‘You’ll have to ring her again,’ Mike said. ‘And tell her that her system is being corrupted. You must warn her about the zombie.’
Gemma picked up the phone again and braced herself.
‘Jenny,’ she began as soon as the other answered, ‘somewhere in your system you’ll find a Trojan called Hydra7Slave,’ she said. ‘Get your technician to talk to mine.’
She put the phone down and realised not only her hand, but her whole body was shaking.
‘Stay there,’ said Mike, taking the glass from her as she tried to get up and putting it safely down. ‘You look like you’re going to fall over.’
‘She said I should find out who hates me enough to do this.’
‘That’s a very personal interpretation,’ he said. ‘This sort of thing happens to lots of people in the world we live in.’
‘Not like this,’ she said. ‘Not tailored like this to do me maximum harm. This isn’t just a random cyberblitz. This is personal.’
Mike went to the sliding glass doors and his big figure blocked out the glare of gathering cumulo-nimbus towers.
‘You know what this means,’ she said. ‘It means I’m finished as an investigator. And Mercator is finished as a business. It’s the end of the line for me. And you and Spinner and Louise.’ She tried to recall how much money she had left in the bank. Not much, she knew, after the refit and the upgrade of her business. Her investments weren’t doing well. She had several thousand in available cash at the most, she calculated, maybe just enough to cover severance pay for her operatives. ‘I’m busted. I’m finished.’
She sat at the dining table and Mike came over to join her. They sat in silence, listening to the roar of the sea.
‘You know,’ said Mike after a while, ‘how I told you that I had the feeling I’d been set up? The night I was bashed?’
‘And I found it hard to believe,’ she said.
They stared at each other.
‘I was bashed the same night,’ she added. Did invisible filaments connect these two separate incidents?
‘It makes sense now when I think that someone has known every move we make. All the time. Since God knows when,’ he said. ‘They were waiting for me.’
‘So much for your script kiddie,’ she said.
Another long silence and then Mike picked up her drink and handed it back to her. ‘Come on. This is the last one you’re having. I’ll go up the street and get some take-away. You need to eat something, not drink. No wonder you passed out.’
Gemma hardly heard him. She stood up, the numbness gone, and felt the old anxious need to pace and move around. She opened and closed the sliding door to the timber deck, agitated, restless and filled with fear and anger.
‘Who is doing this to me?’ she said finally, echoing Minkie Montreau’s desperate question. ‘Who is trying to destroy me?’
Gemma went to her bedroom and pulled on her coat.
‘I couldn’t eat anything just now. I need a walk.’ She grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl and peeled it, tossing the skin onto the counter.
Mike followed her up the hall then turned into the operatives’ office while Gemma continued outside and up the steps to the road. On the other side of the street, an electrocuted flying fox, hanging by the spurs of its feet from two telegraph wires, swung stiffly. She put her head down into the southerly and walked past the beaches around the coast to Kit’s place. Normally she’d enjoy the view, but today she barely noticed the build-up of clouds in the south-east and the ominous silver-black anvils sheared off by the fury of unseen wind forces thousands of feet above.
She could hear strains of music from the kitchen as she put her hand through the cut-out hole in the sturdy wooden door that sealed Kit’s back garden. It wasn’t padlocked so she was able to open the gate and go up to the kitchen door. Kit looked up from paperwork covering the kitchen table, and immediately stood up and came out, putting an arm around Gemma, drawing her close in a gentle embrace.
‘Oh Kit,’ said Gemma, ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do.’
Kit didn’t say anything, just pulled another chair closer to the table, pushed her accounts out of the way and put the kettle on. In a few minutes over a fresh brew, Gemma told her sister what had happened. Kit listened without interrupting or asking questions. When Gemma had finished, her older sister poured herself another cup of tea.
‘Everything’s crashed,’ Gemma said. ‘My business. Everything that is important to me. And I’m worried about Steve and my own indiscretion there.’
They sat together in silence. Thank God Kit wasn’t the sort of person who was worried by silence, Gemma thought, or felt she had to say cheery things. Although she could barely keep still, it was comforting sitting here, in the kitchen with its friendly herbs and cooking smells, listening to the wind and the sea. ‘I don’t know if I’d ever forgive myself if anything happened to Steve,’ she said finally.
‘Steve is a professional,’ Kit reminded her. ‘He’s been trained for this sort of thing. It’s not as if he’s an amateur who’s stumbled in over his head. He knows what to do even if things go wrong. He knows how to stay out of danger.’
‘I don’t think he ever factored in that I would be the one to endanger him,’ Gemma said.
Kit gave a little shrug. ‘Maybe not,’ she said, ‘but the result is the same. He’d have a back-up system. He’d have someone partnering him.’
‘Ian Lovelock,’ said Gemma.
‘What’s he like?’
Gemma shook her head. ‘I don’t know, Kit,’ she said. ‘I should have thought about what you said to me the other day. None of this might have happened. Instead, I just pushed it away. I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to know about it.’
‘What did I say?’ asked Kit in surprise.
Gemma reminded her. ‘You said I was compelled to act out and put myself into dangerous situations.’
‘Like about ninety per cent of the human race,’ said Kit, ‘except they don’t usually have the job you’ve chosen. They do it more quietly with stress or whisky and pills.’ She noticed Gemma hadn’t touched her tea. ‘Speaking of which,’ she said. ‘Would you like something a little stronger?’
Gemma shook her head. ‘I’ve already had a drink. I think I’d be sick if I had another.’
The two sisters sat at opposite sides of the table, not looking at each other.
‘I’m sorry, Kit,’ Gemma said.
‘What for?’ said her sister. ‘Don’t punish yourself. You haven’t done anything bad.’
‘But look what’s happened. My business has been blown right open. And I’ve jeopardised a police operation that’s been carefully put in place for God knows how long.’
Kit came around and stood behind her, giving her neck and shoulders a massage.
‘Police operations crash for lots of reasons,’ Kit said. ‘Things go wrong. People make mistakes. It’s how things are. Don’t waste energy blaming yourself or anyone else. You’re going to need everything you’ve got to deal with this crisis.’ She gave Gemma’s shoulders a final squeeze and went to the sink, rinsing her cup.
Gemma pushed herself out of her chair. ‘I’ve got to go,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to do something.’
‘What?’ her sister asked.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Let’s go for a walk,’ said Kit. ‘ I’ll walk part of the way home with you.’ She went to the fridge and pulled out half of a lemon chiffon pie, wrapped it up and put it in a bag. ‘This is for you,’ said Kit. ‘You need a bit of sweetness in your day.’
They went out together, back along the cliff path that Gemma had just taken, while lightning flickered on the horizon. The storm was blowing up from the south, and grey veils of rain fell from the sky to the distant edge of the sea. The sisters walked through the ce
metery, past the stone angels and Celtic crosses, the kneeling cherubs with their heads knocked off.
‘Gems,’ said Kit as they climbed the hill towards the main gates, ‘if you can think of the sort of crisis that you’re going through now as a very important part of your life, and not as some unrelated, alien attack out of the blue, it mightn’t feel so tough.’
‘I don’t understand what you’re saying.’
‘What’s happening is part of your business, your work. It’s not a random event. And you have the resources to deal with it.’
‘But someone’s attacking me, Kit. Deliberately hacking into my system, then publishing all my confidential records to my competitors. That’s not part of my life, that’s part of someone else’s malice.’
Kit took Gemma’s arm and tucked hers around it. ‘Your work has been a factor in other people’s malice,’ she said. ‘This sort of stuff is sticky. For years now you’ve been working closely with those who perceive themselves as aggrieved, helping them track down the people they believe have betrayed them.’
‘Are you saying that somehow I’ve asked for this?’ Gemma looked at her sister in disbelief.
Kit shook her head. ‘Not at all. No one asks for this sort of thing. But it’s an inevitable part of life. My life, your life, anyone’s life. Because now in turn, you’ve become the “enemy” for someone else. Can you hear what I’m saying?’
Once, Gemma thought to herself, I would have just stormed away in exasperation from this sort of conversation with Kit. Instead, she stopped walking and turned round, reflecting on Kit’s words. She surveyed the graves as they sloped down to the sea, the elaborate miniature temples, wreaths of stone roses, hearts of marble and pious female figures, their graceful hands draped over an anchor, a star on their forehead, representing the Victorian iconography of death.
‘You’re part of a malice circuit,’ Kit went on. ‘It’s not a matter of blame or fault. You’re part of a set-up that makes the world go round.’
‘I thought love made the world go round,’ Gemma said bitterly.
‘Whatever gave you that impression?’ Kit said.
Gemma leaned against the railings considering, watching a falcon stall above the cliffs ahead of them, its body motionless between its wings, hooked profile glancing from side to side, occasionally altering the trim of its rudder feathers.
‘I want to get out of the world then,’ she said. ‘I don’t want this sort of thing happening again, or anything like it.’ She covered her face with her hands then ran her fingers through her hair, pulling it back from her face, twisting it into a coil and pushing it down the back of her collar to keep the wind from whipping it round her cheeks. ‘I didn’t know things could go so horribly wrong,’ she said. What else didn’t she know about, she wondered, that might bring more public humiliation and private ruin?
‘You’ve got to make a choice, Gems. Choose life, not despair. There’s no situation so bad it can’t be redeemed in some way. Get out on the street. Find out what’s going on with Steve. Take action. You can come through this muddle.’
‘Muddle?’ said Gemma, angry at this minimisation. ‘It’s not a muddle, it’s a fucking nightmare.’
‘You have the resources to deal with it and come through it. You’re a professional woman with a lot of experience and a lot of skill. You’ve been trained to deal with crises. You know how to stay cool in a dangerous situation. You’ve got what it takes to sort this business out. I know you have. And when you’ve thought about it, you’ll remember that you have it, too.’ Kit kissed her on the cheek. ‘But more importantly, I know you and I know your inner strength.’
‘I feel helpless and powerless,’ said Gemma despairingly, ‘not strong at all.’
‘I remember you when you were a tiny thing,’ said Kit, ‘standing there, shaking in your tiny boots, but standing up to him. That’s something I can never forget.’
Without realising it, they had come to the place of their mother’s grave. Both of them paused, looking at the simple headstone giving their mother’s name and her birth and death dates. The rose bush Kit had planted last spring had one shrivelled bud and grass had grown up around it. They stood a moment in silence, and Gemma thought about this woman whom she could barely remember who had died too young.
‘Go back and talk to your staff,’ said Kit, as they started walking again. ‘Talk to Mike and Spinner, work out what you’re going to do. Talk to Angie. You have powerful allies. Use them. You can either fall in a heap and pull the doona up over your head or you can find your way through this. It’s your choice.’
Over the cliff, the falcon, in pursuit of invisible prey on the rocks, folded its wings and dropped from the sky.
•
Gemma strode back with the strong wind behind her bunting her along. Kit’s right, she thought. I’ve got to find a way through this. My way. She was suddenly aware that her injured leg was behaving reasonably well and that apart from the slightest tenderness when she took up the weight of her stride, it was functioning almost as well as her right leg. The last few days, she thought, I’ve had no time to do anything. Except damage control. The fire investigation seemed light years away. And the job she was doing for the sex workers. Even Shelly’s death seemed a distant tragedy, hidden by Gemma’s fears for Steve. And for herself.
Mike was still at work when she got back, fielding phone calls.
‘The phone hasn’t stopped,’ he said. ‘I told them to ring back later. A couple of the insurance companies want to break their contracts. Reckon they’ve got legal grounds to do it.’
‘Tell them we’ll complete any outstanding action free of charge,’ said Gemma. ‘First things first. I’m going to contact Spinner and Louise and tell them everything that’s happened. If they keep their records on tape or paper, I can transfer it later when everything’s settled down again.’ When everything’s settled down again, Gemma echoed in her mind. When my business has been forgiven for an unforgivable security lapse, when the identity of whoever is doing all this is revealed, when Steve is safe in my arms again.
She called up Spinner and Louise, asking them to come in straightaway for an urgent briefing. She only gave them the barest details over the radio. Spinner’s shocked voice brought her back to earth and Louise’s softly spoken words of comfort came as a pleasant surprise. I don’t know this woman at all, Gemma thought to herself. Then she made herself some toasted salmon sandwiches and ate a good slice of Kit’s lemon pie, then drank a huge vanilla milkshake, sitting at her dining table, looking out at the sea, watching clouds building up along the horizon.
•
An hour later, the four of them sat in the operatives’ office.
‘In case you’re not sure what’s just happened,’ Gemma said, ‘someone did a mass email of this business’s private records to every competitor in Sydney.’ She amazed herself by saying the words without choking and paused while that sank in. ‘Someone hacked into our system and our whole organisation is compromised. The only phone calls I’ve had today are from journalists or insurance companies who’ve contracted with us over the years. You won’t be surprised to hear that all bets are off.’
‘It’s already in the news,’ said Spinner. ‘I checked after you called.’
He logged on to the office computer and soon had the newspaper on screen and printed off. He handed it to Gemma.
‘Security Unsecured,’ ran the sub-editor’s line.
‘The confidential records of one of Sydney’s private security firms were faxed to competitors today in what has been described as one of the worst cases of electronic industrial espionage to date. A hacker penetrated the confidential records of Mercator Security and Business Advisers, a well-known and, until today, well-respected Sydney-based security firm run by ex-cop Gemma Lincoln, specialising mainly in insurance fraud. Other areas of Mercator’s business inclu
de spousal infidelity. The names and addresses of people targeted by the firm for fraud and other investigations of a sensitive nature were made public by the wide exposure.’
There was more, but Gemma couldn’t bear to read on.
‘There’s a bit here in a box,’ said Spinner, ‘describing a job you did on some woman who was playing up. And how your own records reveal that you falsely gave her husband a negative report.’
Gemma closed her eyes. That wretched case would forever haunt her, surfacing like a rotting corpse to expose foul play.
‘They’ve suppressed the names,’ Spinner was saying, ‘but I reckon there’s enough detail for the parties involved to identify themselves.’
Gemma’s heart sank even further. What if the aggrieved husband, now himself the victim of a fraud, decided on some sort of civil action? He could take her to the cleaners, ruining her reputation for good. She thought of years in litigation, the destruction of relationships, friendships, her privacy. And what would the licensing board have had to say about someone taking a fee from a client and then lying about the services rendered?
Spinner was trying to be stern, but she could see his deep concern for her. ‘It’s a terrible mess,’ he said.
Louise sat there, biting the nail on her little finger and Gemma noted for the first time what tiny hands she had, with stumpy, short fingers, almost like a baby’s. Mike looked over her shoulder, reading more of the report from the screen.
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