The Defector

by Mark Chisnell

  ‘Thanks.’ I said.

  I walked down a ramp into the brightly lit baggage hall. It was painfully open. I finally allowed myself one glance over my shoulder, but there was no sign of Kate or Scott yet. How the hell was I going to do this? There was barely anyone in the hall. It was warm and I could feel the sweat start to build under my waistband. I'd put a light jumper over the tee shirt, which helped break my shape even more, but I was beginning to wonder if that wasn't making me conspicuous. I spotted the minder from first class, just coming through immigration behind me. There was still no sign of the other three probables and I guessed they were held up with the economy crowd with Kate and Scott. This place needed to fill up a lot before I could get near Kate unnoticed.

  I found a monitor and worked out which carousel my bags were coming in on. Then strolled over towards the carts and pulled one free. I glanced over towards the customs, red and green lanes just like home. I'd filled in a form on the plane, which I had in my hand.

  A buzzer was going by the carousel, the motor ground into action and the rubber belt started to slide. I fought back a rush of panic. What if my bags popped up early? I looked around desperately for somewhere to hide until there were some more people around and saw a camera high up on the wall. I could feel my knees go weak. I moved round, closer to where the bags were coming out, fighting for a grip, feeling the sweat breakout on my forehead. It was warm but not that warm. And if I was sweating I should take the jumper off. I dabbed at my forehead as nonchalantly as possible, leaned on the back of the trolley and tried to concentrate on the bags.

  Then I realised what I was looking at. The bag popping out of the chute was a battered grey holdall. It was Kate's. God knows I'd carried the damn thing around enough. I didn't have to go near her. I slid my hand into my pocket as the bag came close. Closed my fingers round the paper. I stared at the bag, with its open side pocket. I shifted, put my foot on the stainless support of the belt, fiddled with a shoelace, putting my body between the camera and where the bag would be. The belt was moving so slowly, it seemed to take for ever to get to me. Then in what felt like slow motion I stuck the message in the pocket. Everyone had seen me. I was sure of it. Someone would ask what I had done. Would Kate see it anyway? I glanced up at the faces opposite and saw the minder. For a frightful second our eyes met. Then his hand moved, gently brushing back his jacket a couple of inches. I caught the dull glow of metal tucked into his waistband. Fuck, that was it. The bag clunked inexorably towards him. He only had to reach out...

  Then it was gone. The gun, the knife, whatever. And so was he, he'd melted back into the crowd. He hadn't seen the note. That had just been a warning. I was almost staggering from the relief. I could feel my pulse rising, pounding at my temple so loud I was sure the people nearby could hear it. I glanced around, anxious again, still so much that could go wrong. No Kate. No Scott. I needed my bag, I had to get out of here before they arrived. For a second I almost left it, turned and walked away. But no one arrived in Australia with just hand luggage.

  There it was, popping up the chute. I grabbed it and threw it onto the trolley, pushing out and moving away. I was sweating like a spit roast. I pushed the trolley ahead of me and started to struggle out of the jumper. Free of the extra clothing I mopped my head with it and threw it on top of the bag. I rounded the corner into the green lane with my heart pounding. It was the last hurdle.

  In front of me was a small queue. At the head of it a young customs officer, very young. I pulled the form out of my back pocket and tried to drape myself over the back of the trolley as nonchalantly as I could. Something made me look over my shoulder and I saw the minder, right behind me. It wouldn't matter if it was a gun or a knife, he'd be close enough to use either if they caught me. I was suddenly frighteningly conscious of the strapping and its all too thin covering of tee shirt. It was a struggle not to start pulling the jumper back on, or patting the tee shirt into place.

  I gripped the trolley with white knuckles to keep my hands where they were. The couple at the front were diverted left, where I could see other officers searching bags. The straight ahead option appeared to be clear. The next guy, a smartly dressed man in his forties also went left, so did the next. God they were all going to be searched. There was only one in front of me. Now I was certain they could hear my heart.

  Suddenly I was there.

  ‘Bit warm for you sir?’

  I held my form out and he took it. My spine tingled with the presence behind me. I could feel the blade about to plunge in between my shoulders. I breathed a silent scream and then, some words.

  ‘Yeah, after England.’ I finally blurted out. You haven't come from England, I thought as soon as I said it.

  ‘That where you've come from sir?’

  I could feel the panic rushing up inside me like a huge overwhelming wave. I had to tell the truth. He was looking down at my form, which listed the place I'd joined the flight.

  Finally my mouth moved and the words came out sounding almost normal. ‘No, Thailand actually, but I can't get used to the heat. Too much time in the cold and the rain I guess.’

  He was looking up now, gazing at me with a pair of placid brown eyes. My stomach and its guilty wrapping burst out into flows of perspiration, but I held his eyes and somehow managed a wan smile. But still he just looked and looked, it was seconds, minutes, hours. I had to hold his gaze. I could feel an irresistible urge to cough or sneeze, to cover my mouth, anything to stop the lies coming out. But I didn't move. I could lie with the best of them.

  ‘Well, doesn't help with the air conditioning broken down. Hope you get used to it before you go home to that lousy pommie weather.’ And with a tiny flick of his hand he indicated right and I was gone. I pushed the trolley ahead with a sensation flooding through me that was better than sex. I'd done it. I almost skipped across the hallway and all before me, doors, people, slid apart. I walked outside into the blasting heat and humidity of an Australian summer a free man.

  Chapter 9

  Well, almost. I still had two kilos of heroin strapped around my waist. But that was ok, the worst was over. If Alex agreed to play ball, and did a good job, I was there. I waited patiently for a cab, and spent the time looking for the minders. In the flood of emotion leaving the customs I hadn't even thought to check behind and see if they got through. Whatever, they weren't close now. I needed to give them a chance to catch up. And I didn't want to be alone with anyone. I needed a bus not a cab. Cautiously I went back inside the arrivals hall, checking for Kate and Scott, and found some signs to the City Shuttle.

  It was only now that I realised how totally exhausted I was. I collapsed onto a seat and stared blankly out of a window. And there he was, number one minder, arms folded, watching me. As the bus jerked lumpily into motion he stepped into a waiting cab and together we slowly pulled away from the airport. This was the first time I'd been to Australia and I watched the surroundings slide from light industry through surburban housing and into urban terracing before we were swallowed up by the towering blocks of the city centre. All the time the cab was sitting just off our bumper.

  The bus stopped a couple of times outside hotels and I was tempted to get off. A shower, some sleep, lose my bag. It was a nice idea. But could I afford to be alone in a hotel room? They could monitor my calls, check who went in and out. But they wouldn't have time to set that up. Maybe if I just dropped my bag off and checked in for now. At least then I wouldn't be humping it around for hours. The drop-off could be miles away. The bus stopped again. The Randolph. That would have to do. I lurched down onto the street and through the doors. I got a room, picked up the keys and dropped my bag for the porter. I was in and out of the lobby inside five minutes.

  Freed from my bag I walked briskly away from the hotel, and found a newsagent where I bought a map. Next a cafe. I found a table and ordered strong, black coffee. When it came it was strong enough to crawl out of the cup and pour itself down my throat. I looked up Mount Street, Manly. It appe
ared to be miles away. The other side of the harbour. I checked the route map out and discovered that there was a ferry that went over there. It looked a lot less hassle than the bus, which would have to trail all the way round the harbour. It was three thirty. I could be late, but not early. I tried to figure out how far the ferry had to go, how long it would take. But there was no scale on the map. Two and a half hours, there must be plenty of time, I'd better have another cup of coffee.

  When I finally left I was buzzing with so much caffeine there was no longer any danger of feeling tired. Giddy and light headed perhaps, but not tired. I followed the map down to the ferry terminal, and eventually figured out which one to take. The boat, a big catamaran, was full of commuters. The view was enough to take even my troubled mind off its problems for a moment. We powered out of the bay, swinging past the Opera House, with the Harbour Bridge only a few hundred metres away to the left. Hell of a way to go home from work.

  I was sitting at the front of the boat, and that now gave me the opportunity to turn and casually scan the faces behind me. I couldn't see either of the guards, but there were several people hidden by newspapers or parts of the boat. Since we'd arrived in Sydney, the surveillance had been much more discreet. The minders were off their home territory and maybe wanted more distance in case I did try to cry for help. Or maybe they figured that the customs was the real danger point and they could relax a little more now. But if Janac's orders were to be obeyed there was a stronger argument for keeping close. How close did they need to be to kill me?

  I turned back to the window. Staring out at the harbour, with cascades of beautiful houses tumbling down to every beach and rocky foreshore, I wondered again about Kate. Had she found the note yet?

  The trip was a quick one, and it was barely half past five when we pulled up at Manly. I stared out of the window at the motley collection of buildings on the pier. There was a tiny beach off to the left, but that obviously wasn't the ocean beach I needed. Disembarking I walked past newsagents and fast food outlets and out onto a forecourt, it was a major bus stop. I was looking around to get my bearings on the map when I finally saw the surveillance. The one who had been up in first class with me and behind me at customs was standing none too casually by a news stand. I turned and looked straight at him. He didn't flinch. Stared right through me, as much as you can do with a pair of mirror shades on. Despite the heat he was still wearing his jacket.

  On a sudden impulse I started towards him. I half expected him to move away, but he didn't. And I was committed now, getting closer with every step. I was ten yards away and still he hadn't moved. He was obviously not bothered by the fact that I had recognised him, nor that I was making the fact clear. And then it occurred to me that they were going to kill me anyway.

  I stopped a couple of yards short. Still he hadn't moved a muscle. The unblinking glass stared at me, a paradigm of dispassion. There was no one else close. ‘So,’ I said, ‘why don't we get it over with here. I give you the package, you blow my brains out.’ Not a muscle moved. Seconds passed. Then I heard footsteps behind me. They stopped. Eventually I turned, more mirror shades, another lumpy jacket. One of the four I had marked down as probables. Were there any more?

  ‘I'm sorry,’ said the accentless voice, ‘but my friend does not speak good English. Perhaps I can help you.’

  I stared back, then repeated my question, even more slowly and precisely. This time there was a response.

  ‘I'm sorry, but I have no idea what you are talking about, perhaps you have a little too much sun, eh?’ One hand touched his forehead lightly, in a gesture understood world-wide, then returned to clasp the other. I stared again, but the sunglasses betrayed only light and even breathing. Finally, I snorted and turned away. I knew them both and they didn't care. Either they were convinced I hadn't gone to the police and wasn't going to, or that if I did they could get to me first. Or they were going to kill me anyway. I couldn't see what the hell I could do about it either way, so I started walking again, heading across the rows of bus stops. I could feel the guards start out behind me, not far behind. I crossed by a set of lights and almost immediately entered a pedestrian walkway. I walked slowly but steadily, passing chip shops and burger stands, ice cream parlours and trinket sellers, glancing round occasionally to check on Tweedledum and Tweedledee. Both were about ten yards back, one on either side of the road. Could Janac have ordered them to kill me after delivery? No, there was no point, I was no danger at that stage, once the drugs were out of my hands and safely away what could I do? I had no proof of anything, certainly not against the two goons. The only one I could threaten was Janac and he was safe behind his wall of protection in Ko Samui.

  The confrontation was stupid, unnecessary. I started to step out a little bit and could soon see the ocean ahead of me. I checked the map, this was where I turned left. I crossed over, ducking through some children's play apparatus and past a couple of buskers. All around me was the bustle of a busy summer day in a holiday resort, but I felt so far removed from it I might have been on the moon. I turned onto the seafront, surfers were dashing towards the beach, pulling on wet-suits as they went, anxious for a few last waves. Couples strolled along, dodging the occasional skateboarder and more frequent rollerblades. I hurried on, anxious to be finished with it now.

  I found Mount Street, turned the corner and glanced over my shoulder. They were a little further back this time, but not much. I slowed again. I wanted number fourteen. I glanced at gates and doors looking for a clue to where I was. Nothing, I strode on. Then took a glance at my watch, quarter to six - damn I was early, what if the cops had got the information from Kate but weren't in place yet? I stopped. There was silence behind me, I turned and looked at Tweedledum and Tweedeldee. They too had stopped. Arms crossed, one unmistakably inside the jacket.

  We stood there, like nineteenth century gunfighters. Stand off. I waited, thinking hard. This still didn't make sense, Janac had told me I was to deliver it like this because he didn't want me to have contact with any more of his people. And here were these two breathing down my neck. My mind accelerated. What was the deal? Then I thought about watching cops and nervous fingers on sweaty triggers. How would Alex play it? I swallowed heavily, licked my lips, tried to dry sweaty palms on my trousers. A firefight. I'd be right in the middle. I felt a rush of nausea. Fought it back. There was nothing I could do if the game plan was wrong. The play had been called, all I could do by behaving strangely was provoke definite disaster.

  I walked on, head twisting right and left until I finally saw a number. Fifty three, I was on the wrong side. I crossed over, walking steadily and looking for numbers to check against. The houses were big, plenty of frontage and I allowed the time to tick away, hoping the cops would be in place by now. There wasn't going to be an ambush. They would want the whole gang, not just two of them, who probably knew nothing anyway. Besides, Kate would have made a deal. You could trust the cops. They'd be here, and if they were still unloading cameras and telescopes, or whatever it was they needed, at ten to six it wasn't going to be undercover.

  There, a single storey, off-white house. The fourteen was painted on a peeling board by the front door. It looked a respectable enough place, if a little shabby. I stopped by the gate, but there was nothing to check, the address had been imprinted on my mind for the last twenty four hours. This was it, whatever it was. My heart started to surge, putting that package through the door was the decisive moment. Whatever orders all these guys had, turned on it. I glanced back at the minders one more time. They were waiting for me. I unclipped the gate and walked unsteadily up the path. The front door had a letter box.

  I was by the door now, under the shade of the porch. Out of view of anyone on the street. I pulled up the t-shirt and wrenched the package down and then up, over my head. I stopped, motionless. It was silent, I daren't look behind. Somewhere a dog barked and a child screamed. Then there was silence again, only the buzz of the heat and humidity. I brushed a persistent fly awa
y from my mouth, and roughly pushed the package through the letter box. That was it, it was done. Whatever was to be would be. Slowly, so very, very slowly I spun on my heel. No one. Nothing moved on the heat baked street. I walked down the path, every nerve firing, expecting the sudden explosion of violence. But there was nothing. It would be later, in a quiet alley somewhere. A sudden crack, a flash of pain. Emptiness. Darkness. I began to realise that it would never be over, I'd be expecting it for the rest of my life. I stepped out of the gate and looked left and right. No one. They'd gone.

  I walked down the street back towards the ocean, quickly now. I could feel my grip on reason slipping. Steps coming one after the other, faster and faster, tumbling forwards. I was running, running scared, breath coming in short sharp driven breaths, legs stretching. Arms pumped faster. I exploded onto the main street and ran straight into someone. There was a crash, a shout, I tripped but somehow stayed on my feet, still running. I looked back wildly. I was still running when I got into the first taxi, and out of it, into the next, through the mall, another cab and finally into a hotel room, any hotel room. Any hotel but the Randolph. In my mind I was still running when the door shut behind me.

  Chapter 10

  I leaned against the balcony railing and watched the first, blood red streaks of dawn spear through the cityscape. Red sky in the morning, a shepherd's warning. There was a storm brewing somewhere. I turned away and stepped back into the hotel room, closing the door behind me. I didn't want to be on the balcony in daylight. I was sure they'd lost me, but just as sure that they would still be looking. My stomach churned as I moved inside. I forced exhausted eyes to focus on what was around me. Fuck what a mess. I hadn't let the cleaner in for... however long it was. I glanced at my watch. The twenty eighth of January, I think I'd flown in on the twenty third. Five days.