by J J Cooper
'You think it's a good idea for me to interview her?'
'She hasn't seen you, as far as I can tell. We've got to give it a shot.' He checked his mirrors again. 'I have to get this off the street. There are a shitload of cafés up and down here. One of them is bound to have internet access.'
'Where are you going to park?'
'Jay noticed a parking sign ahead for the Parklands and recalled it was an underground lot. He hoped it was still open. 'I'll park underneath the Parklands. You find a café while I sort out the car. Meet me inside the entrance to the carpark in thirty minutes. Do you remember the web address and password Uncle Pat gave us?'
'Yep.' She unbuckled her seatbelt and Jay noticed her hands still shaking. 'See you in half an hour,' she said.
'Be careful,' he replied.
Sarah crossed the street and disappeared into the first café. He wondered when the shock of shooting Keith would hit her. Her initial response with the noise and mayhem was natural. It was once the incident had sunk in that concerned him. At least she hadn't actually seen the fall of shot, he thought. He started the car and headed for the underground parking.
The carpark was three-quarters empty and he found a spot in a corner. He parked and set about hiding the evidence of the shattered window. The window would only wind down as far as the lowest bullet hole. He surveyed the other cars in the vicinity until he noticed what he needed. Another four-wheel-drive parked opposite and down a couple. The vehicle had window sox – screens that slip over the doorframe and cover the window. They block out direct light; a handy invention for those with kids.
He went to the trunk of his rental and removed a pair of pliers from the car toolkit. The pliers were perfect for removing an aerial from an older-style sedan directly opposite. He then bent the aerial so that it looked like a large fishing hook at one end. Taking his time, making sure he wasn't being observed, he moseyed toward the four-wheel-drive that had the window sox. Less than a minute later, he had the window sox in hand and was walking back to his vehicle. It took another minute to fit them to the car.
Jay returned the pliers to the toolkit and removed a screwdriver. He again went to the other four-wheel-drive, this time removing the number plates. He fitted the new plates and, satisfied with the alterations, drove out of the underground carpark. With another twenty minutes to kill, he parked a couple of streets away from the pickup location.
The twenty-minute wait didn't seem that long, not with the thoughts running through his head. He sat in the rental and smoked two of Sarah's cigarettes. New residential developments around the Southbank Parklands had attracted the 'coffee crowd'. Great access within reach of the city and a short walk to the hub of Brisbane's arts and cultural centre. Jay marvelled at the designer clothes, bleached hair, thin-framed spectacles and catwalk-like prance toward the cafés – and that was just the men. He fixed his attention onto the tattoo and wondered why Primrose had felt the need to permanently scar him. He knew Primrose was psychopathic, an obvious assumption from the manic killing of Bowen. He wondered why Bowen had become involved with Catherine and shook his head at his own stupidity with her. He put his thoughts aside and drove the couple of streets to pick up Sarah. She was waiting as planned.
She climbed into the rental and they headed south. Jay drove onto the highway and checked the speedometer. The last thing he needed was to be caught speeding.
'I left a short message about the Deputy Director,' Sarah said. 'And I rang around to find out who was handling the investigation with Catherine and Bowen.'
'And?'
'I ran into some luck. She's obviously been to the hospital and given an initial statement. There was a delay with her formal statement because the feds have become involved. She's meeting with them lunchtime tomorrow.'
'Where?'
'Canungra police station. I've told my contacts there's been a change of plans and that I'll be interviewing her. They're arranging for her to be there at ten.'
'Did they buy it?'
'Sure did.'
'Good. I know a little out-of-the-way place to stay.'
'Where?'
'Bearded Dragon.'
'Say again?' she asked.
'A hotel at Tamborine in the Gold Coast hinterland. The Bearded Dragon.'
'What kind of bizarre name is that for a hotel?'
'You'll be surprised by this joint. Beautiful country-style setting in a fairly secluded location. Very nice and private.'
'If you say so. At least we'll have plenty of time to prepare. I'm looking forward to interrogating that little bitch.'
'Yeah. No prep tonight, though. I want you fresh for it. We get there tonight and crash out. Tomorrow morning we'll go over what you'll say to her.'
'OK. Can you stop in at the next service station? I need to use the ladies.'
Jay pulled into a 24-hour service centre, one of the larger ones that contained a couple of coffee shops and the obligatory McDonald's for weary travellers. He reverse-parked far from the entrance but near enough to see the punters coming and going.
Four people sat on the edge of a garden-bed beside the front entrance, smoking. Their cigarette haze drifted towards the fluorescent lights above their heads. Jay reached across to Sarah's bag for her packet of cigarettes. He pulled it out, flipped the lid and looked inside. Empty. Dammit. He pulled out his new phone and called Sarah. There was no chance he'd risk being in a public place just for a packet of cigarettes. An engaged signal sounded in his ear. He checked the number and tried again. Still engaged. Strange, he thought. Who could Sarah be talking to?
Five minutes later, the automatic doors swung open and Sarah emerged. Jay called her mobile, watched her retrieve it and answer.
'What's wrong?' she asked.
'Need cigarettes.'
She didn't answer. Instead, hung up and went back inside.
While he waited for her to return with his cigarettes, he wondered who she'd been talking to. Uncle Pat had been clear in his order to only communicate via the internet.
THIRTY-FOUR
Ten o'clock at night, and using relatively isolated roads, made countering vehicle surveillance easy enough: just check the rearview mirror and pull over to the side of the road on the downside of a crest. Jay only needed to conduct the drill in two occasions while Sarah slept for the remaining forty-minute drive to the secluded location in the Gold Coast hinterland.
Brisbane's outer southern suburbs had extended their reach toward the mixture of lush grazing pastures and thick forested areas. It wouldn't be long before they clawed into, and overcame, the tranquil settings. The Bearded Dragon hotel loomed after a sharp bend on the country road. The vacancy sign flashed a welcome and he pulled the rental into the hotel driveway.
The crisp country air filled his lungs as he stepped out of the vehicle. He let Sarah sleep while he went inside the small front office to secure a room. He pressed a buzzer that had been glued to the counter. Theme-park posters hung around the confined space and he marvelled at how they'd managed to squeeze an oversized snack-vending machine into such a small office.
Vinyl strips that hung in the doorway behind the counter were pushed aside and a thirty-something woman in a nightie and pigtails came to the counter. Jay explained that he would like a room for one night, possibly two, and said that he and his girlfriend were visiting from Victoria. The woman accepted the credit card details, appeared to accept his story, and handed him two swipe cards for access to a room at the end of the complex.
All the rooms were on the same level and formed a quarter moon shape around lush gardens. Jay drove around the carpark to the rear of the hotel and picked a spot that shed the least light on the vehicle. With a sudden alertness that surprised him, Sarah woke and hopped out of the car. They made their way to the room and tossed their backpacks onto the floor.
Before going to bed Sarah showered, an opportunity Jay had been waiting for. He'd made the excuse of wanting a cigarette and a nightcap before taking a shower himself. She shrug
ged, undressed at the end of the bed and closed the door of the bathroom behind her.
Jay waited to hear the water run before retrieving Sarah's phone from her jeans. The last outward call displayed a number Jay knew. It belonged to Uncle Pat. There was another call registered to the same number while Sarah was in the café. The only other outgoing call was to a number he didn't know, made just prior to the first call to Uncle Pat. He assumed it was the police contact to interview Catherine. He started paging through to the outgoing calls.
'What are you doing?'
He spun around and held his breath. Sarah had poked her head around the bathroom door, water dripping to the floor from her drenched hair.
He held her phone toward her and slowly breathed out before answering. 'I thought I heard it ring. Must be hearing things.'
Her eyes narrowed. 'Can you pass me a towel?'
Jay dropped the phone on the bed and picked up one of the hotel towels. He handed it to her and she closed the bathroom door. He didn't know what to make of the calls to Uncle Pat, who had specifically stated they were not to call him.
He smoked while pouring four mini bottles of scotch into two glasses. He added a touch of dry ginger ale to each and set them down on the table by the bay window. For the first time that night, Jay felt tired. He extinguished his cigarette and headed for the shower.
Sarah was in a hotel robe, brushing her damp hair, as he walked in. The steamy bathroom was thick with tension. He undressed without saying a word and stepped into the shower. The strength came back into his body as he relaxed under the hot water. His mind raced, trying to rationalise Sarah's phone calls but he couldn't come up with any logical explanations. Before turning off the taps, he decided to confront her.
Half of Sarah's drink had disappeared by the time he walked out of the bathroom in a matching hotel robe. She stood at the bay window staring out at the moonlit garden. Jay picked up his drink and joined her.
'Beautiful night, isn't it?' he said.
'It's so peaceful out here and you can see the stars. I love the country.'
Jay finished his drink in three mouthfuls and decided on another before he went to sleep. He wanted to keep the little girl out of his head tonight. The scotch would help. This time he poured half the miniature bottle into his drink and swigged the rest. As he reached for the bottle of dry ginger ale, his vision blurred. Strange, he thought. Couldn't be drunk after one scotch. The bottle shook in his hand as he squinted to pour it into his glass. He felt exhausted. He placed the bottle on the table and sat on the bed. A moment's rest was all he needed, or so he thought. He lay down and shut his eyes.
The little girl with the suicide vest visited his dreams and spoke for the first time. Words beyond her youth. 'It's all right, mister,' she said. 'I'm not here to hurt you anymore. Can you see it now? Can you see the rainbow? Can you hear the birds? You know, I remember the birds. That was before you came here. The bombs scared them away, I think. My ears hurt because of the bombs. But you're going to stop them now. I know you will.'
Jay saw his hand reaching out for the little girl. The rose tattoo glowed under the searing desert sun. Beads of sweat played over the petals on his wrist like they had just been watered. Then the water drops turned red. The drops became larger and began to run down his arm. He turned his wrist downward and the red started to pour onto the little girl's bare feet. He quickly turned his wrist over but the blood continued to flow. He tried to withdraw his arm but he couldn't move it. The rest of his body was frozen in time under the Iraqi heat. All he could do was watch the crimson flow from his rose tattoo. He looked into the little girl's eyes.
She was frowning deeply. 'You could have stopped this war. You hear me, Jay? You could have stopped it. Too many of my people have died, but you could have stopped this war. We just want our land back, our lives back. Why won't you leave, Jay? You can still stop it. Tell the world they moved the big bombs. Tell the world the Jews have the big bombs. You can do it. Why haven't you told the world? Why are you still here? This is my country. I'm not angry with you anymore, Jay. Just leave and I'll be happy. You can do it.'
Jay could only stare, still glued to the spot.
The little girl continued. Her frown became a scowl. 'Don't look at me like that. Don't be a fucking hero. I'll blow my bomb, Jay. Go on: tell everybody what you did to me, Jay. You made me wear the vest. Nobody else did. You killed me. You killed us. Let me live, let us live. Tell the world, Jay. Tell the world that you fucked up. Be a man. Tell the world, you useless piece of shit.' Her pitch rose to a screech. 'Get out of my fucking country or I'll blow you all up! Tell the world or I'll kill you all.' She calmed herself and smiled. 'Last chance, Jay. For tomorrow you die. Make it right. Tell the world, fucker.'
He reached out to stop her leaving, and then noticed his hand again. Blood dripped from his fingers. It soaked into his camouflaged shirt and crept toward his chest. The scream could not escape his lips.
'Tell the world, Jay.' She unstrapped the vest, dropped it at his feet and walked away.
THIRTY-FIVE
Sweat stung his eyes as he opened them. The sheets scrunched beneath his fists. He unclenched them, sat up and looked down at the tattoo. Numbness had forced the strength from his hands and he worked his fingers back and forth to regain the circulation. He half expected blood to be oozing from the tattoo, like in the dream. He glanced around the room, hoping the little girl had gone. He licked his lips and recalled his last drink, remembering his collapse. Had it been due to exhaustion?
The bedside clock read 10.38. The interview with Catherine had been scheduled for 10.00. Where the hell was Sarah? He scrambled out of bed and searched for his clothes. A note lay on top of his folded jeans.
Didn't want to wake you. You crashed quick last night. Gone to pick up Catherine. Will be back soon. Miss you already. XXXX
Jay ran a hand through his hair, wondering why she hadn't woken him. He didn't trust Catherine and hoped that Sarah would be able to bring her back without any trouble. He figured she was trying to assert some authority or independence by doing the questioning alone, but it would have made more sense for her to have woken him to prepare for the confrontation.
He stretched and licked his dry lips. Morning routine was needed: a strong coffee, cigarette and shower. They'd rejuvenate his tired body and his spirits.
The hotel bar seemed the logical place to kill some time and have a late breakfast while he waited for Sarah to return. He tucked the Browning into the back of his jeans and headed across the drive.
The bar was free of patrons; it was just after opening time. He pulled up a stool and admired the warm country atmosphere of the pub, decorated with local relics and memorabilia. It had a welcoming feel of anonymity, just the way he liked it. No gaming room or poker machines to attract punters who couldn't afford to feed their kids. There were a couple of pool tables and a sports channel playing on a big screen in a corner. The kind of place Jay would come to watch a game of rugby.
The first pint of beer didn't last long. The barmaid wearing a Blow up the pokies shirt poured a second. She didn't seem the type for conversation, barely moving her lips when she asked what he wanted to drink. He figured she was the kind of woman who had watched her dreams evaporate with each beer poured, stuck in an eternal rut. Or maybe she was just part of the anonymity of the place. She continued with her routine of flipping stools off tables and laying out beer coasters. It made him realise how fortunate he was to have accomplished his goals so early in life. Not everyone could say they had reached the top of their chosen profession. Problem was, he felt like he'd fallen on his own sword. His major achievement a catalyst for his own undoing.
He reflected on his dream about the little girl. Since the dreams began, the bomb had always exploded without her saying a word. He'd interpreted it as revenge for him not stopping the war. The last dream confirmed these thoughts. He'd tried to ignore the dreams and the little girl, but she'd worn him down. Without doubt his trust in the syste
m had wavered in the past few days. He'd always had faith that if he performed his job right, those to whom he passed the information would make the right decisions, that they would use the intelligence to protect those who needed protecting. It made him sick to realise that his information would be used as some political point-scoring exercise; it was very disillusioning. Once he'd reassured himself, rationalising that he wasn't aware of the bigger picture and that tough decisions had to be made in order to fulfil long-term objectives. The honour of serving his nation and his loyalty to the army had pulled him through when times were tough. But now he'd begun to question whether the little girl had been right all along. His boss and mentor had betrayed him. He wondered what could have turned Bowen into that type of person and thought about Catherine's psychological powers. Maybe he should have accepted the deal to steal secrets, but his father would still have been in the same spot of bother. Rescuing him remained his priority.
Jay ordered a bowl of hot chips and another beer from the robotic barmaid. She grunted a price and he flipped her some change. She started to work on rearranging glasses behind the counter and Jay decided to check out the bar. Being a fugitive, he should at least look out for the authorities. Likely escape routes would be handy if needed.
There were tables and chairs on the grass in front of an outdoor entertaining area. A good spot to soak up the morning sun and observe the main road. The tranquillity of the morning felt like the calm before a storm.
A light breeze carried the smell of cow manure from a nearby paddock. The sun quickly deserted him and ducked behind a dark cloud. A flock of galahs took flight and a sense of doom caused Jay to reach for the comfort of the Browning. Touching it lifted his confidence, yet a strange dread remained. He suddenly felt exposed – to the elements and to an unknown threat. His eyes searched for the danger as he made his way back into the bar.