Redback. Lindy Cameron

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СКАЧАТЬ Jana frowned.

      'What?'

      'I wanted to talk to you about, um, about what happened on the island.'

      'Oh. Yeah, sorry.' Gideon cocked her head. 'That's actually why I wanted to see you; to talk before Agent Brand started his debrief. Are you okay? I mean, did that guy hurt you before I came back?'

      'No,' Jana said hurriedly. 'Well, not really. No, he didn't. But he would have. So I wanted to thank you,' she held up a hand when Gideon shrugged, 'and, um, verify that you did in fact kill him.'

      'Why? You want to go back and make sure he's dead?' Gideon asked, puzzled.

      'No,' Jana raised her hands. 'That's not what I meant.'

      'Oh,' Gideon said, remembering that a civilian might actually be concerned about a bloke, even a bad guy, being taken out like that.

      'Yes, I shot him. He's very dead. Coop could have taken him out with a T-dart, but I,' she hesitated, and rubbed the back of her neck. Dr Rossi's frown was prompting her to elaborate - again. 'It's a dart from a long-range weapon, a bit like a stun gun, that's designed to incapacitate not kill. But I only had the real deal. So it was the rebel with my gun, or you with his knife.'

      Jana nodded.

      'Are you okay with that?'

      'Oh yes,' Jana nodded again. 'With the me not being dead part, I mean. The other will take a bit of getting used to.'

      'Don't lose any sleep over him Doc. Jana. He would have raped you. Then he would have killed you.'

      Jana's skin crawled, but she smiled. 'I know. And again, I thank you.'

      Gideon shrugged. 'I've already apprised Agent Brand of the incident, so we don't expect you to talk about it in front of your annoying ex-roommate.'

      'That's a relief.'

      Easy Spur Ranch, Carthage, Texas

       Tuesday 6.10 am

      Jesse-Jay Bagget looked at his dumb-fuck pseudo-stepbrother and decided this may indeed be the best way to go about things. If Kero wanted to drive the truck so much, then he could. He could drive it straight in, make his point and that'd be the end of it. Either way, the Colonel would be way pleased, and Jesse-Jay would've shown his delegating skills. The timing would be better for him and the other thing too.

      And even if shit-for-brains Kero screwed the first part up, which was so possible, well then - as long as he screwed it up proper - then it'd be no great loss.

      Jesse-Jay checked his watch for the umpteenth time since rising and eating breakfast in the dark. Once the boys arrived and the stock was loaded, the drive to Dallas would take a bit over three hours. That'd put them midtown about mid morning. Perfect. The city would be open for business, the Colonel would make his call, and the deal would be done.

      Jesse-Jay saw the orange fog-lights reflecting all spooky-like off what was left of the misty morning, and then the small convoy crested the rise on the road at the border of his land.

      He hit the Star Brigade icon to save Level 8 of his Global WarTek game and switched off his TekBox. It was time for the real game to begin.

      'Wake up Kero,' he said, slapping the guy on the chest. 'We got important company. The Colonel's here.'

      Tokyo, Japan

       Tuesday 8.20 pm

      Scott had squeezed behind 11 noodle-eaters arrayed along the inside counter, avoided a knife-waving chef and his 'you no go that way' and collided with a kid hauling a box of fish - and he was still about 20 feet from the back door which had just slammed shut in front of him. He apologised in several languages - none of them Japanese - to the two old women still startled by the previous invader of their back room, then wrenched open the door and threw himself into a badly lit laneway.

      There was no sign of Kaisha. There was a faulty flickering light; of course. Scott swore in frustration.

      So, it's dark. He waited.

      Light, dark, light. And it's confined, dark, light and cluttered and dark.

      Scott turned away from the nearest dead-end and headed for the only obvious way out.

       Man! Forget the bald gaijin on blades. Sumo-sized Yakuza dudes are gonna get you here, you moron.

      And then, 50 feet from the neon-lit safety of a crowded wet Tokyo street, they did just that.

      A strong hand grabbed him by the scruff of his suede jacket and yanked him backwards through a doorway, into the very dark, and onto his arse.

      Chapter Nine

      Kingston Club, London

       Tuesday 12.10 pm

      This is exactly what I'm talking about,' Edward 'Teddy' Drake announced waving at the muted television. 'This situation in the Pacific is a perfect example of how a truly international, highly-mobile armed force, given the right mandate, could be deployed to rescue hostages or take out insurgents.'

      The breaking news banner: Laui Island, 36 hostages, 9th day, PRA rebels, high-level meeting in New Zealand was streaming across the bottom of the screen. The attention of Britain's new Chairman of the Joint Intelligence Committee had been caught by the promo for an impending live update.

      Drake turned to his companions in the Club's Tudor Room. 'A multi-national force with international jurisdiction could deal with specific terrorist threats like that one, wherever they occur.'

      'You mean like NATO?' Ministerial Advisor Peter Ebrey said.

      'No. The North Atlantic Treaty Organisation is not really much use in the South Pacific, Peter.'

      'He said like NATO, Teddy, and you know bloody well what he means,' said Richard Thorpe.

      As head of Britain's Secret Intelligence Service, better known as MI6, Thorpe was technically Edward Drake's subordinate, but there no disrespect in his tone. The two men had been friends for 30 years - in as much as spies from rival departments could ever make that claim. Besides, here in the exclusive Kingston Club, position held no sway, especially a position that was only a week old. And while both Thorpe and Drake had been contenders, the latter's confirmation as JIC Chairman had been a forgone conclusion. He'd been 'acting' in the top job since his predecessor's strange and untimely death.

      'But who would actually sign up for this international force?'

      'Any country, you know, that we approve. Oh, now here's an idea,' Drake said. 'This force could be open for direct recruitment.'

      'Isn't that how the French Foreign Legion works?' said Adam Lyall, the only American in the group. 'Great idea, Teddy, let's train jilted criminals to fight terrorists.'

      Drake smiled and shook his head at the visiting US Deputy Secretary of State. 'I meant direct recruitment from other armed forces, not straight off the street, Adam.'

      'So, back to Peter's question,' Lyall said. 'Who would agree to СКАЧАТЬ