Chapter 22
Twenty-two
Finn sat in the troopy with the driver’s door open, scoffing down the last of the dinner Taryn had brought, which tasted better than anything he’d cooked in months. Pity he didn’t get to share it with her.
Forking in another bite, he kept his eyes on the scrublands filled with burnt gold and growing shadows as the sun began to dip.
Porter had named this place Campdog’s Scratch.
With a sandstone rise that stood just off the floodplain, it was flat enough for a chopper, and too remote for tourists or phone towers.
Making it a decent meeting point that you’d only find if someone showed you how to get here.
Perfect as that place between somewhere and nowhere, while he went over his plan, again…
While Taryn had snooped around his house earlier, Finn had let Tooley out on bail as bait. On the condition Tooley make a phone call and told Bob he’d been busted. Which he did, right in front of Finn.
And with Lydia showing up, telling him Red was on the road, it confirmed the plan was working.
The bonus was figuring out Red’s motivation, thanks to Taryn. It hadn’t been as straightforward as Finn had first thought.
Red wasn’t just a stock agent, when he came from a line of blokes who’d learned the trade the old way.
Not in a classroom, but out in the yards, apprenticed under a man who’d learned the same way before him.
It was a job passed down like a saddle or a name, where you earned your stripes through hard muster seasons, while forging long-term relationships.
Now all of that was being replaced by technology. Along with the rules that were constantly changing, as the industry kept shifting, that somewhere in that shuffle Red had lost his grip on the status he’d spent a lifetime earning.
So Red did what bitter men, overstuffed with pride, often did when the system no longer made room for them—he’d found a way to milk it.
The real kicker?
Finn, who’d come from that same world, saw the irony for what it was.
Red, who’d regularly rage against progress in the pub like it was a personal insult, was now using it to steal from the industry he’d once protected.
Doing it through genetic smuggling techniques to create a modern version of cattle theft.
To Finn, it wasn’t progress. It was the same old crime just dressed in better clothes.
He finished his dinner, and wiped his mouth with the paper napkin Taryn had folded with ridiculous neatness. Then tossed the empty container onto the passenger floor, just as a low beat of wind shifted the trees, as the sound came thick and rhythmic.
The chopper.
Finn stepped out of the troopy and rolled his shoulders. Time to work.
The helicopter came in low and fast, whipping the treetops and flattening the spinifex like it had something to prove. Typical Stone, too much flair, with just enough control to get away with it.
Finn squinted into the grit as the skids hit the dried-up floodplain. The moment the blades slowed enough to not lose a hat, the door swung open.
Stone jumped down, headset still on, carrying a bag in hand. Grinning like a kid as he adjusted the coiled lead from his headphones to tuck it into his shirt pocket.
Romy remained seated in the chopper, giving Finn a short wave through the windshield, then turned back to her screen that manned the drone. Good.
Finn nodded to Stone, then motioned toward the troopy’s hood where his maps were spread out, anchored by spare water bottles and half a brick. It reminded him of Taryn’s use of rocks and dirt to put his paperwork in place.
That woman. It was enough for the grin to curl for just a second.
‘What did you find?’
‘We followed that truck to the old quarry. They’re all set up here.’ Stone pointed to a spot on the map.
Finn scanned over the map as Tooley’s voice echoed in the back of his mind from today’s interrogation: …flying the boxes out from the airfield tucked behind the old quarry…
He’d added it to his mental notes, as he hadn’t had time to follow up on it. But now, it lined up just right. The quarry wasn’t just a stop—it was more. And Finn wanted to know everything going on at that place. ‘Get any motion cams set up there?’
‘Only on the entrance ways.’ Stone put the bag on the bonnet. ‘Got more if you want.’
‘Good. I want full surveillance on that place if we can.’
‘Thought so. I’ve already got Romy’s footage uploading to the cloud. She’s clocked a pen of cattle, a demountable for an office, one ute, two trucks and a stack of fake livestock transport trailers.’
‘How do you know they’re fake?’
‘None of the trailer numbers match any of the manifest logs with the trucking company. The Duchess taught me how to do the searches.’ Stone grinned, proud of himself, and the fact that Amara had taught Stone anything made it sweeter.
‘Which company are they using?’
‘HHA.’
Highway Haulers Australia were huge and had the kind of loyalty you couldn’t buy. They were one of those trusted brands in a field where clients didn’t like change. Just like Red, who’d been the stock agent for the same cattle stations for decades.
‘If they’re all branded the same, that explains how the swapped trailers went undetected in the stockyard…
’ Finn’s mind put the pieces into place.
‘And that’s why HHA hasn’t called about the road train taking up space in Craig’s yard.
Red and his crew have been using those fake trucks, but on paper as SW contracting. ’
It all made sense.
Finn tapped out a message on his phone, reminding Craig and Amara to check the VINs and any other identifying details on the road train in Craig’s yard, then trace where it came from.
If Porter was still at Dustfire, he’d pick up on any tampering, he was well trained to read those signs.
And Amara would know exactly where to find them in the system.
Behind them, another engine approached. It was Amara’s new patrol wagon clawing its way up the ridge.
‘What’s this?’ Amara closed her car door and approached them. ‘The Good, the Bad, and the Barely Groomed—live from Campdog’s Scratch, starring the feral pilot as the Stock Squad’s answer to Mission Impossible?’
‘Keep talkin’ like that, Duchess, and I’ll make sure your next mission involves a seat on the chopper, with doors off while I take a nap.’ Stone shot back, always grinning.
‘Remind me why we let you two talk in public?’ Finn grumbled over the map.
Amara tossed a cloth roll of GPS tags onto the bonnet. ‘Here are the tags. You know, sir, we don’t have the warrants for surv—’
‘I know.’ Finn wasn’t annoyed at her, because that’s why he had the black-and-white paperwork queen as part of his team, to remind him what they could and couldn’t do.
Stone picked up the bag of vehicle tags, cracked the seal, and gave a theatrical sniff. ‘Smells like new car and Montrose’s attitude—sharp, expensive, and a little toxic.’
Amara didn’t look up from her tablet. ‘You’d know toxic, Stone. You exhale it.’
‘Please, Duchess. I’m like an essential oil for fieldwork. A few drops of me and everyone’s mood improves.’
She snorted. ‘Only because you’re not allowed to bring actual petrol fumes into meetings anymore.’
Stone leaned in with a grin. ‘You’re just jealous I smell like success.’
Finn cleared his throat sharply, like a teacher stepping between bickering teens. ‘Can we get on with it?’
Stone grinned, lifting his boot to rest on the troopy’s bull bar. ‘So, what’s the play, Bossman? Tag and run?’
Fin nodded. ‘We’ll go in after dark. Set up a few more cameras on the perimeter, and tag everything that moves—trucks, trailers, utes.’
‘Maybe a few cocky cowboys, if they stand still long enough,’ Stone added.
Amara said flatly, ‘Shame you never stay still long enough to qualify.’
Finn sighed, rubbing his temples. Running this crew was like herding cats—with flamethrowers. ‘Who’s volunteering?’ He had to ask.
‘Only if it gets me hazard pay,’ Stone said with a grin. ‘Romy and I’ll keep eyes from above.’ He then tapped on the map. ‘Watch that bend near the quarry. It’s a blind spot behind the ridge. The place has got a few of them.’
Finn nodded as he studied the map. ‘Stone, keep the bird low with that spotlight ready. Just close enough to blind anyone watching from the tree line, if we need it.’
‘Done.’ Stone nodded, adjusting his headset. ‘Romy’s going to use the thermal vision, it’ll tell us who’s getting curious in the compound.’
‘Good. We stay quiet. No contact unless it’s unavoidable.’
He looked to Amara, who was already loading trackers and small cameras into the pockets of her police vest.
‘You and me, we’ll tag the trucks, check the manifests, and get out. Quick and clean.’
Amara gave a firm nod. ‘Yes, sir. I’ll start on the west side.’
‘Good, I’ll go east, and we’ll meet in the middle.’ Finn started strapping on his own vest.
Of course, Stone took the silence as his cue to start tossing commentary around like confetti. ‘You packing that granny holster again, Duchess? Or going rogue with a taser and some bad-boy attitude today?’
‘You’re one to talk,’ Amara muttered, checking her side-arm. ‘Pretty sure that camera you dropped on that last op ended up in a cow paddock.’
‘Strategic placement,’ Stone shot back. ‘Cattle intelligence is underrated.’
‘Right. Must be why that footage featured twenty minutes of a bull scratching its arse on a fence post.’
It had Finn glancing up from checking his side-arm, with one brow lifting. ‘About time…’ Even giving the young constable a quiet nod. If Taryn had been there, she’d grin and mutter something smug like, Aww, the Tiny Titan finally grew claws.
Stone’s laugh was loud as he clapped Amara on the shoulder. ‘Living with Porter is doing you some good, Duchess.’
Amara’s smile was full of young love for Porter, with some self-pride too, as she slid the last of the trackers into her vest pocket.
The young constable had come a long way in a short time. Hell, Finn could see her running the Stock Squad one day—if Taryn didn’t shut it down.
He exhaled slowly, the dry bush air catching at the back of his throat, thinking of Taryn still at his house, alone, buried in the Gaps File. Which is where he wanted to be. Answering her curious questions, talking over what-ifs, digging deeper on the bigger picture.
But he couldn’t bring the Fed out here. Not when he was about to bend the rules she was paid to uphold. ‘Let’s go.’