Redback (19 page)

The
WarP
designers he'd gone to interview in Melbourne for his original story had checked
the
Global WarTek
disk for him. They'd discovered quotes from the
Rashmana
embedded
throughout the first two levels of the game. Just as the image of the book itself should not have
been in the game's intro movie, the words most certainly had no place in the game - in any Firebolt
game. Scott and the
WarP
guys then spent 18 hours trying to find a password to get beyond
Level 2 before giving up, on the assumption that the disk was, in fact, just bad.

'You want a magazine?' Kaisha asked. She'd stopped to wait in front of a book shop for him.

'No thanks,' he replied, glancing at the screaming headlines and graphic photos on the half-dozen
newspapers arrayed out the front. The last he'd heard, no group had yet claimed responsibility for
either the Luxembourg train or the Dallas bomb. Until they did, Scott didn't even want to
countenance the slightest possibility that Atarsa Kára might be the culprit, because that
would mean their game was starting. Whatever the hell their game was.

'Scott. Scott!'

'What?'

'Bald
gaijin
, near the café back there.'

Scott looked down at her, hiding behind him, as she nodded her head in the direction they'd just
come. 'Our bald
gaijin
, or just any old hairless white guy?'

Kaisha thumped him on the arm. 'Ours. Look.'

Scott did as he was told and -
oh shit
- there he was: the same beefy stretch of pale skin
and black leather. He was looking around, but obviously hadn't spotted them yet.

'Okay, time to get out of Dodge, Kaisha. If you haven't paid for that magazine, leave it.'

She obviously had, as she held the latest edition of Vogue up beside her face as they headed off
down the concourse, to check-in as quickly as possible.

Dargo, standing by the airport café, took his vid-phone out of his coat
pocket, dialled the number of his last incoming caller, and leant on a tall café table. He
smiled as he watched his targets run away from him again.

'Is it done?' his Client asked. 'They saw me.'

'Good. I'm grateful that you took time out from your busy schedule to play bogeyman.'

'Hmm,' Dargo raised an eyebrow. 'For the record I do not like deliberately showing myself.''

'Quite understandable in your business, dear boy, but they had already seen your face. You were,
therefore, the best man to scare them right out of the country,' the Client said. 'Hopefully they
will just keep running and hiding, assuming that you are forever on their tail.' The man sounded
gleeful.'

Dargo scratched his forehead. He had yet to get a handle on his latest Client. Potentially one of
the most influential people in the world, he took an almost boyish interest in Dargo's work and
sheer delight in things that went his way.'

'I hope you don't mind me saying so sir, but you are the strangest employer I've ever had.''

'Ah, I shall take that as a compliment, Dargo. Now, did you get a photo of the young man with
whom our little mistress is on the run?' '

'Uploading as we speak,' Dargo said. 'And now, if you don't mind sir, I need to get back to
Terminal One. My bags and gear have already been checked through, so I really can't afford to miss
my flight to Sydney. I hate to think what they'd make of my sporting equipment if they were obliged
to take a really good look at it.''

Fort Hood, Killeen, Texas
Tuesday 6.30 pm

Jesse-Jay Baggett and Micah O'Brien raised shot-glasses to their companions. They
were all sitting around an army campfire, eating beans and jerky and laughing like teenagers. The
other five regulars of the Carthage Thunder Militia had been coming and going through the gates of
Fort Hood for nearly nine days. All the equipment was now in place and all they were waiting on was
the order to begin.

The local Killeen Civil War Group had invited seven other state companies to take part in the
first annual American Celebration: Battle Re-enactment Camp. Dressed in confederate and union
uniforms, 249 men and women had been living like soldiers of old: eating the food, doing the
training, learning the tactics and gearing up for the grand Celebration Battle on the coming
weekend. An audience of a thousand was expected to attend on both days.

The Fort Hood authorities had given the green light to American Celebration six months ago,
including allowing the participants to camp for the full two weeks around the lake area. The idea to
use the Killeen military installation for the re-enactment had been suggested by the new
Lieutenant-Governor of Texas, George Gantry.

Despite the tragedy that very day in Dallas, the American Celebration organisers had been
informed by the US Army liaison officer that battle preparations could go ahead. According to
Harlan, who'd been in charge in Micah's absence, Fort Hood's Installation Commander, some
brigadier-general, had said, 'if the homeland is under attack again, then an American celebration is
needed more than ever'. Then he apparently ordered several units to head to Dallas to see if they
could help out.

'That would explain all them troop trucks we saw on the drive down here,' Micah had said
grinning.

There was a companionable silence now, around their fire at least. Other camp noises drifted
through the twilight, curling in the smoke that hung between the Carthage boys. They could hear
singing and laughing, and from way over the other side of the lake, the music of a tin whistle and
fiddle.

Micah finally broke their reverie. 'Okay boys, it's time to get going. Harlan, you and yours go
tend to the fireworks. Just remember they're pretty damn dangerous, so don't be too close when they
go off. Jesse-Jay and me will go launch the birds. We'll meet back here after the party. Go.'

Rawalpindi, Pakistan
Wednesday 5.30 am

Jamal Zahkri entered the safe house and immediately began stripping off his
clothes. In a moment the imposing and compelling Emissary was transformed into a rather
ordinary-looking man. Samir was accustomed to the change but Arjuna, who sat beside him on the
couch, was amazed.

'You see my friend,' Zahkri spoke to Arjuna in Indonesian, 'the Emissary is all smoke and
mirrors. I am nothing but a cipher. The turban gives me stature, the kohl adds mystery to my eyes,
the footwear,' Zahkri sat and yanked at the elevated boots that had been hidden by his
galibeya
, 'the damn boots also make me taller. Then I speak very seriously so people think I
am a serious man with serious things to impart.'

'And now, oh serious-one,' Samir said, pulling out a mobile phone and dialling a number, 'it is
time to talk to the Bringer of the Future. And remember to show respect, just in case the Americans
have a satellite overhead.'

Zahkri took the phone from Samir and held it to his ear. In a moment the ringing stopped and a
familiar voice answered.

'Dárayavaus, it is I,' Zahkri said.

'And right on time. I trust your journey went well.'

'Indeed it did. Our friends seemed to find me quite charismatic.'

'As they should, my Emissary. Did they like our gifts?'

'Oh yes,' Zahkri said. 'And the celebration preparations are well in hand. Uncle will be most
surprised. I trust that all is well in your world.'

'Things could not be better. The first two matches are already over and the audience, so far, is rather astonished by the state of play. Atlas is quite a team.'

'It's all down to the coach, as always,' Zahkri said.

'You are too kind, my friend, and sadly it's already time to say

goodbye, Emissary. Send our southern friend home with my blessing. Speak soon.'

Zahkri threw the mobile back to Samir. 'Kill that thing,' he said.

Samir pulled out his Glock and used the butt to smash the phone to pieces on the floor.

InterContinental, Wellington
Wednesday 11.45 pm

Only mildly interested in why Jana would not want to thank the man who'd set her
rescue in motion, Gideon had followed her across the room to where a couple of her team were hanging
around the oblivious object of their surveillance. It did occur to her that the Doc must really have
something against the guy who'd hired the Redbacks - or maybe for him - to choose to stand near Alan
and his human-vine instead.

Jana greeted young Shane Cooper cheerily but had to ask the other soldier-agent-spy's name.

'They call me Triko, Dr Rossi.'

'And why is that, Triko?' she asked.

'Because none of the bastards, excuse me, can be bothered with the whole surname.'

Jana took in Triko's features: dark hair, hirsute arms and probably chest, deep olive skin,
hawkish nose. 'Let me guess,' she said, 'it's all Greek to them?'

He grinned and lowered his voice so no one who shouldn't could hear him. 'It's Trikopoulis,' he
said, the accent filtering through the Aussie, only when he pronounced his name. 'Second-gen
Australian born but tied to the old country by blood and strong language from a grandmother who
still calls Thessaloniki home.'

'And he has to listen to his
Yaya
,' Coop volunteered, 'because she is the world's best
cook.'

'I'll bet.' Jana caught sight of a wedge of photographers sidling in their direction, clicking
away at a VIP she couldn't see. On the off-chance it was him, she excused herself for a moment and
turned her back on the approaching media. She faced instead the man who was now only the second-most
irritating human in the room.

'Yo Alan,' she said softly.

Alan leant reluctantly towards her. 'You do know, Jana, we don't ever have to speak to each other
again.'

Jana narrowed her eyes at him. 'Just giving you the heads up. When the cameras get here, do you
really think your long-suffering needs to see you tentacled by Miz Clingy there?'

'Oh for God's sake woman, mind your own…'

Jana threw up her hands but continued to whisper, 'Hey, my only concern is for her, for Mrs
Wagner. Although my friend Sally here, did tell me that Shirley's Maori husband is a South Island
trucker.'

'That true?' Gideon asked, as they watched Alan whisper a sweet-something in Shirley's ear as he
untangled from her clutches.

'No idea,' Jana replied.

'Ah and here, I believe, is the conference chairperson, Dr Rossi.'

Oh bugger.
The too-familiar voice crawled up Jana's spine like a giant stick insect. She
turned and feigned surprise, 'Oh. Mr Danby. Hello.'

'I am so pleased that you,' the Foreign Minister offered his hand, 'and your fellow delegates
came through this terrible ordeal unscathed.'

'Thank you, Mr Danby,' Jana acknowledged, letting go of the handshake.

Alan took the prime ingratiating opportunity to thrust his arm forward, between Jana and Gideon.
'It's good to see you again, Aaron.' Danby's face registered a nanosecond of uncertainty, caught by
Jana, before Mick Fleming filled in the blank.

'Alan mate, what the hell were you doing on Laui?' Mick asked, then threw a question at Danby,
while retaining Alan's attention by offering his own hand. 'When was the last time we saw Alan,
Minister? No, I know, it was dinner at Bilson's after his
This Week, The World
interview
about South Korea.'

Oh yes
. Jana certainly had to hand it to Mick. He was still the Vile Idiot Prevaricator's
saviour in all professional, social or public spots of bother. He'd given the Minister the subject's
name, occupation and context - past and present - and all in a little male-bonding handshake.

'Yes,' a now clued-up Danby agreed. 'What were you doing there, Alan?'

'It was a freebie, Aaron. A five-star, pamper-fest thank you package for, you know, work done -
until those mangy terrorists turned up and…'

'They were rebels.' Jana and Mick's identical response amused Mick and Gideon, but seemed to
annoy Jana and Alan.

'Whatever,' Alan continued, pressing forward but still trapped behind Jana. 'Finally after nine
days locked up with a…with no respite, we're just being nicely rescued when the American
cavalry turns up and starts blowing the whole island to Baghdad and back.'

Jana mentally shook her head. Alan was trying it on; seeing how far he could get with a wild,
unsubstantiated possibility. He was looking for a reaction, a clue, a hint from the powers-that-be
that there was truth in it. Stupid clod wouldn't recognise a nuance if it lobbed like a grenade at
his feet.

Gideon meanwhile double-tapped her left leg to get Triko or Coop's attention, then cast a glance
at Fleming. It seemed, however, that the Minister was now recalling all by himself just how
irritating this TV guy was. He tried his own deflection from the subject by addressing Gideon.

And trying not to drool, Jana thought.

'And are you one of the other Australian delegates?' Danby asked.

'Are you kidding Aaron? She's one of our resc - erg' Alan began, foolishly assuming that his
contract of silence did not apply to a chat with the Australian Foreign Minister.

Gideon found Jana's hand already there, when she reached back quickly to grab the idiot's balls.
She stayed to help.

'Hush Alan,' Jana threw back over her shoulder, 'we don't want the press to hear.' To save Alan
from himself, and on the assumption that the Minister knew about the Redbacks, even if he didn't
know Gideon herself, she added, 'Mr Danby, this is my cousin, Elizabeth Hellier. She runs a B&B
on the South Island. Liz has offered recovery R&R to any delegates who don't want to rush home.
We don't want the press bothering them.'

'That's very generous of her - of you - Ms Hellier.'

'What else could I do?' Gideon said, suitably impressed by Jana's quick thinking. She offered her
what she hoped was a familial-type smile.