Death is Forever

communications center. Everything Cole would need to talk to Wing or to transmit and receive computer information was already in place.
    Cole picked up the phone. “Hell of a job, Wing. I was expecting to tap out my messages on a computer.”
    “Thank you. I regret the delay in the bedding and in the improved plumbing. Lai has promised to redouble the efforts of the men. Is everything working?”
    “New generator, transmitter, receiver, modems, computers, fax, and some stuff I haven’t even had a chance to play with yet,” he said, looking around. “You must have had a small army for the installation.”
    “There were several bush pilots who were more than willing to haul people and supplies at triple rates, despite the lack of a decent landing strip. I also took the liberty of beginning the survey immediately. The findings are being processed as we speak. If you have any reason to suspect the technician’s competence or the pilot’s navigational integrity, the helicopter stands ready to repeat the entire sequence.”
    “Why did you start without me?” Cole asked bluntly.
    “We learned that someone else has been quartering the Windsor station by helicopter. I have to assume they are after the same information we are. Under the circumstances I had no choice but to go ahead on the survey.”
    “Who was it?”
    “We’re still working on that. The helicopter was rented by International Mining Security Advisors Ltd. The company is owned by an Australian called Jason Street and takes contracts from various mining interests to advise on or to create security for their mines. Unfortunately, IMSA’s security is quite good. We can’t find who hired IMSA to do the survey. The technician simply had his orders and followed them.”
    “Does IMSA own any mines in Australia or any interest in an existing mine?”
    “No.”
    “Does it do a lot of work for the diamond cartel?” Cole asked.
    “A modest amount. Something less than twelve percent of its net profit. Interestingly enough, Mr. Street was formerly with ASIO.”
    “Formerly?” Cole said sardonically. “Once sworn, never foresworn.”
    “We are aware of that probability. In any case, as the Australian government finally is being brought to the point of cooperating with BlackWing on this venture, I doubt that Mr. Street is a direct threat to your operation in the long run.”
    “Keep after IMSA and Street,” Cole said flatly.
    “Agreed.” Wing took a breath. “Lai said you were injured.”
    Cole gave Lai a narrow look. She watched him like he was a god walking among men. Once he’d trusted that look. Now he recognized it as another part of her sexual allure, an act that was as carefully constructed as the silk clothing she wore.
    “A bullet burn on my thigh from Darwin,” Cole said.
    “Ah, yes, Darwin,” Wing murmured. “You haven’t mellowed, have you? Uncle Li was quite gratified. The local police are quite mystified.”
    “Good.”
    “Lai mentioned another incident…?” Wing probed.
    “Roadtrain tried to flatten us near Fitzroy.”
    “Anything that needs, er, explaining to the local authorities?”
    “No. I missed the bastard.”
    “I see.” Wing hesitated. “As you requested, I have pressed for the details of Abelard Windsor’s death. Everything seems within reason. He was never a very stable man, I take it. He walked out into the bush with a can of Fosters in one hand and a shovel in the other and was never seen alive again.”
    “Probably the climate pushed him over the edge,” Cole muttered. “Jesus, I hate buildup.” He wiped sweat from his forehead. “Anything else?”
    “No.”
    “Who looked for him?”
    There was the sound of Wing rustling through papers. “It appears the people on the station who might have noticed Mr. Windsor’s absence were quite drunk themselves. Finally one of the Aborigines—Sarah is her name—sobered up enough to realize that something was wrong. She called Jason Street. By the time he returned to the station, it was too late.”
    “Returned? Does he live here?”
    “He and Mr. Windsor often drank together for extended periods. If gossip is to be believed, they shared other tastes in common. Apparently Mr. Street is fond of women of color. He is also a redoubtable fighter. It was Mr. Street who found our people going through the station house. He killed two of them without sustaining any particular injury himself.”
    Cole’s eyebrows went up. “Two of them, huh? Tough bastard.