The Beijing conspiracy

CHAPTER 68

K ate stirred, her head still on Curtis’ chest. Curtis brushed her blond locks away from her forehead and kissed her gently. There was a faint aroma of whiskey on her breath.

‘We smell of sex,’ Curtis whispered, as he ran his hand slowly over her back, moving down to Kate’s small, firm bottom.

‘Mmm,’ Kate responded dreamily.

The rain was lashing the balcony where they’d stood the night before, and Kate moulded herself against Curtis’ body. It was one of those mornings where they both would have preferred to stay in bed.

‘Come inside me,’ she said softly, caressing his hair.

Back in her own bathroom, Kate set the shower nozzle to ‘pulse’ and let the warm water massage her back. Her thoughts were in turmoil. The sex the night before had been urgent and passionate but this morning they had taken their time. The roguish Irish-American she’d decided to have a fling with had also turned out to be a wonderfully caring lover. As she stood in the shower she reflected on the early morning. She had felt very comfortable and safe with this man but she tried repeating her mantra with more conviction. ‘This is a one night stand and I can’t get involved with him.’ But Kate knew Curtis was different and realised her mantra had come a little too late.

The rain lifted momentarily as Kate and Curtis arrived at the State Crisis Centre on the southern side of the city. Kate spotted a postbox as she waited for Curtis to pay the taxi fare.

‘Won’t be a second. I’ll just post this off to Richard,’ she said, waving a postcard. In an instant Curtis recognised the photograph. He remembered he’d seen it years ago at the time of the Sydney Olympics. Taken when the smoke of the fireworks heralding the start of the 2000 Olympic Games had cleared, the word ‘Eternity’ was illuminated in the middle of the arch of the Sydney Harbour Bridge.

‘Wait. Can I see that?’

‘Want to read my mail now that we’ve slept together?’ Kate saw that Curtis was serious. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Do you remember Kadeer’s first warning attack – “beneath Eternity”?’

‘You think this is what he was referring to?’ Kate frowned as she suddenly recalled something else Kadeer had mentioned in his broadcast.

‘It’s possible,’ Curtis replied. ‘Is there a significance to the relationship between Sydney and the sign of Eternity?’

‘It has its origin in the 1930s,’ Kate explained, remembering a long-forgotten history lesson. ‘Arthur Stace was a homeless alcoholic who lived on the streets of the city. One night he went in to the Baptist Tabernacle in Darlinghurst where he listened to a sermon from a minister called Ridley. Ridley was urging his congregation to think about their mortality and the promise of eternity with God and he concluded his sermon with something like “Eternity! Eternity! Oh that this word could be emblazoned across the streets of Sydney!” For the next forty years, while the city slept, Arthur Stace wrote ‘Eternity’ using yellow chalk in an immaculate copperplate hand in every doorway, and on every footpath, train station and ferry wharf where he thought people would see it.’

Curtis shook his head.

‘You don’t think this has anything to do with the warning?’

‘On the contrary, I think it might have everything to do with it. It’s just that you seem to have swallowed the Britannica.’

‘I’ll take that as a compliment but if you’re right, Kadeer is going to attack the Sydney Harbour Bridge, and now that you mention it, there was something else in Kadeer’s video. Didn’t he say that his first warning would take place where we least expect it, beneath Eternity where the windmill has been stolen?’

‘The stolen windmill has always confused me,’ Curtis admitted.

Kate looked thoughtful. ‘Can we get access to a computer at the State Crisis Centre? I vaguely remember that the area known as Dawes Point was once called Windmill Hill.’

‘Let’s go,’ Curtis said.

By the time they reached the foyer, Brigadier Anthony Davis, the Australian Defence Force’s senior liaison officer in the State Crisis Centre was waiting for them.

‘Curtis! Welcome back. Great to see you again.’ The Brigadier shook his old friend’s hand warmly. ‘Still travelling in the company of beautiful women?’ he said, turning to Kate.

‘Brigadier General Anthony Davis,’ Curtis said, introducing him to Kate.

‘I prefer Anthony,’ Davis said, shaking Kate’s hand firmly and smiling. ‘Welcome to Fort Fumble. We’re preparing for a major anti-terrorist exercise so you’ve come at the right time. The Prime Minister’s hosting APEC next week and the politicians are in a flap,’ Davis said as he pressed the lift button for the sixth floor. ‘The State Police Minister’s here at the moment,’ the Brigadier said, ‘and right now he’s arguing with Cecil Jensen, the Defence Minister’s minder over who has responsibility for announcing the exercise. Since responsibility is something that the politicians here only take when the news is good it’s really an argument about who gets their mug in front of the cameras.’

Curtis grinned. ‘Who’s winning?’

‘Last time I looked, the Police Minister. Right royal little turd he is too. Pardon my French,’ Davis added, holding his arm against the lift door for Kate.

‘I’ve heard it all before,’ Kate replied easily.

‘But I wouldn’t think he’ll be winning for too long,’ Davis continued as he swiped his card at the door to the State Crisis Centre. ‘I’m putting my money on the Defence Minister. He’s an even bigger turd with an ego the size of the Great Wall of China and when he finds out, he’ll be in front of a camera in a flash.’ The Brigadier closed the door and led them into a large room. Two big plasma screens were operating on the far wall.

‘Paul! Great to see you again, buddy!’ Curtis and the senior policeman shook hands.

‘Assistant Commissioner Paul Mackey,’ Brigadier Davis said, introducing Kate to the Commander of the NSW Police Counter Terrorism Group. Mackey’s handshake was firm. He had a strong jaw and a craggy face, etched with the lines of nearly forty years’ experience as a tough, no-nonsense policeman. He was one of the most respected men in the force.

‘Paul kept me sane when we worked on the Olympics together and if he wasn’t so fond of politicians, I could learn to quite like him,’ Davis explained to Kate.

‘I have a file on the brigadier and one day I’m going to make it public,’ Mackey replied. ‘This is the nerve centre for the city. There are several hundred cameras in Sydney, and sometimes we pick up things going on at bus stops that the participants would rather we didn’t.’ He glanced at the left-hand screen and gave Curtis a wink. The images on the screens were constantly changing, and the one on the left had rotated to a bus stop in North Sydney. Oblivious to the hidden camera, a well-dressed man in his early fifties and a much younger woman in an elegant black suit were in a steamy embrace in a bus shelter. As the man’s hand disappeared down the front of the woman’s pants the cameras rotated and an image of traffic gridlock in Market Street appeared. The other screen showed an image from a camera focused on the waters around Bradley’s Head.

‘These people in front of us,’ Mackey continued, pointing to the occupants of two long rows of desks with computers that were linked to various other headquarters around the city, ‘are from the police, ambulance, fire brigade, the military, health department and any other experts we need to call in; and behind us is the conference table for the main participants. When it’s up and running, as it will be for APEC in the next few days, the State Crisis Centre is chaired by the Premier and it includes the Ministers for Police, Transport, Roads, Emergency Services – all the usual suspects.’ Commissioner Mackey glanced at the group near the main conference table where a heated discussion was still going on between the Police Minister and the senior advisor to the Defence Minister.

‘Have you got an office where we can get online?’ Curtis asked.

‘Sure. Follow me. Anything I can help you with?’

‘More the other way around, although I hope we’re wrong.’

Kate googled ‘Sydney Observatory’ and ‘Dawes Point’. ‘Bingo,’ she said as she pulled up a web page that referred to Windmill Hill. Next to a photograph of the Sydney Observatory taken in 1874 was an explanation of the early history.

‘Here it is,’ Kate said. ‘In 1796 a windmill was built on the hill overlooking the first settlement in Sydney Cove and it became known as Windmill Hill, and later Observatory Hill when a fort built by Governor Hunter was turned into the Sydney Observatory.’

‘But more importantly,’ Curtis said, looking over her shoulder, ‘the canvas sails of the windmill were stolen. Did you ever have a problem with TCDD in this town?’ Curtis asked, remembering the email Echelon had intercepted.

‘Tetrachloro dibenzene-para-dioxin?’ Davis replied, a quizzical look on his face. ‘As a matter of fact we have. They found some pretty alarming levels among the fishing community so they’ve banned prawning and trawling in the harbour. Why?’

Curtis reached into his leather briefcase and took out a copy of the intercepted email.

‘This is too much of a coincidence,’ Davis said. ‘Stolen windmills might sound a bit far-fetched but when you couple it with Eternity and this email, Sydney might be the curtain-raiser to whatever Kadeer’s planning for his final solution. No offence, mate, but our government’s decision to get involved in this clusterfuck in Iraq has made Australia a much more likely target and, as targets go, they don’t come any bigger than Sydney Harbour. I’m not sure how much time we have but if you’re right, we need to sharpen our readiness. TAG East is on its normal notice to move but we can bring that down as a precaution,’ Brigadier Davis said. He picked up the secure phone and pushed the speed dial button for the Vice Chief of the Defence Force in Canberra.

‘TAG East?’ Kate whispered to Curtis.

‘Tactical Assault Group. These guys have got two of them. One in their Special Air Services Regiment on the west coast and one here on the east coast in their commando battalion.’

‘His minders are here now in the middle of a shit fight with the Police Minister,’ the brigadier explained, winking at Curtis. ‘Always polite… Sir.’ Davis grinned as he put down the receiver. ‘The Vice Chief is Navy and oversees operations. Member of the Commonwealth Club, wears leather patches on the elbows of his tweed jacket and reminded me I wasn’t flavour of the month in Canberra.’

‘Off the PM’s Christmas card list again?’ Curtis asked.

‘I doubt I’ll ever get over it but life must go on,’ Davis said with a wicked grin. ‘The Vice Chief will brief the Chief of the Defence Force and he’ll speak with Little Lord Fauntleroy.’

‘Little Lord Fauntleroy?’ Kate asked, bemused.

‘Defence Minister. Likes to be kept informed if we so much as change our underpants, let alone readiness states. These days you need his permission to fart,’ Davis said. ‘At least we can brief his minder on our plans to get the TAG ready to move, which might save us some time down the track.’

‘Out of the question,’ Cecil Jensen, the Defence Minister’s chinless, pasty-faced advisor insisted pompously. ‘If it ever gets out that we’ve brought forward readiness states because the earlier low life in this country stole the canvas sails from a windmill,’ he said, glaring at Curtis and Kate, ‘we’re going to look as if we’ve panicked over a “maybe” based on history.’

‘It’s not about how you or the Minister “look” Cecil,’ Brigadier Davis responded coldly. The longstanding animosity between the military man and the jumped-up advisor was obvious. ‘It’s about taking a sensible precaution until we can investigate this more thoroughly. Right now we’re in a very fortunate position. Normally a lot of our Blackhawk helicopters are based in the north,’ he explained to Curtis and Kate, ‘but they arrived down here yesterday for APEC.’

‘We’ve already taken a decision to base some of them in Sydney,’ the Minister’s advisor sniffed.

The Brigadier looked to the right and then to the left. ‘Nope. No media around to catch that one, Cecil. And it’s irrelevant. The point is they’re here and so are the Tigers.’

‘Tigers?’ Kate said to Curtis.

‘Armed reconnaissance helicopters,’ Curtis replied. ‘They pack a powerful punch.’

‘Even on the present notice to move,’ Brigadier Davis argued, ‘there’s no guarantee we can get either the Tigers or the TAG in the air quickly enough if something happens. See that, Cecil,’ Davis said, pointing to the screen on the right. ‘That’s the Ocean Venturer.’ The massive bow of the tanker had come into view with no fewer than four tugs shepherding the great ship around Bradley’s Head and lining her up for the passage where she would pass under the bridge and move on to her berth at Gore Cove.

‘That’s the largest crude oil tanker ever to berth in Sydney and you’ll notice it’s almost high tide. At low tide she would hit the bottom of the harbour. That’s a huge target, and if these guys are right,’ he said, glancing at Curtis and Kate, ‘I’d be a damn sight more comfortable if the TAG was sitting in those choppers with their rotors spinning.’

‘Fortunately those decisions are not up to you, Brigadier,’ Jensen said haughtily, picking up one of the secure phones that would connect him with the Defence Minister in Canberra.

‘For once I agree with Cecil,’ the NSW State Minister for Police said, reinforcing his claim while Jensen was distracted. ‘It’s way too early to involve the Commonwealth. This is a State responsibility and I’ll be holding a media conference to make that point very shortly.’

Tony Davis, Paul Mackey and Curtis O’Connor exchanged glances. The Ocean Venturer was in full view making a slow but inexorable run down to the bridge.

The small, dark-skinned man picked up his mobile phone. The foremast of the cruiser HMAS Sydney had been positioned as a memorial to the men who had taken part in Australia’s first naval engagement of World War I. As the colossal bow of the Ocean Venturer went past, the man pushed the send button on a text message: ‘Passing the war memorial now’. Modern technology meant that Jamal would be able to read the exact moment the message was transmitted and calculate the precise time the tanker would pass over the tunnels. The man’s mobile phone beeped and he read Jamal’s reply: ‘May Allah, the Most Kind, the Most Merciful, be with us’.

Further down the harbour, another of al-Falid’s men standing near the Jeffrey Street Wharf at Kirribilli read the message as well. The text on the location of the tanker and Jamal’s response had also been copied to seven other mobile phones.

Every driver had calculated his start based on the exact time that the tanker’s bow passed the memorial, all designed to get each of them to their targets at the right moment, all linked to the tanker passing over the tunnels on the harbour bed.

The operation had begun.

Further to the south, the weather had thrown the flight schedules at Sydney Airport into chaos and the controllers were battling to clear the backlog.