by A. A. Bell
‘What “last-minute case"? I thought the docs finished the final testing phase a few days ago?’
‘So did they, but an opportunity presented itself for one more and Dr Zhou indulged himself.’
‘Did he now?’
‘It’s of no consequence, sir, just a crazy blind girl.’
‘Any chance you were seen?’ asked the rat.
‘No, sir.’
‘What about Lockman?’
The hunter shook his head. ‘He’s pretty sharp for a kid, but he’s straight out of boot camp. If he suspects anything at all about my regular breaks, it’s that I’ve got a weak bladder. Nothing more.’
‘What about coming here? Does anyone know?’
The hunter shook his head again. ‘You didn’t recruit me for my good looks and charm, sir.’
‘Don’t be a smart ass, Hawthorn. I get enough of that crap from Mitch Van Danik.’
‘Sorry, sir. I only meant that I appreciate the risk you’re taking in assigning such an important mission to me, and I’m not about to let you down now that I’m sorting my life out again.’
‘Well, that’s good to know,’ the rat replied. ‘But how long until your absence is noticed?’
‘Five minutes. I’m on a break. There is one thing I need to ask you.’
‘Oh?’
The hunter drew his sidearm as swiftly as a panther baring its claws. ‘Why did you assign an old has-been like me to this mission, and then ask me to steal something that you’re already supervising? The docs are going to hand over everything to you, just as soon as they’re finished, anyway … Unless you plan on framing me for selling military secrets on your behalf?’
In reply, the rat tilted his hand inside his pocket and a silenced pellet dissected the hunter’s neck. He fell gasping, unable to scream as his life drained swiftly onto the dirty bitumen.
‘That information is classified,’ said the rat.
He removed the unfired weapon along with the watch and fake ID wallet from the body, then scurried swiftly back to the fire exit door. Along the way, he withdrew a sealed plastic bag from his pocket that already contained the murder weapon, a small amount of black powder and the empty bullet casing. Careful not to let the powder or the casing fall through the blast hole, he stretched his gloved hand into the gap behind the rubbish bin and stashed the bag there. The cat, which was hiding there, spat at him and scratched his wrist just above the glove, leaving three parallel blood trails.
* * *
Ben made it home to the beachhouse a little after 6:10 pm, annoyed with himself and the thoughts that now consumed him about Mira.
She had her first decent chance to see again, or at least to remove the crystalline growths that tormented her daily with pain, but the main question that plagued him was how it would affect him when she didn’t need him anymore. Would she still want to see him? Or even talk to him once she could truly see him for who he was?
As a toughened ex-con, he couldn’t help but mask most of his body language, yet she would read him like a book. And since any form of deception was no better than a lie as far as Mira was concerned, the more she could see about him, the less she was likely to trust him — especially if she ever glimpsed any of the hand-signal conversations he’d had with other staff right in front of her. To Mira, that would be worse than talking about her behind her back, since he hadn’t just taken advantage of her blindness. He’d blatantly abused her trust, manipulated her escape to the bus shelter and lied about the extent of his wounds outside the gate. He wouldn’t blame her if she never wanted to hear, see or smell him again. He kicked the base of his surfboard-shaped letterbox, hurting his big toe through his shoe. Muttering a curse, he let himself in through the front door, his frustration escalating at the sound of hurried shuffling upstairs, as if his mother was attempting to hide something — or someone — again.
‘Hi, Ma, I’m home,’ he called, trying to hide his feelings. ‘Are you cleaning again? Or still?’
‘The house won’t clean itself, Ben-Ben.’ She scurried out to the railing at the top of the stairs, wearing her nurse’s uniform, but with the top three buttons undone.
The floor creaked in the bedroom behind her.
‘Is someone else up there?’
She laughed awkwardly, raking her long fingers through her hair. ‘Do you need to come up to your room just yet?’
‘For a shower, yes.’ He headed for the bottom step.
‘Aren’t you hungry? Maybe you should take a snack out to the patio first? Give me a minute or two to change and I’ll join you.’
‘Actually, I think I’d prefer a shower first.’
‘No!’ She raised her hand like a traffic cop. ‘I just shampooed the carpet up here in the hall and it’s still wet. Really, honey, if you need to freshen up, why not go for a surf? Or use the back stairs on the patio to go up to your room?’
Ben glanced at her bedroom door. He was unable to see much of it, but he saw enough to realise she’d drawn it partially closed behind her. However, trying to go up there when she clearly didn’t want him to would only cause an argument.
‘Whatever,’ he conceded and backed off.
‘Thanks, Ben-Ben. Killer’s hungry too. Make us both something to eat and I’ll be down in a minute.’
He nodded and walked to the sundeck side door where the Rottweiler was already drooling happily against the clean glass. With a click of his fingers, Ben commanded the dog to follow him to the cupboard. Then, with a sneaky glance to make sure his mother had disappeared into her room, he opened a can of pet food and turned his back to let Killer swallow it down in one bite.
He led the dog upstairs quietly to his mother’s bedroom. ‘Keep-safe Ma,’ he whispered — the command to protect her.
The dog winked as if sharing the joke and, as Ben opened the door, Killer crept in and obeyed a handsignal to lie down and stay silent. Ben eased the door closed and returned to the kitchen, where he set about bandaging his big toe and fixing himself a microwave dinner, knowing it wouldn’t take long for anyone upstairs to evacuate.
‘Peee-ewww!’ came the gasps a few moments later.
His mother bounded down the stairs alongside a tall, broad-shouldered man, his face well hidden by a black leather jacket. She ushered him out the front door and seconds later Ben heard a motorbike rev to life — must have been hidden down the side of the house, he thought. It screamed off down the sandy track, stirring a thick cloud behind it that prevented him seeing any details through the kitchen window.
‘That was a lousy trick,’ his mother complained as she stormed into the kitchen.
‘You’ve got no reason to hide a boyfriend from me, Ma. I think it’s great that you’re getting out and enjoying life again. You owe nothing more to Dad. He slept around.’
‘He had the decency to leave everything to you in his will,’ she smiled. ‘Thank God you’re not like him.’
‘Maybe not yet.’ He shrugged, thinking of Mira’s father and how long it had taken for his problems to become hers. ‘You have to wonder, though, about genetic programming.’
‘Oh, no. You’re free to make your own choices.’
‘I’m not talking about choices, Ma. I’m talking about genetic programming. There’s a client at Serenity, for instance, who inherited blindness and a condition called Fragile X syndrome. The jury is still out on how handicapped she may be, but —’
‘Are you backhandedly calling me a retard?’
‘No! And you should know I’d never use that word anyway.’
‘You’re thinking something similar though!’
‘Don’t be paranoid. Of course not. I was only thinking about her. Let me explain. Her father hated violence but he did something terrible. It was meant to protect her but now this client can be violent too. Does that make it related? You know, like Dad being a womaniser and us still suffering embarrassment? In her case, I think her outbursts are the result of frustration, or maybe a combination of medication and hallucinations.
Sensory overload to some extent too, and misunderstandings in communication.’
‘You’re digressing. What’s she got to do with us? You think I wouldn’t go to any length to stop you getting in trouble too? I tried, but —’
‘No, it’s not that.’
He rubbed his eyes, wishing he could explain it better, but how could he when he was still trying to digest everything and get things straight about Mira in his own head?
‘I’m brain dead,’ he confessed. ‘Forget dinner. I think maybe I do need to catch some waves and unwind.’
She nodded and smiled. ‘May I join you?’
‘That depends.’ His face cracked with a small grin. ‘Will you confess the name of your secret guest?’
‘Sure, if you can catch me.’
She smacked his butt and bolted for her surfboard.
Dr Zhou stepped out of the shower and heard knuckles rapping hard against the door of his hotel room. He swiped a long strand of wet hair away from his face and wrapped himself in the complimentary bathrobe.
‘Open up, sir,’ called Private Lockman. ‘I need to speak with you both urgently.’
Zhou obliged, to find the young soldier was in the hall, wearing cargo pants, a T-shirt and casual jacketand had his weapon drawn. He held it close to his chest so it wouldn’t be obvious to any other guests, and glanced left and right regularly to keep watch on both ends of the corridor.
The neighbouring door opened and Van Danik appeared, already dressed in his dinner jacket. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Something’s amiss, sirs. We need to evacuate. Grab your files and equipment and follow me, quick and quiet as you can, please.’
‘Like this?’ Zhou said, gesturing to his bathrobe. ‘I’ll hardly blend in on the street.’
‘Grab a change of clothes. You’ll have to change in another room.’
‘Has the meat in your head turned to stew?’ Van Danik argued. ‘We’ve got a meeting in forty minutes with Colonel Kitching and co to approve the final stage of our finance.’
‘I’m aware of that.’ Lockman raised his weapon to Van Danik’s cheek. ‘Do you want to be alive or dead when he sees you?’
‘You’d shoot us?’
‘It’s not me you have to worry about.’
‘Then who —’
‘You’re wasting precious seconds, sir. I can’t risk letting you or your data fall into enemy hands. So what’s it going to be? Are you coming voluntarily?’
‘I wouldn’t call it voluntary,’ Van Danik grumbled.
‘Where’s your sergeant?’ Zhou demanded. ‘I want to speak to him first.’
‘That’s the problem, sir. He hasn’t returned from his break.’
Van Danik rolled his eyes and slumped against his door. ‘Is that all? He’s probably stuck in the toilet. He goes a lot, you know. Prostate problems, I’d say, or high blood pressure.’
Lockman tapped his ear, indicating a small skin-coloured communicator tucked into the crease above his lobe. ‘It’s more serious than that, Doc. I’ve lost contact.’
‘Call Kitching,’ Van Danik said. ‘Leave us and get backup.’
‘Top of my list but he’s offline too. Get moving.’
Zhou read sincerity and urgency in the private’s eyes. ‘The gear is in here,’ he said, opening his door wider to invite them both in.
Lockman ushered Van Danik into Zhou’s room, but stayed outside, keeping watch on the hall.
Van Danik collected their bulging bags of equipment while Zhou collected his shoes and clothes.
‘Leave your personal luggage,’ Lockman advised as Zhou reached for another bag from his closet. ‘If anyone comes looking, we want them to think you’re still in the hotel.’
‘We won’t be?’ Zhou asked, stealing a few seconds to pull on his underpants and trousers.
‘Follow me and see. Is that everything?’ Lockman asked Van Danik.
‘Almost. Where’s your briefcase, Zan?’
Zhou pointed to the TV cabinet, and stole another few seconds to unroll a sock, hopping on one foot to pull it on while Van Danik fetched the briefcase.
‘Forget your sock,’ Lockman ordered. ‘I need you fit to run just as soon as I signal.’
‘He’ll die of embarrassment,’ Van Danik warned.
‘Better red than dead,’ Lockman replied. ‘Come here as far as the door and keep an eye on me.’
He double-checked the hall one last time, then made a dash past the public elevators to the service lift. Zhou watched him use an electronic key from his pocket to override the system and call the lift down from the top floor. When the door opened, thebodyguard apologised to a startled maid, flashed an ID card at her and declared himself to be federal police. He ushered her out with her trolley and a request to keep her mouth shut about seeing him. Then he signalled for the doctors to join him.
‘I’m not comfortable with this,’ Zhou complained as the doors closed, sealing them into privacy.
‘Neither am I, Doc. Finish getting dressed, please. When the doors open, I need you to be standing in the corner beside the door. That goes for both of you, so you can’t be seen or caught in a direct line of fire.’
‘You’re serious?’
Lockman switched his handgun from single shot to semiautomatic. ‘I haven’t begun to get serious, and let’s hope I don’t have to.’
‘Spoken like a true meathead,’ Van Danik remarked. ‘I was half-hoping you were different.’
Zhou glanced to the control panel. ‘We’re going up? Isn’t that like treeing ourselves for a bear?’
‘If I didn’t have an exit strategy, yes.’
The doors chimed and opened. Lockman remained casual, his sidearm hidden as he checked the corridor. He signalled the doctors to follow, then led them down the hall, past the hotel’s spa and gymnasium — almost desolate, Zhou noticed, except for two young men pounding the treadmills.
‘Through there, past the treadmills, there’s a pool,’ Lockman said, hustling them further down the hall. ‘That’s the plan B escape strategy. Emergencies only. The warehouse next door is close enough you can climb over the railing onto its roof. The fire escape will take you down a shaft, out of sight, to a taxi rank in a side street or take the water taxi off the pier. But that way is a one-way trip, remember, ‘cause like most modern fire escapes, the doors open freely on your way down but you need a key to get back up. In here,’ he added, pushing open the nearest door.
Inside, Zhou noticed the walls were pink. ‘You can’t expect us to stay in here? These toilets are for women!’
Lockman glanced at Van Danik, who was staring at a tampon dispenser like a goofy schoolkid.
‘This is your exit strategy?’ Van Danik asked.
‘Plan A, stash you somewhere safe until reinforcements arrive. You have to admit, it’s the last place anyone would think to look for him. It’s also why I’m keeping you together instead of splitting you up like I’m supposed to. This room is fitted with everything you’ll need in case of a long wait.’
‘How long?’ asked Van Danik.
‘If all goes to plan, not long at all.’
Lockman ushered them to the furthest cubicle, which was big enough to hold a shower, sink, toilet, lounge chair for breastfeeding and a baby’s change table that folded down like an ironing board off the wall. Not much room in between, though. Lockman shuffled them in awkwardly.
Van Danik stacked their bags in the shower out of the way, while Lockman reached into a knee pocket of his cargo pants and fished out two chocolate bars.
‘In case I’m late,’ he explained, dumping them onto the baby’s change table. ‘Wouldn’t want you to miss dinner.’
‘Charming,’ Zhou complained. ‘How will we know if you’re not coming back at all?’
‘Give me an hour. If I’m not back by then, take the plan B route and use a payphone near the taxi rank to call Colonel Kitching. By then, he’ll have the place swarming with people looking for you. Now relax,’ he added with a cheeky wink
. ‘I’ll be back with your favourite meathead before you have time to crack the wrap on those chocolate bars.’
He clicked the door lock, then pulled it shut behind him as he left.
Van Danik reached for the nearest chocolate bar. He checked his watch, closed the lid on the toilet to make himself a seat, then dramatically opened the wrapper and glanced back to the door lock. ‘Well, he’s not back yet, so I say we give him ten minutes. It’ll take you that long anyway to tie your Windsor knot.’
Mira showered with her sunglasses on, enjoying the feel of invisible water, soap and suds in a brown ghostly room that looked almost the same as it felt.
Everything looked as she’d imagined from exploration with her hands but actually seeing it all was like magic — like falling into the sepia tones of an old photograph and discovering that time had frozen solid inside that magically stretched moment. The oval-shaped sink, the metal cross-shaped taps and even the toilet with its oversized seat — everything seemed so wonderfully special now!
Occasionally, she needed to wash the steam from her lenses, since it clouded her vision just as effectively as her hand or blindfold. Still, it was far better than fumbling through her nightly ritual completely blind — or worse: having one of the staff sponge-bath her! So much better it would be, though, if the unconscious ghost of herself in the adjoining room could wake and turn on the ghostly water so she could see it too — no matter how muddy it might look. But there was always tomorrow …
A small smile crept across her face at that thought too: tomorrow. The idea didn’t fill her with dread anymore. Nor did ‘the night before’ need to be suffered or endured.
So much to explore now that my cell looks like a bedroom!
She rested her cheek against the cool, wet wall tiles, enjoying the intricate pattern of starfish and seashells that ran around the edge of the shower. Her fingers caressed and explored the pattern, able to detect the small bumps of each seashell now that she could also see them — or at least the brown ghostly versions of them. She reached for the taps, fumbling until she discovered their current angle, then switched off the invisible water — water she could still feel clinging in droplets to the wall, even though the ghostly shower appeared to be dry. She licked a little of the invisible water from the wall tiles to reassure herself it was really there, and it was, as sweet as any rainwater, yet also as delicately flavoured as any tap water.