Gone was the twinset and pearls girl. And, for the first time, Wilkes noticed how attractive she was. At five foot nine, Ferallo was slightly taller than him, and slender. Thick auburn hair that turned naturally blond at the tips framed her face and fell with a bounce below her shoulders. She had olive skin with eyes the colour of bright green glass. Her accent was broad – a New Yorker, probably, and from the poorer part of town from the sound of things, but she wore it like a badge of honour.

‘Thanks, Ms Ferallo,’ said Wilkes.

‘Call me Gia.’ She smiled and it was a warm, genuine smile that made her green eyes sparkle.

‘Oh-kay,’ said Monroe, aware of the electricity in the air. ‘Think I’ll leave you two to get better acquainted. Things to do, people to see.’ He stopped to shake Tom’s hand on the way out. ‘Heard a lot about you SAS types. But I’m sure it’s all hype.’

‘And you’ll be the judge,’ said Wilkes, wondering whether to take Monroe seriously.

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘See you tomorrow morning. Dress to kill, dude.’

‘Don’t mind Atticus,’ said Ferallo when he’d left. ‘He’s cocky, but he’s good.’

At what?

It was obvious to Ferallo that Wilkes remained unconvinced. ‘You’ll both get along fine. Trust me.’

‘I’m sure,’ said Wilkes. He glanced at the wall clock. ‘Whoa,’ he said. ‘If I hurry, I can catch my flight.’

‘Hey, why don’t you come with Atticus and me? I’m heading up north to have a quick look around. Never been there. We’re catching a VIP flight up a little later.’

‘I would, but…’

Wilkes’s body language told Ferallo he’d already decided against it. ‘Well then, have a drink with me in Townsville this evening and I’ll give you some background on CIA procedures.’

Part of him was tempted, but being around a woman like this for any length of time could be dangerous, and Wilkes didn’t want anything to complicate things with Annabelle. Not now.

‘Um…happy to do the briefing, Gia, but I have a date planned with my fiancée.’

‘Oh,’ said Ferallo, a little surprised. ‘I didn’t know you
were…Never mind,’ she said, forcing a smile.

Wilkes’s plane had been delayed. It didn’t touch down until nearly eight pm. He hadn’t phoned Annabelle during the day to tell her that he’d be back for the evening. He’d wanted to surprise her. But when he did phone, he was the one who’d received the surprise. Annabelle hated going to bars, but that’s apparently where she was. And there was something strange, almost guilty, in her voice.

Wilkes strolled into the dimly lit bar at around 2030 hrs, but he felt like it was closer to three in the morning. Meetings did that to him, and he’d had a day of them. Annabelle was perched on a high stool, legs crossed, sipping a cocktail. Men were gathered around her and she was enjoying the attention. This mightn’t have been her style, but she seemed to be lapping it up anyway.

‘Hey, Belle…’

‘Hi,’ she said with a wave through the gathering. She appeared pleased to see him, but there was that something else, unsure and unspoken. She kissed him quickly on the lips when he managed to squeeze through, just as another man joined them.

‘Tom, this is Steve, Steve Saunders. Steve – Tom. My fiancé.’

‘You’re a lucky man, Tom,’ said Saunders, holding out his hand.

Tom shook it automatically. It was pudgy, and Saunders
had just returned from the bathroom so the hand was also wet. Saunders was around forty-five, with perfectly combed hair, a tanned face and a pink shirt with white collar, the two top buttons undone revealing a nest of grey hair.

‘Yes, very lucky,’ Tom said, his other arm around Annabelle’s waist.

‘Steve’s up from Sydney. He’s the ANTV Network News executive producer.’

‘Ah, the big kahuna,’ said Tom.

‘Exactly, Tom, so we have to be nice to him,’ said Annabelle, playing the part and rewarding Saunders with her best smile. Annabelle was wearing her usual preferred style of clothing, something stretchy and tight that showed off her figure. Wilkes didn’t like the way Saunders looked at her, as if he was about to tuck into a banquet.

‘I’ve just been congratulating Annabelle, Tom. She’s got a big future in the network. She could go all the way,’ said Saunders, toasting Annabelle with a bright green cocktail. ‘Get you something?’

‘Ah, just a beer, thanks,’ said Wilkes.

The beer arrived pronto. It tasted good, so he drank half straight away.

‘Thirsty,’ said Annabelle, giving his leg a reassuring squeeze.

Tom forced a smile.

‘So, have you told Tom yet?’ asked Saunders.

‘Told Tom what?’ Wilkes asked.

Annabelle took one of his hands in both of hers, like she was about to propose. ‘Tom, as I said, Steve’s
the
network producer. He’s here because, well, they want me
in Sydney.’

‘Hey, that’s fantastic, Belle,’ said Wilkes, putting his beer down to give her a bear hug and a kiss to go with it. He knew she was the best and this was recognition that everyone else thought so too.

‘Yeah,’ said Saunders, raising his glass for yet another toast. ‘We want Annabelle in Sydney to read the morning news, following on from the cartoons. It’s a big move up. And we also want you, Tom. Annabelle’s told me what you do – hey, just in general terms, mate, no secrets because then you’d have to kill me, right?’ he said mock seriously.

Don’t tempt me, thought Wilkes.

‘And the network needs a defence expert – a consultant. In Sydney, of course. God knows there’s enough going on around the world these days. That’s something we should have had – full time – a long time ago.’

It was a strange moment for Tom. He heard what the producer was saying, but all he could focus on was the man’s shirt. People stopped wearing them back in the eighties, didn’t they? Weren’t they called power shirts? And the tan looked fake. Tom Wilkes didn’t like being ambushed. It made him want to fight back. But against who? And how? And what did Annabelle expect? That they’d just up and leave Townsville? And what about the army? He couldn’t exactly give two weeks’ notice. Hadn’t they talked about this? Wilkes tried to recall the conversation. If he remembered correctly, they’d decided he wasn’t leaving the army. ‘Um…I don’t know what to say, Steve.’

‘That’s okay, Tom. No need to thank me. We’d do anything to get Annabelle down to Sydney.’

I bet you would, mate.

‘You okay, Tom?’ asked Annabelle. Tom was smiling, but it wasn’t a particularly pleasant smile. Saunders had turned away to order another round of drinks, and had struck up a conversation with the bar girl.

‘Look, Belle, I’m proud of you, you know that. But this, now…well…shouldn’t we talk a bit more about it without Donald Trump here to moderate?’

‘But this would be good for us.’

‘Look, it’s great for you, but can you honestly see me hanging around the TV station in Sydney?’

Annabelle took a long sip of her drink, her cheeks flushed red with anger.

‘Jesus, don’t pout. We need to talk about this.’

‘How about tomorrow?’

Bloody hell, thought Tom, he’d just been ambushed again. ‘Belle…I’m going away tomorrow.’

‘Right,’ she said, nodding her head slowly. ‘Care to tell me where? Oh, I forgot, you can’t tell me.’ The words dripped with sarcasm.

‘Belle, that’s not exactly –’

‘If you’re going to tell me it’s not fair, don’t bother,’ said Annabelle. ‘I want a husband who’s going to be there when I come home at night. I read the headlines, I don’t want a husband who makes them.’

‘So what are you saying here…?’

Steve turned back and felt the tension between Annabelle and Wilkes. He’d seen it coming. A raucous laugh caught his attention. It was the producer he’d been introduced to earlier, having some fun with a few other people he’d recognised from the station – a cute cadet journalist amongst them. He made his way over. ‘Hey,
Barry…Barry Weaver, isn’t it? Loved that Papua New Guinea piece, mate…’

‘Belle? Speak to me, please.’ Wilkes was uncomfortable with the brooding silence.

‘Look, every time you go away, I don’t sleep.’

‘You never told me that before.’

‘We weren’t getting married before. And when footage comes in from some crisis somewhere or other, I live in fear that I’m going to see you as I read the bloody news, getting shot, right in front of my eyes.’

‘Look, that’s not going to happen.’

‘It’s already happened. In Papua New Guinea. I saw the out-takes. It was you right there in the background. After the battle with the highlanders…’

That bastard…
Wilkes concentrated his anger in a glance at Weaver. The producer looked up and toasted him, smiling.

‘So what? You expect me just to pack everything in and move to Sydney?’

‘Do you expect me
not
to go to Sydney?’

Both Tom and Annabelle could see they were getting nowhere. Annabelle drank the rest of her drink, and felt it warm her stomach. ‘Are you going to stay with me tonight?’

‘No,’ said Tom, wishing he could have said something different. ‘I leave at four in the morning. Have to stay on post.’

‘Fine, then.’

‘Look, Annabelle –’

‘Just go. You have to anyway.’

Tom didn’t know what to do. He had to get back to
post, pack his gear and get a final briefing, but he didn’t want to leave the woman he loved when she was feeling so awful about the future. He wanted to shout that he had an important job to do, that the job he did helped keep the world in which she lived safe, but it wasn’t the time or the place for anger or a lecture. The fact was, at that moment Tom knew he would not leave the regiment to work as a TV consultant no matter how good the pay was. It was not his style. Quite what that foretold for their relationship he wasn’t sure, but the twist in his gut told him that the prognosis wasn’t good. ‘Goodbye, Belle,’ he said, giving her a peck on the cheek. ‘See you when I get back.’

‘When will that be?’ she said, eyes watering, her face full of disappointment. ‘Oh, I forgot, you can’t tell me that either.’