Cavalier took the overnight Spirit of Tasmania ferry from Melbourne to Devonport in Tasmania’s north, and drove his 2005 model Mercedes Sports Coupe to Hunterstone Dome in Central Tasmania. Using his satnav, he made a few wrong turns as darkness fell until he picked up the landmarks and signs to Al Haut’s lease area. It was near midnight when he drove along a rough track, stopping at a water tank as directed. He alighted from the vehicle, its headlights on high beam. They picked up a tent about forty metres away.

He had walked a few paces when a bullet pinged into a tree. Cavalier fell flat, crawled back to his car, switched off the lights and fumbled in a pack for his handgun. He eased out of the vehicle again. Another shot was fired and whistled over his head.

‘Hey!’ Cavalier cried.

‘Who goes there?’

‘Cavalier!’

‘Put those lights back on and walk straight along the beam.’

‘Why?’

‘Out here you can never be too careful.’

‘Okay.’

‘Chuck any weapon you have out in front of you.’

Cavalier did as directed.

‘Are you alone?’

‘Yes.’

Haut bustled forward, high-powered rifle over his shoulder. He bent down and picked up Cavalier’s handgun, then strode forward and shook hands with him. Haut’s face was expressive. The first impression for his visitor was of a jut-jawed tough bushman of average height. His forearms were big, like an axe-man’s. Haut wore a bush hat, loose pullover, short pants to the knees, thick wool socks and boots. Minutes later, they were sipping beers from cans inside the tent, lights out. Haut lit a small fire and warmed his hands. Cavalier scrutinised his host. The visage was of regular features, with no distinguishing marks. His forehead was high, the brown hair unkempt. Cavalier could see evidence of Haut’s Tasmanian Aboriginal background.

He noticed Haut was staring into his eyes.

‘Anything the matter?’ Cavalier asked.

‘No, all good,’ Haut said, his face relaxing.‘You have eye movement.’ Haut held up two fingers and made an oscillating movement. ‘Please explain?’ Cavalier requested.

‘Those without the movement have dead souls,’ Haut replied. ‘It can mean they could be evil, Nephilim even. My radar works better without too much light. We need the warmth though. It falls below zero out here at night.’

‘Radar?’

‘My brain has five frontal lobe orbits. It’s very sensitive. I sense things coming too close that may be a threat.’

Haut handed Cavalier the Glock.

‘Why do you use one of those?’

‘It’s reliable.’

‘For what?’

Cavalier paused and smiled before he said, ‘Shooting is a hobby. I had a Glock for practice in Thailand years ago. This is a new one. Wombat thought it might come in handy.’

Haut nodded, as if there might be kinship already between them.

‘Was a hobby for me too,’ he said. ‘Now it’s a matter of self-preservation.’