The Undercurrent

by Paula Weston

Julianne stands up so fast the metal chair rocks backwards and threatens to topple. Ryan reaches for it out of reflex, breaking rank. Julianne spins around, locks eyes with him. ‘Don’t you touch me either.’

  He lowers the chair back to the floor and stands to attention. Keeps his mouth shut.

  ‘Tell me: what would you have done if I had started a fire at Pax Fed on Wednesday?’

  Ryan glances over at the Major. The Major gives a curt nod. What does that mean? Permission to lie or permission to tell her the truth?

  He shrugs. ‘I’d have taken necessary measures to neutralise the situation.’

  When in doubt, quote the ops manual.

  ‘You would have hurt me?’

  ‘Not unless you were an immediate threat.’

  ‘How would you have stopped me? With that knife in your boot?’ She’s openly furious and Ryan can’t help but wonder what’s going on under her skin. Does it really matter what might have happened on Wednesday? He’s dragged her out of a deadly situation twice since then.

  ‘Would you have killed me?’

  ‘Walsh had authority to use lethal measures if necessary.’ The Major is matter-of-fact. ‘It was a contingency in an extreme situation, given your history for bringing down buildings. Standard operational protocol. Don’t take it personally.’

  Jules stares at him. ‘Don’t take it personally? You want me to trust my life to someone who was willing to take it a few days ago.’

  ‘I wasn’t willing,’ Ryan says. Fuck, when did this become about him?

  ‘What do you want to do, Jules?’ Angie demands.

  ‘Stay with Vee.’

  ‘And what happens when those men with masks and guns storm her house and shoot her and then you?’

  Julianne steps around the chair and goes to the window, stares out into the breaking morning. Angie holds up her hand to stop Ryan or anyone else speaking—and surprisingly the Major lets her. Julianne stares at the quadrangle outside the Major’s office, punctuated with puddles from last night’s storm. Ryan knows every centimetre of that rough bitumen. He’s sweated on it, bled on it, had it imprinted in his shoulders and knees and forehead. Right now he’d rather be face down out there than cornered in this conversation.

  ‘Does Khan know about any of this?’ Jules asks her mother.

  ‘She signed off on it twenty minutes ago.’

  Ryan feels the prick of insult: Julianne has more faith in a fifty-five-kilo federal agent than in him. He needs to get his shit together and own this.

  ‘Sir, when do we leave?’

  ‘You’re on a Hercules out of Amberley at 16:00 hours. I’ll have transport sorted in Adelaide by the time you touch down at Edinburgh Air Base. Your orders are to get home and stay with your family until you hear from me. You keep your head down, and hers.’

  Now’s probably not the time to tell him about Tommy’s party on Friday night.

  ‘How do I explain De Marchi?’ He’s acutely aware of her eyes on him, accusing.

  The Major rises from his chair. He’s taller than everyone in the room except Ryan. Out of habit, Ryan’s eyes find the mangled skin around his ear.

  ‘You tell them she’s part of a multi-agency investigation and your job is to keep her safe until we need her back in Brisbane. You do not mention Port Augusta or this operation.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘You use your brain, Walsh. Figure it out.’

  He is using his brain. It’s finally awake and sorting through everything that could go wrong.

  He’s taking Julianne De Marchi to his family home. Her turning up on social media isn’t the problem: the district’s been without wi-fi and functional optic fibre since the price hike seven years ago. But what about the mercs who are after Julianne? Does he need to be looking over his shoulder? Is his family at risk? Ryan can’t voice his concerns without questioning the Major’s orders or sounding like he’s not up to the job.

  He knows he should be happy. Tommy will be stoked to see him and his mum will cry and then pretend she didn’t. And his old man…the thought of facing his dad brings a tight knot to his gut but he’ll worry about that when he’s at the farm gate. The bigger worry is Julianne. Not only keeping her safe, but keeping others safe from her if she loses control.

  And from the look on her face right now, he’s the one most at risk.

  23

  Jules is sitting outside the Major’s demountable office wishing she had more skill at summoning the charge on command. That would give them all something to think about.

  She’s on a bench under a flaking gum tree, eyes fixed on the boom gate separating the SECDET Q18 compound from the main base. Her mother left an hour ago with Waylon and a borrowed swag. They’re catching a train into the city and then heading south again by bus to the Agitator rendezvous.

  It’s a sticky morning and the cicadas are already loud. Inside his office, the Major is bashing away at a keyboard. He’s as violent a typist as her mother. Occasionally he glances up to make sure Jules is outside his window. She picks at a splinter on the edge of the bench, replaying the last moments with her mum.

  Angie had hugged Jules. It was quick and all elbows and Jules was too busy managing her anxiety to appreciate the gesture.

  And her mother’s parting advice? If anything goes wrong, do what you need to do to stay safe.

  What could go wrong being stuck out in the middle of nowhere with a guy who was prepared to kill her a few days ago? How is she meant to ground herself without causing damage or being seen?

  Jules isn’t surprised Angie’s grabbed the first opportunity to wrest back control of their lives. But putting herself in the path of a potential nuclear meltdown and trusting the army to keep them safe? Rejoining the Agitators in plain sight of the guy threatening to expose Jules? It’s beyond reckless.

  Jules drags a finger across her eyelid, hoping the Major knows more than he’s telling. Even with the sweat beading on her top lip it’s a relief to be outside and away from him. His tension is tightly contained but it still sets Jules on edge. She’s been scanning the compound all morning, looking for a safe point of release if she needs it. It’s a new base, so there’s less steel than she’d hoped. So far the best option is the chin-up bar in the open-air gym. It’s exposed, but it’s metal and bolted to cement so at least she won’t set it on fire.

  A fly does a drunken loop and lands on her knee as Khan’s unmarked sedan passes under the boom gate. Jules catches a glimpse of purple hair in the passenger seat and Vee’s out before the engine’s stopped. She’s wearing a batik-dyed halter-top, silk pants and four-inch fuchsia slingbacks: an explosion of colour in a sea of concrete and khaki. She strides over and pulls Jules from the bench and into a hug, wrapping her up in a heady mix of vanilla-bean body lotion.

  ‘Mum’s going to get herself killed,’ Jules says into Vee’s shoulder.

  ‘No she’s not.’

  ‘You could have talked her out of it.’

  ‘Julianne,’ Khan says, not pausing as she passes with a bunch of shopping bags. ‘You know better than anyone that your mother makes her own decisions.’

  Vee brushes her fingertips along Jules’ arm. ‘If your mum can keep her temper she’ll be fine.’

  Jules pulls back. ‘Please don’t treat me like a child. The army is sending a counter-terrorism unit to South Australia to stop an attack in three days’ time, so don’t tell me Mum will be fine.’ A bubble of panic rises up. ‘What am I supposed to do if something happens to her? Nobody here seems to have given that much thought.’ Her throat burns and she steps out of Vee’s reach as the sound of movement comes from the Major’s office.

  ‘Ladies.’ The Major fills the doorway. ‘Agent.’

  Khan stops at the top of the stairs to his office, nods in Vee’s direction and makes introductions.

  ‘Always a pleasure to have departmental staff on base,’ the Major says, in a tone that suggests the opposite.

  Vee climbs the steps to his office, her heels clicking
on the deck. ‘Major.’ They shake hands and he goes back to filling the doorway, intimidating in black T-shirt, camo pants and combat boots. He glances at the bags in Khan’s hand.

  ‘Glad to see you’re using your time wisely, Agent Khan.’

  Khan gives him a flat look. ‘Julianne needs clothes. Veronica obliged.’

  Jules knows from the logos on the bags that she can’t afford Vee’s choices.

  ‘I’ll be on-charging, of course,’ Vee tells the Major. ‘You can pass the cost on to Pax Fed with the rest of your invoice.’

  ‘Is personal shopping part of your official ministerial capacity as well, Ms Ng?’

  Khan hands the bags to Jules while Vee and the Major continue to snipe at each other. Jules takes a cursory look through the contents, counts three T-shirts, two pairs of jeans, a hoodie and new runners; undies and toiletries and a black cocktail dress and matching ankle boots. Vee can’t help herself.

  ‘Take this too.’ Khan turns her back on the Major and presses a flat silver disk into Jules’ palm. ‘So I can find you if I need to.’

  Khan cares enough to keep track of her, but not enough to look her in the eye. Jules puts the disk in her pocket with tacky fingers. It’s bigger than the device Khan found in Ryan’s bag.

  ‘I’m sorry we lied to you,’ Jules says quietly.

  Khan’s nostrils flare. ‘No you’re not. You’ve had dozens of opportunities over the last two years to tell me the truth.’ She shakes her head as if disappointed in her own gullibility. ‘I thought we’d reached a point of trust.’

  ‘We had,’ Jules says. ‘But this thing I have…Mum was trying to keep me safe.’

  ‘That’s worked out well, hasn’t it?’

  Jules doesn’t want to argue with her. ‘Thanks for not walking away.’

  ‘I can’t walk away, Julianne. It’s my job. You’re my job.’ She walks down the stairs, leaves Jules alone on the Major’s deck.

  The reality of the situation forks through her: she’s about to leave the state with a complete stranger and Khan has all but washed her hands of her. The current bites at her fingertips, searching for release. ‘I need to earth out,’ she says, dropping the bags and hurrying for the workout area.

  ‘Not there.’ The Major comes down the stairs behind her. ‘Follow me.’ He strides towards a windowless building. Jules changes direction, focusing on containment and vaguely aware that Vee and Khan are crossing the quadrangle with them.

  The Major taps in a code and lowers his face for a retinal scan. There’s a beep and the sound of locks turning. He goes in first, flicking switches until a bank of fluorescent lights sputter to life. Jules steps in after him and falters. Everything is concrete: floor, walls and ceiling. Chains hang down in the middle of the room and more chains are bolted to the floor. Set aside in one corner are speakers on stands and a stack of spotlights.

  ‘Use the chains on the floor,’ the Major says. The door clicks shut and all traces of natural light disappear.

  Jules continues to the middle of the room and drops to her knees. It’s deathly quiet now. Even the cicadas are distant static. She cradles the heavy chain links and forces herself to hold the charge a while longer, like her dad taught her. You control it, Jules, not the other way around.

  ‘When you’re ready, Julianne. You can’t do any damage.’

  Jules takes a long, slow breath. Concentrate. But it’s hard. The place feels like a dungeon and stinks of fear, and something even more sour and nasty. Her skin fizzes and stings. She thinks about her dad again, how disappointed he’d be that she’s no better at this than she was at fifteen.

  There’s a loud pop—a bright flash—and the current grounds out somewhere beneath the concrete. It’s like sneezing: the relief is instant. She sits back on her heels and the chain clanks on the floor. The air is instantly sharp with ozone.

  ‘Is that it?’ The Major asks, coming closer.

  ‘Give me a minute.’

  Khan is rooted to the spot by the door. ‘Did that hurt?’

  Jules wipes her palms on her jeans and holds them up. ‘No permanent damage.’

  ‘Not even a blister?’ The agent has momentarily forgotten her anger.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Bloody hell.’ The way the Major says it—impressed and fascinated—makes her stomach dip.

  ‘And that, Major Voss, is exactly why Angie De Marchi has let a blackmailer have the upper hand for so long,’ Vee says, crossing the floor. ‘Because men and women like you won’t be able to help themselves when they understand what Julianne can do.’

  ‘Men and women like me?’ His fascination evaporates.

  Vee sits on her heels next to Jules, careful not to let her silk pants touch the grimy concrete. ‘There are two types of people who would be interested in Julianne De Marchi.’ She helps Jules up and steadies her by the elbow. ‘Those who’d study her, and those who would use her as a weapon. I think we know where you sit on that spectrum.’

  The Major levels his gaze. ‘And what kind of interest does Defence Science and Tech have?’

  ‘The department’s not aware of what Jules can do.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘There’s nothing on her in the system and I certainly haven’t brought her to their attention.’

  ‘But your lab rats would be in the loop if there was anything other than ebola vaccine in the shots given to Mike De Marchi two decades ago.’

  ‘The Afghanistan files are classified, Major.’

  The Major measures Vee, his expression unchanging. ‘Is that what you’ve been telling Angela?’

  Vee’s energy shifts from its familiar shape to something spikier. ‘It’s the truth.’

  ‘Bullshit.’

  ‘Major, I’m not going to dignify—’

  ‘Is he right?’ Khan interrupts. ‘Did you find something?’

  ‘Nothing relevant to this discussion.’

  ‘I’m not asking out of curiosity, Veronica. I need to understand who knows what.’

  Jules sees it then, the shadow of guilt. She pulls free of Vee’s grip. ‘What do you know?’

  Vee runs her tongue across her teeth, hesitates, and then exhales through pursed lips. ‘Okay. Look, something went on with troops in the Middle East in 2013, but honestly Jules, I haven’t been able to get answers on what. The initiative wasn’t approved by Canberra and it was shut down as soon as the minister got wind of it. I haven’t been able to confirm if your dad’s unit was involved—’

  ‘But?’ Khan presses.

  Vee glances at Jules. ‘It appears there was corporate sponsorship involved.’

  The sweat on the back of Jules’ neck chills because she knows what’s coming next. It’s Khan who says it.

  ‘Paxton Federation.’

  Vee nods, eyes not leaving Jules. ‘It’s taken me eighteen months to get this far—’

  ‘You have to tell Mum.’

  ‘Not until I know beyond a doubt it’s relevant to your dad.’

  ‘You should’ve told her Pax Fed did something unofficial with the army.’

  Vee shakes her head. ‘Think about what she’ll do with that information. I’m trying to look out for both of you and the best way to do that is to protect your mother from herself.’

  Jules pictures Angie standing in their lounge room clutching that satchel. ‘You should’ve told Mum. She’s taking risks because she’s frustrated by endlessly hitting brick walls and now it turns out that you’re one of them.’

  ‘Please, Jules.’

  Jules shrugs away from her and heads for the door. Khan catches her eye on her way out, and yes, she’s well aware of her hypocrisy.

  It doesn’t make the weight of Vee’s choices any lighter to bear.

  24

  Angie picks at the edge of her thumbnail, which is torn and snagging anything it comes into contact with. She rips it off in one go, taking a chunk of skin with it.

  ‘You have a thing for pain, don’t you?’ Waylon asks as she sucks on the side of he
r throbbing thumb. They’re heading out of the city. The bus is almost empty and they’ve claimed the back seat. Angie ignores him. Waylon takes off his cap and wiry black hair springs out in all directions.

  ‘You need a haircut, Waylon.’

  ‘Gotta look the part, Angie.’ He flashes her a grin.

  She snorts. ‘What are you going to tell Xavier when he asks how you know me?’

  He gives an easy shrug. ‘You did a story on foster kids back when you were working for the Courier-Mail and you took a shine to me. We stayed in touch over the years. You even brought your husband and daughter along to a family day to meet me. You’re the reason I got interested in the Agitators in the first place.’ He doesn’t miss a beat, as if the story is well worn.

  ‘Who made up the part about the family visit, you or Voss?’

  ‘Me. You talk a big game but I reckon you’re a soft touch deep down.’

  ‘Stick around, kid,’ she says. ‘Watch and learn. Why did we lose contact?’

  ‘I dropped off the radar.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  Waylon fiddles with the leather band on his wrist. ‘Stupid shit. Stuff I didn’t want to talk to you about. Still don’t.’

  There’s some truth there, Angie thinks. ‘When did we reconnect?’

  ‘Julianne saw me in the crowd on Wednesday. She told you, and you tracked me down through my old case worker.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You’re worried the Agitators have been set up for the Pax Attack.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you have asked Xavier before you brought me along today?’

  His grin widens. It’s a beautiful smile: obviously his weapon of choice when he’s straying from the truth. ‘Why would I? You’re Angela De Marchi.’

  The bus pulls in at Buranda Station. Two teenagers in school uniforms get on. Waylon watches them drop their bags on the rack behind the driver and flop into seats. The smile fades and his fingers stray to the leather band again. At some point it must have been a neat braid but now it’s tatty and frayed, held together with a series of knots.

  ‘Did you make that?’

  His gaze lifts to confirm what she’s talking about and then slides away. ‘Mum did, when I was little.’