and he tried not to hear the pain under her carefree manner. It had taken them six weeks to arrange a date. ‘But don’t you think it odd they’re sending you? You don’t do murder.’
‘Not since I was a state Dee … I guess I’ve had experience.’
‘Plenty of others with more experience,’ she said, and he could picture her shrugging.
‘Maybe they’re busy? In any case, Kenny said no one expects me to solve the case.’
‘Then why go?’
‘God knows … politics. Something to do with keeping the non-natives happy.’
‘Ord City’s a weird place, Conan. You look after yourself … I better go.’
‘Okay … I’ll see you when I get back.’
‘Sure, Conan. Maybe.’
• • •
Three people – two men and a woman – sit before a huge picture window looking over a vast city, with an ocean to the north under a pink sky fading to purple. A servant pours tea and departs silently. None of them speak until all have savoured the tea and replaced their cups.
The first to speak is a large man dressed entirely in black.
‘It has begun then. There is no turning back.’
A woman in a pink and grey power suit with a necklace of black pearls responds: ‘It began some time ago … the preparations have taken years.’
‘The irrevocable step has been taken though,’ says the Man in Black, ‘… we are now committed … to see this through to the end.’
‘There will be unhappiness,’ says the woman, with an eye on the smaller man. It is clear the smaller man is in charge.
‘A great deal of it,’ agrees the smaller man, speaking for the first time, ‘… but as long as they are unhappy about the right things, we should have confidence in our mission.’
The last of the pink fades from the sky in the west. It is black to the east.
The woman asks: ‘What about the enticement?’
‘It went perfectly, as expected,’ says the Man in Black.
‘But there may be security issues,’ she replies.
‘We have taken steps to mitigate the security issues,’ says the Man in Black. ‘It is too late for the mission to be stopped … I don’t see how we can fail at this late stage.’
‘I agree,’ says the smaller man, ‘… and I thank you both for your efforts. Future generations will never hear of this, but our secret history will recall your names and deeds for all eternity.’
All three pick up their cups again, and sip contentedly.
The wheels are set in motion.
Chapter 2
The Happy Land
of the Fat Sharks
‘Six minutes,’ said Ah Cheng, chewing his knuckle and dripping with sweat. He always stank of sweat and, in Asif’s opinion, the rose water he splashed over himself to hide the smell just made it worse.
‘Plus extra time,’ said Asif, then laughed as Ah Cheng winced at the reminder.
‘Be serious for once,’ growled Razzaq. ‘We’re not here for the football!’
He’d kept his voice low but he needn’t have bothered. Peril matches at Rinehart Stadium were always a sell-out and when 60,000 fans were all screaming their encouragement with the home team a goal down and six to play, Razzaq could have shouted at the top of his lungs.
Asif always sat between the two older men. They were older, but he’d been in Ord City, in the Temporary Citizenship Zone, the longest. Asif was part of the First Wave and in less than two weeks would be eligible to leave the TCZ and go anywhere in Australia, like any normal citizen.
‘You have the data?’ asked Razzaq, and Asif nodded, as the Melbourne Victory players repelled yet another Ord City attack with their tightly organised defence.
‘Asif!’
Razzaq was glaring and Asif, with an effort, turned away from the game and went to pass the data stick to Razzaq.
‘Keep it for now. But we need to talk about your mission … again. Explain the details of the plan … starting from the moment you are allowed to leave Ord City permanently.’
‘The Node is forty kilometres south at the Argyle substation,’ said Asif, ‘On the day of the mission, drive south along the Argyle Highway until …’
At that moment the Rinehart Stadium erupted with joy as their beloved Horace Hung Feng controlled the ball with his chest at the far post and drilled a shot into the roof of the net from an impossible angle. Ah Cheng leapt to his feet in unison with 60,000 other supporters and started singing the Feng Song.
Razzaq was furious.
‘Fuck Feng!’ he shouted. ‘Fuck the Pilgrims and fuck you Cheng … we have serious business!’
Ah Cheng nodded, chastened, and resumed his seat, while Razzaq fumed and the crowd returned to its standard level of excited buzz. The Melbourne Victory players kicked off again – two minutes left to play.
‘Continue,’ said Razzaq, and Asif took up from where he’d left off.
‘South along the Argyle Highway until the turnoff. There is no sign but it is exactly 14.9 kilometres past the turn off to Halls Creek.’
‘You have no authorisation to take that road,’ snapped Razzaq.
‘No,’ agreed Asif. ‘If I am questioned, I took the road by error … but the warning signs were in English. How was I to know it was a prohibited road?’
‘How far do you drive?’
‘Three point seven kilometres from the Highway there is an outcrop of low rocky ridges with several indentations big enough to conceal a car.’
‘From this point,’ said Razzaq, ‘there is no chance of escape if discovered. You must protect yourself.’
‘I will have an old Australian army Stehr pistol and four ammo clips.’
‘But if capture seems inevitable?’
Asif grinned, watching the game, and held an imaginary pistol against his head.
‘What do you have in your satchel?’ continued Razzaq, as the crowd started rising again. The Pilgrims were probing about the Victory box, the referee looked at his watch.
Asif tore his eyes away from the game and regarded Razzaq – an angry little man in a yellow tee shirt and white skull cap who worked in a stir-fry restaurant and always smelled of cooking oil. But he was
