Free Alan McQueen - 02 - Second Strike by Mark Abernethy Page B

technologies and nuclear bomb designs to Libya, North Korea and Iran. Meantime, Australia had dropped its reticence about selling yellowcake uranium to the world and Aussie mining companies were actively seeking long-term supply contracts with India and China, among others.
    So the late 1990s had been an interesting time at the IAEA, with lots of spies and special forces, but Mac still wasn’t putting the whole scenario together.
    ‘Coincidence?’ said Mac, very slowly.
    ‘With this bombings, and Hassan is here, and they send in McQueen,’ started Ari, before movement near the Kuta Puri caught his attention.
    Three men emerged from the palms of Kuta Puri. They were dark-skinned, dressed in chinos and trop shirts which, by the look of them, covered handguns carried on the hip. They were built and moved like pros and Mac ducked down as the crew reached a silver Suzuki Vitara, looked for eyes and got in. The driver had a big helmet of black hair, a heavily muscled physique and moved with his hips, like a gorilla. Mac stayed low, his heart racing, feeling naked without a fi rearm.
    When the Vitara had gone past them in the opposite direction, towards Legian Street, Ari sprung upright and started the Camry.
    Mac should have got out, gone back to the forward command post, supervised a bunch of press releases, tried to make peace with Jen.
    Instead, he crawled through the space between the front seats and belted himself in as Ari swung the Camry into a U-turn, pulled the car around to face east and hit the gas.
    ‘Mate, I need something, yeah?’ said Mac as the transmission screamed through second gear.
    Ari gestured towards the glove box, all concentration on the road ahead. Mac fi shed out a black holster-bag and extracted a big, black Russian P9 handgun. Checking mechanically for load, mag and safety, he put it back in the bag between his thighs, where Ari also had his, and fi xed his eyes on the Vitara.
    They moved fi fty metres behind the Vitara and kept contact.
    Suddenly the Vitara signalled a right-hander and before Mac could fi nish saying ‘Square the triangle’, Ari had already turned right and taken the Camry down a side alley. The Russian was an excellent driver, knew his craft. Dodging rubbish bins and stray cats, they came out on another street, looked to their left, saw a fl ash of the Vitara and then accelerated across the intersection.
    They made another parallel route and when they got to the end, there was no more dirt alley. Ari turned left and then right and got behind the Vitara again. Most pros being tailed used counter-surveillance for a couple of minutes before they assumed they were clear. It wasn’t lazy, it was human nature.
    They settled in behind the Suzuki and backed off to between eighty and a hundred metres as they headed for Denpasar. Fed up with the cloak and dagger, Mac decided to rile Ari. ‘Mate, I’m in this now. You want to tell me who this Hassan prick is?’
    ‘Maybe he made the Sari bombing,’ said Ari, eyes on the road ahead.
    ‘A Pakistani?’ scoffed Mac. ‘Come on, mate!’
    ‘No, no,’ insisted Ari. ‘How do I say rightly? Hassan is the one who is working for the Dr Khan.’
    ‘ Khan ?!’ said Mac, shrieking slightly.
    ‘Yes, he sells the atomic bomb, fuck his mother.’

CHAPTER 9
    They followed the Vitara east towards the river. As they got to the Denpasar side of the bridge, the Vitara slowed. Ari hit the brakes as they saw tail-lights glow. The Vitara’s silver paintwork fl ashed white as it turned left and was caught by the glare of headlights.
    ‘Okay, to the river,’ mumbled Ari as cars sounded their horns at his cautious speed. Mac liked that - didn’t want to go jaunting into an ambush. The Vitara’s red lights headed through an area of warehouses and loading bays down to the piers on the river. Ari headed into the same dark street, then stopped and killed the lights. Pulling their P9s from their holster-bags, they checked and cocked them. Neither