I scanned the area through my binoculars. Massive boulders littered the slope like a giant’s playground, some as big as my truck. Thick mulga and acacia scrub grew between them, creating natural screens. There were no tracks, no disturbed earth, and no signs that humans had been anywhere near here.
“You sure this is the place?” I asked.
“Hold on,” Mitch said, his voice tight. “Movement. Behind that boulder on the left. The tall one shaped like a fang.”
I swung my binoculars over. For a second, I saw nothing. Then I had him. A figure crouched low, partially hidden. The glint of metal caught the light. “That asshole has a shotgun,” I said.
“Who is it?” Sapphire asked.
Mitch adjusted his focus. “Son of a bitch. That’s Lyle Henderson.”
My stomach dropped. “Bloody hell. Is he here to finish what his brothers started?”
Sapphire sucked in a breath. “There’s Bob. Six o’clock from Lyle. Behind that big flat boulder that’s leaning against the cliff face.”
I swung my binoculars right. Bob was pressed against the rock, his service weapon drawn and held low.
“What the hell is Lyle doing?” Cassidy hissed.
“Shit,” I muttered, watching Bob shift his position, his gun still ready. “I know what he’s not doing. He’s not planning on a friendly chat with Frank.”
Chapter 18
Frank
* * *
The blackened sausage came off the wire half raw, but I ate it anyway. Cold meat and burnt skin. I chewed slowly, carefully, hoping I didn’t chuck up after it. Three weeks ago, I’d have wolfed it in two bites and gone back for another. Now, I was just trying to keep the damn thing down.
My guts twisted hard halfway through.
I dropped the wire, pressed my good hand flat against my belly, and breathed through my nose. The cave smelled of bat shit and dirt, old smoke from the drum, and the sour reek of my own sweat.
I waited for the spasm to pass.
It did. Just.
I shook four Panadol into my palm and chewed them dry. Bitter as hell. The chalky paste stuck to the back of my throat, and I had to wash it down with a swallow of warm water from the canteen. Wished it was rum. But I couldn’t have rum. Not yet. Not at this hour. The sun wasn’t even high yet, and I’d promised myself I’d hold off till midday at least.
I’d been promising myself the same thing every morning for a week, only to break it by ten.
But today, I needed my gaze clear and my hand steady, even if neither was obeying.
I held my good hand out flat in front of me and watched it shake.
Christ.
I’d woken up at first light with the cancer raging in my kidneys like they were on fucking fire. Couldn’t get back to sleep. Couldn’t get comfortable. Couldn’t do much except sit against the cave wall with the shotgun across my knees and listen to the country wake up outside.
Birds first. Then the bats coming home above me, settling in their stinking clusters at the back of the cave. Then the wind picked up and whistled through the mulga.
No boots. No engines. No Bob.
Just me, the rocks, the bats, and the pain.
I’d started to wonder if I’d called it wrong. Maybe Bob wasn’t coming. Maybe he’d cut his losses and pissed off. Gone to Bali or Thailand or wherever crooked bastards went when their luck ran out.
Maybe I’d die in this cave for nothing.
