by Peter Corris
I followed Twizell, who, I had to admit, showed some talent in the caper—signalling me to warn of hazards like jutting-out rocks and unevenness underfoot. The air quality improved but what I’d suspected proved to be true. Water had got in when the area was flooded and we were slogging through ankle-deep mud and splashing through puddles. After what felt like half an hour, but was probably less, of steady but gradual descending we came to the first drop. We needed to get down to a level about ten metres below where we were. Water dripped over the edge.
Twizell shone his torch beam around, located a solid anchor point and tied his rope around it.
‘Get down backwards, using the rope, and sort of walk down the face,’ he said, ‘like this.’
He disappeared over the edge and I heard a few grunts and then he shone his torch up at me.
‘It’s easy,’ he said.
It wasn’t. I was stiffer than was right for the job; my palms were sweaty and the rope slipped and burned them and I bumped my knee several times on the way down.
‘Told you,’ he said. ‘Picked this because I knew I could get in and out easily.’
I grunted and rubbed my hands together.
‘Sorry, should have got gloves for you.’
‘I’ll be all right. Let’s go.’
‘Notice it’s a bit warmer?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Further you go down the warmer it gets. I’ve been in some caves hot as—’
‘Jack, we haven’t got all day.’
The ground was very rough now and Twizell stumbled a few times and swore. But it was drier. He was less cavalier with his torch after that and kept it trained a metre or so in front of him.
‘At least it’s dry,’ I said.
‘So far. All depends on the fucking vents and the flood.’ His laugh was almost a giggle. ‘Money might’ve floated away. Wouldn’t that be a hoot?’
‘You used to do this for fun?’
‘Yeah. I’ll do it again if I get through this. Reckon we will?’
‘Fair chance.’
The cave, which after the drop had been high enough for me to stand and wide enough for easy passage, suddenly turned a corner and narrowed. Twizell moved cautiously and I heard a sigh of relief from him.
‘What?’
‘It’s okay. There was a bit of a collapse here first time and I wondered, but it seems all right now.’ He sounded nervous and as if talking helped. ‘Tell you one place I wouldn’t do it.’
I didn’t want him nervous. ‘Where’s that?’
‘Fucking New Zealand. Imagine being down here when—’
‘Shut up!’
‘Getting edgy?’
‘You were.’
‘All right, we’re nearly there. Here’s the next drop. Much the same.’
‘Any water?’
He shone his torch. ‘Looks all right.’
He went through the same procedure and dropped over the edge. I got out my Swiss army knife, hacked two chunks out of my denim shirt, wrapped them around my hands and went down the rope. The drop was nearly twice as long as the first but I was more careful and got down more slowly but without damage. Twizell studied me as I stuffed the cloth in my pocket.
‘You’re doing okay.’
A childish reaction, but I enjoyed his praise—momentarily.
‘The money. Where?’
‘Over here.’
He took two paces and our torch beams focused on a ledge in the rock wall. Eight bundles, sealed in heavy plastic, each about the size of a six-pack of beer, but without handy finger holes, sat on the ledge.
Twizell’s laugh was almost hysterical. ‘Here we are, mate. Not protected by snakes or skulls or anything. Just beautiful, beautiful money.’
I’d had charge of large amounts of money myself, and bodyguarded people carrying still larger amounts, but this was the most I’d ever seen in one chunk. It looked oddly innocent and it was in itself, but it was associated with a lot of things that were anything but innocent. My problem was its future associations. I thought this while taking off my jacket and unstrapping the backpack.
‘It’s just money,’ I said. ‘Here today and gone tomorrow. Load it up and let’s get out of this fucking hole.’
~ * ~
We loaded the plastic blocks into the backpacks, four each. Bulky, but not heavy. Then we retraced our steps. Twizell went up the rope at the second drop like a cat up a tree. I struggled; the backpack made me awkward and my hands hurt despite the wrappings. I made it with Twizell’s help.
The downward slope hadn’t felt very severe, but now it was upward and it seemed steep in spots. I had to stop for a rest a couple of times. I needed to catch my breath and the confinement and smell were getting to me.
‘How did they treat you?’ I asked on the second pause.
‘How d’you mean?’
‘Didn’t rough you up?’
‘Hec wanted to but bloody Rod wouldn’t let him.’
‘Were you worried about the bolt-cutters?’
Twizell had plenty of wind. He laughed. ‘That bloke got picked up by the cops. Warrants out on him, apparently. I wasn’t sorry to hear that. You right now?’
‘Just about. I’m wondering if Templeton has really gone over to the other side. Do you reckon he could still be the undercover cop playing along with Hector to ... ?’
Twizell shook his head, gestured, and his torch beam zoomed around the space. ‘No way. He’s in it with him a hundred per cent. Were you banking on that to get us out of this in one piece?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘That really fills me with confidence. Come on, we’ve still got that other rope to get up and we’re well past the time I said. They’ll be getting edgy.’
Despite giving me the hurry-up, Twizell slowed down from that point. He bumped against a projecting rock and swore as blood spread over his neck and dripped down into his collar. He stopped to mop it with the sleeve of his jacket. I shone my torch and saw where the wound caused by the end of Templeton’s sawn-off had been reopened.
I thought: Where’s that shotgun?
We reached the second rope and I stopped Twizell before he took his grip. ‘The shottie, where is it?’
‘I dunno. You looked in the SUV, didn’t you?’
‘Yeah. You sure he didn’t stick it under the seat in the Bobcat or something like that?’
‘I’m not sure. Shit, you’re putting the wind up me.’
‘Probably nothing. He seems pretty confident he can bring this off peacefully.’
‘Are you?’
‘No. Let’s get up this bloody rope.’
Twizell was much less nimble this time. He stood at the top with the rope in his grasp as I moved to grab it. His torch beam blinded me.
‘What’re you doing?’ I said.
His voice seemed to come from far away and there was a slight echo to it. ‘Thinking.’
‘About what?’
‘Leaving you here and negotiating. You’ll never get up that rock face.’
That made me wonder about Twizell and the backpacker but it was no time for wondering.
‘Forget it, Jack. Half the money’s with me. They’d send you down for it or Templeton’d come after it himself and I’m in no state to fight him. He’d leave me here and you’d have done your last cave for sure. The odds are in favour of not upsetting them. I don’t like it any more than you do, but...’
The beam flicked away.
‘Yeah, yeah. Come up. You can’t live forever, right?’
It wasn’t what I wanted to hear, but he let go of the rope and I went up more easily than I’d thought I could. We stood together looking down the narrow, lower and wet rest of the way out.
‘When you’re caving,’ Twizell said, ‘you have options— left or right, up or down, go on or go back. You know?’
‘Yeah, like in life, but not right now.’
We went on; I crouched where I had to and ploughed through the mud towards the clean air and the lig
ht.
~ * ~
26
Twizell propped at the entrance and I had to push him to get out. I hadn’t expected anything good, but I hadn’t anticipated anything like what I saw when I lurched through into the light. Three men in tracksuits wearing balaclavas and carrying pistols stood about twenty metres away. Hector and Templeton were on their knees in front of them with their hands behind their heads.
The one in the middle gestured with his pistol. ‘Come on out, boys, and join the party. Have to say you don’t look so good.’
Twizell and I were wet and muddied to our knees. We moved forward.
‘Take off the backpacks and put them on the ground.’
‘Who the fuck are you?’ Twizell said.
‘All in good time. Do it.’
We did it. He waved one of his companions, who, unlike the others, was wearing gloves, forward. He put his pistol on the ground, knelt and undid the Velcro fasteners and lifted out a block from each of the backpacks. Then he shoved them back in.
‘Good,’ the one who was doing the talking said. The third man, a big guy, handed his gun to the one who’d opened the backpacks, lifted both bags by their straps and walked away. I tracked him as he moved past the Bobcat and the SUV. The Mitsubishi sagged to one side on slashed tyres.
Templeton let his hands drop but he didn’t stand up. The spokesman barked an order which Templeton ignored. ‘Don’t you get it, Jack? They’re the ones who lifted the money in the first place.’
‘Shit,’ Twizell said.
‘That’s not very eloquent,’ the leader said, ‘but that’s right. That’s who we are. You caused us a lot of trouble.’
‘How did you know Twizell had moved the money?’ I said.
The leader laughed and his gun didn’t move a fraction. ‘Johnnie here got on the gunja when he was inside and told someone what he should have kept to himself. Just once, but we heard about it.’
‘Fuck,’ Twizell said. ‘How did you track us here?’
‘We’ve kept tabs on you from the minute you got out.’
‘The helicopter,’ I said.
‘Right, and bugs in certain cars,’
Templeton started to rise. ‘Who cares?’ He looked challengingly at me, inviting me to make a move, risk casualties, upset the controlled scene. The other man moved quickly; he kicked the back of Templeton’s right knee, collapsing him.
‘Bad idea,’ the leader said, ‘but marks for guts.’
He lowered his pistol and shot Hector in the back of the neck, Chinese execution style.
Twizell yelped. Hector twitched twice and lay still. Twizell threw up. I shut my eyes for a split second then turned to look at the shooter. He’d lost interest and shook his head at Templeton and me.
‘Just him. Old score settled,’ he said. ‘You lot keep cool and you’ll be all right. Now, my friend with the money’s got a rifle with a scope in his hands by now and he can hit your left or right ball at this distance. Stay cool and we’re out of here and no one gets hurt.’
I looked down at Hector.
‘He was nothing,’ the leader said.
The two of them put their pistols away and spread out as they backed off to give the guy with the rifle a clear field of fire. Templeton got to his feet. There was a sharp report and a bullet clipped the trees just above where we stood. A motor started. Birds flew up at the noise and then there was silence.
‘Have to admire that,’ Templeton said.
Twizell looked ready to hit him. ‘Admire it? They’ve got the fucking money.’
Templeton examined Hector’s body. ‘It’s your fault, getting stoned and blabbing.’
‘I don’t remember it.’
‘Very stoned.’ Templeton walked to the SUV.
‘What’s he doing?’Twizell said. ‘That thing’s out of action.’
Templeton rummaged in the glove box of the car and came up with a pair of handcuffs. He strode back, jerked Hector’s splayed arms behind his back and cuffed him.
‘What’re you doing?’ Twizell yelped.
Templeton looked at me. ‘I was just doing my job, drawing Hector out of hiding. I was all set to hand him and the money over when these three appeared. Right, Hardy?’
I shrugged. ‘Difficult to say.’
‘You lying bastard,’ Twizell said. ‘You were in it for the money. I’ve got it—you did a deal with those cunts. This was all staged.’
‘Why would I do that, Jack?’
Twizell was practically hopping from foot to foot in his agitation. ‘You probably knew that they’d heard a whisper and that they’d come after the money one way or another. This way you get a cut and don’t have to worry about them.’
‘What d’you think, Hardy?’
I shrugged. ‘It’s a theory.’
‘That’s all it is.’
Templeton smiled but I couldn’t tell whether it was the smile of someone who’d got away with something or whether he was just amused. He was a hard man to read at the best of times and this wasn’t one of those. He took his mobile from his pocket. ‘Prove it,’ he said.
~ * ~
27
Templeton seemed to have his mojo back as an undercover operator, if he’d ever lost it. He worked his mobile, using the codes, delivering punchy messages. Twizell and I sat on the edge of the trailer and watched him.
‘I wouldn’t mind a slug of Hector’s vodka,’ Twizell said. ‘Reckon he’d let me?’
‘He wouldn’t. He has to control the crime scene.’ ‘He’ll have to control more than that. He’s lying.’ ‘Look, I found out a bit about him. He’s seen as a bit of a loose cannon by the police but apparently he’s done some pretty good work. They’ll go along with him on this. They’re no worse off in terms of the money and they won’t be grieving over Hector.’
‘No one will. So what’re you saying?’
‘Just that I’m not going to say any more than I have to. If Templeton’s version’s accepted by the cops I’m not going to contradict it. I’m finished with all this.’
He scratched his beard and checked that he wasn’t bleeding from the neck wound. He was quiet for a while, as if reviewing everything that had happened.
‘Hey, what about the old papers and the professor and that?’
‘They were in the car with him and Kristie. Gone. Wakefield said it was the stuff he was after but that’s all he said. We’ll never know.’
‘Great. I hate to see this bastard get away with everything.’
‘He hasn’t. If he was really after the money then he’s lost out. And I think he had genuine feelings for Kristie, so he’s lost out there, too.’
‘Yeah, poor thing; she had no luck. I’ve still got some problems. I’ve broken parole by not reporting and—’ he waved his hand at the cave opening, ‘doing all this.’
‘Templeton has to say you were under duress. You’ll be all right as long as you stay on the right side of him.’
He nodded. ‘Hate to do it, but.’
Sirens wailed, coming closer. I stood up. ‘He’s a risk-taker. He’ll get out of this probably, but he’ll come to grief sooner or later.’
‘You believe that?’
‘I don’t believe anything much, but I’ve seen it happen before.’
Within minutes, the clearing was full of vehicles—police cars marked and unmarked and an ambulance, and people— uniforms, detectives, SOC types. Templeton talked, pointed, demonstrated. Twizell and I were like minor actors in a movie—waiting to play our bit parts.
~ * ~
28
It seemed to work out pretty much as Templeton had orchestrated it. I cooperated to the extent of helping him to recover his gun. Undercover police were given very wide terms of reference and Templeton hadn’t done anything too far outside the boundaries. Whether they believed he’d handcuffed Hector before he’d been executed I didn’t know, but they had two leading crime figures dead and one up on serious charges and were satisfied.
When Roderick Fitzjames
Templeton climbed into a police car and left the clearing outside the cave, that was the last I saw of him. I knew that, if the police bought his story, they’d protect him. They’d try not to use him as a witness against Joseph and, if they had to, they’d disguise him and give him a code name. W3 or some such. And then he’d disappear into the netherworld of undercover work. Or perhaps Jack Twizell’s theory was correct, and Templeton would just bide his time until he retired in comfort.