Inside the boot was his exit plan: passport, cash, burner phone, and an invaluable collection of government-cleared travel documents.All quietly approved and never dated, just waiting for him to choose the country.
Half an hour later, he’d checked into a hotel to play tourist, ordered breakfast and coffee.Unpacked first—because he always unpacked first.Then dressed in some luxury resort wear starting with an unbuttoned linen shirt, designer slides, and tailored swim shorts sharp enough to pass for dress shorts, the kind he’d seen worn by Bond, as played by Craig, inSkyfall.The perfect attire for a man sitting poolside while committing international crime, sending emails to Clancy and the pilot to prep the jet out of Adelaide.Then he sent another email to log the empty Canberra flight, purely as a distraction in case anyone was watching.
And finally—to Red.
Letting that bastard sweat had been fun.Because no one threatened Drew Bannon and got away with it.
All of it done with coffee in hand, poolside.Just another FIFO exec, or a southern tourist dodging winter.No one gave him a second glance.
And now he waited under the cover of darkness for the quarry jet to arrive.
Only the RAAF held things up, with their fighter jets clogging the sky with noise.
Just a minor inconvenience, really.Nothing more.
He glanced at his watch.Again.Almost 8pm.
The cargo came first, and he wasn’t leaving without it.That much was non-negotiable.Not after everything it had taken to collect, preserve, and move covertly across state borders, under fake names and falsified manifests.The product was too valuable.It was the kind of freight that could sink a nation’s trade economy—if ever exposed.
Again, he checked his watch.
A breeze carried the acrid tang of turbine exhaust fumes across the airfield, offering no relief from the heat and sweat as it curled beneath his collar where he stood ready to climb on board his waiting jet.
But only once the quarry shipment had arrived.
He wouldn’t touch it.That’s what he paid others for.
Like Clancy, who he’d sent to collect the boxes with the extra duty of permanently releasing Red and Bob from the fold.Along with a little torching of the stolen truck and everything else remaining at the quarry, to destroy all evidence.And then the pilot, being handsomely paid to keep quiet—especially with that little bit of blackmail of him flying high from a cocaine-party spree—would fly Clancy up to Darwin to offload the boxes to Drew’s waiting jet.No witnesses.No loose ends.Goodbye Elsie Creek.
And then Drew would step aboard jet number two, take the boxes, and vanish.
Now all he needed was Clancy’s jet from the quarry to land.
A flicker of movement caught his eye across the tarmac.
Surprisingly, the quarry’s jet had arrived without him noticing.Quietly slipping in-between cargo holds as the floodlights poured over it, followed by the soft hiss of its undercarriage settling.
The hatch opened away from him.
He squinted.The way the two jets were positioned, and the angle of the floodlights, it kept the disembarking crew in silhouette.Just a few figures who seamlessly transferred the freight, box by box, from that aircraft to his.
One of the ground crew, carrying a clipboard, gave a wave, as he exited Drew’s jet.‘Cargo transfer is complete.You’re clear to board.’
‘It’s about time.’Drew dabbed at the sweat on his brow with a pressed handkerchief.He tucked it neatly into the breast pocket of his tailored suit.In his bespoke boots, with his crocodile-leather briefcase tucked under one arm, he dragged his carry-on across the tarmac to the second aircraft.
He didn’t look back as he climbed on board.
‘We’re already behind schedule.So, let’s leave now, please,’ he instructed the pilot, while the co-pilot, seated with his back to him in the cockpit, busily flicked the switches in preparation for take-off.
‘Cabin crew, prepare for immediate departure.’ The head pilot’s voice carried over the cabin’s speakers.
The door sealed shut behind him.
Inside, cool air greeted him, along with grey leather seats, silence, and a hint of jet fuel.It was the scent of polished power.Exactly how he liked it.
Drew barely glanced at the boxes, stacked among the seats.That would wait.First, he strapped into his seat.
Soon, the lights of Darwin flickered beyond the windows as they raced down the runway.The jet lifted.Levelled.And then banked left for the open seas.He could be in Bali in two hours.Singapore in four.Anywhere but here.
