Read Online Alan McQueen - 01 - Golden Serpent by Mark Abernethy - Free Book Online
Authors: Mark Abernethy
Tags: thriller
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Mac.
Sawtell nodded.
‘There were more codes, grids and passwords than The Da Vinci Code , right?’
Sawtell nodded. Looked away slightly.
‘We knew who called it in about two hours after the air-to-grounds painted the joint - about an hour after the Agency told their stooges at CNN that it was a Taliban truck bomb.’
Sawtell’s nostrils fl ared. ‘Why?’
‘The Pakistanis were fi nally pulling their fi ngers out and shutting down the heroin-for-arms trade.’
‘Was Garrison part of it?’
‘Sure, and more than just Garrison - remember, the Agency kept him on the leash. They sent him to Burma after the fi reworks.’
Mac watched the soldier’s jaw muscles bulge. Your average special forces guy lived in fear of a friendly-fi re incident since it was one of those things you could never train for, couldn’t control. The idea of some slippery pen-pusher calling in friendly fi re on purpose was the kind of thing that made soldiers talk about calling in their own personal head-shot.
Mac didn’t want Sawtell distracted. He just wanted him to know the calibre of the person they were hunting.
‘So where does the girl fi t in?’ asked the soldier, fi nally breathing out.
‘Don’t know,’ lied Mac. He looked at his civvie watch. ‘Gotta go, mate - we’re on a plane at fi ve.’
Sawtell stood and turned for the door he’d come through, then stopped and fi xed Mac with an X-ray look. ‘That was some shit in Sibuco, huh?’
Mac’s heart sank. He wasn’t close enough to touch wood. He hated talking about missions where someone carked it. ‘Yeah, those are some boys you got there.’
‘They call you the Pizza Man, by the way,’ Sawtell winked. ‘Just thought I’d warn you.’
The street was even quieter now than an hour ago. It was almost midnight and Mac sauntered the three blocks to the Aussie residential compound. He concentrated on relaxing from his feet to his head, breathing hibiscus fumes deep and slow and trying to concentrate on pleasant things.
But he couldn’t clear his mind. Sawtell had asked, ‘Where does the girl fi t in?’
The fi le on Garrison said he’d been seen with Chinese agents. In Jakarta. He was believed to be fronting at least two identities in Chinese intelligence’s preferred banking domicile of the Cook Islands.
Now Garrison had inveigled himself into the Australian China Desk, the Hannah bird was missing and their last known sighting was a place Mac had vowed to never visit again.
The morning fl ight was landing them in Sulawesi - land of a thousand nightmares.
CHAPTER 5
Frank McQueen left nothing but shadow in his wake: rugby league star, North Queensland’s top detective and veteran of the Vietnam War.
When cattle-stealing season came around, all the young detectives put up their hands for Frank’s expeditions into the interior. Mac grew up poring over the newspapers with his sister Virginia, looking for the inevitable photograph of their dad dragging a couple of ringbarked bumpkins into the lock-up.
When Mac won a sports scholarship to Nudgee College in Brisbane, Frank gulped down some big ones. That was until he realised that the pride of Queensland Catholic education preferred rugby over rugby league. Frank regularly captained Country Police in their annual rugby league stoush with the Brisbane Cops and Frank didn’t like the idea of his son going to Nudgee to play a sport he declared was only for
‘wankers or ponies’.
Mac spent his privileged education smarting under the sneers of his father. Even making Queensland Schoolboys in his senior year couldn’t turn it. Everything hinged on Mac going into the Queensland cops and getting an armchair ride through the Ds as Frank’s Son.
The day he phoned his mother and told her he’d taken a job with a textbook company, his mum actually groaned. He didn’t tell her he was going to be a spook. Wasn’t allowed. Didn’t know that the fi b he told her would be a lifelong habit.
Frank got on the line,
Sawtell nodded.
‘There were more codes, grids and passwords than The Da Vinci Code , right?’
Sawtell nodded. Looked away slightly.
‘We knew who called it in about two hours after the air-to-grounds painted the joint - about an hour after the Agency told their stooges at CNN that it was a Taliban truck bomb.’
Sawtell’s nostrils fl ared. ‘Why?’
‘The Pakistanis were fi nally pulling their fi ngers out and shutting down the heroin-for-arms trade.’
‘Was Garrison part of it?’
‘Sure, and more than just Garrison - remember, the Agency kept him on the leash. They sent him to Burma after the fi reworks.’
Mac watched the soldier’s jaw muscles bulge. Your average special forces guy lived in fear of a friendly-fi re incident since it was one of those things you could never train for, couldn’t control. The idea of some slippery pen-pusher calling in friendly fi re on purpose was the kind of thing that made soldiers talk about calling in their own personal head-shot.
Mac didn’t want Sawtell distracted. He just wanted him to know the calibre of the person they were hunting.
‘So where does the girl fi t in?’ asked the soldier, fi nally breathing out.
‘Don’t know,’ lied Mac. He looked at his civvie watch. ‘Gotta go, mate - we’re on a plane at fi ve.’
Sawtell stood and turned for the door he’d come through, then stopped and fi xed Mac with an X-ray look. ‘That was some shit in Sibuco, huh?’
Mac’s heart sank. He wasn’t close enough to touch wood. He hated talking about missions where someone carked it. ‘Yeah, those are some boys you got there.’
‘They call you the Pizza Man, by the way,’ Sawtell winked. ‘Just thought I’d warn you.’
The street was even quieter now than an hour ago. It was almost midnight and Mac sauntered the three blocks to the Aussie residential compound. He concentrated on relaxing from his feet to his head, breathing hibiscus fumes deep and slow and trying to concentrate on pleasant things.
But he couldn’t clear his mind. Sawtell had asked, ‘Where does the girl fi t in?’
The fi le on Garrison said he’d been seen with Chinese agents. In Jakarta. He was believed to be fronting at least two identities in Chinese intelligence’s preferred banking domicile of the Cook Islands.
Now Garrison had inveigled himself into the Australian China Desk, the Hannah bird was missing and their last known sighting was a place Mac had vowed to never visit again.
The morning fl ight was landing them in Sulawesi - land of a thousand nightmares.
CHAPTER 5
Frank McQueen left nothing but shadow in his wake: rugby league star, North Queensland’s top detective and veteran of the Vietnam War.
When cattle-stealing season came around, all the young detectives put up their hands for Frank’s expeditions into the interior. Mac grew up poring over the newspapers with his sister Virginia, looking for the inevitable photograph of their dad dragging a couple of ringbarked bumpkins into the lock-up.
When Mac won a sports scholarship to Nudgee College in Brisbane, Frank gulped down some big ones. That was until he realised that the pride of Queensland Catholic education preferred rugby over rugby league. Frank regularly captained Country Police in their annual rugby league stoush with the Brisbane Cops and Frank didn’t like the idea of his son going to Nudgee to play a sport he declared was only for
‘wankers or ponies’.
Mac spent his privileged education smarting under the sneers of his father. Even making Queensland Schoolboys in his senior year couldn’t turn it. Everything hinged on Mac going into the Queensland cops and getting an armchair ride through the Ds as Frank’s Son.
The day he phoned his mother and told her he’d taken a job with a textbook company, his mum actually groaned. He didn’t tell her he was going to be a spook. Wasn’t allowed. Didn’t know that the fi b he told her would be a lifelong habit.
Frank got on the line,
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