Barbara Hannay - Her Secret, His Son

From behind Colonel Cameron’s back, Sonia sent Mary what might have been a sympathetic smile if her eyes hadn’t gleamed with suppressed excitement. ‘I’ll go back to bed, then,’ she mumbled sleepily, but then she sent Mary a wink. And, as Mary watched Sonia shuffle out of the room, she knew her cousin planned to sneak out through the back of the house to find Tom.

She wished she found that thought more comforting.

‘How did you know?’ she asked her parents, suddenly suspicious. ‘You were waiting up for me.’

‘Some people claim that Army Intelligence is an oxy-moron, but it comes in handy,’ her father drawled, and his mouth curved into a smug half-smile.

Still huddled on the floor, Mary shot him a glare filled with venom.

He let out an impatient sigh. ‘Look, Mary, I’m quite prepared to tell you why I’m opposing this. I simply don’t trust Pirelli.’

‘You haven’t given him a chance.’

‘I’m not going to. I can’t afford to take risks when my only daughter is involved. I don’t trust a guy who just doesn’t add up.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well…he tops bloody everything. IQ tests; language tests; shooting competitions.’

‘Really? He never told me that. But how can that be bad?’

A brief, startled reaction flickered in her father’s eyes, but he quickly recovered. ‘There’s something wrong with a guy who’s as bright as that and still acts like a hooligan. It’s not just his behaviour around town. On exercises, we never know what Pirelli will do. He questions and challenges commands. He won’t conform. That’s why I knocked back his promotion.’

‘Did you really?’ she murmured. ‘He didn’t tell me that either.’

‘No, he wouldn’t, would he?’ Her father’s jaw shot forward like a bulldog’s. ‘Private Pirelli is a bad bet, Mary. He’s the kind of soldier who will want to play heroes. He’ll throw himself into the front line. You know what I’m saying, don’t you?’

‘You mean he’s courageous.’

‘I mean he’s a fool. And tonight he’s proved it if he thinks I can’t see what he’s planning.’

Mary’s insides turned hollow.

‘Ralph,’ said her mother in a warning tone. ‘Be careful.’

‘I’m not the one who has to be careful, Anne. It’s Mary.’ He crouched low beside Mary and placed a broad hand on her shoulder. ‘Pirelli’s plan was to have his way with my daughter—to play with her and then leave.’

‘No!’ His words winded her. She couldn’t breathe.

‘It’s the truth, Mary. This crazy pretence at elopement is payback.’

‘No!’ Struggling for breath, she felt smothered by a thick black fog. Heavy, suffocating clouds crushed her chest as she tried to stand. She clutched at the pantry doorknob, trying to gain leverage, to regain her dignity. To fight back. ‘No, you’re wrong. It’s not like that. Tom loves me. He wants to marry me.’

‘Grow up, Mary. Do you really think there’s going to be a wedding? Wake up, girl. Marriage is the last thing on Private Pirelli’s mind. Did he tell you he’s put in for a transfer to Perth, on the other side of Australia?’

‘No, no-o-o!’ Her protest edged into a scream.

‘You’d better believe it, honey.’ Her father’s unexpectedly gentle voice reached her through the fog. ‘I’m sorry, but the little adventure he had planned for tonight was all about payback because he missed a promotion. Don’t you see? Tom Pirelli has been using you, sweetheart.’

THE soft red glow of a night vision light filled the Sea Knight helicopter’s cabin. Dressed in camouflage gear and floppy bush hats, the six members of the elite joint forces anti-terrorist squad sat alert and ready.

‘Five minutes out,’ came the crackling message from the pilot through their headphones.

Tom Pirelli checked his equipment one more time. Everything was ready. His gear was strapped down and the J-hook on his automatic weapon was secured so that it couldn’t pop loose or hook him up when the team made their fast rope descent to the drop zone in the South-East Asian jungle below.

There was nothing to do now but wait, and for a luxurious moment, he allowed his thoughts to turn away from the grim task ahead to a picture of his home—his family’s tea plantation on a sleepy green hillside, high on the Atherton Tableland in Far North Queensland.

He’d been thinking about home a lot lately. The morning mists, the welcoming smells of baking in his mother’s kitchen in winter and, in summer, the lacy splendour of tropical ferns in his nonna’s greenhouse.

It was a long time—too damn long—since he’d seen his family. But, since he’d joined the Australian Special Air Services, he’d been posted to so many foreign hot spots and had been home so rarely he’d almost forgotten how much he loved the old place. Yeah, it had definitely been too long.

A rap on his shoulder snapped him back to the present. Ed McBride, one of the US Rangers who’d teamed with the SAS for this joint forces mission, was leaning towards him.

‘Can you do me a favour, man?’ Ed shouted above the whining engines and the roar of the rotors.

‘What kind of favour?’ Tom’s eyes narrowed as he tried to read Ed’s expression—not easy given that his face was blackened in readiness for the night’s task.

‘Take this.’ Ed thrust a watch into Tom’s hand—not a high-tech serviceman’s watch, but a gold civilian job—an old-fashioned one at that. The kind that accompanied the golden handshake when old codgers retired. ‘Can you stick it in your pocket and look after it for me?’

‘You don’t need me to look after your stuff.’

‘Come on, man. Just this once. In case anything happens to me.’

Tom frowned. ‘Don’t talk rubbish, mate. This mission’s going to be a piece of cake.’

‘I know, I know, but just humour me on this and take the damn watch.’

Turning the watch over, Tom saw that the back was engraved and he used his penlight to read the inscription. To Robert Edward McBride. In appreciation. January 10, 1925.

‘It was my great-grandfather’s watch,’ Ed yelled. ‘It’s been handed down through the family. My dad passed it on to me and I want to keep it safe for my boy.’

‘For your son?’

‘Yeah.’

The team didn’t talk too much about their families—it was if talking about home might soften them somehow, and in this deadly game they couldn’t afford any kind of distraction. But Tom knew Ed had a wife and son back in Virginia. He’d seen a photo of the little fellow. The boy had been wearing his father’s cap and his face was in shadow, but he’d gained the impression that the youngster was sturdy and cute with a cheeky grin.

He shoved the watch back into Ed’s hand. ‘You keep this for your kid. It’ll be perfectly safe with you.’

‘No!’

The urgency in Ed’s voice sent a chill spiking down Tom’s spine.

‘Do it for me,’ Ed pleaded. ‘Just this once.’

‘Don’t talk crap,’ Tom shouted angrily. What was eating Ed? Special Operatives never lost their cool. Never showed fear. Or doubt.

But deep down he knew what Ed was trying to say. It was a feeling a soldier could get—a premonition that something was going to go wrong.

‘Please, Tom,’ Ed insisted. ‘I thought we were buddies.’

‘Well, yeah, of course we are. We’re more than buddies. We’re mates.’

It was true. He genuinely liked this American with his constant smile, spiky blond crewcut and marine-blue eyes. Ed was a crack soldier and an all-round great guy. Easygoing, salt of the earth, apple pie and Fourth of July all rolled into one six-foot, muscle-bound package. A walking-talking-fighting Good Guy.