Flaxmead by Brian Cain

CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN

  Midweek Stanton visited Shangri La, he had seen Winston a few times at Caulfield for a few seconds as he worked tirelessly for the wine industry. He came to the float with gentlemen in top hats and ladies in flowing gowns and hats. They looked like a duck in a chock yard once past the fence that separated the paddock from the car park. The conversation with Winston was relegated to hello and goodbye, so much to say and no time to say it in. He burbled up the hill along the access road to Shangri La, Winston heard him coming, saw the red Mustang roll to a stop outside his window and walked out to meet him, he notice the registration plate and walked up the path to get a better look as Stanton climbed form his vehicle. He wasn't seeing things, the white lettering stood out clearly on the red background FLAXY1.

  "Why didn't I think of that," was the first thing Winston said.

  "Jodi came up with it, she has suddenly decided the vehicle should never leave our possession. I had to have a vanity mirror put in the sun visor of the passenger seat."

  "Really."

  "Yes really. I was about to buckle and give it to someone else but I suggested it and this happened."

  "Mm, the lord works in mysterious ways."

  "Very."

  "She told you why?"

  "No, for some reason she seemed to feel she made a mistake, admitted it."

  "Good lord."

  "Yeah, went and picked the plates up herself and supervised the fitting. She might get a bit upset when she opens the boot."

  "Why?"

  "Two hundred litre fuel tank."

  "Two hundred litres, is that legal?"

  "The extra capacity is separated in a network of small tanks to stop the weight shifting. Not one thing on this car is legal, that's why it works so well."

  "Ha ha I see."

  "Jump in the passenger seat, I'll show you something." Stanton placed a small satellite dish the size of a tea cup saucer with a magnetic base on the roof of his car, it started to move round by itself. They both climbed in and closed the doors. Stanton pushed a button in above the middle of the front windscreen and a computer keyboard and screen dropped down hinged to the roof. They both had to lean towards the middle of the vehicle to see the screen properly a little awkward. Stanton turned the computer on and the screen lit up. He punched in some data and in a flash they could see a four way live picture of Harpers property.

  "Where the hell is that coming from?" asked Winston.

  "The surveillance system fitted to the float."

  "Well that's incredible."

  "Not really, pretty standard technology. The computer it communicates with is what is sending these images by satellite. What's really handy is the face and vehicle registration identification software. It picks up a new face and through face matching technology can identify people of risk with any kind of civil, military or political background right around the world."

  "Would it identify me?"

  "It could but the filter is set for the bad guys. Otherwise to much information, the registration plate matching will bring up the owner of the vehicle. Any information can be found if you think someone is acting suspiciously. By just removing the filter block on anyone's face, most countries around the world have picture driver's licences."

  "Good grief, how many people have this?"

  "British, French, American military intelligence, and secret services. Some civil police forces but their use is limited. The Russians and Chinese have it to some degree."

  "Where does it operate from?"

  "Where no one will ever find it, stealth is health in the realm of intelligence gathering and monitoring. All I'd say is when everyone else's stops working mine will probably still work."

  "Why all this.?"

  "When you head off on Friday morning Flaxy one here with Jodi in the passenger's seat will be running blocker or ghost or whatever you want to call it. Now, I'll just punch in this rego number of the vehicle seen in the Blue Mountains." Stanton punched in the numbers and letters. The screen instantly lit up with information on the vehicles owner. "There, you were right, a known member of the Sydney underworld. Rick O'Brien, worked for a bloke called Jib Habib, he just started operations for himself. Now I can't find anything out about him before he became an Australian citizen other than he's probably French. There was also a sighting of this vehicle near Harpers a while back right here in the valley."

  "What do you mean operations for himself?"

  "Standover tactics, debt collecting, drug distribution, money laundering, assault, murder. The real problem is if I have to dig deep chances are this bloke is x military or secret service, apparently Habib is scared of him, if this is true he'd be very dangerous."

  "All this is concerning me, I'd feel better if I was none the wiser."

  "That's why I've told you, your team and horses are in one peace because of how you managed things. I know you've had offers to stable the horses at Flemington, forget it, this O'Brien has been seen with Theo Delores. You know him?"

  "How did you find this out?"

  "It's not important, few minutes on a computer. Do you know him?"

  "I know of him, Graham knows him. I've seen him around, I've never spoken to him."

  Stanton hesitated for a few seconds rubbing his mouth with his hand. "This Delores could be trying to recover some debts or he could be into something far more sinister. I'd try to find Taggart he'd know, but we don't have time. If this O'Brien surfaces again I can get a picture and run him through the system, see what I can find."

  Winston shook his head. "I thought we might have some problems but this is surprising. All we wanted to do is win the Melbourne Cup."

  "Yeah, so do a lot of others and you're well on the way. Someone doesn't like the idea. Stick with what you're doing."

  "Its getting difficult, Wilson, Bartholomew and I have so much to do with the widening market."

  "Graham tells me you're pulling up for a few weeks after the cup. Id stick with it until then."

  "With you helping I can fly backwards and forwards on the day with Wilson and Bartholomew, Gail Flametower wants to come, she's found someone to tend her horses for the day."

  "Good, she can look after Jodi while the races are on."

  "That should work okay."

  "I ask you tell no one about the rest, I had to let someone in the team know in case something happened. As you're not in the float I'll have to give a special phone to one of the team, I'd say Ross."

  "They already have phones."

  "Not like this one, this can't be traced it works on a satellite network."

  "Is this all really necessary, we can always go to the police."

  "They'll come and clean the mess up, they can't do much more till something happens, to late then. Besides, go to them and everyone will know and can see what you're up to. These things happen in a flash, as fast as a bullet or worse something you can't see. Hindsight is futile. With blokes like this O'Brien around what you suspected was right but worse."

  "I find this hard to believe, fixed establishments with generally always use the law or rules to get what they want."

  "I agree with you totally, who said someone wasn't up to something there as well."

  "To think this was to find Rose and get two kids a dream."

  "Without that, Flaxmead would have been in trouble a long time ago, the lord works in mysterious ways, dodgy people don't. They are predictable and preventable."

  "Fair enough, Thanks for telling me all this."

  "I'll go and see Ross and give him this phone, is he down at the stables."

  "Yes, not sure what he and Jessica are up to, they generally run the horses in the open paddock around this time."

  "I'll find them, clue Ross up on the phone. Then pick them up when they enter the freeway from Freemans Waterhole." Winston nodded s they climbed out. "See you at Caulfield, my wife is spoilt and demanding so if you're looking after her and Gail Flametower you'll be busy."

  Winston laughed as he walked tow
ards his office, "No doubt."

  The Greedy Piggy Creek Coal management at this very time were meeting to discuss the productivity spikes with new Janeiro Coffee CEO Marcus Makemore from the UK. The meeting was at the Greedy Piggy Creek operations Makemore had never seen it before and wished to become familiar with the Australian arm of global operations. Direct from marketing talks in China as he drove towards Greedy Piggy Creek through the viticulture, dairies, horse studs and tourist stops, he had problems conceiving why someone had put a coal mine and power station in the middle of it. He scanned the fields and hills hoping to get a glimpse of this phenomenon they called Flaxmead nestled in the back of his mind. He didn't have much time and after a tour of operations the meeting convened in the mine office complex was direct and to the point.

  "Now we come the productivity spikes on average of some twelve percent. I've read the report from Keith Richardson and Rutland Girdwood and agree the spikes are related to the race days to which a local horse called Flaxmead runs. This was tabled in London last week and the fact that other countries operations experience a similar spike related to sport activities, things such as the success of the soccer team in Brazil. This spike in the hunter valley has helped magnify the fact as it is ongoing, especially of the last few weeks. There must be a distinct air of ownership of this Flaxmead by the public of the hunter not dissimilar to the ownership of the Brazilian soccer team by the entire country. Would I be right Keith," asked Makemore.

  Keith glanced around the tables faces with a smile before answering. "Well a good way to test that out would be to go to any local pub. Sit in the corner on a bar stool making negative comments about Flaxmead and see how long you retained consciousness."

  Makemore a man of good humour had a good laugh. "I tend to avoid field experimentation especially along the lines of your suggestion. However you have made your point."

  "Shame really I'd like to see that," added Rutland.

  Makemore continued to laugh out loud. "Its nice to see an operation where moral is high. I'm told this horse has a blanket following here in the valley."

  "We are talking with people we never dreamed of negotiating with. If that horse brings the Melbourne cup back here it will sit on everyone's mantle piece," said Keith.

  "We are doing as well as we could ever expect here. Expansion is currently futile for several reasons. The rail line is overloaded, the loading port is also working at full capacity, until we can access if these things can be expanded, supporting current plans for the next two years is where we sit. Any requests on supporting the activities of this horse should be endorsed."

  "The gas plans shelved or postponed," asked Rutland.

  "Cancelled," replied Makemore. "The push to gas fracking here is still present but we have no intention of becoming involved. We open cut and underground mine coal our core business in this region."

  "What do you think of the proposals tabled regarding expanding and streamlining operations here?" asked Rutland.

  "I haven't had sufficient time to digest the stuff. I noticed the names Wilson Hornswaddle and Bartholomew Fothrington. Anything involving this pair would require deep study, they make some people back in London very nervous."

  "Were getting on with them fine, can I suggest we handle this," asked Keith.

  "I find the board in London acts on facts and figures, they rarely take suggestions but I'll mention it. I have just come from China, some of the things there I find alarming. I went though an entire new city of high rise apartments and shops near a mining operation that we are assisting with planning. Among the thousands of new apartments and hundreds of shops there is no one, like a ghost town. The expansion of their industries and armed forces is astonishing, the iron and coal the west sell them can be seen everywhere. Where this growth and expansion is leading is questionable. The next people to inherit the earth will come up with a sustainable means of elector magnetic power, and the Chinese are leaders in this field. We are so tied up in supplying things that may come back and haunt us. The era of cheap oil is over, all these things affect planning. We are about to launch a new push for sustainable energy and this year will establish our own scientific operation from here in Newcastle. It's now a serious feasible growth industry and could value add our core business of coal, steel and alloy into the coming decades. I was going to handle this myself but due to recent developments with horses feel that Keith would be better suited to announce and manage this. I have all the information with me and will pass it on for Keith to act on immediately. This may involve delegation of management tasks and the forming of a new position on the team when it gets to big. How do you feel about this Keith?" asked Makemore.

  "I think any one of the team would be only to pleased to work on that," replied Keith.

  "I have a question," said Makemore. "How do I get a ticket to the Melbourne cup?"

  "Thunderbolt," replied Rutland.

  "I've been told of this on the way here, a social network of everyone to attend the races run by this horse Flaxmead they call the hunter valley thunderbolt," replied Makemore.

  "Yes over fifty thousand members, thirty thousand expected to attend the cup meeting," added Rutland.

  "Good lord, amazing. If this horse makes the cup I want the entire valley operation shut down while the race is on," stated Makemore.

  "Won't happen," replied Keith.

  "Why," asked Makemore.

  "Because the workforce won't come at it, we made a deal and they won't let us or the horse down. Could be the biggest day of production ever seen in the valley," added Keith."

  "Interesting," replied Makemore. "Make the suggestion to them anyway, for a twelve percent spike I'd kiss all their arses, however I prefer to support this far more hygienic method of appreciation."

  The room was filled with laughter. "Rutland is Kerry Snow on today?" asked Keith.

  "No I don't think he is, he's on this weekend," replied Rutland.

  "Can you have his shifts covered by another OCE and send him to me," asked Keith. "He will be busy organising our people in the Thunderbolt network until the weekend of the Melbourne Cup is over."

  "No worries," said Rutland.

  At the same time the assassin was organising a few things for the cup. The Yalumba Stakes meeting at Caulfield had netted more income from white powder than race winnings for the first time and Mr Delores found it rather intoxicating. On short notice Renoir came up with a plan to oust the middle man and boost profits by fifty percent and the assassin was all ears. With sudden access to mountains of money Renoir made some new friends overseas, not only that, the international exchange of horses in the assassins enterprise gave endless opportunities. Renoir had almost forgotten he was a wanted man and arranged for a South American trip as part of a horse transfer within the assassins organisation. Renoir would miss the Caulfield cup weekend but be back in time to do some transactions at the Cox Plate meeting. Orders for white powder came in thick and fast, the assassin gave the okay and financed the venture, Renoir headed to the US disguised as a strapper trading horses for Delores. Renoir calculated he could safely hide ten kilo of pure cocaine virtually undetectable amongst the operations hardware. The assassin was rubbing his hands together, with finances in good order he was able to spend most of his time on a cup day plan to stop the untouchables. However the Caulfield cup was upon him and tied up with the delicate direct approach required to handle things outside the law, he had dropped the ball in the stables. The untouchables were about to again run amuck at Caulfield.

  The float rumbled onto the F3 freeway at Freeman's Waterhole, tailed by a vehicle full of media, they suddenly noticed a dull roar behind them. "Jesus Christ John Stanton's up our arse!" stated one of the journalists in the back of the Tarago mini bus. "Jodi's with him and from the hand signal I think she means go away."

  "It's a free country, I'm sure Stanton appreciates that," stated the journo driver. There was an incredible roar as Stanton engaged his supercharger, passed the Tarago, diving in behi
nd the float with a clear message.

  "I think we should head for the airport, this is not good," replied journo one.

  "It took us ages to work out what they do, we've come this far I'm sticking with it," added the journo two.

  "Break it off or Jodi will get our arses kicked," stressed journo one.

  The Tarago dropped back a few car lengths sticking with the tail for ten minutes until from behind they heard the siren of a police patrol car. Journo one looked behind. "It's the Cadiche man." The police pursuit car drew along side them and Cadiche's female partner Kay gave a hand gesture to pull over. "I told ya, look at Stanton's rego plate, FLAXY1, I think he might be trying to tell us something."

  Journo two driving began to pull over muttering under his breath. "Bugger."

  Ross watched with interest from within the cab of the float. He decided to see what the fuss was all about and test his satellite phone. He followed Stanton's instructions on using it and Jodi responded. "Jodi, what the hell was all that about lassie."

  "Media Ross, nothing serious," replied Jodi.

  "We've tended to embrace the media, bit of a heavy response maybe."

  "John wants it known we're here, part of the tactics no harm done. I know those idiots in five more minutes we'll have more respect from the lot of them."

  "Yeah, I bet. Talk to you soon."

  Stanton and Jodi stayed in a motel in Wallan at the Hidden Valley stopover, connected to the float surveillance system with a lap top through satellite connection. Stanton used the motion detection to trigger an alarm to wake him but the first alarm was the team preparing to run the horses in the early light. Jodi got her first glimpse of the cloak and dagger her husband had been rapped up in all his life. The show rolled into Caulfield with no further incidents.

  The Caulfield Cup, group one open handicap held during the Melbourne spring race carnival. Run over two thousand four hundred metres it is a most important lead up race to the Melbourne Cup. A win in the Caulfield Cup by Flaxmead would guarantee that the next time he graced Flemington it would be to contest the Melbourne Cup. Flaxmead had been drawn along with Celtic Storm for the Caulfield premier event. Although Celtic Storm had been nominated for other races the only draw placing the mare was the Caulfield Cup. Flushing Meadow made the draw for a support group one event. This is not how Harper would have liked things to fall, but the scene was set, again the opportunity to win three races escaped them. Of the eighteen runners in the Caulfield Cup Flaxmead drew gate seven and Celtic storm two. Stanton's Mustang sat ominously shinning in the spring sun parked along side the float, those in the know knew what it was others by its registration plate assumed it was a toy of success. The media kept their distance but more journalists were given access to Ross and Graham than normal by formal request rather than attempting to hustle in. Jodi was busy being part the scene, occasionally bringing new friends and old acquaintances for a look at Flaxmead but far too busy to hang around. She wore her red dress and diamond necklace set for the third time, Stanton was still puzzled, she generally never wore anything twice even if she thought she may have worn it but couldn't remember. Gail Flametower graced the float with Winston spoke briefly with Jessica then was gone; Stanton found riding shotgun on the float was pretty boring.

  Meadow was lead to the paddock by Graham mounted by Nathan Knight and piloted to another group one win.

  Then came the main event the Caulfield Cup, Flaxmead and Celtic Storm led to the paddock by Jessica and Ross Lorraine Wills and Brent Rosewood mounted up. Attendance was another record; it would be next year records would be hard to come by. Lorraine found Flaxmead to display identical behaviour as the previous meeting, go near Celtic Storm at your own peril. The two thousand four hundred starting gate is not far before the winning post on the grandstand straight at Caulfield, Flaxmead loved it, he put on the show of the century strutting, prancing and rearing up around his stable mate. He made sure he she was in the gate then loaded himself into gate seven, Lorraine could never work out how he knew which gate to go into. He again stood perfectly still as if in pure concentration for the gate to open. Caulfield fell deadly silent except for the race caller announcing under the starter. When the gates crashed open the crowd could be heard on Saint Kilda beach, and the thunderbolt struck. Celtic storm took the rail from gate two, Flaxmead got the drop on the entire field just ahead of Celtic Storm and closed to the rail next to Celtic Storm holding the horses from gate one, three, four, five and six in the pocket. Once the pair was clear of the boxed pack on the rail after turn one Flaxmead turned on the outside pack leaving Celtic Storm to hold the lead, the leading horse of the pack outside the pocket was Brazen Heart and Flaxmead dropped back several lengths to hold position alongside at the end of the back straight just before turn two. Celtic Storm held six lengths on the pack on the rail and five to Flaxmead now well wide of the rail, Brazen hearts jockey dropped back to take a place in the pocket towards the rail unable to shake the thunderbolt and it was all over. Flaxmead kicked passed Celtic Storm on the outside of turn two left his stable mate in a commanding lead on the pack and blasted away into the history books. Flaxmead thundered on to the screams of the crowd rounding turn three with eight lengths on Celtic Storm, Lorraine began to weep tears of joy "Flaxy you've done it your there," she laughed as she cried so Flaxmead picked it up a bit to celebrate. He held the rail crossing the line and began to pace down, he waited for his stable mate then they both turned to trot to the winners circle. Flaxmead had another record, the two thousand four hundred at Caulfield, but not by as bigger margins as expected, his pack herding antics to protect his stable mate cost him.

  The pair stopped in the middle of the track in front of the Grandstand the race caller struggled to be heard above the crowd. "And there they are ladies and gentlemen, the untouchables. Its not that there are poor challengers to the Harper trio, the fields this year are as good as, or even better than they have ever been. Its not if Flaxmead will win the Melbourne Cup, its down to can anything stop him. They say he must have the Jorrocks gene. A horse from the hunter valley in the mid eighteen hundreds that walked and carried his owner's equipment from one meeting to another often two hundred kilometres then raced. That horse had a career of one hundred and thirteen starts undefeated for most them. If Jorrocks had been able to make it to the Melbourne Cup who knows, now it's down to the horse they call the thunderbolt. We are graced with the presence of the greatest race horse in the world and don't we know it."

  The horses made their way to the winners ring, Brazen Heart held out for third against a tight pack that included Carronade some ten lengths short of Celtic Storm, weights were correct. Sanda Warrior was absent again running in Queensland taking a major group one in near record time.

  Stanton listening to the crowd roar in the float park up area chatted with Graham. Bob Fields was attending duties with Jessica and Ross. Stanton learnt of next week's dilemma, The Cox Plate at Moonee Valley, Graham explained he had some thinking to do before he ran Flaxmead. The wolves were at the door and keeping up the pressure would assure good runs for the trio at the cup, but how would they all handle the travelling. As Stanton pushed him not to buckle to stabling offers in Melbourne he noticed someone displaying all the signs of a spy. Alone, hanging around looking uninterested, studying things out the corner of his eye. Dressed in the standard dark casual gear including mirror sun glasses of the kind identifying the mob, complete with finger rings.

  At short notice we can sometimes do things without considering the entire picture, Renoir jetting to the US was now indebted to the assassin. Renoir planned to act as requested by the assassin on his return, he had sent a newly acquired offsider to gather more information. Idris Nasih a Lebanese refuge had found it easy to adapt to Sydney underworld life coming from the streets of Beirut. He, as Renoir had just done, had stepped out of the Sydney underworld umbrella for the first time at the request of Renoir to better his career path. Encouraged by Renoir's success he had attended the Caulfiel
d Cup following Renoir's instructions, in Australia for two years he had no idea who Stanton was. As Flaxmead and Celtic Storm held the attention of the gathered, Nasih thought he'd make the most of the relative solitude, so did Stanton.

  "Hang of a sec Graham, I'm gonna have a yarn with this bloke over here by the fence," said Stanton.

  Graham was grooming Flushing Meadow as they had been chatting. "No worries."

  Stanton walked to the fence line between the paddock and float park, he followed the fence with his back to it, towards the gateway between the two areas. The official tending the gate was not there, Stanton assumed it to be associated with the action in the winners circle. Nasih saw him coming and leant with his back on the fence just inside the gateway, he threw away half smoked cigarette and lit another. His mirror glasses covered his eyes standing out on his dark olive complexion. He gave the impression he was looking directly ahead but his eyes strained in their sockets to study Stanton's approach. As Stanton stood next to him he reached inside his jacket with his right hand, in a flash Stanton pulled a pistol from his trouser belt holster in the middle of his back and held it beside his leg. Nasih slowly pulled his hand from his inside jacket pocket holding a gold cigarette case, he flipped the lid and held it towards Stanton. He spoke broken English. "Cigarette?"

  Stanton holstered his weapon. "No thanks, don't smoke. Looking for someone?"

  "No." Nasih looked for a cover, he pointed at Stanton's Mustang. "Your car?"

  "Yes."

  "Nice car, I like. American Mustang."

  "Yes. You like horses?"

  Nasih pouted. "No."

  "Your mob what are doing here?"

  Nasih stuck with his cover. "Car, I see car, I like car. Horse race, no good, noise. Mob, no understand."

  "Bullshit. Have a look at the car and go, we get a bit edgy about who hangs around the horses. That horse over there is Flushing Meadow, one of the fastest horses around."

  Nasih pouted tipping his head to one side. "I look car, I go." He walked over to the float and walked around Stanton's car. Stanton shadowed him, Nasih notice the camouflaged surveillance system on the corners of the float and realised he had been duped. He looked sternly at Stanton, he felt Stanton's overbearing presence. "You smart. Who you?"

  "Stanton, John Stanton."

  "You need care, maybe accident for you."

  Stanton chuckled. "Yeah, I've seen plenty of accidents. You're right, you never know when one may come your way. I'll keep that in mind."

  "I go. You have big trouble now."

  Stanton walked up to Nasih, took off his glasses and looked right in his eyes. He whispered aggressively. "You'll be back in Lebanon or dead within the next two weeks unless you buck your ideas up. You're in a foreign land without friends or family, correct me if I'm wrong. You let that affect the people of this country and I'll kill you where you stand." he slowly put Nasih's glasses back on.

  Nasih took a couple of steps back. "I remember, soon you die."

  "No worries, line up with the rest of em."

  Nasih walked away frowning and vanished into the crowd. Stanton returned to Graham working on Flushing Meadow. "You know that bloke?" asked Graham.

  "I do now."

  "He looks a bit dodgy."

  "He's from a foreign land with starkly different views. Unfortunately I think you're right, I have no idea how to help him."

  "Look out here they come." Jessica came through the gate leading Flaxmead followed by a hoard of hangers on. "We better get ready to boogie back home."

  Stanton struggled to keep well wishers at bay as the team loaded up. Jodi came and picked up her overnight case, she informed Stanton she was travelling back with Wilson, Bartholomew, Winston and Gail after the night's gala festivities in the eccentric senior's plane. They were scheduled to touch down at Williamtown Newcastle at three in the morning. Stanton jumped at the idea as she would not be seen leaving with him and possibly become a target of newly found enemies.

  The trip back to the valley was without event. Stanton occasionally powered past the float to stop and have a short knap, he didn't have the luxury afforded by travelling with the team in a cosy mobile stable complex. He tailed the float until it turned off McDonalds road in Pokolbin to access Shangri La from the rear entrance.

  The Winston clan dropped Jodi off after he had been home for only a few minutes. Stanton spoke to them briefly in the street outside his mansion as they headed to Shangri La late, held over in Melbourne with festivities and celebrations. Jodi was a wreck and went straight to bed, and the rest of them showed the ravishes of alcohol inebriation and sleep deprivation. Elderslie drove the vehicle having paced himself with responsibility in mind.

  Stanton also didn't feel too bad catching enough rest to keep him going. Jessica, Lorraine, Bob, Ross, and Graham headed off for normal duties after unloading at Shangri La hardly the worst for wear. Stanton become to realise the venerable were not the protected road warriors and horses, but the drunk and weary sales team. He accessed the confines of his cellar den and loaded the facial features of Idris Nasih into the security system linking the face definition to top priority alarm. He searched the world data bases at his disposal and found no history beyond Idris Nasih residing in Australia. His profile was small time street offences and misdemeanours in the Kings Cross area. He stated the meticulous task of cleaning FLAXY1 wearing the grime and bugs spatter of two thousand kilometres of interstate travel. He did beneath the bonnet first, locking the bonnet down after he had finished, he didn't want Jodi to inadvertently stumble on a long time secret.