Redback (32 page)

Gideon rolled her shoulders through the almost tangible adrenalin in the humid night air and
wished they could forget about Alan bloody Wagner and watch the fights instead. She also knew she
should lose Jana in the crowd, to keep her out of danger. Of course that could lead to its own kind
of trouble, although, right now, the Doc had apparently been silenced by the splendid spectacle of
two super-fit athletes going for it, with all their weapons - fists, feet, shins, knees and
elbows.

Enthralled or not, Gideon couldn't really leave her on her own so she clasped Jana's forearm and
led the way towards Triko's stake-out point about 30 metres away.

Jana had felt like a roo transfixed in headlights, unable to take her eyes off the sheer
brutality of two men beating the life out of each other while a crowd of blood-sport spectators
chanted from the safety of their terraced seats. She happily let herself be dragged elsewhere, until
she saw how the next generation was already learning how to kick the stuffing out of overstuffed
bags. She stopped dead, forcing Gideon to do likewise and causing Coop to walk into them both.

'They're just children,' she pointed.

Gideon nodded. 'Yeah. Thai fighters usually start training at about six-years-old and have their
first official fights a couple of years later. By their early twenties - like the two guys back in
the main ring - they've probably won or lost a good 140 fights. In terms of fitness, stamina and
skill they put most western boxers and many athletes to shame. They train full-on for eight or more
hours a day, every single day, and fight about once a month.'

Jana shook her head. 'Just for the thrill of it?'

Gideon waggled her hand yes and no, and began walking again, weaving through the milling
spectators. 'Mostly they train and fight to support their families, if you can call a pittance -
equal to about 100 bucks a month - a liveable wage. If they're lucky or really good, though, they'll
get big fights at Lumpinee Stadium in Bangkok, or score an invitation to the King of Thailand's
Birthday Tournament.'

'Okay, but why do you seem so excited by it all?' Jana frowned.

'Because it's exciting,' Gideon shrugged. 'There's no better test of a finely turned mind and
body than several rounds in a ring against an evenly matched opponent. And it gets the juices
flowing, the blood pumping.'

'What yours?' Jana smiled, 'From watching it?'

'Oh yeah,' Coop grinned. He slowed in front of a hot food vendor just long enough to swap some
baht
for a savoury pastry. 'But like anything, you appreciate something even more if it's a
sport you also take part in.'

Jana glanced up at the good looking Shane Cooper, with his straight nose and unblemished face. He
seemed to have all his teeth too. 'You do this stuff, Coop?'

'We all do,' Gideon said over her shoulder, oddly irritated that Jana would assume it was a guy
thing. 'Muay Thai is the best kind of aerobic, flexibility and endurance workout there is.'

'Not to mention perfect unarmed combat training for us Redbacks,' Coop added softly.

'Oh, yeah, of course,' Jana said. Despite knowing why the Redbacks were in this pugilistic circus
tonight, she kept forgetting that Bryn and Coop were soldiers. Their touristy clothes, casual
chitchat and lack of urgency had a lot to do with that though.

'Are you saying you don't feel the rush in the air, Jana?'

'I'm not sure what I feel, Bryn. But the atmosphere here is such an alien environment: all
shouting men, ear-piercing music and smacking sounds, swamped by the smell of liniment, sweat and
testosterone.'

Gideon and Coop stopped walking, grinned at each other and then at Jana. 'Exactly.'

'Hi Dr Rossi,' Triko said as he stepped from behind the nearest tree.

'Hello Triko. That was impressive riding back there.'

'Why thank you.'

'Is Wanker, I mean Wagner still alive?' Coop asked.

'They're all in there,' Triko pointed to the only structure in the vicinity that had walls. It
was built on a larger concrete slab, and had several louver windows with drawn-down cane blinds. 'I
haven't heard any screaming or gunshots, so I assume there are still five men standing. One of the
Thai guys and the
songthaew
driver pissed off to watch the fights.'

'Couldn't we do that too,' Coop asked. 'After all, Wanker did walk into this all by himself. We
don't have to rescue him.'

Gideon ignored him. 'Triko, you got your T-dart?'

'Locked and loaded, Bryn.'

'Okay, you take an open window on the north-west side with the best sight line. Coop, you take
the north-east and cover any other exits. I'll take this side and the door. We go in together if
possible, or act as one on my usual command. If I decide to go in solo, as a distraction, then the
usual joining rules apply. '

'Where do I go?'

Gideon looked down at Jana.

'And don't you dare say away,' Jana added.

Gideon tried not to smile. 'See that crate near the empty boxing ring over there? Go sit on it.
You'll be close enough to watch us - which you plan to do, no matter what I say - but will be out of
harm's way. Okay.'

'Yes my Captain,' Jana nodded and promptly did what she was told.

'She's funny,' Triko said.

'She's a bloody nuisance,' Gideon snapped and waved her crack team into position.

Chiang Mai, Thailand
Sunday 10.15 pm

Gideon waited until Coop and Triko were in place before strolling towards the
building that was most likely Camp Dragon Blue's admin office. The walls, doors, shaded windows and
TV satellite dish on the roof implied it was a nerve-centre of some kind, or the manager's living
quarters.

The lights were on inside, and the occupants cast their shadows onto the cane blinds and out to
the world. Secure from being spotted by the opposition, unless they left the building, Gideon
stepped up onto the wide dark veranda and took an eavesdropping position between the door and the
open window beside it.

'Confirm five,'
Coop's whispered voice was heard by Gideon and Triko through their
implants.
'Redhead's gun with suppressor, in reach on table, Wanker is foetal in south-west
armchair.'

'Confirm T-dart line on locals, both on east wall couch,'
Triko added.

Gideon gave a soft double-click with her tongue to indicate 'silence until further notice' so she
could tune in to the conversation inside the room.

'Why should we? This kind of shit gets denied every day. It gets swept away,
covered up, ignored. Black ops are black, man. So what if some nosey backwoods Senator asks
questions because he heard a rumour on CNN. Just do what you and your old buddies normally do, pull
some schmuck out of prison and let him wear the public consequences - if there are any. Personally I
don't see why anyone has to know that we were even there.'

'Which explains why you were spilling your guts to a reporter,' the redhead said, pointing at the
Australian who actually drew his knees closer to his chest in a bid to become one with the
chair.

Unlike Alan Wagner, who'd simply been discarded in the corner, his commando contact had been
slammed into a kitchen chair with his hands tied behind his back.

'Oh man,' Steve said, 'how many times do I have to tell you, Kelman? He already knew. He was
there.'

'And he saw you, there, did he?' The redheaded 'Kelman' stepped towards Alan. 'Did you see Rawley
on Laui Island?'

'Me? No, I swear.' Alan said. 'We heard explosions and gunfire and shit like that, but we didn't,
I didn't see anything.'

'Well shit, Alan,' the captive Rawley said, kicking the table leg in front of him. Only he seemed
to notice Kelman's gun slide a couple of inches across the table top towards him. 'Why were you
asking for information?'

'Now that's a good question Rawley, although probably one you should've asked before now,' Kelman
said. He loomed over Alan again, like a vulture waiting for something to be dead enough to eat.

'Seriously guys, um, I didn't see you on that island,' Alan insisted. 'All we knew was that the
people who took us off Laui were not the ones firing the guns. And afterwards, well, a rumour just
went around the submarine.'

'The submarine?' Kelman echoed.

'The sub that took them to New Zealand,' Rawley explained. 'What was the rumour?'

Alan looked apologetic. 'Um, that US Navy SEALs had screwed up their mission to rescue us, so
they blew up the island instead.'

'And you think that was Rawley's team?' Kelman said.

Alan frowned. 'I don't understand.'

'What's not to understand, you cockroach?' Kelman said. 'Do you think we're Navy SEALs?'

'I've no idea what you are,' Alan said, honestly. 'That was the rumour. That's what I put out,
you know on the internet and places, in order to get a response.' He pointed at Rawley. 'First came
Steve, then came you, and now, here we all are.'

Kelman turned to face Rawley. 'What the hell were you thinking? If he thought you were SEALs why
did you contact him?'

'Because you - and which ever arsehole you work for at the moment - were going to hang me and
mine out to dry. I wanted to find out who had taken the goddamn hostages off that speck of sand. I
also wanted to know why this journalist hadn't done a story on his own rescuers but wanted to know
about us - and who we were.'

'And how much of our business were you going to tell him, in order to find all that out?'

Rawley gave Kelman a look of disgust. 'Fuck you Nick, and the whore you rode in on.'

'But you and yours already did that, Rawley. You messed up big time, and there are always
consequences. We were just going to take your team off the books for a while, that's all. But now,
this misguided solo mission of yours has put the kybosh on that. We don't screw with the press. Not
ever. Can you even guess how many people know about you now?'

'No idea. Why don't you ask him, goddamn it.' Rawley kicked the table again as he nodded towards
Alan. He knew full well that Nick Kelman was lying about the simple consequences, because this
blame-game had never been about anyone laying low for a while. Kelman's masters wanted a fall guy
regardless; but now Rawley had quite possibly signed his own death warrant instead. And put the
lives of his team and this useless Australian reporter at risk. Unless he could get his hands on
that gun.

Kelman stood with his arms akimbo in front of Alan. 'Who knows about us?'

Oh crap, Alan thought. 'Depends what you mean by 'know'. And, actually, what you mean by
us
- I mean
you
.'

Kelman shifted his weight from one leg to the other. 'Let me see, do I care enough to find out?
Or do I just wipe your face off with my fists?'

As Alan flung his hands up in front of his head, one of the Thai guys said something.

'Now that would be fun,' Kelman smiled. 'My friend Tano suggests we should see how many rounds
you can last against him, in the ring outside.'

'Okay, I'm sorry,' Alan said, glancing at the nothing-but-muscle Tano, who was now posing in some
kind of scary Karate Kid stance. 'Nobody knows who you dudes are,' he continued, trying to sound
cool. 'Not even me. Only two people know I was meeting Steve - that is, an unknown person - here in
Chiang Mai. One of them is in Sydney, the other is back at my hotel and has no idea what Steve looks
like, or that his name is Steve, which it probably isn't. And really, I swear on my life, I didn't
see anything on Laui, so I can't identify any of you.'

Kelman blinked. No one could be this stupid. Waving his hand between himself and Rawley, he
asked, 'And now? Can you identify us now?'

'Well, I assume you're both Americans, but beyond that, you could be Mouseketeers or Marines for
all I bloody know.'

Kelman glanced back at Rawley who, despite his predicament, shared the moment of disbelief.

And then something did dawn on Alan. He was totally alone in this foreign bloody city. No one
knew where he was, and he'd pretty much just admitted that. 'Mind you,' he said quickly, 'lots of
people know about the rumour which led me to Steve. For a start, all the other hostages and the
submarine crew were talking about it. And of course the soldiers who rescued us may even have, you
know, eyeballed you.'

'Eyeballed?' Kelman said. 'And who were
they
exactly?'

'What? Oh, I can't say - exactly. I signed a thing, you see. I'm not allowed to talk about them.
On top of which, technically, I actually have no idea who they were.'

'Why didn't you try to find out?' Kelman asked. 'I thought you were a journalist.'

Alan shrugged. Hadn't he just explained that? 'I am. But I'm a journo who signed a thing. That's
why I was doing my story on you guys.'

'Do you have any kids?'

'Um, no. Why?'

'I'm thinking that preventing you from procreating would be good for evolution,' Kelman said,
ignoring the sound of a breaking bottle and laughter close-by outside. He continued to loom large in
Alan's life instead.

'Did the soldiers who rescued you, actually see Rawley's team? Did they engage with them?' he
asked.

Alan squinted. 'I can't be sure, but I don't think so. Oh but hey, I've just remembered
something.' He pointed at Kelman for a hesitant second. 'I think someone there did see
you
.'

'Me?'

'Yeah, the crazy woman I was locked up with…'

Kelman slapped across his hand over Alan's mouth to shut him up. He couldn't ignore the giggling
and scuffling outside now that it seemed to be up close to the veranda. An instant later, an urgent
banging placed someone right at their door.

Kelman signalled Tano to check it out, but before the man could even react, the door swung wide
open. A couple of half-dressed, drunken tourists stumbled over each other in the doorway, until the
guy fell laughing at the woman's feet.