Dead Heat (26 page)

Georgia was suddenly caught in a vision of walking along the Lotus Healing Center’s corridor behind Joanie in her too-tight
dress.
Yumuru can’t cure cancer, but he’s sure got a talent for croc bites.

“Some days, I can’t believe what we created,” Jon added.

Both of them glanced around as coffee arrived. It came fresh with a plunger, cream, a plate of assorted doughnuts, and a pretty
smile. Georgia looked at the doughnuts and wished she wasn’t so wired. She hadn’t been able to eat breakfast with the thought
of flying looming, and she knew she needed fuel to keep her going, but she couldn’t contemplate eating. Not right now. Later.

When the door had closed, Jon stubbed out his cigarette, lit another, picked up a chocolate doughnut and took a bite. He spoke
while he ate.

“You see, I realized we had something so amazing, so incredible, that I could emigrate to Australia at last. Not that I could
apply for emigration without my employers knowing, of course. So I decided to take a chance and I took all our research and
fled the country two years ago.”

He took another bite of doughnut and, while still chewing, took a drag of his cigarette.

“As you can imagine, my work colleagues were not impressed. I left nothing for them to work with. Nothing.” He suddenly looked
cheerful. “They will have to find their own crocodiles.”

“So why are the Chens involved?”

“Oh, because the company I worked for in China want me and my research back. Suzie’s work. They employed the Chens, the Red
Bamboo Gang, to track me down. If they got hold of Suzie, they would have used her to blackmail me to return to China. If
they got hold of me, they would have blackmailed Suzie.”

He finished the last bite of his doughnut in thoughtful silence.

“However, it wouldn’t surprise me if the gang found out just how valuable we are, and want to find us for themselves so they
can hold us to auction.” His face fell. “Hold me to auction, I mean.”

“How did they find Suzie, and not you?”

Another drag of cigarette. Another industrial-sized cloud of smoke.

“If she hadn’t wanted to help people, they would never have found her.” He grimaced. “She left many friends behind when she
left China, friends who wanted to follow her to Australia. She paid snakeheads to bring them over. The snakeheads are run
by the gangs. Gang members know each other, they talk.”

Georgia jumped six inches out of her chair when Cookie suddenly convulsed and gave a loud bark.

“She is dreaming. Don’t worry about her.”

The giant schnauzer’s legs were jerking wildly, as though she was chasing a burglar, albeit horizontally.

Watching the dog galloping through its dream, Georgia ran over what she knew. Ronnie Chen and Lee had sailed up to Nulgarra
to snatch Suzie for the RBG, but Lee had killed Ronnie Chen to keep Suzie for himself. A small spurt of doubt. Suzie hadn’t
acted like she’d been kidnapped, but like she’d been with Lee willingly.

“Do you know a Lee Denham?” she asked.

Jon blinked. “But of course. It is he who helped Suzie’s friends.”

Along with Paul and Julie Zhong, Vicki, and the old crone. Mr. People Smuggler extraordinaire, who even wrote letters to them
afterward. Weird, but it could explain Suzie’s trust in Lee.

“Jon, do you have a visa yet? To allow you to stay here?”

“As soon as the Australian Medical Association passes our tests, the Australian government will give me one. They won’t want
me to return, with all my knowledge, to China. They will want to keep me.”

“But if you’ve presented them with the antibiotic, don’t they know you’re here illegally?”

“I haven’t received a deportation notice yet.” He looked amused. “Besides, as the owner of Quantum Research, Suzie presented
it and in total confidentiality until their decision. I am just one of the scientists listed, and as Jon Ming, not Wang Mingjun.”

“How can she own it if she’s an illegal immigrant?”

He reached into a drawer on his right and threw across an Australian passport. “Who says she is?”

Georgia opened it to see Suzie’s name. The photograph was of a Chinese woman around Suzie’s age. The resemblance was minimal.

“Is this forged?”

He shrugged. “It is her passport.”

Yumuru had said he had paid Suzie cash every month. For the snakeheads, no doubt.

“How did you manage to set all this up?” She gestured around the room. “Must have cost a packet.”

“We have a wealthy benefactor. He funds us, we do the work.”

“Who is he?”

He flicked ash into the ashtray and said, “He is a sleeping partner only, and likes to be anonymous.”

Georgia frowned. “Who owns Quantum Research now?”

“Our sleeping partner. I am merely an employee.”

Perhaps this sleeping partner had sabotaged the airplane to own Quantum Research? It was another possibility.

“Jon, I’d really like to know his name.”

He shook his head. “Sorry.”

“Look, if you don’t tell me, I’ll only ring a cop friend of mine to help me out. You wouldn’t want the police turning up on
your doorstep, would you? Being an illegal immigrant?”

He was taken aback. “Are you threatening me?”

“One hundred percent.”

Taut silence, then he said, “His name is Marc Wheeler.”

The name rang a bell, but she couldn’t think why. “Where can I reach him?”

“He used Suzie’s address.”

She suddenly remembered the letter from American Express lying with Suzie’s unopened mail. It had been addressed to Marc Wheeler.

“Isn’t there another way of contacting him?” she asked.

Without looking at her, he shook his head. “How are you going to get your mother back? Without using me?”

She thought, then said, “They went ballistic over Suzie’s disk, so I’d say they’d only be too happy with the formula of the
antibiotic.”

He looked appalled.

“Is there any way you can fake a formula and put it on disk for me? So I can give them something they think is legitimate,
but doesn’t actually work?”

Slowly, a smile crept onto his face. “Oh yes. Very much. In fact, I can give you something even better. I suggest giving them
an exciting taster of the antibiotic with one disk, which they can check out, then in exchange for the whole formula you will
get your mother. And they will have a real formula, and will recognize it as such. One for the common cold, which should keep
them busy for quite a while.”

He stubbed out his cigarette with a flourish. “I shall go and do that now. It shouldn’t take long. Everything is to hand.
Then I can take Cookie for a pee.”

Cookie looked as though she needed a pee as much as she needed a mortgage, and when Jon sprang to his feet and shot out of
the room, his guard dog raised her head from the dead sheep, watched the door bang behind him, then turned and looked at Georgia.

Georgia said, “Hello, Cookie. Are we friends yet?”

The dog held her eyes a second, then slumped back into her supine position.

Georgia looked out of the window at the string of cars parked there. Two Nissans, three Mitsubishis, a Toyota, and a Suzuki.
All Japanese. She studied the two motorcycles and saw that one was a Yamaha, the other a Ducati. The Ducati had sweeping red
curves and huge, fat tires. A pair of massive exhausts thrust skyward. She bet it would go like a rocket.

She was gazing at the bike, mind drifting over what Jon had told her, when she saw a figure dart across the expanse of concrete
forecourt. Then another. Both crouched low. Both had guns in their hands. Assault rifles.

She hadn’t ever known a more terrible feeling. She felt as though a bomb had exploded inside her, as if her lungs were being
ripped apart. She couldn’t get her breath.

The Chens were here.

She’d led them to Jon.

G
eorgia leaped to her feet and lunged for the door. Cookie made it first. The dog was blocking her way, growling.

“Get out of the way!” she yelled. “Jon’s in danger!”

Cookie peeled her lips back and showed her teeth, bunching her hindquarters as though about to spring.

Georgia dived for the phone. Dialed triple zero. The instant it was answered she shouted, “Robbery in progress! Quantum Research
in Tallagandra, they’re armed! They’re going to kill me!” and dropped the phone, leaving the line open.

She had to get Jon and escape.

Cookie was still at the door, a growl rumbling deep in her throat.

Georgia glanced through the window. Saw three more figures scooting past, assault rifles at the ready. An army. They’d brought
a goddamn army.

“Look, there’s your bloody enemy! Not me!” She pointed at the window and, amazingly, Cookie darted past her and heaved her
front paws onto the window sill.

Georgia grabbed her backpack and raced to the door, yanked it open, and charged outside. She sprinted down the corridor. Seconds
later Cookie galloped past her, ears flat, legs pumping, alert to danger and racing for her master. Georgia picked up speed,
trying to keep the dog in sight. She passed reception, yelling, “Call the police!” at the bewildered girl behind the desk,
“Call triple zero,
now
!” and blasted through a swing door, down another corridor, where Cookie swung right at the end.

Jesus, the dog was going so fast, she was going to lose her.

Running flat out, Georgia hit the end of the corridor, bounced her left wrist agonizingly against the wall, and pounded after
the dog.

She came to the end of the corridor and glanced right, then left. Cookie was butting her head against a door, looking at her.
Georgia belted for the door, opened it. Cookie muscled her aside and started barking madly. Georgia fell inside a room filled
with gleaming white and chrome equipment. People looked up from their work, expressions shocked. Jon was halfway down a long
bench, pulling a disk from a computer, his face alarmed.

“They’re here,” she gasped. “The Chens. They’re here.”

Half a second’s pause as he registered her words, then he leaped to his feet.

“Fire!” he shouted. “Everyone out! Fire!”

Grabbing a handful of disks, Jon tore down the room, Cookie cantering along with him, treading on his heels. He sprang for
a fire alarm. Smashed the glass and pressed a big red button. The noise was deafening.

Everyone snatching things, shouting, running outside.

“Here.” He shoved two disks at her. “For your mother.”

Into her backpack, zipped up tight. Backpack shrugged on. Cookie barking fit to burst. Alarms shrieking. Jon running for the
door, shouting, “Follow me!”

Rushing left, breath scalding her throat, racing for the fire door ahead. Knocking people aside, infecting them with panic,
more shouts, a couple of screams.

Bursting outside, Jon swung left around the building, Cookie cruising easily beside him, tongue lolling. Left again and they
were suddenly in the forecourt and Georgia slowed, frantically trying to see the men with their assault rifles . . .

A crack of gunshot, but Jon didn’t react, duck for cover, or dive to the ground, just shouted, “Get on the bike!”

He was astride the Ducati, the engine bursting into life, roaring.

“Cookie, stay! Guard!” He swept his arm to the building. The dog paused a second, then spun away.

“Georgia, hurry! Get on!”

He was still shouting, and the second Georgia swung a leg over the saddle behind him, he accelerated full-throttle. Without
thought, she threw her arms around his waist to avoid getting thrown off, clinging on to rolls of flesh as he pelted around
the side of the warehouse.

Crack! Crack!

Still off balance, Georgia tried to wriggle into position and the bike suddenly jinked to one side. He shouted, “Wait! Keep
still!”

Half on, half off the bike, Georgia clung on to Jon as he blasted past the parked trucks, heading for the gate. Georgia took
a peek ahead, and saw the security guard slumped next to his hut, unconscious or maybe dead. The gate was wide open. Two men
stood there, caught unawares. She saw their startled faces. They were yelling at each other and trying to get their rifles
up. Jon accelerated straight for them. No hesitation. He was going to take them down.

At the last minute, they dived aside, faces stretched as they shouted, and the bike was through. Decelerating fast to turn
into the street, he put the bike into a skidding turn, Georgia hanging on to him like grim death even though she reckoned
they were going to tip over. She could feel the bike’s rear wheel slipping out from under her and she thought,
This is it, it’s all over,
but the bike was righting itself and as Jon aligned the machine she gave a huge lunge and settled on it straight.

One of the men loosed off a shot. She heard the
clank
as it hit metal, then Jon yelled, “Hang on!” and he opened the throttle. Both fists straight back. She’d bet Jon had never
asked his bike to go at full speed, but it certainly rose to the occasion. Like the purebred it was, it dug its tires in briefly,
then rocketed forward like a pellet released from a slingshot.

The noise as they screamed ahead was deafening, like the sound of a fighter jet taking off. Buildings streamed past in a blur,
the engine’s howl ricocheting off the brickwork, and Georgia was waiting for the boom when they broke the sound barrier, but
the shriek of the engine was so loud she never heard it.

They charged straight through the red light at the end of the street, dodging a bus and a yellow sedan, veered right to pass
a taxi, then swung left and accelerated to overtake a slow-moving truck, narrowly missing a scooter that wobbled violently
in their wake, horn beeping in protest.

Then she heard a siren. Then another, and another. Three cop cars blasted past, hotly pursued by two fire engines. A police
van brought up the rear. They were all heading to Quantum Research.

People leaped aside as Jon charged the bike across a junction with a pedestrian light flashing. Glimpses of shocked and angry
faces flashed past.

They rode fast with blaring horn along a highway, veering around buses and shaving the odd cyclist by inches. Other horns
blasted back, drivers making rude gestures and yelling at them. Another siren started up. The wail steadily increased and
she realized the siren wasn’t going to Quantum Research. It was coming after
them.