Read Alan McQueen - 02 - Second Strike for Free Online Page B

his buzzing Nokia from his pocket.
    ‘Network’s up again,’ he said and then turned away, took the call.
    Mac walked into the lobby where American, British, New Zealand and Australian accents were all vying with each other. Phones were ringing, voices arguing. An American touched his chest with both hands and then pushed them away at an Australian, saying, ‘No, you see, I have to get the okay from your guys before I get the okay from my guys. Okay?’
    Mac grabbed his overnight bag from the porter’s trolley and moved to the lift banks with Chester. He needed a shower and some nosebag and then he’d be into the day. Taking the lift to the third fl oor, he made small talk with Chez. It wasn’t till he got to his door that the two of them realised they were room-mates. They looked at each other, cleared their throats, then both looked at the folders holding their security cards, willing the numbers to change. Neither knew quite how to articulate his annoyance, so Mac pushed into the room, threw his bag on the bed closest to the window, kicked off his shoes and made for the bathroom.
    ‘It’ll be fi ne, Chezza,’ Mac yelled as he turned on the shower.
    ‘I only snore when I’m drunk. Really, really drunk.’

CHAPTER 5
    Mac slept till after nine, nightmares of craters and exploding buildings disturbing his sleep. When he woke to a background of sirens and helicopters Chester wasn’t around. He checked his bag for signs of entry, checked his phone for dialled calls, then changed into his blue overalls and Hi-Tec boots.
    The hotel restaurant was packed with people shouting at each other, shouting into phones, yelling at people like Julie who were circulating with clipboards, shoving phones into people’s faces, getting signatures and waiting for the okay to go and do what they had to do. Watching Julie, Mac mused that if the Commonwealth ever ran out of bright young female organisers like her to get the lunchers into formation, the wheels would fall off the whole show.
    Grabbing scrambled eggs, tomatoes and sausages, Mac poured a cup of coffee and walked over to Garvey’s table.
    ‘How’s it going, boys?’ asked Mac as he sat.
    Chester looked him up and down very quickly, his long face and thin brown hair making him look like a Puritan.
    Garvey gave Mac a quick look, sipped on his tea. ‘Job interview, mate?’
    Mac poured milk into his coffee, refusing to be baited by the swipe at his clothes. ‘Thought I’d get amongst it.’
    Garvey shook his head. He’d always been the more bureaucratically astute of the two of them. ‘I don’t know what your brief is, Macca, but they didn’t bring you in from Manila to shift rubble. Know what I mean, sport?’
    Mac knew precisely what he meant, but before the Aussie cavalry arrived from Darwin he wanted to examine the bomb sites more closely. And he wanted to keep his media dickhead clothes clean.
    ‘Morning, gentlemen,’ Julie said, arriving at the table.
    They murmured greetings back.
    ‘Mr Delaney, Jakarta,’ she said, handing Chester a Nokia, two more phones on her right hip.
    As Chester put his left index fi nger in his left ear and leaned away from the table, Garvey looked at Mac and said, ‘So what is your role, champ?’
    ‘Public affairs for DFAT,’ said Mac, trying to eavesdrop on Chester.
    ‘Quality control - that shit.’
    Mac stood on the edge of the crater in front of the Sari Club on Legian Street, one of the main streets of Kuta. Around him, the job of fi nding the injured was still going at fever pitch, even as the Indonesians bagged and tagged body parts, gently placing them in refrigerated trucks that had been backed into the blast sites. The smell was strengthening with the rising temperature and soon they’d have a rat problem.
    A POLRI offi cer in pale blue overalls approached Mac, right hand on his holster. Mac held out the plastic-sheathed ID Julie had given him before he ventured out and the cop nodded and walked on.
    Mac looked into