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Mary wept noisily. How could her parents be so unjust and cruel to their own daughter? She felt as if they’d hurled her into the ocean with rocks tied to her feet. Inconsolable, she slumped against the pantry door. Her father released his pressure, but she knew it was useless to try to escape. She let her spine bump down the louvred slats as she slid to the floor and crouched in a miserable, undignified huddle with her arms wrapped around her bent knees.
She wanted to die.
Her cousin Sonia’s voice reached her through her misery. ‘Would you like me to go and tell Tom that you’re not coming?’
Mary’s head snapped up.
Sonia stepped closer and Mary realised for the first time that she was fully dressed, as was her father. Had they known her plans?
Her cousin had been living with her family for the past year because she was studying law at James Cook University. Mary drove Sonia to university each day but, because they were in different faculties, they saw little of each other on campus.
They hadn’t become close, and now the bright, fascinated light in Sonia’s eyes bothered Mary. But she couldn’t leave Tom stranded on the footpath waiting.
‘He’s waiting on the corner. Go and tell him what’s happened. Tell him that I’ll work something out,’ she said.
‘Don’t bother yourself, Sonia,’ interjected her father. ‘If anyone talks to Private Pirelli tonight, it will be me. I’d talk to the mongrel with my fists except that I don’t fancy being court-martialled for assault.’
Her mother had switched the kettle on and now it came to the boil. She turned to pour bubbling hot water into mugs with tea bags.
From behind Colonel Cameron’s back, Sonia sent Mary what might have been a sympathetic smile if her eyes hadn’t gleamed with suppressed excitement. ‘I’ll go back to bed, then,’ she mumbled sleepily, but then she sent Mary a wink. And, as Mary watched Sonia shuffle out of the room, she knew her cousin planned to sneak out through the back of the house to find Tom.
She wished she found that thought more comforting.
‘How did you know?’ she asked her parents, suddenly suspicious. ‘You were waiting up for me.’
‘Some people claim that Army Intelligence is an oxy-moron, but it comes in handy,’ her father drawled, and his mouth curved into a smug half-smile.
Still huddled on the floor, Mary shot him a glare filled with venom.
He let out an impatient sigh. ‘Look, Mary, I’m quite prepared to tell you why I’m opposing this. I simply don’t trust Pirelli.’
‘You haven’t given him a chance.’
‘I’m not going to. I can’t afford to take risks when my only daughter is involved. I don’t trust a guy who just doesn’t add up.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well…he tops bloody everything. IQ tests; language tests; shooting competitions.’
‘Really? He never told me that. But how can that be bad?’
A brief, startled reaction flickered in her father’s eyes, but he quickly recovered. ‘There’s something wrong with a guy who’s as bright as that and still acts like a hooligan. It’s not just his behaviour around town. On exercises, we never know what Pirelli will do. He questions and challenges commands. He won’t conform. That’s why I knocked back his promotion.’
‘Did you really?’ she murmured. ‘He didn’t tell me that either.’
‘No, he wouldn’t, would he?’ Her father’s jaw shot forward like a bulldog’s. ‘Private Pirelli is a bad bet, Mary. He’s the kind of soldier who will want to play heroes. He’ll throw himself into the front line. You know what I’m saying, don’t you?’
‘You mean he’s courageous.’
‘I mean he’s a fool. And tonight he’s proved it if he thinks I can’t see what he’s planning.’
Mary’s insides turned hollow.
‘Ralph,’ said her mother in a warning tone. ‘Be careful.’
‘I’m not the one who has to be careful, Anne. It’s Mary.’ He crouched low beside Mary and placed a broad hand on her shoulder. ‘Pirelli’s plan was to have his way with my daughter—to play with her and then leave.’
‘No!’ His words winded her. She couldn’t breathe.
‘It’s the truth, Mary. This crazy pretence at elopement is payback.’
‘No!’ Struggling for breath, she felt smothered by a thick black fog. Heavy, suffocating clouds crushed her chest as she tried to stand. She clutched at the pantry doorknob, trying to gain leverage, to regain her dignity. To fight back. ‘No, you’re wrong. It’s not like that. Tom loves me. He wants to marry me.’
‘Grow up, Mary. Do you really think there’s going to be a wedding? Wake up, girl. Marriage is the last thing on Private Pirelli’s mind. Did he tell you he’s put in for a transfer to Perth, on the other side of Australia?’
‘No, no-o-o!’ Her protest edged into a scream.
‘You’d better believe it, honey.’ Her father’s unexpectedly gentle voice reached her through the fog. ‘I’m sorry, but the little adventure he had planned for tonight was all about payback because he missed a promotion. Don’t you see? Tom Pirelli has been using you, sweetheart.’
CHAPTER TWO
THE soft red glow of a night vision light filled the Sea Knight helicopter’s cabin. Dressed in camouflage gear and floppy bush hats, the six members of the elite joint forces anti-terrorist squad sat alert and ready.
‘Five minutes out,’ came the crackling message from the pilot through their headphones.
Tom Pirelli checked his equipment one more time. Everything was ready. His gear was strapped down and the J-hook on his automatic weapon was secured so that it couldn’t pop loose or hook him up when the team made their fast rope descent to the drop zone in the South-East Asian jungle below.
There was nothing to do now but wait, and for a luxurious moment, he allowed his thoughts to turn away from the grim task ahead to a picture of his home—his family’s tea plantation on a sleepy green hillside, high on the Atherton Tableland in Far North Queensland.
He’d been thinking about home a lot lately. The morning mists, the welcoming smells of baking in his mother’s kitchen in winter and, in summer, the lacy splendour of tropical ferns in his nonna’s greenhouse.
It was a long time—too damn long—since he’d seen his family. But, since he’d joined the Australian Special Air Services, he’d been posted to so many foreign hot spots and had been home so rarely he’d almost forgotten how much he loved the old place. Yeah, it had definitely been too long.
A rap on his shoulder snapped him back to the present. Ed McBride, one of the US Rangers who’d teamed with the SAS for this joint forces mission, was leaning towards him.
‘Can you do me a favour, man?’ Ed shouted above the whining engines and the roar of the rotors.
‘What kind of favour?’ Tom’s eyes narrowed as he tried to read Ed’s expression—not easy given that his face was blackened in readiness for the night’s task.
‘Take this.’ Ed thrust a watch into Tom’s hand—not a high-tech serviceman’s watch, but a gold civilian job—an old-fashioned one at that. The kind that accompanied the golden handshake when old codgers retired. ‘Can you stick it in your pocket and look after it for me?’
‘You don’t need me to look after your stuff.’
‘Come on, man. Just this once. In case anything happens to me.’
Tom frowned. ‘Don’t talk rubbish, mate. This mission’s going to be a piece of cake.’
‘I know, I know, but just humour me on this and take the damn watch.’
Turning the watch over, Tom saw that the back was engraved and he used his penlight to read the inscription. To Robert Edward McBride. In appreciation. January 10, 1925.
‘It was my great-grandfather’s watch,’ Ed yelled. ‘It’s been handed down through the family. My dad passed it on to me and I want to keep it safe for my boy.’
‘For your son?’
‘Yeah.’
The team didn’t talk too much about their families—it was if talking about home might soften them somehow, and in this deadly game they couldn’t afford any kind of distraction. But Tom knew Ed had a wife and son back in Virginia. He’d seen a photo of the little fellow. The boy had been wearing his father’s cap and his face was in shadow, but he’d gained the impression that the youngster was sturdy and cute with a cheeky grin.
He shoved the watch back into Ed’s hand. ‘You keep this for your kid. It’ll be perfectly safe with you.’
‘No!’
The urgency in Ed’s voice sent a chill spiking down Tom’s spine.
‘Do it for me,’ Ed pleaded. ‘Just this once.’
‘Don’t talk crap,’ Tom shouted angrily. What was eating Ed? Special Operatives never lost their cool. Never showed fear. Or doubt.
But deep down he knew what Ed was trying to say. It was a feeling a soldier could get—a premonition that something was going to go wrong.
‘Please, Tom,’ Ed insisted. ‘I thought we were buddies.’
‘Well, yeah, of course we are. We’re more than buddies. We’re mates.’
It was true. He genuinely liked this American with his constant smile, spiky blond crewcut and marine-blue eyes. Ed was a crack soldier and an all-round great guy. Easygoing, salt of the earth, apple pie and Fourth of July all rolled into one six-foot, muscle-bound package. A walking-talking-fighting Good Guy.
Tom hadn’t expected to become close friends with the American, but he and Ed had formed a unique bond. They respected each other. Without question they trusted each other’s considerable battle skills, and they shared a similar outlook as well as a similar string of military decorations. But beyond that they shared something more important—a sense of humour that had helped them in the grimmer moments.
Until now.
Tom looked again at the gold watch. There was nothing particularly fancy about it. Its value could only be sentimental. And this was not a time for sentiment.
‘One minute out.’
The signal was given for the team to unbuckle their seat belts and move to the ramp at the rear of the chopper.
Their craft dropped to a hover and the men stood, bracing themselves. Ed would be the fifth man to descend the fast rope, while Tom, who was the squad’s leader, would bring up the rear.
‘Please!’ Ed yelled once more, holding the watch out to Tom.
Already, the assigned soldier was shoving the coiled rope off the ramp and leaning out as he watched it fall to the ground. Then he signalled to Zeke, the first man to descend. Zeke grabbed the rope with both hands, hooked it with one foot, pivoted, jumped clear of the ramp and disappeared, sliding down.
Tom sighed. ‘OK, give it here,’ he said, taking the watch from Ed and zipping it quickly into an inner pocket. ‘But I’ll be giving this bloody thing straight back to you just as soon as this mission is over.’
He lowered his night goggles and Ed’s teeth flashed green as he grinned.
‘Thanks, bud,’ he called back to Tom. Then, still grinning, he turned, ready to descend.
CHAPTER THREE
IT WAS a warm summer’s day in Virginia but Ethan had the beginnings of a cold.
Mary frowned as she reached over the breakfast table to lay a hand on her son’s forehead. He’d started coughing during the night and this morning his nose was snuffly and his skin slightly warm. If he had a raised temperature she would have to keep him home from school today.
‘Is your throat sore?’ she asked, noting the way he dawdled his spoon around and around his bowl of cereal, then sipped half-heartedly at his orange juice.
Ethan nodded, and beneath his floppy blond fringe his big brown eyes grew round as he sent her his sad puppy look.
She’d seen rather too much of that look lately.
‘Why didn’t Dad come home for Fourth of July?’ he asked her. ‘He promised.’
Mary sighed. Ever since she’d received the terrible news that her husband was missing in action and presumed dead, she’d tried to keep the news from Ethan. Coping with her own sickening fear was hard enough.
Ethan idolised Ed, and Mary was concerned that his cold was a symptom of his distress as much as a seasonal chill.
‘Sometimes soldiers can’t keep their promises, but I’m hoping Daddy will be home very soon, sweetheart.’
She wasn’t prepared to tell him the truth. She still clung to the hope that Ed was safe and well.
But the boy was supersensitive to her tension, to her friends’ kid glove treatment of them both, to Grandma McBride’s open concern and Grandpa McBride’s stoic acceptance.
Not knowing was the worst. There was so little news—just that Ed was missing behind enemy lines. She couldn’t stop thinking about what might have happened to him. As an Army wife, she’d always known something like this might happen, particularly when he’d joined the Special Squad, but she’d pushed that knowledge to the back of her mind.
But now he was missing. And missing could mean so many things. Awful, unbearable things.
‘What’s the matter, Mummy?’
Oh, God, she’d nearly given in to tears in front of Ethan. Flashing him a quick, tight smile, she said, ‘Would you like to stay home from school and rest up today?’
He nodded listlessly. ‘Can I watch TV?’
‘Sure,’ she said, frowning as she watched him wander through to the adjoining family room.
Until they’d received the news about Ed, Ethan had always loved school. She told herself that one day wouldn’t hurt. Perhaps today, when he wasn’t well, the comforting sight of the familiar bright puppets on his favourite children’s show would cheer him up.
As her son settled on to a beanbag, in front of the television, she poured herself another cup of coffee, put her feet up on the opposite chair and forced her thoughts to practical things—like the changes she would have to make to her day’s plans.
With Ethan sick, she wouldn’t be able to play tennis this morning but, because she ran her business from home, she would still be able to get on with her work this afternoon. She reached to the phone on the nearby kitchen counter, planning to call one of her tennis friends, but she’d only dialled the first digit when the doorbell rang.
Surprised, she swung her feet from the chair and looked around for her slip-on shoes. Where had she left them? Her hand flew to her hair. She hadn’t taken any trouble when she’d brushed it this morning and she hadn’t given a thought to make-up. Who would be calling her at this hour? It was too early for tennis.
Could it be someone from the Army?
Oh, God. The unwelcome thought hit her like a smack in the face. The Army would send someone around if there was bad news about Ed.
Her stomach screwed itself into a nervous knot as her feet found shoes beneath the table. Ed, please be safe. Please let him be safe.
