If Nash were completely honest, she seemed a little too enthusiastic for his liking.
Chapter Three
The waiter placed the cheese platter in front of Nash, gave a forced smile, then took a few steps back and stood, somewhat awkwardly, by the bar. He must be new, Nash thought—he didn’t know the wine list, but he was quick to serve, so it balanced out. Either the young waiter’s hairstyle was representative of a rebellious spirit or he’d been attacked by three separate edgy hair stylists, each with their own competing style. Nash couldn’t decide which.
Outside the Watsonia Wine Bar it was a quiet chilly overcast Tuesday afternoon. Nash’s table looked out to a roundabout adjacent to a suburban train station, neither of which were busy. The wine bar wasn’t either. It was certainly pleasant enough with its large windows, exposed brick wall and quaint bar, but Nash couldn’t help wondering why he’d spent thirty-six hours of his life travelling here.
He’d caught the first flight out of Islamabad into Singapore. He’d booked a connecting flight to Manila under a false name, but Joel Naoum never made it to the Philippines. As soon as Nash landed he bought a grooming set and clothes and booked himself into an airport lounge to use their private shower facilities. The individual who emerged was, quite literally, a new man. Gone were the raggedy beard, unkempt hair and hippie clothes. In their place was a well-groomed gent sporting a Vandyke beard and a suit. That wasn’t all that had changed. Joel become Nathan Farrugia. Nathan boarded a flight to Melbourne, Australia, took a sleeping tablet and was out by the time the plane levelled out.
Nash used every countersurveillance technique he knew to stay ahead of Tartarus. Flipping flights and identities in Singapore would hopefully throw off any trace of his movements—if they’d been picked up at all. He couldn’t take chances. It was six of them against the world. Any one of them could be taken down by a simple mistake or worse, put others in danger by not taking every possible precaution. Luckily, Nash was a veteran, so had years of experience to call upon. He chuckled at the thought. It wasn’t often he celebrated his advanced years.
Still wondering why he was at the curious little bar, Nash tried an Australian shiraz from the Barossa region. He then spread some French blue cheese on a cracker. Both were exceptional. Maybe the thirty-six hours of travel were worth it. He straightened his back and a jolt of pain shot up his left side. Maybe not.
After his second shiraz, Nash’s back felt better. By the third he’d completely forgotten about it. About to order a fourth, he heard a cry from the doorway.
“Oi! Who let this pommy git in?”
Smiling without turning around, he simply hoisted his middle finger proudly in the air. In seconds he was engulfed in a bear hug. Eva and Bishop squeezed him tight. He turned and hugged them properly. It was more like greeting old friends than it was colleagues fighting for their very lives. As they sat, Nash concluded that perhaps they were friends. Nothing forged a unique bond quite like shared hardship. Eva and Bishop weren’t associates, they were true and genuine friends, the kind who came along rarely and stayed with you for the rest of your life. However long that may be.
Nash was still getting used to Eva’s blonde locks. Uncharacteristically wearing a dress, which showed off her countless tattoos, she came across as elegant but with an edge. Bishop, as always, was dressed immaculately in a three-piece suit. Even in suburban Melbourne, he couldn’t be anything but debonair, despite the best efforts of his ridiculous moustache.
They sat at a table, and Nash was able to focus on their faces. “What the hell happened to you two?” he asked.
It had only been a few days since Nash had seen them on video conference, but since then Eva had somehow gained a black eye and Bishop sported a plaster over a purple contusion on his temple.
“Uh, that’s going to have to wait until after a wine.” Eva waved to the waiter. “Lots of wine.”
The waiter arrived with a pad and pencil. “Sorry, we don’t have any music—the wi-fi is out.”
“I know.”
Three heads swivelled to Bishop. He waved an apologetic hand and said, “I’ll have a glass of the chianti. Eva?”
Glancing at the menu, she replied, “The Yarra Valley pinot noir, please. And a bowl of the olives with garlic and rosemary.”
The waiter’s forehead creased into confusion. He seemed to be writing in longhand. “Yarrat something pinot grigio… and what was the first one?”
“Yarra Valley pinot noir,” Eva corrected him. “And the chianti.”
“C-h-i-a-n-t-i ,” he said while writing. “Got it. Thanks.”
They exchanged glances as if to say, he’s new, then moved on quickly.
Once the waiter was out of earshot Nash asked Bishop in a low voice, “You knew the wi-fi is out? You just arrived.”
“I may have had something to do with it.” Bishop shot finger guns at a security camera in a corner above the bar. “I took their internet out a few hours ago, in case they’re connected to the cloud. I don’t want our faces showing up and activating an alert of some sort. I can do without Michael Bublé for an evening if it means I don’t get shot in the face.”
Eva inclined her head as if to say, fair. “Personally, I’ve always said I’d prefer to get shot in the face than listen to Michael Bublé.” She poked Nash and motioned to the room. “What do you think?”
“Of the bar, the city or the country?”
Eva leaned forward. “Yes.”
Nash hesitated. He knew Eva was proud of her country of birth. Her obsession with coffee came from the city’s infamous snobbery on the subject.
“I get it when you say this city is coffee obsessed. I tried to order a cappuccino at Melbourne airport and the moustachioed barista stared me dead in the eye and said, ‘no’. He didn’t say anything else, just stared me down until I ordered a flat white.”
“No, you didn’t!” Eva was gobsmacked. “You tried to order a cappuccino in Melbourne?”
Nash help up a defensive palm. “I wanted one, okay? I didn’t know it was a criminal offence here. I’d just fought off three Chinese secret service operatives and there I was, intimidated by a haughty hipster—and he won. If that’s not proof of how seriously this city takes its coffee then I don’t know what is.”
“I haven’t been home in years, but as soon as I stepped off the plane it was like someone enveloped me in a warm blanket. This city gives me the warm fuzzies. I forgot how much I loved it. Sure, it’s not as obvious as Sydney or London and doesn’t have the big touristy attractions, but there’s a whole subculture of laneway bars where there are no signs or even shopfronts. The coolest bars are in piss-smelling laneways behind unmarked doors. It’s like the city deliberately makes you dig deeper and you’re rewarded all the more for it.”
Nash motioned to the bar they were in. “Then why meet out here in suburbia?”
Eva turned coy. “Partly because I’ve been to this bar before, partly because it’s way off the beaten track, but mainly because I thought it was funny. I mean, it would probably be voted the least likely location for a meeting planning world shaping events… if anyone even knew where it was.”
“I did wonder.” Nash chuckled. “Are you staying with family while you’re here?”
Eva gave him a sad smile. “None left, I’m afraid. My folks died quite a while back.”
“I’m sorry.”
Eva waved a hand, dismissing the comment. “I came to terms with it long ago. No relatives left here or anywhere else. Apparently, I had a great aunt who went off to Hollywood in the seventies or eighties or thereabouts and made a few scream queen movies. She was big for about ten minutes, then became a detective or something. Mum never talked about her when I was growing up, but older relatives called her the black sheep of the family.” Her eyes danced with humour. “Well, until I turned up anyway. She’d be my only living relative if she’s still around.” She moved a coaster around the table. “I won’t be looking up friends on this trip. Can’t put them in danger, not after what we’ve been through.” Eva stopped and became more serious. “Did you see Harry’s latest?”
“We’re really not going to talk about your injuries?” Nash asked.
“Wine,” Eva said with a humorous tone, but Nash detected an undercurrent of something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. “We’re waiting for the wine.”
