37. Saturday afternoon. November 2012.

13:15-16:00 hours

Sydney 13:15

The cloud base had lowered to the extent that the top of the Sydney Tower was about to disappear into it and the squalls were becoming stronger while the rain had changed from drifting veils to constant drizzle, turning the dazzlingly bright city into an almost monochrome version of itself. For half a kilometre on the land around the Opera House everything was in lock-down and crawling with security; an outer ring, another 500 metres wide, was under almost as intense observation but was somewhat more open to the general public. Despite that, there were few people around, the combination of the weather and the annoyance factor associated with the G20 security ensuring that the majority of the populace were avoiding the city centre like the plague.

There were still a few boats out on the harbour, despite the weather, and one of them was the Swanson 28 owned by Rafiq Saliba. They had cleared Kirribilli with the main and a small jib up and both Saliba and Rosita were well aware that they were being watched from a couple of nearby security vessels as they apparently struggled with the increasing power of the wind now they were out in the open water. Barbara Dulapandan was below decks, fully kitted out and awaiting her opportunity, ready to move fast. An unexpected gust of wind from the south provided that opportunity. Genuinely knocking them half flat, Macapodi roared a warning to the other woman as she and Saliba made a show of battling with the sails; making it appear as though they were attempting to reef the main, they deliberately let go the main halyard, allowing the wind to catch the large sail and carry it messily over the side of the boat and into the water, conveniently covering the hatch to below deck as well. In the subsequent, artfully staged, confusion, the diver slipped over the side and was gone from sight in a moment, navigating by way of her underwater compass and years of practice towards the target.

Aboard one of the watching vessels a water police Inspector spoke quietly into her radio to her Navy contact at the Opera House as the pair aboard the Swanson regained control over their wayward sail and hauled it back on deck.

"Target in the water. We didn't actually see it but the boat just lost its sail and is now turning back towards Careening Cove. There would seem to be only two people aboard now, instead of three."

The slightly crackling response came immediately.

"Received. Mobilising the divers now if you can deal with your end."

"With pleasure."

Cairns 13:30

Shinwari had remained silent for the rest of the flight. The terror engendered by the precipitate stall had left her with nothing more than an intense desire to return to the safety of the ground as soon as possible and get away from this mad man, to get out and move on with the next stage of the plan. She didn't think the world would see the light after a single act, no matter how shocking, so she was expecting to be busy for the foreseeable future. All she had to do was get out in one piece and to that end she kept quiet and stared out the window, watching and waiting for the reds, browns and khakis of the inland to turn to the bright greens and blues of the narrow strip of rainforest coast. Eventually, long after she had spied the glitter of the ocean, that strip of emerald came into view and she started to breathe again. The end was near, she could begin to relax.

On the ground, Ruth had finally reached the outskirts of Cairns. Roadworks had slowed her twice on the twisting journey down to sea-level; now, she was running into city traffic on the six-lane highway that ran through the town. Glancing at the clock on the dashboard for the millionth time on this trip she muttered a silent curse – she was getting perilously close to being late. Then, up ahead, she noticed the traffic lights turn red. Cursing out loud this time, she cut across to the left hand lane, ignoring the car that angrily hooted at her, and dived into a side street to weave her way through the mix of light industrial and old suburban buildings, popping out a couple of streets away from the AFP office. A few seconds later she pulled into one of the parking spaces in the middle of the street, grabbed her purse and jumped out, locking the car behind her as she crossed the road towards the front door. A woman's voice called her name and she turned towards the sound to see Lisa, the young Federal Police officer whom they had met on the front desk, now standing in the driveway of the carpark to the left of the building, waving at her to come over. The younger woman started talking as soon as Ruth was within hearing distance.

"Come on, the car's here, we're ready to go." As they walked towards the unmarked vehicle Ruth looked over her companion: Lisa had a bullet-proof vest on over her uniform and was armed to the teeth, moving with confidence as they reached the car and she opened the back door, gesturing Ruth inside. Once inside, she waved casually at the older Sergeant sitting behind the wheel but also fully armed. "This is Wayne. He's ex-Highway Patrol and a demon driver so we should get there in time. We had the plane divert to add a bit more time to the flight but they're due to land in ten minutes so we'd better get going."

A portable light and siren were stuck on the roof and they were off. Lisa twisted in her seat and tossed an ID badge swinging from a lanyard plus a couple of sheets of paper at Ruth. "Here's your ID, the warrant and what we need you to say once we get there. Given the seriousness of the situation and the fact that it's a terrorism charge apparently the Attorney General wants one of you lot to do the take down – Nicola Roxon herself has signed the paperwork to authorise you and the warrant so for the moment you're a fully-fledged member of ASIO." She flashed a brilliant smile. "Don't worry, you've just got to say the words and be the official representative. We'll do the rest until Ilian gets here. There are a couple of blokes from the local constabulary already at the airport, waiting to help, so it'll be five against two. Probably six against one, once the pilot realises what's going on: knowing Chicka Baird, I can't see him doing any of this for anything more than the money. He's certainly no ideologue!"

Ruth absorbed it all and spent the rest of the short trip memorising her details and what she was to say. It seemed her name was Narelle Forbes – she had a silent laugh when she glanced at the ID and realised they had lifted the appalling photograph from her driver's licence to put on it for poor Narelle – and she only had a couple of lines to say. It should all go well enough but she couldn't stop the nerves from building, along with that insidious, treacherous excitement. She hoped that this time, unlike the previous occasion she had been out on the take-down of a suspect, she wouldn't need a tree branch to subdue them…

It seemed like no time at all before they were screeching to a halt in front of the small General Aviation terminal at Cairns Airport. Piling out of the car, they were greeted by the two burly Queensland Police officers, introduced as Steve and Gazza, with the news that the Stationair had just taxied past and come to a halt outside Baird's hangar, off down the apron to the left. Like the other small operators, Baird used the terminal for his passengers instead of funnelling them through his own building so he would be escorting Shinwari this direction shortly but Lisa and Wayne thought it would be preferable to go out and do the deed airside, where there were fewer members of the general public to get in the way and significantly more security. Ruth heartily agreed with the sentiment so they made their way through the near-empty building and out the gates into the steam-heat of the tarmac, passed through by a clearly intensely curious airport security worker who waited by the access, watching the group move purposefully towards the Baird Aviation hangar. She presumed it was another smuggling operation about to go down – that was usually why the Feds and the State coppers worked together – although if the small brunette with the Pommy accent was Customs then she was new to the area. Whatever the case, there was nothing else happening for the next half hour so she might just stay out here and watch.

The group proceeded at a fair clip, intent on giving Shinwari as little warning as possible. Ruth could see the woman standing on the far side of the aircraft, apparently waiting for the pilot to off-load her bag; by the time it was on the tarmac Ruth and her group were rounding the tail, the police spreading out to form a barrier between the tip of the wing and the horizontal stabiliser, hemming in the pair. The sudden mass arrival caused both Shinwari and Baird to stop what they were doing and look up, sharply. Chicka took in the assembled group and, recognising the inevitable, took a step back from his passenger. Shinwari herself raked her gaze over the assembly, perfectly calm: they knew nothing about her so whatever the reason for this visitation it was nothing to do with her.

"Agustina Soraya Shinwari?" Ruth's heart was going ninety to the dozen from nerves as she came to a halt, Lisa and Wayne flanking her but slightly behind and the other pair fanned further out. So, here we are at last. Face to face with this woman who had brought a past that she had thought well and truly dead back into her and Harry's life, temporarily derailing them by lobbing Lucas North into their back paddock, she took her time to examine the person who would, hopefully, be the last terrorist they ever had to deal with. Had it only been three months since their peace had exploded that day in the café in Cairns? She noted the insolent stare that the other woman was giving her and, for some reason irresistibly reminded of Elena Gavrik – perhaps it was their similar height, the head-to-toe designer clothes or the supercilious arrogance – a cold anger suddenly flared, replacing the nerves, and she openly returned the searing examination before she smiled, equally chilly. She was so sick of these people. She was going to enjoy taking this one down, almost as much as she had enjoyed besting Elena Platonovna in that accursed bunker... Brandishing her identification she announced evenly, "Narelle Forbes, Australian Security and Intelligence Organisation. You are under arrest on terrorism charges as defined in the Criminal Code Act 1995. Come with us, please."

The stunned expression on the terrorist's face was a joy to behold. It took quite a few seconds for the true import of the words to fully register with Shinwari; when they did, the smile faded from her lips almost as quickly as the colour drained from her face as she stared at this strangely implacable, flint-eyed woman with the English accent. How? And, more importantly, who?

Ruth watched the blossoming disbelief and dismay with quiet pleasure and could see the thoughts chasing themselves through the other woman's eyes. Uncharitably thinking Gotcha!, she indicated to the local police to move forward with the handcuffs, barely noticing the Indonesian's hand moving towards the pocket of her light coat. Chicka Baird did, though, and chimed in, with an almost triumphant bitterness,

"She's got a gun."

The response to his words almost instant and Shinwari suddenly found herself staring down the barrels of four police pistols, the nearest one held by Gazza only a few inches from her temple. Ruth smiled, thinly, and replied without taking her gaze off the other woman,

"She would be most unwise to use it." The pale blue eyes burned into Shinwari's dark ones for a little longer before finally turning towards the pilot. "You will need to accompany us as well, Captain Baird, to assist with our enquiries and your aircraft will be impounded."

Contrary to her expectations the man merely nodded, casting a sour glance at his former client.

"No worries, love, I'll sing as loud as you like after the stunt this bitch just pulled on me…" Australindo Beef might have paid well but no-one paid well enough to justify pulling a gun on him, not in his own plane. He didn't give a shit about whatever they were really up to out in the wilds of the southern Cape but he would never forgive her for that little act, as she would find out. At his words Steve moved forward and cuffed Shinwari as Ruth returned her attention to her, eyes flat, smile long gone and adrenaline levels now dropped back to normal, leaving her feeling pissed off more than anything else by the intrusion of the past into her new life. Motioning to Lisa, she said in a voice which was equally flat,

"Let's get this done. Read her her rights, please, Seargent."

Back at the gate, the security guard had captured most of the action in grainy footage on her mobile phone. It would give her friends a bit of a laugh when she forwarded it on.

Sydney 13:30

Wisnu and his team watched Topan on the CCTV as, for the tenth time in as many minutes, the technician checked his watch. Unlike the previous occasions, this time the man glanced around furtively and, confident the coast was clear, walked to the security door leading to the air-conditioning engine room and used his swipe card to enter.

"It's on," Wisnu said crisply, standing up. "Come on, let's go."

In the cold, dark waters below the building the two clearance divers maintained their positions behind supporting pylons on either side of the access to the engine room. Close by they could hear the rumble of the engines drawing the seawater into the heat exchanger, just as they could feel the gentle current as the water moved past their bodies. Both were focussed on the patch of green between them: the water lit up by the lights from inside the building. They had been there, patiently waiting, since they had received the confirmation that the woman was in the water; by their calculations, she should be arriving any time. Almost on cue, a shadow appeared from below, heading unerringly to the light. Once she had broken the surface they glanced at their watches: they had been told to give her five minutes and no more so five minutes it would be.

Inside the engine room, Topan had spent most of the past ten minutes doing his official rounds, checking every nook and cranny; once done, he had turned to pacing up and down the metal grating of the walkway and clock-watching again. They only had half an hour to get the stuff in, in place and get Dulapandan out again before the next patrol came through and he was beginning to get nervous. He had returned to the door for the umpteenth time to ensure that it was locked and was double-checking by way of a link on his phone that the security cameras in the room were indeed not transmitting but, as promised by Al-Jamil, instead stuck on a perpetual loop showing nothing untoward, when the faintest splash alerted him to the arrival. Turning, he saw the woman hauling herself along the walkway towards the emergency ladder and he rushed to meet her, opening the gate and lending a hand to get her, ungainly in full scuba gear, up and out of the water.

"We're running late," he murmured. "We have less than twenty minutes."

"Plenty of time," she replied dismissively, the Indonesian sounding harshly staccato. "Stop panicking and help me out of this harness."

On the far side of the door, Wisnu and his crew were watching what was going on inside from the micro-cameras that had been covertly installed, independent of the official system, in various parts of the building as soon as they had realised who Topan and Al-Jamil really were. Waiting until Barbara Dulapandan had removed her harness and was about to open the waterproof box holding the container of anthrax while Topan was setting up the feed into the air intake, Wisnu finally made the signal.

The pair inside were so focussed on their task that the crash of the door being forced open was a complete shock. Topan froze, completely forgetting his far-distant tutor's advice on what to do under just such circumstances but Dulapandan was quicker off the mark. Absorbing the sight of a group of heavily armed tactical response police, all dressed in full biohazard suits, piling through the doorway she pulled her mask back over her face, grabbed the box, turned and was about to put the regulator in place so she could roll back into the water when the surface roiled and suddenly exploded as the two clearance divers broke through, their M4A1 Carbine assault rifles at the ready. Realising it was too late to run, she struggled to unlock the box, hands made clumsy by the cold but determined to take as many of the infidel with her as possible; one latch popped open but before she could activate the other one of the divers had leapt up onto the walkway, grabbed her from behind in a crushing grip and, aware of the dangers presented by spraying bullets around in the presence of anthrax, was now pressing a knife to her throat, the tip of the blade digging into her skin to release a carefully judged trickle of warm blood that made its way down under her wetsuit. She stopped struggling as one man, slighter than the rest, moved forward and wrenched the case from her, handing it to one of the others behind as he began removing his own breathing apparatus while saying, slightly muffled,

"Get that out of here to the secure location." Finally taking his mask off, she was unaccountably surprised to see a face of what seemed to be similar heritage to her own staring back at her, dark eyes flat with disgust.

"You are one of us," she said in Indonesian, unable to comprehend the truth. "How can you be working for these people?"

Wisnu just shook his head at her; his response, when it came, was accompanied by a sneer, coloured by his knowledge that they may have similar sources of DNA but that was where it ended: the woman was the indulged eldest daughter of a devoutly Muslim and very powerful Indonesian businessman and his even more pious, Singaporean Islamic-convert wife whereas his antecedents were a mix of poor but equally devout Indonesian and Chinese Christians.

"No. I was never one of you. I was raised a Christian and because of that, and my Chinese ancestry, the likes of you have done nothing but persecute my kind for generations. Now we come here, gain peace, prosperity and acceptance, and suddenly you expect to just walk in and use your bullying tactics do the same thing to everyone here? You and your belief system are viciously pathetic. I owe everything to this country and nothing to yours, so it's a pleasure to defend it by taking out the likes of you." Switching back to English he added, in his broadest local accent, "Come on, Babs, party's over. You'd better develop a taste for Vegemite because you're gonna be looking at a twenty stretch, or more, before you get your arse kicked back home to spend the rest of your life rotting in one of their shit-hole prisons."

Topan had already been hustled away in handcuffs; now it was the woman's turn. Wisnu thanked the divers and followed the prisoners out, leaving some of the police behind to secure the area. Al-Jamil and his Pakistani friend should have been picked up by now as well so all that was left at this end was the mopping up. It had been a good day.

13:35: Ten nautical miles east of Highbury Station, on descent through 5,000 feet

So far the trip had been both fast and smooth. Ray had been trying to get Harry up for a flight for the past six months but the weather and other commitments had inevitably conspired against them. Today, though, the clouds behind them were few, fluffy and benign, the wind was on their tail and pushing them along at a steady 135 knots and events this time had given them no option but to end up in a small tin can with wings heading towards weather which was considerably nastier than that which they had left and to a meeting which may be an order of magnitude worse again. Harry had never been overly fond of small aircraft, particularly those with only one engine, and had been quietly dubious about the whole venture but, to his relief, the large Lycoming had so far purred like a kitten and Ray had handled the controls with aplomb, to the extent that Harry had let himself relax and take in the view while they intermittently discussed everything except what they were actually doing. They had heard the exchange between Brisbane Centre and the aircraft Zulu Zulu Yankee not long after they had switched to the area frequency; they had glanced at each other but neither had said a word, although Ray was pleased to hear his part of the plan being carried out so professionally while Harry had a sudden bout of nerves on Ruth's behalf, now that Shinwari's destination had been confirmed. Now, with the half-dozen buildings around a square of green that marked Highbury Station and the south-east oriented slash of orange-red that was its strip in sight, they could ignore reality no longer.

"We'll be on the ground in a few minutes, Laurence. How close are our passengers?"

The first faint blip had shown up on the screen of Ray's i-Pad a couple of minutes ago; as Harry checked it again he realised that the blip, now much stronger, was not a single one, but a double.

"They're not. Still forty kilometres way and they're not alone. There's a second vehicle that must be almost on their tail. Hartono, presumably." Glancing up and out of the windscreen, eyes scanning the distance, he added, "What vehicles are we looking for?"

"A red Landcruiser utility and a white Troopie, the same one Lucas had in Cairns," came the gravelly reply. "I put a tracker on it that afternoon in the car park and have sent a couple of signals since you saw the first blip, trying to wake it up if it was that vehicle. Looks like it was and now it's live. Useful. Shall we go have a flyover?"

"Certainly, Major Williams!"

Ray grinned at him and pushed the throttle back in while he levelled out from their descent.

"You never did tell me what rank you made – you were clearly an officer."

"On the record? Captain."

When the silence went on a tad too long Ray prodded,

"And off the record? I presume they hauled you in to train the newbies in your area of expertise, same as they did to me. You might leave the army but, if it suits them, they never quite leave you."

The Englishman suddenly grinned back at him.

"Lieutenant-Colonel. And you're right about them never—"

The ringing of Ray's satellite phone stopped his words in their tracks. At the sight of the name he tapped the control and answered.

"Lucas. It's Ray. Laurence is listening."

The relief was palpable in the voice, laden with static, which responded immediately and concisely.

"We're not going to make it to Highbury, Ray. They're less than a kilometre behind us and we've developed mechanical problems."

"Keep going for as long as you can. We're coming to get you. We're less than ten minutes away."

"Where will you be?"

"On the road. You won't be able to miss us once we're in front of you, just be ready to jump on the brakes."

"Okay."

The call was terminated abruptly. Ray glanced over at his companion to see the other man staring fixedly ahead.

"I presume that's them." Harry inclined his head towards a smudge of dust far ahead of them and Ray looked the same direction, finally spotting the rooster's tail indicating the Development Road. As he marginally adjusted course and sent the aircraft into a rapid descent again Harry reached into the pocket behind the pilot's seat and extracted the Beretta and its ammunition. Sliding the magazine home he added, "Let's go and get them."

13:40. Burke Development Road, 20km north-west of Highbury Station

The relief at the end of the conversation had been like a tidal wave in the cabin of the Landcruiser, at least for the driver. Everything had been going so well up until the last half an hour. Well on time to make the rendez-vous at Highbury and happy that they had enough of a lead over Hartono and bin Osman, they had been cruising along steadily, each lost in their own thoughts and paying little notice to the occasional scraping coming from the front of the vehicle. Then they had rounded a bend and been confronted by a mob of cattle, a couple of hundred strong, completely blocking the road, and had no option but to stop. The animals were being controlled by three people on horse-back and a number of hard-working kelpies and for the first couple of minutes it was entertaining to watch the combination of human and dog skilfully controlling the movements of the enormous animals but when the couple of minutes stretched towards ten both Lucas and Elliott began to get nervous. They still had plenty of time in hand but… About then one of the horsemen approached, dismounted and walked over to the car, revealing themselves to be a jillaroo, not a jackaroo, in the process. Lucas wound down the window as she leaned over and apologised for the delay, explaining that they were mustering the mob into the paddock over the road and would be clear of the road in another five minutes. The soft Irish accent was as much a surprise to the men in the vehicle as her age, which they didn't put much past twenty – curious, Lucas kept her chatting for a few moments, finding out that she was a backpacker on her gap year, fulfilling a life-long dream to work on a cattle station in the Outback before returning to her agricultural studies back home but before they could talk any further she was called back to the job by the head drover and disappeared back into the dust with a wave of her somewhat dirty hand.

It was closer to another ten minutes before they could finally get going again and, very soon after, it became obvious that they had another problem. After hitting another washout in the road that had been impossible to see in the harsh light coming from overhead, the scraping in the front became significantly louder and went from being intermittent to almost constant. It was on the same side as the tyre they had damaged early on and Elliott suggested it may be the wheel bearing; whatever it was, it wasn't good but they didn't have time to stop and check. Slowing a little seemed to help but from there on Lucas' nerves stretched ever tighter as he fought a constant battle against the vehicle's increasingly demanding tendency to want to pull off the road while his eyes were on a constant circular check of the road in front of them, the estimated arrival time on the screen of the GPS and the side and rear view mirrors. Finally, far sooner than he would have liked, he caught sight of a speck of dust behind them, orange against the towering purple-steel blue-white of the banked cumulonimbus on the horizon and, for a split second, knew that it was all over. Sure, it might be anyone, but they had seen not one other vehicle since they had begun this drive, which he knew was perfectly normal out here, so it wasn't hard to work out who it probably was.

Then the split second had passed. After all this he was damned if it was going to end like this, out here in the back of beyond with only kangaroos and the eagles up on high bearing witness… The first time he saw the troopie's headlights in his mirror he checked the ETA again, realised they were so close but not close enough, and made the phone call. Afterwards, Elliott asked, in a voice now devoid of all traces of cockiness,

"Now what?"

"Now I hope you remember your weapons training, Victor, because we're probably about to need it."

Elliott swallowed nervously, throat dry and gut churning. Despite all those years in the Middle East he had never had to take part in a fire-fight. It seemed somewhat ironic that now he was about to experience his first one, in a setting as far removed from Iraq as he could imagine. He just hoped he survived to tell the story.

Yorse Hartono had driven like a maniac the entire way, at times causing bin Osman to hang on for grim death as they rattled and bounced over corrugations and potholes. Unlike Lucas, Hartono had managed to miss the worst of the traps on the road and their vehicle was still in one piece. The trip had been mostly silent; as it stretched on and there was still no sign of the other vehicle both men had begun to wonder if they had missed their prey. Privately, Hartono had decided to give it another half hour and then, if there was still no sign of the Englishmen, he would have to turn around and go back – they had no more time to spend on the chase. Ten minutes into that half hour he had caught the first glimpse of the Landcruiser and, with a savage grin, realised they were catching it.

Five minutes after first spotting the rooster's tail of dust, Ray and Harry were two thousand feet above the ground and a couple of nautical miles away from the Development Road, where they could clearly see the two Toyotas. There was no-one else in sight so they hoped that the plan they had hatched would work without leaving a trace. Ray took one more look at the approaching weather – lightning was now sparkling on the horizon below the massive thunderheads so they were rapidly running out of time – and said,

"Alright. Ready?"

Harry responded in the affirmative and Ray banked the plane to the left, throttling back slightly to reduce their airspeed and dropping in the first stage of flaps so he could lower their nose and retain visibility as they lined themselves up behind the two machines on the ground. The vehicles were heading south now, on a stretch of road that seemed to be mostly free of tall vegetation on either side, and were only a few hundred metres apart.

"We'll come in on the straight stretch at the far end. If I pop the canopy do you think you can get a shot off at the troopie as we go overhead? We'll only be about a hundred feet up."

"I'll do my best."

The red utility was approaching the final gentle bend before the designated landing strip, travelling much more slowly than either of the men in the air had expected, and the troopie was closing fast as the aeroplane slowed and sank closer to the ground. Ray throttled back even more, pulled on full flaps, dropped the nose and adjusted the trim wheel and then reached up to release the lock on the canopy, sliding it back to fully open and letting a violent rush of hot, humid air, along with the roar of the engine, into the cockpit. They were getting buffeted by thermals rising from the road now as well but Ray was managing to hold it reasonably steady as they approached the troopie at seventy knots, slow by the plane's standards but still considerably faster than the four-wheel drives and Harry leaned over the side, trying to aim at the rear vehicle.

"For Christ's sake don't hit the propeller or the wing!" Ray roared cheerfully as he lined up to pass the car on its left, giving Harry a clear view for a moment. The first shot missed the vehicle; the second, purely by chance, smashed the side window behind Hartono as the Guerrier over-shot and was gone in an instant. Inside the troopie it seemed like the window exploded for no reason, causing Hartono to hit the brakes, hard, and as they skidded on the dirt road surface the sight of the aeroplane, seemingly almost on top of them, made him instinctively swerve away. The Toyota almost lost traction but he managed to fight it back under control and to a stop on all four wheels, and the two men inside finally stared forward again to watch something they didn't quite believe unfold in front of them.

In the Landcruiser Lucas was driving with one eye on the road and one on the rear-view mirror when he caught a shadow flitting over the pursuing vehicle and it suddenly spun almost out of control, one window shattered. He barely had time to wonder what had happened before the shadow flitted over their own vehicle and a light aircraft, painted in military camouflage, touched down on the road less than a hundred metres in front of him.

"Shit! What the fuck is that?" Elliott swore, pale from shock, as Lucas jammed his foot on the brake to keep clear of the rapidly slowing plane.

"That is our escape hatch. Get ready to run."

The Guerrier had rolled away a little further from them as Ray brought her to a stand-still; glancing in the mirror once more Lucas realised that Hartono had started up again and was catching them up so he accelerated and it was at that moment that the wheel bearing finally, irretrievably seized, sending them off into the sand on the side of the road. Shots hammered into the tray of the vehicle and another glance confirmed that bin Osman was hanging out the window of the troopie, firing his pistol at them.

"Get out and run!" Lucas roared, shoving Elliott towards the other door as he grabbed the semi-automatic rifle from behind the seat and prepared to exit his own side. Picking the moment when the troopie skidded again as Hartono brought it to a halt he jumped out, emptied the clip in one continuous spray, threw the gun down and started to move. The noise from the Lycoming engine was enormous and the wind the propeller was producing was phenomenal, spitting gravel and sand from the road surface into their faces as he and Elliott ran as fast as they could, lungs almost bursting from the effort. Hearing more bullets whine by as he dashed in a zig-zag towards the plane, Lucas risked a look up and saw Harry calmly and methodically firing a pistol; next to him, the giant Australian had just stood up and swung his own rifle into action.

Harry, as per the plan, had been up and out of his seat as Ray was still bringing the plane to a stop, turning, with the gun ready, in time to see Lucas and Elliott leap from the Landcruiser and begin to run towards them as the pair in the troopie piled out and began to fire at them. Seizing the realisation that the terrorists were focussed on stopping their former employees rather than those in the aircraft, he took a moment to steady his aim and began to return fire, all the time subconsciously noting that Lucas was following procedure by zig-zagging, although there was absolutely no cover – trees, shrubs, rocks or anything else – available but Elliott was not, running in a straight line towards them and looking like he was struggling for breath. That wasn't a good idea—

Even as he thought it, Hartono stopped, took aim and fired, twice, and Elliott jerked backwards before falling forwards onto the road, his blood pouring out onto the pale road surface, staining it rusty red. The Indonesian had no time to enjoy his victory, though; again grabbing the opportunity presented by the man stopping to fire his weapon, Harry aimed and let off three quick shots of his own to send Hartono dancing backwards to also collapse on the ground, his chest torn open and exposed to the ravages of the ever-present ants, crows and eagles, all hungry for dinner. Ray, having pulled the park brakes on, stood, turned, grabbed his rifle and began to fire at bin Osman all in one surprisingly fluid motion. The Malaysian was following Lucas' example and zig-zagging randomly while continuing to fire pot-shots in the other man's direction but he lasted little longer than Hartono before one of Ray's bullets blew the back of his skull off.

Suddenly realising it was all over, Lucas stopped, chest heaving, staring wildly from the aircraft to the vehicles and bodies and back again; Ray gestured at him to join them but he shook his head and jogged over to Elliott's body but it was pointless: the man was well and truly dead. Feeling his shoulders sag from relief and feeling only a little sorrow for his fellow tutor he turned away and walked towards the Guerrier where Harry was now out standing on the wing, one hand on the top of the windscreen to steady him against the blast of wind from the propeller and the other hand held out to help him up and into the back seat. Accepting the offer, Lucas stepped up and into the back; hesitating before he sat down he leaned forward and yelled,

"Shouldn't we tidy up?"

Ray shook his head.

"No time. I've flown in all sorts of weather conditions but only a mad-man attempts to fly something like this under those circumstances." With the word 'those' he nodded back to the west and the two Englishmen looked up just in time to see a massive lightning bolt ground itself from the towering cloud bank far too close for anyone's comfort. "We've got to get out, now. The Army will fix the mess. By the way, you've been winged, mate. There's a first aid kit on the baggage ledge behind you if you want to patch yourself up."

Nodding slowly and suddenly aware of the stinging on his left bicep, Lucas folded his long frame into the back and accepted the headset that Ray thrust at him. The relative peace when the canopy was slid shut was more than welcome but if he was expecting a moment of stillness afterwards to compose himself he was wrong as Ray released the hand-brakes but kept the foot brakes on while he brought the engine back up to full throttle and adjusted the mix for maximum revs; holding it there for a moment he ensured they were all strapped in before suddenly releasing the brakes. The Guerrier leapt forward, hurtling down the centre of the road; as the air speed indicator passed 46 knots he pulled full flaps on again and eased the joystick positively backwards, smoothly rotating the craft back into the air after a remarkably short take-off run. No-one said anything until he had carefully eased the flaps up again and settled the plane back into a conservative climb of five hundred feet a minute. Then he looked around at his very quiet passengers, grinned widely and asked,

"You lot alright?"

Harry and Lucas looked at each other, both recognising the ebbing of adrenaline in the other, then at the pilot; Lucas nodded and turned to reach for the first aid kit while Harry responded in the affirmative and slumped back in his seat, suddenly exhausted, and added,

"Take us home, Major Williams. I think we've all earned a drink…"

Ray laughed and gently banked the plane onto the track back to the coast while maintaining the climb. It would be a longer trip back than on the way out because of the head-wind but he didn't think it would matter; it would give them all time to settle down to that strange flatness that tended to follow hard on the end of an operation. By the time they touched down in Cairns again it would indeed be time for that drink.

Five minutes after they had departed the first Blackhawk, carrying fewer soldiers but two new passengers in the form of Brendan Pearson and Hamzah Rashid, homed in on the two locator beacons and landed on the road. While the passengers took in the evidence of recent events, Brendan with mixed emotions over an underlying, iron conviction that it was right and Rashid with a dull despair at the end of so many years of work, the soldiers were out and assessing the scene with professional speed. Very soon, the vehicles were cleared off the road, as were the bodies and they prepared to wait for the follow-up chopper with the clean-up crew to arrive. It was only half an hour away – with a bit of luck it would get here before the rain but even if it didn't it wouldn't matter. They would just wait out the worst of the storm if they had to and then make their way back to the coast to deliver the bodies, alive and dead. The police from Chillagoe would already be on their way to deal with the vehicles, having been rung from Capricorn Downs; by nightfall, no-one would even be able to recognise what had gone on out here this day.