Cornell knew he could never return to his career with the Foreign Office. He had accepted a substantial amount of money to betray Britain's interests, and while the bloodhounds of Scotland Yard had not yet beaten a path to his door, it could only be a matter of time. The man on the phone had made that point very clear. An early departure from England was the only chance he would have of keeping it that way. But could he slip away from 22 years of Government service without signalling culpability? There had already been far too much attention given to his request for special leave. He'd cited health issues. Still, leave had been approved without impediment. That miserable bastard, Johnson, with his smug patronising expression as he'd said, "Of course, take some leave, Gregory. You've been looking a little frayed around the edges lately. A rest will do you good. I'm sure we'll get by." Bastard!
Of course, Cornell was still oblivious to the fact that Johnson was in fact the anonymous man who had been pulling his strings from the outset. Approving his leave was simply expedient in terms of Johnson achieving other objectives.
Cornell looked at his watch. God, it had only been six hours since they'd departed Heathrow on the 10,000 mile flight to Sydney. There were still hours to go, and a layover at Singapore. He became restless at the prospect of trying to kill time with so much on his mind. He considered watching another movie, and shuffled in his seat to get comfortable when he accidentally bumped the elbow of the man sitting next to him.
'I'm t-terribly sorry," he stammered.
"Don't mention it," came the deep, level reply. American. Texan.
Despite the space available between their business class seats, it was hard not to bump the man. Cornell had already noticed that he was fit. A tanned, muscular arm sat like an oak log across the plush armrest, and the fabric of his beige chinos pulled across equally well-muscled thighs, although the left leg seemed to be sitting awkwardly out into the aisle. He wore a navy blue polo shirt and an expensive looking watch - like one of those diver's watches, Cornell thought - was fastened on a silver bracelet strap on his thick left wrist. His head was shaved to the scalp.
"Gregory Cornell," he offered, not knowing why.
The American's piercing grey-blue eyes levelled at Cornell.
"Dave Sutherland," he replied. "I know who you are, Mr. Cornell. I suggest we order a drink. You and I are about to have a long chat."
CHAPTER 48
Perth, Western Australia
The arrivals hall at Perth International Airport was awash with people herded cattle-like into the narrow corrals of the awaiting customs frontier. South African Airlines Flight SA 280 from Johannesburg and QANTAS Flight QF 072 from Singapore had arrived.
An air of general disengagement pervaded the hall. From the endless shuffling queues, each jetlagged face looked on resignedly at the blue uniformed Australian Customs Service officers, who continued to carry out their duties without the slightest alacrity. A standard laconic greeting was offered as weary travelers presented for examination. Passports and declaration cards were reviewed, and, following the usual questions, passports scanned, stamped and entry granted. Those already cleared by the PASSALERT system moved along to baggage collection.
Of course, there were those who drew the adverse attention of the customs officers. Their path took a much less hospitable direction.
With a minimum of fuss, a young couple and a single older man were being led away from two separate kiosks by Protective Service Officers. They were taken through a discrete door at the far corner of the hall, onward, no doubt, to a quiet, isolated room deep within the bowels of the airport. The young couple appeared alarmed, the older man acquiescent. The next few hours would include an uncompromising luggage search, possibly an even more invasive search of their person, followed by an appointment with agents of the Australian Federal Police. It would be all downhill from there.
Christine Day, new to the Australian Customs Service, returned her attention to her immediate charges. She had only been working at Perth's international terminal minus trainer wheels for two weeks, and was in awe of the process.
With unruly tresses of curly brown hair and heavy-set, Christine was a timid, kind person with lots to learn. Her supervisor said she needed to be more demonstrative of her authority. But it was hard, for although she excelled academically on her course, she'd just scraped through on practical examinations.
As she checked and stamped incoming passenger cards and passports against an endless procession of tired and irritable faces, Christine was aware of eyes upon her. And as the hours wore on, she continued her shift with detachment and an increasing lack of sympathy with each face that appeared. Reality. So soon, she was far removed from the smiling, exuberant girl who'd collected her badge and certificate on graduation.