Wallaby Bay, Australia, 2035

The cafe was fairly busy for that hour of the afternoon. He looked at his gold watch and come to the conclusion that the hustle and bustle of the establishment was due to the warm weather. The wind had picked up slightly and there was quite a bit of cloud cover, creating a beautiful cool summer breeze. He skimmed across various tables within the busy cafe until he caught sight of her in a private little alcove, sitting with a cup of coffee in front of her. Smiling, he made his way purposefully towards her.

‘Good afternoon, Detective Mitchell,’ he greeted, causing the latter to turn and look up at him.

 ‘Caleb!’ she exclaimed, standing up to greet her friend. ‘Did you have trouble finding the place?’

‘Not at all. I come here all the time,’ Caleb told her, giving her a light peck on the cheek. ‘Sorry I’m a tad late. I was held up at the office.’

They both sat down at the table and Caleb ordered himself a cappuccino.

‘So, Commander Bentley, What’s it you need so much help in?’ Helen Mitchell began, getting straight to the point as she always did. ‘I thought the Feds never need any help.’

Caleb laughed merrily and took a sip of his drink.

‘Yes, we’re God’s gift to law-enforcement,’ he teased, then turned serious. ‘We actually need a bit of help finding a drug baron.’

‘So, you decided state police might give you a helping hand?’

Helen and Caleb had known each other for years. The teasing between them had become something of a trademark amongst them in the eyes of their family and friends. Caleb smiled sheepishly.

‘Well, yeah. I was hoping if you could help us. He’s been categorised as an international target and seems to have gone into hiding somewhere in the city.’

‘What happened?’ Helen wanted to know.

‘By the time GlobalPol informed us that she was coming, she had already entered the country,’ Caleb sighed. ‘It was only by chance that some informant at the other end mentioned he was coming here.’

Until 2019, each country had its own federal police force as well as its own federal laws. This meant that laws that applied in one country could only be reapplied to countries using similar law-enforcement systems. If a criminal were to leave one country and commit a crime in another, they would be under the jurisdiction of two federal law enforcements. This involved using tax-payers money to bring the person to a federal court - money that could be utilized in other more beneficial areas.

During this period, international crime was monitored by an organisation called International Police Organization [or InterPol], consisting of more than 150 member countries. Each member country worked in conjunction with the other but still penalised criminal suspects under their own federal law. In 2030, given the different federal systems in each country, global police ministers came together and decided to rename InterPol as GlobalPol. The change meant that the federal police services across the globe were now working under a common international law.

Helen thought for a moment then began to smile slowly. Should she? How would the person in question react if she found out? What the hell, she would probably be grateful to be given the challenge. Helen’s grin widened.

‘Well, our resources are stretched to the limit at the moment but there is someone I know who can help you,’ she informed her friend, who suddenly sat up with interest. ‘But she’s not too interested in following instructions.’

‘But she can help us find our target?’

‘Oh, yeah. She can certainly do that,’ Helen smiled knowingly. ‘In fact, she used to be a police detective who worked with me. She’s rather unpredictable but one hell of a law-enforcer.’

‘What rank was she?’ Caleb asked curiously.

‘Sergeant. She’s also a military cop with the Army Reserves,’ she stopped, taking a moment to think. ‘She’s the type of person who traps her suspect and makes them suffer before turning them over to the cops.’

‘Sounds like just the person we need in the Feds,’ Caleb commented with a grin. ‘What’s her name?’

‘She won’t listen to orders,’ Helen warned. ‘And you’ll need to pay her for her assistance. Are you still interested?’

‘Definitely.’

‘Her name’s Alison Windsor,’ Helen informed him before taking out a pen and scribbling on a napkin. ‘She runs an investigative company called the Espial. She’ll be probably have my guts for gutters for giving you this but here’s her home number. Give her a call.’

She then handed Caleb the napkin. Caleb took one look at it and grinned.

‘I certainly will. I look forward to hearing more about her.’

 

There was always a disadvantage to having your bedroom facing the east side, least because of the sunrays glaring into the room through the slits of the Venetian blinds at the crack of dawn. Unfortunately, if you had a rather stubborn other half, persuading them not to buy a residence with that architectural aspect could certainly have its highlights. I personally wasn’t one to oppose the warmth of the summer sun, even if it was glaring in from the east and on this particular morning, the sun was the least of my worries. The purring of the mobile communicator, or Com as people preferred to call it, shattered the morning peace and jarred me out of my blissful slumber at approximately 8 o’clock. I wasn’t particularly keen on answering the offending object and neither, it seemed, did my husband, Steve, who was snoring gently beside me. Unfortunately, I was a rather light sleeper and knew that if I didn’t answer the communicator, my mind would never be kept at rest. Half asleep, I reached out and flipped open the casing.

‘Windsor,’ I greeted, rather sleepily as I blinked violently to allow my eyes to adjust to the suddenly bright light shining through the bedroom window.

‘Good morning, Mrs Windsor. My name is Commander Bentley from the Australian Federal Police,’ a male voice formally boomed through the ear-piece.

I was now suddenly wide awake. What did the Feds want with me? As far as I was aware I hadn’t done anything illegal that jeopardized the security of the Commonwealth and wondered how the hell they had gotten hold of our silent number. There were only a handful of people who had my number - my best friend Helen Mitchell, my sister Janet Hatfield and a few selected work colleagues. This was mainly due to the numerous threatening calls I had received before I quit the police force nearly four months ago. A million questions zipped through my unregistering brain like a pinball machine.

‘How did you get hold of my number?’ I asked curiously, struggling to sit up.

‘Ah, yes. I hope you don’t mind but Inspector Mitchell passed it unto me,’ he replied and I could almost feel him smiling into the communicator. ‘She speaks very highly of you, I might add.’

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. Helen spoke highly of me? I didn’t think she would have wanted to share me around with other authorities. Ever since we agreed that I become a personal investigator for her, she had pretty much kept me to herself.

My job, in short, was to do her more undesirable tasks and operate undercover to see what information I could unearth for her. I didn’t mind it that much. It made me feel like I was actually contributing something to the wider community. Besides, Helen was a fair employer and happened to be one of my best friends. Initially, I’d wondered why she was so willing to retain me as her employee. Helen often found herself a scapegoat for lax police procedure in the past and wasn’t particularly inviting to my unorthodox techniques. She never had been. We used to spend hours over a few drinks, arguing the merits of the good cop/bad cop approach. Not that anything came of it, of course - I still bent the rules and played the game my own sweet way, giving her more than a few headaches. I won the philosophical debate in the end, though. I was victorious in obtaining results and she knew it.

What exactly had Commander Bentley told her that made her refer him to me? I was about to find out.

‘We need your help,’ he continued.

‘My help?’ I repeated stupidly. ‘What exactly is it you want help with and why have you chosen me?’

I was beginning to feel like some sort of honourable spy out of a James Bond movie.

‘Perhaps we could discuss it in person. Preferably in a more secure environment. It’s a rather delicate matter.’

‘Um, okay. Where exactly did you have in mind?’

‘The Federal Police Headquarters at about noon would be the ideal venue. That way all details will be kept within the premises.’

I agreed and hung up. Steve rolled over and groaned as I lay back down on the pillow in thought.

‘Who was that?’ he inquired, still not quite awake.

‘The Feds.’ He opened one eye and looked at me expectantly. ‘Don’t ask. I’m just as buggered as you are.’

Steve and I spent another hour in bed before we both managed to crawl out. Steve was in no real hurry to go to work with the Department of Public Prosecutions. He wasn’t due in court until the afternoon and he was sure his associates didn’t mind him spending some quality time with his wife. However, by ten o’clock, he eventually decided he should to go in order to catch up with some reading and kissed me goodbye. I sat alone at the kitchen bar staring into space about five minutes after his departure and soon decided to get some background information on this case with the Feds. I rang Detective Inspector Helen Mitchell at the police station.

‘Mitchell,’ she greeted in her usual tone.

‘It’s Ally,’ I greeted in return then went straight to the point. ‘What was it that Commander Bentley said that made you want to publicise my talents?’

‘Gee, you certainly know how to greet people, don’t you?’

‘Well, you know me,’ I shrugged into the communicator.

‘Something to do with an international drug baron, I think.’

‘You think?? Um, Helen, I may have helped you put Harvey and Poulos behind bars but this is a little out of my league,’ I reminded her. ‘You of all people should know that.’

Harvey and Poulos had been two men I had assisted Helen in convicting during my pervious case with her. They had been suspected working together on the bombing of three women in Wallaby Bay’s western suburbs. It had been Helen’s idea that I posed as a corrupt police detective allowing them misconstrue.

‘Look, I don’t know the full details,’ Helen replied. ‘But Caleb reckons she’s living here in the city.’

‘Okay,’ I nodded, trying to get my head around it all, ‘So why ask me? Why can’t they just arrest him themselves? They are Feds, after all. They’re supposed to have all the high-tech equipment to deal with this kind of thing.’

‘Like I said, I don’t know the full details. Apparently she’s gone underground and no one can find her. You’ll have to ask Caleb.’

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling emotionally exhausted. Suddenly, I wished I had never crawled out of bed that morning. I was comfortable apprehending misfits of society on home-soil with the help of my former police colleagues but this was a whole new ball game.

‘Why me?’ I asked again.

‘I like the way you work,’ was the short reply.

‘Yeah, that’s why you’re always trying to stop me from going all the way,’ I snorted sarcastically.

‘Hey, I said I liked the way you work, not the way you liked committing suicide,’ she retorted. ‘Besides, he seems to think you’re just the type of person they need in the Feds.’

‘If Commander Bentley is as methodical as you are, I highly doubt it.’

‘When are you meeting him?’

‘Who says I am?’ I shot back.

‘I just had a hunch you would,’ she replied smugly.

Her and her bloody hunches! She knew me too well. That was her problem.

‘Noon,’ I sighed.