by Gary Gregor
“The tax payers?”
Barker nodded. “That’s my guess,” he said. “Unless you want to pay it out of your own pocket,” he added sarcastically.
“What?”
“Never mind,” Barker explained. “Where the money comes from is irrelevant. We don’t pay ransom money to kidnappers.”
“What?”
“We don’t pay ransom demands,” Barker repeated. He reached for the file on his desk and removed a photograph. “They sent this along with the ransom demand.” He handed the photo to Cornwell.
Cornwell studied the photo of Tracy Cartwright bound to a chair. “Who is this?” he asked.
“Her name is Tracy Cartwright. She is the school teacher at Haasts Bluff. I must say, I’m a little surprised you didn’t know that, being the Minister for Education.”
“Are you being sarcastic, Superintendent?” Cornwell scowled.
Barker shrugged. “Perhaps a little, Minister.”
“I cannot surely be expected to know every teacher in the education system,” Cornwell said defiantly.
“Of course,” Barker conceded reluctantly. “I apologise.”
“Two million dollars!” Cornwell said again. “It’s outrageous!”
“About as outrageous as you consuming buckets of tax payers’ money flying all over the place on your so-called education conference. Nothing but a lavish holiday jaunt if you ask me.” Barker thought, just managing to hold his cynicism in check. “Forgive me, Minister, but you seem more concerned about the ransom money than you do about the teacher and her students. The money is irrelevant,” he repeated. “Our priority is to find the teacher and her class of young children.”
“I’m not concerned about the ransom money,” Cornwell insisted. “If it has to come from General Revenue, so be it.”
Barker pushed his chair back a little and glared at Cornwell. “Let me make myself perfectly clear, Minister,” he said. “There will be no ransom paid!”
“But… but…” Cornwell stammered. ‘We need to get the teacher and all her students back. You must pay the ransom!”
“Yes, we do need to get them back. But we will do it without paying any ransom.”
Cornwell rose from his chair. “I will speak with the Chief Minister when I get back to Darwin.”
“I have already spoken to the Chief Minister,” Barker said. “He is in full agreement with me.” He paused. “Apparently he has been trying to contact you but it seems your phone is turned off.”
“I turned it off last night so I would not be disturbed. I will call him as soon as I get back to my room. I will change his mind on the ransom thing.”
“Good luck with that,” Barker said. “The Chief Minister also asked me to inform you that you are to remain here in Alice Springs until we locate the teacher and the children.”
“I don’t think so,” Cornwell responded. “I have a plane to catch.”
“Would you like me to get the Chief Minister back on the phone before you leave? You can confirm it with him.”
Cornwell sat back down and slumped in his chair. “Fuckin’ hell!” he cursed. “What the fuck am I expected to do? You are the police. It’s your job to find them. I need to be in Fiji.”
“With respect, Minister, you need to be here in Alice Springs, and you need to be on call so I can pass on any updates. I will be holding a media release later this afternoon and I would like you to be there.”
If it were possible, Cornwell slumped even further in his chair. “Fuckin’ hell!” he mumbled again.
A brief, uncomfortable silence followed before Cornwell pushed himself awkwardly from his chair and stood. “Is that all?” he asked.
Barker remained seated. “We have every available officer working on finding the teacher and her class. We have also brought many officers on leave back on duty. Please leave your contact number with the constable at the front counter. When I have more news, I will pass it on to you.”
Cornwell turned to leave.
“Oh, and by the way,” Barker said to Cornwell’s back. “Turn you phone on.”
17
Mark Thomas entered the small accommodation unit he shared with Liam Frayne, located amongst a small group of similar units behind the Tilmouth Well Roadhouse. He sat on the edge of his bed. And looked across at Frayne, sitting opposite on his own bed.
Frayne finished tying the laces on his boots, sat upright, and looked at Thomas. “How did it go?” he asked.
“Signal wasn’t strong,” Thomas answered, “but the message went through.”
“Both messages?”
“Yeah, the ransom note, and photo went through to Alice Springs and confirmation went through to Craig.”
“Good, now we wait,” Frayne said.
“Yeah, we wait. Are you ready to go?”
“Yeah, I’m ready. But I would prefer to wait here than travel back to Alice Springs.”
“You know the plan,” Thomas said. “If the cops manage to triangulate the phone text and discover where it originated, they will be all over this place like flies on camel shit. If that happens, we need to be long gone.”
“I know,” Frayne reluctantly agreed. “It’s a pity though. I like it out here.”
“In the desert?”
“Yeah, there’s something about the place. I’m not sure what it is exactly…”
“Like the barmaid?” Thomas suggested.
Frayne smiled. “Well, she is hot.”
“Yeah, she is,” Thomas agreed. “But, it’s the kind of heat that will burn us bigtime.”
“I know,” Frayne said. “Maybe I’ll come back here when this is all over.”
“Why?” Thomas asked. “You’ll have plenty of cash. You could have any girl you want. This one is a back-packer working her way around the country. She’ll probably be gone if you do come back here.”
Frayne grabbed his small over-night bag and crossed to the door. “Still, it would have been nice,” he said. He turned and looked back at Thomas. “Come on, don’t just stand there, we gotta go!”
Thomas followed Frayne out the door and closed it behind him. “I suppose you want to stop by the bar and say goodbye to your girlfriend.”
“No,” Frayne said. “You’ve made your point. I hate to break the girl’s heart but she’s going to have to continue her travels without me.”
“I’m sure she will be devastated at the thought,” Thomas laughed.
There were three uniformed police officers at the scene of the burnt-out bus; one taking photographs from the outside of the charred shell, another leaned against a parked police vehicle taking notes, and the third stood in the middle of the road directing the approaching four-wheel-drive to slow down and pull over to the side of the road.
Liam Frayne slowed, steered the vehicle to the verge, and stopped. “What the fuck do these pricks want?” he murmured softly.
“It’s just a routine check,” Thomas said. “They’ll stop everyone who comes through here. Just be cool and we’ll be on our way.”
Frayne wound the window down and watched the cop approach and stop alongside the driver’s door.
“Good morning,” the cop greeted.
“G’day, mate,” Frayne said. He pointed to the remains of the school bus. “Looks like you chaps have a problem.”
“Where you headed?” the cop asked.
“Alice Springs,” Frayne answered.
The cop leaned forward and looked past Frayne, across to Thomas in the passenger seat. “Where have you come from today?” he asked.
“We spent the night at Tilmouth Well,” Thomas said. “We’re heading back to the Alice.”
“What have you been doing way out here?”
“Looking for work,” Thomas said. “We thought we might be able to pick up a bit of work at one of the cattle stations out here.”
“Any luck?”
“No,” Frayne said. “Seems it’s not the right time of the year. We might come back and try again later in the year.”
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br /> “You live in Alice Springs?”
Frayne nodded “Yeah,” he said. “For the moment, anyway. We’re traveling the Territory, hoping to pick up some work here and there.”
The cop smiled. “Boys own adventure, eh?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“What happened here?” Thomas asked, indicating the bus.
The cop turned his head and looked back at the bus. “You haven’t seen the news?” he asked, looking back at Thomas.
“No, the vehicle radio has crap reception. Nothing but static,” Thomas answered.
“What about Tilmouth Well? I know they’ve got a television in the roadhouse. It’s been all over the news.”
“We’re not much for television,” Thomas explained. “Had a couple of beers and crashed out for the night.”
“Someone snatched a bus load of school kids and their teacher,” the cop said. He indicated the bus. “Burned the evidence.”
“Shit!” Frayne exclaimed. “Where are the kids and the teacher?”
“We’re looking,” the cop said. “Have you seen any vehicle large enough to transport a large group of people?”
“What sort of vehicle?”
“A large vehicle. A large van. Maybe a covered truck, like a furniture truck or something similar.”
“Sorry, no,” Frayne said. “We haven’t noticed anything like that.” He turned to Thomas. “Have we?”
“No, sorry officer,” Thomas said.
“Mind if I take a quick look in the back?” the cop asked.
Frayne shrugged. “Sure, go ahead. All we got is a couple of overnight bags and a couple of spare tyres. Pretty rough country out here. You need a couple of spare tyres.”
“Well, it pays to be prepared,” The cop said. He stepped to the rear of the vehicle and quickly examined the contents of the cargo area. Seemingly satisfied, he stepped back to the window. He reached into his pocket, took out a small, square, green card and passed it to Frayne. “Take this card,” he said. “We have a road-block set up at the junction with the Stuart Highway. Show them this card and they won’t hold you up.”
Frayne took the card, it was a plain, green card bearing the NT Police logo on one side. He looked briefly at it and dropped it on the dash. “Thanks, mate,” he said. “Good luck with the search. I hope everything turns out well.”
“Oh, it will,” the cop said. “We’ll find the arseholes. Have a good trip and I hope you find some work.” He stepped away from the vehicle and indicated for Frayne to continue on slowly past the bus.
“Arseholes?” Frayne muttered. “The prick called us arseholes!”
“He doesn’t know who we are,” Thomas said. “That has to be a good thing.”
“I’d still love to shove a stick up his arsehole!” Frayne snarled.
Frayne and Thomas traveled on in relative silence, the sound of the wind rushing past the open passenger side window and the deep throb of the diesel engine provided the only noise in the cabin of the four-wheel-drive.
Mark Thomas had his head turned away from the front and sat staring out through the open window at the hot, dry landscape rushing past. For a long while, there was no conversation between himself and Frayne.
Finally, Frayne turned his head and looked across at Thomas. “Everything all right?” he asked his friend.
“What?” Thomas said.
“You seem unusually quiet. Pre-occupied. Is everything okay?”
Thomas turned in his seat and re-focused his attention on the road ahead. “Yeah, everything is fine,” he answered in a voice that carried little conviction.
“You sure?” Frayne pushed.
For a few moments, Thomas remained silent. Then he looked across at Frayne. “I’ve been thinking about the teacher and the kids,” he announced.
“Really?”
“Yeah, really.”
“What about them?” Frayne asked.
“I’ve been thinking about killing them.”
Frayne did not respond immediately as he thought about the meaning behind Thomas’s words. “You don’t have to think about killing them,” he said finally. “That’s my job.”
“I know that,” Thomas said a tad too forcefully. “I was thinking about whether we should kill them at all.”
“Are you serious?” Frayne asked.
Thomas shrugged. “Yeah… well, maybe. I mean… why don’t we just let them go as soon as we get the money?”
“Where the fuck is this coming from?” Frayne asked. “We have a plan, for Christ’s sake! We get the money and then we kill the hostages. That’s the plan. We discussed it in detail before we even started this thing! You know the fuckin’ plan, Mark!”
“Yeah, I know the plan,” Thomas agreed.
“So, what the fuck is this about?”
“I don’t know,” Thomas answered with a shrug. “I guess it’s because they are all just little kids. Innocent little kids.”
“If we let them go, they can identify us,” Frayne explained. “Especially Craig. “They’ve seen his face. They’ve all seen his face. If we let them go, we are going to spend the next thirty years in prison!”
“I know… I know,” Thomas said. “It’s just… I don’t know… the thought of killing them all scares the shit out of me.”
“You don’t have to do it, Mark. That’s my job.”
“I know that too,” Thomas insisted. “But the fact that it won’t be me pulling the trigger doesn’t make me feel any better about it.”
Frayne sighed deeply. “Look, mate,” he said. “I understand you are uncomfortable with killing the kids, and the teacher. But, if we let them go, we might just as well walk into the police station and hand ourselves over, because they will find us. And, I for one am not going to spend the next twenty-five or thirty years as the love child of some hairy-arse, ex-bikie gorilla in prison!”
“Okay… okay,” Thomas said. “Let’s just forget I brought it up.”
“Don’t fuck this up, Mark,” Frayne warned. “Don’t throw it all away because you’ve gone all soft and gooey all of a sudden.”
“You know Craig feels the same way I do about it, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I know he does,” Frayne agreed. “But we have a plan. We spent a long time fine tuning it. We can’t change ships mid-stream!”
“I know. Sorry,” Thomas said. “How about we change the subject?”
“Good idea,” Frayne said. “You still got the phone?”
Thomas fumbled in his pocket and removed the mobile phone. “Yeah, got it here,” he held the phone up.
“Toss it,” Frayne said.
Thomas opened the back of the phone and removed the SIM card. He tossed the tiny card aside on the dash, wiped the phone clean with his shirt tail and flung it out the open window. “There, gone,” he announced.
“Good,” Frayne said. “Wait half an hour and then get rid of the SIM card.”
18
The morning was passing agonisingly slowly, and with all the children now awake, toileted, and fed, Tracy found herself wondering how she was going to entertain eleven scared and confused children. In the classroom situation, it was sometimes difficult to get them to settle down and concentrate on their lessons, particularly at the start of the school day. They would laugh, joke and interact with each other like they hadn’t seen their friends for several weeks. This was different. This was not the classroom, and the children were not their usual exuberant, boisterous selves. There was a stillness; a quiet, incongruous hush among the group. The silence was not complete, but the snippets of conversation that did reach Tracy were restrained and softly uttered. It was almost like anything they did say was a secret and should only be spoken of in whispered tones.
They had no school books; this excursion was not about text books, or structured lessons. It was a day trip. Such excursions were for forging and hopefully cementing friendships with like-minded students from a neighboring village, and for partaking in friendly rivalry in various spor
ting games. Besides, any school books the children might have carried in their respective backpacks were left on the bus. Somehow, Tracy had to entertain her charges. How she was going to do that, and for how long, she did not know.
The man who ushered them all into this awful place had not come back since he clanged the heavy door shut and slid the locking bolt home almost twenty-four hours ago. Tracy had no way of knowing if he was still in the outer room. Maybe he left. Maybe he locked them in the room and left. Maybe he was never coming back. Of course he was coming back, she reasoned. He probably never left. There was a camp-stretcher in the outer room. She saw it when he put them all in this room. He must have slept there. He had to be still out there somewhere. Would he come and check on them? Surely he would. They were his prisoners; he would make occasional checks on his hostages. That’s what hostage-takers do. Eventually, he would come back and check on them. Wouldn’t he?
Silently, Tracy admonished herself for her weakness. This was no time to lose control of her emotions. She had eleven children looking for her to provide leadership and comfort.
Her mattress was close to the locked door; between the door and the children at the opposite end of the room. She leaned towards the door, straining to hear any sounds from the outer room. There was nothing. No squeaking stretcher, no sounds of footsteps. Nothing. She sat up straight and glanced across at the children. It seemed they were all watching her. Were they waiting for her to do something? What? What was she going to do? Perhaps some oral tests. She could make tests seem like fun. These were young children and, while young children everywhere were easily bored, they could be just as easily entertained. Perhaps some oral tests on the animals found in the Northern Territory; like camels, kangaroos, emus, wedge-tail eagles, crocodiles and rock wallabies. She could make it fun for them. She was good at it.
Then, she heard it again. That sound from above; the exhaust fan turning slowly in the ceiling above the centre of the room. Tracy absently fingered the Swiss Army Knife she took from John Jabaldjari. Was it possible, she wondered, not for the first time? Was this a way out of this place? It was small, however. She would never fit through the hole even if it did lead to the surface outside. Perhaps one of the smaller children would fit. Could she do that? Could she ask one of the children to climb through the hole, hopefully reach the surface and go for help? Perhaps the hole behind the vent was bigger than it seemed. Perhaps the surface was closer than she imagined. Perhaps several of the smaller children could get out. They could go for help together. Had to be a better idea than sending one lone child on a journey to who knows where?