Double Back by Mark Abernethy Read Free Book Online

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    ‘It’s nice up there this time of year – nice and cool,’ said Mac, brushing a phantom crumb from his chinos.
    ‘So what can I do for you?’
    ‘Remember a bloke called Bongo?’ asked Mac.
    ‘Maybe.’
    ‘I need to talk – and I mean talk,’ he said.
    Saba nodded and Mac pulled an old credit card receipt from his wallet, wrote his mobile number on the back.
    ‘A message?’ said Saba, slow and steady like the first sentence of an interrogation.
    Mac thought about it. ‘Tell him a blackbird sings but I don’t know the tune. Can do?’
    ‘Maybe,’ shrugged Saba, folding the receipt into an origami bird.

CHAPTER 7
    When Mac first spotted him, Martin Atkins was sitting at a small tea stand in a side avenue of the Bird Market, about sixty metres into the sprawling mass of Denpasar’s Satrya Markets. On either side of Atkins were lines of birdcages stacked four or five high, their owners walking back and forth with their money pouches, ready with extended hooks should anyone want to inspect a bird.
    Ignoring Atkins on the first pass, Mac came back the same way five minutes later having made a few zigzag and double-back manoeuvres to shake whoever was following. Taking a seat in the shade of the tea stand, Mac asked the old lady for a green tea and turned to his controller when she’d left.
    ‘Marty,’ said Mac. ‘How’s it going?’
    ‘Not bad,’ said Atkins, sipping his tea. ‘You’re late.’
    ‘I’m alive – it’s a preference of mine.’
    Atkins looked away, gave a slight sigh. His hair was a shade darker than Mac’s blond, but otherwise they were similar in age, build and background. Where they differed was the emphasis of their professional lives. Mac lived his life as if every day could be the one where he was kidnapped or killed. Atkins wanted to be like Greg Tobin – an office guy with a management instinct rather than any field craft. Waiting for a contact in a market was unnatural for Atkins; he’d rather be around the corner, in his office, writing a memo that made himself look like the only smart man in a sea of dumb-arses.
    ‘There’s a package waiting in your hotel,’ said Atkins, looking away. ‘You’re Richard Davis, going in from Denpasar on the morning flight, a businessman from Arafura Imports. You’re based in Sydney and you’re looking for sandalwood opportunities, especially Catholic icons – Mother Marys, that shit, okay?’
    ‘Turismo?’ asked Mac.
    ‘That’s the one – Terri has you in a long-term room, for three weeks to start with and then on a needs basis.’
    Terri was the accountant who ran the ASIS front company in Sydney. She took the calls and cleared the mail for Mac’s forestry consulting firm, his textbook company – Southern Scholastic – and various other shams, such as Arafura Imports. When people tried to verify Mac’s business bona fides they usually got a total going-over as regards their creditworthiness and corporate registrations. Mac always felt comfortable that Terri dealt with the back office.
    ‘So what’s the gig?’ asked Mac, smiling at the old lady who brought his tea.
    ‘Find Blackbird, establish whether it’s viable to start running her again…’
    ‘And?’
    Looking away at the crowds, Atkins attempted to make himself seem relaxed. ‘If you can do so covertly, establish what’s meant by “Operasi Boa”.’
    Mac paused, wondering where that had come from. ‘Boa?’
    ‘Like I said.’
    ‘Like a feathery scarf?’ said Mac, making sure he had it right.
    ‘That’s it, McQueen. Operasi Boa.’
    Staring at each other for several seconds, they broke with smiles.
    ‘What’s the secret, Marty?’ said Mac. ‘What is it?’
    ‘That’s your job, mate.’
    ‘Oh, come on,’ said Mac, too tired for the hokey-pokey.
    ‘All I know is what I’ve been briefed on,’ said Atkins. ‘The Canadian was tasked with getting Blackbird to find out about Boa.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘We don’t know if he did, or if the