Jack found Harry standing with Watson and Everett. Now they’d been made, the rest of the AFP team weren’t hiding as well as they had been, several dark shadows moving within the thin screen of trees.
“Any word on a go, boss?” Harry asked as Jack approached.
“Still waiting. I’m going to need a car and not something that screams government.” Jack waved at the sparsely populated carpark around them. “Maybe something family orientated.”
“Permission or forgiveness?” Harry asked, meaning did he ask for someone to volunteer their car, or just ‘commandeer’ one without bothering with the niceties.
“Permission,” Jack decided. “Make it official. That way we can’t be roasted if it goes tits up.” If he could limit the height of the shit pile they might have to dig their way out of, all the better.
“Right.” Harry dug his ISO ID out of a pocket and made a show of dusting it off before heading over to the museum to find a good citizen who wouldn’t mind helping the state out in a time of need.
“What’s your plan?” Watson asked suspiciously.
“To get a look at the inside of the building. Queen,” he directed at the laptop screen, “did we get the MAV in the air?”
“She’s up and about to get over the target. Footage coming up in three, two . . .” A window expanded on the screen and showed aerial images of the ISO building.
It was a stock standard façade—blond bricks, white trim, arched windows on the ground floor, rectangular ones on the first and second floors. The roof had a mild incline, but the inner side was flat and patrolled frequently. It overlooked a central courtyard, with sentry positions at each corner for external observation. No one currently manned the small towers; a very good sign. Jack didn’t doubt the intruders would keep the patrol going for the sake of appearances, but unless they had a strong reason to suspect trouble, they wouldn’t put anyone in the towers.
“Looks clear.” Watson’s scepticism came through without a hint of reticence. “Now what?”
“Now I get inside.” Nothing Jack had seen had told him he was wrong and the sooner he got what McIntosh needed, the better. A silver Porsche Cayenne cruised up and pulled over. The driver’s door opened and Harry slid out.
Jack grimaced. “A Porsche? Couldn’t you find anything else?” He had a troubling history with Porsches, in that they didn’t survive encountering him.
“Hey, the owner offered it up. He did specify that we’ll have to pay for any damage to it. You aren’t planning on crashing it through the front of the building, are you?”
Harry hadn’t been in Sydney for the end of the Harraway situation, but Jack and Ethan driving a car right into the lobby of the building had become Office legend. Lewis, Jack’s best friend and workmate, had taken great pleasure in introducing Harry to the Tao of Jack, as Lewis called his take on Jack’s actions and philosophies. Harry had laughed a lot of it off, then he’d survived an explosion that A, should have killed him and B, shouldn’t have happened in the first place. Afterwards, he’d begun to seriously question Jack about his motivations and plans.
“It’s not part of the plan,” he assured Harry as he handed over his shoulder rig and gun. Looking at the three people gathered around him, Jack dismissed Harry and Everett before settling on Watson. “Can I borrow your jacket?”
“Why?” the lieutenant asked warily.
Jack slid out of his thin ISO windcheater. “Because I can’t go in their screaming I’m ISO, and a local would have warmer clothes.”
Unable to argue that, Watson handed over her puffer jacket, taking the ISO one in return. Jack settled into the puffer jacket, feeling warm for the first time since he’d gotten out of the car. The sleeves were a little short and zipping it up would be a bit of a strain, but it was better than the other option.
“Thanks.” Jack got into the Porsche. “I won’t be long.”
Leaving the carpark, he headed away from the ISO for a couple of blocks, then turned left, working his way around the general area so he came at it from a completely different direction. He slowed early, as if he was unsure of where he was going, then made a hesitant turn into the driveway. It curved around a small reflecting pool in the front lawn, widening before the steps leading up to the entrance. Jack pulled in, then moved the Cayenne forward so it wasn’t blocking the steps, continuing the pretence of uncertainty.
He was in direct line of sight of the building cameras. Adding depth to his cover, he spent a minute going through the glove compartment, like he was trying to find something. Apart from learning that the owner of the Cayenne kept a stock of condoms in there, Jack didn’t find anything he could use in the moment, so he slammed it shut and got out of the car.
Now the real fun began.
Patting down his pants pockets, Jack trotted around the car and up the steps. Head down, he pretended to be distracted by his futile pocket forage as he pushed through the front door.
The foyer was wide open, the floor polished parquetry, the ceiling high and surrounded by a balcony on the first floor, a convenient high ground for shooters. Opposite him was a set of French doors leading out onto a patio overlooking a central courtyard. The garden was winter-brown but lush with a subtle design of native flowers and decorative shrubs, and a central eucalyptus providing shade.
Taking it all in with a glance, Jack noted three subjects on the balcony and two in the courtyard, all dressed in ISO domestic security uniforms—black tactical clothing, armoured vest, weapons harness. Each of them carried an M4A5 carbine, sidearm and four grenades. At first blush, it all appeared normal, except he was pretty certain peak-caps and reflective shades hadn’t been made part of the uniform since he’d last been here.
It was circumstantial evidence, but Jack hoped it would be enough to get the minister to start taking them seriously. Serious was good but convinced was what he was aiming for.
On the balcony, the faux-DSOs moved forward, not actually training their carbines on him, but not exactly not, either.
“Sir?”
Jack turned to the voice, as if he didn’t already know where the front reception desk was. As if he hadn’t already scoped the woman behind the desk. Mid-twenties, Caucasian, dressed in an official ISO grey blazer, long, brunette hair pulled back into a high pony tail. Everything about her appeared legit.
“Sir,” she repeated, her tone calm now she had his attention. “I’m sorry but I’m going to have to ask you to leave. This isn’t—”
“This is the Indian High Commission, right?” Jack headed for her, still patting down his pockets.
Raised Australian, Jack had nevertheless spent enough time in India with his mother’s family to perfect a couple of different accents. The one he used now was light, definitely Indian but easily understandable to others.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I seem to have left my passport at home. I do have my driver’s licence on me . . . somewhere. Sorry, I would lose my head if it wasn’t secured to my shoulders, as my wife keeps telling me.” He held out an arm and tugged at the sleeve of the puffer jacket. “I can’t even pick up the right clothes . . .” He paused for a breath but didn’t let the woman get a word in. “My visa is fine, ma’am, valid for another two years, but my boss says there’s something wrong with it. Something about my work conditions. I was hoping someone could have a look at it for me. I need to know by close of business today or my boss is going to cut back my hours and I can’t—”
“Sir!” She leaned forward, voice raised over his prattle. “I’m sorry, but—”
Close enough to read her name from her tag, Jack said, “Please, Marianne, ma’am, I know it’s late, but this is very important.” All the while he was looking around, as if seeking someone else to help him. His implant was recording everything he saw and anything he might miss in the moment could be found on reviewing the footage. “I can’t lose any more hours. You have to—”
This time, Marianne slammed a fist on the desk between them. “This isn’t the Indian High Commission!” There was a touch of panic in her voice now, a wild tint to her eyes. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave, sir. Now. Before I need to call security. Please.”
The desperation in her last word was enough to convince Jack she really wanted him to leave. Combined with the fear in her expression, it was highly suggestive that something was very wrong in this building. While it only bolstered Jack’s belief he was right, it probably wasn’t enough to convince the minister, but either way, it was time to leave.
Jack held up his hands in surrender. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll go. I’m sorry for my mistake. Please accept my apologies.” He backed away from the desk, hoping like hell he made it out. Fingers crossed the imposters didn’t want any random dead bodies.
Marianne nodded, relieved. “Thank you, sir. I hope you get your visa sorted.”
Turning to leave, Jack saw one of the DSOs had come down from the balcony. He stood by the front door, ready to open it to let Jack leave, other hand resting on the stock of the carbine. It wasn’t until Jack was only a couple of feet away he realised it wasn’t a man. The bulky nature of the vest and harness hid her breasts and waist, but under the mirrored sunglasses, her jaw was finer and smoother than most men’s.
She opened the door and gestured grandly for him to leave through it.
“Thank you, ma’am.” Jack bobbed his head and fixed his sight on the floor. He didn’t need her to be able to describe him well enough to anyone who might be interested in the lost Indian man.
The woman grinned. “No wukkas, mate.”
Jack’s blood ran cold. He knew the voice, knew the words. Knew just what sort of a person this woman was, and the last time Jack had seen her, she had been aiming a gun at him.