Dead Heat (38 page)

“I still don’t get how you found me at the cop shop.”

He shot her one of his looks that told her she hadn’t been listening properly. “My boss. We keep in touch.”

“Oh. Of course.”

They’d swept past the last house on the edge of Nulgarra and were heading northwest, as far as she knew, into the middle of
nowhere.

“Where are we going?”

“To rest up at my place.”

“You’ve a place?”

“What, you think I sleep in a tree?”

L
ee’s place was a rented timber cabin near Bountiful Point and up a steep winding forest track that looked as though it had
been made by a wandering goat. The simplicity of the cabin suited Lee. Four walls, a sturdy veranda, and an aluminum roof.
No frills.

He showed her a bedroom with a view of his car sitting in the clearing at the front of the cabin. “You want to sleep, put
your head down.”

“Maybe later.” She didn’t think she’d ever felt so wide awake. They’d be springing her mum tonight!

Lee made coffee for her, and green tea for him. She sat opposite him in the lounge with the sweet smell of gun oil at the
back of her mouth, and watched him clean his firearms. Two Glocks, a .357 Magnum, and a Beretta. She asked if she could handle
the Beretta, and he passed it over.

He raised an eyebrow when she checked the chamber, eased the slide back, and decocked it on an empty magazine.

“You do much shooting?”

“Just two hours on the range.”

The Beretta had a fifteen-round magazine, and was relatively handy too, weighing in, Lee told her, at around two pounds fully
loaded.

“Nice weapon,” she said, and passed it back.

“I prefer the Magnum. But you can have a Glock, if you like. For tonight. You know about the safe action trigger system?”

“Yes.”

Yumuru had taught her all about it. The Glock had a semi-cocked double action, which meant no fiddling about with external
safety catches or cocking hammers before the gun was ready to fire. You just loaded it and pulled the trigger. Yumuru had
reassured her she could drop the gun, kick it, or throw it over a cliff and it wouldn’t go off. There were three automatic
independently operating mechanical safeties, which were sequentially disengaged when the trigger was pulled, and which were
automatically reengaged when the trigger was released.

Lee finished cleaning the Magnum, then started over again.

“You’re supposed to clean them twice?”

“I find it helps settle the mind before a raid. Besides, as my grandmother would say over and over, you can never be too prepared.”
He gave a small smile. “She always said if I listened to her I’d grow up to be a wise man. Wish I’d paid more attention.”

He dropped oil onto a yellow pipe cleaner, which made a soft snicking sound as he cleaned the barrel, but she wasn’t looking
at his hands, just at his face, enchanted with the echo of the smile she’d seen, the way it had softened his face, brought
a sheen of wry amusement into his eyes.

“Something wrong?”

She looked away. “No. I was just wondering . . . when we’ve got my mother, where will we go?”

“We won’t be using my yacht for a quick getaway, since you trashed it.”

“I didn’t trash it! It blew up!”

“Not of its own accord.”

“I reckon it was a bomb,” she said.

“Yeah. You reckon right.”

She blinked. “You knew there was a bomb on your boat?”

“Yup.”

“Lee!” God, getting information from him was like trying to squeeze orange juice from a lump of coral.

“I instructed the captain to prep the boat and let it be known around town I was about to set sail. The RBG fell for it. I
saw the thing they’d planted the day you took your ride.” He shot her a look of admonishment. “If I’d known you were a Ferretti
joyrider, I’d have dismantled it.”

“There was talk of you with a woman . . .”

“Yeah. I spread the rumor. To unsettle the Chens a fraction.”

“Do the RBG know I’m alive?”

“I’d say so.”

“Expand, would you?”

“If I heard you were around, then Spider would too. And I did pick you up outside a police station. Word’ll be out.”

She mulled it over, how the Chens were still holding her mother despite
Songtao
’s demise, and a sick horror flooded through her at her next thought. “Are you
sure
Daniel’s not Spider?”

He looked up, and she saw with astonishment that she’d shocked him. “Jeez, you’ve got an even worse opinion of the world than
I have. And there was I thinking you liked the bloke.”

“I do!”

“Well, then. Trust your instincts.”

Lee spent the remainder of the day repetitively checking his guns, then his car. Fluid levels, filters, tires, even the windows
got a wash. Then he ran through his plan. Made her repeat it back. After she’d gotten it word perfect three times running,
he disappeared for a nap, suggesting she did too, but she was too hyped up to lie still enough to relax, let alone fall asleep.
She wondered what Daniel thought of her disappearing from the cop shop, and whether he was worried. She tried to read a paperback,
and by the time she’d gotten to the second chapter and realized she hadn’t taken in a word, Lee returned and started preparing
supper.

Honey duck and crackling with fresh green beans and steamed rice. Lots of preparation. Garlic to be finely chopped, fresh
ginger grated, shallots stripped, sesame seeds roasted.

“Do you always cook like this?”

“Nope. But I find it helps settle the mind—”

“Before a raid.”

It felt weird, helping him in the kitchen. Like she was playing sous-chef to Darth Vader, or Superman. She wasn’t quite sure
whether he was a superhero or a supervillian, and decided he was both.

“You’ve one hell of an appetite on you,” he said when they were finally on their way. “Must have been all that sea air.”

“You’re one hell of a cook,” she said. “Are you married?”

“What, in my job? You’re kidding?”

They fell silent as they headed into Nulgarra, Lee cruising cautiously, constantly checking his rearview mirror, his side
mirrors. It was eleven-thirty when he doused the lights, shut off the engine, and silently rolled to a halt a hundred yards
from the Mighty Chopstick.

Her breathing was shallow and she was trembling. She dreaded to think what she’d be like come 2
AM.
A basket case, probably.

Buzzing down their windows, Lee lit a cigar and exhaled steadily outside. “One thing I haven’t told you,” he said.

From the way he studied the tip of his cigar, she guessed she wasn’t going to like it.

“My boss has put out a rumor I’ve discovered who Spider is, but haven’t given him a name. Spider will do anything to wipe
me out, now he thinks I know who he is. And he’s up for a bonus if the RBG get hold of Mingjun—Jon Ming—for their Chinese
clients. Eighty grand or thereabouts, I’ve been told. One hell of a bonus, wouldn’t you say? Worth killing for.”

Flicking some imaginary ash from his shirt, he continued. “The RBG have told Spider I’m after your mum. But Spider doesn’t
want us to get Linette. He still thinks it’s the only way to keep you in line and tell the RBG where Jon is, thus guaranteeing
his bonus. He’s been blocking me all the way. He got Jason Chen to move Linette when he heard I was getting close. He even
suggested the restaurant. Immediately after we have Linette on board, my boss is going to tell the force what I’m doing, but
not where. Spider will come here like a shot, and try to take me down.”

His hands clenched and unclenched.

“And I’ll be waiting.”

Anxious, she said, “He won’t jeopardize Mum?”

“Nope. You’ll both be far away by then. No problem.”

Waiting was torture. Her natural instinct was to get stuck in and make things happen. Patience never had been one of her stronger
points. She tried to strike up a conversation with Lee, but since it was like chatting with a retarded mollusk, she gave up
after a while. She studied the street a thousandth time. There were rows of fig and palm trees and streetlights, with weatherboard
houses on the right and closed-up shops on the left. Milk bar, small grocery store, fishing and dive shop, and newsagent were
all flanked by the Mighty Chopstick at one end and the All Italia Pizza at the other.

Occasionally a vehicle drove past, but they hardly saw anyone on foot. One man walked his dog. Another popped from one house
to the next, and back again five minutes later, a pack of cigarettes in his hand. Through the open car window she could hear
the background noise she usually never noticed, a steady faint hum that was the sound of a town falling asleep; the mutter
of TVs, people chatting, stereos playing, phones ringing.

As the clock ticked to 1
AM
, the hum had all but gone, and the insects had taken over, clicking and chirruping. She could even hear a bunch of frogs
croaking.

Lee suddenly stiffened. A side door to the Mighty Chopstick cracked open and light spilled out. Lee slid down in his seat
and Georgia followed suit, eyes latched to the figure emerging. It was a slender Chinese man dressed in cotton trousers and
baggy shirt, shiny black shoes, and a big black belt with silver studs.

“One less to worry about,” said Lee.

“How many are in there guarding my mother?”

“Just the two now.”

“How do you know for sure?”

He gave her a sideways look. “I do this for a living.”

Oh, God. She kept forgetting his trademark. Disemboweling his victims for information. Did his DIMIA boss know he did that
sort of stuff? Surely not—the Aussie government wouldn’t sanction such torture.

Lee forced her to wait until 2:45
AM
before leaning over and raising his trouser leg. He had a holster next to his skin. She watched him withdraw a knife. Wickedly
curved, its steel was matte black, for night work she guessed, and had a blood gutter. A flashback to the air crash. He’d
hacked her hair free with that same knife.

He passed her a mobile phone and said, “Let’s run through it one more time.”

Tucking the mobile in her front shorts pocket, she repeated what he’d told her earlier in the day. She was to wait in the
driver’s seat of the car until he came out with Linette and make sure they were alone before driving forward to pick them
up. If anyone remotely suspicious arrived at the restaurant, she was to ring him and let his mobile ring just twice. No more,
no less. His would be set to vibrate. Hers too. If anything went wrong, she was to drive away immediately. Should he and Linette
not appear within twenty minutes, same story.

He gave a nod to tell her she’d gotten it right, then he took his Beretta and gently racked the slide to chamber a round.
Did the same with the Magnum. He gestured to her, and she primed the two Glocks, stuffing one in the small of her back, in
her waistband, the second in the well between the seats. Another nod, then he quietly opened his car door and slid outside.
She did the same, crept around to the driver’s seat and snicked the door shut, watching him move soundlessly down the road.

Slipping down the side of the restaurant, he vanished from sight. It was only then that she realized she’d been holding her
breath, and let it out in a little rush.

One minute. Two minutes. Three. How long would it take to pick a couple of locks, disable two men, and release a hostage?
Four. Five. She was getting mesmerized by the car’s digital clock and hurriedly started scanning the street. God, some lookout.
Must concentrate. Keep alert.

Quick flick to the clock. Six minutes.

All was still and silent, aside from the insects and frogs.

She didn’t know when she first noticed. A flash at the end of the street, then a pair of headlights turning into Crown Street.

Ducking low in her seat, she prayed. Please, just be going home after dinner with friends. Just be going home.

In the next ten seconds she saw the car sweep to its right and slow as it approached the Chinese restaurant.

It was a black Mercedes.

F
ingers unsteady, she called Lee’s number and let it ring twice. She pushed her phone back into her pocket and picked up the
Glock from the seat well. Her hands were sweaty, but the grip was ribbed and didn’t slip.

She didn’t take her eyes off the Merc. Three men climbed out. Two from the front, one from the back. The driver she didn’t
recognize, but the man from the passenger seat wore jeans and a leather jacket, even in the heat . . . Jason Chen turned to
his father and said something. They were too far away for her to make out their features or see their lips move, but she could
tell they were talking by their body language: little gestures, head movements, posturing.

They looked relaxed. No guns that she could see, although she didn’t doubt they were armed. And they hadn’t looked her way
or checked the street.

The three men walked steadily for the side of the restaurant, still talking. She debated whether to call Lee again, and decided
not to distract him. One warning would be enough.

She watched the men, terrified she’d see a head turn, look straight at her. Her hands were shaking, and she double-checked
that her finger was off the Glock’s trigger. She didn’t want to loose off a shot by accident.

When they vanished from sight, she stared after them.

I don’t believe this is happening.

Could she just sit there and wait for them to kill her personal hawk and drag her mother somewhere else?

The next second she clicked open the car door and slid outside, leaving the keys in the ignition. Glock in her right hand,
she forced herself around the hood of the Mitsubishi, trying to tread quietly, flinching at the tiny scrunches of grit against
her shoes. She took four more steps and was on the pavement, walking as fast and soundlessly as she could. She bent low and
headed for the side of the restaurant.

What she was going to do when she got there, she hadn’t a clue. Cautiously she peered down the narrow alley between the newsagent
and the restaurant. And jerked like she’d been shot when her mobile vibrated.