huge roller door.
‘I’ve had a chat to some of the guys who were involved in the surveillance last year,’ Angie said. ‘Fayed’s paranoid about security. Never leaves the place empty. Which makes it impossible for our technicians to get in and do their sneaky little fit-out.’ Gemma remembered that the technical people needed a clear stretch of time to get their electronic gimmicks into position. ‘The guys created a fault to the power in the street,’ Angie was saying, ‘and then tried to get inside posing as Energy Australia to test for a fault, but it didn’t make a scrap of difference to Fayed. He’s got his own generator in there so he wouldn’t let them in.’ Angie settled back in her seat, looking at the corner building. ‘Hell, we’ve heard he’s even got a zoo in there! Can you believe it? What sort of weirdo wants to keep animals locked up in a prison?’
‘What does he keep?’
‘He’s licensed to keep reptiles.’
‘That’d be right,’ said Gemma. ‘Like attracts like.’
‘Hey, I like snakes,’ Angie said. ‘I don’t like George Fayed.’
‘That explains the logo,’ said Gemma, passing the glasses. ‘Take a look.’
Angie took the binoculars. ‘That’s some big goanna,’ she said, responding to the stylised reptile behind the sign’s lettering.
Gemma shrugged as she took the binoculars back. ‘Why would you want a goanna as your logo?’
‘They don’t talk,’ said Angie, ‘and that flickering tongue is always gathering intelligence about the environment. That’s Fayed to a T. He’s got closed circuit cameras on the street so he knows what’s going on outside. And he’s got them on the inside as well. Can you imagine closed circuit TV in all your rooms? Keeping tabs on what’s going on in your own house?’
‘Must be a sultan thing,’ said Gemma. ‘Back in the old days, they had to murder all their brothers when they took the throne. That way, they got rid of any rivals.’
Angie laughed. ‘Fayed has much the same ambition. Always looking to expand his markets and eliminate the competition. Like any corporate CEO.’
Gemma picked up the binoculars again. ‘I can’t see any cameras,’ she said.
‘You wouldn’t—they’re microscopic—pinhole lenses. They’re probably watching this car right now. We should have gone in yours,’ she said. ‘They’d recognise this as a police car.’
Gemma peered around the street. There were several cars and a tradesman’s van parked across and down the road from the huge building. A few pedestrians went about their business. It looked just like any ordinary, inner west suburban Sydney street, she thought, with neat little Victorian terraces, geraniums in pots, a cat curled in view in one window. Fayed’s castle was not even a particularly discordant note; there were several old converted warehouses in the district. She moved the binoculars back to one of the narrow windows on the third floor of Fayed’s fortress and then almost dropped them. From the dark corner building someone was looking straight down the lenses of her binoculars with his own. Their eyes connected. It was a nasty shock.
•
On the way to the Lidcombe laboratory, Angie filled Gemma in further on Fayed’s form. Despite a history of standover violence, drug distribution and suspected gun running, the police had failed to make anything major stick. Fayed’s own legal team, augmented by the best counsel money could buy, ensured that. And apart from three months in prison on an assault charge years ago, Fayed had lived the luxurious life of a Sydney drug lord. ‘He’s got a real nasty streak in him,’ said Angie. ‘He grew up in refugee camps, violent war zones.’ She threw Gemma a quick glance, then concentrated on changing lanes for a right-hand turn before continuing. ‘Have you heard of the “French Connection”?’ she asked.
‘The movie?’
Angie shook her head. ‘No. But I suppose it’s based on that. One of
‘I’ve had a chat to some of the guys who were involved in the surveillance last year,’ Angie said. ‘Fayed’s paranoid about security. Never leaves the place empty. Which makes it impossible for our technicians to get in and do their sneaky little fit-out.’ Gemma remembered that the technical people needed a clear stretch of time to get their electronic gimmicks into position. ‘The guys created a fault to the power in the street,’ Angie was saying, ‘and then tried to get inside posing as Energy Australia to test for a fault, but it didn’t make a scrap of difference to Fayed. He’s got his own generator in there so he wouldn’t let them in.’ Angie settled back in her seat, looking at the corner building. ‘Hell, we’ve heard he’s even got a zoo in there! Can you believe it? What sort of weirdo wants to keep animals locked up in a prison?’
‘What does he keep?’
‘He’s licensed to keep reptiles.’
‘That’d be right,’ said Gemma. ‘Like attracts like.’
‘Hey, I like snakes,’ Angie said. ‘I don’t like George Fayed.’
‘That explains the logo,’ said Gemma, passing the glasses. ‘Take a look.’
Angie took the binoculars. ‘That’s some big goanna,’ she said, responding to the stylised reptile behind the sign’s lettering.
Gemma shrugged as she took the binoculars back. ‘Why would you want a goanna as your logo?’
‘They don’t talk,’ said Angie, ‘and that flickering tongue is always gathering intelligence about the environment. That’s Fayed to a T. He’s got closed circuit cameras on the street so he knows what’s going on outside. And he’s got them on the inside as well. Can you imagine closed circuit TV in all your rooms? Keeping tabs on what’s going on in your own house?’
‘Must be a sultan thing,’ said Gemma. ‘Back in the old days, they had to murder all their brothers when they took the throne. That way, they got rid of any rivals.’
Angie laughed. ‘Fayed has much the same ambition. Always looking to expand his markets and eliminate the competition. Like any corporate CEO.’
Gemma picked up the binoculars again. ‘I can’t see any cameras,’ she said.
‘You wouldn’t—they’re microscopic—pinhole lenses. They’re probably watching this car right now. We should have gone in yours,’ she said. ‘They’d recognise this as a police car.’
Gemma peered around the street. There were several cars and a tradesman’s van parked across and down the road from the huge building. A few pedestrians went about their business. It looked just like any ordinary, inner west suburban Sydney street, she thought, with neat little Victorian terraces, geraniums in pots, a cat curled in view in one window. Fayed’s castle was not even a particularly discordant note; there were several old converted warehouses in the district. She moved the binoculars back to one of the narrow windows on the third floor of Fayed’s fortress and then almost dropped them. From the dark corner building someone was looking straight down the lenses of her binoculars with his own. Their eyes connected. It was a nasty shock.
•
On the way to the Lidcombe laboratory, Angie filled Gemma in further on Fayed’s form. Despite a history of standover violence, drug distribution and suspected gun running, the police had failed to make anything major stick. Fayed’s own legal team, augmented by the best counsel money could buy, ensured that. And apart from three months in prison on an assault charge years ago, Fayed had lived the luxurious life of a Sydney drug lord. ‘He’s got a real nasty streak in him,’ said Angie. ‘He grew up in refugee camps, violent war zones.’ She threw Gemma a quick glance, then concentrated on changing lanes for a right-hand turn before continuing. ‘Have you heard of the “French Connection”?’ she asked.
‘The movie?’
Angie shook her head. ‘No. But I suppose it’s based on that. One of
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