by J J Cooper
He looked up the driveway. His father had stopped and was waving at him to come. Jay waved back for him to keep going. Then turned and entered the house.
Not bothering to pick up his other crutch, he hopped and used the other as a brace. Despite the uncoordinated effort of holding the shirt over his mouth and nose and swaggering on the crutch, it didn’t take too long to enter the conference room. Bar a few bits of paper and glasses of water on the table, the room was relatively empty. He checked for the source of the anthrax leak. He looked up and hoped it wasn’t in the air-conditioning system, then quickly dismissed that notion as the house would undoubtedly have chemical detection equipment fixed within the system and set to alarm and shutdown immediately. He bent to look under the table. Five briefcases sat neatly beside their owner’s chairs. Three on one side of the table and two on the other.
Shit!
He recognised his father’s briefcase and then tried to figure out how the others would have been seated. Only one other briefcase on his father’s side of the table. Bill would have sat on the same side as his father. But Bill never carried a briefcase. Next. The next senior member would have been the Federal Police Commissioner ... who would have also sat on his father’s side.
Three left on the opposite side to figure out who’s who.
Wasn’t as hard as he thought it’d be. One briefcase was solid-looking and had a discreet symbol on the upper edge. A symbol that showed it belonged to NSIS. Another briefcase had a not-so-discreet emblem. Emblazoned on the front was the Queensland Police Service motif. He reached for the other briefcase. With a crutch in one hand and the other to hold his shirt over his face, he suddenly realised the logistics of its removal may be difficult.
He dropped the crutch, leaned on the back of a chair with his torso and reached down to retrieve the briefcase. With his broken ankle in the air, it took all his strength to lift himself off the chair and keep balanced. Turning towards the door he overbalanced and hit the wall. Fortunately he had enough discipline not to brace against it with the hand over his face. Instead he hit it with his shoulder, caught his balance, and started hopping towards the door.
Jay wondered if the violent shaking of the briefcase as he bounced along would set the aerosol pack off. A chance he had to take.
He travelled along the hall and stopped beside the door that led down into the interrogation room. After placing the briefcase on the floor, he opened the door and faced his next dilemma – stairs. Two options: throw the case down the stairs and hope it wouldn’t set off the anthrax in full spray mode, or hold his breath and brace against the handrail as he descended.
After all he’d been through, he hoped that the scientist had actually vaccinated him against this strain. He held his breath and ripped his shirt in two, then tied it as tight as he could around his nose and mouth. He knew it wouldn’t be as effective as a tight seal of his hand over the shirt, but it’d have to do.
‘Jay!’
Ed Ryan stood at the front entrance and was waving frantically to his son.
Jay gave him the ‘thumbs up’, picked up the briefcase and began his slow descent into the interrogation room. At the penultimate step, his boot clipped the edge and he fell backward. He needed the other hand free to brace for the fall. The briefcase dropped to the ground.
A small hole in the side of the briefcase punched out anthrax spores at high speed.
FIFTY-SIX
The deadly anthrax strain had claimed only one life.
Ed Ryan passed away in hospital two weeks after rescuing his son, and probably saving many more lives. He’d bounded down the stairs, picked up the briefcase and flung it in the airtight interrogation room. In doing so, he’d inhaled the deadly spores. No amount of world-class medical attention or drugs could save him in the end. Jay had been by his side when his father had died. He’d held his father’s hand as the medical staff left him alone to mourn.
The vaccination the scientist had given to Jay many years ago, and a plethora of antibiotics pumped into his system, had saved Jay. His wounds were beginning to heal and a plaster cast had been placed on his broken ankle. Bill had visited both of them twice a day since the accident and kept Jay’s spirits up through his constant moaning over the doses of antibiotics he too had to take as a precautionary measure. He also somehow had managed to hold off the teams of investigating officials seeking answers. Questions Jay wasn’t up to answering.
Ed had given his statement soon after entering the hospital. He’d known his time was limited. He’d bid a teary farewell to Jay two days before his death. The doctors had tried one last effort by slipping him into a drug-induced coma. His body fought the anthrax for two days before succumbing.
Jay allowed the tears to flow down his chin as he bent over and kissed his father on the forehead. ‘I love you, mate. Give my love to Mum.’
He hobbled on his crutches back down the ward, threw his few possessions into a small backpack Bill had brought in, and changed out of his hospital gown. Before he pulled on his only boot, he took out his credit card. He wanted to buy some flowers and have them delivered to the children’s ward where Brooke was still recovering.
A small business card came out with his credit card. The plain card had a short note followed by a number. The offer for work stands. Call me. Regards Holly (real name this time, honest!).
He rolled the card between his fingers while contemplating what to do with his life. He rubbed a hand through his hair and stared at the card. The decision didn’t take long to make. He picked up the phone beside the hospital bed and rang the number.
Holly answered after the second ring. ‘Jay?’
‘I’m guessing you don’t give this number out to too many people?’
‘Not on the first date. Looking for some work?’
Jay took a deep breath. ‘Sure.’
‘Welcome aboard.’
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Cheers to the booksellers and readers for the support and feedback for my first novel, The Interrogator – much appreciated. I hope you enjoy this novel just as much.
Thanks again to my wonderful literary agent, Sophie, and the great team at The Cameron Creswell Agency. I appreciate your professional advice and support.
To Larissa, Chris and all the Random House Australia team; thank you for your hard work, belief and enthusiasm for my books.