Mike Dixon

„You know what I mean … don‟t muck around.‟
„What do you want, Rodney? It‟s Australia Day. It‟s a
public holiday. I‟m at Narooma and I‟m about to get into a
Zodiac and go to Montague Island to dive amongst the
seals.‟
There was silence followed by clicks. Then Cecil Sparrow‟s
dull monotone sounded in his ear.
„Dr Hansen.‟
„Yes … Chief Investigator.‟
„Do I understand that you are on a diving excursion with
the establishment owned and operated by Timothy John
Price and David George Paget?‟
„That is correct, Chief Investigator.‟
„Are you aware of agent Pulnitz‟s presence?‟
„I had noticed that Janet was here.‟
„May I be assured that you have followed required agentprotection
procedures?‟
„You may, Chief Investigator.‟
„I shall regard it as a severe breach of discipline if agent
Pulnitz‟s identity is exposed or in any way compromised.‟
The phone went dead. Humphrey switched it off and
locked it in his bag. As far as he was concerned, it was his
day off. Cecil and Rodney could phone as often as they liked
– no one would answer.
hey reached Montague Island after a bumpy ride
T over rough water. The rocky strip ran parallel to the
coast and was a nature reserve – home to a colony of seals.
The din was deafening. Humphrey was reminded of visits to
the zoo when he was a little boy. Dark shapes slid around
and splashed into the water, honking furiously. He saw them
indistinctly and struggled to put on his scuba tank.
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