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WHITE CHRISTMAS

Sparrow was released after four hours, indignant and pissed off, but free to fulfil his mission. He took a train to Newcastle, checked into a cheap hotel and phoned Rafael, updating him. Instantly suspicious, Rafael advised him to check his bags for a tracking chip. Paranoid at the best of times, Sparrow chaotically rifled through his clothes, before flinging them onto the floor, then held the suitcase up to the light, twisting and turning it in every direction. Finally he gave up, still unconvinced his suitcase was free of spy devices.

The next day he confronted the surfer, who explained that trusting his sharply honed instincts, he’d been sure the blow was hot, and rejected the package when FedEx tried to deliver it. Using Rafael’s system, the surfer’s name was written incorrectly, so he could deny ownership if he felt it necessary. Forty-five minutes later he’d seen a suspicious car lurking around the corner. Something was off. He felt convinced the cops were ready to snap on a bracelet the split-second after he accepted the package. So he hadn’t. For extra caution, he’d also cut all contact with Rafael in case calls were being traced. Sparrow understood, but his mission was incomplete until the surfer phoned Rafael. He did that night. Rafael was disappointed. It was a big loss, but better than a bust.

Now, Sparrow couldn’t wait to leave Sydney. It was cold and unfriendly, not like he’d imagined. But his quick turnaround sparked suspicion again at the airport. He was questioned and his bags taken off for a search. In his conspiratorial mind, he was sure they were removing the tracking chip. He lost it, yelling that he didn’t like the country, and was leaving fast because he was treated like a criminal, humiliated, and it was cold.