Rain tumbled down on the white limousine as it made its way through Melbourne’s busy streets, the lights of a dozen vehicles flaring in her vision. Rylee glanced down at her watch as she pulled in behind the stretch limo, now stopped at a red light. The watch’s smart interface lit up intuitively, revealing the information she needed.
Dirk Bradshaw, operating under the alias of Tyrone. 35 and newly divorced, with dyed-silver hair because he thought it made him look cool. Ten years ago, he left a car servicing workshop in the Bentleigh area to join the Conclave of Mechanists. Since then, he’d been serving in their ranks as a recruitment officer. His latest target: Cosmo the Kobold.
The lights went green and the limo continued its crawl through peak-hour traffic. Rylee let the vehicle get ahead, weaving between other cars with her motorcycle, never letting the long stretch of white leave her vision. Rain splattered against her leather jacket, properly conditioned to withstand the falling tears as the clouds wept.
Cars had once been her thing, but after so many duds, with constant visits to the auto shop after breakdowns, she’d made the switch of bikes and hadn’t ever looked back. Better for tailing people, anyway. Of course, she’d ruined a handful of leather jackets on days just like this, before someone had pointed out that you can take measures to keep them protected against Melbourne’s continual drizzle. Genuine lifesaver, that one.
The limo indicated left, onto the freeway that would cut through Melbourne’s southeast suburbs, eventually leading out to Gippsland.
Where are you going? It seems like he’s going to visit Bentleigh auto electrical.
If the limo continued in that direction, it would eventually reach Wilsons Promontory. The Bass Strunnel – could that be where they were headed? Did they hope to cross beneath the sea, through the Bass Strait, and go to Tasmania?
Not if Rylee could help it.