Death is Forever

mainframe here,” Wing said.
    “I don’t like that. It increases the chances of a leak.”
    Wing said nothing.
    Cole shrugged and accepted what wasn’t going to change. “Can you set up a ground station at Windsor’s place—modem, satellite link, and graphic printers to handle the output from your end?”
    There was a pause. “I’ll need several days.”
    “You’ll get it. What about the inputting on your end?”
    “I’ll do it myself.”
    “Then I’ll transmit data as fast as I get it. Set up a secure file in BlackWing’s main computer, code access ‘chunder.’”
    “Chunder,” Wing repeated. “Within an hour you can have a printout under that name from any Chen business computer anywhere in the world.”
    “Good,” Cole said. “What about the rest of the transparencies I’ll need? Who will do them?”
    “My people.”
    “Be damn sure you trust them.”
    “They are of the family of Chen, and they won’t know the location of the scraps of land they’re working on. They will have only a grid to work from. I am the only one who knows the latitudes and longitudes.”
    Cole laughed quietly. He understood Wing’s kind of trust, the kind that was weighed and measured. “That leaves us with just one problem—the helicopter. I put the names of nearby mining exploration outfits through the computer.”
    “I saw the printout.”
    “Then you know all of them are tied to ConMin in one way or another. The only way we’ll have a chance against the cartel is if we keep them off balance, wondering what’s going to happen next. That means working fast and as quietly as possible. If we have to go to New South Wales or the Nullarbor for the chopper, the logistics of fuel supply will be impossible. If we get one closer to home, ConMin will have a direct pipeline into our operation. Take your pick, Wing.”
    “I did. I reran data and selected the five companies that are least indebted to ConMin. Several of those are also indebted to Pacific Enterprises, Inc., Pan-Asian Resources Ltd., or Pacific Rim Development and Resources Ltd.”
    Cole recognized all three firms. They were powerful forces in trade among the countries that circled the Pacific Ocean. Apparently all were under control of the Chen family to a greater or lesser degree. “What’s your best pick? Pan-Asian Resources?” he said.
    “We have enjoyed amicable relations with them for years, yes,” Wing admitted.
    “Which of the Australian firms do they control?”
    “Control? None. We are simply in an advisory capacity.”
    “Yeah. ConMin does a lot of that too.”
    Wing ignored him. “Metalworks and Mines Ltd. is my first choice for a helicopter, with Western Australia Iron and Gold Surveyors second. I will make inquiries immediately.”
    “What if neither one comes through for you?”
    “I can say with great certainty that Metalworks will have a helicopter available for short-term lease. Do you need a pilot?”
    “I’ll fly it myself. What about that list of survey equipment I faxed you?”
    “Everything you need will be at the station when you get there,” Wing said.
    “Someone to set it up and guard it would be nice. I’m a miner, not an electronics expert, and I’ll be away from the buildings most of the time.”
    “Noted. Anything else?”
    “Maybe some of the amenities of life. Abe’s idea of furniture was a dirt floor.”
    “Noted. Will you require a single bed or a double?”
    Cole broke the link without answering. Immediately he put in Matthew Windsor’s number.
    It was time to find out what Erin’s father was willing to do for his daughter.

15
Darwin, Australia A day later
    “For this I packed my cameras and clothes and sent them to London without me?” Erin asked, disgusted.
    “No,” Cole said, without looking up from his maps. “You did that to make ConMin think they had you coming to heel nicely. Confuse, mislead, and misdirect. It’s the only way to survive.”
    “One more run through ‘Chunder’ and I won’t care if I survive.”
    With that, Erin tossed aside the sheets of Abe’s doggerel. She’d been sitting in the window seat of their Darwin hotel, studying the poem and looking out at the lush tropical landscaping. Her body swung between sleepiness and an irritable kind of restlessness, which was her own personal version of jet lag. She’d be better as soon as she slept, but it was only five o’clock. She had to stay awake for a few more hours. Reading “Chunder” wouldn’t help