I went on a bit and tucked the Falcon away off the road under some trees. I took the Smith amp; Wesson. 38 out from under the dashboard, checked it over, and walked back. Half a mile along the track dropped sharply; at the foot of the hill there was a tree-fringed clearing and the van was pulled up in the middle of it. Short was mounting a camera in a tree on the left. I watched from cover up above the clearing. He fiddled, went into the clearing, went back and then he got a second camera and stuck that in a tree on the other side. Next he took a carbine from the van, checked its action and hung it over his shoulder. He took out a small box, flicked a switch and counted to ten. His voice boomed out over the grass and set birds fluttering in the trees. He leaned back against the van pulled down his goggles and looked at his watch.

Ten minutes later a green Holden came over the hill. It pulled up on the edge of the clearing and two men got out; they wore business shirts and ties, and looked bulky and tough. Short’s voice crackled out towards them.

‘Stop’, he said. ‘Cameras on the right and left, take a look.’ Their eyes swung off and Short unslung his carbine.

‘The cameras are filming. There’s a third one somewhere else.’ He lifted the rifle. ‘I used one of these in Vietnam. You get the picture?’

One of the men nodded and held up a manila envelope.

‘Right’, Short said. ‘Give it to your mate. You, bring it here.’ He pointed with the rifle to a spot on the ground in front of him.

The envelope changed hands and the shorter of the two men came forward and held it over the place Short had indicated. He said something which I couldn’t hear. Short spoke into the box again: ‘Back on the right hand side of the road, three tenths of a mile back you’ll see a kerosene tin. It’s in there.’