Dark Desert Road is a gripping, high-stakes crime thriller by TIM AYLIFFE, where the main character searching for a missing family member trespasses on a desolate town in the midst of gang warfare.

Read on for an extract from Chapter One.

 

 

ABOUT THE BOOK

Kit McCarthy hasn’t seen her identical twin sister, Billie, in more than a decade. The sisters don’t see eye to eye, which is understandable, considering Kit’s a police officer and Billie followed their violent father into a life of crime.

Kit is no angel. Burnt out by years working in child protection, she has been accused of using excessive force in the arrest of a violent drunk. Kit has just been ordered to take time off work when she gets a frantic message from Billie, telling her she has a young son and that somebody is trying to kill her. And then Billie disappears.

Determined to find her estranged sister, Kit’s only lead comes after visiting their father in prison. Malcolm McCarthy claims Billie married a former United States Marine and has been living with a group of sovereign citizens in the desert country of the New South Wales Riverina.

Kit’s journey to find Billie takes her through shuttered towns destroyed by drought, where everybody owns guns, nobody talks to cops, and people get lost for a reason. Out here a war is brewing between a ruthless bikie gang and a separatist community that is re-engaging with society in the most violent way.

Kit will risk everything to find her sister and the nephew she never knew she had. But does Billie really want to be saved?

 

Read our book review of Dark Desert Road

 

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EXTRACT

 

PROLOGUE

 

THERE WAS NO way out.

Trapped inside a stranger’s suitcase, curled into a ball, knees touching her chin, she could only listen as he tore through the hotel, room by room. Hunting.

The pain was almost unbearable. Steel bars digging into her side; her neck and shoulders aching as she tried to remain still, knowing any movement, any sound, might give her away. She was a long way from home. This wasn’t where she was supposed to be. Not in this town. And certainly not in this coffin-like space.

She knew this feeling. She’d been here before. Cowering with her sister in the room they’d shared as children, holding each other tightly as they waited for the shooting and screaming to stop. Arguments that descended into the violence that would tear their family apart.

If only her sister were here. She would know what to do.

She always did.

Had she received the message? Was she coming? Would she know how to find her?

Only strangers were here now. And him.

She knew what would happen if he found her. He would take her out into the desert and kill her.

Because she knew his secret.

The voices and footsteps were getting louder. Closer. The door clicked open.

He was here.

 

Chapter One: The Courier

 

THE LAST TIME he was here he had a balaclava over his head, a gun in his hand and a backpack filled with jewellery he’d stolen from old widows in Double Bay.

That was twelve years ago and he’d managed to get away with it. Hocked the watches, necklaces and earrings to a jeweller in Chinatown for a tenth of their value. Seeing only a hundred grand from a million-dollar score was a fat pill that almost made him choke. But he’d known there was no point haggling over stolen goods and he’d been desperate for cash.

Yet Mitch Baker never forgot anything. Two years later, he hit that same store in Chinatown as payback, but the jeweller had cops on his payroll and, even with a guilty plea and good behaviour, Mitch had lost six years of his life to Goulburn Jail.

If you’d asked Mitch, he’d tell you everything happened for a reason. Because he’d made good friends inside. And found his new mission in life.

It was almost eight o’clock on Tuesday morning and Mitch was steering his motorcycle along a narrow street lined with European cars and Teslas in the hills above Double Bay. The red-brick apartments were throwing shade across the street, along with the canopy of centuries-old trees that fought to keep the suburb cooler on days when the harbour breeze wasn’t blowing.

Sydney summers were always sweltering, but the persistent westerly transporting hot air and dust from the desert made today a scorcher. Even with the wind in his face, Mitch could feel the sweat trickling down his back and stinging his eyes.

But nothing would distract him from the task at hand.

Mitch had been out of prison for four years and had a sense of purpose he hadn’t experienced since he was a soldier.

After a few hundred metres, the apartments gave way to double garages and rendered mansions that climbed up and down the hill. Mitch had memorised the address and knew he was close.

A few more turns and he arrived at the house, parking his motorcycle between a four-wheel drive and a van, the bike’s rear tyre facing the kerb for a quick getaway.

Then footsteps. A child running.

The first delivery was always going to be the hardest, but Mitch was calm and focused. It was just like his days in Afghanistan lying on his stomach in the rocky dirt, staring at Taliban through the crosshairs of his rifle scope, ready to fulfil his duty to kill.

Leaving his helmet on his head, with the tinted visor lowered, he paused as he unclipped the box from the carrier tray, noticing the tattoo showing in the gap between his glove and leather jacket. He pulled down the sleeve. He grabbed his clipboard, placing it on top of the box, before gently lifting it from the carrier, the bottles of cheap wine they’d placed inside jangling like they were supposed to.

Mitch was walking with his head down and eyes up as he covered the short distance between the driveway and the door, careful not to let the cameras get a good look at his face through the helmet’s tinted glass.

There was another camera in the intercom by the front door and he kept his head pointing to the side as he rang the bell.

Peering through the window, he could see the morning sun blasting light through the house from the east and the yacht masts rocking in the bay.

Then footsteps. A child running.

They knew there would be children in the house. Sally, aged eight, and Jack, thirteen.

The door opened with a rush of air-conditioned cool and a girl in a school uniform who Mitch guessed was Sally was staring up at him, a confident smile on her face.

‘Hi. Have you got a delivery for us?’

‘I do,’ Mitch said. ‘Are your mummy and daddy home?’

‘They’re just getting ready.’

‘Can you please get one of them for me? I need a signature.’

He also wanted confirmation the package was being delivered to the right place.

‘Is it wine?’ Sally said. ‘They’re always buying wine.’

‘I think it is.’

Sally rolled her eyes and took a few steps backwards, calling for her mother to come to the door.

Seconds later a woman in a suit with tired eyes and messy hair appeared. Jennifer Broderick SC. New South Wales Director of Public Prosecutions. Mitch recognised her instantly from her profile on the DPP’s website and the video clips he’d watched online.

‘Hey, sorry about that,’ Broderick said, giving Mitch an embarrassed smile. ‘We’re a bit behind this morning.’

‘All good. Want me to put this down inside?’

‘Thanks.’

She pulled the door wide open, pointing at a space beside a table with a bowl of keys and a stack of unopened mail.

Mitch grabbed the clipboard, holding it out and pointing at the spot for her to sign her name.

‘Don’t you guys use machines for signatures now?’

‘Mine’s broken,’ Mitch said, tapping the glass covering his face. ‘Like the visor on my helmet. Not much working today.’

‘Penfolds?’ Broderick said, signing her name and smiling at her daughter. ‘I don’t remember this one. Maybe Dad ordered it.’

Sally rolled her eyes. ‘Sure.’

Mitch took back the clipboard. ‘Thanks.’

He heard the door close behind him as he walked up the path towards his motorcycle. Throwing his leg over the seat, he turned the key and the engine rattled to life.

With the motorcycle humming between his thighs, he reached into his pocket, finding the old Nokia phone that was only good for text messages and calls. He turned the phone on, waiting for it to connect before dialling the only number programmed in the address book, staring at the screen, confirming it connected before ending the call and placing the phone back inside his pocket.

He shoved the motorcycle into gear and it roared back along Edgecliff Road.

Mitch had almost made it to the junction when he heard the explosion, glancing at his side mirror at the plume of smoke thundering into the sky.

 

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Tim Ayliffe is an award-winning author whose thriller novels have been informed by his 25-year global career as a journalist. He writes about crime, espionage, extremism and the global power games at play in the 21st century. He has been the Managing Editor of Television and Video for ABC News and also Executive Producer of News Breakfast. He is the author of the John Bailey series including The Greater Good, State of Fear, The Enemy Within, Killer Traitor Spy – which won the People’s Choice Award at the 2024 Danger Awards – and The Wrong Man. Tim’s thrillers are also in development for TV.

Visit Tim’s website HERE.