BooksBarbecue
Back Angels of Vengeance
Chapters (68)
  1. Blurb
  2. CONTENTS
  3. Dedication
  4. CHARACTER LIST
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. TWO MONTHS LATER
  60. ONE YEAR LATER
  61. TWO YEARS LATER
  62. FOUR YEARS LATER
  63. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  64. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  65. Also by John Birmingham
  66. ALSO BY JOHN BIRMINGHAM
  67. Copyright
  68. Cover

She finished lacing up a pair of sturdy comfortable walking boots, divided the cash into three lots, adding some to the thousand dollars in her wallet and securing the rest in two pockets she could zip closed. Her complexion had tanned to a deep caramel over the years of shipboard exposure, but she took the time to apply a layer of moisturiser with a high UV rating anyway. In her opinion, Australian women had old rhino hide for skin, and Julianne did not intend to emulate them for want of five minutes’ basic skin care.

That thought led naturally to worrying about the Rhino, and wondering how she might be able to contact him. Those two rozzers up at Bagot Road obviously hadn’t come through with anything for Piers Downing. Reminding herself to ask Pappas, Jules left the room.

Her bodyguards were nowhere to be seen outside. The note from the former SAS man told her they would be around, but she couldn’t see them at all.

*

She joined Pappas at his table, tucked into a back corner of a dining room that enjoyed views over the ocean. The Sirocco Café, according to the Australian, was a real-world example of how the power structure of this city had been wrenched free of its moorings by the Wave. Change had come quickly. And it had run deep.

‘The army used to own all this land,’ he said, waving his fork back in the direction of the long, low-lying headland along which she had just walked.

It was not yet nine o’clock, but already the heat was stifling. Jules was frosted with drying sweat as she fanned herself with the menu and leaned back to allow chilled air to spill over her from the air-conditioning vent directly above their table. Bi-fold doors retracted to open the Sirocco up to a vista that stretched from the million-dollar yachts anchored in Cullen Bay around to the open waters outside Darwin Harbour. The water translated from the striking, almost opalescent green of the shallows close in-shore, to a deep cerulean blue a few hundred metres out.

‘I spent a lot of time here at the end of the ’90s,’ he added. ‘At the barracks down at the start of Allen Avenue.’

‘The old brick buildings I walked through, the shops.’

He grinned as he carved up a thick rasher of bacon. ‘Yeah, the frock shops and wine bars and little trinket places. Pretty, weren’t they?’