Claire McNab: The Dingo Dilemma

He gave me a long, thoughtful look. "Miss Kendall, you've had several interesting telephone conversations with one of Blainey's associates, Douglas O'Rourke, an Australian national also known as Dingo O'Rourke."

"You listened in on my cell phone," I said, indignant. Then it occurred to me DHS would have recorded the calls, so they'd have Dingo telling me how Blainey asked him to carry out a murder-for-hire.

The same thing had occurred to Ariana. She pointed out how we needed the police to hear Dingo's conversation with me in order to clear Quip's name.

"Quite so. Arrangements can be made. In return we expect your cooperation."

"What type of cooperation?" Ariana asked.

"We are anxious to interview Mr. O'Rourke; however, so far he has proved elusive." He checked his watch. "If he's on schedule he'll be calling Miss Kendall shortly. When he does, you are to arrange to meet with him this evening."

Indicating Morgan and Unwin, he added, "You will be perfectly safe. These highly-trained operatives will shadow you and apprehend Mr. O'Rourke as soon as contact is made."

Highly-trained? Crikey!

It was quite unnerving the way everyone sat around and watched me answer my cell phone. Dingo's voice was urgent. "Kylie? Darken isn't herself."

"What's wrong with her?"

"I'm not sure, but she's off her tucker. Maybe she's fretting for her kennel mates…"

"That could be it."

"Or maybe she's sick. And I can't take her to a vet for treatment, not with a big reward on offer and our pictures everywhere. Darken knows you, Kylie. You'll have to come with the Creeling woman and take Darken back with you tonight for treatment."

"About Ariana Creeling, she's not available. She said to tell you she'd send Bob Verritt in her place. Bob is-"

"No way, Kylie! I don't care who he is, I've never heard of him. You come by yourself, then."

He asked for a description of my car and its number plate, then he reeled off directions, which I dutifully copied down. "OK," he said, "you pick me up in one hour. That should give you plenty of time. Just you, alone. And make sure you aren't followed."

I glanced over at Morgan and Unwin. I didn't have a lot of confidence in them, but the task of simply following my car, when there was no need to worry about me seeing them, wouldn't be so difficult, would it?

"Be careful," said Ariana, touching me lightly on the arm.

"Piece of cake," I said. "Dingo would never hurt me."

She flicked a glance to the other side of our parking area, where Morgan and Unwin were getting into a brown Buick sedan. "It's those two I'm worried about. Make sure you get right out of the way when they arrest Dingo."

Bob came over to us shaking his head. "They've got that vehicle packed with every bit of surveillance equipment you could imagine, but I'm not sure those guys know how to use most of it."

He clapped me on the shoulder and grinned. "Not to worry, Kylie, they've put a global positioning device on your car, so even if they lose sight of you, they'll find you again."

There'd been some debate about whether DHS would simply wait for Dingo at the rendezvous point and arrest him there, but it had been decided to let me pick him up and drive to wherever he was keeping Darken, so that she could be taken immediately to a veterinary hospital.

I'd been quite touched by this concern for the dingo, but then Morgan had murmured that this was a public relations gesture designed to put a caring, human face on the huge bureaucracy that was the Department of Homeland Security. "The fact that we've rescued the star of Darken Come Home will be selectively leaked to news media personnel," he'd said with a small, satisfied smile.

I got into my car and put down the window to say to Ariana and Bob, "Just in case something happens to me, the next scheduled dinner for Julia Roberts is Fancy Feast grilled tuna."

Bob let loose one of his braying laughs. "That cat has a dinner schedule?"

"Jules is very particular about the order in which she eats her meals. She likes variety."

"Let's roll," called one of the dark-suited DHS people-in this case a woman-left behind when the nameless head honcho departed in a black limousine with his entourage.

She came striding over to my car. "Stand back," she said to Ariana and Bob. Directing her attention to me, she asked, "Do you have any questions pertaining to Operation Dingo before the mission is initiated?"

"Not a sausage," I said.

"There's a problem with a sausage?"

"No prob. I mean I have no questions."

She gave me a long, suspicious stare. "This isn't a game, you know. It's a matter of national security."

She waited until I nodded solemnly, then she checked her watch. It had many dials and bristled with knobs for different functions. She raised her arm so Morgan and Unwin in the Buick could see her signal. "On my mark…Initiate!"

"You mean go?"

"Get the hell out of here!" she yelled at me.

I got the hell out.

Dingo had given me the intersection of two suburban streets in Sherman Oaks as our meeting point. I wasn't crash-hot at reading an LA street directory, but this wasn't going to be hard to find, as it was just off Ventura Boulevard, a main traffic route. All I had to do was take Laurel Canyon Drive over the hill into the Valley and when I reached Ventura Boulevard turn left. I'd zoom along for a couple of kilometers, then turn right onto a side street. Simple, really.

I lost sight of the brown Buick almost immediately, but that wasn't a worry. Morgan and Unwin knew exactly where I was heading, so even they couldn't lose me. And even if they did, the global positioning device on my car would indicate exactly where my car was.

It was Thursday night, and the traffic was horrendous. There'd been an accident on Laurel Canyon, and with no alternative route available, I had to crawl along stop-and-going with everyone else. I turned the radio on to a news station where traffic reports were given every few minutes, and was advised by a jolly-voiced announcer to avoid Laurel Canyon at all costs. "Too late, mate," I told him.

At this rate I was going to be cutting it fine with Dingo. Things improved once over Mulholland Drive, however, so if I drove fast from now on, I'd make it in time. I kept glancing up at the mirror to see if the Buick was in sight, but it didn't appear.

There was another car crash on Ventura Boulevard, where someone had run a red light, but this had just happened, so I was at the head of the jam and wasn't held up very long. There was only light traffic once I turned off onto the suburban streets. I arrived with a sigh of relief at the rendezvous point with a couple of minutes to spare.

Dingo was rapping at the passenger-side window before I'd completely stopped the car. I unlocked the door and he tumbled in. "Get going," he said. "Drive straight ahead then take the second left. Don't signal."

"How's Darken?"

"Not too bloody good." He twisted around to check the traffic behind us. I looked up at the mirror. No Buick in view, just a couple of cars and one of those Vespa motor scooters that soaring petrol prices had made popular again.

Satisfied, Dingo turned back to the front. "A right turn coming up, Kylie, then a quick left." He indicated a driveway beside a modest little house. "Park in the garage."

As the garage door closed behind us, Dingo said, "This house is owned by a friend of a friend. He's overseas, so no worries about anyone dropping in on us."

A door led directly into the house. I followed Dingo through to the kitchen, where Darken was lying on a bed made of several folded blankets. She sat up when she saw me, a wary look in her eyes.

"G'day, Darken," I said. She obviously recognized me, because she relaxed enough to come over for a pat.