Picking up her pace, she made a beeline for the park’s exit.
Stepping onto the street, Emily scanned the road and parked cars. The parked cars were empty, by what she could see, and the people traveling in their vehicles were minding their own business. Not one of them gave Emily any attention.
Eyeing a van parked alongside the park, she took refuge behind it. Not the best protection, but it was enough to keep hidden from Schultz for a minute.
Up the street she saw more wrought-iron fencing and open space. Too open. It would be too risky.
Across the street was a tall office building with a turnstile at the front door. She could hide in there, but it would only be a matter of time before she’d be escorted out by security. No, she couldn’t afford to draw any attention. You just never knew when people suddenly acquired a crystal-clear memory when questioned by the police.
No, she needed to stay away from people. She couldn’t risk anyone seeing her. She didn’t want her whereabouts monitored, by anyone.
The next few buildings all had their doors shut. Looking farther down the street, she saw a café and a few more buildings, all with heavy wooden doors, and all shut.
Still with no idea where to take refuge, Emily crossed the street. She’d just gotten to the other side when something caught her attention in the distance.
It wouldn’t be the worst idea I’ve ever had, Emily thought.
She paused, protected from view by another parked vehicle, looking at the spire dominating the skyline.
It’s not too far away, Emily thought, and today of all days it should be quiet, if not desolate.
She considered the street ahead. A lane causing a break in the row of parked vehicles left her vulnerable.
The sirens were growing louder. Turning around, Emily watched a police car speed through the intersection towards the shooting scene.
Pulling her jacket off, she tied it around her waist and hooked up the headphones to her phone. She didn’t activate any music, although she could go with some R&B right about now. She needed to be alert. On the lookout for everything and everyone around her. The last thing she needed was for someone to jump her because she was enjoying some tunes.
After ensuring the area was safe, she began a light jog up the footpath towards the spire, avoiding all eye contact and pretending to be focused on her stride and breathing — which turned out to be more necessary than first imagined. She hadn’t done so much training, let alone running, since she’d been training at her highest peak.
She remembered her father telling her she had to learn self-defense if she was to go freelance with her career. He hadn’t cared too much about what type it was; she just had to be able to protect herself.
While she was fresh in the workforce, Emily had flirted with all different forms until she’d settled on Muay Thai. That was ten years ago, a time when she enjoyed the vigorous training, the feeling of being alive and fit.
Emily reached the grounds of the cathedral without anyone shooting at her.
“It can’t be this easy. Can it?”
Chapter 23
The cathedral towered over Emily as she stepped up the front steps, a shadow cast over the entrance.
Reaching the top of the stairs, she paused, unable to take another step closer.
A shiver skittered up her back.
No, I can’t do it. Not to these innocent people, she thought as she stared at the small congregation inside.
Sitting down on the stairs, she pulled up a map of Melbourne on her cell phone. A flashing arrow indicated the location in Chinatown Brian, or whatever his name was, had sent her to. Her meeting point was now across the city. The direct route indicated a good twenty minutes’ walk, and that was if the traffic allowed.
Looking at the proposed route, Emily decided it wasn’t going to work. It was taking her directly past the place where she’d left Schultz. It would now be swarming with police. Roads would be blocked, sidewalks cordoned off. No, that way had too much heat.
Emily sought out a new option. She was torn between Brian’s plan, and his reassurance that she’d get protection, and Schultz’s warning that Brian was connected to the syndicate.
She dragged the map around, zooming in. Thick red lines showed up — heavy traffic, possibly congested. She zoomed in further.
“Son of a-”
She bit her tongue.
The congested streets were all around the banking district of Collins Street.
Zooming out until her current location came into view, she realized it would be less than ten minutes away if she went directly there.
“Don’t be silly, Em. What can you do to help that farmer? For all you know, he could have that place rigged,” she said to herself.
She received a few concerned looks from tourists taking pictures of the cathedral, who slowly stepped away from her.
Looking around the top end of the city square, Emily saw an alternate route. It was taking her to the right of the city square, through a dense park on its outskirts. Then she could enter the building through the rear. It was a longer route, but there should be less people and fewer chances for interaction with the public or for being noticed.
She turned her screen off.
Focus! I need to find shelter somewhere and work out who on earth is chasing me and why, Emily told herself. The reason why Schultz had been questioning her for so long earlier, in the open, was still a mystery to her.
Unless... Emily shook her head. No, it couldn’t be. She couldn’t imagine Schultz allowing anyone he worked with, someone he trusted to have his back, to cross the line. But it was the only way the gunmen would have been able to locate them quickly.
A distant ping snapped her out of her daze. Must be a notification on her phone. Thinking it was just another game alert, she ignored it. The phone pinged again. Sighing, Emily unlocked her screen.
It was a private message from one of her social media platforms. She didn’t recognize the avatar, and there was no descriptive text indicating the start of the message.
Another message came through as she was still looking at the screen. This time it included the following text: Li Global Investments. SOS. ILLEGALLY acquired by BOV.
That piqued her interest but she was still skeptical. Clicking on the message, she waited for the app to load, certain it would just be another person leading her up the garden path. Again.
She read the remaining message.
Sorry for this message arriving out of the blue. I need your help.
I’m a seventh-generation farmer of our family property. Our land was taken from my family. We were forcibly removed and threatened with criminal charges if we re-entered.
I found your contact details while scouring through the bank’s email correspondence. You were copied in the correspondence relating to my family farm.
I’m running out of options.
I need your help. Now.
Regards, Harry Fry
The cursor blinked at her, waiting for her to type a reply.
“Harry Fry,” she said to herself, looking up from her phone. Could he be the real Harry Fry? Or an impostor? Someone with too much time on their hands and a bad sense of humor.
She clicked on his profile picture and his profile details loaded. There wasn’t much on there, just the bare minimum required to open an account.
She closed the applications. Probably another scammer taking advantage of the situation unfolding in downtown Melbourne. But if she did manage to make it to the banking district in one piece, she could probably verify it.
Peering over her shoulder into the cathedral, Emily wondered what she should do. The flicker of the candles calmed her.
Her phone pinged again. She ignored it. She had her own problems to worry about.
Her phone rang. She jumped.
A video call was coming through from the same social media application as the earlier message, and the same user.
“What the hell!” Emily said as she accepted the
call.
The video stream came through speckled, as if a storm was interfering with the broadcast. It was streaming from inside an office. Some type of abstract artwork adorned the white wall. To the side, Emily could distinguish a window and the tops of skyscrapers beyond it.
The call was being made from a great distance. It looked plausible. For now, Emily thought.
“Thirty seconds. Get to the point,” Emily said into her phone.
A tired, middle-aged, tanned, Caucasian man appeared on the screen. Emily was surprised but kept her composure.
“Counting.”
“You look like you’ve been through the wars,” the man replied.
“Twenty seconds.”
“I’m at the Bank of Victoria headquarters. I came here to speak to the boss. The one who undersigned the theft.”
“How do I know you are where you say you are?”
The screen moved around to an anxious younger lady. Emily recognized her straight away as Andrew’s secretary from her research notes and by the faint outline of her name on her name tag. Then the caller returned to the screen.
“You know who that is?” he asked.
“Yes. Yes, I do. And you are?”
“Can you help me or not?”
“I’m not sure what you expect I can do. I’m just a pen pusher, a secretary,” Emily lied.
“You’re going to get my family farm back. By the close of business today.”
Glancing at the time on her fitness watch, Emily felt like laughing but contained herself. She wasn’t a miracle worker, but she also didn’t know what frame of mind Harry was in. She didn’t want to have the deaths of the secretary or other bank staff on her conscience.
“That gives you,” he continued, “five hours.”
“Five hours?” Emily repeated.
“I didn’t stutter.”
“Look, you seem like a hard-working, straight-talking kinda guy. Wouldn’t it be easier to talk to Andrew? Get him to resolve this?”
“Would if he were here. He did a disappearing act when I stormed the offices. Lookin’ at his emails and paperwork, it’s all a scam.”
“What makes you think it’s a scam?” Emily quizzed.
“I’ll have this fine lady here forward you a video. A video of the day they tore my family apart.”
“Why can’t you tell me?”
“You have five hours to get my farm back.”
Emily was left staring at her phone’s home screen. The call disconnected.
“This guy has got to be kidding.”
A fleeting moment passed while Emily entertained the idea of this being a big set-up by the people chasing her. A trap.
Her phone vibrated and a message notification came through.
“Sharon Hann, video,” Emily read.
A shortened hyperlink was attached.
Skeptical, she hesitated, her fingers hovering over the hyperlink. Another message from Sharon came through.
Emily read the new message. “Click on the link. Please. He has a gun pointed at me. It’s not a corrupt link. It’s genuine. Sharon Xo” Emily shook her head at a cat-face emoji that followed Sharon’s signature.
Chapter 24
“Here goes.” Emily pressed the link and another application opened. She hit ‘play’ and a small circle appeared with a strobe of light circling around it. A moment later, after her phone had buffered enough of the file, the video started.
The recording was horrible, and the footage was all over the place. Emily felt dizzy and struggled to focus on what was happening.
By the angle and the way the camera was moving, it appeared the cameraman had been wearing something like one of those cameras you could strap onto your forehead.
The cameraman paused for a moment and moved the camera around. To one side, a modest machinery shed was positioned on a small rise. Not too big — just enough to fit a medium-sized tractor, a Ute and a hay baler. Behind and to the side, fertile paddocks were on full display, with cattle happily grazing in the lush green fields.
A little farther around was a small shed with a small cemented entranceway, some railings on the inside and a small door to the side — possibly a dairy.
The camera moved around some more until it focused on a modest brick home with manicured green lawns and blooming garden. A freshly painted wire fence bordered the house.
Emily thought there was nothing lavish about the farm. To her, this wasn’t a big purchase, and nothing stuck out that would’ve caused him to miss some repayments or default on his mortgage. So far, the property looked like it was maintained by a hard-working farmer who was having a fair crack at trying to make a nice home for himself and his family.
“Harry Fry,” a male voice spoke over the video footage. He sounded close. She assumed it was the cameraman talking.
“Dairy farmer from Gippsland, Victoria, Australia. Ten past nine in the morning. 1,305-acre property being foreclosed-”
Footage of the papers appeared as the cameraman’s head lowered.
“No. He’s not, is he?” Emily said. “How unprofessional.”
The camera focused on the writing on the front page. The Bank of Victoria logo was clearly visible in the top right corner, along with a memo-style document on the front highlighting the bare minimum details of that day’s events, including Harry’s name and address at the top.
She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. The cameraman flicked through the sheets of paper, right there in front of the camera. If she had paused on each page, she would’ve been able to read everything to do with the case.
“Foreclosure due to no longer conducting a viable operation.”
The cameraman turned. Emily almost dropped her phone.
“Son of a-” Her mouth dropped open.
The man at the center of her investigation was standing next to the cameraman. Andrew Cook.
“Is this correct?” the cameraman asked.
“Of course it is.” Andrew waved it off. “Come on, let’s get this over and done with.” He looked at his watch. “I have places to be today, and it’s one helluva drive back to the city.”
The cameraman turned around farther to his right. Four men stood with their arms crossed, only their eyes visible through their balaclavas, fixed on the cameraman.
Emily was getting an awful feeling in her stomach again. Something didn’t seem right about any of this.
The video continued to play. The cameraman knocked at the front door.
There was no answer.
He tried again. Nothing.
The cameraman turned around, his back to the door.
Andrew was giving hand signals to two of the masked men. One pulled a gun out of his back pocket, and the other batons. They quickly moved around to the side of the house, neither of them making a sound as they walked over the gravel.
The cameraman stood aside while Andrew knocked on the front door.
Screams echoed through the recording.
The video footage continued to roll.
A women’s scream was heard in the background again.
Andrew indicated for one of the men to remain while the other walked in front of him. The cameraman followed Andrew around to the rear of the house.
Emily shook her head, her mouth and eyes wide open. She couldn’t believe what she was watching.
Two children were being held in the arms of one of the men while the other held the woman around her waist. The woman was yelling out, tears streaming down her face as she tried to reach for her children.
“You have no right to be here,” she hissed at Andrew.
“You’re now trespassing on the property of Bank of Victoria. If you do not leave immediately, you will be arrested.”
“On what grounds?” She spat at his feet.
If it wasn’t for the severity of what was happening, Emily would’ve normally cheered the woman.
“You want me to shut her up?” the man holding the woman asked, pressing a gun against the back of h
er head.
Andrew shook his head and the masked man tucked the gun away. At that moment, Harry’s wife quickly stretched her hand above her head and grabbed the man’s balaclava, pulling it off before he pinned both arms behind her back.
“Oi,” a deep male’s voice yelled.
The camera panned around to a farmer running across the yard towards them, dressed in worn jeans, dirt-stained flannelette shirt, and a tired outback hat.
Andrew crossed his arms and positioned himself between the farmer and the woman and children. He tried to blow away a few blow flies who dared to fly near him to not success; they continued to fly around his face, some landing on his back.
The farmer slowed as he approached the group.
“Victoria, are you and the kids alright?” Harry asked as he looked towards his family, his woman nodding, then to Andrew. “What’s going on? Why have you got my wife and kids restrained?”
“Harry Fry?” Andrew asked.
“Yeah. Who the hell are you?”
Andrew grabbed the papers from the cameraman and flung them into Harry’s chest.
“You are now trespassing on the property of the Bank of Victoria.”
“Bank of Victoria? Who on earth are they?”
“The bank who now manage this property.”
“This is wrong.” Harry flicked through the first couple of pages. “This isn’t the bank who holds an interest in this property.”
“According to this paperwork, yes, we do. You need to remove yourself and your family from this property immediately.”
“This is bullshit. Answer me this. Where is the correspondence from this so-called bank advising us we’re losing the property?”
Harry waved the papers.
“I’m under instruction.” The cameraman stepped towards Harry. “This property is to be vacated immediately.”
“I don’t care. I’m calling my lawyer,” Harry said. He pointed to his family. “Don’t leave this yard. Right.”
Harry tapped away at his phone.
The Analyst (Emily Lee Series Book 1) Page 8