State of Fear

by Tim Ayliffe

  ‘Any chance that might happen soon?’

  ‘I can check a few things for you while we wait. That’ll speed things up. But at your age, we really need to take a proper look, which is why you’re just going to have to be patient and wait for the doctor.’

  Bailey peeled back the curtain. He couldn’t see Father Joe’s face, because he was hidden behind the nurse who’d been laying down the law.

  ‘Okay, tough guy,’ Bailey said. ‘I think you need to let this nice lady do her job.’

  The nurse swung around, surprised. ‘Who’re you?’

  ‘I’m the closest thing to family he’s got. I’m here to check up on him, report back to the cardinal and . . .’ Bailey stopped talking when he caught sight of Joe’s face. There was a bandage wrapped around his head with a bloodstain seeping through the fabric. His lip was swollen and his right eye was half-closed. ‘Bloody hell, Joe. Those bastards didn’t miss.’

  ‘Don’t worry, mate.’ Joe held up his hands and made two fists, so that Bailey could see the red splotches on his knuckles. ‘Landed a few of my own.’

  Bailey laughed and the nurse gave him a look like she thought the old man must have been joking.

  ‘You got in a fight?’ she said. ‘Aren’t you a priest?’

  ‘You can’t always turn the other cheek, love.’ Joe winked at her. ‘The lord works in mysterious ways.’

  The nurse laughed, shaking her head. ‘Bizarre. An eighty-year-old man who thinks he’s Rocky Balboa.’

  ‘Eighty-one,’ Joe said. ‘And compliment accepted.’

  The nurse took Joe’s blood pressure and, after a few more tests, she unwrapped the bandage, revealing an inch-long cut on his forehead.

  ‘That’s going to need a few stitches,’ she said. ‘I’ll give it a clean first. Back in a moment.’

  As soon as she left the room, Bailey stepped closer to Joe. ‘You seriously okay, mate?’

  ‘All good, son. Don’t worry about me.’

  ‘Who did this?’

  ‘You tell me. I don’t know what this kid’s done, but they didn’t mess around.’

  ‘Can you remember what happened?’

  Joe tried to sit up, his mouth half open in a flat line as he tried to conceal the pain.

  ‘A few minutes after the young bloke arrived, two muscled-up Middle Eastern fellas turned up. Like they had been following him. Maybe they’d been searching the shelters too. Who knows?’

  Joe gestured for Bailey to lean in, so that he could lower his voice.

  ‘What’s all this about, Bailey?’

  He owed him an explanation.

  ‘Terrorism, Joe.’ Bailey looked over his shoulder, making sure there was no one else around. ‘Tariq’s caught up in a plot that might just be about to go bang. What else can you tell me?’

  ‘Nothing. It all happened so fast. The two guys appeared out of nowhere. The rest is a painful history.’

  Bailey looked at his watch: 7.58 am. He needed to get moving.

  ‘I’ll check in on you later, old boy.’

  ‘I’m fine, Bailey. I’ll be out of here in time to pack up the gym after the morning session.’ Joe paused, distracted by his own thoughts. ‘Those kids better not have taken the morning off.’

  Bailey patted the old man on the arm and peeled back the curtain, readying to leave.

  ‘Bailey?’ Joe called after him. ‘Talk to Jake. He and Tariq had a few minutes together inside, he might know something.’

  The nurse appeared through the curtain with a trolley that had a bowl of water and some implements. It looked like Joe was about to get a few stitches.

  ‘Rest up,’ Bailey said. ‘And do what this nice lady tells you, will you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  CHAPTER 29

  The air was three degrees hotter and it felt five times heavier by the time Bailey was walking up Redfern Street for the second time this morning. The traffic was inching its way in every direction and the engine fumes were itching his throat. He’d parked the Corolla four blocks away and his brow was needing a wipe by the time he made it to the gym.

  ‘Need a hand, kid?’

  Jake was trying to unhook a heavy bag from the ceiling when Bailey walked through the door.

  It was 8.36 am. Jake would need to be at school soon. Bailey needed to make a friend. Fast.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  He wasn’t fine. Jake was shuffling, awkwardly, on his toes. He couldn’t quite lift the bag high enough to get the metal ring to slip over the top of a hook that was fixed to the roof.

  ‘Seriously, let me help.’

  Bailey had a couple of inches on Jake and he grabbed the other side of the bag, holding it steady.

  Click.

  The full weight of the heavy bag dropped into the palms of Bailey’s hands. He felt his back and stomach tighten as he tried to keep hold of the bag without falling over.

  ‘I’ll take that,’ Jake said.

  The bag must have weighed at least half as much as Jake, yet the kid elegantly balanced it on his shoulder, dumping it with the rest of the equipment in the corner of the room.

  Jake hadn’t told Bailey to piss off yet, which was a good sign, especially after what Dexter had told him when he had called her during the car ride from the hospital.

  ‘He’s a little shit,’ she’d said. ‘Wouldn’t tell me a thing. I even threatened to take him in for questioning. He didn’t care.’

  Maybe Jake just didn’t like cops.

  Bailey helped him stack the last of the dumbbells and pads without saying a word. Building trust.

  ‘Where’s everyone else?’ Bailey said when they were done.

  ‘They all did a runner,’ Jake replied. ‘Funny how cops can clear a room around here.’

  ‘How’s the eye?’

  The paramedic looked like she’d done a neat job with the cut above Jake’s eye, although his cheek had already started to change colour and swell.

  ‘Fine,’ Jake said. ‘You been to see Father Joe?’

  ‘Yeah. How’d you know?’

  ‘That cop told me. Said you and her were mates.’

  ‘He’s going to be fine, Jake.’

  ‘It takes a special kind of prick to bash an old priest.’

  There was emotion in Jake’s voice.

  ‘Seriously, Jake. He’s okay. He even tried to convince the nurse that he could check himself out.’

  Jake laughed. ‘Sounds about right.’

  ‘You know, Jake, Joe was a big help to me when I was a young bloke.’

  ‘He told me.’

  ‘Different weight division to you, mate.’ Bailey smiled, patting his stomach. ‘And I wasn’t nearly as talented. No way I was hitting a bag like that.’

  ‘Father Joe’s a good coach. I’m getting there,’ Jake said, proudly. ‘But, mate . . . you don’t look like you grew up on struggle street. No offence.’

  ‘I’ve probably had it easy. Always had a home. What about you? You got a home?’

  Jake ignored the question and picked up his gym bag, checking that his red gloves were inside before zipping it closed.

  ‘What about that bloke they took – Tariq? Your cop friend reckons they’ll find him pretty quick.’

  Jake had a peculiar habit of talking without ever looking Bailey in the face. Eye contact can get you into trouble on the street. Bailey wondered if the street was all the kid knew.

  ‘They haven’t found him. Not yet, anyway.’

  ‘They’d want to hurry.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘He reckons someone wants to kill him.’

  ‘He told you that?’

  Jake fumbled with the zip on the side pocket of his bag and withdrew a key attached to a ring with a small metal boxing glove on it. ‘I’ve got to lock up and get to school.’

  ‘If you know something, Jake, you need to tell me,’ Bailey said. ‘Tariq’s in danger. Did he tell you anything else, anything at all?’

  The young boxer looked Baile
y in the eyes for the first time. He reached into his pocket, withdrawing a piece of paper that was neatly folded into a square, and handed it to Bailey.

  ‘What is it?’

  Jake shook his head. ‘Don’t know. Haven’t opened it. He jammed it in my hand just as those two blokes flew through the door. I stuffed it in my pocket then started swinging. Forgot it was there. Otherwise I would’ve given it to the cops.’

  Bailey smiled. ‘Would you?’

  Jake shrugged. ‘Why wouldn’t I?’

  Bailey patted him on the shoulder. ‘You’ve done good, Jake.’

  The square of paper was burning a hole in Bailey’s hand but he didn’t want to open it in front of Jake. He knew what was inside. He could feel the hard piece of plastic through the paper.

  They locked up the gym and stepped outside onto the pavement.

  ‘You take care of yourself, Jake. Keep boxing.’

  Jake slung his gym bag over his shoulder. ‘Reckon Father Joe will be back for training this afternoon?’

  ‘God help the poor hospital staff if he’s not.’

  The smell of fresh bread wafting from the bakery on the corner opposite Redfern Park was too good to resist. It was only a few doors up from where Bailey was standing outside the gym and he was headed in that direction. It was early for a meat pie but he’d been awake for so long that his body clock was telling him that it was lunchtime.

  While he waited for his pie and coffee, Bailey pulled the square of paper from his pocket, carefully unfolding it. He was right about what was inside.

  A memory card.

  Bailey may have been a technology luddite, but he knew that much. His best guess was that it contained a video of Tariq Haneef, sitting beneath a black flag, delivering a message to the world on behalf of Islamic Nation.

  He grabbed his phone, examining the ports on the side, wondering if there was a hole big enough for a card like this one. There wasn’t.

  ‘Coffee’s up!’

  Dexter or Ronnie would know. He’d call them from the car. He shoved the card in his pocket and headed back to where he’d parked the Corolla.

  He was four bites into his pie by the time he got there.

  Balancing his coffee and what was left of his pie on the roof, he dug his car keys out of his pocket, jiggling the key in the lock. The door wouldn’t open.

  ‘Bloody thing.’

  A few years back, someone had broken into his car with a screwdriver, making a mess of the lock. He’d never bothered to get it fixed. Miraculously, it had started working again, if you jiggled it right. It just wasn’t happening today.

  Bailey gave up and started walking around the car so he could unlock the door from the passenger side.

  Boom!

  A bright light flashed inside the car, followed by a whooshing sound.

  The explosion blew out the windows, sending Bailey flying through the air, crashing to the pavement more than ten metres away. The force of the blast had spun him around. He didn’t know which way he was facing. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t see. His body was numb. There was a loud ringing in his ears. The sound of a fire crackling. The smell of burning rubber.

  Bailey could feel the heat wafting from the burning wreckage of the Corolla.

  He closed his eyes. Then nothing.

  CHAPTER 30

  Afula, Israel 1992

  ‘My baby! My baby! My baby! Please! Please!’

  A woman was screaming in Hebrew, running towards the flaming bus.

  People were sitting upright in the passenger seats, black shadows against the flames that were swirling inside the bus like a giant rectangular furnace.

  A policeman caught the woman in his arms and held her as she kicked and punched him, screaming for him to let her go.

  The acrid smell of burning rubber and flesh was stinging Bailey’s nostrils as he stared at the flames, not knowing what to do.

  He’d never seen a burning vehicle so close before. Never smelled burning flesh.

  Tears sprang to his eyes, trying to protect them from the fumes.

  He reached for his camera, unclipping it from the bag on his shoulder, and lifted it in front of his face.

  Snap. Snap. Snap.

  He was taking pictures faster than his brain could process what was happening.

  Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of a young boy running towards the bus. Through the lens of the camera the kid looked like he was only a few feet tall. He was screaming for his father.

  ‘Papa! Papa! Papa!’

  Bailey dropped the camera, letting the strap around his neck catch its fall, and started running towards the bus.

  The boy was metres away from the burning wreckage when Bailey scooped him up in his arms. He turned and started running the other way just as another blast erupted from behind, knocking them to the ground. Bailey lay there, holding the boy in his arms, shielding him from the explosion and the rush of heat that washed across his back, hoping that the flames wouldn’t pull them into the furnace.

  ‘It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.’ He kept repeating to the boy, over and over again. ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘Mate. Mate.’ Someone was touching his shoulder. ‘Are you all right?’

  Bailey didn’t recognise the voice.

  ‘Where’s the boy? Is he okay?’

  Bailey took a deep breath, his nostrils stinging from the burning rubber.

  ‘What boy, mate? Was there a child with you?’

  Bailey opened his eyes, expecting to see the boy beside him in the dirt.

  He wasn’t in Israel, he was lying on a concrete footpath in Redfern.

  A hubcap was lying on the ground beside him and Bailey could see flames burning inside a car. He wiggled his fingertips, made a fist with his hands.

  Next he moved his toes, then his feet. His back felt like it had been punched with a hot iron and he could taste blood in his mouth.

  ‘What boy?’ The same voice again. ‘What boy are you talking about?’

  Bailey lifted his head, rolling over, trying to balance himself by putting an elbow on the pavement.

  ‘I think you should just lie there, mate. Wait for the ambos.’

  Bailey swallowed, trying to get some moisture into his mouth.

  He sat up on both elbows, flipping himself over onto his side.

  ‘Fuck me.’

  A man in a white singlet was kneeling next to him.

  ‘Anyone else?’ Bailey said, coughing his words. ‘Anyone else hurt?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ the man said. ‘I could only see you, mate. Are you all right?’

  ‘Where are we?’

  ‘You’re in Redfern.’

  An ambulance siren was getting louder in the distance and Bailey could also hear the loud wailing of a fire engine.

  He held up his hand. ‘Help me up, would you?’

  ‘I think you should stay there, mate. You may have hurt your neck.’

  Bailey sat up, moving his head from side to side, kicking out his legs and rotating his shoulders. Everything seemed to be in working order. The only pain was coming from the middle of his back.

  ‘Seriously, mate. I’m good.’ Bailey held up his arm again. ‘I need to get up.’

  The guy in the singlet pulled Bailey up off the ground with one arm, while supporting Bailey’s back with his other one.

  ‘Aaargh!’ Bailey winced.

  ‘Sorry. You’ve got a burn there, mate,’ he said. ‘Doesn’t look good.’

  ‘Yeah, thanks.’

  Bailey touched his cheek and jaw, noticing some blood on his fingertips.

  ‘You were talking about a boy. Was there a child with you?’

  ‘No. Must’ve been dreaming, something that happened a long time ago.’

  The guy had a confused look on his face. ‘Your head must have hit the ground pretty hard.’

  ‘It hit something.’

  Bailey was struggling to remember what he was doing in Redfern. The last thing he recalled was seeing Joe
in hospital.

  The fire engine and ambulances arrived at the same time, followed by at least four police cars.

  ‘Over here!’ The guy in the singlet was signalling to a paramedic.

  A man in a blue uniform came rushing over.

  ‘This guy was launched into the air by the explosion. I saw it. He was standing next to the car.’

  ‘Are you okay to walk?’ the paramedic said.

  ‘Yeah, mate. I’m fine.’

  Bailey held out his hand to the guy in the singlet. ‘Thanks for your help.’

  ‘No worries. Take care of yourself.’

  ‘Hey.’ The paramedic was talking to the guy in the singlet. ‘The cops will want to talk to you about what you saw. Head over that way.’

  The man walked towards the uniformed police, who were stopping traffic in the street and ordering people back from Bailey’s car, which was still on fire.

  Within a couple of minutes the firefighters had extinguished the flames and the Corolla was transformed into a smoking grey shell, covered in foam.

  ‘Can I get you to take off your shirt?’

  Bailey unbuttoned his flannelette shirt and let the paramedic slip it off his shoulders.

  ‘I hope this doesn’t have sentimental value.’ The guy was holding up Bailey’s shirt and pointing to the holes burnt through the fabric.

  ‘Straight from a Hollywood movie, that one.’

  ‘Thought I recognised you. Star Wars, right?’

  Bailey liked this bloke already. He had a sense of humour. He probably had to, considering what he did for a crust. He’d probably seen enough motorcycle fatalities to fill a high school yearbook.

  Sitting inside the back of the ambulance, Bailey watched the firefighters inspecting what was left of the Corolla, making sure the flames were out.

  ‘You’ve got second-degree burns here, I’m afraid.’

  The stinging in Bailey’s back was getting more painful with every minute that passed. He wasn’t going to hospital. He’d been there once already today.

  ‘Second degree?’ Bailey said. ‘Reckon you can clean it up and send me on my way from here?’

  ‘Maybe. Let’s see how we go.’

  The guy in the white singlet was walking back towards Bailey, a phone in his hand. ‘This yours, mate?’