THE BROTHERHOOD (23 page)

As pressing as matters were, they had to get some rest for a few hours. The comfortable government car was a nice change from the previous rough rides and piqued their longing for a hot shower, food and warm bed. Aazim sighed in relief when Bill pulled up at a small motel, its neon sign buzzing and flickering overhead. Inside a young clerk looked up lazily from his
Wheels
magazine and raised his eyebrow when the two guests requested a room.

‘Two
single
beds,’ Bill clarified.

The clerk handed over the electronic card and gave directions to the room. ‘Enjoy your night, fellas,’ he added with a smirk.

In the hallway one vending machine contained stale sandwiches and another cigarettes. Bill dug into his pocket for change and bought a couple of each, one to quell their hunger pains and the other for his nerves. They entered the air-conditioned room and Aazim threw himself on the bed. Annoyed at the No Smoking sign, Bill opened a window and sat on the ledge. He lit a cigarette and turned to Aazim, who was already snoring, a sandwich in his hand.

An unfamiliar mobile phone tune bleated in the silent room. Unaware where it was coming from, Bill soon realised it was Barry’s. At first he ignored the disturbance but the caller was persistent and kept trying to get in touch with the phone’s owner. Bill reached for it and saw the caller ID displayed:
Blunt-Dir
. Could it be? Startled and unprepared, he took a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking to the director of ASIO. Morning light peered through the curtains and the bedside clock displayed six am. Only three hours of sleep. Not much but better than nothing.

‘Hello?’ Bill sensed the defensive shift on the other end.

‘Who is this?’ The director demanded.

Bill had met the director on a couple of occasions. Blunt was a tough man, and was highly respected by those who worked for him. Known as a legend in the organisation, he took care of his people: he was either a powerful ally or a fierce opponent; there was no middle ground. Bill had no idea how much the director knew about what was happening so the situation called for delicate diplomacy. This was an opportunity to either turn things around or sink even further into trouble.

‘Mr Blunt, this is William McKane.’ 

‘Mr McKane?’ There was a shuffling sound and the background noise was muffled by a hand covering the receiver. ‘Where is Mr Donovan? I urge you and your companion to hand yourselves in.’

Bill knew they only had a few minutes before the tracking device in the mobile phone was activated.

‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible right now, sir.’ Bill clicked his fingers at Aazim, gesturing for him to prepare for a hasty departure.

‘And why is that, Mr McKane? Where is Barry? I’d like to speak to him.’

‘He’s wounded but alive. I’m sure he’ll turn up eventually. Mr Blunt, Barry was behind the Jakarta incident, Janelle’s death and a number of other cases we don’t yet know about. He’s been taking bribes from the Islamic fundamentalist organisation The Brotherhood and safeguarding their operation in Australia.’ Bill looked at his watch and marked the time.

‘Are you accusing the deputy director of treason, Mr McKane? These are grave allegations from a man on the run. Why don’t you come in and we’ll talk about it? I will personally guarantee your safety.’

Bill realised the director was stalling and agents were probably fixing their location at that very moment.

‘I have evidence, sir. Give me a fax number for your eyes only and I promise you both of us will come in. Otherwise you’ll read about it in tomorrow’s paper.’

Blunt resented threats but settled for a compromise and gave Bill his office fax number. True or not, that sort of information in the hands of the press would make his job extremely uncomfortable.

Bill hung up, dismantled the mobile and threw the pieces in the bathroom toilet. He explained the conversation to Aazim and the need to leave immediately.

‘If he can guarantee our safety then why not take up the offer?’ Aazim protested.

‘We won’t make it to the front door if I tell them where we are. We don’t know how many agents Barry has working for him.’

On the way out Bill spent the rest of his change on the sandwich machine: they would need all the energy they could get for another long day. They handed in the room keys and headed for the car park. Barry’s car was hot property but they needed transport.

Blunt turned to one of his agents tracking the mobile signal. ‘Did you get it?’

‘We lost the signal, sir, but we’ve narrowed it down to this location.’ The agent pointed to a map of north Melbourne in the vicinity of the motel.

‘Send out a task force, cordon off the area and find them. I want the files on William McKane and all we have on The Brotherhood organisation on my desk.’

Discovering the deputy director’s body that morning in a suburban house had blown the roof at ASIO, prompting Rodney Blunt to order an immediate halt to all operations in Barry’s department. He expected point-scoring accusations from political opportunists in Canberra and he prepared the usual response to the media, which was ‘No comment on matters of national security’. Blunt cursed himself for failing to clamp down on his subordinate and reel him in when he’d had the chance. Internal investigators were sent in to interview staff members, databases and files were seized, and a thorough review conducted on all field operations approved by the deputy director going back years.

The conversation with William McKane was a further complication Blunt did not need. What worried him was Bill’s response when asked about Barry. It wasn’t what he expected from someone suspected of executing a top ASIO figure. And the revelation of Barry’s involvement with a terrorist organisation meant Blunt had to keep a tight lid on things for as long as possible.

Chapter 22

‘Never mind, just make sure we’re ready.’ Sam ordered his men to prepare for a departure after being told of their encounter with Barry. The yellow envelope he’d given him containing details of the Brotherhood leadership would serve its purpose equally in the hands of Bill and Aazim. By the time the two had managed to convince the authorities they had proof of Aust Global Fund’s underground business he would be long gone. It would no longer matter if the whole world knew about it; on the contrary, he would reveal himself as the new leader of the Muslim world.

He was still at Masjid Saad Mosque with Hanif when he instructed his men to meet him at Aust Global Fund. It was time to release the initial billion dollars to the men he’d sent ahead of him. He had to do it in stages so as not to raise the suspicions of Aust Global Fund’s clients. The transaction was immediate but he altered the balance update for twenty-four hours later, which gave him plenty of time to disappear before his customers detected the missing funds. His position in Aust Global Fund would become untenable, not to mention dangerous, but his authority in the Middle East would be unquestionable. He who controls the money controls the power, as he liked to say.

While driving, Bill retrieved the Beretta from his jacket and released the magazine to check on ammunition. It was almost full and he had another spare magazine in his pocket; he hoped it would be enough. He picked up on Aazim’s apprehension and realised just how much the young man had endured. Before nearing the city centre, he pulled over at a post office.

‘Fax the printouts to this number, Az,’ he said, handing him a piece of paper. ‘Once you’re done, call the director on the bottom number and confirm he’s received them.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘Aust Global Fund. If Sam hasn’t already fled the country he’ll be there.’

‘By yourself? That’s crazy, Bill. What about Barry’s men?’

‘They’ll have the director to worry about now, and with any luck they’ll be staying away from the place. It’s what I would do.’

‘That still leaves Sam’s men. I’m coming with you. I’m not running from this yet.’

‘There’s no time, Az. If Sam gets out of the country we’ll have another Bin Laden on the loose and this is our chance to cripple The Brotherhood.’

Aazim hesitated for a moment but he knew Bill was right: Sam had to be stopped before he disappeared.

‘The data centre’s on the lower ground floor,’ he told Bill. ‘Take the lift and just look for doors with CCT cameras above them. Once you’re inside you’ll see rows of server racks. What you’re looking for is on the very last row at the back of the server room. It’s bigger than the rest and the only one of its kind. That’s where you’ll find Sam if he’s still here.’

Aazim closed the car door and rushed into the post office, the sound of screeching tyres behind him.

Bill parked in front of Aust Global Fund. He expected police to locate the car and come after him, but not before he was well inside. As he expected, there was no sign of Barry’s men, only in-house security patrolling the building perimeter. It was the weekend and apart from a dark van parked in front of the building there were no employees, with only the occasional car driving past. From the building next door he assessed the men he was up against. Two of them were covering two entry points; walking from either end of the building they would meet in the middle and lazily amble back again. They had their backs to each other until they reached their corner and turned around. He noted the young overweight security guard closest to him fondling a mobile phone. The other was older, strolling along as though through a park on a Sunday morning. Both were armed and carried receiver that occasionally crackled into life, indicating there were others he had to look out for. Bill figured they were part-time lackeys with a licence to carry a gun.

There was no time for elaborate plans so he decided to improvise. Choosing the guard busy with his phone, he came out of hiding and casually strolled along the footpath, looking like a pedestrian in no particular hurry. He reached into his pocket and took out a cigarette, stopping right in front of the guard. Patting his clothes, he made as if looking for a lighter. The guard glanced up momentarily then continued typing his text messages, uninterested in the stranger.

‘Excuse me, mate, can I borrow a lighter?’

‘I don’t smoke,’ the guard replied before looking up and finding himself staring down the barrel of a Beretta.

Bill reached for the man’s holster and unclipped his gun, shoving it in his pocket along with his access card. ‘Drop the phone,’ he commanded, grabbing him by the elbow and spinning him around so the guard’s back was to him.

The startled guard dropped his phone and put up his hands.

‘Put your hands down,’ Bill ordered. He took out the guard’s receiver and placed it in front of the scared man’s mouth. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Rafique.’

‘Rafique, tell the other guard you’re taking a break.’

When Bill pushed the button the guard said with a cracked voice, ‘Ali, I’m going to the toilet.’

‘All right, but hurry up.’

Bill shoved the receiver in his jacket and took out the access card. He ordered his captive to walk inside the building, pressing the gun against his back to make sure there was no misunderstanding. Another guard sat at the reception desk in the middle of the foyer, surrounded by video monitors displaying key points of the building, including the three lifts. The echo of heels hitting the marble floor announced the entry of his colleague and a companion. Glancing at his calendar, he didn’t see any scheduled visits. In an instant he rose from his seat and reached for his weapon, then saw his colleague’s empty holster.

‘Don’t move.’ Bill held his captive in a hand choke and used him as a human shield while he trained his gun on the new target.

The man behind the desk seemed to waver, threatening a tense standoff.

‘You’re not getting paid enough to die. Remove your weapon, place it on the desk and move over here where I can see you.’ Bill cocked the trigger. He could tell he was dealing with a proud man, probably ex-military.

Seeing he was out of options, the guard swore and followed his demands. Bill gave his captive guard a firm shove towards his colleague while he hurriedly walked behind the reception desk. He searched through drawers until he found masking tape and ordered the two to place their hands behind their backs. When they were tightly bound he fastened a strip of tape across their mouths and guided them to a storage area for the cleaners. He ordered them inside the confined space and jammed a metal hook on the outside door handle.

As he walked back to the front desk monitors he searched the screens for others in the building. On one monitor the oblivious guard strolled outside the building but the other screens showed no activity. Shots of office cubicles flickered in black and white but no room fitted Aazim’s description. In the foyer, apart from the two exits there were elevators and a door leading to the staircase.

Realising he was on the mezzanine level, Bill headed for the elevators. He pressed the ground button a number of times but the lift didn’t move. He tried swiping the card reader with the access card and the doors finally closed. Within a few seconds they reopened and he found himself in a smaller foyer. It soon became clear which door he was heading for. Out of three only one stood out: a solid-looking fireproof door with a CCT camera above it. He held his gun in one hand and the access card in the other, ready to face the unknown.

Shit. A prompt for the access code. He moved away from the door and out of view of the camera, removing the receiver from his jacket and switching it on.

‘Can you open the data room door for me, I need to come in.’ His attempt to mimic the guard’s accent was terrible but he hoped the static crackle would disguise it.

‘Who is this?’

‘It’s Rafique. We ordered some food and I’m coming down the elevator but I need someone to open the door. I don’t want to leave it on the dirty floor.’ Bill winced and waited for a reply.

‘About time. Just wait there, I’m on my way.’

He listened to the locks retract and then the door swung slowly towards him. A middle-aged security guard stepped out halfway while holding the door open. Using the butt of his gun Bill knocked the guard hard in the back of the neck before he even realised there was someone there. Collapsing on the floor, the man fell in the doorway, preventing it from closing. A beeping alert was triggered: the door had a warning mechanism when left open for a period of time. Bill pushed the guard out of the way and entered the server room with his gun drawn and senses on alert. Inside, the air was cold and dry and the room well lit.