To the few people who knew him well enough, he was just known as Quinn. A bungalow by a beach which was caressed by a gentle blue ocean in the Central South Pacific was his home.
After spectacular sunsets he would feel sea breezes, and listen to the waves break on pristine sand not ten metres from where he now sat. He sipped something magic from his glass, and reflected on the thought of how much he hated to leave this place. As in the past, he was called upon again to carry out small favours for powerful people.
The funds made available to him in return for these favours allowed him to live here in this beautiful South Seas paradise.
He missed the freelance mercenary work he used to do, but the retainer he was on made life comfortable. It was not a desirable situation to be retained by these people, but resigning his position was near impossible.
Quinn had tried with no success.
His reason for failure in this was that one of the powerful people had sent him a list of his Sydney based family members. Along with an ‘I know where they live’ threat if Quinn happened to step out of line.
So Quinn stayed in line, and bided his time. He knew that at some stage of the game the tide would turn, and the rules of the game would change to his advantage.
He would do the work. He was good at it and after all, it did pay the bills.
Quinn’s first taste of war had been in Vietnam.
One day he’d been working as an assistant chef at an up market hotel. The next day his National Service Papers had arrived, and his life had changed.
He’d easily passed his medical, and very soon afterwards he was in a training camp. Then suddenly he was in some Asian country he’d never heard of, where people he didn’t know were trying to kill him.
He fought back in order to survive.
In the end he came away unscathed physically, but bruised mentally. Wondering at his good fortune at being alive when so many of his friends had their lives or their limbs blown to hell.
Even if he had gone back to his old job after it was all over, he doubted if he would ever be able to work with red liquids or sauces.
So he had followed his new found career and had discovered the meaning of the term, ‘this is the last one’.
His knowledge of war, its strengths and weaknesses had taken him into many battles in many countries. Where either a government had rebel problems or rebels had government problems. Either way it made no difference to him. It was his job and he would carry out his duties for whoever was his employer. He had, on numerous occasions declined work with drug people, as he had seen too many of his friend’s lives destroyed by drugs.
The only reason that would bring him into working contact with drug people would be if he was employed against them. He doubted it would ever happen, because the Drug Enforcement people weren’t allowed to use the tactics which would give them an even chance of winning.
He sipped his drink and looked at the fax which had arrived an hour ago.
You’re booked on the 10 am flight tomorrow, your time. A car will pick you up at Mascot airport. Garry.
He knew that Sudovich and his mates were druggies, but he was stuck with them for now.
One day, he thought.
He didn’t need to pack anything other than clothes, as all the tools of his trade were in storage in Sydney, so he bedded down early in preparation for the long day ahead.
He told his only true friend, his caring and beautiful Polynesian lover that he would have to be away for a while.
“Is this the last time? Is it nearly over, so you can come home and stay with me?”
Quinn touched her with gentleness that he reserved only for her.
“That day is getting closer all the time. It may be closer than we both know, but for now you must be patient while I fly to Sydney to find out. Will you wait a little longer for me?” He consoled her quietly,
She came to him, and with the smile he always carried with him while he was away.
“I will wait for you and I will hope that the day has come.”
He held her close that night, as he always did before going to work because he needed her.
She was his only true friend.
She held him close that night because she loved him, and she was fearful for him when he went to work.
*****
Quinn’s flight was on time. So was the car that picked him up at Mascot airport. It took him to the address he’d given to the driver at the airport and while he was transported, he read the instructions the driver had given to him from Sudovich.
The information was about a man who lived on a small farm in the New South Wales outback. A complete physical description, the type and colour of car he drove, and a map of where he could be found.
There was also a description of a secondary target at a different address.
The car pulled into Quinn’s first destination as he was viewing a map of the state of New South Wales. They parked near a set of garages where normal people with normal lives usually stored motorcars and personal household goods.
Quinn opened number four with a key which hung on a chain he wore only while he was at work. It stood as a constant reminder of his work and his need for vigilance.
He went into the garage, stayed some minutes before he reappeared carrying a back pack and a team sports bag.
After relocking the garage door and loading his gear into the car’s trunk, he was driven back to the airport. Where he boarded a small private plane which shortly after takeoff headed towards the state’s North West.
As the plane gained height he glanced again over Sudovich’s instructions. He couldn’t know of course, that the photocopy he was reading was once the property of a predecessor, who was last seen refuelling a car at an outback roadhouse.