by J J Cooper
FORTY-ONE
Silence persisted for the remainder of the drive to the city. Jay formulated a plan while Pat weaved through the afternoon traffic.
Jay wondered what had happened to Sarah; she seemed to have just disappeared. Her mind must be heavy with Keith's shooting. If she went after Catherine, she could be in real danger. That is if Catherine was in fact working for Mossad, as Pat claimed. A thought struck. Pat hadn't asked about Sarah. He sensed Pat knew her whereabouts.
A difficult situation loomed. He needed to save his father and then go after Catherine. She was the link to Sarah. He felt his anger rise just thinking about Catherine and how she'd manipulated him from the start. Not only him but also Bowen, Lazarau and her husband. She had played them all for fools. He didn't want to be played for a fool again.
Jay gave directions to a bank in the heart of the city. Pat parked the car opposite, making sure he had a good view through the traffic toward the bank's entrance. Jay noticed the bus stop out front. Being in the city, it was likely to be a high-traffic stop. As if on cue, a bus pulled in and blocked the view of the bank's entrance.
'I'll wait here,' Pat said. 'Better not hang around in there too long. Local authorities still want to talk to you about those rape allegations. You're still on the wanted list. Police have their own agenda.'
Jay nodded. More like you have your own agenda, he thought. He leaned forward and placed the pistol in the back of his pants.
'Do you think that's a good idea taking the pistol into a bank? You shouldn't need it now,' Pat said.
He didn't want to leave the pistol but knew he couldn't take it in. The last thing he needed was the bank's hired rent-a-cop seeing the bulge under his jacket. Primrose's pistol was still in his backpack anyway. And he wanted Pat to think he was going in unarmed. 'You're right.' He placed the pistol under the seat, grabbed his backpack and stepped out of the car.
He crossed the road and instead of heading into the bank, walked to the side of it. He took out a cigarette and looked across at Pat, who shook his head. Jay raised his arms, shrugged and lit the cigarette. He scanned the streets and halfway through the cigarette spotted what he was looking for. Half a block back from Pat's vehicle, an identical car sat in a loading zone. The driver glanced away when Jay looked at him. He didn't linger on the driver and continued to scan, looking for something out of the ordinary. Suits and tourists mingled in the city street and into the adjoining park. Mums pushed prams overloaded with heavy shopping bags. Japanese tourists climbed all over a statue commemorating the Great War to get the right pose for their pictures. He turned his back on Pat and continued to scan the cafés adjoining the park. His senses didn't pick up anything unusual. Then when he turned toward the front of the bank, a figure jolted his memory. Jay tried to place the man who now stood in front of an office window across the street. He had his back turned to Jay but there was something familiar about the build. The man wore jeans and a large jacket. The jacket looked too thick for the mild weather. And he just stood there staring into the window, but for what reason? There was nothing on display behind the tinted windows, at least not that Jay could see from that distance. Jay glanced at the sign above the front windows. The office housed an accountancy firm. Definitely no need to be window-shopping.
Jay threw the cigarette on the ground and headed towards the bank. As he hit the top step, he bent down as if to tie a lace. With a quick glance under his arm, he noticed the man had turned to face him. It never ceased to amaze Jay just how many people succumbed to the shoelace anti-surveillance drill. In an instant, Jay recalled his previous encounter with the man. He never forgot the faces of those he interrogated. The puzzle neared completion as he now knew the name of the second familiar person waiting in the car half a block away. He hoped Cliffe and Taylor didn't hold too many grudges. Could explain the thick jacket, though. Perhaps they were still thawing out. He stood up and made his way into the bank.
It was the type of bank that valued customer service, a defining factor in Jay selecting its services. A woman with a smile that could have stopped traffic greeted him just inside the entrance. 'Good afternoon, sir, how may I help you?'
The strong aroma of Red Door perfume pleased his senses. 'Hello...' he checked her nametag, 'Shannon. A couple of things, thanks. Firstly, I have a safe deposit box here that I would like to have opened.'
'Certainly, sir. What name please?'
'Jay Ryan.'
She ushered him toward a small desk and offered him a seat opposite her. He gave her his account number and code while she tapped the keyboard on a laptop computer. The screen should have let her know that Jay was a privileged client. Not only had he paid for the safe deposit box in advance for the next five years, he had a substantial portfolio of investments with the bank. Years of tax-free overseas deployment pay well invested. While he waited he turned and glanced out of the bank's front windows. Pat watched on but Cliffe had disappeared.
'There we go, Mr Ryan. Anything else before I take you through to the viewing room?'
Jay knew each cubicle in the viewing room had its own laptop computer with internet access. 'Yes, there is. Do the laptops in the viewing room have the ability to burn DVD discs?'
'Yes, they do. Would you like a DVD recordable or a thumb drive to take with you when you leave?'
Jay certainly didn't have a thumb drive when he first burnt the recording onto disc. 'DVD, thanks.'
'Certainly.'
'Perfect. If possible, can I have two discs, a marker pen and a priority-post envelope?'
'Shouldn't be a problem, sir. Shall I arrange that while you are in the viewing room or would you prefer I get the items now before you went in?'
'While I'm in there will be fine, thank you.'
Shannon came around from behind the desk and led Jay through another door that required her to use a pin code. They made their way down a narrow hall that opened into the large viewing room. On the far side of the room, four small cubicles divided the wall. Each cubicle had a large red curtain pulled across the front. Jay always thought the room would be more suited to a business club that offered private lap dances. Shannon showed him to one of the rooms and pulled the curtain back behind him as he entered. He sat down on a two-seater lounge, put his bag on the floor, and opened the laptop that sat atop a coffee table.
Within a minute, his safe deposit box had been slid out from the wall to his left. He took it off its rollers, placed it on the coffee table next to the computer and quickly punched in his own five-digit code. The top of the box popped up and he took out the Iraqi interrogation disc. He inserted the disc and found the software to copy it to another disc. While he waited for Shannon to return, he surfed the internet until he found the address where he intended to send a package. He left the internet page open and sat back in the lounge. Shannon returned with his requested items less than a minute later. He thanked her and she promised to wait at a discreet distance, should he require any further help.
Jay used the marker pen to address the envelope from the information on the recipient's web page. He then marked the blank disc with three X markings and the other with two X markings. The XXX disc went in his bag and he put the XX disc in the computer when it was ready to copy. He placed the original disc back into the safe deposit box, locked it with his authentication code and slid it back into the wall recess.
While he waited for the copy to complete, he phoned the police and left an anonymous message that a man was being held prisoner in a caravan park. He tried to sound like a concerned citizen who had heard muffled cries for help and said that he had peered through the caravan window. He gave the address, told the operator to hurry and hung up. With Cliffe and Taylor outside the bank for Pat's back-up, Jay figured that they'd left his father alone until they'd either returned with Jay or killed him. Pat probably figured that as long as he knew where Jay was there would be little chance of a rescue attempt. Probably thought that the caravan park would be a good place to continue holding his fath
er, as Jay had already checked it and assumed they would have moved him. Jay also figured that Sarah had told Pat before she and Jay went to check the caravan, therefore allowing time for his father to be moved. Jay kicked himself for not spending more time searching the caravan park.
He rang Bill. Still no answer. He left a message about his father, mentioning the police had been called and that his father would probably be taken to the nearest hospital.
On a whim, he tried Sarah's number. Catherine answered.
FORTY-TWO
'So I assume you haven't given the disc to the Director of NSIS yet, Jay,' Catherine said.
'Where's Sarah?'
'Interesting choice. You know the Director will kill your father, and you want to save Sarah instead. Don't tell me you're in love.'
Jay's knuckles whitened around the phone. 'Where is she?'
'I'll get to that. I just wanted to say how I admire your resilience. Fascinating how you have avoided capture and have managed to stay alive, considering the vast resources NSIS have used to get the document and now the disc. And Warren was right, you really shouldn't have been underestimated. I'll admit that I did just that. No matter what I threw down to turn you in a different direction, you always came back on track. Although, by admitting to the video recording, you really have upped the ante for your girlfriend here. We suspected you had deleted the recording in Iraq. But then again, the recording has kept you all alive to date.'
'Didn't help your husband or Bowen.'
'Or Lazarau,' she said.
'Guess you're not as on top of things as you think. Hate to throw a spanner in the works, Catherine, but Lazarau's still alive.'
A distinct pause.
'You still there, Catherine?' Jay acted on a hunch. 'Or whatever your real name is. By the way, what did happen to the real Catherine Zinner? I've seen pictures of her and I must say I think you could have picked someone to impersonate who looks a little like you.'
'Think you have it figured out, Jay? Zinner was a drug addict and I did her a favour by ending her miserable life. And I quite like the name so you can keep calling me Catherine. As for Lazarau, even if he is alive the Director will see to his timely death as soon as his use-by date has expired. All good things must come to an end, Jay. You really don't think the Director is going to let you live, do you?'
'I'm sure you'll both try your best to eliminate me.'
'I really have no need to kill you after you hand over the document and disc. It'll be as if the Iraqi interrogation never happened. I quite like the thought of you looking down at your wrist for the rest of your life and thinking of me.'
Jay glanced at his wrist but couldn't see the tattoo as his watch still covered it. 'Sub Rosa,' he said. 'The keepers of secrets are Mossad informants, aren't they?'
'I'll let you figure that one out some other time.'
'You know what . . . Catherine. I thought your husband was the psychopath of your little union, but you really are one nasty bitch.'
'I thought that would have been obvious when we made love, Jay.'
'We fucked. That was all.'
'And I thought you loved me.' She chuckled down the line.
'Enough bullshit! Where is she?'
'OK, business it is then.'
On Catherine's end the phone went silent. It sounded like it had been placed on a bench. Jay's heartbeat quickened. He thought he could make out the sound of velcro being ripped followed by heavy breaths. 'Sarah. Sarah are you there? Where are you?'
A high-pitched scream forced him to pull the phone away from his ear. No. No, he thought. He put the phone back to his ear. 'Sarah!' He heard sobbing and the phone being picked up.
'Let's do business, Jay.' Catherine said.
'What the fuck have you done to her, you sadistic bitch?'
'Calm down. Just playing my first card. She'll be fine as long as you play the game fair and do as I tell you. And I don't want the "if you lay a finger on her" speech. You know what I want. You have an hour to bring the document and the disc to me. Just you and no bullshit. And the picture I'm about to send you is for what you did to my husband. I was quite fond of him in the end.' The line went dead.
He threw the phone down and slammed his fist on the table.
Shannon called out softly from behind the curtain. 'Are you all right, Mr Ryan? Can I get you anything?'
Jay was terse with his response, too terse. 'No.'
There was no reply. He realised he couldn't let his frustrations get the better of him and slid back the curtain. 'Sorry, Shannon, could I have a bottle of water, thanks?'
She smiled and nodded. He closed the curtain and looked down at the phone, forcing aside his temptation to call Catherine again. He didn't want to convey his desperation to get Sarah back. A message popped up on the computer to say the disc copy was complete. He removed the disc marked XX and placed it in the envelope. Shannon returned with the bottle of water and Jay handed over the envelope for posting.
Despite the current situation, he felt the burden of the Iraq interrogation secret lift from him. A picture of the Iraqi girl handing him a flower drifted through his mind. He could only hope that he had done the right thing and sent the disc to the appropriate person. For good or bad, he knew the disc would change the world.
The mobile phone vibrated on the coffee table. He picked it up and read the message: You have an hour to get to the Gold Coast. Another message came through, this time a picture. His eyes widened. The image showed a hand, with the smallest finger now a bloodied stub. Catherine had lopped off one of Sarah's fingers. He tried to call back but a pre-recorded message stated the phone was switched off. He wanted to roar like a wounded bull, but bottled the rage inside.
He spent a minute running his hands through his hair. The picture made him feel sick. After shutting down the computer, he took the pistol from the bag and checked how many rounds were left: nine. He tucked the pistol into the back of his pants, placed the phone in his jacket pocket and grabbed his backpack.
Like a faithful servant, Shannon walked across to greet him as he exited the booth. 'I trust everything is in order, sir.'
'It is.'
'Is there anything else I can do for you today?' she asked.
Jay paused for a moment and frowned. 'Actually, there is.'
She nodded.
'As soon as I walk out of this bank there may be a lot of commotion.'
Her smile started to fade.
'You see, there are some very nasty people out there who are going to try their best to hurt me.'
The smile had disappeared altogether.
'Let me explain. They have kidnapped my father and they want something that's in this backpack. And when I walk out they will try to get it off me.'
'Shall I call the police?' she asked.
'I would like you to do that as soon as I go outside, but not before. They can't be tipped off that I told you.'
'What should I say to the police?'
'Tell them that the man they found in the caravan park north of Brisbane is my father. And that the men outside are his kidnappers.'
'What if they are gone before the police arrive?'
'They'll still be here.'
'Where are you going?'
'Tell the police that I am heading up north to see my father.'
'Mr Ryan . . .'
'Jay,' he said.
'Jay. You really didn't do what they say you did on television, did you?'
Jay was taken aback. 'You know about that?'
'I'm good with faces.'
'Why didn't you call the police as soon as I walked in?'
Her smile returned. 'I'm also good at reading people. Besides, you are a valued customer.'
'Thank you.'
'You're welcome, Jay. Good luck.' She led him to the entrance of the bank. The security guard glanced at them and she gave him a nod, as if to say Jay was a good guy.
The automatic door slid open and Jay stepped into the street. He held the backpack tightly b
y his side. Pat stared from across the street. Final target, Jay thought. Taylor looked away again as Jay glanced toward him in his parked car. Second target. He took out a cigarette and moved to the side of the building. Again Pat shook his head and Jay shrugged it off. He pretended to check his pockets for a lighter, all the while scanning for his final target. He searched for another smoker and noticed Cliffe still standing across the street, this time leaning on the building reading a magazine. If only Cliffe had looked around, he might have noticed that he was the only person doing such an activity. Fucking amateur, Jay thought.
Jay moved toward the bus stop, still searching for a smoker to give him a light. Thankfully, no smokers were around. He looked across at Pat and held up his cigarette, at the same time giving him a shrug. Pat waved his hand at Jay to indicate for him to come to the car. Instead, Jay paused for a break in traffic. He gripped his bag and crushed the cigarette in his clenched fist. He tightened his jaw and looked directly at Cliffe.
A break in traffic opened up as if sensing it should allow this madman to cross the road.
Jay launched towards his first target.
FORTY-THREE
Cliffe looked up from his magazine when Jay was halfway across the road. His reaction was quick and a little unexpected. Jay figured he would have made the distance with Cliffe glued to the spot, staring at the raging bull headed his way. But it wasn't to be. The magazine floated to the ground and Cliffe reached into his jacket. Still Jay drew closer. Although he was on the pavement, he knew he wouldn't make it in time. The pistol came out of the jacket fast and Cliffe's right hand extended. Jay was almost on to him, only a couple of paces left. Instinct and training kicked in. He veered to Cliffe's left, knowing that the pull at the trigger would force the bullet to fly slightly to the right. The blast compression hit Jay a split second before he readjusted his direction and rammed Cliffe with a full body blow.
Glass shattered on both sides of the street, not registering as loudly to Jay as it should have. A pistol fired at close range screamed in his ears. He lay sprawled on the ground below the now shattered office window. Shards of glass showered down on his back. He shut his eyes tight and dared not move until the last of the pieces bounced off his leather jacket. Eventually he rose to all fours, tilted his head sideways and looked back across the street. A glass pane from the front of the bank was missing. Shannon was rushing to the security guard who sat facing the window gripping a shoulder. The guard had copped Cliffe's stray bullet.