Redback (49 page)

'Are we going somewhere with this, Oliver?'

'Of course Boss, untwist your jocks. Seven years ago Assad bin Khalid wrote a paper on the
subject of cults and how they manipulate their followers. To support his theories, he created a
manifesto which he called a
Document of Encouragement
.'

'Uh-oh,' Gideon said, as copies of the document appeared on the screen

'Yes Bryn, uh-oh,' Oliver agreed. 'Assad bin Khalid al Harbi's
Document of Encouragement
is basically the
Rashmana
and/or
The Atlantes
.'

'So Atarsa Kára just adopted it?' Brody said.

'I reckon Assad gave it to them, or one of them - this Emissary guy in the photo with him
probably,' Oliver said.

'Or the mysterious but unknown Dárayavaus,' Brody suggested. Jana drummed her fingers on
the table. 'Maybe Assad is this Dárayavaus.'

'Except Assad is dead now, remember,' Coop said.

'And that changes what I said, how exactly?' Jana asked.

Triko cleared his throat. 'Yeah, okay. Maybe that's why he's so mysterious and unknown.'

'His place of death coincides with that lovely blue dot on the
Rashmana
map,' Mudge said,
pointing to one of the other images showing on the split screen.'

'Maybe the red dots equate to planned terror attacks and the blue dots are individual dead
people,' Triko said.

'Except how would Bashir and Kali, the Groh Sitaarah guys in Peshawar, have a dot in
their
game for Assad, when they were in Pakistan with this disk when Assad got dead in a tourist bus
accident in Paris - only two weeks ago?' Brody asked.

'Why was the playboy son of one of the richest families in the world even on a tourist bus?' Ruth
asked.

'Good point,' Jana said.

'Maybe they're assassination dots,' Mudge said. 'You know, and this Assad bloke was taken out by
Atarsa Kára even though he gave them their book thing.'

'Ooh, some kind of Eureka guys,' Oliver said. 'As is my habit, as you guys blabber on, I've been
adding any new info, names and words that you mention, into my overall data search, and voila,'
Oliver pointed at the map again. 'London.'

'Yes,' Bryn said, 'Been there a while it has. And that blue dot was always there.'

'But it came up with a match for the name Teddy Drake.'

'The British spy guy?' Triko said.

'The Chairman of the Joint Intelligence Committee,' Oliver said. 'He's only been confirmed in
that role for a couple of weeks. Ever since the previous chairman, a Lord James McQuade, was killed
in bizarre circumstances by an unknown assassin wielding a very sharp blade.'

'This is getting ridiculous,' Kennedy said.

Oliver clapped and grinned. 'Well you're going to love this then. The blue dot hovering over
Tokyo matches the homicide, also by very sharp implement, just last week of Hiroyuki Kaga.'

'You're shitting me,' Triko said. 'He's the guy who designed,
GlobalWarTek
- the real
one.'

'We have an incoming transmission,' Oliver alerted them.

'Hey dudes,' Rawley said, as his face loomed large in the centre of the screen. 'Man there's a
lot of you there.'

'Hi Rawley,' both Gideon and Jana said.

'Prepare yourselves, guys. I reckon some very deep shit is headed your way. I've been conversing
on the quiet with a buddy who couldn't make the next Titan Guard op because he's got malaria; stupid
bastard. The op is going down in Sydney for our VP at your big honcho's meeting. And, apparently,
despite a leg injury - ha! - Kelman is leading the mission.

'Now, apart from what
we
all know about Kelman, his leading this gig would ordinarily not
be a problem; except he's drawn up some weird-arse kind of escape route specifically for Saturday
afternoon.'

'Wouldn't that be SOP?' Ryder asked.

'That's Standard Operating Procedure,' Coop whispered for Jana's benefit.

'Yeah of course,' Rawley agreed. 'And again,
usually
no problemo with a security team's
back-up plan. But, dudes, this high-tailing it out of there plan is '
the
plan' and occurs
during, not after, some garden affair your PM is hosting at his house. Does that sound likely? At
his house I mean?'

'Oh yeah,' Gideon said.

'Well I don't know what you guys can do about it, or even if you want to, but I'll download the
specs my buddy gave me; and then I guess it's up to you.'

The Redbacks, their Boss and Top Dogs, Oliver, two SAS troopers and an injured CIA agent took two
seconds to decide.

'We can't just sit here,' Gideon said.

Sydney, Australia
Friday 4 pm

Gideon slowed the car before making the turn into Bligh Street for two reasons: one
because it was sensible, the other because Jana Rossi was standing on the corner looking windswept
and forlorn.

Coop wound down the passenger window and leant out. 'Oi, how much sweetheart?'

Jana grinned at him. 'You could not afford me, sunshine.'

'Why are you loitering out here?' Gideon asked, leaning across Coop to do so.

'Dwayne had to visit the clinic again about his legs, so Triko dropped him and Mudge off. Now
Triko's on his way back from the airport with Scott; but Mudge has since asked to be picked-up, so
I'm waiting for Triko to drive by and throw Scott out at me, so he, Triko, can…'

'Whoa, we get the picture,' Gideon said. She pushed Coop with her elbow. 'Hop out and wait with
Jana in case Scott has stuff. Meet me in the Recon Room.'

Gideon left the two of them standing on the corner. 'How was your recce?' Jana asked.

'Our recce? You picking up the lingo already?'

'Hey, me and lingo,' Jana said, giving herself a two-handed point while she searched for
any
other new word, 'we're like
fubar
.'

Coop doubled over laughing. 'Where did you hear that one?'

'The Boss said it to Oliver over lunch.' Jana pulled a face. 'Obviously it means something other
than what I thought.'

'And you thought what?'

Jana shrugged. 'In sync?'

'Or maybe: fucked up beyond all recognition,' Coop said, still chuckling. 'Speaking of which,
here comes Triko.'

The Redback's seriously black 4WD, mafia-tinted windows and all, cruised to a stop near the
corner, ejected a surprised American, and took off again.

'Hi Scott,' Jana said.

'Ah, now I remember you,' Scott said to her, slinging his one bag over his shoulder so he could
shake hands.

'Bloody long way to come for a date if you don't even recall her face, mate,' Coop said.

Jana threw her head around in mock irritation. 'Scott, this is Coop, or Shane. Coop this is Scott
Dreher. Now do your manly bonding thing so we can go back inside, out of the cold.'

Coop and Scott shook hands, called each other mate, buddy and dude and then fell in behind Jana
as she led the way, somewhat like a forward scout, down the street and around the corner to Back
Door's triple security entrance. Jana had already been scanned, voiced, imaged and fitted with
everything needed to gain entry whenever she liked. Scott, however, needed their help to get in.

'Is this all you brought with you?' Coop asked. He handed Scott's bag back to him as they crossed
the lobby.

'No. The other guy, Triko, said he'd make his brother carry my other stuff in from the car.'

Coop kept an eye on Scott as they rode the lift to fourth floor. He didn't appear to be checking
Jana out, but the guy had come a bloody long way for 'a story'. He didn't look much like the author
mugshot on his book either. The Boss had dispatched someone to get a few copies of
Drugs R
US.A
the moment Scott and the FBI woman had announced he was on his way. The definitely
touched-up, book-jacketed Scott Dreher looked like a 30-something college professor: smiling,
blue-eyed, clean-shaven, okay looking. The bloke in the lift looked like a 40-something semi-made
bed; tired but still smiling, in need of a shave and
- Coop glanced at Jana who was facing Scott - yeah, obviously still okay-looking.

'You look rooted, mate,' Coop said.

Scott grinned at him. 'If that means tired beyond all rational thought and physical co-ordination
then you're very observant.'

The lift opened on the fourth floor and Coop pointed to the right. 'What is this place?' Scott
asked. 'Triko said you guys, all of you, live here; but this joint has more and way better security
than the FBI office I was just in, back in Dallas.'

'I don't live here,' Jana said. 'I am staying here at the moment, but I live in Melbourne.'

Coop wondered why Jana would need to tell the guy that. He might need to pass that on to Bryn.
'This,' he said, 'is Back Door HQ. Back Door is a retrieval agency. We, the Redbacks, are Back
Door's team of highly-trained, incredibly professional retrieval agents who…'

'Retrieve things.' It was Gideon, coming up behind them. 'But not nearly quick enough today,
Coop.'

Bradley's Head, Sydney
Friday 4.30 pm

Dargo settled back into the convenient natural rock cocoon he'd bivouacked in for
the last two days. Half way up the steep bushy west-facing slope, and about 30 feet above the
shoreline, the hole was perfect in every way for the job he was here to do. It was not only an ideal
hiding place but, when the time came tomorrow, it would also serve as his firing position.

Its best features were its depth and shape, almost as if it had been specially sculpted for his
large frame. The cocoon was deep enough for him to kneel in comfortably and take his shot; its rocky
lip formed a natural rest for his rifle; and its location provided a true and direct line of sight
to his target area.

The headland where he camped jutted out from the north shore of Sydney Harbour. He'd calculated
the distance, from Bradley's Head across the water to the lawn at Kirribilli, as a smidgeon under
2.5 km. From here even he had to admit that, despite his normal aversion to open water, his view of
the famous Bridge, the bizarrely-elegant Opera House and the wide and glittering harbour itself, was
quite spectacular.

More telling however was the fact that Dargo found his current location somewhat amusing, for he
was waiting in a hole in Bradley's Head to put a hole in someone else's.

Dargo had researched the security arrangements for the big SETSA summit, which had begun today
with the welcoming ceremonies. Most of it was public knowledge, which made things easy. The
Australian authorities, generally speaking, showed a certain amount of sense in that regard; perhaps
recognising that if their citizens were well-informed they were less likely to accidentally cause
trouble. Protestors, on the other hand, usually gathered in numbers that made them easy to spot, and
their targets were also usually obvious or easy to pick.

It was the lone troublemakers, like Dargo, who were impossible to predict; impossible in their
likelihood, their potential targets, their modus operandi - the list went on. These days it also
included whether their intention was to get out alive or not. It was therefore impossible to guard
against someone like Dargo, without locking down an entire city, as well as every route to and from
every venue that every delegate was even remotely likely to be seen. Impossible.

Here in Sydney, it meant certain streets would be closed for SETSA, or traffic limited to one
direction; something Sydneysiders were no longer finding a novelty. Some areas were off-limits,
while others carried extra and even ridiculous security measures.

On Sydney Harbour there were several more than usual no-go zones for civilian vessels. The
exclusion zone for any watercraft other than the New South Wales Water Police or the Australian
Navy, had been increased to no closer than one kilometre from many key sites - like the one Dargo
had in his sights right now.

He smiled. Yes, it was impossible to allow for the unforeseen event. And it only required one
incident to throw everything else out of whack and into chaos. Dargo was convinced the superior
accuracy of the McMillan Brothers' outstanding TAC-50 sniper rifle would forever remind the
Australians to look further than the logical, sensible and practical. It also meant he would break
that Canadian sniper's record for the longest-ever kill shot. Assuming he decided to kill and not
just maim. He wouldn't be able to claim the record of course, but then his was the only record book
that mattered anyway.

St Leonards Park, Sydney, Australia
Saturday 1 pm

Gideon was crouched at the back of the high commentary tower next to the grandstand
of the North Sydney Oval. From here she could look out over the green tin roofs, across the oval and
up and down the roads around the park. She tried not to be distracted by the rugby league match in
progress. It was only a practice match after all, an Under 18s team, and not starring
her
team, Parramatta. But none of those factors were why she was trying to look inconspicuous.

The intel from Rawley the day before, suggested that something untoward was to happen here - in
the precinct of the oval, St Leonards Park and the North Sydney Bowls club - at 1.30 pm today. The
emergency evac route, which Kelman and the Titan Guards had planned for the Vice President, brought
them here; which was nowhere sensible.

Even if a reason was manufactured to get the VP out of anywhere fast, there was still no reason
on the planet for Arlen Conte to be whisked from the SETSA summit garden party at Kirribilli House
and taken to North Sydney. Even if the man was a lawn bowls addict, this place or even direction
made no sense.

So the Boss had called Mick Fleming who'd arrived an hour later with the Foreign Minister to
discuss the situation; whatever it was. Danby then placed a call to the head of SETSA security and
to the New South Wales Police Commissioner, who also came to visit. Then everyone - including the
Prime Minister on a vid-phone conference call - had got together in the Back Door Recon Room, to
talk some more and lay down a plan of action.