Mark Abernethy - Second Strike

‘You’re saying that an operator like Hassan would have learned of your involvement and assumed you’d be on to something?’

‘Correct – he would have at least heard the name, connected me with all sorts of stuff that had nothing to do with lawyers and accountants.’

‘But he wanted the enrichment codes fi rst?’

‘Yes. He didn’t want Canberra getting spooked and shutting the thing down. The hit was timed for post-settlement, post-handover because by then Hassan knew what we’d found out. He must have had an intercept on my phone or the email, and I reckon that required some inside help. Diane and I weren’t supposed to live – she’s under guard in Jakarta with two bullets in her.’

‘I’ll put the security in place this morning. What else do you need?’ said Tobin.

‘I need to be back, on full grade. And we’ll need military support.’

Tobin stared at him. ‘Military? Not AFP?’

‘AFP too,’ said Mac, ‘and they’ll need to do their ct coordinations with state police and ASIO. But this is a nuke and Hassan’s gang are all soldiers. If we fi nd them, there won’t be many arrests, I can promise you.’

‘Got it,’ said Tobin. ‘Not my call, but I think I can sell it.’

‘Not going to tell me it’s a conspiracy theory?’ asked Mac, still wary.

‘The dots join. Well, they join enough to at least check our borders, see if Hassan is in the country with this thing.’

‘So I’m back?’

Tobin nodded.

‘I can answer to you?’ Mac pushed.

Tobin hesitated, looked away and looked back. ‘Yes, McQueen, but you’re still economic, okay? Once I sell this upstairs then the whole CT apparatus kicks in and then it’s out of my hands and it’s defi nitely out of yours. Deal?’

‘So I’m an economic guy?’

‘Yeah, and no empire-creep with the counter-terrorism guys, all right? You know how they get. Besides, with Tony gone I’m going to need a controller for the economic team. Think about it.’

Tobin made to stand, impatient to get things underway, but Mac didn’t budge.

‘That everything?’ asked Tobin, hunching slightly in the small cabin.

‘No, Greg, there’s something else,’ said Mac. ‘Atkins tell you why he wanted me out of Jakarta?’

‘Yeah, sure,’ said Tobin.

‘It wasn’t true.’

‘You weren’t treading on a CT operation?’

Mac fl inched. He’d trapped Atkins in a straight-out lie. ‘No, mate, I was doing my job.’

Tobin clanged down the stairs, instructions pouring from his mouth. As the voices faded across the tarmac, Mac mulled a conclusion: in order to get Tobin focused he’d deliberately said that the insiders needn’t be from ASIS, they could also be friendly agencies or friendly countries. There was something in that. Maybe MI6’s involvement with Hassan and the mini-nukes hadn’t stopped with the Red Sea heist? The British might still be active in the Hassan fi asco. And if they were there was a good chance they were pulling some Australians along for the ride.

The Falcon landed at Coolangatta at 7.38 am and taxied around the side entrance. Grabbing his suit bag, overnighter wheelie and backpack, Mac headed down the alloy stairs to where a large man from the Australian Protective Service stood in front of a white Holden Commodore. Sliding into the back seat, Mac asked if they could go the Gold Coast Highway route and the driver said, ‘No worries.’

They made good time north to Broadbeach and Mac thought over the conversation with Tobin. He didn’t particularly like the bloke but he had no reason to mistrust him. Tobin had listened to Mac and he’d acted, in stark contrast to Atkins’ and Garvs’s responses. Even sadder was the revelation that Atkins had lied about Mac’s recall by Canberra, the fact he hadn’t asked Mac for a report effectively sidelining him.

Mac was slightly hungover from drinking with Ted and his mind spun with what he could or should be doing about Hassan. A clear way forward wasn’t obvious. He’d told Tobin and from there it should become a case for the counter-terrorism machinery, of which Mac was not a part. If a situation presented itself, Mac would leap in. But for now he was focused on his family’s security.

As they went through Burleigh Heads, with the Norfolk pines towering overhead and the morning walkers doing their thing along the beach, Mac keyed in Rod Scott’s number in Canberra and hit the green button. Scotty liked to be at his desk at eight am and he picked up on the second ring.

‘Yeah?’

‘Scotty, it’s Mac.’

They joked around a bit. Scotty had been Mac’s fi rst mentor in the fi rm, way back when Mac was straight out of the Royal Marines and into the tail-end and clean-up of the fi rst Gulf War. Scotty had shown him not just how to be cool in a war zone, but how to be safe in a post-war zone – a much more dangerous place in some respects.

Scotty never strove for great heights in his career – there were other things he got off on – and he was ASIS’s odd-jobs man. He could tail, entrap, interrogate, induce and fi x up other people’s mistakes with some clever craft tricks. He was Old School, with an elephantine memory and a gift for deceptions and provocations. Mac often turned to him when offi cial channels were fruitless.

‘So you’re back in, eh Macca?’

‘How’d you know?’ asked Mac.

‘Phone call from Tobin an hour ago – war room stuff. Got a meeting with the Feds and Defence in a few minutes and Customs and Immigration are already on alert. Then Tobin and Urquhart are going to sell the action plan to the PM.’

‘Nice.’

‘What’s this about a fucking mini-nuke?’

‘Mate, I’ll let you get back to it – I’ve got my security, how are we with the Sydney end?’

‘Yeah mate – Feds’ Sydney offi ces are on it.’

‘I needed to talk,’ said Mac.

‘So talk, Macca.’

Mac heard a ciggie being lit and the fi rst inhale, meaning Scotty was standing outside.

‘Remind me about Dave Urquhart.’

‘Me? He’s your old uni mate.’

‘Yeah, but as soon as we joined the fi rm, I went off to Iraq and Urquhart burrowed into the political end.’

‘Gee, that was a short book. What are you getting at, mate?’

‘I’m clutching at air, that’s what I’m doing.’

‘Gimme a clue.’

Scotty was a good bloke and Mac didn’t want to use him or hurt him professionally, but if anyone could turn over the stones right now it was him. Besides, Scotty was one of the internal watchers of Australian intelligence. He surveilled people from ASIO, ASIS, Foreign Affairs, the military, Trade, Customs and the Feds, Treasury and PMC.

And he did so in Australia and all over the world. The job was his because he knew every damned trick in the double-agent’s manual.

Mac took a breath, ‘Okay – long shot, right?’

‘Go,’ said Scotty.

‘Mate, on the way to Sydney I remembered you telling me about a spot check you were doing of Commonwealth employees in the United States, maybe ten years ago?’

‘Sounds like me.’

‘There was a navy bloke in New York, at the UN. Word was he was on the piss and you thought the Chinese had hooks in him.’

‘Yeah, but it turned out he was actually depressed. And the Chinese wasn’t PRC – she was Singapore. Good sort, too.’

‘You told me once that you ended up taking a lot more notice of a Pommie bloke. He was MI6, but posing as UN.’

‘Yeah. Tall bloke, slick dresser.’

‘And it annoyed you because you had better things to do than wonder if some wanker from Six was cultivating one of ours.’

Scotty laughed. ‘Shit, you’re good. Yeah, what was that wanker’s name?’