by David Gullen
‘Not very. We don’t like our tech too bright. Smart tech is leaky tech, or so the mantra goes.’ Masters paused to wipe her brow. ‘Personally, I think there’s a concern the kit will grow a conscience and refuse to cooperate.’
‘Is that something I need to consider?’
‘Don’t tell me you’re changing your mind about Gould. That would be the ultimate gay pussy wimp-out total fail I ever saw.’
Wilson changed the subject. ‘So what are we doing here?’
‘Well, you’re blowing air, and I’m dumping stuff we don’t need. Are you going to help or just act morally conflicted?’
‘What can I do?’
Masters threw him a set of keys. ‘Stash the spare kit in the cases.’
The green-painted steel cases were built to last, with five-millimetre walls and three heavy padlocks on the lid. It makes sense if you’re tech-wary, Wilson thought as he unlocked the first one. Pre-post-industrial equipment is archaic enough to look both uninteresting and difficult.
‘Hey, I just realised,’ Wilson said. ‘You can only hack this security with a hacksaw.’
Masters looked at him and sighed. ‘Yeah, right.’
‘I mean, it’s a smart idea. Who walks around with a toolbox these days? Everyone’s set up for crypto, surveillance and net-bombs.’ The thought excited Wilson. ‘It’s just like McLuhan said about extensions and amputations. We’ve abandoned one set of tools for another. As we become more and more fascinated by new tech, we forget the old.’
Masters looked worried. ‘Are you missing the booze?’
Wilson felt fine. In fact, this was the first time he’d been genuinely excited about an idea for a very long time. Not since Mandy died.
Was killed.
By him.
Her face filled his mind’s eye and it brought him up cold.
This time the grief and guilt held off. He waited but it didn’t smash him. It was there, but not like the morning sledgehammer waiting for his first moment of consciousness and memory. It was there, and for the first time, he could look back at it, and accept.
‘I’m good,’ Wilson said.
Masters opened the driver’s door. ‘Then we’re ready to roll.’
They waited outside the depot while the armoured shutters rolled down. A tone sounded on the dash, Masters put the car into drive and they moved away. It was early, and commute traffic was heavy. Brightly coloured compacts and urban sportsters wove among big SUVs with chrome bull-bars and alloys.
There was a snarl-up at the next intersection, a twenty-four wheeler dangled up on the turn where it spanned the corner. The driver had clearly lost it because he was silly-stringed to the tarmac and the local cops were interviewing the citizen who had put him there.
Masters pulled onto the sidewalk. One of the cops started forward then glanced down at her datapad and waved them through.
‘Neat,’ Wilson said.
Master held up her finger, listening to something on her ear-piece.
‘We’ve got a fix from a smart-money spend by Black, one of the people Manalito is meeting. He’s part of a Birmingham trio called the Old-fashioned Boys, lately become a duo thanks to young Jimmy Fee leaving the back of his head down along I40 when they lost Gould’s money.’
Images of Morgan and Black appeared on a screen on the dash: two anonymous white men, suited, middle-aged. Black was the younger, an aging Romeo gone to seed. Wilson knew the type, over-confident and riddled with doubt at the same time.
Morgan looked weird, his long, narrow head gave nothing away. It was like there were no thoughts behind his eyes, all you could do was wait for him to move.
They were relics from another era, only able to survive due to Gould’s sufferance, his errand boys until he grew tired of the smell of stale tobacco and rye.
‘Don’t underestimate them,’ Masters said. ‘They held half the corners in Birmingham before they threw in with Gould.’
‘This Novik, did he kill Jimmy?’
Masters chuckled. ‘Novik’s a pacifist. We think Jimmy took one for the team.’
‘That’s why I’m here, isn’t it,’ Wilson said. ‘In case it all goes wrong. An old guy with a grudge going off the rails.’
Masters looked at him askance. ‘You really are quite paranoid, aren’t you?’ Something came in on her earpiece then, and she held up her hand again for silence. ‘I hear you. Understood.’
The car surged forwards. Masters wove through the slower moving traffic, then accelerated hard. Wilson sank back into his seat as she pushed the SUV way above the legal limit.
Masters drove with confidence, her hands light on the wheel. ‘We’re spread thin, we need good people. You stepped up to the line when it counted. This country owes you a debt. Some people don’t forget.’
Perhaps she was lying. Maybe some of it was true, which was a good way to lie convincingly. Wilson wanted to believe.
They were cruising at ninety-five, a hundred and ten. A steady stream of freight headed past them in the other lane, home entertainment, firearms, baby clothes, porno, auto spares, kool-trucks, mobile surgeries.
Masters touched his leg. ‘Anyway, I kind of like you.’ Her fingers skimmed higher up his thigh. Unable to help himself Wilson shifted in his seat and laughed.
‘The money’s left a big trail and a small one,’ Masters said. ‘The little one’s our man, the big one’s Novik. He’s all over the place, down to the border, back north, west, then north again. He’s probably in some kind of perma-high from the illegal pharma that came with the money. Some of that’s nasty stuff, totally unmetabolisable. Take it, and you won’t come down until you’ve excreted it in your hair and nails in about five years’ time. Right now, Novik’s spunking the cash all over the place, spree spending entire hypermalls.’ Masters gave a cynical chuckle. ‘It’s probably good for the economy. We should do it more often.’
She laughed at Wilson’s expression. ‘Shit, why not? We don’t give a damn what Novik does. He found a few bucks and he’s spending them, big deal. The black economy’s huge, we should stomp it a few times and give the citizens some tax breaks. We’d be like Robin Hood.’
‘He robbed the rich.’
‘Well, exactly. The government can’t rob itself. That would be like robbing the poor to pay the poor. We’re already doing that.’
‘And what about Mexico?’
‘What about it? You got anyone down there?’
‘Jesus, don’t you care about what really happened?’
A muscle pulsed in Masters’ temple. ‘You need to stay focused, that is nothing to do with us or this mission. Yes, it’s a shit storm, Mexico City is black ash and flash shadows, but they brought it on themselves when they turned a blind eye to Gould’s refugee operation.’
‘So it does have something to do with this.’
‘I’m trying to contextualize this for you.’ A vein pulsed in Masters’ temple, her knuckles white on the wheel. Without warning she swung the wheel, slammed on the brakes and the car screeched to a halt on the hard shoulder. She was shaking with tension, her jaw locked and her hands quivering. ‘You don’t like it, just bail out. Right here, right now.’
She was just a kid, Wilson thought. Who knew what kind of pressure she was under to bring in her man?
‘Just drive,’ Wilson said. ‘I’m in. I want Gould. You can trust me on this.’
Masters closed her eyes. Tension left her, she blew her nose. There was a spot of red on the tissue. All at once she had a nosebleed.
‘Fuck.’
Wilson took the tissue and balled it into his palm. He got her to pinch the bridge of her nose and tip her head back. After a minute the bleeding stopped.
‘Sorry about that,’ Masters said.
‘No problem.’
‘And thanks.’
She tried to smile but her mouth was too tight.
There was easily enough blood and nasal mucus on the tissue for a DNA profile. Wilson handed it back. Masters tucked it in her pocket, restarted the engi
ne and pulled into the traffic.
- 31 -
Tanoata confronted her father in their home. ‘Why did you bring that woman? Did you not tell her to leave you alone? I want you to send her away.’
Down on the beach she had been so pleased to see him, so happy. Tekirei had hoped that Tanoata had come to feel less bitter. He was dismayed by her outburst. Once again he tried to reason with her.
‘Tanoata, we are friends, we work together. She has helped us enormously, this is how I thank her.’ He only spoke part of the truth.
Tanoata wasn’t having it. ‘We don’t need her or her money. If the sea will rise up, I say let it. When my children are grandparents it will fall back down. Her money will not change that.’
‘You know that doing nothing is not a choice. Yes, the coral will grow up, some atolls will survive, most will become uninhabitable. People need to be moved, they need homes, schools, livelihoods. We need all the help we can get.’
‘Then take her money and put her on a seaplane. She has no right to be here and know our secrets.’
Tekirei felt very tired. ‘Tanoata, you are not being reasonable. Bianca is nothing to do with your mother.’
Tanoata clenched her jaw, the tendons on her neck rigid. Her eyes filled with tears. ‘Let Mama’s memory be enough for both of us. Send her away, Papa, please.’
Tekirei drew himself up. There was nothing he wanted more than to take his daughter into his arms and comfort her. ‘I will not.’
He could not bear to see her cry and he did not want to send her fleeing through the village, so he walked out into the brilliant sunshine. His heart felt like a fist, his mind so full of thoughts he could barely see where he was going. He found himself in an empty place along the beach and sat with his back against a coconut palm. Small beach crabs scuttled in the plant litter, endlessly sifting and discarding detritus from the sea and shore. Tekirei watched them and wondered what to do.
When he looked up, Bianca was walking alone at the water line. He lifted his hand. Bianca made her way up the slope of the beach and sat beside him.
She slipped off her sandals and dug her toes into the coarse sand. ‘Everyone is so polite here, so friendly. Whenever I meet someone they ask me how I am, where I am going.’
‘Every time I return, I have to learn to slow down,’ Tekirei sighed.
‘What is the matter?’
Tekirei broke a dry twig into smaller and smaller pieces. ‘Tanoata still misses her mother.’
‘And you. You miss her too.’
Tekirei remembered Nei-Teakea’s bright smile. It had been well over a year but the grief stayed strong.
The hurt Bianca felt surprised her. She put on her sandals.
Tekirei held out his hand. ‘Don’t go.’
‘It is beautiful here, but I think I will always be the outsider.’
‘Everyone has silly thoughts from time to time.’
‘Yes, all right, I don’t like to see you unhappy.’
Tekirei attempted a smile. ‘No wind blows forever.’
Bianca moved closer, she hugged her knees. ‘When I was a girl my father told me life was like a long ocean trip. In the hold is a trunk for the things you didn’t want to leave behind but were of no use. The label said “Not Needed on Voyage”.’
‘Does it work?’
‘Only if you don’t think about what’s in the trunk.’ There was an ache in Bianca, a longing to be a part of Tekirei’s life. She wished there was a way to make him see. ‘Would you like me to talk to Tanoata?’
Tekirei shook his head. ‘She would not listen to you.’
‘May I see where Nei-Teakea lies?’
Tekirei gestured anti-clockwise around the atoll. ‘Along the northern reach, the Shadowed Path. A spur of land.’
‘Would you come with me?’
Tekirei stood up too quickly, he dusted the sand from his sarong. ‘I am not ready.’
‘I’ll ask someone–’
Tekirei held up his hand. ‘You must not ask anyone. The Shadowed Path is one you walk alone.’
Now she felt foolish. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Your father’s story is a good one, but our canoes are too small for sea chests. We islanders have to find other places.’
Together they started down the beach towards the village. Bianca walked barefoot. The white coral sand was hot and abrasive, after a few yards she put on her sandals, another thing she needed to learn.
The beach curved out, then back in again. As they rounded the bend the village came into sight, slender palms swayed above a scatter of thatched huts. Out on the sand, a small hut had been built, a rude affair of a few poles and cut palm leaves.
‘What is that?’ Bianca asked.
‘Every island has its gifts, the things some people are born knowing. That is where the dolphin caller dreams. Tonight we are having a party, tonight the dolphins will come. That is why I asked you here, so you could see.’
Tropical night fell quickly on Ujelang, day transited to night through a dusk too brief to call evening. Tanoata stayed away from the village all day and kept to the north, where few people went.
When it was dark, she returned. Down on the beach several bonfires burned, firelight flickered across the sand, figures showed as dark silhouettes. Everyone from the atoll was there, coming on foot from the south village, by canoe across the central lagoon from the west.
Tanoata stood in the shadows under the palms. Her family, friends and relatives were on the beach, her father and the pale woman with the ugly name. Everybody except her.
Silent, barefoot, Tanoata darted between the deserted huts. She came to the guesthouse where Bianca Hutzenreiter slept. Drawing her knife, she slipped inside.
Down on the beach, despite the crowd, a clear path lay between the shanty hut and the torches on the shore of the outer lagoon.
A young island man emerged into the firelight. His face was smooth, his belly round, his arms thin and long.
‘The dolphin caller,’ Tekirei explained. ‘He has been in the hut all day while his spirit searched across the ocean.’
‘They are coming,’ the boy passed through crowd down to the water.
Not knowing what to believe, Bianca turned with the crowd and followed the caller down to the lagoon.
Tekirei hung back. ‘Tanoata should be here. She is fascinated by our lore. She would want to see this.’
‘Perhaps she is with her friends.’
‘She should be with me, her father. I had hoped tonight–’ Tekirei’s mouth twisted unhappily, he had such hopes for tonight. Whatever his personal problems, wonderful things were about to happen, the knowledge elevated his mood and he held out his hand to Bianca. ‘Come, they will need our help.’
The islanders waded into the lagoon each side of the dolphin caller. Some carried torches, the yellow flames danced across dark, glassy water. Surf boomed against the reef, phosphorescent spray formed patches of ghostly green-white light against the night sky.
The tepid lagoon water dragged at Bianca’s skirt, she stopped to knot it at her hip. Waist-deep, Tekirei led her towards the centre of the line.
Ahead of them the water surged and eddied. A low ripple ran forwards.
‘There,’ Tekirei said quietly.
Gliding just beneath the surface, five dolphins came. A female led them in. Ten feet long, dome-headed, her dorsal fin broke the water as she swam towards the humans.
The caller touched her as she passed by, letting her run beneath his fingers. His palm on her back he urged her towards the shore.
More dolphins approached. One came close to Tekirei and Bianca. ‘Welcome,’ Tekirei said and laid his hand on the dolphin’s back. ‘Please come to our party.’
Bianca could scarcely believe what she was seeing. The people, the black water and torchlight, it was a magical dream. She put her hand on the dolphin and felt its muscular sleek body slip beneath her fingers. ‘Welcome.’
Soon each animal was accompanied by several peop
le. The torch-bearers followed behind.
Tanoata crouched in the darkness of Bianca’s hut, lit the oil lamp and turned it low. Her eyes and teeth shone in the gloom.
The earth floor was freshly swept, a comfortable sleeping mat rested on a coconut fibre rug, with two colourful blankets folded at one end. Overhead, the palm-thatched roof was supported on two stout posts, the walls were thatched panels, easily raised to let in the breeze when it was hot, or lowered for privacy, as they were now.
Tanoata moved the sleeping mat and rug to one side. Her heart pounded with excitement and trepidation. When she was done, the foreign woman would go away forever.
She unfastened her skirt and let it fall. Naked, she dropped to her knees and rammed the knife into the earth where the bedding had lain.
The water was barely knee deep, the dolphins lay in the surf and gently beat their tails. Bianca looked into the dark eyes of the one she accompanied and stroked its head. With strange certainty she knew it was asking for her help.
‘What do we do?’ she whispered.
‘Bring them to land,’ Tekirei said.
Tekirei and the other islanders pushed their arms under the dolphin and lifted. Bianca wrapped her arms around its body, she felt its weight and power, and yet the dolphin allowed them to take it from the water.
This is so foolish, Bianca thought. They let us do this and they are so beautiful and so helpless.
Soon the five dolphins lay in a row in the sand.
Everyone was silent. Bianca looked around her in awe. How had this happened? She felt powerful, more powerful than the dolphins. They had let themselves be caught, she had caught them.
The caller stood above the row of beached dolphins and raised his arms. In the flickering torchlight his expression swung between glee, malice and sorrow. His face was wet with tears, the low noise in his throat could have been a groan, or laughter.
The silence grew profound. Surf rumbled far behind them. A burning log cracked in one of the fires. There was a strange rushing, hissing noise – the dolphins breathing.
‘Ya!’ The dolphin caller flung himself into the air.