Leopard Dreaming (38 page)

Garland bolted across the road, dropping her coffee in the nearest street bin along the way, dodging traffic and blocking the bike before the ranger could back out fully from its narrow parking space. Catching stunned looks from Sergeant Brette and Lance Corporal Finnigan in the old Landcruiser, she signalled them to hold their positions.

‘General?’ Biche took off her helmet and gaped at her in surprise. ‘I didn’t expect you to catch me so fast. And never on foot. Where were you?’

‘Are you saying you
wanted
to be caught?’ Garland started to sweat, knowing she’d broken cover in view of the hotel, which made the thought of Gabby as a lure all the more threatening. ‘You have a message from Lockman?’ As a field operative, he was far too experienced to let such things occur by accident.

Gabby shrugged. ‘I’m not sure if I’m supposed to tell you.’

‘Did he warn you not to trust me?’

‘No, actually he warned me not to speak to anyone from your office unless I was sure it was really you.’

Garland smiled. ‘And are you?’

Gabby leapt off and hugged her. ‘I’m so relieved! You can’t imagine how worried I’ve been!’ Without needing to be asked, the ranger burst out with an explanation of her encounter with Lockman and Chambers that rivalled the best military debriefing. However, the report also confirmed Garland’s worst fears. She could now be sure that she had a mole in her satellite observation team. One who’d been reporting false traffic and misdirecting her assets. Either that or Lasso’s team had made a monumental mistake or oversight while interpreting the signals, which would be a first for any of them.

‘Please come with me, Ms Biche. And hand me that headset. If we’re going to catch a feral, we’ll need to keep a little bait in the trap.’

‘Hang on. I think Lockman’s headed for the big hotel via the sea. He asked me to cause a major distraction to keep all eyes inland on me.’

‘Then you will — with a pair of covert bodyguards to ensure your safety.’

Heading uphill, she paused at the driver’s side window of the rusty old Landcruiser and introduced Gabby to Sergeant Marcus Brette and Lance Corporal Tim Finnigan. ‘My Delta team. Codenames for today: Bravo and Felix.’

‘Oh, really?’ Gabby grinned. ‘I thought F in that alphabet was supposed to be Foxtrot?’

‘I prefer Felix.’ He winked at her charmingly, and managed to conjure a blush out of the tough little ranger.

Garland knocked twice on the roof. ‘Can the charisma, Felix. I have a job for you, gentlemen.
There’s a private yacht moored at a little place called Poacher’s Cove, not too far from here. Ms Biche will be your guide. Alpha Lima was supposed to be on his way there to collect another operative who’s meant to be impersonating Miss X. His objective is to bring the double into town for the meeting tonight at the hotel, but it seems a change of plans has been forced upon him and now he’s headed to the hotel directly with the real Mira, via the sea route.’

‘Why?’ asked Finnigan. ‘That’s the way we’ve left clear for Colonel Kitching to come and go so we can track him back to Mr Mystery.’

‘Who’s Mr Mystery?’ asked Gabby.

‘That’s the biggest question of all,’ Garland replied. ‘And please refrain from calling him Colonel from now on, Corporal. His court martial is guaranteed after this.’

‘Guilty until proven innocent?’ Finnigan asked.

‘The weight of evidence is against him, and growing heavier. He’s therefore been stripped of rank in absentia, but regardless, it seems that someone in our satellite surveillance team is supporting him, so I need you to get to Lockman, off the grid. Leave your headsets here with me so you can’t be traced. I’ll make sure they’re used in a way that gives the appearance you’re still here on duty, while you secure the private yacht and take it out to provide Lockman with any naval support he may need. He’ll be too exposed out there and we can’t have Miss Chambers falling into the wrong hands unless we can also be sure of retrieving her safely.’

‘And if we need to contact you?’ asked Brette.

‘It’s a private yacht,’ Garland reminded them. ‘No doubt you’ll find a jam tin and string aboard somewhere.’ At that end of the market, she expected them to find enough to send a man to the moon. ‘Contact me on my private line.’ She slid up his long
sleeve and wrote the number in pen on the hairless inside of his arm between tattoos of swords and rifles. ‘Or let Ms Biche contact me on the frequency for the local National Parks and Wildlife.’

‘Won’t your surveillance team be listening in on that too?’ asked Gabby. ‘Seems to me they’ve been fairly thorough.’

‘Not thorough enough to know about you, Ms Biche. Apparently, you’re a little glitch that’s managed to slip through.’ Garland glanced about, gathering the ranger to safety under her arm. She half-expected to be interrupted by a late-coming sniper or by an enemy ambush which might prove otherwise, since possession of the ranger could be used to influence any outcome with Mira Chambers. But when nothing happened Garland grinned, knowing she’d finally caught a break.

Apparently Freddie Leopard couldn’t hear the whole future after all. If, indeed, he ever could.

M
usic drummed from the Oculus class yacht, allowing Patterson and Pobody to jet-ski closer than expected before cutting their engines.

Patterson kept alert for any lookouts, but the civilian craft seemed to have nobody aboard performing that task. Sleek like a bullet, there seemed no way to board it, aside from up and over the flared side of the open deck at the stern.

Provided he could reach up that high to climb aboard.

Long, smoked-glass windows ran down each side of the vessel on the middle deck, forcing Patterson to duck to prevent being seen by any of the occupants. He expected three inside, aside from their target in the wheelchair, provided their informant proved correct yet again. But none of them were likely to present any kind of resistance. The yacht’s owner was a mere musician, the female soldier had lost one hand, and the local cop was off-duty and unarmed. Or so he’d been briefed. He stayed alert in any case.

Patterson heard a dog yap. Twice. Small enough to bounce when it barked, but as luck would have it, the little stool pigeon went mum in time for them to glide past the starboard glass corridor.

Leading the way further astern, Patterson looked for any convenient grip points that he could use to scale the sleek, curved hull and climb in. He didn’t need much. Most civilian craft were vulnerable to pirates via a number of avenues, from ladders and external motors to ropes, diving platforms or exhaust jets.

Instead, he discovered that this particular yacht had inward and outward slanting sides that made scaling up and over onto the deck a practical impossibility. No visible grip points on any bulwarks. Unless he had appropriate ropes and climbing gear. Which he didn’t.

Tethering his jet ski to the pier and standing on the seat achieved a little extra height and stability, but insufficient to reach the first deck on his own. He waited for Pobody to glide to a halt beside him, and after tethering their two skis together they rigged belt hooks and loops into their camo-net to form a crude hook and rope ladder.

Pobody pointed up to the second deck where a hoist kept a sleek-looking jet boat tucked neatly in place, as if it was a lifeboat. ‘Familiar?’ he whispered.

The
Ski Ya Later.
A major hiccup that their informant had omitted to mention. Or perhaps not worth the breath if the detectives had come and gone again. Merely an interesting coincidence.

Patterson drew his sidearm just in case, and slung his MP5 over his shoulder as backup. Using the net as a lasso, he managed to hook the corner on something up there that seemed strong enough to bear his weight, and then scaling it, he made it halfway.

The music stopped abruptly.

A metal click above his left ear made him look up, and Patterson found himself staring into the blunt, angry beak of a golden desert eagle, flanked on both sides by a pack of Glock muzzles. And one fluffy white
mutt, posed like an English Pointer. The damn thing managed to look ridiculous and deadly serious at the same time.

‘Permission to come aboard?’ asked a short woman whose badge was the only thing that gave her away as the cop. ‘Isn’t that what you’re supposed to ask about now?’

‘Unless you’ve come to move us on again?’ Symes asked. He didn’t bother presenting his badge this time. ‘Weapons away, lads. Explain how you came to follow us this far.’

‘We didn’t follow you,’ Pobody argued.

‘This party’s invitation only,’ added the bare-chested punk behind the gold eagle, who fit the description of the yacht’s owner. Behind him on a plush sofa sat their primary target, Bennet Chiron. Not in a wheelchair after all.

‘Hand up the hardware,’ Symes ordered. ‘Or you can hang out there like washing all day.’

Patterson growled but complied, intending to regain control of the situation just as soon as they dropped their guard on him.

‘Sarge?’ Tarin Sei stepped out from behind the others, looking bewildered. ‘Is that you under that ugly fishing hat?’

‘You know them too?’ asked Moser.

‘I sure do,’ Sei said as she set down a remote control for the music, and extended her good arm to help Patterson aboard. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I asked first,’ Symes said, and helped Pobody up next with an extra hand from Moser. ‘You lads are having a busy day.’

Patterson glared at Sei, resenting her early return to duty. ‘She was supposed to disarm the musician and secure the boat. And you were supposed to be long gone by now. I should arrest all three of you right now and send you back for debriefing.’

Sei stepped closer to the musician and nudged his aim up a little higher from Patterson’s gut to his heart. ‘I’ve got a better idea. I’ll contact General Garland and let her know we’ve captured two traitors.’

‘Traitors?’ rang the others in chorus with the mutt that bounced around barking again.

‘You’re delirious, Corporal! Get out of the sun before you keel right over.’

The dog latched onto his ankle, making him bounce a few times too. Until the cop commanded it to sit and stay further away. She pointed to a spot on the deck, and the dog complied, still persisting in pointing and staring at him.

‘Smart little fellow,’ said Sei. ‘He picked you as bad before I did. You’re not supposed to be here, Sarge. You’re supposed to be at the hotel. Garland’s orders.’

‘That’s enough for me.’ Moser spun Pobody around first, pinned his hands behind his back and employed a set of cuffs. Not gently. ‘So where’s the police launch now, soldier boys?’

‘Right where you left it,’ Patterson replied, truthfully. He struggled when the big man tried to cuff him too, until Symes let him smell the inside of a detective’s barrel. ‘I swear!’ he shouted. ‘It’s swarming with teams from ballistics and forensics right now.’

‘You need to listen,’ Pobody said in his best mummy’s-boy voice. ‘We’re the ones who were sent to make sure you were safe.’ He nodded to Sei, the pseudo Mira Chambers, and to Bennet Chiron, who stayed silent in the background, watching.

‘If that were true, you wouldn’t need to sneak aboard,’ Symes said, keeping his Glock up Patterson’s nose until the cuffs had clicked twice for the double locks. ‘Honest men would simply shout and declare themselves.’

‘Or Garland would have let us know you were coming,’ Sei added.

‘You failed to post a sentry,’ Patterson argued. ‘So we approached with caution. That racket was so loud, you could have been dead or gone. Hijacked already.’

Darkin lifted his aim further to Patterson’s face. ‘Mate, I should sting you right now for insulting my music.’

‘Easy, skipper.’ Sei patted his shoulder. ‘Army sergeants only know one kind of music, and it’s played on a bugle.’ She pushed his aim back level with Patterson’s heart.

‘No sentry,’ Patterson persisted. All he needed was a slim wedge of doubt in their argument, which made him all the more determined to open up that opportunity. ‘You left us no other way to approach than with caution. Let me contact —’

‘Nobody,’ Symes interrupted. ‘A civilian craft with a sentry looks suspicious. Although it may be time to change tactics, friends.’ He relaxed his own aim a little to consult with the others. ‘At least until we’re sure they’re the only two traitors out there.’

‘We’re not traitors,’ Patterson insisted. The dog growled, as if arguing, and then pointed straight at him again. ‘What the hell is that mutt, anyway?’

‘Bad guy alarm,’ said the young female cop. ‘And the lady in white is right. He’s the best judge of character.’

‘Go ahead then,’ Patterson challenged them. ‘Call the general. Call her right now, right here. I’ll even lend you my headset. We’re the good guys, ladies and gents. Side with us, unless you want to be swiped off the game board.’

Lasso took the call, frowning.

He could tell the signal emanated from Patterson’s headset, but he recognised the female voice on the other end before she’d finished identifying herself as the local police officer, Sergeant Cassie Delaney.

‘Yes, go ahead, please.’ He adjusted his voice with a cough, while keeping it low to avoid disturbing the other four members of his surveillance team. Their equipment littered the penthouse with a sprawl of cables strewn all over the floor, while they focused on their monitors, attempting to keep a close eye on all main areas of interest throughout the town, beach and hotel where they expected Kitching to appear. ‘Where are you now, Sergeant?’

Behind him, General Garland made instant coffee at the sink, even though she’d ventured out for a dose of the good stuff barely twenty minutes beforehand.

‘You’re not supposed to be there, Sergeant.’ He tried not to look rattled as Garland headed his way. ‘Please explain —’

Garland slammed her hand down on his desk beside him, spilling her coffee and attracting eyes from the other four workstations. ‘Headset, Mr Lasso.
Now
, please.’

Maintaining his cool composure, he hesitated only briefly before handing it over.

‘I thought I told you not to use this frequency,’ Garland blurted, then she fell silent, as if the voice on the other end wasn’t the one she’d expected.

‘Sergeant
who?
And which unit did you say? … Oh,
civilian
police. How interesting.’ Her attention fell on Lasso while she listened for a long moment, then nodded. ‘Yes, please do keep them secure there, Sergeant. I’ve just sent another unit your way, so be prepared to hand over that pair to military custody, if necessary. Codenames for the newcomers will be Bravo and Felix.’

She signed off, still staring at Lasso like a cat at a mouse.

‘Another unit?’ he asked, cautiously. ‘My screens show no movement in that direction.’ He’d already hacked the system to ensure it. So as far as the rest of his team could tell, Patterson and Pobody were still
holding position inside the hotel. ‘That could have been a hoax, General. It may be possible that Kitching has someone on his team who’s shit-hot at hacking our comms net. If so, it’s only two extra steps for them to haze their signal and make it appear as if it’s coming from someone else.’

‘I’m aware of that.’ She grinned and patted his shoulder. ‘Find them, Airman, or I may have to hold you responsible.’

‘General?’ It wasn’t like her to leave him out of the loop like that. At least, not for anything to do with comms or troop movements. Strictly speaking, she was all army and he was air force, but in the four years he’d been seconded to her joint task force, he’d saved her life twice and her career more times than either of them could recall. Without reliable communications, her tour of Afghanistan would have been as effective as a dud stun grenade. She owed him. Big time. ‘You know, aside from the view, the facilities here are quite primitive. We’re all a bit stretched I guess.’

‘Relax, Link. I’m not assigning you a deadline.’

‘So what about the assets you’ve got off the grid? Not meaning to pry any higher than my security grade, ma’am, but those codenames are already assigned to Brette and Finnigan.’ He knew most operatives had double codenames nowadays to help avoid ambiguity in the field, just as his was Link Lasso, and that Tim Finnigan had been assigned the handle Felix because there’d already been a Tango Foxtrot elsewhere in the field on another assignment. ‘I’ll need those details so I can update the official logs on the case.’

‘You let me worry about that for now.’ Garland mopped up the spilled coffee from his table, and cast a cautious eye over the others. ‘Keep a close watch on your team, Mr Lasso. Let me know if any of them attempt to make any unauthorised calls, or behave in any way that seems suspicious.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ He switched screens, wondering how long he’d need to wait before he could make his own call. ‘You can rely on me as always.’

‘Sardines, sardines!’ Freddie ranted.

Inside the cramped cargo hold of the air–sea rescue helicopter, Mira sat on the stretcher huddled against Matron Sanchez with her eyes clamped shut and her hands cupped tightly over her ears. She folded her legs up under her, too frightened to move in case she fell. Above her, invisible rotors whipped the sky into a frenzy; the sound loud enough to nullify any attempt at private conversation, powerful enough to make her whole body reverberate, and yet, above it all, she still heard Freddie’s long thread of maniacal laughter.

He huddled against the matron too, on the far side from Mira, with his clothes reeking of urine as if his other six alter-egos had wet themselves in terror. Still, he laughed constantly, snorting and sniffling and barely pausing for breath as he ranted about fish and birds and big cats — and drove Mira back to the brink of her own insanity, just having to listen to him.

‘Brother, please,’ Kitching said, despite the headset that should have protected his ears from the whole racket. ‘Take a break.’

Instead he laughed all the louder, a few seconds too soon, reminding them he could fore-hear everything they said or did. Flying into the conversation with a loud mechanical thrum to negate most of the least likely future echoes only seemed to make it easier for him, and more accurate, but Mira wondered what amused him the most. That she’d finally fallen foul of his predictions, or that his beloved matron was now paying him closer attention. Just as likely, he enjoyed upsetting everyone around him.

A disembodied voice shouted to Kitching that a secure call needed to be patched through to him,
making Freddie laugh all the louder, then Mira heard a thud like metal against bone and the laughter died, finally. Sounded as if Kitching had whacked his brother over the head with a flight helmet.

Maddy yelped, her smaller arm abandoning Mira briefly as she gathered Freddie’s limp shoulders across her chest. His bald head nudged Mira’s arm and she recoiled from him, although a small part of her still pitied him. For Mira, the brink of insanity wasn’t a cliff that he’d fallen over, leaving her teetering. More like the shadowy edge of a broad dark forest where sense and senselessness became speckled shadows of each other. Inside, everything made perfect sense, which made it all the harder to convince him otherwise, even if the path ahead seemed unclear or frightening. She knew this too well, as a past inhabitant of the forest herself. And now they seemed to be soaring over the canopy.