The frustration was beginning to drive Eliot nuts.
After resting on his bed for a couple of hours but finding himself unable to sleep, he growled in frustration and hauled his aching body off the bed and padded through on bare feet to the kitchen, where Effie was sitting peeling potatoes.
He sat down beside her and watched her, his eyes taking in the fury that the old woman couldn't quite hide. The fact that the potato peel was more potato than peel told Eliot that she was venting her spleen on the poor defenseless tubers.
Reaching forward, he caught Effie's hand in his own and gently eased the peeler out of her grasp, and then took a potato from the pile. Pulling over the bowl into which Effie was dropping the skins, he began to slowly peel the potato. Effie's hands dropped to the table surface and she sniffed furiously.
Eliot, not looking at this little woman whom he loved dearly, concentrated on the potato while Effie got her emotions under control.
"What's for dinner?" Eliot asked conversationally.
"Beef Wellington," Effie muttered, now a little lost without her peeler.
"Nice. Need a hand?"
"You're already giving me a hand, you young bugger!" she replied testily, but she relented a bit. "You can do some Mediterranean roast veggies if you like," she added reluctantly.
"You got it," Eliot said softly, and deftly quartering the peeled potato and dropping it in the bowl of water beside its compatriots, he began another one.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, Eliot peeling potatoes and Effie brooding, and then she stood up and took a deep breath to steady herself.
"Righto … dinner," she said, more to shake her anger away than anything else. "Can't have the nippers starving, and I've spent enough time moping."
"I'll finish these, Eff, an' then I'll get the roast vegetables prepped. Anythin' else?"
Effie shook her head as though she was trying to clear it, and she wiped her hands on her apron.
"Nah. The Wellington's cooking and I've got the rest of the pash ice cream on the go with mangoes for pud, so everything's dead-set."
Eliot finished the last potato and put it with the others. The bowl of skins would end up on Jo's compost heap. Pulling a handful of paper towels off the roll, he drained the potatoes, dabbed them dry and then got up and wandered over to the shelves where Effie kept her cooking utensils. He pulled out a big, two-handled roasting tin, then tossed the potatoes into it and then began sorting through the vegetable rack for tomatoes, bell peppers, garlic, eggplant, shallots and courgettes.
Finding what he wanted, he retrieved a sharp knife and began cutting up his choices into tasty chunks.
"You okay, Effie?" he asked finally as he peeled garlic cloves.
Effie took her time checking the big roast of sirloin, beautifully seasoned, topped with home-made paté and wrapped in pastry. It was cooking perfectly in the old range, so she closed the oven door and straightened, holding her back as though it ached.
"That girl …" she whispered, and Eliot barely heard her.
"What about her?" he said, slicing the eggplant into rounds.
"She's just a bloody kid!" Effie couldn't contain her grief. "That arse put her up the duff when she should be just beginning to make her way in the world, and he's got her shackled! Shackled! She's nothing more than a bleedin' slave to him! And if, heaven forbid, she has a babbie girl, he'll kill both of 'em, I know it, the nasty little shite!"
Effie had to grip the edge of the sink to stop herself from punching the neighboring cupboard.
Eliot had seen Effie in many moods. He'd certainly seen the gamut of her many 'angry' guises – happy-angry, irritated-angry and angry-with-a-hint-of-playfulness to name but a few. But in all of the years he had known Effie McPhee, he had never seen her helplessly angry.
He put down the knife and the half-sliced eggplant, and turning to Effie, pulled her into a hug.
Not one for hugging, Effie tried to gently push him away, worrying about hurting him, but she suddenly succumbed with a grumbly sigh and rested her head against Eliot's chest.
Tightening his hold around her, Eliot placed his chin on the top of her head and felt the tremor in Effie's round body. In the space of an afternoon, Effie's formidable armour, never the most effective when it came to children and hurt things, had failed her and Mei-Ling and her unborn child were now firmly on Effie's protective radar.
"I'll do my best, Effie. I promise," Eliot said.
Effie stilled. Then she wormed her head out from beneath Eliot's chin and stared up at him.
"What?" she asked, her voice now clear and hard.
Eliot's mouth quirked with humour as he answered, feigning exasperation.
"I said –"
Effie scowled as she pulled away, and Eliot could see she dearly wanted to give him a head slap, but with the concussion and the cut over his ear, she just poked him in the stomach instead with a pudgy finger.
"I heard what you said, you young mongrel! D'you think I'm deaf? And if you think you're going to put yourself in the middle of that bastard's world, hurt the way you are, well … just … " Effie struggled to find the words. " … don't."
Eliot couldn't contain the smile that crept onto his face.
"Eff … we'll find a way, darlin' … we always do."
Effie glared at him, her eyes sparking fiercely.
"Good!" she growled. "Because that little girl and her young 'un should be safe and away from that shitty dead-head, and she needs to be here where we can look after 'em both!"
Eliot nodded.
"I know. Like you looked after me all those years ago."
Effie's muddy eyes softened.
"You were just a skinny-arsed sick-as-a-pup young bugger back then, bleeding all over the bloody place. The Missus thought you wanted to die, but she wasn't about to let you, was she?"
Eliot, knowing Effie was lost in memories, gave her a squeeze and a kiss on the forehead, which for once the old woman didn't seem to mind.
"Nope. An' you wouldn't let me die either … none of you." Eliot murmured. "An' I know you want to help the girl because you know she's got a future, her an' her baby. So that's why we'll try our damnedest, Effie. That I guarantee."
They both stood for long moments as Effie gathered her thoughts, and then Eliot let her go, Effie reaching up and patting his cheek.
"C'mon, you cheeky bludger – let's get cooking. We've got people to feed!"
Eliot, feeling better than he had for days, grinned.
"Yes, ma'am!" he said.
The Beef Wellington, as expected, was delicious, and Lizzie and Kip, both of whom were apparently starving to death, wolfed down two helpings each. Lizzie even ate all of her vegetables, including a small side serving of Eliot's green salad with peppers, made with ingredients fresh from Jo's garden and picked by Kip and Lizzie themselves. Wapanjara and its fresh air was working wonders, Sophie thought.
As the evening meal went on, Sophie looked around at these people she loved – and now she included the Munros, Charlie, little Kip who was Lizzie's dear friend, and even Effie … the grumpy old woman with a heart of gold.
Despite the danger … despite members of her family being badly hurt … she did not for one moment regretting coming to Wapanjara. Sophie Devereaux Ford was a woman who had spent a lifetime on the move. She knew the world like the back of her hand … had eaten at the best restaurants and stayed in many of the most luxurious hotels, and she was used to the best of everything. But here, in a remote part of outback Australia, in a place with very little contact with 'civilisation' – Soapy and Jo didn't even have a television – she felt completely at ease.
Which was why she had every intention of destroying Ching Bun-Tsui and his organisation.
Hardison, feeling the pain after a long day, looked tired and sore, but he was already making plans to go back up to Manaji Ridge in the morning to pick holes in Everett Spicer's contacts and he needed to access one of the world's many security satellite systems to do it.
"I want to know who the hell Spicer's been talkin' to," he was saying, "an' I need to dig about in the secure police systems in Adelaide. Can't do it from here – sorry Soapy, but you guys live out here in the boonies with crappy access to anythin' digital, so –"
Soapy waved a hand dismissively, grinning.
"No worries, boy. So … we go after breakfast. In Bernadette, right?" He couldn't prevent the tone of hope running though his words.
Hardison grinned, tired but feeling as though he was making headway.
"Bernadette has stolen your heart, m'man!" he said, placing his hand over his own heart.
"Well, just a teeny bit of it," Soapy admitted, and then grasped Jo's hand and slipped his fingers through hers. "Because the rest of it belongs to my old girl, so it does."
Jo smiled back at her husband.
"Well, I'm not the jealous type," she said, amused. "I'm sure I can allow Bernadette her moment in the sun."
The look of delight on Soapy's face was almost child-like.
"Oh, Jo," Sophie said indulgently, "Boys and their toys."
Soapy rubbed his hands together, savouring the mere anticipation of driving Bernadette again.
"Good-oh!" he exclaimed, and then his black eyes sparkled even more when Effie dumped a plate of passion fruit ice cream and sliced, fresh mangoes in front of him.
"Bloody great thing," she muttered, "sitting there … clarting up the yard … bloody camel using it like a living room …"
"Shame you can't drive, Effie," Charlie said. "I bet you'd love crashing through the undergrowth with Chong in your sights. He'd be flatter than a road-kill 'roo," he added with a smile.
The mention of Chong made Effie slam Eliot's plate down on the table harder than was necessary, and Eliot wiped a small splatter of mango juice off his chin.
"Dammit, Effie –" he grumbled, but lifted his spoon ready to tuck in.
"Bastard!" Effie swore, scowling. "If I ever get my hands on the drongo he'll have his bloody scrawny neck wrung faster than an old chook's!"
"Sit down and eat, Effie," Jo said, her voice soothing, "before you do yourself – and the rest of us – a mischief."
"Death by mango!" Parker chortled to herself.
But the tone of the room sobered a little as everyone's thoughts turned to Mei-Ling.
"That poor girl …" Jo said softly. "She must be pretty near her due date by the look of her, and I bet she won't have a doctor anywhere near to help. It's a four-hour drive from Albany to Tennant Creek … unless they have a chopper," she added. Helicopters were a common form of transport in the outback.
"No sign of a helipad or runway out there, Jo," Hardison commented. "They want to keep the whole place pretty low-key … Rickenbacker obviously doesn't want to attract any attention."
"What about the … what-d'you-call-it … the flying doctors? Surely they can land on a field?" Nate asked, curious.
"There's still a lot of water about and Albany's notorious for getting a bit swamped. All the rain will have put a hold on the mining too, I betcha," Soapy explained, singling out a piece of mango before angling it onto his spoon.
"I checked the employee roster an' there's a small medical bay an' a male nurse, but no doctor that I can find," Hardison commented, "although I guess that there are people on the ground at Albany who don't show up as even bein' in Australia, let alone on a payroll."
"Won't matter to that shonky bastard," Effie snarled, her dander now up, "if the girl don't make it he can just go buy himself another one and make another baby and keep going until he gets his bloody son!"
"And we can't help her until we take care of Chong," Eliot said grimly, "an' until Hardison gets his act together an' figures out how to take the whole damn' lot of 'em at once, we can't do anything …" he dropped his spoon in his desert bowl and slammed the flat of his hand gently on the table. "I friggin' hate this," he growled under his breath.
"I can't 'get my act together' until I've tracked down Spicer's contact … the one who's coverin' for him … and find his or her weaknesses. "Hardison grumbled. He knew Eliot was just fretting about the few options they had, and in the end their only recourse was to goad Chong into action.
But they had to be ready for him, because, Eliot knew, leaving wasn't a choice for them. Looking back, he thought, it never had been an option. Soapy and Jo would probably have been dead by now, along with Charlie and – the thought made Eliot shudder – also young Kip.
So the fight had to come to Wapanjara, and it was on Wapanjara that they as a team had the most control.
"Look," Nate said, thinking their situation through for what seemed the umpteenth time, "once we find Spicer's associate we have the last piece of the puzzle, and then we can see the complete picture. We can take Chong down, along with Spicer, Rickenbacker … the whole shebang. Once we find out what hold Spicer has on whoever-it-is we can put Hardison's plan in action."
"Man, I can do the geeky stuff from hundreds of miles away, an' it is goin' to be soooo satisfyin'!" Hardison crowed, and then winced. His shoulder was very painful and he had overdone his computer-y stuff through the afternoon after Chong departed, determined to see what he could set up for the information-gathering the following morning.
Kip saw the hacker flinch as his shoulder flamed with pain, and slipping from his chair he ran over to one of the big chairs, lifted a cushion and returned to Hardison, helping the hacker rest the cushion under his elbow to ease the ache.
The relief on Hardison's face was almost palpable.
"Ahhh, thank you, m'man!" he sighed, and held his right hand out to Kip. The pair of them went through some complicated fist-bumping which ended with an exaggerated finger-waggle.
Charlie's jaw dropped.
"Just what the hell was that?" he said, mystified.
"Daaad!" Kip said with a loud sigh and an eye-roll that would have impressed a bored teenager, "Don't you know anything?"
Charlie looked at the people around the table, whose faces were a mixture of amusement, astonishment and - on Eliot's part – irritation. Obviously Hardison and Kip were sympatico.
"Just be thankful Hardison ain't showin' him how to fight orcs on-line with lots of sad little people he's never met …" Eliot rumbled, and finished the last of his dessert. "Gonna go to bed," he added, slowly getting to his feet and letting out a soft flurry of coughs.
"Eliot?" Lizzie queried, brow furrowing.
"S'okay, Lizbeth Grace. It's gonna be a busy day tomorrow, an' I have to catch up on my beauty sleep. Can't get by on ninety minutes a night like I used to. Gotta be about three hours these days, 'specially when I got a bullet hole in me," he added, hitching his Lizzie-smile, making his eyes crinkle at the corners.
Jo stood up and began clearing dishes, but as she passed Eliot she tapped his arm.
"Antibiotics, boy … they're on your bedside table," she murmured, and Eliot nodded wordlessly.
"And cough medicine," Effie added, muddy eyes glittering ominously.
Eliot said something under his breath, and it was obvious that whatever it was it was unfit for Lizzie and Kip's tender ears, but he grunted his agreement.
"See y'all," he muttered, and the slip into the soft Oklahoman accent of his youth told his friends that he was indeed very tired and still extremely sore. "'Night."
And with that he was gone, back to his room and – hopefully – some restful, healing sleep. But Nate doubted it. Mei-Ling was going to haunt him, along with the memories of whatever had happened in Sierra Leone all those years ago.
"Sometimes," Sophie said quietly, "I wonder just how long he can keep taking the punishment."
"And I wonder if he'll ever make the decision to stop, or we'll have to do it for him," Nate added, running his fingers through his hair. "Provided someone else doesn't stop him first …" he said under his breath so that his daughter didn't hear.
Sophie caught her husband's hand and rubbed the knuckles, but she didn't speak. She didn't have to. Because one day Eliot Spencer would have to stop giving and receiving damage, but she just prayed that it wasn't because someone did it for him with a bullet or a knife or … no. She wouldn't let the sudden thought take hold because it was just too terrible to contemplate. Sophie sighed.
"Tea," she said. "I need tea."
And Nate, sitting holding his wife's hand, looked at Lizzie and wondered what would happen to their beautiful, clever daughter if anything happened to Eliot, her guardian, best friend and life mentor. Sighing, he squeezed Sophie's hand and decided that thinking that way led to madness, and Nate Ford had had enough madness in his existence to last a lifetime.
So the team and their new family sat around the table and talked into the night, as the dingoes howled under the limpid moon and a slight breeze whispered through the gum trees, leaves rustling quietly in moon-glow.
The sudden crazed barking woke Eliot with a start.
He was dozing on top of his bed, still fully clothed, and he reached out with his right hand and lifted the old wind-up alarm clock beside his bed and squinted at the luminous dials.
Three-twenty in the morning.
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and rose.
The rattling screech of tires and the following crashing thump of metal on wood had Eliot on his feet in a split second and he didn't even feel the pain as he jammed his feet into his boots and moved stealthily out of his room, along the corridor and onto the veranda in less than ten seconds. He met Charlie as the young aborigine came running around the corner of the house from Gertie's paddock, surprised by the ranting of the heelers in the middle of one of his rounds through the station homestead and barns.
Clumping down the veranda steps, Eliot broke into a trot as voices suddenly erupted in the house behind him.
Headlights glared through the night and a car horn blared, and behind the lights he could see a vehicle skewed off the dirt road and lying at an angle against the sturdy post of the homestead gate.
Holding his right hand against his bullet wound to support the broken rib, Eliot gritted his teeth against the jarring pain and sped up, knowing instantly that no matter what plans Hardison had, they had probably run out of time.
Charlie ordered away the heelers, and they slunk towards the barn, still barking, as Charlie unlocked the gate and swung it open, the station manager shining his flashlight at the vehicle now crumpled against the post. The hood was buckled and the windscreen was spider-webbed with cracks.
It was an old blue Ford ute, rusty around the wheel-arches and the doors, and Eliot grasped the passenger door and wrangled it open, not an easy task as the panel was distorted by the chassis being sprung on impact.
Charlie peered in through the broken window of the driver's seat and swore.
"Oh shit!" he muttered, and it took him two hefty pulls to open the door. "It's the girl!"
Eliot managed to shimmy his way into the passenger seat and looked at the young Chinese woman sitting half-conscious in the driver's seat, blood trickling down her forehead from impacting on the steering wheel even as her head lolled back and the blaring horn suddenly cut out. Eliot could see the shackle and chain still attached to her right wrist.
Mei-Ling moaned and tried to sit up but she cried out and clutched at her pregnant belly.
Eliot's heart sank. Either she was hurt, or she was in labour. Either way, it wasn't good.
"Hey … hey there," he murmured softly, and reached out to touch her shoulder. Mei-Ling flinched visibly at the contact and she whimpered through the pain. "Easy now," Eliot continued, "don't move. We'll get you out of here in just a minute, okay?"
For the first time Mei-Ling turned hazy dark eyes towards him, and it took her a few moments to recognise the kind, gentle cowboy who had told Chong he would kill him if he hurt her. And it was then, as her mind cleared a little, that she began to babble at him hysterically.
She reached for Eliot with her shackled hand and Eliot caught it, feeling the sweat on her palm and the shaking in her tiny frame, but he couldn't make out what she was yelling at him because she was speaking Chinese.
Eliot had a working knowledge of Cantonese and a smattering of Mandarin, but this was a dialect of the latter which he didn't quite understand.
"Whoa now, ma'am … easy …" he squeezed her hand and Mei-Ling cried out, even though Eliot's grip was light but firm. He looked at the shackled wrist. Damn. She had obviously somehow yanked the chain free, but the damage to her wrist was very visible, and blood was crusted around the shackle itself from cuts and abrasions. "Ma'am … Mei-Ling … listen to me, sweetheart … you have to relax, okay?"
The mention of her name made Mei-Ling calm down somewhat, and she let go of Eliot's hand and returned it to her swollen abdomen. Her babbling softened a little, and as Eliot checked her over for damage, she began to rock backwards and forwards.
Now that he had the driver's door open, Charlie crouched down beside Mei-Ling, aiming the flashlight so that Eliot could look the girl over for further injury.
"How's she doing?" he asked urgently.
"Her legs seem okay an' she's not trapped, no broken bones that I can see. She's just a bit knocked about is all. We gotta get her out of here, Charlie. I could be wrong, but I think she's in labour."
"Bloody hell!" Charlie grimaced, squinting past Mei-Ling and her babbling. The girl suddenly stopped and grunted, bending over and hugging her belly.
"Yep – she's in labour," Eliot confirmed. "We need to get her inside so Jo can take a look at her."
"Is that who I think it is?" Jo's voice rang through the darkness, and she materialized beside Charlie in nightgown and work boots, crouching down beside the wiry young man.
"Yeah, an' she's still chained, Jo – I need Parker –" Eliot said gruffly.
"Here!" Parker rang out, and emerged past the brightness of the headlights to stand beside Eliot, who wriggled out of the passenger seat, although Mei-Ling reached out for him even as she worked through the contraction now rippling through her belly.
Parker had one of Soapy's coats on over her pyjamas, and her feet were bare. But that didn't stop her sliding past Eliot and into the passenger seat beside Mei-Ling.
"We have to get her out of those –" Eliot began, but Parker already had a lock-pick in her hand and she grasped Mei-Ling's wrist as gently as she could.
"Done!" she exclaimed happily, and handed the chain and now-unfastened shackle to Eliot.
"Parker, can you unfasten her safety belt?" Jo asked, concentrating now on Mei-Ling's discomfort and the need to get her somewhere safe, dry and comfortable.
Parker was already working on it, and it only took a couple of tries and the strap sprung clear. Mei-Ling moaned and she began a litany of Chinese words, repeated again and again and aimed at Jo, who smiled reassuringly at the young woman.
"We need Soapy," Jo said. "He speaks Chinese," she added as she cupped Mei-Ling's cheek and smiled at the girl, whose face was shining with perspiration and twisted in pain.
"But she speaks English!" Parker said, now a little confused.
"Not much, I expect, and in her present condition she's gone back to the language she's most comfortable with." Jo turned her attention back to Mei-Ling. "It's alright, sweetie … you're safe now, I promise. Do you understand? You're safe."
Mei-Ling glanced around at the faces surrounding her. They were concerned, kind, and trying to help. She knew that now. She tried to smile, but another contraction hit her and she doubled over. There was a sudden gush of fluid from between her legs.
"Oooh, here we go!" Jo was all business now. "Her waters just broke. It won't be long now."
"JO!" Soapy emerged from the darkness followed by Sophie and Nate. "What's – oh!" the pastoralist exclaimed as he saw Mei-Ling. "What can I do?" he asked, instantly grasping the situation.
"How's your Mandarin?" Eliot asked, raising an eyebrow in query.
"Fair to middling," Soapy replied. "Rusty though." He grinned. "It's been a long time, mate!"
"Tell her she's safe and she can calm down now. We're here to help," Jo said as she rested a hand on Mei-Ling's distended stomach. She could feel the muscles quiver as the contraction tore through the young woman.
"Here!" Parker emerged from the passenger seat and gestured at Soapy. "Keep her company."
Soapy settled in beside Mei-Ling and the girl turned large, frightened eyes towards the ex-soldier, and Soapy suddenly understood the girl was absolutely terrified. He held up a hand in surrender and winked at her. Thinking for a moment, he began to speak.
"Um … let me see … lěngjìng … lěngjìng … nǐ xiànzài hěn ānquán. Nǐ néng shuō yīngyǔ ma?"
Mei-Ling's eyes darted from face to face, not sure what was going on, but she nodded.
"Yes … I speak English a little." She closed her eyes and whined at the pain for a moment. "You say … you say I am safe?"
"Yes, Mei-Ling," Jo answered, and patted the girl's hand. "You're safe. We won't let anyone harm you or your baby."
Mei-Ling burst into tears.
"Xièxiè … xièxiè … gǎnxiè nǐ de qīnqiè …" she sobbed, and grasped Soapy's hand, and he saw the raw, torn skin on her wrist. That bastard, he thought.
"What is she saying?" Parker whispered.
Soapy shook his head sadly.
"She just keeps thanking us for being so kind. Poor kid," he added, and he couldn't stop the anger in his voice from showing as he thought about Chong and what he had done to this young girl. "Well, enough of this. Let's get Mei-Ling inside where it's warm, hey?"
And with Jo and Parker hovering beside the young woman, Nate and Charlie eased her carefully out of the car. Before she could even attempt to stand, Nate gently lifted her in his arms, and with the greatest care he began to carry her back to the house where Effie and Hardison stood, guarding the children who slept so soundly in their sleeping bags. He saw Effie tap Hardison on the shoulder and they both disappeared into the house. Nate knew Effie would be preparing for the birth of a new life at Wapanjara.
But Eliot stayed beside the battered old ute for a minute or two, thinking about what was to come.
However Mei-Ling had escaped, she had run to the only people she thought might help her. It was an insanely brave thing for her to do, not knowing what she was letting herself in for. All she knew was that they had been kind to her for the space of twenty-five minutes.
Pulling the gate closed and padlocking it, Eliot leaned on the top bar and gazed into the darkness.
The girl had done the right thing, he understood that. But it also meant that Chong would come looking for her … or rather, his child. His son.
The ute wasn't from Albany, and he had no idea how the girl had got hold of it, but as soon as it was daylight, he would help Charlie haul it into the barn with the tractor. Out of sight, he thought, and out of Chong's way.
Eliot sighed.
It didn't matter what Chong thought, the young snakehead would come back to Wapanjara sooner rather than later, and their plans to bring down the man and his organisation were put in danger because Hardison probably wouldn't have time to complete his clandestine research.
No matter, Eliot decided. Tonight, there was a baby to deliver and a young girl's life to watch over, and Eliot would settle himself down on his recliner with Effie's pump-action shotgun by his side, despite his hatred of firearms.
Tonight, under the lowering moon and a sky streaming faint meteor trails, he would keep safe the people he loved, as Chong Bun-Tsui and the deadly creature that was Khenbish Hadan came ever closer.
Eliot Spencer would protect his family, or, he knew in his heart, he would die trying.
To be continued …