Serpent Sting. Toni Grant
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The boy screamed in pain. In his earpiece, he heard the field commander’s urgent command: “Evacuate. Stand by for air support.”
“Now, Private. Do it,” Sinclair’s gruff instructions pierced though the noise reverberating around the PMV’s interior.
With a fearsome cry, his leg was wrenched free. The young soldier promptly lost consciousness. Dragging the body from under the shoulders, Sinclair backed his way through the truck. A trail of blood weaved along the centre as the bloodied stump dangled from the torn ankle. Sinclair glanced at the young soldier’s boot eerily resting against the accelerator and ignored it.
Stopping momentarily in the doorway, he signalled a Specialist Service Officer positioned nearby. The soldier opened protective fire. Throwing the body over his shoulder, Sinclair stumbled under the dead weight and his burning leg to the waiting ambulance.
From an open doorway, two sets of arms grabbed at the boy pulling him roughly into the van. Stumbling as the weight transfer momentarily threw his balance, Sinclair fell heavily against the vehicle. It began to move forward.
Aircraft support screamed overhead. With the noise of battle still ringing in their ears, a terrified silence filled the vehicle interior.
CHAPTER 3
26 January – Australia Day
Viti Levu, Fiji Islands
Warm rain sprinkled. Liquid sunshine, the Islanders called it. An apt description of the precipitation as it gently touched the skin in a warm caress. The two young boys didn’t notice. Waiting impatiently, heads bent in conspirator rapture, they hid, concealed by the low hedge surrounding a spacious pool deck. Behind them, the vast South Pacific Ocean glistened.
“Here she comes,” Archie whispered loudly, at the approach of his mother.
Francesca clutched at her back. Her heavily pregnant body extended directly out the front, as it had with Archie. She sighed. Braxton Hicks. The wise decision would’ve been to fly home for the birth. She’d borne the brunt of discontent from family and friends at her decision to stay on the island.
Perhaps foolishness had again hindered her decision-making as the lure of their Fijian life outweighed all practical thoughts. Time would tell. But for now, as long as she remained in Fiji, Archie was safe within the haven of village life and the walled compound of their idyllic home.
With the trial against the little boy’s grandfather progressing little, there were certain risks she was not prepared to take. Besides, waiting out the birth of a second child in the confines of a Sydney apartment with an energetic five-year-old was seriously pushing the realms of a great time.
Thank goodness Sinclair would be home soon. Stupidly, she fretted during these last days of lost communication. Any time now, the first of many texts would start to arrive. Her heart flipped in anticipation of his return. Breathing deeply, she imagined the familiar smell of him and the warmth in his embrace.
Francesca dipped a toe into the pool, throwing her cotton wrap onto the nearby sun lounge. She longed for the weightlessness the water would give her aching body.
“Stand and deliver me hearties!” the child instructed in his best pirate voice, mixing bushranger words with pirate slang. He and Tuicakau scambled from behind the hedge. Two shirtless, golden bodies in swim shorts burst towards Francesca. Brandished plastic swords swayed in an exaggerated cutting motion. Black eye patches were skewed sideways upon temples. Archie puffed his chest at his mother; a fearsome expression splashed across his face.
“Give us all ya gold or y’all have to walk the plank,” Tuicakau added importantly, his features set in the same serious expression. His legs were set astride, bare feet planted firmly on the pavers lining the pool deck. He puffed out his chest, mimicking Archie’s stance.
“Please don’t hurt me!” Francesca cried, masking the laughter bubbling in the back of her throat. She placed a dramatic hand over her heart. “Please, have mercy. I will tell the secret. My gold is hidden in the pockets of my robe.” Francesca indicated the wrap on the lounge.
“Wait there and don’t move or I’ll split ya from ‘ere to ‘ere,” Archie commanded, not sure what it even meant, but it was what pirates said. “Tui, you watch her and I’ll get the treasure.” He strode confidently to the lounge.
“We struck it big this time, Tui,” Archie called excitedly, emptying the pockets and forgetting his role-play. “Come and look!”
Tuicakau dropped his sword and raced over to his friend. They divided the loot.
“Does that mean I’m free to go?” Francesca enquired, hopefully.
Archie looked up at his mother. “What do you reckon, Tui? Should we let her go?”
“I reckon, Archie,” came the muffled reply, hindered by a mouth full of chocolate coins.
“You are free to go,” Archie started with confidence, “but, before you do, one more thing: thanks Mummy.” He smiled a charming, devastating grin that made her burst with adoration. Racing to the pool’s edge, his little arms reached halfway around her fully expanded girth in a hug.
She smiled down on his mop of dark hair. “Don’t wander too far today, Archie. This baby is wanting to meet you sooner rather than later I think!” Francesca kissed the top of his salty head.
Archie reached into his pocket. “We didn’t forget about you, Chief,” he said, pulling the doggie treats out and handing them to the kelpie waiting patiently by their side.
At thirty-seven weeks, Francesca knew her body had reached its limit. Silently, she willed it to comply: to wait until Sinclair arrived home.
She’d made the right decision to stay in Fiji. Sydney was not a solid option. There was simply no way she could defend Archie from that family this close to the birth. If Silvio Delarno ever connected Archie to Nicholas, the little boy’s life would be in serious danger.
Francesca nodded to herself. Yes, she’d made the right decision to stay.
As her body relaxed buoyed in the coolness, the sun’s heat grew and Francesca’s mind checked off all the necessary preparations of this impending birth.
CHAPTER 4
26 January – Australia Day
Ibiza, Balearic Islands
Alessandro Delarno glanced anxiously between the monitors lining the wall of his private suite and the Ulysse Nardin timepiece on his wrist.
After a hellish night, in the calm silence of predawn, a nervous sweat broke his refined features. Carlo Seta was onto him, Alessandro was sure. Not that he would tell his nephew. No. The operation would proceed as planned. All Alessandro could do now was hope that Nicholas was prepared. For everything.
He checked the coordinates again and, in the moonlight, glanced portside through the vast window. It was a pointless exercise. The enigmatic island of Es Vedra loomed, her mystical jagged cliffs dropping sharply to the treacherous depths at her feet.
“Do we have eyes on?” the voice in the earpieces crackled in the silence.
“Not yet, Sir,” came the reply. The scout scoured the low scrubby trees surrounding the elite home, returning to the only entry point. He adjusted his night vision binoculars, seeking clarity.
“Keep looking. He’s there.”
“Yes Sir,” he replied, adjusting the binoculars again. “Sir, I think he’s in.”
“You think?” Alessandro questioned abruptly.
He cleared his throat. “Well Sir, I saw a small movement by the doorway.”
He’s in. Alessandro checked the monitors again and waited. “Thank you. Standby everybody. Now we wait for Nicholas.”
Nicholas backed into the shadows of the whitewash walled fortress perched on the clifftop. It glowered at him in the darkness. In the bright