The Delta Chain (13 page)

‘Could you explain that?’

‘We’ll speak to the Feds here and to Interpol, ask about cases involving multiple John and Jane Does. We’ll see what lines of enquiry the police took on those cases. Hopefully, it will provide us with some tips. By the way, Bennett, visiting Meteorology to pinpoint where the girl entered the water? Good idea. You might just turn up something useful.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ The visit to Meteorology was the main reason for Adam’s trip, but he was glad he’d arranged to meet with O’Malley and Dr. Sukomoto. The trip had proved educational. Now a link seemed certain given there was not one, not two, but three of these unidentified drowning victims.

The Northern Rocks council building was in a quiet, leafy street just behind the main town centre but the offices inside were busy. Groups of people queued at various counters.

For a small search fee a clerk, after a short wait, provided a folder with the council approved Institute plans. Kate sat on one of the public utility chairs and spread the plans over her lap.

At first, nothing struck her as unusual. The landscaped grounds, the parking station and the triple-level main building were all as they should be. But then something began niggling at her. Something – she wasn’t sure what – didn’t look right.

What was it her subconscious mind thought it was seeing –or not seeing?

Later, she spoke to Betty on her cell as she drove back to the Institute. ‘I don’t know, Betty, maybe I’ve gone off half assed about this whole damn thing. You were right about not saying anything to James. Rhonda seemed the most obvious person to plant that virus, but why would she? Absolutely no reason, and there’s no mention of any such thing in her diary.’

‘Maybe,’ said Betty. ‘You’re sure singing a different tune to the other day.’

‘Okay. So I’ve been running hot and cold again this week.’

‘You tend to do that.’

‘You think I’m totally paranoid. Go on, say it, you might as well.’

‘Actually, no. What you said made some sense. And I’ve read through the diary. The Rhonda I knew was the kind of person to wander through an organisation and pick up vibes that weren’t evident to everyone else. Reading between the lines, she reacted to something her subconscious picked up on. Something about the activity that didn’t seem right.'

‘You’re starting to sound like me.’

‘Conspiracy theories are catching,’ Betty joked.

‘I don’t have a conspiracy theory…’

‘No? You think Rhonda programmed this virus to activate if she missed a few log-ins. Now you’re curious about her road crash, and you’ve gone tearing off and obtained council plans…?’

‘Okay, so I think something stinks in the State of Denmark.’ It was the feisty, cheeky Kate again.

‘Do me a favour, Kate. Be careful whom you speak to about this. And please keep those council plans to yourself, okay? Apart from anything else, it’ll reflect badly on A.B.C.S. if anyone finds out you’re snooping about, and James would be furious.’

‘You sound worried.’

‘I am. Listen, Kate, Rhonda Lagan was a smart woman but she was no troublemaker and no risk taker. If she smelled a rat, I’m starting to think that means there most likely is one.’

Kate said she understood. ‘One further thing,’ Betty said. ‘You know that Westmeyer phoned James yesterday afternoon?’

‘Yes, I was there when he placed the call.’

‘Okay. James would’ve phoned you but he’s been absolutely flat chat. He asked me to let you know the conversation went OK. Basically, he reinforced what you’d already told Westmeyer and placated him. As you know, James was planning another trip up there anyway. Under the circumstances, he’s rearranged his plans and he’s coming today.’

‘Okay.’

‘James will see Westmeyer as soon as he arrives. He’ll call you after that and arrange to get together.’

‘All good,’ Kate said, ending the call as she drove into the Institute grounds. She left the building plans in her glove compartment and locked the car. It was as she passed through the front entrance, waving to one of Tony Collosimo’s assistants, that she felt a jolt to her senses.

All of a sudden, crystal clear in her mind’s eye, she could see what it was about the building that did not mirror the design.

Rangers Ron Mahoney and Trish Watts started out early, the Bell Ranger thundering across the deep blue of a cloudless Northern Territory sky. Once again Trish scanned the plains below, the gyroscope bringing into sharp focus the dense vegetation of freshwater mangroves around the riverbank.

They passed the abandoned Range Rover. ‘We should deviate from yesterday’s path.’ Mahoney shouted to be heard over the chop of the blades.

‘Deviate where?’

‘How about the mud flats to the north? There’s plenty of small tributaries and lagoons up there.’

‘You think the croc hunters went that way? And that Greg and Walter followed?’

‘Who knows? We have to try something different.’

‘Okay. After that, we can return via the river.’

Both gasped as a large flock of black winged stilts appeared suddenly in their path, flying dangerously close to the chopper as if deliberately dicing with death. Mahoney jerked the ‘copter sideways, an unnecessary reflex action as it turned out. It sent a roaring rush of wind through the cabin.

Mahoney cursed. Then, righting the chopper, he veered to the north of the river whilst maintaining an overall directional path toward the gulf.

They hadn’t gone far when Trish’s binoculars framed a lone figure walking as though in a trance across the plains. ‘Someone’s down there!’

‘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.’