Sensitive New Age Spy (12 page)

Cristobel’s pert pink nipples were puckering, either from the cold or from her mad desire for my body. I had a fair idea which it was: I had no illusions that I was the man of her dreams, so what the hell was she doing here?

‘Like I said, it’s a tempting offer, Ms Priday, and very Christian of you, I’m sure, but why don’t you dry off and get some clothes on while I rustle us up something from room service.’

She stepped out of the tub, still naked, and turned around to get a towel. The back view was just as spectacular as the front.

‘Something warm would be nice, Mr Murdoch,’ she purred.

Oh, God.

‘Right,’ I said. ‘I’ll order us up some cocoa.’

Cristobel came out of the bathroom wearing jeans and a big fluffy jumper. There was something about her that made me think she was relieved I hadn’t taken up her offer. Her hair was in a ponytail and she was back to being wholesome, and I was kind of glad about that. Jesus, I thought, I must be getting bloody old.

I was about to ask how she’d managed to get into my room when her face lit up with that amazing smile at the sight of the cocoa and the plate of biscotti. I skipped the question. The Lord and beautiful nineteen-year-old girls both work in mysterious ways.

She made herself comfortable in a large armchair, feet tucked up snugly underneath that spectacular bottom.

I handed her a mug of cocoa. ‘How did you know I was here?’

‘I saw you earlier this evening outside the hotel.’

‘Ah, yes,’ I said, ‘the paint-hurling incident in the driveway. Is that why you’re in Canberra? Helping to redecorate the Japanese ambassador?’

‘It was an opportunity we couldn’t miss, Mr Murdoch, but we’re actually here to lobby the federal government on the whale sanctuary in Antarctica.’

‘And “we” would be you and Artemesia Gaarg?’

‘Yes. Miss Gaarg is totally committed to the wellbeing of the world’s sea creatures, in particular the whales. Whales are truly amazing creatures, Mr Murdoch. They communicate with each other over hundreds of miles of ocean, singing their beautiful songs. It’s how they keep track of their families and friends, and let other whales know where to find food.’

‘Sort of like their own sonar
Good Food Guide
for krill?’

‘Exactly. Did you know, Mr Murdoch, that different whale species converse in different dialects, depending on where they’re from? The blue whales from the American Pacific north-west and blue whales in the western Pacific Ocean sound different to each other, and both sound different to those living off Antarctica, and different again to the blue whales living near Chile.’

‘You mean, like street gangs with their own hoods, and homeboys and jive talk?’

Cristobel smiled politely, making me feel about four years old. ‘But seriously, Mr Murdoch, the whale sanctuary is vital and urgent and our government must get behind it. The whale is one of God’s most magnificent creatures, and right now it has so few friends.’

After my meeting with the Defence Minister and Pergo, I was beginning to understand how the poor bloody whales must be feeling.

‘But enough about me and the whales, Mr Murdoch. What brings you to Canberra?’

‘Police business, Ms Priday.’

‘Please call me Cristobel. And it’s all right, I know you aren’t really a police officer, Mister Murdoch.’

‘Okay,’ I said, ‘I admit it, I’m actually a photographer.’

‘I know you’re a spy, Mr Murdoch, and I don’t think you should be ashamed to admit it.’

Shit. How did Miss Born Again know that? And what else did she know?

‘There’s nothing wrong with being a spy, Mr Murdoch. It’s an honourable profession. As the Bible tells us, “The Lord spoke to Moses, saying, Send men that they may spy out the land of Caanen which I give to the children of Israel; of every tribe of their fathers shall you send a man, every one a prince among them.”’

Jesus, not only was I a spy, but I was a prince with it.

‘The Book of Numbers, Mr Murdoch,’ she continued. ‘Chapter thirteen, verses one and two.’

‘What gave you the idea I’m a spy?’

‘I overheard a phone call. It was an accident – I don’t usually eavesdrop.’ Then she flushed bright red.

That phone call had to involve Priday. But who was on the other end of the line that knew I was a spy? Was she on a mission for Daddy? Was that what she was doing here? Just how big a sleazebag was the good Reverend?

I got the feeling Cristobel realised she’d said too much. She quickly finished her cocoa and stood up. ‘I should be off now, Mr Murdoch. I’ve disturbed you enough for one evening.’

She had that right.

‘Can I have the concierge arrange for a taxi?’ I said as I walked her to the door.

She shook her head. ‘I’m staying in the hotel, but thank you for your concern.’

She smiled, raised up on her toes and gave me a kiss. Her lips were incredibly soft and I had visions of all my rules going out the window. It took a lot of willpower but I gently pushed her away. Jesus, if this ever got out amongst the press fraternity my reputation as a stud would be toast.

‘Good evening, Ms Priday,’ I said. ‘Sweet dreams.’

She started down the hallway, then turned around. ‘Oh, I hope you don’t mind, Mr Murdoch, but I used your razor while I was in the bath.’

I swallowed hard, wondering if my Merkur Solingen Vision 2000 had been places no man had been before. With Cristobel it was damned hard to say.

‘Goodnight, Ms Priday,’ I said firmly, and closed the door.

I poured myself another whisky. I’d been in the national capital less than eight hours and already I had been threatened by a government minister, bumped from a high-level job, partied with a bunch of lesbians at a wine-and-sausage fest, ridden pillion on a vintage motorcycle behind a six-foot, red-headed Amazon, and been propositioned in my hotel bathroom by a beautiful naked, nineteen-year-old, whale-loving, committed Christian who’d borrowed my razor for a very personal depilatory procedure. And people will still try to tell you Canberra is a dull town.

Just after midnight, I was thumbing through the hotel’s Gideon Bible and contemplating another whisky to try to get the vision of Cristobel’s amazing arse out of my head, when my new mobile rang. It was Julie.

‘Just checking in, nothing to report,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t sure you’d still be up.’

‘Mate,’ I said, ‘I think I might be up for quite some time yet.’

We kept the call brief. I asked Julie to sniff around for anything she could find on Operation Chester, then hung up and tried to get some sleep. But my mind was racing.

The Canberra trip hadn’t exactly been a roaring success. I now had even more questions than answers, and I’d been demoted, which would limit my access to vital information. And they were certainly circling the wagons in Defence. Was it just because two nuclear warheads had been stolen from an American cruiser on a goodwill visit? Yes, it was embarrassing that it happened on our turf, but the responsibility for their safekeeping lay squarely in the hands of the Americans, so we shouldn’t be getting the flak for that. There had to be something else making them so jumpy. And though it was great to see Gudrun, she had been a dead end as far as inside info went. Then of course there was Cristobel. That vision alone was enough to keep a bloke awake in the wee hours, but it was
why
she’d been trying to seduce me that really had me bothered.

Around six I gave up on getting any sleep, took a shower and packed my bags. I was heading across the lobby when I spotted Cristobel and Artemesia Gaarg holding hands over coffee. I decided to say hello.

Cristobel gave me her high-wattage smile and introduced me as ‘the nice Mr Murdoch’. God, that made me feel old.

Even seated, Artemesia Gaarg was an imposing woman. She was elegant, solidly built, and her face had the slightly weathered look of a sailor. Her long white hair was pulled back in a single plait and she was wearing an ankle-length skirt and a loosely fitted blouse of raw silk. Around her neck was a string of tiny, multi-coloured carved animals.

‘Nice necklace,’ I said. I’d seen it somewhere before.

She smiled. ‘It’s a fetish necklace, Mr Murdoch, made by Zuni Indians. The animals are carved from turquoise, coral and alabaster. Native Americans have always understood the link between ourselves and the animal world, the fact that we are all one upon this planet and all our destinies are linked.’

‘Indeed,’ I said. Artemesia might have come across as someone’s middle-aged hippie aunt if it weren’t for the unsettling gleam of the true believer in her eyes. ‘Well, ladies, have a good morning, and good luck with the whale sanctuary.’

‘Thank you, Mr. Murdoch. I didn’t realise you were a supporter of the whales.’

‘I’ve learned a lot about them just recently. When you look at the bare facts they’re very impressive.’ I smiled at Cristobel, who was blushing scarlet. ‘You might say I’ve had quite an eye-opening experience, Miss Gaarg.’

There were long queues for security at Canberra airport, and when I reached the front of the line and emptied my pockets for the metal detector I found the keys for the rented Toyota. I was cutting it fine for the flight and there wasn’t time to return them to the desk, so I called Julie’s mobile and left a message, giving the rego number of the car and its location and asking her to sort it out with the rental company for me.

I got a bright ‘Welcome back’ from Chloe at the reception desk. Chloe Ransome answers the phones and does photo retouching for WorldPix. She can make almost anyone look good and she’s not too hard on the eye herself – sort of a six-foot Jean Seberg, if Jean Seberg was part-Cambodian.

The office was quiet and the assignment board on the wall showed that most of the team were out shooting. I felt a momentary pang of regret that I wasn’t out on assignment
like the rest of the guys, preferably out of the country, photographing endangered orangutans, or even a spunky young Hollywood starlet with pumped-up lips and unbelievably perfect tits and teeth and only the vaguest understanding that the earth wasn’t flat and Australia wasn’t the place Adolph Hitler, Arnie Schwarzenegger and Sacher torte came from.

I ran some beans through the grinder to make myself a cappuccino and tried to figure out what my next move would be.

Diego Vega wandered in just after ten, flirted outrageously with Chloe and then dumped his camera bag at a workstation. Diego’s family had swapped Chile for Australia when he was a kid and he’d thrived with the change. He was now a deadly combination of the laconic, laid-back Aussie sporting type blended with rugged, Chilean good looks and Latin charm, and the women didn’t stand a chance. When he and my mate Byron Oxenbould hit the clubs on a Sunday night, it was like a feeding frenzy. I went out with them once and found the whole business way too depressing, especially when a curvy twenty-year-old told Byron it was nice of him to bring his father along.

‘G’day, Alby,’ Diego said, hauling a Nikon from his bag and taking out the memory card. ‘How was Canberra? Still boring as?’

‘Mate, you’ve got no idea.’

Diego pushed the card into the reader on the iMac and downloaded his images. I logged onto another screen to
have a look. His work was shaping up nicely. The series of photographs on the screen featured the LNG tanker, but now it was facing the other way up the harbour and a couple of tugs were giving it a nudge towards the Heads.

‘They’re taking her round to Port Botany to repair the engines,’ Diego explained. ‘Bit embarrassing, eh, breaking down off the Opera House and then getting mixed up in the middle of a major security stuff-up like that.’

‘What sort of shots did you get of the trouble on the cruiser?’ I said.

‘Not as bloody good as yours, I’ll bet.’

He opened another file. There were long-lens images of bodies on the wharf, and paramedics and sailors working on the wounded. There was also a shot of me, Julie, Carter Lonergan and the good-looking lieutenant having our little tête-à-tête.

‘How the hell do you always manage to get on the inside, Alby, right where the action is? You must have some amazing connections. Friends in high places, eh?’

‘Something like that, mate.’ If he only knew – but right now it was more like enemies in high places.

I studied the shot of our group talking on the chopper deck. It was taken from a higher angle than the others.

‘Where’d you shoot this one from?’ I asked.

He shrugged. ‘There was a van parked on the road outside the base gates, so I climbed on top. I just managed to get off a couple of shots before some doofus stuck a
gun in my face and told me to piss off. Prick.’

‘That’s a bit heavy. You get any pictures of the van?’

Diego scrolled through the images and clicked on a wide-angle shot of an ambulance leaving the dock. He pointed to a vehicle in the background. But it wasn’t really a van – it was a squat, grey armoured truck, parked with its wheels up on the curb. There was no security company name or logo that I could see, and no number plate. On the right side of the photograph I could just see the entrance to the Navy’s Cowper Road carpark. Was Max already dead on the concrete on level three when Diego snapped this shot? I wondered.

My mobile buzzed. A text message from Julie.

‘Turn on Sky News now!’ it said.

I picked up the remote and turned on the plasma TV. The tagline on the bottom of the screen read
CANBERRA LIVE
and the picture showed a car hooked up to a tow truck. There were cops all over the place. The car had an odd outward bulge in the roof, and the side windows had shattered into a million pebble-sized pieces.

According to Jacinta at the news desk, the towie had just lifted the car’s front wheels off the ground when
ka-bang!
A spokesman for the local police said they suspected a gangland hit gone wrong, and the towie from the car rental company considered himself lucky to be alive. He wasn’t the only one.

The bulge in the roof favoured the right-hand side, so it would have been a charge under the driver’s seat. Nothing too huge, just enough plastic explosive to turn the occupant
into eighty-some kilograms of chopped beef. I pulled the rental car keys from my pocket and checked the rego number on the tag against the licence plate on the screen. No point in posting the keys back now, I decided.