They see smoke. A small plume above the shimmering desert.

The Landcruiser pulls off the road. The clouds are set like oily rags against the sky.

The rattling of the 4.2 litre diesel was replaced by silence and the twittering of a zebra finches in a nearby bush and the clinking of hot metal from the nearby wreck. A pair of dusty boots, grimy socks and chapped legs emerged from the 4WD, followed by a lanky frame clad in khaki shorts, a sweat-stained shirt and weathered hat above his battered face and laconic blue eyes.

The shell of the ute lay upside down, smoke pouring out from what was left of one of the rear tyres. Stepping carefully, Troy approached the cabin. It was bent out of shape by the weight of the vehicle. Shattered window glass crunched under his boots.

He dropped down onto one knee. No bodies. For which he was grateful. After attending countless accidents during his twenty year service, he had come to loath both the sight and smell of burning flesh.

What’s with all those wires and boxes?

There was something else ticking away in the back of his mind. Standing up, contemplated the scrubland around him.

The footprints. Or, rather, the lack thereof.

With the exception of his own bootprints and some dainty imprints left by bird feet, the soft island of red sand surrounding the cabin remained as unblemished as a baby’s bottom.

“Dixie,” he called back towards the Landcruiser, “You’d better come and have a look.”

His new offsider. His boss said they were lucky to have Dixie. She had an impressive file. All the way from Charles Sturt University, complete with Batchelor of Policing (Investigations) and top of her class in computer wizardry.

But she had thrown up four times last week. Fair enough, there was blood spattered all over the living room wall. But then to nearly pass out at the mortuary the very next day – He was thinking she wasn’t going to cut it.

She was built lean and slight like a ferret, with fair skin and fine blonde hairs down her arms and an intense look in her grey eyes. He would wager his Friday night drinks money that her body was decorated with tattoos.

“Anyone inside?” she asked hesitantly, not trusting herself to look into the grimy interior without his prior reassurance.

“Have a look at this.”

He pointed down to the molten mess of wiring and blackened boxes inside.

Down on her haunches, Dixie stared into the cabin.

“Well?” asked the Detective Sergeant.

“Hmmmm,” she said after a long pause.

“And?”

She cleared her throat.

“Well, I’ve not seen anything like this before. But there looks to be a USB port. Would it be okay if I hook up a download cable?”

“Only if you can do it without touching anything,” he said.

“Sure. I’ll grab my computer and a cable from the vehicle.”

She strode purposefully back to the Landcruiser.

Scanning the ground for footprints, he headed for the patch of mulga scrub near the road.

The patch of bush was surrounded by wind-blown spinifex and stood only a little taller than he was, but seemed the obvious place an injured person would seek shelter whilst waiting for help.

Looking into the cool dark of the mulga grove, he stood ramrod still whilst the image played in his brain in a series of jerks. Like when he was a kid watching his grandpa’s old projector playing family movies.

Except this was definitely not family viewing material.

She looked to be in her early twenties. He could smell the pleasing aroma of coconut oil from her naked skin.  She had been meticulously trussed and suspended in such a way as to look like she was kneeling in midair, her back towards him, her head hanging forwards in supplication.

Intricate coils of rope created a scaffold across the back of her shoulders. A riser on each side suspended her kneeling body from the mulga branch above. Her arms were tied across her glistening back, crisscrossed in complete symmetry. Each leg had been folded closed on itself like a jackknife and carefully bound. A rope stretched out laterally from each knee to the mulga trunks alongside, parting her legs so that he could see her vulva silhouetted in the small gap below her naked buttocks.

He removed his hat and tossed it outside the grove. Ducking his head, he moved closer, taking care to avoid overprinting the shoeprints in the sand. Already knowing the answer, he reached out anyway and lightly touched one of her bound hands, before retreating backwards out of the little glade of cold death.

He summonsed Dixie with the camera.

“Oh God. Fucking hell, who would know about kinbaku out here?” she whispered, almost reverentially.

“What the hell is kinbake?”

“Kinbaku. Also known as shibari. The art of decorative rope binding. From the Edo period when Japanese guards tied up their prisoners for entertainment.”

“Did the Japanese kill them, using this kinbaku thing?”

“No, they were meant to stay alive.”

Dixie threaded her way around the grove, taking photos of the body and surrounding footprints from all angles.

Although he hated to admit it, Troy knew he’d have to get outside help with this one. He had not dealt with a ritualistic killing before, never before a death scene so detached and unemotional, nor a perpetrator this calculating and stylish.

As the afternoon winds jostled the leaves above her body, an oval of sunlight slid back and forth across the nape of the girl’s neck, turning her outer skin translucent under the bright glow.

He drew a sudden intake of breath.

“Dixie,” he said.

“Yes boss?”

“Are you done with the photos?”

“Yeah.”

He moved up close to examine her neck, so close that her slightly swaying buttocks felt like they were only a bull ant’s butt from his own body.

“Zhang,” he breathed.

“What did you say?” Dixie asked.

“Zhang,” he said. “She’s Zhang damn it. That’s the chip.”

He stood back whilst Dixie took some closeups of the tiny rectangular shape beneath the skin.

“I’ll get my BID,” she said.

“Your what?”

“My BID, my Bio Interrogation Device.” Her eyes bright with excitement.

“Well, well, go get it then,” he said shaking his head in disbelief.

How had she managed to get that? Off the dark web, no doubt.

But even so, a BID! Shit, even the Special Investigations guys couldn’t get their hands on one of those. Or maybe they could, but were too scared.

Dixie returned. It was the size and shape of a silver cigarette lighter, sleek and smooth. She held it up to the girl’s nape and a little orange light started flashing.

At which point the wap-wap-wap of an approaching helicopter shattered the outback silence.

Like when a swaggering pride of lions shows up at a carcase, things were about to get a whole lot more interesting.

Troy retrieved his hat, pressed it firmly onto his grizzled head and squinted up into the sky. There were two of them, flying in such tight formation that their rotor tips were almost touching.

One large, one a bit smaller. Both yellow. Both Zhang.

“Jesus,” he breathed, turning back to Dixie. “Hurry the fuck up,” he said urgently.

A few agonising seconds later the flashing light turned green and Dixie pocketed the device.

The large heli landed first, vanishing behind a cloud of red dust. Then the smaller one touched down. A dozen z-bots emerged from its dust cloud, fanning out with geometric precision.

“Please do not move. We are here on official business. Any interference will be considered an act of aggression and treated accordingly.”