Operation Moth

By Drew Lindsay

She is very beautiful with exceptional academic qualifications and vast experience in the use of toxic chemicals. ISIS needs her to achieve their goals for a catastrophic attack within Australia. She attracts terrorists like moths to a flame. Can Ben Hood put her in a position where the moths will be attracted and made to burn before they can kill thousands of innocent people?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Drew Lindsay
• Release date: Jan 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311077080

Drew Lindsay

Drew Lindsay is a dynamic Australian Novelist and Writer. He has travelled extensively throughout Australia and the world. His background includes working as a Policeman and detective, then managing his own private investigation business as well as working in Fraud Investigation Management positions within the insurance industry.Drew is a PADI Divemaster and holds a private pilot's license. He has a great love of entertaining others with his vivid imagination. His novels allow the reader to escape into worlds of romance, excitement, humour and fast paced adventure. Drew lives in northern New South Wales with his wife.

Book preview

INTRODUCTION

Millions of people have a breaking point depending on where they are geographically located on this planet and the daily stresses placed upon them. Some lucky people just live and die. They never experience sufficient emotional stress or pressure to be taken to the breaking point. They grow up in what is generally a supportive family and wider social group…tend crops and livestock, marry, procreate, get old within the extended family circle and then die.

For those of us who live in the modern, uncertain, often dangerous and highly technological world, it is highly likely we will clash with psychopathic, uncaring, cruel individuals who more often than not will be in a position of authority over us or just attempting to inflict their twisted ideas on us to a level where the breaking point may become a very real possibility on a rapidly approaching horizon.

Thankfully, most of us somehow survive the breaking point.

Many others don’t.

Most suffer in one way or another. Family and friends know something is wrong. Their behaviour changes. They usually have to take strong drugs to stay on top of life.

Others kill themselves and that group are notorious for finding bizarre ways to depart this life, leaving their loved ones behind in a state of extreme confusion and pain.

Some who go past the breaking point become violent and have to be locked away from society. They are usually sedated and kept away from other demented persons in a similar state. These people are sad, dangerous…often demented creatures. Those who care for them are specialists and often don’t stay in that kind of employment for very long. Madness can rub off.

You will never hear much about places for the criminally insane. They are a sore on the face of law abiding society. The criminally insane should probably be given a lethal injection. That would save everyone a huge amount of time and money. We take care of them however because in the modern western world, we go to great lengths to appear humane.

****

CHAPTER ONE

‘They say he’s quite dangerous.’

‘Well he’s a big bastard but he’s pushing 50 at least. Age always wearies them.’

The young girl in the grey uniform brushed a strand of blond hair from her face. She peered at Ben Hood through the one way mirror in the door to his cell. ‘He hasn’t said a word since they brought him here.’

Her male companion was also dressed in a grey uniform but he was at least 20 years her senior with long black hair tied back in a pony tail and a thick black beard. ‘Ex Police Detective so they say. Had a run in with the brass for shooting a couple of guys and they booted him out of the force.’

‘Did that set him off?’

‘Na. He’s been doing fairly high profile VIP protection agency work for around three years. Killed more people doing that. Unpredictable and unstable but highly effective so they say. Then he just snapped.’

The blond girl looked up at her companion. ‘Surely he isn’t a candidate for this place?’

‘We’re not paid to analyse or treat them,’ said her tall companion. ‘We just watch them, feed them, stop them hanging themselves and try to keep them away from the other inmates.’

‘His face is kind,’ said the girl.

‘Yeah, right,’ said her male companion.

The North Parramatta Special Prisoner Facility had been constructed on the grounds of the old convict built Parramatta Prison laundry, west of Sydney. The new facility was top secret from the outset and none of the surrounding businesses or local residents had a clue what was being constructed there other than it was a Federal Government building used for experimental purposes which had been publicly guaranteed to have nothing whatsoever to do with explosive devices or hazardous materials.

Forty eight people were employed in the facility. Some of them were cooks…others were cleaners, guards and administrators. All were specially selected to work within the NPSPF (as it was known) and all were highly trained.

Inmates in this place were not your ordinary run of the mill criminally insane. All had some political bias and in most cases had previous links with Middle Eastern terrorist groups. This facility specialized in isolation and where appropriate, interrogation. The inmates were rarely allowed to socialise. Main line prisons put Muslim extremists in contact with other like minded individuals or allow fertile ground for Muslim extremists to recruit other prisoners to their twisted way of thinking. The reasoning behind this defies imagination but realistically, the system can’t afford to isolate every single prisoner. The line had to be drawn somewhere and the recently constructed NPSPF allowed powerful people within the Australian Government security system to securely hideaway the worst of those who would seek to terrorise and destroy ordinary Australian people and people anywhere in the world if they got the chance.

Ben Hood sat on the edge of his plastic bed bunk. His eyes moved slowly over the panelled walls and the specially designed wash basin, toilet and tiny corner shower. There were no screens for privacy. You could throw yourself at anything in this room without doing too much damage to yourself. You couldn’t drown yourself because the toilet flushed with air pressure and the wash basin cleaned your hands and face by spraying moisturised air in three second puffs. If you attempted to use any more than three spray applications, the device turned itself off and warning lights were activated in the guard’s station. The shower barely got you wet but it did the job.

Ben had been beaten. He resisted arrest and took down several rather large police officers before he was finally removed from his home in Windsor and deposited in a hospital room where he was securely restrained and sedated. He was moved to the NPSPF while unconscious. He had no idea where he was. No one told him and he didn’t ask. He knew what he had to do.

There wasn’t a window in his cell. Air came into the room from a vent high up in the ceiling. The lighting was from the same ceiling…soft and soothing but well out of his reach. They had taken his U-boat watch. He had taken off his wedding ring two weeks after a very messy divorce some years before. The divorce wasn’t messy because he requested anything, because he didn’t. His ex-wife was simply a bitch. She got the lot and still wanted his head on a plate…together with his balls. Ben still had lots of money in investments, gaining interest. This money had been left to him in the will of a very lovely lady by the surname of Cruz. He had also recently sold a house and land which he had inherited from an aunt he hardly knew. He was loaded actually. He could afford the best lawyer in Australia to get him out of this mess but he wouldn’t be looking for a lawyer. He didn’t like them much anyway.

Someone pushed his dinner through the security hatch in the door. Whoever it was didn’t speak to him. Mashed potatoes with some kind of gravy and small pieces of meat so he couldn’t choke. Peas with mint flavouring. One small plastic spoon which was designed not to break or splinter and a sealed plastic mug containing 200mls of orange juice. No salt or pepper. Perhaps the powers that be felt inmates could build a bomb from salt and pepper. Ben wasn’t sure about that and he didn’t care much anyway. He picked at the food and left most of it. He needed to lose weight anyway.

****

CHAPTER TWO

Rodney Reid had been told to remain calm but he was anything but calm. He glared at the two uniformed Federal Police officers and the tall thin man in a grey suit with the short cropped black hair standing in his sunroom. Rodney’s wife Rose stood by his side.

‘No way!’ said Rodney. ‘Not Ben. He’s not made of breaking material.’

‘Perhaps we should all sit down,’ said the man in the grey suit.

‘I’m not bloody sitting down and you had better tell me where you’re holding him. He’s entitled to bail.’

‘No he’s not,’ said Major Walter Curtin.

‘Then I’ll get my lawyer involved!’ Rodney shouted back.

‘No you won’t’ said Curtin. ‘You aren’t getting anyone involved.’

Rodney’s mouth hung open. He had never been spoken to like this in his life…well other than by Ben Hood. Rose laid a hand on Rodney’s arm. She looked at the Major. ‘Please tell us what happened?’

‘Perhaps you and your husband should sit down.’

‘My house is full of police and there are more damn police outside,’ said Rodney. ‘What in God’s name makes you think that I want to sit down?’

Curtin turned and nodded to the two uniformed policemen. They immediately walked back along the hallway and left the house by the front door. Curtin sat down in a single lounge chair. Rose pushed Rodney down into a double frangipani print lounge opposite the major. She held Rodney’s hand tightly.

‘I’ll keep this short,’ said Curtin. ‘You already know that I am the officer in charge of a special Federal Government police operational group.’

‘I know who you are,’ said Rodney through clenched teeth.

‘Then you also know that what I do has the full support of the Prime Minister of Australia.’

Rodney rolled his eyes. ‘Who is it now?’ he asked. ‘They change places like a kid’s game of musical chairs. We hardly get to elect anyone to the top job these days! The buggers with the huge government salaries do it themselves.’

‘Be that as it may,’ said Curtin. ‘I have power to do things in the interest of the security of Australia that most others don’t have.’

‘Well that’s a fucking worry,’ said Rodney. ‘Now where is Ben?’

‘He is being well cared for in a special government facility,’ said Curtin.

‘Why?’ asked Rodney.

‘Because he attacked some federal police agents who were sent to interview him.’

‘No way!’ Rodney almost shouted.

‘Two are still in hospital,’ said Curtin. ‘Three others were able to subdue Mr. Hood but they also sustained various injuries.’

‘Well he hasn’t lost his edge,’ said Rodney.

‘No he hasn’t,’ said Major Curtin.

‘Why did they go to interview him anyway?’ asked Rodney, clearly agitated.

Curtin leaned forward in his chair. ‘You would be aware that some of the VIP assignments conducted by your operative, Mr. Hood, have involved matters of national security.’

Rodney glanced at Rose and then back at Curtin. ‘Yes. That was not my doing. He just has this way of getting involved in things that sort of spiral out of control.’

‘He learned things, as did you,’ said Curtin. ‘He learned things that needed to be kept top secret.’

Rodney glared at Curtin but remained silent.

‘Then he disclosed certain information to a woman,’ said Curtin.

‘Ben would never do that!’

‘He was invited to attend an interview with me and others,’ said Curtin. ‘He refused. We sent special operatives out to speak with him and things turned very nasty.’

‘No,’ said Rodney. ‘He doesn’t operate that way.’

‘He is in the best of care,’ said Major Curtin.

‘I want to speak with him,’ said Rodney. ‘I demand this.’

‘He won’t talk to you,’ said Curtin. ‘He’s suffered a major emotional breakdown.’

‘I want to see him or I’ll blow this wide open,’ said Rodney.

Walter Curtin folded his arms. ‘You have no idea what you are asking Mr. Reid.’

‘Either I see him and speak with him or you and your odd ball team will have to lock me away.’

‘We’re not odd balls,’ said Curtin, ‘and we can lock you away if necessary.’

‘Ben thinks you are a complete odd ball,’ said Rodney.

Curtin smiled. ‘Yes…he does, doesn’t he?’ Curtin looked at Rose. ‘Alright…I’ll let you both see him. Neither of you will enjoy the experience. Your visit will be brief. That will be for your benefit, not his.’

‘What is being done for him?’ asked Rose.

Curtin hesitated with his answer. ‘We have one of the best psychiatrists in Australia taking a look at him. We’re not sure exactly at this stage what set him off but as you would appreciate, he has information in his head relating to very sensitive national security issues that are making people very nervous.’

‘He’s the least person you should fear in relation to national security,’ said Rodney, his voice low and angry.

‘He is your friend,’ said Curtin. ‘Your anger and anxiety in relation to his incarceration is completely understandable.’

‘You have no idea,’ said Rodney.

Curtin got to his feet. ‘I will arrange for you to be taken to him in the morning at 11. Your phone and electronic communication capability is being monitored. If you even mention Ben Hood’s name you will be denied access to him and there will be serious repercussions. I’ll see myself out.’

When their front door closed Rodney and Rose heard motor vehicle engines start and cars drove away. ‘How did they get past my electronic front gate?’ Rodney asked in a feeble voice.

‘I don’t know,’ said Rose softly. ‘You’re the security expert.’

Rodney looked up at her. ‘You know Ben. He wasn’t ready to snap…was he?’

‘Everyone has their breaking point,’ said Rose.

‘Not that bastard. He’s as hard as bloody nails. Nothing could break that bugger…not a damn thing.’ Rodney went silent and lowered his head.

‘We’ll judge for ourselves in the morning,’ said Rose.

Doctor Jeffrey Swan led Rodney and Rose into a small room which had no windows and a row of 4 chairs on an elevated platform which faced a large black screen. Swan was a small man with silver hair, slicked back with gel. He was in his mid 50’s but looked younger. He wore aviator glasses. The white knee length coat and stethoscope around the neck gave away his occupation although anyone with brains knew that his occupation could be faked by anyone with half a brain and a stethoscope dangling around their neck, who knew nothing whatsoever about anatomy or surgery or even pills.

‘I want to see him face to face,’ said Rodney.

‘You’ll see him clearly enough,’ said Doctor Swan. ‘He can hear you and also see you. The window there is one way when required and two way when required.’

‘But I can’t see anything,’ said Rodney.

‘But he can see and hear you…if he wants to,’ said Swan. He pushed a button on a remote control. ‘Now you can see and hear him. I’ll leave you alone for five minutes and then you must leave.’ Swan left the room.

It wasn’t a TV screen. It was a window which allowed direct viewing in one direction, or both, as was programmed. Ben sat on the end of his bed. He was looking at the floor.

‘It’s me,’ said Rodney as he slumped into a chair. ‘Rodney.’

Ben didn’t move.

‘Rose is with me.’

Ben was wearing bright green overalls and soft sole slip on shoes.

‘We are allowed a five minute visit,’ said Rodney. Rose slowly sat beside him. ‘What the fuck is going on old mate?’

Ben didn’t move.

‘I had to bribe the damn guard,’ said Rodney. ‘What has happened to you?’

Ben lifted his head slightly but he didn’t look at the window.

‘It’s Rose darling. Can you hear me?’

Ben looked at Rose but he didn’t speak.

‘Can you tell me what’s wrong?’ asked Rose. Tears were running down her cheeks.

‘Look at my eyes,’ said Ben.

Rose leaned forward.

‘Now I want you both to leave,’ said Ben. ‘GUARD!’ he yelled at the top of his voice. ‘I want them out of here now!’

The window went black. Jeffrey Swan entered the room. ‘You will both have to leave. They are the first words he has spoken since he came to this facility and he is clearly agitated. Who knows what damage you have done?’

Rodney jumped up. ‘How do you think we feel you moron?’

Two large uniformed Federal Police officers entered the room. The larger of the two stepped forward. ‘Major Curtin will have a word before you leave.’

‘The hell he will,’ said Rodney.

‘That will be alright,’ said Rose. ‘We’ve seen enough.’

Back in their Castle Hill home in the western suburbs of Sydney, Rodney paced the length of the sunroom. He didn’t actually pace because his right foot had been amputated years before following a drunken night out with mates and the misuse of a four wheel drive vehicle. He hopped up and down the length of the sunroom with the use of a crutch. Rose watched him from the comfort of a cane lounge chair.

‘It’s a bloody miscarriage of justice, pure and simple!’ Rodney said loudly.

‘So it would seem,’ said Rose.

‘And we’re almost as much under arrest as he is. Confidentiality agreement my arse!’

‘We both had to sign it,’ said Rose.

‘I’m very good at smelling rats,’ said Rodney as he stopped and turned to face his wife. ‘In fact I can smell just one rat a mile off.’

‘I’m sure you can darling. Can I get you a beer?’

‘What?’

‘A beer,’ said Rose.

Rodney limped towards her. ‘You’ve been at me for over a year to stop drinking in the middle of the day. Now you want to get me a beer?’

‘Yes. It will help relax you. Perhaps we’ll have a nice dinner and an early night.’

‘What!’

‘Stop saying that,’ said Rose.

‘Our best friend has been locked up in a lunatic asylum by some hot shot Federal Police agency on some bullshit charges and you want me to have a beer and relax with an early night? Are you crazy?’

‘There’s nothing wrong with him,’ said Rose softly.

‘What!’

Rose stood up and walked towards the kitchen. ‘There’s nothing wrong with him,’ she repeated.

Rodney limped after her. ‘Then why have they locked him up in that horrible place Mrs. Smart arse?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Rose.

‘But you say there is nothing wrong with him. Did you read his mind?’

‘No,’ said Rose as she opened the fridge and took out an ice cold bottle of beer. She snapped off the twist top lid and held out the bottle towards Rodney. ‘I read his eyes.’

****

CHAPTER THREE

Doctor Jeffrey Swan’s office was spacious but the paint job was dreadful. Only two paint colours had been approved for use in the North Parramatta Special Prisoner Facility (NPSPF). Light green and grey. A psychologist had been commissioned to recommend appropriate colours. It cost the tax payers half a million dollars for him to recommend green and grey. A