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I fronted up for duty at NSA headquarters four weeks later. Ironically, Otis was playing Call of Duty. The beam of his smile split his face. His welcoming grin was at odds to the frosty reception that I anticipated was waiting for me in his boss’s office. Otis stood up, holding out his hand. Disregarding the bone crushing strength of his grip I put out my own. “It’s been too long, Mo.”
“I took personal leave.”
“You earnt it.”
I pulled a face. “Not in my book. My performance as head of ASP was up to shit and I didn’t exactly cover myself with glory as a field agent.”
“Come off it. You stopped the bastards.”
I shook my head. “Sheer idiocy deserves the kudos. Their pilot took a foolhardy risk by flying blind.” The fugitives had crashed into the Darling Range, a low escarpment that runs east to west of the Detention Centre for two hundred miles. There were no survivors and that was fine by me. But Lee wasn’t pleased when I phoned him immediately after the botched operation. He wanted them caught, caged and squealing like weasels.
“Otis’s red phone rang. He picked it up, listened, and then said, “General Lee will see you now.”
My hand went to my tie. Automatically, I glanced in the wall mirror. In my grey-blue uniform I looked like the go-getter who’d left Baltimore five months before. Inside I was a different man.
“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,” said the General, “Take a seat, Lieutenant.” He subjected me to a long judgmental scrutiny as I sat down in the leather chair. Never one for social chit-chat he came straight to the point. “I received notice from the RAAF that you are resigning your commission.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He glanced down at the open file on his desk. “As a manager you were clearly out of your depth.” His voice was matter-of-fact.
I blinked at his bluntness.
He paused considering me. “However, you did a good job identifying the bomber and his accomplices.”
“If it wasn’t for Beth, I’d never have found them.”
“We have the algorithm to thank for identifying her,” he said with a satisfied smile. “How is she?”
“She’s taken a year’s leave from teaching ... to finish that book she’s writing.”
Lee raised an inquiring eyebrow at me. “I thought she’d sworn to stick it out at St. Agnes’s for her sister’s sake.”
I explained that Beth had phoned her father when the QE2 docked at Southampton. To his credit, Frank had abandoned his cruise and flown home accompanied by his wife and former neighbour. The newlyweds had been married on board by the Captain, but as a marriage at sea isn’t official, they had held off contacting their families until the marriage could be ratified in Australia.
“Now that Annie’s living with her father and step-mother on the farm at Geraldton, Beth has no incentive to stay on at St. Agnes’s,” I concluded.
The general took a moment to process the information. “Home’s the best place for the little girl. I understand she suffered no ill effects physically from the ordeal. How is she emotionally?”
“Annie’s doing fine. She has no recollection of the operation. She believes her blackout was brought on by the bug that affected her couple of weeks earlier.”
And she swallowed that?”
“One hundred per cent.”
He acknowledged my reply by a brief smile. Niceties over, he told me to take a seat while he familiarized himself with my dossier. Taking a folder from a tray on his desk, he began reading with the intense concentration that characterized his whole approach. Finally he looked up. “It’s unfortunate that you didn’t bring the terrorists in alive.”
“I didn’t have any choice. I didn’t have radar. They could have been anywhere and we were flying in a busy air route. You’re a pilot, Sir ... in my place wouldn’t you have aborted the chase?”
He nodded his agreement. “Mo, would you consider withdrawing your resignation and transferring to our counter-terrorism unit?”
I couldn’t believe my ears. To pre-empt dismissal, I’d resigned to avoid the humiliation of being fired. “But I let you down, Sir.”
“Ah! Just as I thought. You blame yourself, don’t you?”
“How can I not? All leads to the terrorist cell died with the fugitives.”
“Enough. No blame attaches to you. On the contrary, Chief Superintendent Leeke said it would have been a bloodbath if not for you. He thinks you have the makings of an outstanding field operative.” He glanced at me appraisingly. “As it happens there is an undercover job that only an agent with a pilot’s licence can carry out.”
“Go on,” I said, unable to hide my curiosity.
“We, that is to say the US and Australian security services, want to uncover the ringleaders behind the plot to assassinate world leaders that attended the G20 summit in Perth. The Australian Transport Safety Bureau has identified the charter company that owned the chopper. We suspect Crescent Air Charter of smuggling drugs and ferrying extremists around the globe. They’ll be short a pilot.” His eyes glinted. “I want you to apply for the position. Currently, we are monitoring them electronically but what we need is a man on the inside. Will you take it on?”
Excitement gripped my innards. I could still uncover the ring leaders — a hope that had died with Karim. I said, “I am tempted, Sir. But there’s a fly in the ointment ... I don’t have a helicopter licence.”
“You will have by the time we send you over there ... if I have to instruct you myself. Besides they only ever had one chopper. Right now, their fleet consists of four Learjets and a newly acquired helicopter, a Bell 206.” The corners of his mouth turned up. “To take the place of the one scattered all over the Darling Range.”
“Surely, they’ll have replaced the deceased pilot by now.”
“There’ll be a vacancy when you apply.”
I knew better than to ask.
“Well what’s it to be Flight Lieutenant? Yes or no?”
What the general was offering was a life filled with danger, stress and pressure. For an extreme risk taker, it was a no-brainer.
“Yes, Sir,” I said.
