Sensitive New Age Spy (17 page)

‘Yoo-hoo! Anyone for fish and chips?’

I’d just finished filling Julie in on my encounter with the Reverend Priday and his avaricious flock when Mrs T popped her head round the door. I needed to eat and her suggestion made as much sense as anything else right now, so I grabbed a bottle of white wine from the fridge and some glasses, and announced I was taking the whole gang out for dinner.

We lined up at Bondi Surf Seafood and I let them order whatever they wanted, except for the deep-fried Mars Bars, of course. Twenty minutes later, we were sitting on the grassy slope that runs down to the beach. I opened the wine while Julie and Mrs T unwrapped the food and Dougal set about annoying the crap out of the hovering seagulls.

Late-afternoon light on Bondi Beach, a mild onshore breeze, chilled semillon, fresh Sydney rock oysters, lightly
battered king prawns and Tasmanian scallops, potato cakes and a large serving of chips for Mrs T – if anything could take a man’s mind off a couple of missing nukes, a new boss who made Maggie Thatcher look like a sissy, and the fact that I hadn’t woken up in bed with a woman for at least six months, this should do it.

I waved to the guys in the Astra and the talkative one waved back. Mrs T waved too.

‘They’ve been there all week, Alby,’ she said. ‘Friends of yours?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘Didn’t think so.’

God, just how bad were these guys? Even Mrs T, an 85-year-old pensioner with mild cataracts, had made them.

She fed Dougal half a potato cake. ‘Are you in trouble again, Alby?’

‘Nothing I can’t handle, Mrs T.’

‘All right, dear, but you’ll let me know if I can be of any help, won’t you?’

‘Sure will.’ I raised my glass. ‘With you two in my corner, I reckon I can take on anything.’

Julie leaned across and clinked her wineglass against mine. ‘Here’s to fighting the good fight,’ she said.

‘It would be a lot easier without one hand tied behind my back.’

‘I’m sure you can take good care of yourself with
just one hand, Alby,’ Julie said under her breath.

Now that was just plain rude.

Back at Luxor Mansions, Mrs T and Dougal had hit the sack, Julie was at her laptop, and I was considering my next move when the intercom sounded. The video display showed Lieutenant Kingston standing in the street. I buzzed her in.

Julie stuffed her laptop into her bag. ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to get home and feed the cat.’

‘You don’t have a cat,’ I pointed out.

She was already out the door. ‘You’re right. I must remember to get one next time I’m at the pet shop.’

Clare was wearing a light summer dress. It was either a very short dress or she had really long legs, but either way I liked the effect. I asked her if she’d like a drink. She shook her head.

Her shoulder bag hit the floor with the familiar clunk and she kicked off her sandals, staring at me with the same look that had made my hair stand up in the D.E.D. office. An energy force was suddenly crackling back and forth between us. I asked her if she was hungry and she nodded and pulled her dress off over her head. She didn’t have anything on underneath.

Those legs
were
really long. Her breasts were even more spectacular than I’d imagined, and by golly, she was a natural blonde to boot. No tattoos of mermaids or tigers or hula
girls that I could see, though. What the hell was the modern Navy coming to? I thought. And then I stopped thinking.

Clare was asleep on her stomach. Through a gap in the blinds, a shaft of street light from out on the Parade cut across the bed and over her firm little butt. I glanced at my watch on the bedside table. Just after three. I could feel the scratches on my shoulders and I knew they were going to sting later in the shower. When I looked back at her she was smiling at me.

‘Been at sea a long time then, sailor?’ I said.

‘I hope I haven’t made you feel used.’

I shook my head. ‘I like to do what I can for the girls in blue. I’m nothing if not patriotic.’

‘But I’m not in your Navy,’ she pointed out. ‘And I was wearing my khakis when we met.’

I shrugged. ‘I’m a big fan of the coalition of the willing.’

‘Really?’

‘No, not really, but let’s just say this particular coalition has a lot going for it.’

She laughed. It was a nice laugh. And I’m a sucker for women who laugh at my jokes.

‘I was a bit surprised to see you here,’ I said. ‘Not that I’m complaining.’

‘I was confined to quarters for the duration, and then all of a sudden last night word came down from the top
that I had eighteen hours’ shore leave. I don’t know what’s going on but I thought I’d make the most of it.’

‘You certainly did. I’m thinking of sending the top brass a thankyou note.’

‘Happy to do my bit for the ANZUS alliance,’ she laughed.

‘What’s a nice girl like you doing in a sailor suit, anyway?’

‘Military family. My dad served two tours in Vietnam, humping an M60 through Indian country, and my uncle Bob flew Navy F4s up in the wild blue yonder.’

‘The old Phantom was a pretty rugged plane.’

‘Not rugged enough. Uncle Bob’s was hit by a SAM on a mission over Haiphong. His wingman saw Bob and his Radar Intercept Officer eject, and two parachutes were spotted, but that’s the last that was ever heard of either of them.’

‘What about your dad?’

‘Apart from the Purple Heart he got when he fell off a bar stool and broke his ankle during a mortar attack, he came home pretty much unscathed.’

‘But why the Navy?’ I asked.

‘Uncle Bob’s service smoothed my way into Annapolis and a degree in electrical engineering from MIT, then a Weapons Systems Engineering major at the Naval Academy ensured I’d get sea duty, which was what I really wanted.’

She reached up and touched the scar on my left shoulder. ‘This looks recent, what happened?’

‘I stuck my nose in where it wasn’t welcome.’

‘You still doing that, Alby?’

‘Can’t seem to help myself.’

‘You know, I had another reason for coming here tonight.’

The first reason was good enough for me, but her tone was serious so she had my full attention.

‘The
Altoona
is locked down tight, no one is talking to anyone about anything, and the decks are awash with CIA and NCIS heavies, and guys with IDs from departments I’ve never heard of.’

‘A couple of missing W80s would tend to bring out the problem-solvers,’ I said.

‘That’s the strange thing. I ran the weapons inventory when I got back on board so I could get the serial numbers for my report, and I got shut out of the system after about fifteen seconds. Two minutes later, an NCIS heavy turned up at my station and removed my computer. I tried to log on from another station when he’d left, but my ID code was suddenly invalid.’

‘Probably just someone displaying a healthy level of paranoia until they have a board of inquiry.’

She shook her head. ‘If anyone should have a high level of paranoia it’d be me. The fifteen seconds I had on the system were enough to see that the
Altoona
is showing a full weapons inventory. Everything is accounted for.’

I looked at her across the bed.

‘I was aiming at that Seahawk when it lifted off,’ she continued, ‘and I know I was doing my best to avoid pointing my M16 at two warheads. I could see them sitting on her cargo deck. It doesn’t make sense.’

‘Nothing about this whole business makes a lot of sense. Who’d have put money on the ship’s choir being the bad guys?’

‘Not me, that’s for sure. But I went back through the
Altoona
’s personnel files and I discovered that most of our choirboys weren’t exactly, well, choirboys. They’d all been in some sort of trouble over the years, but when Chief Warrant Officer Brames formed the
Altoona
’s choir, all that suddenly stopped.’

‘What’s Brames’s story, then?’

‘He did a tour in Iraq in 2004, detached from the Navy, flying support for ground troops, and while he was off-duty he found his way into trouble on a regular basis. Apparently he was involved in some pretty shady stuff, and being transferred back to sea was the only thing that saved him from a court martial and serious jail time in Leavenworth. Then he suddenly found God in San Diego and cleaned up his act.’

I knew Pergo had been in Iraq around that time. Iraq was a big country, but the bad boys do tend to find each other.

Clare rolled over and sat up. She was bloody stunning.

‘You’re looking perplexed,’ she said.

‘Too many loose ends and too many players. I don’t like a situation I can’t get on top of.’

‘Well, we have that in common,’ she smiled. ‘And speaking of getting on top of things…’ And then she did.

When I woke up, the streetlights had been replaced by another sunny Sydney morning. While the espresso machine was warming up, I checked my emails. There was one from Julie saying she’d be over mid-morning, and a couple from people who wanted to sell me some pills that would apparently do extraordinary things to my penis. Clare wandered out for coffee wearing one of my old T-shirts that had shrunk fairly dramatically in the drier, and instantly I knew that the pill sellers wouldn’t be getting any of my money.

An hour or so later, we finally made it into the shower. While Clare was drying her hair, I made the grim discovery that the fridge offered extremely limited breakfast options. After the night I’d just had, some hearty food was essential, so twenty minutes later we were heading into my favourite beachside breakfast spot.

Tucked away in a huddle of shops opposite the north end of the beach, Soggy Togs has panoramic views of the sweep of the beach, right across to the Icebergs, and more importantly, serves a great cup of coffee. When we arrived a Goodie juice delivery van was parked outside and
Alex, the owner of the joint, was paying some blokes who’d just finished installing a big new illuminated sign above the café’s entrance.

Inside, the place was jumping – packed with local mums and kids and teenagers from the surfing school – and we just managed to grab the last empty table at the back. Alex handed us menus, smiled at Clare and gave me a warning look. It was a little over six months since his espresso machine had been shot to death by an assassin with a silenced nine-mil who was after yours truly. The insurance company gave him a hard time over his claim and he’d been giving me grief ever since. But his new machine produced an even better coffee than before, and since he made a breakfast to die for, which I literally almost had, I was trying to stay on his good side.

I persuaded Clare that she needed to discover the majesty of a real Aussie hamburger with the works. Alex’s Big Bloke’s Burger is an excellent test of a woman’s character. Prime ground topside beef seared on a red-hot grill for a crunchy crust, smoky bacon, melted cheddar, tomato sauce, fried onions, sliced tomato, and shredded white cabbage mixed with the iceberg lettuce for extra snap. And beetroot, of course.

I could see the concept of beetroot on a burger was causing her some concern. ‘Not convinced about the beetroot?’

‘Not totally.’

‘Trust me. You’ll love it.’

‘I don’t know who to trust right now,’ she said, ‘even about a burger.’

She was right about that. I wasn’t even sure how much I should trust her. Turning up out of the blue, suddenly on shore leave after being told she was confined to the ship, and giving me inside info on the ship’s arsenal. My gut told me she was genuine, but you could never be too careful.

I lowered my voice. ‘Was there anything else about the voyage that was unusual? Anything at all?’

‘Nothing. Well, just the passengers.’

‘Passengers? On a cruiser?’

‘We had a couple of VIPs onboard for the San Diego–Sydney leg.

‘What sort of VIPs?’

‘Don’t know, but they must have been important because there was an armed guard outside their door twenty-four hours a day. They stayed in their cabin for the entire voyage, didn’t even come out for meals.’

‘And you’ve no idea who they were?’

‘Not unless the name Chester means anything to you?’

‘Chester?’

‘That was the name on the manifest: Chester, initial A., and Chester, initial B.’

‘Well, that explains why you were showing a full weapons inventory. I think you’ll find that the
Altoona
had a couple of surplus-to-requirements nukes under the bunks in the guest bedroom.’

‘Shit!’ Clare said.

She was staring in the direction of the café’s entrance. As I turned towards the door, the Soggy Togs brunch crowd went silent, except for someone who gave a sort of half-gasp, half-scream.

Bugger, I said to myself, was Alex ever going to be pissed off.

‘If nobody moves then nobody gets hurt.’

The MAC 10 in the hands of the man in the doorway near the gelato freezer made a very persuasive argument. The MAC 10 is small as submachine guns go, but the big grey cylindrical silencer on the front added a bit of authority. The bloke holding it was wearing motorcycle leathers and a full-face helmet with a mirrored visor. The visor was raised and I could see he was wearing a black ski mask under the helmet.

I put my hands up, palms out, and stood up. Clare did the same.

‘Outside now, you two, and don’t dick about.’

‘Everyone keep calm and stay exactly where you are,’ I said in the loudest and most assertive voice I could muster. ‘This gentleman wants to talk to us, so we’re going to walk outside and there shouldn’t be any problems.’

We moved towards the door with our hands up, and
out of the corner of my eye I could see a teenage boy taking pictures on his mobile phone. The MAC 10 isn’t terribly accurate but it has a phenomenal rate of fire and at this range the shooter wouldn’t even have to aim. It was the collateral damage in the crowded café I was most worried about.

Outside there were two Yamaha motorcycles at the kerb. One, a nice sporty red, had a rider on board, while the second, painted green, was parked. Its rider was on foot, covering the café with a Browning semiautomatic pistol. He had a spare helmet in his left hand which he tossed to Clare, who deftly caught it.