Even with the evidence stacking up, the minister was reluctant to authorise a full operation. McIntosh gave Jack permission to head to Canberra while she and Tan worked on the politician. She couldn’t provide much more than a helicopter and a basic field kit but promised she would do something about some support by the time he reached the country’s capital.

Three hours after discovering Ethan’s note, Jack set the Office chopper down on the tarmac of Canberra Airport. Airspace over central Canberra was restricted and Jack had no desire to alert any potential bad guys by buzzing them in the chopper. A decision he fully regretted when he and Harry hit the mid-afternoon traffic coming out of the airport.

“Shit!”

Jack slapped his palm against the steering wheel, teeth grinding about as hard as the brakes of the Nissan Patrol. The big car came to a juddering stop behind the micro-car-thing currently blocking their progress and sat at a standstill in the middle of the single lane leading onto the roundabout. The second roundabout of what seemed like a million between them and where they desperately needed to be.

“It’s miniscule,” he muttered darkly. “I bet we could drive right over it.”

“Pretty sure you can’t, boss,” Harry said, half faux-amused, half you-seriously-can’t. For some reason, he had developed serious doubts about Jack’s driving skills. “We could turn back.”

“No time,” Jack growled.

The situation in front of them hadn’t changed and behind them, it was only getting worse with more and more vehicles lining up, waiting, waiting, waiting for the idiot in front to grow some balls and actually drive that miserable little tin can some dickhead had decided was an actual car.

“Fuck this.” He palmed the steering wheel into a furious turn left.

“I don’t think that’s going to work, either. You’re too close.”

“Don’t care.” Jack hit the accelerator, willing to take out the back end of the timid driver’s car.

With a grinding scraaaaape, the Patrol pushed past the much smaller car, shoving it aside in its bid for freedom. When the front of the Patrol was clear, Jack slammed his foot down and the big car lurched forward. They jolted onto the grassy verge of the road and, tyres digging into the dirt, the Patrol powered toward the side road.

Thanks to the delay at the roundabout, traffic on the road Jack needed to get on was thick. It was the wrong time of day to be leaving Canberra’s airport with any sort of haste. Too many people coming in on afternoon flights, and not one of the commuters looked willing to stop to let the Patrol back onto the road.

Ahead was a bigger roundabout and he needed to get onto the road and make a right turn, through two streams of traffic. Frustrated, Jack decided to just go for it. He was in one of the biggest cars available, with a powerful engine and few compunctions to not use either advantage.

As the Patrol flew up and over the slight rise onto the road and as other cars braked and swerved to avoid a collision, Jack momentarily wished he was back in the Ferrari. In such a car, the distance between him and his target would be negligible. When they thumped back down to the bitumen, rubber squealing as Jack rushed to dodge a slow-to-react commuter, he changed his mind. Not only did he appreciate the big tyres and suspension, but Ethan would probably put a ticket on his head for hurting another supercar.

An instant later, all thoughts of the man he’d left in his apartment that morning fled as they reached the next roundabout. Two lanes and neither of them looking like Jack could squeeze in somewhere anytime in the next twenty seconds. Abandoning all road rules he gunned the engine.

“Fuck!” Harry shouted as the Patrol ploughed right into the cross traffic.

It was chaos, but thankfully short-lived. They were across both lanes within seconds and bouncing, once more, off road. Jack angled across the middle of the roundabout, aiming for the exit he needed. The Patrol roared over flowerbeds and decorative grasses with equal prejudice, leaving a 4WD-wide swath of destruction behind them. By the time they got to the exit, most of the commuters had realised what was going on and traffic had come to a stop. Relatively safely, Jack arrowed them between the cars and onto Pialligo Avenue.

Finally free of the airport and with a mostly open road in front of him, Jack floored the accelerator. They drove for about a minute in complete silence, then Harry let out a soft “whoo” of relief. That was all though. Jack and Harry had already had the confrontation about Jack’s tactics in an earlier mission. It was five months back and only two days after they’d met for the first time. Both of them had been covered in dust from a collapsed wall, trickles of blood and raw scrapes on exposed skin the only breaks in their grey coatings. Harry had nearly decked Jack and Jack had nearly let him. He’d gambled with their lives, and won, but it had been close.

“How convinced are we that the bad guys are at the ISO?” Harry asked.

“Pretty darn.” Jack uncurled and curled his fingers around the steering wheel. “The International Security Office is an intelligence hub. They collect all the intel from the Office, ASIO and military intelligence. If Khun Sein wants to find out what we know about him and whatever larger organisation he’s a part of, that’s where Sein will have his people. Because he sure as shit won’t be here himself,” he added dryly.

Harry agreed with a sour grunt. “And if they’re not there?”

“Then we keep looking,” Jack said grimly. Somehow, one of their own had been compromised and now many, many more people were in danger. Jack wasn’t going to stop until he’d hunted down those responsible. He barely slowed for the next roundabout, but only two of the Patrol’s wheels lost contact with the road this time.

“Right. It’s like Nemo said, just keep swimming.”

Jack snorted. “It was Dory, you numpty, not Nemo.”

There was a speculative silence for a moment, then Harry cracked up. “You know Finding Nemo?”

Scowling, Jack snapped, “Clearly you don’t!” Which only made him laugh harder.

They turned onto Kings Avenue and started across Lake Burley Griffin. Ahead, central Canberra came into clear view.

The city was an odd dichotomy of country capital and pastoral town, forgoing the towering skyscrapers of Sydney and Melbourne in favour of parks and gardens and buildings that barely exceeded three stories in the central areas around Parliament House. As a planned city, it didn’t have the hectic and chaotic aesthetic of the other capitals, which some people equated with a lack of personality. Sure, Sydney was the height of fashion and Melbourne was a cultural hub, but Canberra had the glory of being Australia’s coldest capital city. It even beat Hobart, the most southern. Currently, the display on the dashboard indicated the outside temperature was eight degrees, which was going to bite when they had to get out of the car.

Jack had lived here when he was in Duntroon for officer training and hadn’t minded the place. That, he suspected, had a lot to do with the fact he’d been settled in his personal life at the time. He was in the SAS, had a couple of successful missions to his name, had the respect of his peers and superiors. His father hadn’t yet been diagnosed with early onset dementia and while he’d been single, and his sister only ever called to remind him he was just a glorified murderer, both of those things were so familiar they didn’t bother him much.

“You really think they’ll have a bomb with them?” Harry asked.

“It’s the only logical reason they need Delta Subject. Implicate him as a lone wolf and when his body is found in the wreckage, blame is shifted to Indonesia and away from any Myanmar connection.”

“Well, if there is a bomb, can you not shoot it this time?” He gestured at the surrounding scenery. “Canberra’s already flat enough without you dropping walls on it.”

Jack snorted and Harry grinned, pleased to have gotten the reaction from him.

“Look at it this way,” Jack said, pointing out the temperature reading on the dash display. “If the bomb does go off, at least it’ll warm the place up a bit.”

Harry fought the snicker, but it got out. “That’s terrible,” he said when he could without chuckling.

He was right, but at the same time, not and for the first time in ages, Jack was struck by how young his partner was. Harry had severed four years with the police in Auckland, where his exemplary record had alerted an Office recruiter. Eighteen months later, he was Jack’s second in Sydney and quickly proving himself to be one of the best assets the Office would have—after a couple years more experience. There were still green edges on the young man Jack had to knock off before he fulfilled his potential.

“It’s part of the job,” Jack said, gently serious. “Call it gallows humour, or detachment, or compartmentalisation. Whatever it is, it’s necessary. If you can’t keep some sort of barrier between you and what you have to do in order to get the job done successfully, then you won’t last long in this game. Self-preservation isn’t wrong.”

After a long, silent moment where they left the bridge and Jack took the first exit off Kings Avenue, Harry sighed. “Yeah, I get that, but sometimes I wonder if . . . what if you get too detached?”

It was almost as if Jack was back in the desert, dangerously confused and reckless with his life in the presence of renowned assassin, Ethan Blade. After fifteen months undercover with Valadian’s organisation, he’d been close to falling over the edge into a dark abyss. Clinging to the ragged remains of his morals, Jack had found his anchor in the unlikeliest of places—the very assassin who’d betrayed and lied to him.

Leaning on the filing cabinet drawer he’d shoved Ethan into earlier, Jack took a deep breath and answered. “That’s just as bad. You have to find something, or someone, to keep coming back to. Girlfriend, boyfriend, family, a hobby you love. Anything to give you direction out of the dark.”

Yet another roundabout had been successfully circumnavigated when Harry responded.

“Did I tell you my sister had the baby? A little girl. Well, not so little. She was nearly five kilos. Sally says the poor thing looks too much like her father.”

Jack smiled. Not because he’d been eagerly awaiting news of Harry’s niece, but because his partner had just found his anchor. “That’s great. Have they named her?”

“Not yet. I’m barracking for Harriet, of course. They’re leaning towards Moana, for reasons.”

Any more family discussion was shelved as Jack turned down a side street and the ISO came into sight. Like most other structures in the area, it was a low, wide building: three stories of bland, government-approved façade surrounded by a neatly landscaped garden of native plants and discreet security measures.

Jack’s cover for his position with the Office was that of a specialist security adviser for ISO, which meant he was supposedly responsible for the security of Australian dignitaries while they were abroad. He did occasionally show up to design a security plan and put together task groups so he was familiar with the ISO building and its security.

Nothing appeared unusual from what he could see. The drive, which looped around in front of the entrance, was clear of cars, giving an unrestricted view of the doors. The tall, darkened-glass panes were closed and unsigned. If you didn’t already know it was the ISO, then nothing about its public façade gave it away.

“Looks quiet,” Harry said.

“Yeah.” Jack swung the Patrol into the parking lot of the museum across the road. “McIntosh will have the word out by now. We should have back-up . . . There.”

In the corner of the partially filled carpark was a cluster of vehicles that all but screamed government—darkly coloured standard model 4WDs. A couple of plain-clothed people leaned against one of them, seemingly chatting, but as Jack pulled up next to them, they came alert, hands moving toward concealed weapons.

Jack braved the icy atmosphere and rolled his window down, his rarely used ISO ID already on show. “Jack Reardon, specialist security adviser. Initial on this case.”

The woman came forward and, after doing a subtle double take at the colour of his skin, eyed his ID. As sad as it was, her reaction wasn’t unique and Jack was used to it, if not totally accepting. Usually, when he presented himself under his cover as a government security agent, the other person showed a certain amount of scepticism, or outright challenged him.

Jack wondered how this woman would move forward. She was about his age, compact and capable looking. Wearing jeans, blue puffer jacket and practical sneakers, she could have been visiting the museum, but the cool, calculating gaze she levelled on Jack was all cop. Probably AFP and therefore had a high chance of being reasonable.

“You made the call about the bomb threat?” She already knew the answer.

Pretty sure he wasn’t going to get handcuffed or shot, Jack opened the door and slid out. Their hasty departure from Sydney hadn’t allowed for a wardrobe change so all Jack and Harry had were black ISO jackets borrowed from the chopper. As the dry, cold air hit his body, Jack zipped up, coincidently flashing the ISO logo on the sleeve.

“Got a tip off.” He wasn’t exactly lying. “It’s part of an ongoing investigation. A small terrorist group got in behind us and made it into the ISO.”

While he spoke, Harry got out and went to the back of the Patrol to get their gear. The second cop wandered over to watch.

“No alarms have been tripped,” the woman observed.

How much to tell her? She hadn’t yet identified herself, but Jack could understand that. Until she was sure of him, she wouldn’t give too much away.

“I didn’t think there would be.” Jack clicked an image of the cop with his neural implant and sent it back to the Office for identification, then clicked one of her companion who was watching Harry unpack the MAV with keen interest. “It’s a small, highly trained group. Our plan is to get in, take down the suspects and hopefully everyone will get home for dinner, none the wiser.”

“If wishes were horses, maybe. If you’re right, and there’s a group of terrorists in there, then I doubt any of us will be home for dinner.”

Implant pinging, Jack gave an it-could-go-either-way shrug and checked the incoming message.

From the Office, it was an ID and overview of one Lieutenant Celia Watson, Australian Federal Police, exemplary record, and a half dozen high profile cases to her name. Lt Watson’s friend was Senior Constable Grady Everett, nothing too outstanding on his file, if you discounted a ten-year service without any hiccups. Which Jack didn’t. It meant the guy was competent and toed the line. McIntosh had apparently called for the best and, as usual, got it.

It made sense his director had sourced help from the AFP. Their HQ was just up the road. And if things went spectacularly wrong, Duntroon was a fifteen-minute scramble away.

“Is it just you and Everett, Lieutenant Watson?” Jack asked casually. “Or do you have other officers here?” He nodded to the three cars.

Watson gaped for a second, then searched for an earpiece on Jack’s head. He didn’t bother explaining. The implant had come gratis with his SAS career and, like his SAS service, was best kept a secret.

Still a little wary, Watson said, “We have a team of ten anti-terrorist officers and another on standby on Kings Avenue. Our orders were to be discreet.”

Invisible was about as discreet as a person could get, but as Jack looked around, he realised why they were parked here. Not only was it off the street and not immediately visible to anyone in the building across the way—why Jack had decided to come in here in the first place—but they were parked close to a stand of trees between carpark and road. In the shadows Jack found the rest of the AFP team. They wore the standard black, armoured uniform and were positioned perfectly to take out Jack and Harry if they proved to require it.

Jack nodded in approval. “What else were you told?”

Lips pursed, Watson said, “That we’d be working under SSA Jack Reardon of the ISO.” She put a little stress on his name, probably for brown-boys-don’t-have-English-names reasons and followed it with a cool, “And to follow his lead without question. What does a security adviser know about running an anti-terror operation?”

“A few things. If at any time you think I’m not capable, don’t hesitate to call someone. They can talk to my boss about it. Harry!”

Harry put down the case holding their large firearms and trotted over.

“Lieutenant, this is Harry McGill, my partner. You and he should have some language in common. He used to be a cop. Harry, this is Celia Watson, AFP. You’ll liaise with her and Everett.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” Harry smiled brightly at Watson. As a field asset like Jack, Harry’s cover was also with ISO as a domestic security officer, or in Jack’s words, a bouncer. He slipped an earpiece on and handed one to Jack. “We’re all synced up, boss. Home base is coming online. Queen’s plugged in and getting the MAV ready for flight.”

On the flight from Sydney, Harry had come up with their codes for this operation, much to Jack’s consternation. Their Sydney-based and dedicated tech, Liz Alderton, was Queen, Harry was King and Jack was, well, Jack. Harry had grinned for five minutes straight when he’d explained it to him.

“MAV?” Watson asked.

“Micro air vehicle,” Harry explained. “A drone. Come on over and I’ll show you.”

Expression clearly saying she understood when she was being distracted, Watson still went with Harry, her curiosity outweighing her probable distrust of Jack. At least it meant she might not make a huge fuss about his ethnicity.

Temporarily alone, Jack pretended to fiddle with his earpiece, while actually syncing his implant to the communication channel.

“Queen, this is Jack. Respond.”

“Jack, this is Queen,” Alderton said in his head. “You’re coming through clear.”

“Likewise. King, this is Jack, respond.”

Harry answered and satisfied, Jack headed over to the back of their car. Harry had the MAV out of its box and was testing it while their AFP friends looked on eagerly. There was a laptop sitting open on the empty drone box, its screen filled with several windows, some showing data or building schematics while others waited patiently to receive video from the drone.

“The building is heat shielded so we’re not going to get any thermal images of the interior,” Alderton said, her voice coming from a small window in the laptop’s upper right corner, showing her at her station in Sydney.

“As long as we can see anyone coming and going,” Jack said. “How are doing on getting us feeds from building CCTV?”

Alderton screwed up her face. “Not great. We’re still waiting on authorisation from above.” Knowing there were AFP personnel present, the tech kept her words deliberately vague. “Apparently there’s some dispute over the quality of the evidence.”

Jack had expected the resistance. The politicians had to make sure their own arses were covered before giving the go-ahead. Still, he said, “Let me see what I can find out,” and headed away from the car and the AFP officers so he had some privacy to call McIntosh.

“Jack,” she greeted him over the implant. “Report.”

“Ma’am, we’re on site and have made contact with the locals. Mobile station is up but until Queen gets the go-ahead to tap the CCTV, we’re blind.”

McIntosh snorted. “The Big Boss is not going to cave easily. You didn’t exactly give us definitive proof. You’re lucky you got the chopper and the AFP.”

Expecting this, too, Jack asked, “What do you need to convince the Big Boss?”

“Visual confirmation.”

“And how am I going to get that without the CCTV footage?”

As if he was right in front of her, Jack could all but see her warm blue eyes cool as she said, “I’m sure you’ll find a way, Jack. Don’t disappoint me now.”