Chapter Twelve
As the Range Rover jounced down the rutted dirt road, each bump making him lift off his seat and thump back down, Connor King couldn’t keep the ear-to-ear smile off his unwrinkled, clean-shaved face. He’d never felt more like his surname in his life.
Despite his glee, the twenty-two-year-old kept a sharp eye out across the flat, scrubby, tan-and-brown Outback he and his Mobile Patrol partner were zooming across. This was his first real assignment after finishing security officer training and he didn’t want to mess it up.
But no matter what happened today, it couldn’t be worse than where he’d been six months ago: unemployed and broke after dropping out of university when he’d lost his rugby scholarship due to a knee injury during a pickup scrum.
The only problem was that being jobless and laid-up meant he’d been only a few days from living on the streets. That’s when a former teammate had passed him the name of Wallcorloo National, the energy company his father worked for, saying they were looking for security personnel. Even injured, King had been in good enough shape to ace the WN interview process and the company had seen fit to take him on in a probationary capacity. He also found that the skills he’d acquired during his two years of school had helped him learn the bookwork fast. The company even helped him with physical therapy during his course work and that, in turn, had led him to acing the physical tests. Self-defense, marksmanship, defensive driving—he had loved every minute of it and earned glowing reports from the instructors.
These days his knee felt better than ever.
“Strewth, mate, dial it back a bit, will ya?” Logan Weathers grunted, eyeing him from behind a pair of yellow shooter’s glasses. “Your yapper’s grinning so wide I think the top of your head’s gonna fall off.”
King didn’t know a lot about his new partner, only that he had twelve years’ experience with the company and looked like he’d seen more than a thing or two. With his tanned face and arms, crow’s-feet around his eyes and rangy physique, the weathered man could have strode right out of the Outback and into his security uniform yesterday. But even with his rough-and-tumble exterior, Weathers exuded a calm professionalism—when he wasn’t teasing his new partner—and the last thing King wanted to do was to screw up or disappoint him in any way.
“Sorry, Logan.” He ran a hand through his brush-cut blond hair. “Just anxious to get to work, that’s all.”
“Bloody newbies,” the older man said with gruff affection. “Only you probies get excited about driving to the ass end of nowhere to look over an auto-pump station.”
King’s expression fell and his forehead furrowed a bit. “Yeah, but you saw the sec warning that went out yesterday, right? The Bushmen are stirrin’ up trouble again and we have to make sure they’re not fuckin’ around with company property—”
“Oi, the good Lord save me from another wet-behind-the-ears rookie who thinks he’s Mad Fucking Max,” Weathers said. “I dunno who’s pegged them for this, but whoever it is has got rocks for brains. There ain’t no splinter indigenous terrorist group running around committing industrial vandalism. Even if there was, there’s no way in hell they’d traipse all the way out here to do it. There’s plenty of closer targets that would get a lot more play on the news, if that’s what they’re after.”
King mulled that over for a few moments. What his partner said made sense, but still didn’t account for what they were doing out there. The two men had left early in the morning on their day trip, flying out from Melbourne to the isolated town of Alice Springs. From there they were driving the last 140 kilometers to inspect an automatic liquefied natural gas pumping station on the edge of the Amadeus deposit, WN’s latest acquired field and the site of its most advanced gas mining system. But the way King looked at it...
“Maybe, but those sites are also more heavily guarded, especially after the Oz Minerals incident last month. Those vandals set their copper mining schedule back almost a year and caused a few million in damages,” he insisted. “And this one’s Wallcorloo’s new state-of-the-art system, so busting it up would still get those vandals some attention. But even if you’re right, and this site isn’t a target, then why’d they send us out here in the first place?”
Weathers smiled at that and King got the feeling he’d somehow set a trap for himself. “’Cause this isolated site is the perfect training ground for greenies like yourself.
“And it’s nothing to fret over,” Weathers continued. “Actually, it means something that they had me bring you all the way out here on your first field assignment. Means they like what they see. Means they got plans for you. So just keep yer eyes and ears open and do what I say, and maybe your next assignment’ll be near a beach somewhere. Instead of humping a whole day back home like we’re gonna, you’ll only be a hop, skip and a jump away from a cold draft and a warm sheila.”
King smiled. “Amen.”
“Eh, here we are.” The Range Rover crested a small rise and King focused his attention on the forty-plus acres of pipes and machinery representing the pinnacle of liquid natural gas drilling.
He stared at it while going over the facts he’d been required to memorize during his training. The Amadeus field site was completely automated and cost more than $9 million AU to construct. It could extract and compress fourteen thousand metric tonnes of LNG every twenty-four hours, and have it ready for pickup via an automated truck-relay system through the underground offloading hangar once it entered the full production stage.
