by Gary Gregor
Later, Garrett would destroy his own phone by smashing it and scattering the pieces across the desert. There had to be no way the police could trace his whereabouts. The phones were disposable throw-aways, planned to be used only for short text messages and then destroyed.
From Alice Springs, Thomas and Frayne would head back along the Tanami Road, make their way to the designated drop point, pick up the ransom money, and return to the abandoned Lake Lewis military training base. There, Frayne would do what he had to do. He would enter the room where Tracy and the children were being held and he would, without a moment’s hesitation, kill them all. Tracy would be surprised to see Liam Frayne, Garrett supposed. The man she was convinced once tried to hit on her was going to kill her, and her students.
Garrett was still uncomfortable about the plan to kill them all. He liked Tracy. She was scared but she was feisty. Fiercely protective of her students, he guessed she would go to any lengths to keep them safe. His contact with her up to this point had been brief but it was enough for him to realise that, beneath the obvious signs of fear and confusion, she was a nice person. Her devotion to the children in her care and to the responsibilities of her position as their teacher was admirable, he thought. Perhaps when Frayne and Thomas arrived, he would try again to convince Frayne that killing them all was not such a good idea. If in the unlikely event they were caught before Frayne had the chance to do what he wanted to do, they would spend the next twenty years or so in prison. On the other hand, if they were caught after Frayne had killed them all, the three of them may never be released. They would rot in prison until they died of old age.
Despite his past experiences in combat, killing people was never pleasant. It mattered not to Garrett that those he killed in combat were trying to kill him and his comrades. Killing anyone was a stomach churning, mind-numbing thing to do. For some strange reason, Liam Frayne never found it that way. Frayne enjoyed the killing side of war. He could kill the enemy, walk away smiling, and never think about it again; until the next time.
Garrett walked slowly to the top of the short ramp and stopped. Off to his right, the large expanse of the currently dry, ephemeral salt-lake, Lake Lewis, a complex system of salt-pans, and claypans, shimmered in the afternoon sun, breaking the monotony of a desolate, dry, mostly featureless landscape stretching across hundreds of square kilometres in front of him.
On the distant horizon, at the northern end of Lake Lewis, the faint, purple silhouette of Mount Liebig slowly grew darker against the clear blue sky. Thoroughly researched and visited by Garrett, Thomas, and Frayne in the weeks leading up to the bus hijack, Mount Liebig was where they would collect the ransom money.
Garrett stared at the distant silhouette. A hint of a satisfactory smile formed on his lips. Soon this will be over. Soon his two best friends and he could leave the Territory and never return. They would have money; not a vast fortune but enough for each of them to set themselves up for a better, more secure future. Fuck the army and fuck their miserable pension. He deserved this. He risked his life for his country. Killed for his country. Watched his friends die for their country. It was unjust that he should be treated the way he was by the army, and by the government. It was unjust the way all soldiers were treated on their return from a war zone by the government who sent them there in the first place. They had to pay. Two million dollars was never going to break the government. They had plenty of money – and none of it theirs. They were more than happy to freely give billions of tax-payer funded aid to overseas countries who were never going to respond in any real beneficial way for Australia but they were unwilling to financially help the men and women who put their lives on the line for their homeland. Fuckin’ bullshit, that’s what it was. Fuckin’ bullshit!
A sound brought him back from wherever his mind had wandered. It was faint, but it was definitely a sound. It came from behind him. He cocked his head and listened. There it was again. Very faint but audible and incongruous against the profound silence of the surrounding countryside. Someone was calling to him. He turned away from the vista to his front and looked down the ramp at the open entrance to container one. It had to be the teacher he guessed. The voice, dampened by the heavy, steel confines of the third container, was muffled. From her position deep inside the complex, her words were unclear as she called out, trying to contact him.
“What now?” Garrett murmured softly as he turned away from the desert and walked back down the ramp.
Tracy felt her voice starting to break. She was standing up close to the locked door and had been calling loudly for several minutes. Was there still anyone out there, she wondered? Had the man left and abandoned them all to die a slow miserable death of thirst, or starvation, or suffocation from lack of clean, fresh air? Horrible mental pictures were developing in her mind. Why would he leave them all here? No, he wasn’t going to leave them. If that were his intention, he would have done it soon after he locked them all in this awful room. Wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t have stayed around if he intended for them all to die a long, insufferable death. What would that be like, she wondered? Who would die first? The smallest and the weakest child, she supposed. How could she, and the remaining children, just watch that happen and not be able to help the dying child? They would all know then that their own time was fast approaching. How could anyone, anyone with any sense of compassion, leave them locked in this room to die?
Tracy did not know the man holding them prisoner here. She did not know what sort of man he was other than he was prepared to kidnap her and her whole class and hold them hostage for money. She supposed financial gain had to be his main motivation but she knew nothing of his character other than his apparent desire for riches.
There had to be a trace of decency in him somewhere, surely? Tracy believed everyone had a certain amount of human decency in them; some more than others. However, she never really thought about what bad people actually looked like. Do inherently bad people have a physical look about them that separated them from, and made them more recognisable than good people? It was not something she had ever thought about but she didn’t think so. If there was a look that distinguished a good person from a bad person, she didn’t recognise it in her captor. Notwithstanding the situation she was in, there was something, some indefinable thing about him that suggested to her that he was not a particularly bad person. What he was doing was bad, that was a given, but she felt that, inside the man, there was a good heart, a good soul. It was only instinct, of course, but she had nothing else by which to judge him.
Tracy called again, loudly. “Hey, is anyone there? Please, I need to talk to you!” She banged on the locked door with her fist. “Hey! Can you hear me? Is anyone there?”
Suddenly, she heard a sound on the other side of the door. It was the sound of the locking bolt sliding from its clasp. Tracy quickly took a pace backwards, away from the door.
The door swung open, creaking loudly on its old, rusty hinges. The man stood in the open doorway and looked at Tracy. Then he lifted his eyes and looked beyond her and saw the children, huddled close together at the far end of the room. Except for two boys.
Toby Miller and his friend John Jabaldjari stood together, perhaps a metre in front of their classmates, like they were protecting their fellow hostages; standing sentinel over them. Each boy had a somewhat contrived look on his face that said ‘don’t fuck with us, mister’.
Garrett stared at the two boys for a long moment. Two young dudes with expressions of determination on their respective faces that, no matter how hard they tried to appear unafraid, he knew they would be scared to death. Inwardly he was amused and he smiled widely. He looked back at Tracy and indicated the two boys. “What’s with Starsky and Hutch over there?”
“What?” Tracy asked as she turned and looked back at her class.
“What are they going to do?” Garrett asked. “Grimace me to death?”
“No,” Tracy answered. “They are being brave. They are looking out for their friends.”
“Admiral,” Garrett said. He looked back at Miller and Jabaldjari. “Very scary, lads. You very nearly made me turn and run away. Why don’t you step back with your friends before the wind changes and that frightful look on your faces stays with you forever.”
“Stop it!” Tracy said.
“Stop what?” Garrett asked.
“Leave the children alone. They can’t hurt you.”
“You’re right, Tracy, they can’t hurt me. They are more comical than they are scary. What was all the yelling about?”
“We need more water.”
“Water?”
“Yes, and the toilet needs emptying.”
“I left you with plenty of water,” Garrett said.
“I teach the children how important personal hygiene is. They wash their hands several times a day. Before eating, and after they use the toilet. There are twelve of us in here. We need more water.”
Garrett paused for a moment, pondering Tracy’s request. “Okay,” he said finally. “I’ll get you more water, but you need to be more careful of how you use it,” he warned. “This is the desert. You can’t just turn on a tap and have an endless supply.”
“I understand that,” Tracy said. “We will try to be more careful.”
“See,” Garrett smiled. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“What about the toilet? It needs to be emptied.”
“I can’t let you leave this room, Tracy.”
“Why can’t you do it?”
“Think about it, Tracy. If it’s full, I will need two hands to carry it out of here. I am not going to put myself in such a vulnerable position.” He glanced back at Miller and Jabaldjari. “Especially with the Batman and Robin back there.”
“Please, leave them alone,” Tracy pleaded.
“Stop fretting, Tracy. I am not going to hurt the children, or you, as long as you all cooperate.”
“How can I believe that?”
“What you believe, or don’t believe, is irrelevant to me. All I’m concerned about is that you all behave yourself while you are here. I want to be away from this place just as much as you do but certain things have to happen first.”
“What things?”
“Never mind ‘what things’, Tracy. You only need to keep the rug-rats under control for a little while longer.”
“Can we at least go outside and get some fresh air? It’s stifling hot and uncomfortable locked in here all day and all night.”
“Not going to happen, Tracy, so don’t even go there. How about you send the deadly duo into the other room to carry the toilet out here. I’ll take them outside, empty it, and they can bring back another twenty litres of water.”
“I’ll come out with you,” Tracy said.
“No, you’ll stay in here with the rest of the children. I’m going to lock the door behind us and the two lads and I will be back before you know it.”
“Please, don’t do this,” Tracy pleaded.
“Suit yourself, Tracy. I’ll leave, lock the door, and you can manage with what little water you have left and put up with an overflowing toilet.”
Tracy paused. Tears began to well up in her eyes as she struggled to maintain her composure. “Okay,” she said finally. “We’ll do it your way. Just promise me you won’t hurt the boys.”
“You have my word,” Garrett said. “Call the boys over.”
Tracy stared into Garrett’s eyes, searching for some sense of honesty. She had to do it his way. They were almost out of water and the portable toilet was beginning to smell bad. Slowly, she turned to face her class. “Toby, John, please come over here.”
Miller and Jabaldjari looked questioningly at each other, both boys unsure of what was required of them. Eventually, Miller nodded at Jabaldjari and they cautiously crossed to where Tracy and the man stood at the open doorway.
Tracy looked from one boy to the other. “Toby,” she began. “I want you to go into the next room and carefully carry the toilet out here. Can you do that?”
“Yes, miss,” Toby Miller said.
“John, will you help Toby?”
“Yes, miss,” Jabaldjari answered.
“Thank you,” Tracy smiled reassuringly at both boys. “Then I want you to go outside with this man, empty the toilet, and bring back some more water for us. Will you do that for me?”
“We’re going outside?” Miller asked.
“Just for a short while,” Tracy said. “To empty the toilet and bring back some more water for us. You will be alright. No one is going to hurt you. Do you think you can do that?”
Both boys hesitated for a moment. They exchanged glances and then answered, almost in unison. “Yes, miss.” They turned away, quickly crossed the room, and entered the fourth room.
When the boys had gone, Tracy turned back to the man. “I’m taking you at your word,” she said. “You will bring the boys back safely?”
“My word is good, Tracy. I’ll bring them back, safe and sound.”
25
Tracy watched the steel door closing, leaning around the edge as it swung shut to catch a glimpse of Toby Miller and John Jabaldjari as they left the room with the man. Ice cold fingers of apprehension clawed at her gut as the door clanged shut and the boys disappeared from view. She stood, frozen to the spot, staring at the door and listened as the bolt on the other side slid home.
Guilt! Was it guilt she felt? Or was it fear? Or was it both? Whatever it was, it was bad. Her breathing came in loud, abbreviated gasps, and a crushing, vice-like pressure across her upper body gripped her tightly causing her to involuntarily clasp her hands to her chest. She leaned over, struggling to control the erratic breathing. For a brief moment she wondered if she might be having a heart attack. “No!” she silently screamed. “Not now!”
If anything happened to Toby and John, she would never forgive herself. Why did she ever agree to let them go with the man? Would he bring them back? He said he would, but could she trust him to keep his word? He was a kidnapper! Why would she trust a kidnapper? Why would anyone trust a kidnapper? She was locked inside a small room with nine of her students and the man was outside with Toby and John – and he had a gun!
She stood upright, inhaled and exhaled deeply several times, and focused on controlling her breathing. Slowly, ever so slowly, it settled into a more normal pattern. There was nothing she could do to change the situation as it was. The boys were outside with the man, and she was inside with the rest of her class. She had no choice but to wait for the man’s return. Right now, the remaining students had to become her priority.
Tracy turned around and looked back at her class. They were all standing, huddled close together, as though each of them sought comfort from the child next to them. Like a small band of street urchins, waiflike and disheveled in their crumpled clothes and unkempt hair, every face was turned to Tracy. Nine pairs of eyes, wide and staring at her, silently pleading, looking for guidance. In the dim light, traces of dried tears glistened faintly on the cheeks of many and the vision threatened to break her heart.
She gasped softly and very nearly collapsed into a blithering, uncontrollable bout of weeping. They were all so young. So innocent, and so vulnerable.
Eleven-year-old Jet Tomlinson, the son of the assistant store keeper at Haasts Bluff, took a couple of tentative steps forward, towards Tracy. “You alright, Miss?” he asked softly.
Tracy moved closer to her class, stopped in front of Jet, and placed a hand on his young shoulder. “Yes, Jet,” she said. “I’m fine, thank you.” She cast her eyes across the faces of her students. “Toby and John have gone outside to empty the toilet and bring us some more fresh water,” she said. “They will be back very soon. Please don’t worry.”
As she looked at each of the children, Tracy thought she saw the slightest hint of acceptance in their eyes. They all loved her, and trusted her. They believed that if she said everything was going to be okay, it had to be true. There was a certain innocent simplicity of in the though
t process of young people, that Tracy considered a blessing. Their tiny, developing minds were not yet adulterated with the evil often found in the ‘grown-up’ world.
Tracy managed a smile and addressed the children. “Okay everybody, let’s sing a song. How about ‘row, row, your boat’. You all know that one, we sing it often. Let’s not be gloomy glums. Let’s all smile and sing ‘row, row, row your boat’.”
The old, familiar child’s tune was not exactly sung with the resounding, rollicking gusto it would normally be sung. Nonetheless, the children tried. There were a few among them who seemed not to be singing at all but rather they were either softly speaking the lyrics or indeed miming. The one or two who chose to mime were so wildly out of sync with their classmates, they were easy to pick from those who at least made an effort. Somehow, they got through the song, albeit with the last few lines tending to fade more into soft murmurings rather than building to a joyful crescendo.
However, Tracy thought, this was not a time to be critical. She could hardly blame those whose contribution to the effort was somewhat meagre. Singing jolly little ditties had to be the last thing she felt like doing. It was more about keeping their minds occupied than it was about singing childhood melodies.
Tracy lightly clapped her hands. “Well done, everybody. Thank you, that was very nice.”
Craig Garrett ushered the two boys out through the door of the second container, into the first, and then to the door to the outside. Toby Miller and John Jabaldjari paused just inside the open doorway and looked out at the enticing daylight, and the blue sky above the ramp walkway.