CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Sunday the 3rd of October 2010, in the morning at first light Bakir Mashun studied the steep, winding track along the edge of the escarpment in the Blue Mountains that led to the edge of Stanton's property. It branched from a fire track and he could see through the heavy scrub cover to the top of the ridge some three hundred metres away. He checked his weapon on the seat next to him and his pistol stuck in his belt; both were cumbersome with silencers attached. He broke the access gate’s lock with the wheel brace of his Toyota Land Cruiser wagon; it had been difficult to source a cruiser that was green but he had found one.
He slowly negotiated the steep and rough track that had obviously not been used for a long time. To his direct left was a sheer drop of some one hundred metres and to his right thick scrub cover; he crested the step rise and stopped when he had a view. The track was clear, the house would be to his right some two hundred metres when he crested the next rise where he planned to leave the vehicle among the trees once he was adjacent to the clearing that surrounded the house. He crested the second rise and all looked clear; he could just make out an out-house looking like a stable well to his right amongst the scrub.
He edged forwards and in a few metres the vehicle sank to its diff housings and would not move; he turned off the engine and listened, complete silence. He opened the door and assessed the problem, the vehicle had become wedged in four rabbit holes on the track which happened to be the exact wheel foot print of his vehicle, and he had been unable to see them as he crested the rise. He could not escape without the vehicle being mobile so he tried reverse but it wouldn’t move. His efforts were also noisy in the quiet, calm morning air so he decided to dig around the wheels before he tried again. He took his pistol from his belt and put it on the driver's seat, bent down at the rear wheel and began to dig in the hard ground with his bare hands. He dug away at the earth with his fingers grunting and groaning. It was slow going but after a few minutes he was making progress when directly to his right in the scrub he heard the snort of a horse. He looked up to see Stanton mounted on a black horse wearing an Akubra hat and Driza-Bone long oilskin coat looking him straight in the eyes. Mashun moved toward his pistol but Stanton shook his head and produced a nine millimetre auto pistol and silencer from beneath his coat.
"Don't even think about it. Nice morning for a drive or a ride." Stanton dismounted without taking his eyes or weapon off Mashun and moved to within a few metres of him. "Well right on time, just for the record you're the fourth one to take this bait over the years. The horse I trained, the rabbits I couldn't so I dug the holes myself, put in a rabbit trap and threw a few bits of rabbit shit around from elsewhere; works every time. Stand up and very slowly walk backwards to the edge of the escarpment. Make no mistake; one single move out of place and I’ll kneecap you; no one remotely in ear shot so forget it." Mashun stood and shook dirt from his hands, his breathing was laboured as he was by no means a fit man, some six foot plus and over one hundred and twenty kilos. He stumbled backwards, tripping occasionally and stopped five metres from the edge. "That'll do for now," said Stanton. "Take off your clothes and throw them in front of you on the track down to your underpants and singlet."
Mashun spoke as he obliged. "Maybe we can make a deal eh? Masters sent me, you understand he would kill me if I did not oblige. I tell you, he is at the Stamford Plaza near the airport in Sydney."
"I already know that, it's where your vehicle was delivered, I checked as soon as you came in to view on the fire track, never hire a car and have it delivered. Tell me something I don't know. We have laws and rules in this country to be able to track people, like vehicle registration numbers - novel idea fostered by the western world. I realise some of the places you hang around haven't picked it up yet."
"I can take you to Masters, just give me a chance." Mashun had removed his clothes and had no underwear. He clasped his hands together and waved them up and down. "Please I beg of you!" Stanton rummaged through his clothes taking his wallet, keys, some paperwork. He cleaned out his vehicle, removing his bag and weapons; he got Mashun to put his clothes back on and put his driver’s licence back in his jacket inside pocket.
"I have Masters’ location, that's all I needed, you were dead long ago. Just finding you and how I was going to go about it was the only thing but you handed me this." Stanton beckoned him forwards away from the edge and around the scrub side of his vehicle and as he walked past Stanton struck along side the temple with his pistol. Mashun fell to his knees and received a further blow to the back of his head. He was badly dazed and barely conscious and Stanton muscled him into his vehicle passenger seat and hit him again to the side of the head rendering him unconscious. Stanton took the wheel of the vehicle and rocked it backwards and forwards until it shot back down the hill to the fire track road. This road was perpendicular at ninety degrees to the rock face and ended in a lookout some fifty metres in front of the gateway access to Stanton's property. A flimsy guard rail was all that stood between the lookout and a sheer drop of one hundred metres to the rain forest below. There was another accident involving a tourist in poor light who was apparently unaware of the conditions.