by J J Cooper
Twenty minutes later, the purring V8 engine was carrying him along the highway. As he passed Movie World, he tried his father's number again, to no avail. The three-lane highway carved through a mix of bushland and new housing estates as the Gold Coast and Brisbane slowly crept together. The morning commute from the beaches to the thriving city had not yet begun. There were only work utilities and trucks getting a jump on the office workers. He stuck to the fast lane and stepped harder on the accelerator. No longer able to contain his curiosity about the tattoo, he started to remove the bandage, glancing from his hand back to the road.
His swollen hand throbbed as he unwound the wrapping. Although blood had soaked into the first few layers of bandage, there was only a small scab on his palm, just below the webbing of his middle fingers. He looked at the road ahead and winced as he remembered the nail driving into his flesh.
With his good hand, he reached across to pull the damaged hand closer to his eyes. He was hypnotised by the effect of the street lights on the abstraction on his wrist. Distracted, he didn't notice the Chevy drift toward the concrete barriers.
FIVE
Jay snapped out of his trance a moment before the Chevy scraped the concrete barrier. Sparks flew into his window and he heaved the black machine back into his lane.
The stench of grinding metal filled the interior of the car and he took the next off-ramp. He pulled into a service station and parked, turning his attention to his damaged wrist.
No bigger than a watch face, the rose tattoo glimmered under the glow of the outside lighting. Standard black outline, green stem with five red petals surrounding a white inner bud. He ran his fingers across it, feeling the ridges of the outline. The ruby red hypnotised him. The harder he stared, the more the rose seemed to grow out of his skin. The violation sent a shudder through him. He couldn't comprehend why he'd been tattooed. A permanent mark etched on his body for the rest of his life. A mark of the torture etched into his mind.
Again, he tried to call his father. Again, it rang out.
He quickly checked the damage to the Chevy. A busted headlight and some scraped paint. Thankful for choosing such a solid vehicle, he fired it up and headed for his father's house. He arrived less than thirty minutes later.
After locking the car, Jay paused in the driveway. Although he wanted to run up to the house, something told him to be cautious and he looked around. The lights were off in the two-storey house his father had purchased three years before, the day he'd retired from the National Secret Intelligence Service (NSIS), or the Agency, as it is known. Jay thought the house too big for one person and his father too young for retirement. Ed Ryan had explained that savvy financial investments would fund his retirement and the spy business was now a game for younger men to play. Although he admitted to still doing some freelancing for the Agency.
The rustling of leaves to his left caught Jay's attention and he turned. The noise came from beyond the wooden fence separating his father's from the adjacent property. Shadows skipped through the small gaps between the palings. Two sets of eyes glowed at him. He closed in and crouched in front of the shadows.
'Hey, Jersey, hey, Kuta,' he whispered. Both German shepherds replied with wags of their tails as Jay reached over the fence to give them a pat. The older one, Kuta, groaned softly.
The dogs' ears pricked up. They turned in unison at the sound of their master's door opening. In the early morning light, Jay made out an old man in a worn blue bathrobe walking along his balcony, coffee in one hand, cigar in the other. The German shepherds found a gap in the hedge and bolted up the stairs toward their master. They lay obediently at his feet. The old man leaned over the edge of his balcony and looked down at Jay. 'For a spy, you sure are noisy, Jay.'
It was easier to ignore the jovial comment than to explain to his father's neighbour that he wasn't a spy. Not really. 'Hi, Mr Hunter. Hope I didn't wake you. I know how much you need your beauty sleep.'
'Funny little bugger, aren't you? No, you didn't wake me. Girls have been running up and down the fence barking all night.' He indicated the fence that separated the properties, the smoke of his cigar curling into the dawn sky. 'This is the first time they've stopped. Don't suppose your dad went and got himself a cat, did he?'
Jay looked along his side of the fence. 'Doubt it. Not unless he got one just to shit-stir you.'
Mr Hunter chuckled but didn't respond.
'Did Dad make it to the game yesterday?'
'Nope, you both stood me up. I'm used to you having no manners and dropping out at the last minute. Not like your old man, though.'
'Yeah sorry, I was ... tied up with work. What about Dad? Did he say why he couldn't make it?'
William Hunter took a sip of his coffee and puffed on the cigar before replying. 'Nope. Inconsiderate too, I might add, given it was his turn to bring the beers. I threw a few things at his house but he didn't come out. Must be back in the spy game, hey?'
Jay moved along the fence line, closer to the neighbour's balcony. 'Look, Mr Hunter, how many times do I have to tell you that Dad wasn't a spy and I'm not one either?'
'Yeah, so you both keep telling me. I wasn't born yesterday, you know. And I do know a bit about the game.'
'I know, I know. As a dashing young agent, you were instrumental in securing the defection of Russian spy Vladimir Petrov and his wife to Australia. Operation Cabin 12, wasn't it?'
'You bet your arse I was instrumental. Practically ran the whole operation.'
It wasn't true. Jay's father had checked the story with the Agency as soon as he'd heard it. William Hunter was never an agent of any description and the closest he had come to the Petrovs was as a security guard at Sydney airport in 1954. The young Mr Hunter had been on duty when the plane taking Mrs Petrov back to Russia was swamped by a large crowd wanting to save her from likely execution upon return to her homeland. Fights broke out and mayhem erupted at the airport after the crowd crashed through the cordon of police and security personnel. Jay and his father guessed it was Mr Hunter's fifteen minutes of fame and allowed him his story.
'Fair enough. Don't suppose you actually came across to check on Dad today?'
'Nope. He's a big boy. Can look after himself.'
The worry escalated and Jay started moving for the steps. 'I gotta go. I'll speak with you later, Mr Hunter.'
'OK. You can tell your old man that I'm pissed off. And he can bring extra beer next week.'
Jay waved a reply with his good hand. His knees strained taking the steps two at a time. He unlocked the door and reached for the light switch. The wooden floorboards groaned as he stepped inside to disarm the alarm. It had already been turned off. A shot of adrenalin tensed his muscles. A throb registered in his injured hand. He looked around the lounge-room.
'Dad, you here?'
Nothing out of the ordinary, everything in its place just as his father liked it. He fixed his gaze on the study across the room. The light from the lounge-room stretched to the antique desk and the computer monitor illuminated the back of the study.
Jay dug into the umbrella-stand beside the door and withdrew a baseball bat. As he placed his left hand on the bat, a shot of pain ran up his arm. Bad idea. He changed the bat to his good hand and crept toward the study. The monitor flickered. A full-size wedding photo of his parents, the one his dad used as a screensaver, replaced what had been on the screen. Reaching the study door, he raised the bat above his head.
At the back of the house, the creaking of a floorboard under weight made him turn. He tightened his grip on the bat. He heard the familiar groan of the back door opening and bolted towards the noise. Heavy footsteps pounded down the back steps. Jay chased them, hoping it was Primrose.
He arrived at the steps in time to see a pair of camouflaged legs vaulting into Mr Hunter's backyard. Jersey and Kuta started barking and began the chase.
Bat held high, Jay bounded across the back lawn. He reached the fence as the two German shepherds raced for their catch. Kuta grab he
r man high on the back of the leg as the intruder climbed the opposite fence. He kicked out. The bitch came away with a mouthful of fabric.
Jay waited for the dogs to come bounding to him. He took the piece of fabric from Kuta's mouth and inspected a small patch of blood on it. Thinking better of putting his battered body through a chase, he hurried back into the house.
Jay checked all the rooms. Everything was in its place. Everything was there except his father. He sat at the antique desk in the study and flicked the computer mouse. The picture of his parents disappeared and a word document came up, its contents screaming out to him.
YOU WERE WARNED. THIS IS NOT A GAME.
Jay read it again and printed it out. He manoeuvred the mouse to conduct a search of the most recent documents on the computer. The register came up and the top two word documents caught his eye.
The first document was titled 'Lazarau'. The second one, 'Sub Rosa'.
SIX
Even nearing the end of spring, early mornings had a tendency to be crisp in the nation's capital. Agent Sarah Evans inhaled the toxin and checked the time. Always early and she rarely smoked. She dropped her fifth cigarette of the hour, popped a few Tic Tacs and pushed off the government car. Time to interrogate Anthony Lazarau.
She straightened her business jacket and made her way across the carpark and into the government's prisoner holding facility. Her NSIS credentials allowed for quick access. The same credentials couldn't save her the wait for a security escort though. She used the short period to review her plan.
For the last three months, Lazarau had stuck to his cover story despite intense questioning by the Australian Federal Police. Although there was enough evidence to secure an espionage conviction, there wasn't any explanation for the missing copies of the other ninety-eight Top Secret documents. Recent cases involving espionage had drawn criticism from Australia's allies. NSIS had a standing agreement on espionage cases, with the Australian Federal Police conducting the initial investigations. NSIS would provide the link between the Federal Police and concerned allied partners. They would also conduct detailed analysis of the information obtained and reassure intelligence partners that their secrets were safe. Such was the delicate nature of the intelligence alliance between Australia, Britain, Canada and America that the head of the NSIS was held directly accountable by the Prime Minister for the quick resolution of espionage cases. The Lazarau case had dragged on for too long and pressure was building for an outcome and the retrieval of all missing documents.
A large, frowning man arrived to escort Sarah to Lazarau's holding cell. He checked the paperwork and adjusted his belt. No 'good morning', no 'how are you today?', no welcoming smile. Sarah guessed that, at his age, he was well on his way to the countdown to retirement. He smelled of coffee and his grey moustache was stained by cigarettes. He nodded to Sarah, an indication for her to follow. She fell in behind him and reckoned he would be in a wheelchair within ten years by the way his buckled knees shuffled along. If he lived that long.
They made their way through three security grilles and stopped in what appeared to be an isolated section of the facility. The guard unlocked a cell and stepped aside as she entered. He didn't offer to stay in the cell with her, as the prisoner was deemed a non-violent offender. Sarah figured the guard would be more of a hindrance anyway if something occurred.
Lazarau sat up on his bunk. 'Well, hello there, lovely lady.' He patted the bunk. 'I've been expecting a sponge bath.'
She tucked a few strands of blonde hair behind an ear, folded her skirt under her legs and sat on the plastic chair on the other side of the cell. She deliberately took her time withdrawing a small notepad and pen from her jacket, allowing Lazarau to take in the aroma of an excessive application of perfume, a ploy she used often. 'I find it unusual that a man who claims to have been blackmailed because he was photographed having sex with another man would like to be bathed by a woman.'
Lazarau sat on the edge of the bed in his pale-green long-sleeved shirt and blue jeans. Thongs topped off the ensemble. He ran his tongue across his lips and stroked his goatee beard. 'Perhaps you don't know that I bat for both sides, pretty lady.'
'I'm sure you have been batting quite a lot since your arrest, Mr Lazarau.'
'Touché, Ms ...?'
She ignored the probing question. 'You need to realise that, to date, you have not been very cooperative with your responses to the various persons who have questioned you.'
'I beg to differ,' Lazarau said. 'I have been more than cooperative with the various agencies that have questioned me. So which agency do you belong to?'
Sarah tapped the pen on the notepad, again ignoring the question. She didn't want to allow Lazarau any power.
'I have all the necessary security clearances,' he said. 'Feel free to share with me all the information you have to date.' He leered at her.
Lazarau was being a smart-arse, trying to gain the upper hand. His ego couldn't stop him talking. It was obvious he preferred women by the overt softening of his eyes and attempted flirting. His cover story wouldn't last long. 'Like the information you attempted to share with our Singaporean friends?'
He sat back on the bed. 'You make it sound as if I've betrayed my country, when in fact I was being blackmailed. And besides, the embassy reported it to the appropriate authorities, didn't they?'
'What makes you say that?'
'Well, they certainly didn't buy the documents. As soon as I left I was arrested and brought here.'
'Now we're getting somewhere.' She smiled and his smirk disappeared. 'Let's talk more about your attempt to sell national secrets, shall we?'
'No . . . no, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. What I meant to say is that I went to meet this business woman who was . . .'
'So now you're saying that you went to meet a business woman. You previously stated that you went to try to find out who she was because she was trying to blackmail you.'
Lazarau shifted on his bunk and stroked his goatee. 'Now you are putting words into my mouth. I didn't say that at all.'
Sarah leaned forward. Her smile disappeared and she raised her hand for the prisoner's silence. 'Enough lies. From what you've just admitted, you're going away for a very long time. The next time you see me I'll be sitting across from you in a court of law repeating your confession to espionage.'
Lazarau dropped his shoulders and lowered his head.
She was surprised how easy it was. Most men, she knew, were susceptible to questioning by a woman. She leaned back and crossed her legs. 'I will now allow you precisely one minute to collect your thoughts. At the end of the minute, you will provide truthful responses to my questions. And I warn you, Mr Lazarau, that I will not be happy if you provide me with another flimsy cover story.'
He didn't wait the minute. 'What deal are you offering, lady?'
'You're in no position to ask me that, Mr Lazarau. You're in jail. Next week you'll be found guilty of espionage. Now you need to tell me the truth in order to make the punishment a little more bearable. Do you understand me?'
He crossed his arms. 'Listen, lady, I know that our American, British and Canadian friends will be sweating on what I know. So you better start talking about a deal.'
She leaned forward again. 'Now you listen to me. If you don't start talking I will put all my energy into having you share the same cell as some of Australia's worst sodomites.'
Lazarau shook his head. 'All right, you nasty bitch. What do you want to know?'
She thought the submission had come too easily. 'I'll have the truth, to start with, or someone may be calling you "bitch" real soon.'
Lazarau pushed his back against the concrete wall. He brought his legs to his chest and started picking at a toenail. 'The name you are looking for is Jay Ryan. A sergeant in the Australian Army Intelligence Corps. I first met him a couple of years ago during my initial analyst training. He forced me to copy the Top Secret documents. This is all you get. I suggest you talk to him for what you need. This
conversation is over.'
She knew the name. 'I haven't finished yet, Mr Lazarau. If he is Army Intelligence and you're a civilian working for the Defence Intelligence Organisation, why would you have anything to do with him?'
'I said this conversation is over, Miss Evans. Please leave.'
Sarah hid her surprise. Not the revelation about Jay Ryan, rather that Lazarau knew her name. She stood and left the cell without another word. On her way out, she checked where she had signed in. It read Sarah Jacobson – Australian Federal Police. She was flabbergasted. Even her ex-boyfriend hadn't known her real name or occupation. As far as she knew, only the Director of NSIS knew of her current assignment. He had assigned the case to her personally and told her to keep it under wraps.
The interrogation had resulted in more questions than answers. She stopped at the Agency car and turned against the cool Canberra breeze to light another cigarette. It didn't make sense. The name Lazarau had given belonged to arguably the nation's best interrogator. Not only was Jay Ryan the best in the Australian army, his services and expertise were highly sought after amongst other government agencies, including her own.
Sarah should know; she had first-hand experience of Jay Ryan's interrogation skills.
SEVEN
Using his good hand, Jay tracked the cursor onto the 'Lazarau' shortcut on his father's computer. He clicked on the link. A pop-up screen suggested the drive or network connection for the document was unavailable. Without thinking, he banged his damaged hand on the desk. The agony clawed up his arm. He kicked back in his chair and held the injured hand close to his stomach.
The grandfather clock interrupted his pain with a moan of its own. Seven chimes. Jay controlled his breathing and realised that he was supposed to be at work in half an hour. He grabbed his mobile phone from his pocket, flipped it open and placed a call to his superior officer's mobile.
After the second ring, a gruff voice answered. 'This better be good.'