Looming August Eighth: Disaster Has a Deadline by Trevor Trigg

Author:Trevor Trigg
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BookBaby
Published: 2019-03-13T00:00:00+00:00

18 – Six blondes and a patrol boat

‘Evangeline O’Hare and Azeza Shaarab—names tattooed on the inside of my forehead. Unspeakable bitches!’ Julie Hewlett’s cup almost cracked the saucer as she put it down. ‘Oops…. I have a plan. Don’t laugh, and don’t say no.’ She leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘And we’re not going to ask anyone—I mean my husband—we’re just going to do it.’

Robyn and Servandra hadn’t touched the scones and were only marginally interested in the tea. Their lachrymose state hadn’t improved from last night when the Prime Minister’s arms tried to hug all three of them against the misery of knowing that Peter and Rob were captives a continent away.

‘I talked this through with a senior AFP officer and she’s with us—thinks it’s better than sitting and squirming,’ Julie said.

It took a few hours to find the right beauty salon hairdresser and to source garments. Six women of roughly similar size emerged from the salon looking like sextuplets. Three were AFP, all six dressed identically in autumn coloured jackets and slacks. All sported rakish broad-brimmed fawn felt hats. Each was a bobbed blonde.

‘I am feeling like my daughter is my sister and so to being sister to all of you.’ Servandra had a smile, the first in days.

The Prime Minister made it home to The Lodge for a late dinner to find blonde triplets at the table. ‘Holy… What—?’ The dawning of it dropped his jaw. ‘I see. You know what you’re doing? All three are targets.’

‘No, all six. There are three more. Three policewomen and we will all go everywhere together. The AFP people have been rearranged so that our security includes the three women. We have more outfits the same—I paid, not the taxpayer—so you see we are confusers, deflectors and decoys. Robyn’s hair was as good as a flashing auburn beacon. Not now.’

‘Wow!’ John’s smile was huge, well okay if it gave them ownership of some strategy. ‘Well, it’s certainly different—and attractive. I know how Peter loved to run his fingers through your thatch, Robyn. There’s gonna be a big adjustment for him.’

The mention of his name, in a future tense, lifted her heart.

Two Ford F150 4WD cab chassis trucks, a large van and a 1985 Mercedes-Benz 280SE drove under the roller shutter of a dilapidated, cement sheeted Alice Springs factory and the shutter clattered down behind them. The canvas canopies, which stretched over makeshift timber frames on the Fords, were removed by swarthy men and the line-marking vehicles were ready to be fitted with permanent steel frames to support new khaki, canvas covers. Other men scrubbed the cabs in preparation for the khaki spray paint job.

A similar Ford sat in the corner of a stable-barn, on a rural property, in the outer Australian Capital Territory. Apart from the stable, there was no other building. The homestead and hardstand sites had been scraped and graded back to bare earth and resown. A motorhome and a few sleeping swags sat at the end, inside the long stable building.

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