by Peter Hoole
“Jill, is that you?” asked Deanna, knowing the answer.
“Yes, it is. Who’s this?”
“It’s Deanna. Deanna Thompson. I was helping find your son.”
“Oh Deanna… tell me you’ve found something…” the mother pleaded.
Deanna, not wanting to tell her the truth, stalled, “Maybe. I’ve got a tip, but I’m not sure how it’s going to play out. I need to ask you some more questions.”
“What? What have you found?” Jill again pleaded.
“I really can’t say, and I don’t want to get your hopes up…”
Guilt flowed through Deanna.
She knew Matthew’s mother deserved the truth, and Deanna had vowed she would one day tell her.
But she also figured now was not the time.
Deanna continued, “Is there anything else you can tell me about Matthew? Has anything else happened?”
Deanna could hear Jill sigh from the other end of the phone.
“I… I don’t know,” Jill stuttered, “Like what? We’ve told you everything we know.”
Deanna considered her options. If she was being honest with herself, she had not really thought about Matthew for a few weeks as the case and its leads had dried up.
“Anything. Have you found anything else in his room?” Deanna asked.
“No. Nothing.”
“What about phone calls, emails?” Deanna continued.
“Nothing weird.”
“Any phone calls from numbers you didn’t recognise?”
Jill paused.
“Well… there was one… It only rang for a short time, and I didn’t quite catch it.”
“Good…” Deanna said, urging Jill to continue.
“I tried to call the number back, but it was disconnected.”
Deanna thought it was a bit strange. Normally it would take the phone company a while to disconnect a number.
“Did you try anything?”
“Not really. I just figured it was a telemarketer.”
“When did this happen?” Deanna asked.
“About a week ago. Why? Is it important?” Jill asked with hope in her voice.
Deanna was unsure, so she allowed herself to tell the truth.
“I don’t know, but it may be something I can follow up. Did you keep the number?”
“I think so… just let me grab my phone.”
Deanna heard Jill moving on the end of the line. Not heavy breathing as such, but she could hear the rustle of clothing.
“Here it is…” Jill said after several seconds.
“Can you text it to me?” asked Deanna.
“Sure…”
Within a few seconds, Deanna’s phone vibrated and played a brief tone.
She pulled her phone from her ear and saw a received message.
“Got it.” Deanna said of the message.
“Now… can you tell me what this is about? Have you found him?” Jill once again pleaded.
Deanna wrestled with her conscience. She knew that if she told Jill what she had learned, it would devastate her. Her son was dead, and at the centre of one of the biggest terrorist strikes on American soil in history.
But she also knew that it was not her choice to make. Matthew’s mother deserved the truth, no matter how hard it could be.
“Jill, you need to sit down for this.” Deanna began.
“What? What is it?” Jill asked.
“It’s Matthew…”
Before Deanna could say anything further, she heard a commotion in the background.
“FBI!!! Get down!!!” said an unknown male voice.
“What’s going on?” asked a panicked Jill.
“Jill… Jill…” asked Deanna down the phone, unsure of what was happening.
“Hang that up right now!” said the unknown voice.
With that, a dial tone sounded on Deanna’s phone.
Initially confused, Deanna thought on the situation.
After several moments, Deanna again dialled her phone.
She was fast becoming convinced the call to Jill, followed by the FBI raiding the house, was too much of a coincidence.
Needing answers, Deanna called the number she had been contacted on by Dan.
It only rang once, and Dan answered.
“Deanna.” Dan answered tersely.
“Dan… did you bug my phone?”
Dan was silent for a moment, “What did you expect, Deanna? We need answers as soon as we can get them. I knew you would call your contact.”
“Because you asked me to. You used me to get to an innocent family.”
“No one is innocent if they are connected to the attack, Deanna. You’re lucky we didn’t break down your fucking door instead.”
Deanna attempted to temper her anger.
It did not work.
“Damn you, asshole!!!” She said, almost shouting.
Dan didn’t respond, and he hung up the phone.
Angry, Deanna walked swiftly across her house.
She was quite wound up by what had just happened. She inwardly cursed herself for allowing the FBI to take advantage of the trust she had built up with Matthew’s parents. It was a part of her world that she kept immense pride in, the trust and discretion of her work was paramount.
In one fell swoop, Dan had ruined it.
As she walked from her bedroom, to her living room and through the kitchen of her small apartment, Deanna realised there was only one move left for her – to find the truth.
And she remembered she still had Jill’s text.
She opened the message and studied the numbers.
It was an unknown number, with a ‘701’ prefix.
She opened the internet application on her phone and typed in ‘701 phone area code’.
Within seconds, the results appeared on her phone.
She contemplated the results – and decided to book a flight.
Again, dialling one of her contacts, she made a simple request.
“I need the next flight to North Dakota.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Sydney, the largest city in Australia, spans approximately twelve thousand square kilometres, and is the most populated city in Australia and Oceania. A multicultural melting pot, Darcy and the others had been mesmerised by their surrounds. From the lush trees and bush-scapes of the area surrounding Haven, to the bustling workings of the inner city, what they had seen of Australia had been counter to their expectations.
“Didn’t even see a kangaroo…” Casey had quipped.
His chance had passed some time ago, as they had passed through Sydney’s outer suburbs on their way into the central business district - the serenity of the country roads now well behind them.
Throughout the drive, Darcy’s mind raced.
Her thoughts dwelled on several things. What was their next move? What could she make of Murphy and Williams revelations?
Fortunately, Murphy had removed the cars tracker, as she had done in Seattle. With this, Darcy knew they at least had bought some time.
But her main concern was Caleb.
His condition had not changed since they had recovered him from Haven.
With a faint heartbeat, he had remained in the same position, slumped against the door in the seat behind Darcy.
As the time passed, so did Darcy’s hopes that he would be alright. She had, on several occasions, asked Murphy whether Caleb would be ok. Each time she was met with a reassuring smile.
It would have to do, for now.
After time, the ‘Bat had made its way through the bustling inner-city streets, surrounded by people of all nationalities and backgrounds.
It was not what Darcy had expected of an Australian city.
William had provided them with the directions as they entered the city area. As they moved closer to their destination, the age demographic of the surrounding Sydney-siders lessened, and a younger, more energetic crowd became apparent.
Another thing had become apparent as they dro
ve around – they were going to have some real trouble parking. It seemed that all the available bays were either taken or not able to be used.
Darcy had heard that major city parking was problematic, but she’d never realised it would be nigh on impossible to park a car.
“Where should we pull up? Darcy asked to the back seat.
“Anywhere here is good.” replied the Englishman.
“So we’re close?” asked Murphy.
“Indeed. We’re going to the King Club.”
Darcy looked at the lieutenant. “Is that ok?” she asked.
“If it’s the place I’m thinking of, then he’s telling the truth. It is one of the businesses my father owned. The perfect safe house at times – hiding in plain sight. It would provide good cover for anyone wanting to hide out for the night.”
Given the lack of parking options, and with little time to wait, Darcy devised a solution.
“Casey looks like we’re going to have to stay mobile. Just keep driving, and two of us will head in.
Darcy knew there were pros and cons of leaving people in the car.
The decision she had to make was who to leave behind, and who to take inside. The more she thought, she realised there was only a couple of options.
Leave Murphy in the car, or Casey.
Casey would be more of a match for William, should he try anything.
It was not that Murphy hadn’t proved her strength - she took down the assault team at the airport in Seattle after all. And, according to her story, she was important to bringing down the Haven colony.
Leaving Murphy in the car was the other option, not one that Darcy seriously considered.
There were several reasons, not the least of which that she didn’t quite know what to think of Murphy. But, on the other hand, she also needed someone with some inside information about Cook and his people. And taking William wasn’t a viable option.
“Murphy, we’re are going in.” Darcy said with some authority.
“Good call,” Casey said reassuringly.
As he spoke, he pulled up to a vacant curb.
Casey then exited the vehicle and rounded to the very back passenger door. Opening the door, Casey and Murphy switched places, careful to conceal the weapon.
“Dunleavy, you do the driving”. Darcy instructed.
Without arguing, Dunleavy did as he was told. He exited to the curb and entered the driver’s seat.
They were now all in position.
The next step was for Darcy and Murphy to enter the nightclub.
This presented a new problem. Darcy observed the myriad of young people in the area, and realised they were not dressed right.
Even by the lowest of dress codes, the combat attire they were wearing would not be suitable.
“It’s ok,” Murphy began, noticing Darcy staring at her clothes, “Remember, this is a Colonial club. They’re used to people dressing a bit different. Besides, I’m sure we can sweet talk our way in… Especially as the doormen will be Colony aligned.”
Darcy had no choice but to trust her, and hope that her optimism was not a bluff.
“Fine…” Darcy said.
She opened the front door and spoke to Dunleavy, “Just keep driving until we’re out. We’ve got our radios, so we’ll contact when we can.”
Dunleavy nodded, and drove off as the door closed.
Darcy watched the car, and Caleb, drive away.
The women turned around and faced the club.
“Are you sure this isn’t a trap?” Darcy asked.
“Pretty sure…” replied Murphy, “It’s not like we have much of a choice though.”
Darcy knew she was right.
And with that, the pair walked across the road, careful not to be struck by the taxi that passed by.
The club, while slightly unique, bore resemblance to many nightspots Darcy had been before. The façade reminded her of her youth, a time where her worldly cares were nothing more than passing college, and hopefully not getting too drunk the night they were out.
Though she was never a big drinker, Darcy always saw nightclubs as a distraction to real life - a place to go and dance the night away.
When Caleb was on tour, the distraction was always welcome.
She quickly shook off her sense of nostalgia and took a few more steps towards the entry.
The door was open, and to the right was a velvet rope.
How cliché, Darcy thought.
There were only a dozen people in the line.
Darcy checked her watch, and sure enough her suspicions were correct. At 9:45pm, there would rarely be a heaving line full of drunken young men and women. From her experience, the lines wouldn’t escalate until just before midnight, and, if the place was good enough, they would stay at a decent length into the early hours of the morning.
The red and yellow neon signs were enough to distract her again from her thoughts, as she considered joining the line.
Fortunately, it was not necessary.
Murphy approach the burly man at the front of the door. Standing well over six feet, the man was all muscle, and just have weight at least two hundred and fifty pounds – certainly significantly more bulk than Caleb and Casey.
Darcy watched Murphy approach the man, and for a moment as jealous of her confidence.
Cooks daughter certainly didn’t show fear.
The man put his arm out to stop the women as they approached and looked them up and down.
In a heavy Australian accent, his deep voice echoed his strong physique, “Sorry ladies, I can’t let you in dressed like that…”
Before he could say anything more, Murphy motioned for him to bend down. As he did, Murphy leant in and whispered in his ear.
With the noise emanating from the club, and the surrounding people, Darcy was unable to ascertain what was said.
The man pulled back after Murphy had finished, the look on his face changing.
Whatever Murphy had said seemed to have the desired effect, and the man waved them both through.
As they passed, he nodded in their direction, his expression one of warmth rather than irritation. He was obviously satisfied with what Murphy had said.
As they walked through the door, Darcy spoke, “You’re gonna have to teach me that.”
“Trade secret,” Murphy replied, smiling.
Darcy could still not trust Murphy completely, but at least she now knew with confidence that she could be useful.
As they entered the dark, low-lit foyer of the club, Murphy spoke again, “Turn on your radio,” she said as she pointed to her ear, “We’re not gonna be able to hear a thing in there.”
Darcy did as she was told. As she turned it on, she heard Murphy.
“Darcy… can you hear me?” she asked.
It was loud and clear in Darcy’s ear.
“Casey, do you read?” Murphy said, hoping the boys in the car had followed instruction.
“Yes, we hear.” Casey replied from the ‘Bat.
“Good,” Murphy replied.
Murphy raised her hand and motioned for Darcy to follow, to which Darcy complied.
They made their way from the foyer to the main room.
The walkway was flanked by the same velvet rope from outside, making the path clear to those who walked it. As the room was dark, it was hard to tell the colour of the floor, but with the little light there was, Darcy assumed it was a dark red. Regardless of the colour, Darcy could feel the floor stick to her feet, no doubt a result of a combination of poor cleaning and endless use.
It reminded her of a club she frequented on occasion in LA, a club she didn’t have any fond memories of.
As they walked through, the rope path led them into the main area.
A much larger room, Darcy was struck by the deep base of the music. Combined with the clamouring people, stank of alcohol, flashing lights and the loud music, Darcy knew she would have to focus if they were going to achieve anything.
Slowly, Murphy made
her way through the crowd.
Even though it was early, the place had many people inside, and spirits were on the up. There was a combination of dancing, people lining the bar to the left of the main room, and several men acting as wallflowers, watching the night happen in front of them.
“I can’t see a thing from here…” Darcy said. Even though she had no idea what or who she was looking for, she felt at a distinct disadvantage.
Murphy scanned the room, looking for some higher ground.
Through the dance floor, she was able to see some stairs, stairs that lead to a mezzanine landing up top.
Murphy pointed the way, and Darcy followed. Unfortunately, the walk took them through the middle of the dance floor. Not a bad move, as if there was anyone watching for them, they would have a harder time spotting them in the sea of bodies gyrating in the middle of the room.
After a few close encounters with frat boy armpits, Darcy and Murphy made it through the throng, and came out relatively unscathed on the other side.
They continued and made it to the stairs.
Darcy made the first step, and it was reminiscent of the rest of the floor – soft and sticky from unknown origins.
They ascended the stairs slowly, not out of any particular intent, but because people were trying to go down as they were going up. One step at a time, they eventually made the top, after more than once having to brace themselves against a wall.
Once they made it to the landing, they moved to the edge, looking over the crowd below over the railing.
The size of the crowd had seemed larger from the dance floor. Once they had reached the top, it was evident the crowd was thinner than she has thought, with no more than a hundred or so people inside.
Darcy turned to Murphy. “Ok… Ms Cook,” she said with a smirk, “It’s time for you to show us whose side you’re really on.”
As soon as she said it, she felt it was too harsh.
After all, apart from the deception of her origin, Murphy had done nothing to indicate she was an enemy.
Murphy didn’t respond, but scanned the crowd below, and the crowd upstairs.
After about a minute, she stopped, and seemed to focus on a small group in the back corner of the club.
In a booth facing the dancefloor, three people sat – a woman and two men.
“There…” Murphy pointed, “Those three…”