How I Became the Mr. Big of People Smuggling Read Online Free PDF Page B

there was more going on here. It was a bit much to believe that boats could land and helicopters fly between the coast and here and not be seen. At some time someone must have reported something and Palmenter was most likely paying off the cops to keep them quiet. Probably only as a precaution. It wouldn’t be too hard to turn a blind eye when your patch is one hundred thousand square kilometres.
    We had crowded closer to hear better when Cookie came in from killing the freezer motor, slamming the door. We all jumped and he laughed and instead of joining us he continued to chop and wrap the crop. He neatened it into piles that he wrapped in alfoil the size of ahalf brick and then put all but two of them into the freezer.
    â€˜Youse lot, garn, get outta here. See my illegal activity.’ But he didn’t mean it. He laughed then stood at the swing doors with the rest of us, weighing the packets in his hands in a way that made it obvious that this was for the coppers.
    â€˜I’ll sort it, Trent. Be gone by morning. It’s all over, no problems.’ Palmenter stood, dragging his chair noisily. ‘You want some steaks. We just finished the muster, killed a couple.’ I didn’t hear an answer. ‘Plenty there, I’ll get you both a package,’ and before any of us could move he was in the kitchen, glaring at us.
    â€˜Get some fucking steaks for these boys. Where’s Spanner. Shit, he’s going to pay for this. This will cost us, boys.’ No one had moved. ‘Fucking steaks, NOW.’ Not loud. Meaningful. Cookie handed him the package and sprinted into the freezer. Palmenter pointed to me and Simms.
    â€˜You two, soon as they’ve gone, at the machine shed. And get fucking Spanner. Sober. The rest of you, get outta here. Go find something useful to do.’
    I found Spanner in the generator shed where he was changing the oil in the second generator. He had earmuffs on and so I signalled him to come outside. He shook his head and pointed at the machine, but I insisted. He followed me out.
    â€˜What?’
    I told him about the police car and what we had seen, and that Palmenter wanted us all right away. We walked around to the shed where Palmenter was already waiting with Simms. Spanner was muttering under his breath, ‘This is not gunna be good.’
    The van was lying on its side by the edge of the track. It was one of the seven-seaters. They are more difficult to control on the softer tracks, but what had caused them to leave the highway and venture out here we would never know. What made them crash? Could have been a roo, suddenly jumping out. They had no experience of Australian wildlife. It wasn’t a blowout.
    Spanner swore nothing was wrong with the van. Steering, brakes were perfect. He serviced each of the vans thoroughly before each trip. He might not have been one hundred per cent behind theoperation but he knew as well as all of us that if the van broke down on its way to the city, if the people got into trouble, most likely someone would start asking questions. Spanner had built a nice little retreat for himself here at the station. Why, I didn’t know. An ex-wife? On the run? In any case Spanner seemed happy to spend his days alone in the shed and drinking a steady supply of free beer, sleeping it off from early evening and then doing it all again the next day.
    They must have survived for some time. They had propped the rear door open and set up the mattresses inside. One body lay in there, shiny plastic-looking and bloated. A tarpaulin was tied between the wheels and angled with string to some shrubs. The cooker, boxes and suitcases were arranged in the lean-to and two people were leaning against the van, looking as if they were resting, except for the flies around their faces. Empty water containers were scattered around and we could imagine the slow-rising dread and the increasing thirst. The desert heat. Flies buzzed around the bodies and