Life Goes On by Tayell, Frank (large ebook reader txt) 📗

every property Baker owned, and send a strike-team to each, followed by analysts to comb through every digital file and scrap of paper, locate every contact, and lean on them until the truth popped loose. That’s not an option now.”

“But this inconvenience cuts both ways,” Toppley said. “He’ll have just as much difficulty putting together a second attack, or even an escape.”

“Exactly,” Tess said. “He’s probably in some shack in the bush, dreading his Ned Kelly moment. We’ve got a week to ensure he’s not an active threat. Our best bet is to dig up a generator, find a hacker, and see if any tax records can be recovered here in Canberra. We’ll find his registered businesses, and start there. We won’t find him, but maybe the address of the shack is cached in a computer.”

“His charity was on the waterfront in Brisbane,” Clyde said. “Massive place. Huge ballroom. Beautiful views from the sky-terrace. If the press were attending, particularly the rival press, he’d rent the space to genuine charities on condition he got a positive mention or twelve.”

“What kind of charity did he run?” Elaina asked.

“Mono-directional vertical income redistribution,” Clyde said. “It was a tax dodge. Just like his warehouse. I forget the name of the suburb. Place to the east of the city.”

“Crestmead,” Elaina said. “He was going to open a factory to make slot machines. Got the land for a song, and then had the pokies made overseas and just used the warehouse for storage. It was supposed to be a hundred jobs, but ended up being ten. I’d an aunt who used to make the push-plates and frames. Baker bought them out and shut them down.”

“A warehouse doesn’t sound a likely place for a millionaire’s bunker,” Tess said. “And the old waterfront is now a swamp.”

“I might know where he could be,” Bianca said. “It’d be somewhere remote, but not too remote, right? Away from desperate refugees, but close enough to an airport he could reach it if he had to fly in. Do you remember Denis Bergoff?”

“The spin-bowler?” Clyde said. “Made a fortune in sponsorship, and even more in match fixing.”

“When he was caught, he had to sell his house,” Bianca said. “It’s a mansion west of Brissie. A compound, really. It has a wall and its own aquifer, and is surrounded by grazing land. Three swimming pools, two of which are outside, and a kitchen worthy of a hotel, but it’s not a very big house. Only twelve bedrooms.”

“Only?” Elaina said. “How did he manage?”

“Inside, there’s this long hall he used for indoor cricket, and for balls,” Bianca said.

“You mean bowling?” Zach asked.

“Yes, but also for dancing,” Bianca said. “Every year, Bergoff held a party in the city on December first. One thousand would be invited. From them, two hundred would be selected for a special New Year’s Eve event in his mansion.”

“Oh, and you did the catering?” Zach asked.

“Something like that,” Bianca said. “Looking back at the extravagance, and the arrogance of a function with a selection process, it’s no surprise he was involved in some nefarious activity.”

“Bloke was always batting above his ability,” Clyde said.

“What’s the link with Baker?” Tess asked.

“Sir Malcolm was never invited to the parties,” Bianca said. “It was the most exclusive event of the year and he was deliberately snubbed. So when Bergoff was arrested and the house was put up for auction, Baker bought it.”

“It’s close to Brisbane?” Tess asked.

“About an hour’s limo-ride from the airport,” Bianca said. “I’ve got the address on my phone.”

“They sent a limo for the caterers?” Zach asked.

“Did they have security?” Tess asked.

“Bergoff did,” Bianca said. “I don’t know about Sir Malcolm. I only met him twice. On both occasions, I kept my distance. Everyone knows the stories about him, right?”

“I don’t,” Zach said. “What stories?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Clyde said.

“A security team would have the contact details for the other teams in other properties,” Tess said. “Maybe including the outback rock he’s slithered under. Bianca, find a map that shows us where this place is. Sophia, Dan, you better report to Anna. Clyde, gear everyone else up. We’ll assume they have security, so I want everyone in body-armour. I’ll offer a pardon to any guard who’ll talk. But after the flooding, Brisbane’s on the brink. We’re as likely to find armed refugees there as rent-a-cops. I’ll see if Mick can find us a plane.”

Chapter 2 - No Ball Games in the Garage

Mount Forbes, Queensland, Australia

“Of course Dr Dodson’s flying,” Clyde said, as their plane soared skyward. “That bloke’s done so many road-landings, if you put him in an ambulance, he’d try to take off.”

Which was, more or less, what Mick had said when Tess had asked for a pilot and a plane. Mick had also told them that Brisbane Airport was underwater. So was Jacob’s Well. An A380 had failed to land in Archerfield and had left a crater where the runway had been. A helicopter-based rescue of those stranded in the city was being run out of Caboulture, but she couldn’t pinpoint that with a compass, let alone on a map. She’d bowed to the inevitable, and stopped arguing with the stubborn old pilot.

Bianca was in the co-pilot’s seat, ready to play spotter when they came within range. According to the address Bianca had dug out of her phone, their destination was Hedricks Road, which wasn’t on their map. The second line of the address, Mount Forbes, was. The mansion was eighty kilometres west of Brisbane’s coastal airport, and thirty kilometres southwest of the satellite-city of Ipswich, which put it well within range of the millions of flooded-out refugees.

The Beechcraft was a civilian aircraft rather than one modified for the military or for outback service, but she assumed it had similar specifications to the planes in