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Majid was very much looking forward to leaving this stark hotel and this northern city. Kali had
said their second Trust would be somewhere in the Pacific, once the Emissary had promoted them to
duumvir and given them command of a permanent Cohort. Ashraf Majid had never been
somewhere
in the Pacific. He was exhilarated by the reality that by following the new way of
Rashmana
,
as an adherent of Atarsa Kára, he would live long and see so many things of which he'd only
dreamt.

The vibrating shoebox on the floor beside him brought him back to the stark Peshawar hotel. Majid
lifted the lid and searched through the 20 cell phones for the one with the incoming call.

'We have reached the finale, Aga,' announced the young voice on the other end.

'Excellent Jalees,' Majid said. 'This means you are ready for the grand tournament.'

'Yes Aga. We will be at the start line, according to the rules.'

Majid switched off phone, slid off the back cover and removed the SIM card. He
dropped the piece of plastic containing all evidence of the preceding phone call, into the small jar
of acid that Kali had opened for him.

'Only four left,' Kali said as he peered into the shoebox at the now, mostly dead communication
devices. They both jumped as one of the four began vibrating. Kali answered this time.

'Greetings Aga Bashir,' said the unexpected caller. 'Do you know who this is?'

Kali's eyes widened in surprise and he tapped Majid on the knee and pointed at the phone. 'Yes
indeed, Emissary. And I hope that one day everyone everywhere will recognise your voice.'

Jamal Zahkri al Khudri laughed. 'You are cheeky young Bashir. I am calling to wish you a safe
journey to Oahu. So my friend,
bissalama
to you and your
kan kardes
.'

'Shukran Emissary.'

The phone went dead. This time as they destroyed the SIM card, the young men could barely contain
their pride and excitement. For the Emissary to risk a call merely to wish them luck on their first
Trust was an honour indeed.

Kali, still smiling, placed his hands on his dear friend's face and leant in close. He whispered
'we are indeed blessed,' and kissed Majid with a passion that neither man had ever denied.

Sydney, Australia
Monday 10 am

Aaron Danby resisted the urge to stem the flow of liquid by bending the tube of the
saline drip lying near his hand. He used to do that to the garden hose when he was a kid, just to
annoy his father when he was watering the plants. Danby sighed, there were times when he really
hated being an adult. Perhaps he could press the other thing instead, and up the bastard's morphine
dose. It wasn't like anyone'd notice the difference at the moment, what with Bob chucking a wobbly
about next weekend's SETSA meeting. Blah bloody blah! Anyone'd think the man had been shot or
something.

Danby glanced up to catch Mick Fleming giving him the 'don't you even think about it' look. It
was often irritating that Mick knew him so well; other times it was a hoot.

'Oh for goodness sake Bob,' Danby finally snapped. 'You're right in the middle of a tragic and
disturbing incident. And while we all know you've got the intestinal fortitude of a Mallee bull, the
world will not actually end if you're not fit enough to line dance with the other world leaders on
Sunday night.'

Prime Minister Robert Harvey removed his reading glasses to peer at Danby. 'That's not what
worries me, Aaron, and you know it. Besides, fully mobile or not, I will be at that SETSA banquet
and every other meeting my doctors allow. So don't count me out yet.

'I am, however, worried that dignitaries may cancel because of this,' he waved around at the
hospital room and back to his injured leg.

'Can you imagine what it will cost us - in money and pride - to wear the consequences of a
half-attended conference that we've been touting the value of for 18 months? Then we'll get another
thrashing in the polls when all those lefties and unionists start up again about the whole
inconvenience of the city still being shut down - but for only half a conference.'

'It'll be fine Bob,' Mick volunteered. 'And even if only half turn up, there'll still be more of
them than protestors, for a change. These multinational summits attract every rabid ratbag with a
gripe about something they think is important. But we've at least got the Greenies on side with the
SETSA agenda because we are all for saving the whales.'

The Prime Minister gave Mick Fleming almost the same look he'd given his Foreign Minister.

'It really is okay, Mr Harvey,' his own assistant informed him. 'As of 15 minutes ago, there have
been no cancellations.'

Harvey didn't even bother looking at the young man. 'It hasn't even been 24 hours since the
shooting,' he reminded them all. 'Half the world is still asleep.'

'And we have already doubled the security arrangements, from the ridiculously high to the
ludicrously elevated,' Danby said.

'Ridiculous? Yet still not lofty enough to prevent Barney being killed and me ending up
here.'

'Yeah, well no one expected anyone to take pot shots at either of you; ever.'

'All that just proves, Aaron, is that our terrorist net is still not cast wide enough. Nor is it
made of tough enough laws.'

Danby wondered why he was never able to resist baiting Bob Harvey whenever he could, regardless
of the circumstances. Then he remembered how little respect he had for the leader of his own party.
The fact that Bob was Prime Minister, and clever as a wheel, was neither here nor there. Danby shot
a glance at Mick, who'd already closed his eyes in anticipation of the response.

'Terrorist-schmerrorist, Bob,' Danby couldn't resist the urge.

'Given that Barney is dead and you're only wounded, I reckon we can knock the
al-Qaeda angle right out of the equation. It's entirely feasible that BW Cross finally pissed off
one person too many; the one with the gun, too many.

'Let's face it, and I mean seriously Bob - and without cashing in on the excellent fear-mongering
potential - if this shooting
was
the act of terrorists, then they're not very bright. Why on
earth would they target the two of you, and only manage to get Barney, when in a week's time they
could have taken out the leaders of every country south of the Tropic of Cancer?

'Hmm, let me see,' Danby juggled his palms, as if comparing weights. 'You and Barney versus the
biggest Heads of State gathering in Australia since APEC. Disgruntled taxpayer versus Osama bin
Laden.'

'You really are a shit,' Harvey pronounced.

'Oh yes,' Danby agreed.

A knock on the door preceded a doctor, personally escorted by a New South Wales detective, and
just in case that wasn't enough, a federal officer. That was too much for Danby, given he'd had to
run a gauntlet to get into the room in the first place. He stood and took his leave.

'Can I ask you something, Aaron?' Harvey said, as his Minister and sidekick reached the door.

'Of course, Bob.'

'I've kind of noticed, I mean I've been getting this sense from other visitors today and things I
heard on the radio overnight - Barney wasn't really well liked, was he?'

'Well, no Bob. Not at all, in fact.'

'Now you see, I don't understand that. I always liked him. He was one of my staunchest
allies.'

'Enough said,' Danby muttered, giving Harvey a bemused shrug on the way out.

It took ten minutes to make it through the milling media lurking in front of the RPA Hospital; to
whom they reported that 'the Prime Minister was fine, he's sitting up, he was taking his medicine
like a man'. When they finally got into Mick's Range Rover, Danby just sat there frowning, with his
seat belt half way to the buckle.

'What?' Mick asked.

'Do you reckon people, like the rest of Cabinet and those journos back there, are going to think
I had something to do with what happened to Bob?'

Mick screwed up his face before regarding his friend with incredulity. Even for him that was a
bizarre question. 'Did you?'

'No,' Danby said. 'Unless you organised it for me. In which case, thanks.' He watched the media
surge towards the hospital doors and then back again, as the exiting couple turned out to be two
women older than God. 'You didn't, did you?'

Mick laughed. 'If I had mate, my guy wouldn't have missed. And he would've got the Treasurer as
well, and the Opposition Leader, and that witch Amelia Bander, and your ex-wife, and…'

'Righto, you goose. Drive me somewhere. I need food.'

Houston, Texas, USA
Sunday 7 pm

Jesse-Jay Bagget, ex-Carthage Thunder Militia, strolled companionably around Bayou
Place with the commander of the Texas Star Brigade. He hadn't gone back to the Militia; and if they
knew what he'd done to Micah O'Brien they'd likely banish him anyway.

'I sure am amazed we're just walking around looking for a place to share a meal, Colonel.'

'First of all, son, I know exactly where we are headed. Second, Space City's got two million
citizens, do you think anyone is going pay us any mind?'

'I don't know sir,' Jesse said doubtfully. 'I been all the way to Vegas just one time, and my
first night there I bumped into the Carthage fire chief in that giant pyramid casino.'

'Was the fire chief's wife with him in that exciting city of sex and vice?' the Colonel asked,
steering Jesse-Jay through the swinging saloon doors of a steak house.

'No sir, I don't believe she was.'

'Uh huh, and I bet the next time you bumped into that fire chief back home, he did not mention
ever laying eyes on you in Las Vegas. Am I right?'

'Oh,' Jesse snorted. 'He did give me a look though. Guess that's because he
was
with his
missus that time. I'm thinking that's what they mean by "what plays in Vegas, stays in
Vegas".'

'That would be a sound deduction,' said the Colonel, as a pretty brunette showed them to a table
by the corral surrounding the dance floor. 'We don't need the menu, young lady. We will have two of
your Shuttle Specials and a couple of pints of Guinness Draught.'

The Colonel stroked the finely-manicured hairs on his chin and gazed thoughtfully at Jesse-Jay.
The boy, well he was 26 but rather child-like in his naivety, reminded him of a whippet. He was a
lean, mean little sonofabitch who took to a lure like there was no other purpose in life; easily
trained, loyal to a degree, but not entirely reliable around other dogs. The Colonel was well aware
that if he let him off the leash he'd be distracted by a passing breeze, or by a trainer with a
bigger bone.

'I believe we are waiting for something other than our dinner, Colonel.'

'I swear, Jesse, you are getting smarter by the day. And no, I am not making fun of you; so
there's no need to puff up like a little rooster.'

Jesse-Jay relaxed and forced himself to smile. He did not take kindly to anyone making reference
to his level of knowing. He could forgive the Colonel more than most though, because he was the one
person who had faith in Jesse-Jay's real abilities.

'We
are
waiting, son, but only for a phone call. You see, I've had wind of a situation
rearing its warty old head in those dark and curly corridors of power.' The Colonel hesitated for a
moment when the waitress returned with their beers, and then leant forward conspiratorially. 'It
seems somebody has been telling tales to the CIA, and quite possibly the FBI as well.'

'Tales? You mean about us?'

'What I mean, son, is that those unwholesome spying appendages of our totally illegal so-called
federal government have received information that, quite luckily for us, they have yet to properly
analyse, let alone respond to.'

Jesse-Jay frowned. As much as he admired the Colonel and even enjoyed the very tone of his voice,
he often wished the man spoke common American and got to his point quicker.

Then, like a mind reader, the big man obliged. 'Some traitorous member of our sizeable
organisation has informed the enemy about our game.'

'Who would do that?' Jesse-Jay asked. 'And how do you know about it?'

'Dear boy, the one thing that every intelligence organism the world over has in common is spies -
some that work with them, some that work against them. And just as we seem to have a betrayer in our
midst, the current unholy Administration's little army of spooks include people who, shall we say,
share our sympathies. This is precisely how the world turns. In fact the very mechanism of spies
spying on spies is all so very productive. I find it quite delicious. When you've got to check your
own closets as well as those of your enemies, then it truly keeps the whole machine running
smoothly. Everyone stays in business forever, and business, of course, is what we're all about.'

'If you say so, Colonel,' Jesse-Jay nodded. He sat back so the waitress could place his meal, a
giant plate of steak and potatoes covered with a suspicious green sauce.

'I am glad you agree, my boy, because the phone call on which we are waiting while we dine, may
well provide you with a thrilling new activity on my behalf.'

'Really?' Jesse-Jay was still grinning like a prize-winning whippet when the Colonel's cell phone
rang, barely a moment later.

'Uh-uh, yes. Well I'll be damned,' the Colonel said to his caller.

'No, no, we know who that is…Oh, I see, not him…An outsider, you say? Interesting, and
reassuring that it was not one of ours…Just hold a second, while I consult with my compadre.'
The Colonel buried the cell phone in his big hand and leant forward again. 'You went to Mexico with
our late friend, did you not?'

'Yes, sir,' Jesse-Jay confirmed, 'and I was with him the entire time.'

'Excellent.' The Colonel put the cell back to his ear. 'Text me the location, my sweet. How long
do you think before your clueless colleagues make their move?…Splendid, even if they wake
from their collective coma tonight, we have time to get the jump on them. Thank you, my dear.' The
Colonel ended the call, but left his cell on the table to await the text message that was en
route.