Read Online Alan McQueen - 02 - Second Strike by Mark Abernethy - Free Book Online
Authors: Mark Abernethy
Ads: Link
chewing and they stared at one another.
‘Perhaps we could get Canberra to decide?’ asked Mac.
‘That won’t be necessary, McQueen. She’s yours. For now.’
Mac checked his voicemail as he made for the hotel’s side exit. Most were from Julie or Chester. The one from Jenny said she wouldn’t be able to catch up with him before he left for New York because she was being rotated into Kuta immediately for the bombing. He wondered what his relationship with the cops would turn into once Jenny started stirring things up.
Outside, Mac found John Morris with another cop in the side garden area.
‘Well, look what the cat dragged in,’ Morris sneered, his dark cop moustache rising up like a living thing.
‘Boys,’ said Mac, offering his hand to the bloke he didn’t know - a tall, athletic Anglo with a tanned, shaved head. ‘Alan McQueen, DFAT.’
‘Jason Cutler, Federal Police.’
John Morris cut into the pleasantries. ‘Jase, if you wouldn’t mind giving us a second,’ he snapped, impatient.
Jason fl icked his butt into the shrubs and left without saying another word.
Six foot tall, short dark hair, squarish face and built like a front-rower, John Morris was about ten years older than Mac. His pale blue business shirts were always perfectly pressed and he wore a tie regardless of the temperature. Even in fi eld operations, Morris never wore overalls like most other AFP cops did.
‘Came to gloat, did ya, Macca?’
‘Mate, I’m supposed to be getting packed for the UN gig in New York. I didn’t want this,’ sighed Mac.
‘An outside agency running the media side? That’s bad enough.
But shit, Macca - DFAT is coordinating the whole show? I don’t even know where to start with that.’ Morris fl icked his butt, fi shed immediately for another smoke. ‘These incidents are what we train for. Since when did the Australian Federal Police need babysitting?’
Mac didn’t want to get into it. He had a girlfriend who had laid it all out for him on many occasions with a great deal more force than Morris was giving it.
‘John, I don’t think it’s like that.’
‘Oh, really, Macca? So why’d they bring in a spook from Manila to run the media side? Afraid we might tell the truth?’
‘Mate, do you mind?’ said Mac, eyes darting around the garden.
‘I got no problem with intel, you’ve got a job to do. But that, out there,’ said Morris, pointing with his slightly shaking cigarette hand,
‘that is a fucking mess, right? My guys are telling me a hundred and fi fty, maybe two hundred dead. We’ve got hospitals where the burns victims are lying in storage rooms, screaming their lungs out ‘cos there’s no morphine! We’ve got two blast sites fi lled with burnt body parts, Macca.’
‘Look, John -‘
‘Don’t fucking look me, McQueen!’ Morris cut in, his voice starting to tremble. ‘Our fi rst job is to build a comms centre and victim database that can handle the incoming. Those are real families with real pain, mate, and most of them are Aussies. Okay?!’
Morris’s eyes were wet now and Mac did the Aussie male thing, looked away for a few seconds. Morris was right: it was a fucking mess out there. As Mac looked back, Morris was dabbing his left eye with the back of his hand.
‘Fucking pollen,’ said Mac, shoving his hands in the pockets of his overalls and waiting as Morris collected himself.
‘Macca, I don’t care how much spooky, high-level shit you’re trying to juggle here - in fact, I don’t want to know. But here’s the deal: if you know anything that has any bearing on this investigation, then I want to know, okay? You hold out and you and me, mate, we’ll be going at it like cat and dog. Okay?’
Mac thought that sounded fair enough, nodded, and then said,
‘The Russians are in town. GRU, I think.’
‘That intel?’
Mac nodded. ‘Military. Answers to the general staff. I spoke with one of them this morning.’
‘And?’
‘And he wanted to know if we
‘Perhaps we could get Canberra to decide?’ asked Mac.
‘That won’t be necessary, McQueen. She’s yours. For now.’
Mac checked his voicemail as he made for the hotel’s side exit. Most were from Julie or Chester. The one from Jenny said she wouldn’t be able to catch up with him before he left for New York because she was being rotated into Kuta immediately for the bombing. He wondered what his relationship with the cops would turn into once Jenny started stirring things up.
Outside, Mac found John Morris with another cop in the side garden area.
‘Well, look what the cat dragged in,’ Morris sneered, his dark cop moustache rising up like a living thing.
‘Boys,’ said Mac, offering his hand to the bloke he didn’t know - a tall, athletic Anglo with a tanned, shaved head. ‘Alan McQueen, DFAT.’
‘Jason Cutler, Federal Police.’
John Morris cut into the pleasantries. ‘Jase, if you wouldn’t mind giving us a second,’ he snapped, impatient.
Jason fl icked his butt into the shrubs and left without saying another word.
Six foot tall, short dark hair, squarish face and built like a front-rower, John Morris was about ten years older than Mac. His pale blue business shirts were always perfectly pressed and he wore a tie regardless of the temperature. Even in fi eld operations, Morris never wore overalls like most other AFP cops did.
‘Came to gloat, did ya, Macca?’
‘Mate, I’m supposed to be getting packed for the UN gig in New York. I didn’t want this,’ sighed Mac.
‘An outside agency running the media side? That’s bad enough.
But shit, Macca - DFAT is coordinating the whole show? I don’t even know where to start with that.’ Morris fl icked his butt, fi shed immediately for another smoke. ‘These incidents are what we train for. Since when did the Australian Federal Police need babysitting?’
Mac didn’t want to get into it. He had a girlfriend who had laid it all out for him on many occasions with a great deal more force than Morris was giving it.
‘John, I don’t think it’s like that.’
‘Oh, really, Macca? So why’d they bring in a spook from Manila to run the media side? Afraid we might tell the truth?’
‘Mate, do you mind?’ said Mac, eyes darting around the garden.
‘I got no problem with intel, you’ve got a job to do. But that, out there,’ said Morris, pointing with his slightly shaking cigarette hand,
‘that is a fucking mess, right? My guys are telling me a hundred and fi fty, maybe two hundred dead. We’ve got hospitals where the burns victims are lying in storage rooms, screaming their lungs out ‘cos there’s no morphine! We’ve got two blast sites fi lled with burnt body parts, Macca.’
‘Look, John -‘
‘Don’t fucking look me, McQueen!’ Morris cut in, his voice starting to tremble. ‘Our fi rst job is to build a comms centre and victim database that can handle the incoming. Those are real families with real pain, mate, and most of them are Aussies. Okay?!’
Morris’s eyes were wet now and Mac did the Aussie male thing, looked away for a few seconds. Morris was right: it was a fucking mess out there. As Mac looked back, Morris was dabbing his left eye with the back of his hand.
‘Fucking pollen,’ said Mac, shoving his hands in the pockets of his overalls and waiting as Morris collected himself.
‘Macca, I don’t care how much spooky, high-level shit you’re trying to juggle here - in fact, I don’t want to know. But here’s the deal: if you know anything that has any bearing on this investigation, then I want to know, okay? You hold out and you and me, mate, we’ll be going at it like cat and dog. Okay?’
Mac thought that sounded fair enough, nodded, and then said,
‘The Russians are in town. GRU, I think.’
‘That intel?’
Mac nodded. ‘Military. Answers to the general staff. I spoke with one of them this morning.’
‘And?’
‘And he wanted to know if we
Similar Books
