was referring to the town of Alice Springs. Set in the geographic center of Australia, in the Northern Territory, and known as The Alice, it lay around three hours’ drive from their present position and had been the truckers destination for this section of the journey.
“Maybe I collect dry goods,” the man said.
“Don’t bullshit me, mate,” Douglas snapped. “You figure we just fell off the turnip truck?”
“Lou,” Rafferty said. “Just leave it.”
“Do what your mate says.”
Douglas stepped forward, brushing off his partner’s warning hand.
“I’m not listening to this bastard,” he yelled.
Douglas was known for his explosive temper and lack of caution under pressure. It had gotten him into trouble on a number of occasions.
This time it got him more.
“No,” Rafferty yelled, realizing what was about to happen.
Douglas had taken only a few steps, raising his fists, when the MP-5 crackled. The burst was short, sending a volley of steel-jacketed 9 mm slugs into Douglas’s torso. The force of the burst stopped him in his tracks as the bullets cored into his lean body, shattering ribs and tearing through his heart and lungs. Douglas took a step back, eyes suddenly wide with shock. He lost coordination and dropped to the ground, clutching at his punctured chest. He squirmed in short movements before his body shut down. Blood trickled from his slack mouth.
“People never learn,” the shooter said.
Rafferty was frozen, staring between his dead partner and the man who had just murdered him.
The two men who had opened the container appeared, hauling a battered metal box between them. It looked like a well-used tool box. They placed it on the ground.
“That was all we wanted,” the shooter said. “Nothing else.”
“What?”
The shooter grinned. “Bloody hell. You had no idea.” He kicked at the box. “Diamonds. Contraband from the mines up north. You’ve been hauling millions in uncut stones. Put on board your train to be picked up by us. We snatch the box and fly away. By the time the cops show up there’s nothing to find.”
Rafferty felt a chill invade his body. There would be nothing for the police to go on because the only witnesses wouldn’t be able to point a finger. He looked beyond the strip of road. At the wide and empty blue sky and realized it would be the last time he saw it.
“Bloody shame, mate, but that’s the way it goes.”
The MP-5 crackled a second time. Rafferty felt the first impact as the burst of 9-mm slugs entered his body, then he was falling. He hit the ground on his back, eyes seeing the bright day fade into darkness. Then nothing.
“Let’s go, boys,” the shooter said.
The metal box was picked up and the hit team retreated to the idling helicopter. It rose quickly, circling the scene once before it cut off to the west. It flew steadily to its destination where it eventually touched down and the metal box was transferred to a waiting SUV. The team quickly changed into civilian clothing. The pilot took the helicopter back into the air, quickly vanishing from sight.
With practiced coordination the team quickly stripped down their weapons and placed them in a large canvas bag. A deep hole was dug and the weapons buried, along with the clothing they had worn during the hijack. All signs of the buried equipment were obliterated once the hole was refilled. The rear of the SUV was loaded with luggage and cameras all part of the team’s cover as a group of traveling tourists. The metal box was placed underneath the bags.
When everything had been organized, one of the team took the wheel and the SUV was turned around and made its way to the main route back along the highway.
Their destination lay just over two-thousand miles away at the coastal town of Port Hedland. For the next twenty-four hours the team would take turns at the wheel, stopping only for refueling and refreshments. The highway meandered through an empty landscape, with few outposts. Planning had established the places where gas could be obtained. Similarly, every food stop had been marked on the map they carried.
They reached Port Hedland twenty minutes after the anticipated arrival time, midmorning, and parked near the harbor.
Phil Durrant, the team leader, looked out over the water. He spotted the ship he was looking for and pointed it out to his people.
“All ready and waiting for us,” he said, glancing at his watch. “Our boy should be waiting in the café just along the way. Let’s do this.”
The driver backed the SUV into the parking spot next to the café, alongside an older, open-backed and paint-faded Australian-made Holden 4x4. The café’s blue-and-white structure had wide windows overlooking the harbor, and as he climbed out of the SUV Durrant spotted their contact sitting at one of the booths. He leaned back inside the SUV. “Let’s go.”
Durrant turned and made his way into the café, leaving his team to handle the quiet transfer of the metal box into the 4x4, next to the clutter of tools and marine equipment. Durrant made silent contact with the waiting man who would take over the next stage of the delivery.
With the transfer complete the crew entered the café, where they joined Durrant at his table. None of them spoke to the contact man. Durrant and his team ordered food and drink. The contact man finished his own meal before paying at the counter and leaving the café. He climbed into his truck and drove away from the café.
The guy’s name was Karl. None of the men had ever met him, and identification was made from the photo image that Durrant had received over his cell phone. Committing the face to his memory Durrant had erased the photo.
All Durrant knew was that they were associates of the Hegre organization.
* * *
KARL DROVE DOWN the road, turning into the marine yard after showing his ID to the security guard at the gate. He was known as a regular in his position as a maintenance man working for one of the companies that serviced seagoing vessels using the Port Hedland facility. After a couple of minutes talking to the security guard, Karl drove on, along the dockside. He parked and hauled a couple of toolboxes from the back of his vehicle. One of the boxes contained the stolen diamonds that had been transported two thousand miles across the country by Durrant and his team.
As he made his way to one of the berthed ships, Karl acknowledged passing associates. He walked up a short gangway that allowed entry to the ship through an open cargo hatch, nodding to the crewman standing just inside.
“Just coming to fit that faulty pressure valve before you push off.”
The man nodded. “You know where to go.”
Karl nodded and continued on his way into the ship. He took a companionway that led belowdecks. Just before he reached the engine room he diverted and walked into the ship’s maintenance store. The guy in charge, known to Karl, took the stolen toolbox and vanished from sight behind the metal racks of parts where he opened the box, removed the heavy leather satchel holding the diamonds and placed it in a large metal locker. He returned to where Karl was waiting and handed back the toolbox,
