Mortice Read online

  Also by George Watson

  MORT & PIG NOVELS

  You Killed My Wife (Book 1)

  Retired from the Australian Army after fifteen years, mainly on active service with special forces on the front line, Mort’s first goal on returning home to Brisbane is to investigate how his wife died in a car accident.

  The trail leads him through some intriguing industrial espionage cases, and deeper, uncovering both police and political corruption within his home state of Queensland. With no one else to turn to, it is up to he and his colleague ‘Pig’ to combat this insidious state of affairs, battling not only crooked police and politicians but outlaw Bikie gangs as well.

  Chapter 1

  3:45 a.m. “Smoke on the Water” seeps into my brain. Shit, the phone’s ringing.

  I grab it off the bedside table, and a voice I recognise says, “Ireland?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  I’m awake now.

  “Ireland, there is a plane landing at Archerfield Airport at 6:00 a.m. I need you on it. Both of you. Full kits. Understand? Full kits.”

  “Yes, Sir, understood. I will get Pig sorted.”

  “Incoming briefing notes by email.”

  “Noted, Sir. We will be waiting for the plane’s arrival, Sir.”

  “Good, see you in a few hours.” And he hangs up.

  Of course, Suzie is wide awake beside me now. “What’s going on?” she asks.

  “Not sure yet—briefing notes are on email. They have sent a plane for Pig and me. That’s all I know, but for MGC [Major General Charles Rutherford—MGC for short due to his initials and his love of cricket!] to be wide awake and issuing orders at this time of night, something is amiss,” I reply as I dial Pig.

  “Wakey wakey,” I say as Pig answers his phone. I get a grunt as a response [Yes, I have a sense of humour, even at 3:45 in the morning!]

  “We’re on. Full kits, and MGC repeated ‘full kits’. They have a plane landing at 6:00 a.m. at Archerfield” [a small commercial airfield on Brisbane’s south side, and the closest to me—either by accident or design!]. I pause to let Pig digest this and when he grunts acknowledgement (that’s two grunts from my favourite Pig already!), I continue, “So why don’t you pick me up? Briefing notes on email, so I will flick to you shortly.”

  “Okay, I’ll pick you up around 5:00 a.m. That gives us heaps of time to make sure we aren’t late.”

  “Done,” and I hang up.

  Suzie is now sitting up in bed watching with a little frown of concern on her face, so I lean over and give her a quick kiss and say, “Sorry, Lord and Master is calling.”

  Of course, she wants to know way more than I know, and I tell her she knows as much as I do at present.

  Out of bed, I check my iPad and yes, there is an official email in my Section V email, so I flick to Pig before glancing through it. Time to read it once we are on our way, but looks like we are heading to Yass via Canberra where they are expecting a major incident from a suspected far right militia group with a base set up on an isolated farm.

  As Suzie has also signed the Official Secrets Act, I toss (gently, of course!) my iPad to her to read whilst I head to the bathroom. Need to have a good cleanup—not sure when the next one will be. I know, I know, not exactly third-world around Yass, but you never know when time might permit!

  After a quick shower, I pull out my “go bag” from the back of the robe—always fully packed for occasions exactly like this. I keep a sealing tag in the locks, so I know it hasn’t been opened, just as a safeguard against “borrowing” something from it and not replacing it. The go bag has all essentials such as three sets of underwear, socks, T-shirts, shorts and trousers, a spare set of boots, weatherproof jacket and full wet weather gear—plus snack bars and water bottles. Really a full duffel, kept packed for any type of emergency.

  I carry it into the kitchen, where Suzie is now making two coffees in travel mugs, one for me and the other for Pig. She is a darling, this one—even a keeper, I’m thinking, so of course I tell her this as well. More brownie points, after all!

  Then it’s down to the gun safe and I pull out both mine and Pig’s weapons of choice, our H & K USP favoured handgun plus EF88 assault rifles. Pig doesn’t have a gun safe, so his guns are all stored here with mine, and since we are now authorised to hold and carry weapons because of our involvement with section V we keep these here.

  I load these into our gun cases and set them down inside the office front door, ready for when Pig pulls up. I then grab Pig’s latest (and new favourite) drone Bernie—yes, he names all his drones—however I can’t criticise as I named my sniper rifle Betsy, after all. I load Bernie in its secure pelican case and place this next to the front door as well.

  I go back up the stairs into the house, where Suzie is sitting also now having a coffee, admitting she is unlikely to get back to sleep wondering what is going on.

  She briefs me on what the email said, which isn’t a lot more than I gleaned from my quick glance, simply that there is an anticipated domestic terrorist attack imminent from this far-right para- military group, the Southern Cross Resistance, that needs to be snuffed out quickly. No mention why the glory boys from SAS aren’t being called in, but hey, we signed up to serve our country, so like all good soldiers, ours is not to reason why. But it is a question I will be asking when we arrive!

  At 4:55 a.m., I hear the Camry pull up in the driveway, so Suzie and I have a silent farewell kiss, and I’m told to be careful. “I still have plans for you!” is her parting shot as I head off back down the internal stairs. I grab the gun cases with my duffel, deciding not to risk the drone and two coffees as well. I’m out the door with the first load, then back for the rest of the gear, silently closing the door behind me. Pig has popped the boot open but remains sitting in the driver’s seat with a smart-arse smirk on his face. I nearly leave his coffee on the roof, but hey, I’m not the nasty type. Fortunately, the Camry has a big boot, so two duffels, a drone case and two-gun cases squeeze in. I hop into the passenger seat, slip Pig’s coffee into the cup holder, and we fist bump before he backs out and we are on the road.

  Archerfield Airport at this time of day is only 20 minutes away, so we are nice and early. We park and lug our gear through into the terminal where it looks like there is only a night manager on duty. We identify ourselves and our pass’s security screening is waived, so we sit down and wait.

  We are good at waiting. We have both had 15 years of practice whilst serving in the Australian Army at various battlefields around the globe, including two extended tours of duty in Afghanistan. At 5:45 a.m., I get up and wander through to the canteen, used mainly for pilots and staff, but at this time of the day, hey—who cares!

  Whilst waiting for the jug to boil, I text Maria, our part time colleague telling her “she’s it for a few days, as duty calls.”

  Of course, I get an immediate response—she does have four young kids, so this isn’t early for her—saying, “Lucky shits. Be careful. So, I get to sit in the BIG chair!”

  So I reply, “And don’t mess in it!”

  Maria is also ex-army, 1st NZR New Zealand regiment, and has done some fun tasks for us over time. We are sort of training her in the finer points of our business, so this will be a further learning period for her.

  I make four black coffees and go back to join Pig just as the duty manager comes out to say our flight has landed and is taxiing in now.

  So up with the duffels, gun cases and four coffees and out onto the apron. And there coming to a stop in front of us is a Falcon 7X of the RAAF VIP squadron. Wow, we are moving up the chain!

  Pig and I look at each other with raised eyebrows.

  I’m thinking maybe the pilots won’t need my thoughtfully made coffees after all.

  We head
out onto the apron and see the young co-pilot lowering the stairs, so once these are in position, I head up with my load, followed by Pig. Once inside the cabin, the senior pilot is standing at the door to the cockpit, so I pass a coffee over to him, which he acknowledges, saying, “We do have a full coffee machine on board, so you needn’t have bothered.”

  I smile and say, “I guess we are used to old transports, not these fancy machines.”

  The pilot smiles and says, “If it hadn’t been such an early start and short notice, we would have had a steward on board to wait on you hand and foot as usual!”

  Wow, I think, how the other half live!

  “So, you are the famed Mort and Pig,” continues the pilot, looking at us. “I have heard a few tales about you two, and I’m honoured to meet you both.” We shake all round.

  The young co-pilot is looking a bit puzzled, so the pilot tells him, “These two have won a few battles you and I would wet ourselves just thinking about, so they deserve the full treatment.” He adds, addressing us, “I did one tour over in Afghanistan myself,” getting positive acknowledgement from us both.

  He then nods, saying, “I’ll get us underway, one hour and 45-minute flight time, so make yourselves comfy. After take-off, you’re welcome to help yourselves to the bar or kitchen, so please do.”

  Pig and I settle into seats on opposite sides of the plane, strap ourselves in, and await the start of another journey into the unknown.

  Chapter 2

  I’m finishing my coffee as the plane takes off effortlessly into the awakening sky.

  I close my eyes and my mind drifts back over the last four months since Pig and I had to take down an outlaw bikie gang holed up in their stockade in the hunt for a bent cop which then escalated, bringing down the Queensland State Government. And as a consequence, we had been appointed as members of Section V under the control of Major General Charles Rutherford (endearingly known as MGC—Major General Charlie). [Refer to You Killed My Wife—the first episode of Mort and Pig’s exploits.]

  This event involved Pig and me, as well as Suzie—my then girlfriend, now partner—who was kidnapped during the hunt for the crooked coppers, necessitating our rescuing her. Pig and I then brought the whole episode to a successful, if dramatic, conclusion.

  After this, all three of us took a break after the dust settled up on Fraser Island, and on arriving home from that break, Suzie and I decided to move in together. As Pig was using the second bedroom at that time, a simple swap seemed the best solution. Well, except Suzie wasn’t going into the second bedroom, I hasten to add, although it is fair to say she has taken it over with all her “junk,” so to speak.

  I made a bit of a ceremony scanning her thumbprints into our security system, making sure she understood the significance of it, and she had to promise no more eye rolls about our security system!

  Before Pig could move into Suzie’s apartment, though, Suzie insisted on doing a real tenant interview with Pig, or Julien, as she insists on calling him by his given name, so I thoroughly enjoyed sitting on the sidelines of that interview.

  I guess he must have passed because he is quite settled there now, which is good because our earlier exploits had forced the breakup of his long-standing relationship with George, who is now in prison because of our actions.

  Where he belongs.

  Chapter 3

  My reminiscing continues . . .

  With all the changes in our lives and adapting to living together—you guys know what I mean, who wins the little battles of the bathrooms, hanging space, cooking, TV remotes, etc.—all of which have been fun battles, and I certainly can’t claim to have won many, although I have clung onto my wardrobe (well, a quarter of it!) and the en suite, I tell Suzie she has too much junk for the en suite, so she has taken over the main bathroom as her own. Along with all the wardrobe space of the second bedroom. But all you guys out there know what I mean!

  We had agreed to make it a priority to head up to Bundaberg to spend a weekend with Henry and Caroline, Suzie’s parents. With a Monday public holiday weekend, we both took the Friday off, thus making a four-day weekend. We also agreed to stop in for lunch with Dad on Bribie Island.

  So, it is a relaxed start, and we head off just after 10:00 on the Friday morning, making it comfortably to Bribie by noon, even allowing for time for a coffee break!

  Suzie has not met Dad, but he knows she is coming, and they have spoken a couple of times on the phone.

  We pull into Dad’s driveway and bugger me, he’s busy under the bonnet of his old Nissan Patrol. Here I am thinking he would be inside getting lunch ready.

  Anyway, he hears us pull in and pops his head out, wiping his hands on an old oily rag (old habits die hard!). Suzie is out of the car and before I can introduce them, she is giving him a hug, then asks, “So what’s wrong with the Patrol?”

  And the old man replies, “Oh, nothing really, just pottering.” Suzie pokes her head under the bonnet, and they are soon talking about carburetors, points, spark plugs—a foreign language to me!

  I leave them to it and head inside, where I immediately smell fresh fish cooking, and lo and behold, a lady comes bustling out of Dad’s kitchen, stops in her tracks upon seeing me, her hand going up to her mouth.

  I smile and put my hand out, saying, “Hi, I’m Mort.”

  “Hi, Mort, lovely to meet you. Larry is always talking about you. I’m Agnes.”

  Just then, Dad comes in behind me in a bit of a rush, a little rattled, I think, that Agnes and I had just met without him introducing us.

  He starts, “Ah, Mort, Agnes and I have sort of become friends lately, so I thought it would be nice for you to meet her, and she offered to cook lunch, so that’s better than anything I could concoct.”

  Of course, I can’t resist: “So, friends, ah Dad?” putting an emphasis on friends and at the same time turning and giving Agnes a wink so she knows I’m teasing.

  Dad, of course, is stammering again, so I quickly let him off the hook and reach out and pull him into a hug and say, “That’s great, Dad! Hope she doesn’t have to clean up after you all the time!” And I add in a whisper, “Mum will be pleased for you.”

  Once things settle down again and Suzie has also met Agnes, she and Dad are quickly back to chatting about engines, and Patrols in particular. Suzie’s passion for the subject is clear for all to see, and Dad is just happy to have someone to talk engines and cars in general with. It was never a subject of interest to Mum or me.

  Lunch of freshly grilled whiting Dad had caught that morning is a delight, but as we have another four and a bit hours to get to Bundy (Bundaberg), we don’t linger long.

  As we exit Dad’s home, Suzie pipes up, “I’ll drive if you like,” at the same time holding her hand out for the keys to the Camry. I smile and hand them over—as if I have a choice!

  Once back on the Bruce Highway, I’m watching Suzie as she gives the Camry some gas and notices it is pretty responsive. After a few goes at this, I can see she is puzzling, and I’m trying to keep a straight face. To make this easier, I close my eyes, but the surging of the car tells me she is still puzzled. Eventually, she has to say something and comes out with, “This goes much better than an ordinary Camry—how come?”

  Still with my eyes closed, I reply, “How many Camrys have you driven?”

  “None like this—why?”

  I can’t keep a straight face any longer, so I open my eyes and, smiling, say, “It’s chipped. All three of my cars are chipped. You just don’t know when we might need to get somewhere quickly or disappear quickly,” I add.

  “But you drive like a grandfather,” she replies, just managing to hide her disgust.

  “Well, I don’t like to attract attention and don’t see the need to speed when not in a hurry.”

  Of course, this concept is totally foreign to Suzie, who has a few speeding tickets racked up. But that isn’t slowing her down—now she knows she has more power than she expected!

  “Drive li
ke a grandfather”—cheek of her! I think.

  * * *

  It’s, in fact, only three and a half hours later and we are pulling into Suzie’s parents’ driveway. Driving Suzie speed!

  They still live out of Bundy on a few acres, and her dad still potters around in his mechanical repair workshop, even though he has officially retired.

  We drive up the drive and you can sense the thrill and excitement emanating from Suzie. She is clearly excited to be home, and at least, I like to think, keen to show me around.

  We exit the car, and she grabs my hand as Henry and Caroline emerge from their veranda and come down the path to greet us, followed by the family hound Rufus, an aging “bitza” and beloved member of the family, his tail wagging furiously as he recognises Suzie, who quickly ruffles his ears after hugging her parents.

  After the greetings, I go back and get our bags from the boot and follow them all into the kitchen where we have an afternoon tea of homemade scones, fresh cream (yes, they still have their own cow out back!) and of course, homemade strawberry jam.

  Heaven for a sweet tooth like me!

  It has to be said I am cautioned that if I eat too many, I won’t be able to eat my dinner, to which I reply, “Watch me!” (I almost say, “Yes, Mum” as well!)

  Once we have all consumed our fill, Suzie drags me off to show me the rest of the house, culminating in her old bedroom, still with posters of Madonna and Hanson and swimmer Suzie O’Neil “Madam Butterfly” as she was called in her heyday—a local world class athlete and winner of eight Olympic swimming medals. I pull my Suzie into my arms and whisper, “So what secrets could this bed tell me, ah?” I get a quick peck and a push off, as she quickly heads back out of the room, I suspect a little embarrassed. I reckon I need to revisit that question a little later!

  The house is a typical country Queenslander with most of the living upstairs with laundry and car garage downstairs, originally designed to improve air flow in the humid tropical seasons. Also, a boon when there is flooding as most homes remain above any flood line.