Читать книгу Any Means Necessary - Shane Britten - Страница 11

I started the morning early, heading out for a run in the pre-dawn light. I was struck by how much I both loved and hated Brisbane. Running along Eagle Street Pier and the Brisbane River, the most beautiful part of the city, almost made up for the oppressive humidity that was present even in the absence of the sun’s embrace. I’d always struggled with running, with a knee that ached after no more than a few hundred metres and a second wind that always seemed a long time coming. But in the absence of more sustained exercise, it kept me at an ideal operational weight and helped with taking liberties through the odd convenience food. Most of all, it cleared my mind and gave me a chance to focus on nothing else but strained breathing, the various aches and pains of my body and trying to keep my lungs from forcing their way out through my ribs.

The run gave me a chance to reflect on the many points that kept me awake last night. I’d confirmed that WOLF was more than a political protest group, and I was likely to find out just how extreme they were today. While that was interesting, it only mattered as a vehicle to try to get closer to Edward and Jessica and get them away from this group. I couldn’t work out why either of them would be interested in a group like this. The WOLF aims were almost juvenile, at best individual conspiracy theories stitched together to blame the evils of the world on a group of people with different skin colour, religion or places of birth.

I was still confused by the dual ASIO involvement. If they were investigating the group, Morgan’s presence at the conference made a lot of sense, but that contradicted why Helen would have a direct interaction with a live target, especially one on one in an environment controlled by the target. Was it somehow connected to Edward’s membership? And what had happened to Morgan?

Pausing at the front of the hotel, I stretched out unhappy limbs, rubbing a hand over the dog bite that was already mostly healed. I was blessed with a healthy immune and injury repair system but even that was starting to demand I give my body a break.

Heading upstairs, I jumped in a cold shower and dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. I really didn’t know what to expect, so it seemed the most versatile clothing option. Every article in my wardrobe was tested to ensure I could run and fight, with enough manoeuvrability and flexibility, as well as material strength, to survive a combat situation. The thought made me laugh a little at the unique absurdity of my life – my clothes were fight-tested.

The security manager was waiting for me downstairs, taking the suitcase with a taciturn nod and promise to keep it safe and untouched. He offered a receipt for it but I waved it off, not wanting a record of the fact that I had another bag. By 0830hrs, Tumi briefcase in hand, I was ready and waiting at the front of the hotel. I didn’t have to wait long. The large Jeep Grand Cherokee pulled up the hotel, the passenger side window sliding down to reveal the Hawk. Wordlessly, she gestured with a tilt of her head for me to climb in behind her.

I opened the door and was immediately concerned. The third row of seats was occupied by one of the large, suited individuals who had attempted to follow me back to the hotel. If I got in, I’d be sandwiched between the Hawk in the front passenger seat, the large presence in the back and another suited individual in the second row of seats that would be alongside me.

All in all, it was a terrible tactical situation. My decision needed to be split second if I was going to withdraw, because any further hesitance would signal my experience. I climbed in with an overly cheery greeting to all involved, which was met with silence. The car pulled away from the hotel fast enough for me to be pushed back into my seat. Despite the somewhat precarious driving, I ignored the seatbelt. It was a 50/50 call for people in my line of work; some operators swore by using seatbelts to avoid injury in case of an accident, while others felt they constrained tactical options and quick escape if needed. I was of the second school of thought, especially being wedged in between potential enemies.

There was an energy in the car that pushed my suspicions into overdrive. It was pre-engagement nervousness, full of sideways glances at each other and small, barely perceptible nods of encouragement. Under the right circumstances, I could probably take them on in hand -to -hand combat, especially if their surveillance skills were any indicator. But in a confined space, it would only take one hit from the meatball behind me and my fight would be over. I had no idea if they were armed or just how sinister their intent might be. I did my best to assess the greatest threat. I thought it would normally be the Hawk, but the sheer size of the meatball combined with his positioning put him top of my list.

‘How far are we going?’ I asked, attempting to maintain a light, casual curiosity. The Hawk turned to look at me in silence for a long moment. I met her gaze evenly. It was only when she slowly smiled, the type of expression typically reserved for a crocodile about to be fed, that I realised how much trouble I was actually in.

Attack was always a better first step than defence, so I did just that. I snapped around with a sweeping left hook that collided with the meatball’s cheek, sending him reeling back in surprise and pain. But my attention was already moving and my left arm immediately reversed, elbow catching the suit next to me just as he was starting to lean in. It was a solid impact that reverberated down my arm and sent his head into the window hard enough to spiderweb the glass. I was turning back towards the Hawk who was already in motion towards the second row of seats, moving with a speed that far exceeded my expectations. Her hand impacted my face before I even saw it moving, throwing me back into the seat. The meatball had already recovered from my punch and even as the world tilted unnaturally from a second lightning-fast strike from the Hawk, he grabbed the back of my shirt and dragged me back against the seat to wrap an arm around my throat. My angle to counter-attack was non-existent, and consciousness was far too fleeting to reposition. I heard the driver screech to a halt, everyone in the vehicle jerking forward except me, pinned in place by an arm bigger than my leg wrapped around my neck. My only satisfaction, before the world turned black, was I managed to flick a leg out at catch a glancing blow to the Hawk’s face.