Redback (24 page)

'The President will make a statement now,' the White House official informed the
waiting press in the Rose Garden. 'After that there will be 15 minutes for questions before he flies
to Dallas.'

Garner Brock stepped up to the plate visualising, as his Pilates instructor had suggested, that
he was about to talk about his favourite sport rather than a national crisis. Leaning his left elbow
casually on the lectern, he directed his attention to an empty space beyond the front row media.

'Good morning ladies and gentlemen. First, I would like to reiterate my heartfelt sadness at the
dreadful loss of life that occurred in Texas on Tuesday. My condolences, and that of the First Lady,
go out to the families and friends of those who lost loved ones in those horrifying tragedies. Our
thoughts and prayers are with you all, and with the seriously injured and wounded.'

Brock took a serious breath and then, with his fingertips touching, rested his wrists in the
centre of the lectern's edge to remind him to stand straight and firm for the rousing part of his
speech.

'Once again our great nation has been attacked by the enemies of freedom and democracy. These
shocking strikes at the very heartland of this United States are an affront to civilised and
right-thinking people everywhere. And I go on record, right now, right here, in promising you that
they will not go unpunished. The perpetrators of the bomb that devastated downtown Dallas and the
brutal assault on the brave military men and women at Fort Hood will be caught and punished.

'Now, it's a pretty safe assumption at this stage that these twin attacks were part of the same
vile and violent plan. And when we ascertain the architect of this carnage - no matter who he is and
where he's hiding in the world - he will be brought to justice. Or, we will bring justice to his
door.'

Brock took a moment to take in the faces of the press, without actually meeting anyone's eye,
then leant on his left elbow again so his right hand would be free for dramatic emphasis.

'You know, folks, the crazy thing about these terrorists is that they seem to think that
committing an atrocity like this will make us stay home, that it will make us give up the fight,
that it will make us turn our back on the wider world…on a world that they would control by
bloodshed, fear and repression.'

He gestured expansively to include the nation and the world who'd be watching him through the TV
cameras. 'But mark my words, this only reinforces our determination - and our duty as Americans - to
meet the threat of terrorism wherever it arises. These foreign aggressors should not be mistaken,
people, they should not underestimate our resolve on this matter.

'Yes, they've attacked us on our own soil again. Yes, we have lost innocent American lives to a
brutal cause that we, as law abiding, freedom-loving people, cannot be expected to comprehend.

'Our enemies despise our freedoms and our prosperity. We understand that. We know that most of
the recruits to terror, take that path of violence because their anger at the world is fuelled by
poverty and despair.

'They are without doubt easy prey for the likes of Osama bin Laden and al-Qaeda. And once they
choose to follow, they're educated in anti-western propaganda and in subterfuge, and they're given
frightening skills in order to plot wicked and appalling destruction against us.

'The horrifying reality is that some of these death dealers have again managed to slip undetected
through the protective net cast by Homeland Security and our federal and state law enforcement
bodies. This only tells us that we cannot let down our guard. Not for a second. We cannot become
complacent, people. These terrorists, these
jihadis
, think nothing of living amongst us, of
moving into our neighbourhoods, of enjoying our freedoms while they lie in wait, like rattlesnakes,
to strike at any time.'

He took a breath and stabbed his finger at the lectern with every statistic he delivered. 'Well,
two days ago 84 Americans died in the dual attacks in Texas, 141 more were injured. Another 15 US
citizens died in the horrifying train bombing in Europe, including friends, staff and two family
members of our own Secretary of Defence, Nathanial van Louden.

'The reason for sending our forces to Afghanistan to rout the Taliban for harbouring Osama bin
Laden; the reason we invaded Iraq to rid the world of the tyrant Saddam Hussein; the reason for our
troops being in Pakistan, in Somalia, in the Sudan and other deadly and dangerous places around the
world; that reason - that evil - has attacked our citizens at home again.

'And terrorism is evil, folks, pure and simple. It may well be the only real evil that there is
in this world, the one true evil that all ideologies and all theologies preach against.

'Well I'm done preachin, folks.' He paused, and looked into the lens of the CNN camera. 'It's
time to deal with this scourge, time to combat this plague that would wipe people of good character
and honest ambitions off the face of the earth.

'Today we put the architects of terror on notice. You will not shake our resolve to do the
courageous thing, the honourable thing, the only thing that true patriotic Americans would want us
to do. We will fight you where you stand, where you live, where you train. And we will do so until
you are annihilated.

'We will defeat all those who would do harm to Americans and their allies at home and abroad, we
will continue our war against al-Qaeda and other terrorist groups that take inspiration from the
Islamic radicalism of Osama bin Laden.

'And we won't be alone when we shine a light on your pointless violence. We know we have our good
friends in Great Britain, Australia, in Europe and the Middle East who will stand shoulder to
shoulder with us in our clash against your darkness.'

Brock stopped, nodded and looked thoughtfully defiant. He even managed to remain that way when
the shouted questions began coming at him. It always seemed like there were more waving hands than
there were reporters. As usual, Brock chose Jim Fenman from the
Washington Post
first.

'Mr President, what can you tell us about the rumours that a Civil War group was involved in some
of the destruction at Fort Hood on Tuesday?'

Brock smiled to cover the fact that this was the first he'd heard of this. 'Now Jim, you know
what I think about rumours,' he said. 'They should remain unspoken until there is at least evidence
of the possibility. In regards to your question, what I can say is that 'involved' would obviously
be the wrong word. There were, I believe, a number of civilians on the base on Tuesday - whether or
not they were harmed in the attack I cannot say.' Brock searched the front row and pointed. 'Jill.'

'Thank you Mr President. Is there any further news about Mr van Louden's family?'

Brock answered that question, in the negative, and three more before he was rescued from the
conference and hustled back into the Oval Office. The heads of Homeland Security, the CIA and the
FBI, two of the Joint Chiefs, Secretary of State Aiden Bonney and, oddly, the Vice President were
all waiting for him. He did not like the look of things.

'What's happened now?'

His own Chief of Staff, Rob Martin, broke the news. 'There's a chance, Mr President, that the
attacks in Dallas were home-grown.'

Brock shrugged. 'Yep, wasn't I just telling the press something like that?'

'We're not talking about secret cells of foreign terrorists living amongst us, sir. We're talking
about American citizens,' Bonney said.

'And?' the President prompted. It wasn't because Garner Brock was obtuse that he didn't
understand what they meant; it was simply that his advisers were, as usual, not making themselves
clear.

'What's the difference whether these bastards were born here, or flew in from Baghdad or wherever
last month? I don't get why you're all looking so worried and surprised, it's not like this is
something new.'

'That's the point Mr President,' Martin explained. 'It
isn't
something new. It is,
however, like Timothy McVeigh and Oklahoma City; not like Osama bin Laden and New York.'

'Oh Christ,' President Brock swore. He waved in the direction of the Rose Garden. 'Why did I go
out there and say all that. Shit. I need to get out of here. Take me to Dallas.'

Sydney, Australia
Friday 2 pm

Bryn Gideon, dressed in running shorts and a sweaty singlet, took the turn into
Bligh Street on the homestretch of her favourite 20 kilometre run. Granted, pounding the city
footpaths wasn't fun, but most of her course took her away from the traffic, through the Domain, out
to the stone-cut Mrs Macquarie's Chair, then twice around the Botanic Gardens. The best section was
along the foreshore of Farm Cove - or Woccanmagully as the indigenous inhabitants had called the
tidal inlet off Sydney Harbour - because it was always, while running here, that it sank in she was
home again.

She took a right off Bligh, another left, and then slowed to a jog for the last 20 metres and up
the three steps to the only door in the laneway. Placing her palm casually on the metal plate next
to the door, as if she was just catching her breath, Gideon waited while her vital stats were read
by the Back Door security system, and then used her flashcard to open the door. Once over the
threshold and with the outer door now closed, she waved at the camera while it did a visual scan,
gave the 'battle on' password to provide a voice ID, and pushed through the interior door as it
unlocked.

Gideon crossed the marble-floored lobby that provided direct access to the gym and cafeteria, and
lift access to either the Back Door Hub or the Redback Bivouac. She took the lift to the latter; up
eight floors to the huge lounge of the extensive living quarters she shared with several of her
closest friends and colleagues. She yanked off her runners, threw herself onto a couch and lay
there, staring at the ceiling.

'You home now then?' Shane Cooper asked, from the kitchen where he was speed-dicing something
green.

'Yep,' Gideon replied, hoping Coop would bring her…

'Here,' he said, appearing beside her with a large frosted glass. 'It's homemade recovery juice,
my latest recipe.'

Gideon sat up and took the drink with a grateful smile.
Home again, home again
. 'Where's
Triko?' she asked.

'Taking a swim,' Coop said, returning to the kitchen.

Evan Wade, Gideon noted, didn't seem to have moved a muscle while she'd been out, he was still
watching TV with headphones on. Marco Banda was reading the newspaper and swearing a lot.

Five of the nine Redbacks lived permanently in the communal but spacious quarters on the top
floors of the Back Door building. Doc Rossi might have thought their retrieval agency sounded like a
back-alley private eye business, but she couldn't have been further from the truth.

Their bivouac had a pool and sauna on the roof; lounge, kitchen, games and computer areas on the
open-plan eighth floor; and individual living suites on the seventh floor, each with a bedroom,
sitting room and bathroom.

Downstairs in the op-centre there was so much high-tech equipment that 'state of the art' was a
cliché that needed an upgrade. The Hub's intel and tech crews alone numbered 15, and that
didn't include chef Lulu, any of the mechanics, or mad Peaches, who - as well as being their
personal trainer, medic and masseuse - also cut everyone's hair.

None of the Redbacks were required to live in - this wasn't the army after all, but all nine had
suites, when needed. And they all chose to use the suites just before a job or during training.

But as Coop often said, who wouldn't want to live in place bigger than his parents' entire home,
with a pool on the roof and a gym in the basement. Not to mention, though he also often did, having
any and every kind of gizmo his heart desired - just by putting in a request for it.

Gideon, Coop, Triko, Wade and Marco resided happily together - much like grown-up uni students.
In fact, that was exactly what most of them were: highly paid, highly trained, highly disciplined
and highly motivated uni students. All except Marco who ran a martial arts studio in his spare time
instead.

The downside of living above the shop was that work was always there - much like it had been in
the army; except that now Gideon felt like she also had a life. And this life was all positive
action, saving lives, doing good.

Oh bullshit
! She knew she loved this job because it was all about the adventure, the
travel, the lifestyle, the money, the danger. It was about making their own rules, and dealing with
the bad guys and saving some good ones. This was the best damn job a woman could ask for.

An insistent beeping recalled her to the downside. She rolled off the couch to press the comm
button on the coffee table.

'Yes?' she said.

'You got a minute Bryn? We have some news on that guy we're monitoring.'

'Yeah, I'll be down in a sec, Boss.' Getting to her feet, she realised they were too tired to be
pushed back into her runners. What's more, if the director wanted her in person, now, he'd have to
put up with her sweaty self.

She took the lift to the fourth floor and headed up the hall to the Recon Room. Oliver and
Chrissy, the two resident techies in the room, waved at her as she dropped into an empty chair
opposite Back Door's head honcho and all-round boss, Commander Eric Ryder, Special Forces
(ret.).

'Your man has been fishing big time,' he said.

'Alan himself?' Gideon asked.

'No, his flunkeys. They've put out a hundred tentacles since he called them from Wellington on
Wednesday. It seems they've finally got a hit.'

'What kind of hit?'

'Not precisely sure, yet,' said Oliver, their prime tech-head who was all but cocooned by his
banks of computer monitors. 'But we think it's either a member of the not-exactly-successful SEAL
rescue team or, maybe, that soldier your Dr Rossi saw.'