Free Alan McQueen - 02 - Second Strike by Mark Abernethy

laughed and they hugged.
    ‘You’re such a charmer, mate. I’m always amazed you don’t have a string of girls on your arm,’ said Jen, disentangling herself.
    Then, moving over to the table, she put her hand on Mac’s shoulder and gave him a dry kiss on the cheek. ‘Hello, you.’
    Garvs asked her if she wanted a beer, to which Jenny patted the black Glock on her right hip and said, ‘No thanks, I’m carrying.’
    ‘So what brings you down, Jen?’ asked Garvs, all smiles and blushing.
    He’d had a crush on Jenny for as long as Mac could remember.
    ‘Situations like this bring out the scumbags. They snatch the kids who can’t fi nd their families. Thought I’d come down, ruin their day.’
    Jen had barely taken her eyes off Mac and he sensed he was in trouble. Garvs cottoned on and said he had to use the gents.
    As Garvs left, Jenny put the clipboard on the table, put her hands on her hips. ‘See you’ve been making yourself popular with the troops.’
    ‘Jen!’
    ‘What, Macca? There’s a problem?’
    ‘Mate, it’s a job. I didn’t ask for it.’
    ‘Not what they’re saying.’
    Mac sniggered. Bad move.
    ‘Something funny, McQueen?’
    Mac hated it when cops used a surname to put a person in their place.
    ‘Look, I was getting ready for New York and the next thing I’m being fl own into Kuta. Into this mess - I mean, Jesus!’
    Jenny crossed her arms, her ring fi ngers running up her biceps.
    ‘Well I only got in ninety minutes ago and all I’ve heard is that Delaney and McQueen are running the show. So a couple of DFAT boys are calling the shots for a hundred or so federal cops.’
    Mac went to grab his beer, but didn’t drink - he’d lost his thirst.
    ‘We’re not calling the shots, it’s more like -‘
    ‘Don’t tell me, Macca. Project management , right?’ she said sneering as she made quote marks with her fi ngers.
    ‘No! Not at all. Umm, it’s more like a coordination role.’
    Jenny did a three-second blink - female for you are so full of shit .
    ‘You and Chester know anything about the work that you’re managing ? Sorry, coordinating ?’
    ‘Jen …’ said Mac appeasingly, wanting to be out of that gaze.
    ‘Well, do you? Know what a DVI is, Macca?’
    Mac tried to recall. ‘I dunno. Something, something, Investigation?’
    ‘No, Macca, it’s a Deceased Victim Identifi cation program. Rotating crews are going to be working twenty-four hours a day for as long as it takes, and they’re going to be bagging and tagging bits of human body, storing them and adding them to a massive database. And they’re going to double-check and triple-check every bit of person they add to the database so that when they’re one hundred per cent certain of the ID, they can notify the next of kin. That’s when they get to hand over a plastic bag of body parts. And that’ll be considered a good day.’
    Mac looked out the window, exhaling.
    ‘And you know what, Macca? Our guys are going to be upset and the families are going to be upset and it’s going to be a very emotional experience for everyone involved. And around all this is going to be a criminal investigation and a CT project and a logistics program to repatriate injured people. There’s even going to be a crew to round up the orphaned kids before the slavers get to them. And all my guys want to know is that they can do their jobs without a bunch of smartarses from Foreign Affairs trying to predetermine the conclusions. They can’t work like that Macca, understand?’
    It was twilight in the street outside Tubes when they left. Jenny play-punched Mac on the left shoulder, said, ‘Take it easy,’ and walked over to a white Holden Commodore wagon with two male cops sitting on the hood, the tall one talking into a radio.
    Mac’s phone rang and as he answered he noticed the short male cop bumping his mate in the arm and both of them jumping off the front of the Commodore, running their hands through their hair.
    It was Ari,