The Delta Chain (24 page)

Letterfield was astounded. ‘Good
God…Florida?’ The photographs remained gripped in his fingers as
though he was too mesmerised to let go. ‘You’ve clearly put in a
great deal of time and effort on this, Hank. What do you make of
it?’

‘There’s a huge market for croc skins on the
international black market. A gang like this is not totally
unusual. But these certainly aren’t your garden-variety reptile
hunters. They have a state-of-the-art river craft, with
sophisticated gear, not just for avoiding detection, but also for
tracking the reptiles.

‘What’s more, these men or at least the man
leading them seems to be a sadistic psychopath. Seems to me that he
enjoys hunting and killing people as much as he does the crocs. I’m
here because, along with Jean, I want these killers caught. I saw
this as a starting point. Your Federal police need to become
involved and to work in tandem with our F.B.I.’

‘Have you spoken with either of those bodies
yet?’

‘No. First, I wanted to establish with your
Wildlife Authority that you support our belief these cases are
linked. One of your trackers is an eyewitness to the boat-’

‘Yes. Walter Coolawirra.’

‘If he can verify the boat he saw is the same
one in our photos, then we have the evidence we need for the
police.’

‘You certainly don’t beat about the bush,
Hank.’ Letterfield buzzed through to his secretary. ‘Eileen, could
you get in touch with Walter. I know he’s on leave, but explain
it’s urgent.’ The Wildlife Preservation boss then turned his
attention to Jean. ‘I’m very sorry to learn of your loss, Mrs.
Farrow. I hope your visit here will be the beginning of the end for
these murderers.’

Jean nodded, appreciating the compassion in
his voice.

Nothing could have prepared Daniel for the
sights that greeted him when he stepped from the bus at the
Brisbane terminal. He had, of course, seen photographs of the
teeming masses crowded into the narrow streets with the steel and
glass skyscrapers towering overhead. But standing in the midst of
it, pushed along by the flow of a moving column of people, he felt
his panic rise. His heart thumped as he somehow manoeuvred to the
side of the street. He caught his breath while watching the passing
parade.

It seemed strange to him but he could see it
was second nature to these people. Just another day. He marvelled
at the cars, filling every available piece of the street, yet
moving at high speeds.

He should have felt disgust in the middle of
such great evil. He certainly should have felt fear given the crime
rate in large cities and the too-busy-to-stop, don’t-care attitude
of the human race. Perhaps it was because his senses were numbed,
and because of his tiredness, but he felt neither of those
emotions. He simply felt like an ant in a universe too large, too
complex to comprehend. He felt insignificant.

Presently, Daniel found his way to a quiet
area of parks and thoroughfares. The bridge that spanned the
Brisbane River stood in the distance. He’d always been a good
observer and he scanned the strange urban landscape, taking it all
in. He’d noticed the dishevelled elderly men in dirty clothes, who
lay on and around the park benches in a certain area, asking for
money from passers-by. None of these men had food but a few of them
drank from bottles of alcohol.

Late in the day, as a sinking sun ushered in
the pale hues of twilight, Daniel followed the men. They wandered
in a loosely formed group to an older-style brick building on the
outskirts of the city centre.

In his readings, Daniel had learned of the
people who had no homes, no jobs, and whom society mostly shunned.
He’d read of the community shelters where the homeless could obtain
meals and lodgings. With no money or resources of his own, Daniel
prayed he too could find refuge along with these other
drifters.

Early evening. A meal of sausages, mushy
potato and peas. Daniel sat at one of the long wooden tables
alongside men and women who ate wolfishly as though there was no
tomorrow. Most were silent, some chatted among themselves. Muted
sounds came from a weathered looking television in the corner of
the room.

There had been no television or radio at The
Com. Fascinated, Daniel’s eyes never left the coloured picture on
the screen as he ate his meal.

A news broadcast was underway. Half way
through the program the face of a young woman was shown, followed
by pictures of two other young people. Daniel stopped munching and
his fork fell from his grasp. He knew that first face. It was a
girl he’d seen before but he didn’t recall her name.

He jumped up from the table and moved quickly
to the television set, squatting in front so he could hear the
sound. The newsreader, an attractive brunette with serious eyes,
continued : ‘…The official line is that a task force led by
Superintendent Ron O’Malley will look into similarities between the
three drowning cases. And, as coincidence would have it, the
location where the most recent victim was found…’ the picture of
the fair haired girl Daniel recognised appeared as an inset in the
top left corner of the screen, ‘…is Northern Rocks, the coastal
holiday centre just two hours drive north of Brisbane, the scene of
our next story. An unusual piece of industrial sabotage is proving
highly embarrassing to the one of the world’s top scientific
researchers…’

Daniel sat back on his haunches, adrenaline
pumping through his body. If he was to find Elizabeth then the
first step would be to find out about the girl who’d drowned in
that coastal town.

The next stop in his quest would be the place
called Northern Rocks.

An hour after dawn. The rising sun brought
the colours of the Marrakai wilderness to life. From a vantage
point near the riverbank, Walter, more than half way up a massive
tree, searched the distance with his binoculars.

This time he found what he was looking for. A
thin stain of smoke in the air, its aroma attracting a flock of
birds. Beneath it, barely visible among the dense ferns, the stern
of a boat.

‘We’ve found them,’ he called excitedly to
Kate, who waited at the base of the tree.

They hiked on, taking another two hours to
get within striking distance of the boat. They might never have
seen it, if it hadn’t been for Walter’s acute vision, hearing and
sense of direction. Canvas sheets were hoisted like sails and
painted in a mural that blended perfectly with the surrounds.
‘Camouflage,’ Walter pointed out to Kate, ‘impossible to see from a
distance.’

‘Which explains how they vanished every time
a search was mounted,’ Kate said. ‘Just as you suspected.’

‘Yes. They moor by river’s edge, hoist
canvasses on all sides and blend in like a chameleon.’

‘But how can they react so quickly?’

‘Just a guess, but probably these fellas got
long range video and sonar, giving them plenty warning.’

‘I’m guessing that’s ideal for spotting boats
and planes and 4WD’s, but how do they zero in on a couple of people
on foot?’

‘They must have lookouts. Or maybe they have
other methods.’ There was an unnerving silence between them for a
few moments. ‘As I said before, this no ordinary poaching gang. My
rule stands,’ he reminded Kate, ‘one attempt with the homing
device, then we’re gone.’

‘I know the rule,’ she replied in a half
whisper, her eyes fixed on the boat.

It was quiet until late in the afternoon. A
long, tiring wait for Walter and Kate.

Walter had brought them onto a bluff of
thick, long ferns. They had a clear view of the boat’s stern. They
both trained their binoculars on the boat and it was twilight when
they witnessed the spectacle of a crocodile capture in progress.
They could hear the squeals of a wild pig. It was strung by ropes
to a tree branch, hanging over the river.

‘Seems we’re in for a show,’ said Walter.

The boat was further along the river. There
was still no sound or movement on board, nothing to alert the
crocodile, which glided downstream toward the frantic pig. The
moment the croc’s jaws closed around the leg of the pig, a net fell
and enclosed the croc in its trap. ‘Canvas mesh,’ said Walter, ‘the
same kind used to lift heavy objects out of the holds of ships.’
They watched as the metallic whirr of a hydraulic system dragged
the netted pig to the boat, and then hauled it up and over the
deck. Men, armed with rifles, appeared. A pellet was shot into the
croc’s hide. ‘They keep them sedated for the trip back,’ Walter
told Kate.

The crocodile stopped moving and the canvas
opened to deposit the reptile into a recessed pool, built into the
deck and filled with river water. The pig was removed and another
mesh of canvas netting was then fitted into place over the pool.
‘Neat,’ said Kate. The sun, sinking toward the horizon, cast long,
deep shadows.

‘Now, while they’re distracted,’ Walter said
urgently, ‘one chance.’

Kate took aim with the specially designed
mini-gun that would shoot the micro transmitter. The sudden urgency
and the need for precision collided within Kate, creating a panic
so palpable it was like an assault. Her hand shook.

It was Walter’s calm, measured tones, his
words of reassurance, that Kate would remember gratefully long
after the moment. It was as though, just briefly, she was filled
with an unnatural strength and focus.

She fired.

Through the telescopic lens Kate saw that she
hit her mark – the metal rim that ran between the pool and the
deck. If, as Walter suspected, this section was later separated
from the rest of the boat, for transport, then the transmitter
would still be part of that journey.

‘Let’s go. Quickly,’ said Walter.

They moved stealthily through the thick ferns
that dominated the bank, then away from the river. Walter felt a
strange tingle up and down his spine. There was no practical way he
could ever explain or prove it but he knew, beyond doubt, they were
being watched.

Total dark didn’t come until early evening
and they kept moving until then, Walter hoping their speed and the
cover of the forest would hide them from any pursuers. Kate was
exhausted but Walter insisted they use every moment of the fading
light to keep moving. They set up a camp with just the ghostly pall
of a crescent moon by which to see; Walter would not even allow the
use of flashlights to betray their position.

He insisted Kate sleep first while he kept
watch – then allowed her to sleep right through.

It was 4AM when he did wake her. Despite
Kate’s protests at Walter taking the whole watch, he insisted they
have a light breakfast and then head off just before first light.
‘It’s essential we do not allow the hunters, if they are following,
to catch up.’ Kate marvelled at his ability, at this early hour and
out here in the wilderness, to flash a cheesy grin. ‘Never forget
the story of the tortoise and the hare, eh Kate?’

He didn’t betray the full extent of his
unease, or his sense that the hunters were definitely on their
trail.

Adam woke in a cold sweat. 4.45 AM. He sat up
in bed, threw his legs over the side, and tried to remember what it
was he’d been dreaming. He’d never been one to recall his dreams
too well, and he could only grasp that he’d been dreaming of Kate
and that something had been horribly wrong.

Where was she?

For the first time in his life, Adam found
that the woman he was dating was invading his thoughts with
increasing frequency, filling those thoughts with her beauty, her
humour, and her intelligence.

And in this particular instance, worrying
him.

The girlfriends he’d had in the past hadn’t
loomed so large in his life. He believed, as he’d revealed once to
Brian Markham, that he had a fear of getting into a serious
relationship. Instinctively he felt this was because his parents’
marriage had fallen apart after his sister’s death. He’d allowed
past relationships to drift away.

It was the opposite with Kate.

He’d come to know her well enough to be sure
she would’ve been in contact.

He showered and left early for his drive to
Brisbane and the Task Force meeting. A radio talk show couldn’t
distract him from wondering about Kate.

Kate tramped at high speed across the rough,
wet terrain at Walter’s heels. The wilderness dawn was as magical
as it had been the day before. The grasses, ferns, marshes, water,
birds and stunning natural colours came to life around her; a
complex cosmic plan beyond human comprehension but possessed of the
most natural beauty and energy.

She understood the anger Walter had felt
toward the hunters even before Greg’s murder – anger at the
perverse invasion of this virgin country; anger toward the men
whose evil was an insult to the sanctity of these lands. Out here,
divorced from the structures, technology and history of
civilisation, the earth seemed to make more sense to Kate than it
ever had before.

This was what Greg must have loved about the
wilderness.

All of a sudden Walter came to a stop. He
stood deathly still for a moment, listening.

‘We’re being followed, Kate. And they’re
close.’

‘But how? How could they be
close?
’

‘Those fellas been moving much more quickly
than I could have guessed. Somehow they made up ground during the
night.’

Kate was breathing hard. She’d been hoping
for a rest. ‘God no…’