The Tesla Legacy (29 page)

Flying at maximum speed it took the Kiowa barely minutes to skim across the valleys and dunes before the computer reassessed its calibrations. Then the helicopter rose a few degrees, dipped its nose, and flew straight into Burning Mountain with a loud, shattering crunch.

Like a wildly thrashing windmill, the rotor blades tore into the smouldering hill of ash, coating the area with a layer of sulphurous white dust. The rotor blades buckled and pounded themselves to a stop and a moment later the high-octane aviation fuel ignited and a violent explosion sent a huge fireball of orange and black flames billowing up to the sky. Shortly after, the air was punctuated by flying bullets and spiralling white smoke trails from Agent Sierota’s remaining ammunition exploding in the magazines; several bullets buried themselves in the wooden viewing stand. Eventually, the fuel and the ammunition burnt itself out and all that remained were patches of flame flickering through the helicopter’s shell and around the charred bodies of Agent Sierota and Commander Sisti, still strapped in the cockpit.
If Commander Sisti had wanted to crash land in hell, he couldn’t have chosen a better place.

Standing by the tree, Mick had lowered his slingshot when the helicopter took off, then he watched it speed across the valley before it spectacularly crashed into Burning Mountain. Staring at the smoke and flames in the distance, Mick felt good and a grim, satisfied smile etched itself across his face. It was a better result than he’d expected. It wasn’t long, however, before Mick’s smile evaporated and he turned to the ridge on the other side of the trail. Now the young electrician was going to have to do the most painful thing he’d ever done in his life: carry Jesse’s body back to the car and take her home. Mick put his slingshot back in what was left of his backpack and walked sadly across to the rocks.

The tears had started to flow when Mick left the tree. By the time he got to the rocks and found Jesse’s bloodied body lying where he’d left it, they became a torrent. Racked with grief, Mick knelt down alongside Jesse and held her hand. Although he couldn’t bring himself to look at the bullet holes in her chest, Mick opened Jesse’s backpack and took out what was left of her water. His hands shaking, Mick wet his hanky, straightened Jesse’s
hair and wiped the blood from her forehead. Even in death, she still looked so lovely to him. Mick picked Jesse up from the cold hard rocks and held her body to his, crushing it against him.

‘Oh Jesse,’ cried Mick. ‘What have you done to me, mate? What have you done?’ Sobbing uncontrollably, Mick stared up at the sky. ‘Why couldn’t you have taken me? What did she ever do? It’s not fair. It’s just not fair.’ Absolutely broken-hearted, Mick dropped his head and rested his face on Jesse’s shoulder.

Unexpectedly, a soft voice seemed to come out of nowhere. ‘Mick, I told you to wait till we get back to the motel.’

Mick thought he was hearing things. ‘What?’

‘I told you to wait till we get back to the motel,’ the voice whispered. ‘Christ! Can’t you control yourself for five minutes?’

Mick raised his head and stared incredulously at Jesse. ‘You’re alive,’ he said.

‘Well, of course I’m alive.’ Jesse ran a hand across her forehead then looked at the blood. ‘Shit. My bloody head hurts, I know that. What’s going on?’

Mick shook his head in disbelief. His mind was racing and he felt his heart was going to burst out of his mouth. ‘But. But. All the blood?’ Mick
examined the front of Jesse’s T-shirt. ‘Hey, wait a minute.’ Amongst the blood and pieces of flesh were shreds of black feathers. ‘Feathers?’ Mick turned to the remains of the dead bush turkey slumped across the trail and started to laugh.

Jesse examined the front of her T-shirt. ‘Ohh yuk!’ she grimaced. ‘Where did all that come from?’

‘When you were running across the trail with all those bullets landing around you. They missed. But you got sprayed with pieces of that dead bush turkey.’

Jesse nodded slowly. ‘I remember all the bullets hitting the dirt round my feet. So I did a mad dive for the rocks. I must have hit my head and knocked myself out.’

‘You sure did,’ laughed Mick, then his face stiffened and he grabbed Jesse by her blood-spattered T-shirt and cocked his fist. ‘Fair dinkum, Oz. You ever do that to me again, you little monster, and I’ll punch your lights out. I thought you were dead.’

Jesse stared up at Mick. ‘Shit, Mick! I thought you said you loved me.’

Mick shook his head. ‘Oz. You’ll never ever know how much.’ Mick kissed Jesse then stood up and helped her to her feet. ‘Can you walk?’ he asked her.

‘Yes. I’m all right,’ answered Jesse. ‘Maybe a little shaky.’ She looked around. ‘What happened anyway? Where’s the helicopter?’

Mick winked and pointed towards the smoke still drifting over Burning Mountain. ‘Don’t worry about the helicopter. Old deadeye Vincent’s done it again.’

Mick told Jesse what happened. He held up the small bag containing his slingshot, then showed her his shredded backpack and demonstrated how he held it out on a stick from behind the tree till he got a chance to aim his slingshot. Jesse drank a little water while Mick was talking and couldn’t help but be impressed when he finished.

‘Wow, Mick. That’s unreal,’ she said.

‘Yeah. I got the bloke with the machine gun. Then I sank a couple into the pilot. He must have lost control and crashed into the mountain.’

‘Serves the arsehole right,’ said Jesse.

‘Yeah. Bugger him. And his mate, too. So how are you feeling? You ready to make a move?’

‘Yes, all right. God! My bloody T-shirt stinks.’

‘The cut on your head’s starting to bleed again, too. Hang on.’

Mick took out his pocket knife and cut the bottom off his T-shirt. He split it, then tied it
around Jesse’s head and stood back to admire his handiwork.

‘Shit! You look a mess,’ he laughed.

‘I feel like it, too,’ replied Jesse.

‘Where’s your camera? We got to get a photo of this.’

‘Ohh, Mick. Do we have to?’

‘Reckon,’ grinned Mick. ‘This has got to be the best day of my life.’

‘Good. I’m glad for you,’ mumbled Jesse. ‘Shit, my head’s aching. Did you leave any of those Panadeine?’

Mick set Jesse’s camera on automatic, rested it on a rock and got a photo of the two of them. Despite almost shredding his backpack, the bullets had missed his mobile and the packet of pain killers. He helped Jesse get a couple down, took a photo of the bullet-scarred tree, then returned Jesse’s camera to her backpack. He helped her into it then handed Jesse her staff.

‘Okay,’ said Mick, giving Jesse a fatherly once-up-and-down. ‘You ready, digger?’

‘Ready as I’ll ever be,’ answered Jesse.

‘Righto. Let’s go. I’ll lead the way.’

They set off at a steady pace and, despite her head wound, Jesse had little trouble keeping up. She wasn’t sure if Mick had a definite spring in
his step as they strode along. But she could hear him whistling happily and she did notice him turn around every other minute and smile at her for no reason at all.

The sun was coming down over Burning Mountain when they reached the old barbed-wire fence. Mick let Jesse go first and they walked up to the viewing platform which was coated in a layer of ash and dust. The flames had stopped. But the burnt-out remains of the helicopter were still lying blackened and twisted on the ash mound like the husk of some monstrous dead insect. Jesse stared at it for a moment, then twisted her face up and turned to Mick.

‘Ohh yuk, Mick,’ she said. ‘Have a look in the front of the helicopter.’

Mick stared across to what was left of the Kiowa. Fused in the cockpit like ghastly footage from the Gulf War were the blackened remains of Agent Sierota and Commander Sisti. They were little more than piles of scorched flesh, and the only thing to suggest they were once human beings was their teeth frozen into macabre white grins on their blackened skulls.

‘Yeah. It looks a bit crook, doesn’t it,’ replied Mick. ‘But if they weren’t there, you and I would
be lying back on the trail making a meal for the bush turkeys.’

‘Yes, you’re right,’ agreed Jesse. ‘And how would you have liked me to be sitting in the front of the van with you when it went up?’ Jesse nodded to the helicopter. ‘That’s what we would have looked like.’

‘Exactly. So bugger them,’ said Mick.

‘Yeah, bugger them,’ agreed Jesse. ‘Anyway, I’ve got a bit of film left. I’ll get some photos.’

‘Fair enough. But just promise me one thing, will you, Oz?’

‘Sure. What’s that, Mick?’

‘Don’t ask them to smile for the camera.’

Jesse took her camera out of her backpack and snapped a couple of photos from the viewing stand, then they walked up to the helicopter and she took the rest through the cockpit. While the camera wound back, they left the wreckage and walked back to the viewing platform. Jesse put the camera back in her bag then eased up to Mick and put her arms around him.

‘Mick,’ she said. ‘I’ve been thinking. When we get to the motel, how about we check out, go back to Muswellbrook, get the Buick off your friend Og, then drive straight back to Newcastle. Yeah?’

‘Oz, that’s the best news I’ve heard all day,’ smiled Mick. ‘I’ve had it. I can’t wait to get home.’

‘And you can stay at my place tonight, too. All right?’

‘Suits me. But the first thing we’ll do when we get back is call into John Hunter and get your forehead looked at. It’ll probably need a stitch and you might need a tetanus injection.’

Jesse looked at Mick for a moment, then stepped over and hugged him. ‘Mick,’ she said, ‘have I ever told you I love you?’

‘Oh, you might have mentioned it once or twice, Oz,’ replied Mick.

‘Well I do, Mick. With all my heart.’

‘Thanks, Oz. And believe me, mate, the feeling is very, very mutual.’ Mick stared over the top of Jesse’s head. ‘Hey Oz,’ he said. ‘Check out the way the sun’s setting over the Piggiebillah Hills. They look like they’re glowing. And there’s a funny-looking ring over the top.’

Jesse turned around. In the distance, the mountains were radiating an intense orange light and above them the clouds had formed an ever-widening silver halo that drifted lazily against the sky in the late afternoon sun.

‘Yes. You’re right,’ said Jesse. She stared at the mountains for a moment, then turned back to
Mick. ‘They can glow as much as they like for all I care. I just want to get back to the car.’

‘Yeah. Me too,’ said Mick. ‘Come on. Let’s hit the old frog and toad.’

‘Let’s.’

They smiled, held each other for moment, then shared a kiss before picking up their things and taking the trail down Burning Mountain.

When Mick and Jesse arrived back at the car park it was close enough to 7.00 pm daylight saving time. Not that far away in his beautiful home, the big man was still dressed in his polo outfit, storming around the loungeroom before his guests in a decidedly bad mood.

‘What do you jolly well mean the station has gone off the air?’ he demanded to know. ‘That’s my bloody TV station. What the devil is going on? I’ll wager it’s that new CEO. I had my reservations about him, you know.’

The big man’s lantern-jawed son held up the phone. ‘I tried to ring the station, Dad, but the phone’s off.’

‘It must be a power out,’ suggested one of the guests.

‘A power out?’ thundered the big man. ‘Look around you. The power’s on. No. It’s a stuff-up at
the station. And I tell you, some overpaid flunky’s going to get his backside kicked when I get back to Sydney. Fools. Damn their incompetence.’

The big man’s doting and faithful blonde wife tried to console him. ‘Now take it easy, dear,’ she smiled. ‘Remember your heart.’

‘My heart? To hell with my heart,’ thundered the big man.

On Queensland’s Gold Coast it was a little after 6.00 pm eastern standard time. Three floors up at Radio 4GGG, overlooking Southport Beach, bearded talkback radio host John Berry was getting ready for arguably the biggest night of his career and the station’s.

Following weeks of negotiations, Berry had okayed it with the station owner to pay a notorious Brisbane gangster, Joe Renton, fifty thousand dollars for his story. Joe had just done five years in Boggo Road for murder. He should have done twenty. But Joe had struck a deal with all concerned to keep his mouth shut and leave any bodies buried where they were buried. So the charge was downgraded to manslaughter. Two months after his release, Joe found out he had cancer, very little money and a year to live if he was lucky. Figuring he had nothing much to
lose and fifty grand would make his last days infinitely more comfortable, Joe agreed to do a huge steaming dump on everyone he’d been involved with during his criminal career. Fellow criminals, police, politicians, club owners, developers. Even two respected judges Joe had supplied with heroin and very young boys before he went inside. They were all going down on shock jock John Berry’s top-rating Sunday night program. Joe had warned Berry that what was left of his disreputable life was now on the line. And if the station changed its mind at the last moment, he would kill him. John knew this was no idle threat. So it was all go ahead. The lawyers had been briefed. The advertising had been booked and the station had been promoting Renton all week. It was the talk of the Gold Coast. The owner of the station was listening, along with the staff and half of Queensland. A photographer from the
Gold Coast Bulletin
had just arrived in the foyer and Joe was on his way to the station from the safe house in Brisbane and due on air in fifteen minutes.

John was at his microphone, primed and waiting for the six o’clock news to finish. He’d go to an ad break, play a track by the Beatles,
‘Money.’ Then give his preamble. Once that was out of the way, he’d shake hands with Joe and introduce ‘Career criminal and notorious standover man Joe Renton.’ And let it go from there. John was absently tapping a biro against a sheet of questions he intended to ask Joe, when his headphones cut out. He checked them. The console light said they were on. Yet nothing was coming through. John pushed the mike button to put him through to Tall Paul, his panel operator in the booth opposite. The intercom wasn’t working either. John stared blankly through the glass at Tall Paul, who gestured helplessly and stared back. Paul took his headphones off and a moment later his gangly form draped in a red Hawaiian shirt appeared in the doorway of John’s studio.