hat Ellie later referred to as the first threat against Molly occurred the following afternoon. In the upper corner of Taronga, high on the hillside, stood a tall artificial rock, originally constructed out of concrete for the benefit of such sure-footed animals as mountain goats and barbary sheep. Because of its height it had for some time been used as a look-out post. On that particular day a young woman was stationed up there, equipped with a rifle and a pair of binoculars. Early in the afternoon, during the quietest, most drowsy part of a warm day, a shot rang out and she toppled from her perch, her body rolling and bouncing down the steep rock-face.

Nobody realised what had happened to begin with. At the sound of the shot, Molly triggered the alarm and everyone adopted a defensive position; some people guarding the major buildings; others taking cover at specified points all over the park; Ellie and Ben running swiftly around the outer fence, searching for where a break-in might have taken place. It was only when someone was sent to the tall rock in order to check with the lookout that the body was found, lying crumpled on one of the lower ledges.

Molly was furious but also tight-lipped about the incident, giving no indication of what she intended doing.

‘I suppose this means another night raid into Mosman,’ Ben said gloomily, confiding his fears to Ellie.

She shook her head. ‘Not necessarily. This wasn’t just revenge. I reckon it was also a warning.’

‘A warning? Of what?’

‘Someone’s telling Molly that her raid didn’t work. It’s a way of showing her there’re still armed people outside, who can hit back any time they please.’

‘Chas,’ Ben whispered involuntarily, recalling the brief glimpse he had been given of the horribly scarred face beneath the balaclava.

‘Who?’

‘It was probably Chas,’ he explained, ‘the leader of the gang that pushed me over the fence.’

‘Could be.’

‘So what can Molly do?’ Ben wondered aloud.

Ellie shrugged. ‘Nothing much. Just sit tight for a while.’

Which was precisely what happened. In the ensuing days there were frequent alarms. They always followed the same pattern: one or two random shots, which rarely found their mark now, fired by an unseen sniper from somewhere outside the boundary. Everyone would scuttle for cover, wondering if this was the beginning of the big attack, the tension increasing with each fresh disturbance. And yet still Molly did nothing, merely advising people to keep clear of the outer fence. Not until a week had gone by did she agree to discuss the problem openly, and only then because of the growing uncertainty within Taronga.

It was a short, stormy meeting, held as usual in the restaurant, with some people proposing a raid on the surrounding streets, and others insisting on defensive measures. Molly brought the discussion to an end, her face pale and scornful.

‘Just look at you,’ she said witheringly, gazing down at them from her vantage point on the chair, ‘acting like animals in a cage. Getting all neurotic as soon as someone comes and peers at you through the bars. Don’t you realise that those people out there want you to carry on like this? They know if they can rattle you enough, you’ll be incapable of defending the place. Better still, you might be fool enough to go out there and try and take them on.’

‘What’s wrong with that?’ someone asked. ‘We could handle them.’

‘What’s wrong with it?’ she repeated sarcastically. ‘Can’t you even work that out?’

There was a morose silence.

‘All right,’ she went on, ‘then I’ll tell you. Because a raiding party wouldn’t find an enemy to fight. Sending people over the wire would only achieve one thing: it would weaken our defences in here. And that’s when the big attack would come, when we were least prepared for it.’

The man called Terry, standing at the very edge of the crowd, called out, ‘That’s all very well, but what do we do in the meantime?’

‘We wait,’ Molly answered shortly.

‘How long for?’

‘For ever if necessary. And why not? After all, we’re already holding what those people out there want. We don’t have to do anything. They’re the ones who’ll be forced to act in the end. And when they do, when the fight comes, I want to make sure it’s on our terms.’ She clenched her fist and thrust it out towards them, much as they had once done to her. ‘On our terms!’ she repeated emphatically. ‘Have you got that? Ours!’ She paused, allowing her words to sink in. ‘And afterwards . . . then we’ll go over the wire if it’s still necessary. That’ll be the time to show them who’s boss around here.’

There was no further debate after that, the crowd breaking up and wandering away in small groups. Alone with Ellie once more, Ben noticed how discouraged she looked.

‘What did you make of that lot?’ he asked.

They were walking along one of the upper paths and Ellie stopped and stared at the city skyline, the tall buildings devoid now of purpose or meaning.

‘It’s war, isn’t it?’ she muttered unhappily. ‘The same thing all over again. Two sides taking it in turns to fight in each other’s territory.’

‘And with our turn next,’ he commented.

‘Looks like it.’

A sudden disturbing thought occurred to Ben. ‘But what about the animals? What’ll happen to them if there’s a battle in Taronga?’

Ellie surveyed the bush slope beneath them before raising her eyes once again to the stark city skyline. ‘I don’t know, Ben,’ she said. ‘That’s something else we have to wait and find out about.’

It proved to be a long wait: three weeks crawling slowly by; the silence shattered at least once every day by unseen snipers. There were no further casualties now that everyone gave the outer fence a wide berth, but still those random shots achieved their purpose, for they increased the general feeling that Taronga was in a state of siege. In spite of Molly’s warning, the air of uncertainty, of being constantly under threat, told steadily on everyone. Tempers became frayed, with arguments, and sometimes even fights, breaking out for no apparent reason. Even the animals began to sense that something was amiss. Instead of feeding peacefully, they would shy at the least noise or edge nervously away if someone approached.

Only Raja remained unaffected by the widespread uncertainty. Fearless by nature, he would roar out his usual challenge if anyone ventured near his cage; and at night he continued to haunt the lower reaches of Taronga where the low wall and the soft washing of the sea against the shore gave him a tantalising sense of the freedom he yearned for. The only slight change in him was in his relationship to Ben. Ever since that night when they had briefly made contact, a tremor of understanding passing between them, he had been less defiant. More and more frequently, he began searching behind the word of command, feeling for the human mind which sheltered there. What he found made him snarl and draw back, but also puzzled and intrigued him. For in his primitive yet effective way, he could tell that Ben also felt caged, less free than he had formerly. And with that knowledge, those first glimmerings of fellow-feeling grew into something more. Not trust: that certainly didn’t exist between them; given the opportunity, Raja would still have ended Ben’s life with one swift slash of his paw. It was more a suggestion of shared sympathy, a passing recognition that they both had to deal with a common enemy.

A typical encounter occurred about a month after the first alarm. Ben had already released Ranee and was intent on enticing Raja from his cage. As the tiger stepped out into the darkening tunnel, he stopped and stared straight at Ben. They were no more than a metre apart; and at that precise moment, facing each other equally, it was impossible to say which of them was captive and which was free. For the space of a heartbeat – no more than that – they dropped their defences, each perceiving in the other’s eyes an image of himself. Ben raised his hand, as if to reach out and touch the fiercely whiskered head, but the spell was already broken. And snarling half in bewilderment, half in resentment at this, the unexpected face of his enemy, Raja slid away along the tunnel and disappeared.

Ben walked more slowly to the opening. A fine rain was falling, the overcast sky making the evening feel more advanced than it really was. Already there were dark stains of shadow beneath the trees, and even in the open the atmosphere was tinged a dusky blue-grey. Looking out at the twilight, Ben was struck by the notion that an evening such as this was perfect for an assault on Taronga. The early dusk, the poor visibility, the difficulty of following a scent in the rain – all pointed to a possible conflict. It was not a pleasant thought, but one which persuaded him to remain where he was for a while, all his senses on the alert.

The rain began to fall more heavily, dripping from the vine that swarmed around the tunnel opening; and a little more daylight ebbed away. Soon only the ghost of the day remained, a vague half-light that troubled his vision. As he screwed up his eyes, peering into the shadows, he knew that if he were in Chas’s position this would be the moment he would choose. Now. And only seconds later, as though in response to his own unbidden fears, he heard the alarm. It was faint, far off, the sound only just reaching him, but unmistakable.

He needed no instructions. Leaping out into the rain, he followed the same course he had taken weeks earlier, making straight for the lower fence. He knew the exact spot he wanted: that section of wall where he had first been pitched into the darkness of Taronga. Now as then, it was the obvious place for Chas to attempt a break-in: the wall easy to scale; and Raja always somewhere in the vicinity, ready to pursue the unfortunate person pushed over as bait. Who would it be this time? And was the person inside yet or had they merely touched the alarm wires with the snips? Ben tried to recall the details of his own entry: the snipping of the wire; the hurried conference; the brief delay as they waited for Raja to make his presence known. Yes, that had been the critical factor – Raja’s whereabouts, his rumbling growl signalling to the waiting invaders.

Without slackening his pace, Ben opened his mind and searched the slope below. As he had hoped, Raja and Ranee were there, but still waiting; too distant for Ben to command, but perhaps close enough to be delayed. Using all his power, he sent out an urgent danger warning, and immediately felt them respond: Ranee flinching back, a thrill of fear passing through her; Raja hesitating slightly as he stopped and scented the breeze.

It was as much as Ben could have expected, Raja at least remaining silent while he searched for the source of danger. With luck, that might be all that was needed. Continuing to Call, Ben rapidly narrowed the distance between himself and the waiting tigers. Already he was on the lower path, running along it, plunging down into the thick bush bordering the wall.

He was brought to a skidding halt by Raja’s growl, his feet almost shooting out from under him on the wet soil. That same growl, as he was sickeningly aware, would also act as a spur to the figures lurking on the other side of the wall. He listened, having to strain past the hammering of the rain on the leaves above him, and heard a familiar voice whisper hoarsely, ‘That’s it! Get him through!’

An equally familiar voice, shrill now with terror, replied, ‘No, Chas! Please! I’ll do anything! Anything!’

There was a brief scuffle, a sound of ripping cloth, and a soft thud as someone landed on the ground inside the wall. ‘I can’t!’ the second voice wailed, ‘I can’t!’

‘You touch that wall and I’ll cut you!’

‘No! The blood! If they smell blood . . .!’

‘Then get going! Or else!’

The whispered argument continued in the background, but Ben was barely listening to it, his mind focussed on the tigers, willing them back. As always, Ranee responded at once, sidling away up the slope, only Raja pitting himself against Ben’s unwelcome interference. Ordinarily, it was a contest Ben would have been reasonably confident of winning, but the argument between the figures at the wall suddenly ended in a cry of pain, and with a surge of energy Raja nearly broke free. It was clear what had happened: Chas had made good his threat and cut his victim, the smell of blood maddening Raja. He began roaring out in protest, tearing at the sodden undergrowth, and it required all Ben’s strength and ability to hold him in check.

As he struggled to maintain control, there was another cry, this time of fear, and a thin figure scurried past him in the thickening darkness. Raja tried to follow and found his way blocked by Ben, the two of them face to face as they had been so often before. But now with this difference: the alluring scent of blood was like a bridge reaching out over the silent chasm of command, tempting Raja to cross it. He crept forward, the outline of his head only just distinguishable, and Ben, his scalp prickling with fear, was forced to give ground, his heels sliding treacherously on the wet bank.

‘No!’ he ordered, the rain streaming down his face. ‘Keep back!’

To his astonishment, Raja stopped. Yet it wasn’t Ben’s spoken word of command which had halted his advance. Above the noise of Raja’s roaring and the persistent drumming of the rain, Chas was heard to shout, ‘Now the other one!’

And before Ben could even work out what those words might mean, Raja had turned and leaped for the wall, one paw striking out, silencing for ever the second of the intruders almost before his feet touched the ground.

Ben did not have to witness the death scene – the night and the rain together hid it from him. Yet Raja’s contented growls told him plainly enough what had occurred, giving him a clear indication that there was nothing more he could do. As with Ranee and the prisoner . . .

The thought of Ranee suddenly alerted him to a new danger. She was still up there, wandering the hillside, and he had overlooked the threat she posed once before, with dire consequences.

Slipping and sliding on the muddy surface, he floundered his way up towards the path. What was it Chas had told him on that night when he too had been pushed over the wall?

The actual words came back to him: ‘run diagonally across the hillside.’ He followed exactly those instructions now – or as nearly as the cages and the meandering pathways would allow. And after a few minutes, much to his relief, he caught up with the thin figure that had pushed past him earlier.

The man’s initial flight had taken him a considerable distance up the hillside; but in the rain-filled night he had lost his sense of direction and stopped. Now, overcome by terror, he was huddled at the side of the path, his spidery-thin legs drawn up against his body. He started hastily to his feet at the sight of Ben, his rat-like features thrust forward as he peered nervously through the darkness and rain. One cheek, Ben noticed, was cut open, a dark dribble of blood staining the stubbly line of his jaw.

‘It’s all right, Trev,’ he said soothingly.

‘What? Who’s that?’

‘You remember me? A couple of months back. You and Chas put me over the wall.’

He had meant to sound reassuring, but his words threw Trev into a renewed state of panic.

‘That wasn’t my idea!’ he cried shrilly. ‘I told him . . .!’

He stopped and stared wild-eyed past Ben to where Ranee had slid silently into view. She was only a short leap away, crouched low, her tail twitching.

‘Bloody hell!’ he burst out.

‘I told you, it’s all right,’ Ben said in a steady voice. ‘She won’t attack while I’m here.’

He stepped towards Ranee and issued a sharp dismissive Call. She snarled, her eyes fixed hungrily on Trev; but after a brief hesitation she obediently loped off to join Raja.

‘She’s gone!’ Trev whispered, clutching at Ben’s sleeve. ‘How the hell d’you manage that?’

‘Never mind how. We’d better get you out of here while you’re still alive.’

‘Can you do it?’ Both hands clutching even more desperately at Ben’s threadbare shirt. ‘Can you get me back over the fence?’

‘I think so. But only on one condition: you tell me the general plan of the attack.’

‘I will! I promise. Once you get me to the fence.’

Ben shook his head, acting far more ruthless than he felt. ‘No way. You give me the plan first.’

Trev glanced furtively behind him, his thin face pinched with anxiety, his lips slack and trembling. On every side the rain enclosed them like a fine grey-black curtain, rustling and murmuring as it brushed persistently against the grass and leaves of Taronga.

‘It’s your life you’re risking, Trev,’ Ben said.

But it was fear, not reluctance, which had made him hesitate. ‘For God’s sake!’ he pleaded. ‘I’ll tell you anything, if only you’ll . . .’

‘The plan first,’ he interrupted insistently.

Trev made a visible effort to steady himself, his small eyes screwed up in anguish. ‘Okay, the plan.’ He took a quick, gasping breath. ‘There’re four break-in points, all on the lower fence. The idea was to put decoys over first and then follow up with the others.’

‘Others?’

‘Armed men. About twenty of them.’

‘And where’re they making for?’

‘The weatherboard house overlooking the harbour. That for starters. A base is what Chas called it.’

As if to support his account, there was a burst of automatic gunfire from down near the house, followed seconds later by a lingering scream. More shots and screams issued from the same area, all coming in quick succession. Trev, his meagre body shaking with fear, had again slumped into a helpless, crouching position, his head buried in his arms.

‘Please,’ he begged. ‘They’ll be here soon. The other cats!’ Ben, who had experienced similar moments of terror within Taronga, urged him gently to his feet. He knew there was no time now to lead Trev to the fence, not with Ellie’s life in danger. Yet he couldn’t leave him out there in the open, defenceless. What he needed was a temporary place of sanctuary, somewhere close by.

‘Come on,’ he said, the perfect place suddenly occurring to him. ‘I’m taking you where you’ll be safe. But we have to move!’

Trev looked up, his thin features twisted into a mask of suspicion. ‘You wouldn’t trick me? Feed me to . . .them?’

The gunfire and the screams continued relentlessly in the background, Trev’s face wincing at every sound.

‘Don’t be a fool!’ Ben almost shouted, his concern for Ellie overriding his feelings of sympathy. ‘If I wanted the cats to get you, all I’d have to do is leave you here. Now don’t waste time.’

He turned away and began running towards the tiger cages situated a short distance across the hillside. Trev, anxious not to be left alone, followed close behind. He made no further protest until they reached the entrance to the tunnel. Then, as the pungent odour of big cat hit him full in the face, he drew back in alarm.

‘It’s a trick!’ he shrilled out.

‘The cats are gone,’ Ben explained quickly. ‘This is the safest place in Taronga until dawn.’

Taking Trev firmly by the arm, he drew him through the opening and into the first of the cages. The interior was so dark that Trev didn’t realise he was being locked up until Ben lowered the cage door and secured it with a padlock.

‘What are you up to?’ he shouted hysterically. ‘You can’t leave me! Not here in the dark!’

But Ben had already pocketed the key. ‘I’ll be back before sunrise,’ he said. ‘I promise.’

Ignoring Trev’s agonised pleas, he ran off through the steadily falling rain, heading straight for the weatherboard house on the far side of the park.

The firing had ceased by the time he reached it. An uneasy silence hung over that whole corner of Taronga, the house in darkness, the surrounding undergrowth strangely restless and alive. Ben, crouched in the long grass bordering the pathway, opened his mind and listened – and immediately detected the presence of a number of cats. They were in a state of nervous excitement, made wary by the recent gunfire, but also attracted by it, associating it, as always, with the prospect of food. Much of that ‘food’, Ben realised with a shudder, was already lying in the undergrowth all about him. Over to his left, there was a low-pitched growling as several cats worried at a dead body. Further along the path and directly in his line of vision, a full-maned lion stole stealthily towards the cover of nearby trees, dragging a recognisably human shape between its front legs.

Even for Ben it was a dangerous place, the cats raised to a pitch of excitement that made them unpredictable. Yet he knew that if Ellie were alive, there was a good chance she would still be somewhere in the vicinity. She would not have run off until she had checked whether there were any wounded people requiring help. He was sure of that.

Raising his head above the level of the grass, he called in a loud whisper, ‘Ellie? Ellie, are you there?’

A short distance from where he crouched, something moved in the wet grass, making a faint swishing sound. Thinking it was one of the cats, he sent out a frantic danger signal. But the movement was followed by nothing more terrifying than a groan; and when he investigated, crawling forward on hands and knees, he came upon the woman called Val. She was lying curled up on her side, her eyes closed, both hands still clutching a rifle. One of her trouser legs was black with fresh blood.

Ben leaned over and touched her cheek lightly with his fingertips. ‘Val,’ he whispered, ‘can you hear me?’

Her eyelids fluttered open, her eyes focussing on the outline of something hovering above her. With a scream of fear, she brought the rifle swinging round, her finger groping for the trigger. Ben tried to draw back, but the barrel struck him on the cheek, simultaneously discharging a gush of automatic fire. The noise alone rendered him almost senseless, deafening him in one ear; and the closeness of the discharge left him with burns down the whole side of his face.

Clutching at his head, blind with pain and shock, he reeled away, lurching uncertainly to his feet. In the few brief seconds before he fell, the night seemed to close relentlessly upon him: the rain like fire upon the seared skin of his face; his ears filled with a muffled roaring which, in his confusion, he could not distinguish from the challenge of lion or leopard. He tried to Call, to protect himself, but failed, his mind too numb to respond. Reaching out through the darkness, he touched something live and warm: the hard, compact feel of muscle and bone straining to reach him. There was no resisting it – he lacked both the purpose and the energy. And with a short sobbing breath, he submitted. As he toppled backwards, his last distinct thought was not of his own imminent death, but of Raja’s fiercely beautiful face. ‘If only . . .if only . . .’ he muttered audibly, his voice, sick with longing and regret, trailing away into emptiness.