The Delta Chain (14 page)

‘Greg and Walter?’

‘Can’t tell, but it’s just one person. About
10 degrees left.’

Mahoney turned the Bell Ranger and as they
swooped lower, over the mangrove plains, he saw the approaching
figure.
One
person
? He felt a stab of apprehension.
They wanted to find two men – not one.
Two.

Now the lone figure stopped altogether, head
raised, and waved, slow motion-like. ‘He’s absolutely exhausted,’
Trish observed.

Mahoney chose a stretch of flat, solid
looking ground and he brought the chopper down. ‘It’s Walter,’
Trish said, the gyroscope image now clear enough to distinguish his
features.

Later, they would hear from Walter how he’d
forced himself to stay awake through that agonising final night in
the wilderness, at times forcing his eyes apart with his fingers,
as he kept moving. By the time they found him he’d begun the
descent into delirium.

At first he hadn’t even recognised the
rangers. ‘Need…to get to…Rover…’ He gasped for breath between each
word.

‘Let’s get him to the chopper, give him
water,’ Trish said over her shoulder to Mahoney.

After he had managed a few feeble sips from
the canteen, Trish knelt down beside the tracker, touching his
shoulder. ‘Walter, what happened? Where’s Greg?’

‘Greg…’He sputtered as though the word had
caught in his throat like a wind blown thing.

‘Walter, where is Greg?’

‘Dead…’ And then he tipped forward, Trish
managing to catch his shoulders, supporting him and preventing his
head from hitting the ground.

The Bureau of Meteorology records data on
weather patterns and the topography of the oceans off the coastline
of Australia. In relation to the oceans, the Bureau tracks wind
speed in knots; size of swells and speed of currents in metres;
direction of swells; satellite cloud photos, weather maps and
analysis charts on specific areas of coast. Adam knew the Bureau
played a vital role in shipping, boating, commercial fishing,
offshore oil drilling and in search and rescue operations.

Charts and photos littered the desk of the
Brisbane Bureau’s senior oceanographer, Terry Donaldson, a man
whose appearance was made particularly noticeable if not striking
by a head of thick, tight curls. An expressive face revealed the
man's passion for the ocean.

He indicated the charts on his desk as he
spoke to Adam and Markham. ‘What do you gentlemen know about
eddies?’

Markham shrugged. ‘Layman stuff. Areas of
water with a kind of circular movement.’

‘The same,’ said Adam.

‘They are slow moving warm waters that rotate
anti-clockwise, where the current along the eastern seaboard
separates from the coast. It’s the water between these eddies and
the coast that can up-swell by two hundred metres or more, and
where the direction and speed of the current are dependent on
highly variable factors, one of which of course, is wind.’

Adam’s eyes followed as Donaldson’s right
hand rested, briefly, on the computer printout that lay amongst the
desk papers. ‘I’ve already looked over your crime scene report and
cross-matched it with the relevant weather pattern. During the
twenty four hours prior to the body’s discovery there was a strong
wind blowing onshore, building into storm conditions that travelled
in south west from the Coral Sea.’ Adam recalled the storm that
night as Donaldson continued: ‘That kind of wind activity piles up
the water, making high tides higher than normal, and it was the
second high tide of the day that washed the body onto the beach.’
Donaldson pinpointed an area on the map that adorned his north
wall, ‘…and your medical examination, Brian, showed the body as
being in the water for approximately twenty four hours.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Combining that with the direction and
estimated knot speed of the current, and backtracking, puts your
victim at having entered the water within a five hundred metre
radius of this longitude and latitude.’

Adam moved closer to the map, focusing on the
area specified. Removing his notebook from his shirt pocket, he
jotted down the details. ‘How accurate is this?’

‘I haven’t given you an exact map reference,
just a general area, a fairly wide one. The probability, in my
view, is very high that the body entered the water within that
radius.’

‘Better than I’d hoped.’ Adam stood back and
cupped his chin between thumb and forefinger as he considered the
information. He exchanged glances with Markham. Then he turned to
Donaldson. ‘Anyone would think you do this for a living.’

Donaldson grinned. ‘We have the Water Police
on the line every other day, but I have to say we don’t get many
enquiries, if any, of your type.’

Adam stepped into an adjoining office for
privacy and used his cell to phone John Harrison at the Northern
Rocks station.

Harrison came on the line and Adam gave him
the map co-ordinates. ‘I want you to get in touch with the Ports
Authority and the Coastguard. We need a list of all commercial and
leisure craft known to have been in that vicinity on the
24
^th
and the 25
^th
.’

‘No problem. But Adam, what about any craft
not listed with the Ports guys.’

‘Nothing we can do about that. We just have
to work the angles available to us. And John, get in touch with the
Civil Aviation authorities as well. If the girl could have entered
the water from a boat, then there’s an equal chance she could’ve
dropped from a low flying plane or chopper.’

‘You’re nothing if not thorough,’ Terry
Donaldson said minutes later as Adam outlined his tactics. At the
front lobby he extended his hand, first to Adam, then to Markham.
‘Best of luck, gents, though I must say you’re playing one hell of
a long shot.’

‘The bookies’d give us odds of a few hundred
thousand to one,’ Markham said.

‘At least.’ Donaldson laughed. ‘But listen,
I’m a betting man and more than a few times I’ve backed a rank
outsider that’s come in a winner.’

‘With detective work, Terry,’ Adam said, ‘you
play the long and the short odds. Sometimes the tiniest piece of
info is the one on which a case turns.’

‘The study of the ocean is the same. Believe
me, I applaud your approach. Please, let me know how you get
on.’

A research centre, like Westmeyer’s, has
security-locking devices on all doors and at the perimeter gates.
No window access. There were two security officers patrolling the
offices and grounds throughout the day. During the evenings, an
outsourced security company kept a watchful, drive-by eye. Either
Tony Collosimo, or one of his officers, worked a late shift during
the week.

On her drive back to the Institute, Kate had
decided how she would raise the subject of Rhonda’s PC security
breach.

‘Hi, Tony,’ Kate said, breezing in to
Collosimo’s office. ‘Any urban terrorists on the prowl?’ She
flashed a toothy grin.

‘Just boring bloody scientists.’ He returned
the grin. ‘You’ve been on the move a bit this morning?’

‘A few errands to run, you know how it
is.’

‘I hear Westmeyer chewed off a piece of your
ass over this virus.’

Kate had always had an easy camaraderie with
Collosimo. ‘Not like you to gossip, Tony.’

‘Not gossiping. It’s just I saw the look on
your face when you walked out of his office yesterday. And
something I overheard Donnelly and Hunter saying gave me that
impression, y’know.’

‘Well…he didn’t chew my ass as you so
unkindly put it. But we did have a serious discussion. And everyone
is, understandably, anxious.’

‘Computers. The world was a better place
without them.’

It was the perfect lead-in, better than Kate
could have hoped for. ‘Speaking of computer problems, you’ve
reminded me of something Rhonda Lagan said.’

‘What was that?’

‘Someone used her password and logged onto
her PC. She seemed concerned, said she’d reported it to security.
Did you ever figure what that was all about?’

Collosimo stared off, trying to focus. ‘I do
remember that. Not much I can do about computer stuff, you lot from
A.B.C.S. are the experts there. I was able to tell her, though,
that there’d been no other such reports from the staff here, and
certainly no leaks of sensitive information.’

‘What did you make of her report?’

‘I thought she might have been mistaken. Fact
is, I thought Rhonda had been acting a little…strangely. She’d
asked a few unusual questions those last few weeks.’

‘Such as?’

‘Don’t recall specifics.’ He paused, and Kate
saw a flicker of remembrance cross his eyes. ‘One thing that comes
to mind, she asked if there was much activity here at night,
whether we had deliveries at the rear, which we don’t, and I
would’ve thought she knew that. When I asked why she wanted to know
she just shrugged.’

‘That was it?’

‘Yeah.’

‘But she asked other things?’ As the words
rolled off her tongue Kate realised she was being too eager.

‘Like I said, nothing specific. She asked a
few odd questions and then she reports someone sneaking into her
computer. You want to know what I think? I believe she had an
overactive imagination. Not so unusual for people to get a little
paranoid after a burglary. Why all the questions, Kate?’

‘No reason. Just curious. Anyway, back to
work for me. I’ve got plenty to deal with.’

‘Haven’t we all.’

So Collosimo hadn’t taken Rhonda’s complaint
seriously, and she’d died before pursuing it further. But something
had been worrying Rhonda. Her questions to Tony about after-hours
activity at the Institute fitted now with Kate’s observation on the
building plans.

The design included a lower level that had an
entry at the rear of the building – a design element that had not,
at this stage, been included in the Institute.

And yet Rhonda had been curious about
activity in that area of the building.

Rhonda had suspected something odd.

But what?

It was peaceful in Barbara Cails’ backyard. A
cute, crimson winged robin darted about on the large tree that
dominated the garden.

‘You go to church on Sundays, don’t you?’
Joey asked Costas. He’d been aimlessly kicking a ball about and
watching while Costas watered plants.

‘Yes. I do.’

‘Why?’

‘Why?’ Costas considered this a moment. He
couldn’t remember anyone actually asking him that question before.
He didn’t have a ready-made answer. ‘I go to pray and to learn as
much as I can about the Bible and God’s ways…and to share – yes, I
suppose to share with others so I can grow.’

‘Grow?’

‘Spiritually, Joey. So I can grow
spiritually.’

‘Mum says she wants to start going. She said
I don’t have to go if I don’t want to.’

‘That’s right. But you’re welcome there, you
know, anytime you’d like to try it.’

‘Don’t you think it’s boring?’

‘No.’ Costas fixed a light-hearted gaze on
the boy and chuckled. ‘But I’m sure I did when I was your age. All
those hymns. And I can understand you’d find the sermons tedious.’
He chuckled again. ‘But no – I actually find it uplifting. And you
know, there are activities there for the young people…’

‘Huh!’ Joey made a sudden, vicious kick to
the ball, sending it sailing high and over the back fence. His
voice took on an angry, frustrated tone. ‘How can something so
boring be uplifting. What kind of a word is that, anyway?
Uplifting. You are
really
sad.’ And he stormed off.

In the kitchen, having overheard the
exchange, Barbara spoke gently but urgently to Joey as he passed
through. ‘How could you speak to Costas like that?’

‘Like what?’

‘You spat your words at him like he was some
kind of wild dog.’

‘Well he wasn’t making any damn sense!’

‘Don’t you speak to me like-’

‘Why shouldn’t I? Eh? Why shouldn’t I?’

Barbara’s voice cracked as she shouted back.
‘You know what a terrible shock Costas had the other day, yet you
have no sense of caring or understanding.’

Joey’s arm flung out, pointing toward the
backyard as his own voice rose even louder. ‘He should be strong.
He’s a man, isn’t he?’

Barbara shook her head in disgust. ‘I thought
I raised you to have some regard for others…’

Joey stuck his little finger up. ‘He’s got
you wrapped around this. Well, no one, you hear me, no one’s smart
enough to get me wrapped around anything.’ Barbara watched him go
as tears welled in the corners of her eyes.

Costas appeared in the kitchen doorway,
framed by soft rays of sun. ‘He’s angry and confused, Barbara.’

‘I’ve been trying…
we’ve
been trying…so
hard.’

Costas’ arms enfolded her. ‘He looks at me
and he’s angry this space isn’t still occupied by his father.’
Barbara nestled closer to him.

‘We have to give it time,’ he said.

‘I’m beginning to worry,’ Barbara said, ‘that
time and understanding aren’t going to be enough, not nearly
enough.’ The tears stung her cheeks.

A knowing smile crossed Melanie Cail’s lips
as she slipped out of her shoes. She loved the sudden feeling of
freedom. Before advancing any further she hitched up her skirt and
slid her stockings off, sighing with relief at the touch of her
skin grazing the soft plush pile. It made her tingle with an
earthiness that was at once both natural and sexual.

The door to the townhouse had been left
unlocked and a glass of white wine awaited her on the circular mini
table that stood in the entrance passageway. It had always
intrigued her that this man, who did not appear to be at all
domesticated or conventional in other ways, actually got a kick
from inviting her to his place and cooking a sumptuous meal for
her. Whenever he did, it was always the entrée to a night of high
voltage lovemaking.