He had headed for the stairs when he saw the fellow with the gun, let himself in and huddled there, uncertain of what to do. The time had stretched out and after a bit he’d taken a few steps down towards thirty when the Indian had erupted through the door and jumped at him. He could have knocked the little guy over in mid-air—he hadn’t seen he had a gun. He’d seen the handbag, though, maybe that was why he’d frozen. The handbag had surprised him. He’d been paralysed, couldn’t move. It was just the way he was in physical situations. He’d never been good at fighting at school, although he’d usually been able to arrange things so it didn’t come up.
The Indian’s gun had come out of nowhere, smacked him on the head and he’d gone down, blood in his eyes, and the fellow had been clawing at his throat. At first he thought the man was going to strangle him, but it had been the pass he wanted, the pass hanging from a cord around his neck. When they’d got that sorted out—he’d reached up and yanked the thing off, thrown it down the stairs—the man had scampered off.
He walked through the almost empty car park towards the marina. Wu’s car was there, a golden Mercedes. The Chinese loved their German automobiles. Henry lived in a huge house overlooking the harbour in Mosman, somewhere near the zoo, but he liked to do private business on the big motor cruiser he had moored down here. Some days he’d sail it across the harbour to Rose Bay, get out and be taken into the city by limo. It was a roundabout way to get to work, but what’s the point in living in Sydney, he’d said to Randall once, if you couldn’t do things on the water?
So now, Randall thought, I’m going to be sacked on the water. It will be a first. I’ve been sacked before, but never on the water.
Randall pressed the buttons for Wu’s boat. The gate had a keypad and speaker connected to all the vessels there, just like a security block of apartments. Wu’s voice came crackling out, telling him to come out to the boat but wait before coming on board. The buzzer sounded and Randall pushed through the gate and walked down onto the pontoons, admiring the craft moored on both sides. One day, he thought. One day. He walked more slowly as he approached Wu’s vessel. Henry was a mentor to him and in some ways he loved the man dearly. But he made him nervous.
Wu’s boat was the biggest one there, a million dollars of fibreglass and steel lined with precious timbers and silk wall hangings. God knew how much greenhouse gas was produced by the huge engines that drove it through the water. It was so big it was ocean-capable. Wu had taken it up and down the coast, to Hobart and to the Whitsundays. The man was a modern-day explorer.
No, thought Randall, reaching the gangplank and taking a deep breath as he stopped and called out. That was the wrong word. Henry Wu was a conquistador, slashing his way through new worlds, seizing opportunities. And like anyone driven to extreme actions, he had his peculiarities. He was, to put it bluntly, fucking weird.
Henry was standing in the main cabin, coat off and wearing his captain’s hat. Randall had made a joke about this. Once. There was another man with him, but even as Randall tried to make out his features he disappeared from sight. One time, over at Rose Bay, the positions had been reversed. Randall had been chatting with Wu when two other men arrived, Chinese guys in their dumb suits. Wu had taken him into another cabin, a big place with a large screen across one wall, and shut the door. Randall had stayed there for almost an hour, watching The Sopranos, until Wu had finished his business with the men. Randall had tried to open the door at one point, see if he could hear what was going on. The door had been locked. At first he’d experienced a mild sense of panic, but after a bit he realised the locked door was actually a good thing. Wu kept his life in separate boxes, and really, it was best not to know what was going on in the other ones.
Wu stepped out onto the broad rear deck and called Randall on board. He had this thing that played a piping noise, a recording from the British navy, and he’d played it for Randall the second time he’d been here, piping him on board. But not today.
There was no sign of the other man in the big room, the one with all the steering and navigation equipment. Wu led the way in and stood by the chart table, pointing to the day’s editions of the Herald and the Telegraph. Randall, who hadn’t seen the papers yet, stood next to Wu as he pointed at the front-page stories about The Tower. Wu was tall for a Chinese, although still shorter than Randall. But height wasn’t the sort of thing to worry Henry. Right now he seemed calm, as far as Randall could establish, but that didn’t mean a lot.
‘Your phone’s off,’ Wu said.
He had hardly any accent, though he wasn’t from Hong Kong originally. They said he’d come across as a refugee in the early eighties, done the long swim. The idea that Wu must have taught himself almost perfect English as an adult did not surprise Randall. Henry did everything well: he was not like other men. Randall had to call him Mr Wu in conversation, but he thought of him as Henry. He had to force himself sometimes, but it was worth it. It made the man seem more human.
‘I was sleeping,’ he said. ‘It was a rough night.’
‘So I can see,’ said Wu, pouring coffee.
Randall tried to concentrate on the newspapers but he was thinking about the man who’d been here with Henry when he’d arrived, and who was now downstairs. The big man. Henry had always liked to have people around him, but it had become more consistent six months ago. Randall wondered if there was some sort of security threat, but it was not something he felt he could ask. He forced himself to read. The Telegraph story, like the one in the Herald, was mainly about the shootings on level thirty-one. The journalists were right on top of the detail. Both stories mentioned his own presence.
‘Thanks,’ he murmured, taking the coffee, and then: ‘The pricks.’
Last night, Warton’s PR woman had been assured by the police media unit that nothing beyond a bald account would be released until today. That would have given Warton and Morning Star time to dampen the whole thing down, or at least try to influence the story. And now this. There was a picture of the shot cop on the front page of both newspapers. Their websites would be pushing the story too, alerting readers from around the world to the latest disaster from The Tower.
‘I talked to my police contact,’ Wu said, staring at Randall. There was a cop he talked to, someone high up, although Randall didn’t know who it was. Wu liked boasting about what he’d been told, and usually it was good stuff, but the source was always just ‘my contact’. Maybe it was the commissioner. With Henry, anything was possible. ‘This detail doesn’t come from them—there’s been a leak.’ Wu touched the papers. ‘These illegals. Did you know anything at all?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing?’
Randall repeated his denial. He doubted it was enough to save his job. What he would like to know, before he left, was whether Wu had known. Peer over the edge of his own box for a moment and see what was happening in one of the others. There was no reason for Wu to have known anything, of course, except that money was involved.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I know it’s a disaster. Bazzi had me completely duped.’
With Wu, you needed to admit your mistakes up front. It seemed to relax him. Once you did that, he could even be quite pleasant, in his own twisted way.
Wu said, ‘I seem to recall you recommended him for the job.’
Randall nodded. ‘He worked for the company that did our security before, seemed to know what was going on. Tryon handled him the wrong way.’ He could feel the sweat running down his sides now, and wondered how long it would be before Henry could smell it. He said, ‘I’m a fool.’
He’d never said that to another man before, and the words sounded strange. But with Henry, you did what you had to do.
Wu thought about this, looking out to the bay.
Then he said, ‘I believe you.’
For a moment Randall wondered if Henry was trying to be funny. But Henry didn’t do humour very often. He pointed at the closed door and said, ‘That guy in there?’, regretting it th
e moment the words were out. But he couldn’t help it.
Wu looked around vaguely, smiled at Randall. ‘He’s not here for you. Don’t worry, Sean.’
Wu put a hand on his arm and he tried not to flinch. Why me? he felt like saying, Why would you have thought I meant that? He shook his head to try to clear it. This was weird stuff, but lively too.
‘Are you going to sack me?’ he said.
Shit, he shouldn’t have asked.
As if he hadn’t heard him, Wu said, ‘It’s a rogue element.’
The way he spoke the words, Randall could tell the phrase had been used by his police contact. Wu rubbed the back of his hand across his jaw. ‘In the circumstances, maybe not so bad. Those two idiots have distracted attention from the illegals.’
Randall blinked, realising the idiots were the two police, the victim and the hero. At least, the newspapers seemed to think Nicholas Troy was a hero.
‘So that’s good?’
‘It could be worse.’
Randall felt a bit better. There’d been a pain in his stomach since he woke up this morning, but it was going away now.
He said, ‘What do we know about the illegal workers?’
‘You tell me,’ Wu said, looking at him closely.
‘Nothing.’
‘There it is.’
Not giving him all that much.
‘Okay.’
‘It’s not okay,’ Wu said. ‘We need to know what’s going on with the police.’ He stared at Randall. ‘You make some friends. This man McIver, if he wakes up, send him a bottle of something expensive.’
‘Right.’
‘You need a contact in the investigation. In my experience, policemen can be lonely men.’
That wasn’t Randall’s experience, but he nodded politely. ‘They’re looking for friends?’
Wu smiled. He liked it when Randall picked up things quickly.
‘Tell me if you need some money,’ he said, and pointed at the bandage around Randall’s head as though seeing it for the first time. ‘You okay?’
It was over, Randall knew. Everything was all right again.
‘More coffee would be good.’
‘Let me see the bandage. Oh, poor Sean.’
Usually Wu was a prick, but occasionally he’d act as though Randall was the son he’d never had. It was strange, because Wu had two sons up the hill in his house. And Randall surely had a father, a builder and alcoholic back in Dungarvan. The last thing he wanted was to be adopted by Henry Wu. The man was stimulating and he was necessary, but Randall had always grasped the necessity of keeping a distance from him.
Wu gave him the coffee, which was lukewarm, and said, ‘Have you got the new film?’
Randall reached into the inside pocket of his coat and pulled out a DVD in a flat plastic case. It showed one of his first sessions with Kristen. Wu put a hand underneath the map table, and he must have pressed something because a small part of the wooden wall behind him sprung open to reveal a white cavity, in which sat an identical DVD case. This was a trick Randall hadn’t seen before. This case had the word Bolivia handwritten on it, and Wu exchanged it for the one Randall was holding, putting Randall’s inside the cavity and closing the door.
The man enjoyed his toys, Randall thought. Imagine having a craft like this, anything you wanted on it. Custom-made.
‘She’s from Iceland,’ he said, pointing to the part of the wall now concealing the DVD.
‘She knew you were filming her?’
‘No.’
‘I’m impressed you can fool them so often,’ Wu said.
This was going better. ‘We all have our talents.’
The first time they’d used the camera he’d told Kristin it was running only when the red light was on. She’d believed him. It was Henry who’d arranged to have the camera altered almost a year go, after he’d told him of the problem with the light.
‘Did you know about Bazzi?’ said Wu.
Randall shook his head. ‘I believe he had at least one accomplice.’
He realised Henry hadn’t even asked him for his account of last night. As though he knew about it already. As though Randall’s account didn’t matter.
‘Another guard has gone too,’ said Randall. ‘Andrew Asaad.’
Wu nodded impatiently. ‘We need to find these two men, find out what they were up to in my building. This girl.’
‘You don’t know who she was?’
Wu frowned. Randall had been told, the first time he went out east, that Chinese people didn’t show emotion. Wu was the Chinese man he’d spent most time with, and it wasn’t true of him.
‘This is my main job, Sean,’ he said, pointing vaguely at his briefcase on the floor. ‘You know I have my little hobbies, but I wouldn’t let them interfere in this.’
Randall didn’t know much at all about Wu’s hobbies. Not most of them, anyway. ‘Fine,’ he said quickly. In fact he placed little faith in Henry’s denial, believing the fellow to be fundamentally dishonest. But that was not something you wanted him to know.
Wu said, ‘What does Jamal say?’
Eman Jamal was the local manager of Tryon.
‘Bazzi fooled him too. They’ve gone back over his records and there’s no sign of anything wrong.’ Randall cleared his throat. ‘Jamal says they blew it on Asaad, though. Turns out the fellow’s in a bikie gang, the Wolves. They missed it when they vetted him.’
‘How long’s he been there?’
‘Six months.’
Wu grunted. ‘He was brought in by Bazzi?’
Randall nodded.
Wu said, ‘I hope Mr Jamal is improving his vetting procedures.’
‘It’s a pretty good company actually. Heads will roll.’ Not a good choice of words.
Wu looked at him as though reading his thoughts. But all he said was, ‘I want you to find Bazzi and Asaad.’
‘The police will do that.’
‘I want you to do it first, with the help of Mr Jamal. He will help?’
‘He’ll do what I tell him to.’
Wu nodded. ‘It’s a disaster, Sean, the attention this has drawn to The Tower. We’re all very upset. You do understand that?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you know what it means?’
‘I guess it could affect your capacity to attract tenants who—’ ‘It means everything has changed. Lots of lives have changed forever, Sean. Yours too.’
Wu said no more, just stared at him. The man liked his dramas.
Randall shrugged, just wanting to get out of there, over the bridge and into the city.
Wu looked at the wheel. ‘I’m sailing to work this morning,’ he said. ‘You want a lift?’
‘I’ve got my car. Need to get to the site. Closing it down will cause chaos.’ He looked at his watch: he should be there now.
Wu said, ‘Tell Taylor to hold on. I’m meeting Superintendent Siegert and the head of the Homicide Squad shortly. The decision will be reversed.’
‘You are joking?’
For a moment Wu looked offended, but then he smiled and gestured towards the open door that led onto the rear deck. Randall felt immensely relieved. Wu said, ‘Happy hunting.’
‘I’ll see what I can find out from the cops.’
Wu smiled. ‘You take care out there, Sean. Don’t forget, the people in this town are descended from convicts. They’re not honest people.’
‘No.’
It was one of Henry’s jokes.
‘Not like you and me.’
Randall wasn’t sure if he should laugh, he’d heard the line so many times now. But he did, instinctively, giving it all he had. For a moment he saw a flicker of pleasure on Henry’s face.
As he walked out and across the gangplank, he knew he’d done the right thing. It was all going to work itself out.
Seven
The sea was like a washing machine for people, Troy thought. He would plunge into the surf, it would roll him around, and he would emerge clean and renewed. This wa
s how he’d seen Maroubra Beach since moving there four years ago. His swimming had improved—he had a strong chest and good lung capacity—and before long he’d become an expert bodysurfer. Walking along the beach in cut-off jeans, with a tan in mid-summer, he felt as though he’d lived here all his life. But he always knew, when he went in, that the sea was in charge. Some people, the ones who were born here, could go through life without realising that. They were the ones who became champions.
He was catching a wave, gliding towards the beach with one arm outstretched, when Anna shook him. As he woke up he tried to pull his arm in, before realising he’d been dreaming. The clock on the bedside table showed it was almost seven, and for a moment he lay there, disoriented, not hearing what she was telling him. Then she was sitting on the bed, leaning down and pressing herself on him, and he could feel her tears on the side of his face.
‘I love you,’ she whispered.
He wondered if this might bring them back together.
‘I love you too,’ he said, her hair in his mouth. ‘I didn’t—
’ She sat up and put a finger on his mouth, and just looked at him for a long time. Then she took the finger away and wiped her eyes.
‘So you heard,’ he said.
She stood up, her lovely face full of emotion, brushing the long dark hair back, the brown eyes warm in a way he hadn’t seen for a long time.
‘You’re in the newspaper. Tracia brought it over.’
He recalled the two journalists, and wondered how they’d used what he’d given them. But that could wait. They’d taken his gun and he was on leave, so everything could wait. Pushing himself up, he took the mug of coffee Anna had left on the bedside table and sipped it. She was still standing there, looking at him as though he were something new.
The Tower Page 6