‘Pretty rare.’

‘What were those growths on its face?’

‘Teeth.’

‘Eh?’

‘Its canines grow through its snout… God, I’m an idiot!’ said Suryei suddenly. ‘That tells us where we are!’

‘Yeah?’

‘The babirusa is native to Sulawesi.’

‘Where’s that?’

‘Part of Indonesia, one of the larger islands.’

‘How do you know all that?’

‘I’m a photo-journalist. These days nature stuff, mostly. We’re lucky to have seen one. Wish I’d had my camera.’

‘The babirusa probably isn’t feeling too lucky at the moment,’ said Joe, remembering how it had died.

‘No, guess not. Anyway, at least we know where we are now. This tunnel was its highway through the jungle. Probably leads to a favourite food or water source. Which reminds me, we’re sweating heaps. We’re going to have to drink three litres each a day at least. If we’re here a while, we’ll need a good, clean supply.’

Joe was glad she’d cleared up the water consumption question for him, but the thought of being ‘here a while’ filled him with dread.

Parliament House, Canberra, 0730 Zulu, Wednesday, 29 April

‘Come in, you blokes,’ the PM said to Niven, Griffin and Sharpe, who had been waiting outside. ‘I’ve just briefed Hugh Greenway and he’s up to speed.’ The tall, stooped Minister of Defence, nicknamed ‘Lurch’ by the press, nodded at his colleagues as they filed through the door and took their seats in the small auditorium.

‘I’ve booked a conference call with Byron Mills, our ambassador in Washington, and I thought it best if we all caught it, to save time and avoid the Chinese whispers.’

He picked up the handset and pressed a number. ‘Shirl, get Byron on the line, would you, mate?’

The snow on the television coalesced to become a distinguished-looking, white-haired man.

‘G’ day, Byron,’ said the PM.

‘Bill, gentlemen,’ began the ambassador in his sonorous baritone. ‘Everyone here?’

‘Yep,’ Blight said. ‘We’re it.’

‘Okay…’ He paused to look down at his notes outside the camera’s field of view. ‘I’ve put our case through the appropriate channels here and, well, we’ve got a problem.’

‘What’s that?’ said Niven.

‘The Americans won’t help us with a satellite.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because basically, they don’t have enough assets to go around. They’re keeping watch over a large part of the earth at the moment — the Middle East, the Gulf, Afghanistan, Pakistan, the Chinese, the Russians, the Korean peninsula, and there’s that unfortunate business going on in East Africa.’

‘Terrific,’ Niven said.

‘The feeling here is that the plane will turn up anyway before they can re-task a sat and get it on station. The Indonesians say they’re putting a lot of effort into locating it and the Americans believe that. So do we, right?’

Blight looked at the other men in the room. ‘Yes,’ he said unconvincingly.

‘They believe that if the plane crashed in the jungle, the chances of anyone surviving would be next to nil. So… look, they’re saying it’s a tragedy, but not one they’re happy to take their eye off other balls to investigate. I reckon they’d probably think differently if terrorists claimed responsibility, and if the prospect of finding people alive was greater, but, well…’

There’d been reluctance to state the chances of survival so emphatically — there was always hope — but there it was: reality. Christ! thought the PM. ‘So where does that leave us, Byron?’ Blight asked, plainly disappointed.

‘There is one avenue I’d like to investigate, but I’ll keep that to myself for the moment because it mightn’t go anywhere.’

‘Fair enough. If something turns up?’

‘Sure, get back to you straight away. I’m going to keep at them anyway, Bill. If the plane doesn’t turn up for a couple of days they might change their tune, especially if we’re prepared to do a little horse trading over free-trade issues. Keep you posted.’

‘Thanks, Byron.’ The PM’s deflated tone reflected everyone’s disappointment.

Central Sulawesi, 0730 Zulu, Wednesday, 29 April

Sergeant Marturak walked towards his men as they appeared at the edge of the jungle. In their camouflage fatigues they were barely silhouettes, shadows on shadows. The corporal made his report quickly and pointed towards the area that had been engulfed by the fireball. He handed his sergeant a plastic bottle found by the creek. Marturak considered his corporal’s view that it had belonged to the man they were hunting. No other wreckage or objects were found in the vicinity, just two very dead men. His men. He unscrewed the top and smelled the contents. Water. He poured it onto the ground before dropping the bottle.

Marturak didn’t want to report that he was unable to perform to his general’s expectations — that the site was unsecured, that two of his soldiers were dead, and that he was in pursuit of an unknown number of survivors. He decided to abbreviate it to something more innocuous like ‘site unsecured’.