The Patsy

by Bruce Cooke

  “Great, give my regards to Greg.”

  She looked sharply at him. “Greg who?”

  Jerry looked to the ceiling and walked away. Pipa frowned. How the hell did he know what she did in her time off?

  Fred Scarla gave her a wave, so she went to his office.

  “You wanted me, Fred?”

  “Just making sure you have this bloody cleric covered tomorrow.”

  “Yes, I’m good. There could be trouble when it starts.”

  “I know, that’s why I’m sending you. Better take a photographer with you, although the TV stations will be covering it.”

  “I’ll take Chris.”

  “Good, let me know if there is any trouble right away.”

  “Okay, anything else?” Pipa asked.

  “No, I know you will have it all under control.”

  Pipa smiled. Fred may have been her boss, but he was also her friend. She was grateful the way he looked after her. Being female held problems where ever she went, but he went on the quality of the stories she brought in and that made her grateful for the confidence he showed.

  * * * *

  Scott looked at the clock radio and climbed out of bed. He showered and dressed then checked his gun. Satisfied everything was okay, he made his way down to breakfast where he met up with the other bodyguards. He received a greeting from everyone except Pettigrew, but that was expected. They ate and were met by Creswick, who arrived an hour later.

  “Okay, we go to the airport to meet the plane. From there, we go to the venue in cars where you will check everything out. Don’t talk to anyone unless it’s unavoidable.”

  The trip to the airport took place, and they waited as the plane landed to be met by security guards. Scott studied the cleric, surprised to see he was only around forty years old. Slight, with a beard and a turban, the cleric appeared very confident in his bearing. Creswick introduced him to the men, and he only nodded. They entered the cars with Scott in the lead car with the cleric.

  “So you are to look after my safety,” he said, staring at Scott.

  “It would appear so.”

  “I can see you are not happy with the assignment. You do not approve of my methods.”

  Scott gave a short laugh. “Sending innocent kids out to die in some foreign land is not to my liking.”

  “I don’t, but you think foreign troops killing innocent civilians is?” the cleric asked.

  “No offense, but I’ve seen the shit your people hand out to their enemies. Women and children killed, people beheaded, girls raped. You think that is good policy?”

  “I know some of that happens, but casualties are obvious in war. Some think it’s the only way to free my country from the oppressors. Once they leave, things will settle down.”

  “We both know that is bullshit. Whoever gets in charge will kill the others. That’s the way of Islam.”

  “Islam is not like that at all. Our culture may be different from yours, but we believe in looking after our people.”

  “Then why do they say that anyone who doesn’t believe should die?” Scott asked.

  “It’s not my beliefs, but it does happen. I have had numerous arguments with my countrymen. Some are hard to convince. I’ll try to right the wrong things that happen.”

  “Pardon, but your women are treated like second-class citizens. They can be put into arranged marriages even when they’re children. Some countries won’t even let them drive. If they go out without a male escort, they can be stoned. Sounds like an ideal country.”

  “I know that happens in some of the countries, but things can’t change overnight. A country’s culture is hard to alter. Where did you serve?”

  “Afghanistan.”

  “Ah, the Taliban. It will take a long time to fix that.”

  “It will never be fixed. Not ideal, but some of the Middle Eastern countries are improving.”

  The cleric smiled. “So you see. Things can change.”

  Scoot scowled. “Look, I’m not here to listen to your bullshit, I’m here to protect you, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

  The cleric smiled and nodded. “I understand your views. Then I’m glad to hear it.”

  The rest of the trip was done without conversation. They arrived, and Khasib was taken into a large tent erected on the open area. Many chairs were placed in front of the dais, and every row was inspected before the gates were thrown open.

  Scott watched the people enter. Some carried signs insulting the man, while others shouted their approval. At least they were separated from each other. He noted the TV cameras set up at the back, and the press was admitted to the front. At last, after the introductions, the show began.

  Chapter 4

  Khasib entered the dais to thunderous applause and boos. Scott walked out with him and stood only two metres away, looking for trouble in the crowd. He certainly felt uneasy facing a hostile crowd. As soon as Khasib began speaking, the crowd erupted. Shouts of go home were heard, and suddenly people began climbing onto the dais. Scott grabbed him and pulled him back, but there were forty people all shouting and gathering around him. He heard a shot, and Khasib began to fall. Scott was horrified to see blood seeping from a chest wound. People gathered around him, and Creswick came from nowhere and grabbed his arm.

  “Get the fuck out of here. Disappear. I’ll contact you later.”

  “Who did this?” asked Scott, not understanding the events that happened so quickly.

  “How the hell would I know? Just disappear while I try to smooth this over.”

  Scott nodded and left the dais, not sure this was the right thing to do. Creswick seemed to know what he was talking about, but the repercussions were not good. Creswick was the boss, so Scott had to obey orders.

  Scott left the area and took a taxi back to the airport and flew to Albury. Then picked up his car from the long-term carpark and drove home. He was shocked as he listened to the radio. It was all about the assassination.

  “The Muslim clerk Mahomed Khasib was killed today when he was addressing a hostile crowd in Canberra,” the radio newscaster said. “A gun was found at the scene, and police are testing it for fingerprints. They hope to have a suspect soon.”

  That was quick.

  * * * *

  Pipa was seated in the second row when the bedlam began. “Get some photos, Chris,” she shouted above the noise.

  Then she heard the shot and saw the cleric fall amongst the many people standing on the dais. It was bedlam as people were shouting and gathering on the dais. Some were waving their arms and shouting, while others were kneeling over the fallen man. She saw Greg and ran to him.

  “What the hell just happened?” she asked, anxious to get the facts.

  “Some asshole just shot the cleric. He left his gun behind.”

  “Did anyone see who it was?”

  “No, at least we haven’t found any witnesses yet. The gun may give us a clue. The shit will hit the fan now.”

  “Who was supposed to be protecting him?’ She stared at him with many more questions to follow.

  “It wasn’t the government. Some security firm who hired the guards. They didn’t do a very good job.”

  “Can you tell me who they were?” She held her notebook ready.

  “Not yet. Can’t say any more until the investigation is complete.”

  “Okay, I have a story to write.”

  She left him and rushed back to the office. Fred was waiting for her.

  “Shit, did you see it?”

  “Yes, I was in the second row. A crowd ran onto the dais, and people were crowding around. I heard a shot, and things went wild. Chris got some photos.”

  “Good. Write up your story and get it to me pronto.”

  Pipa went to work and wrote an exciting piece about the events. She emphasized how a sadistic gutless gunman used bedlam to do his killing and how the country was horrified that such an event could occur here to a visiting cleric, no matter how unpopular he was. Photos were m
ade, and the piece ran in the afternoon edition.

  * * * *

  Scott arrived home, still curious as to why Creswick had insisted he disappear. He thought it may have been that he didn’t want the security firm to come under suspicion. He turned on the TV and looked at the news.

  It was all over the airwaves. He even saw himself standing next to the cleric. All he could do was sleep on it and wait until he heard from Creswick. Next morning, he rose early and drove into town to get the morning newspaper and a coffee. He sat in a café, reading and drinking, and frowned. The story by a Pipa Barrett told of a gutless assassin who acted like a coward and used the bedlam to do his assassination. It said the police had found the weapon used and may soon have a suspect as fingerprints were found on the weapon.

  Stupid bastard. How could a professional killer be so careless to leave his fingerprints on the gun?

  He guessed he would soon be picked up if the fingerprints recorded who the man was. Finishing his coffee, he went to his car and drove back home. When he reached the corner of his street, he stopped. His house was surrounded by armed police all carrying automatic rifles. It looked like a swat team, and at least four cars were parked outside the garage. It took a few seconds before he realized what was going on. That gun they found was the other gun that Creswick gave him to choose. He handled it, so that’s how his fingerprints were on it. It would have been easy to trace him through Army records. He was being set up, and his anger started to rise. It stank of a conspiracy.

  Bastards. He was sure that he would be shoot at first sight, so it was no good protesting his innocence. Best to get out of there as quickly as he could then think how he was going to handle it.

  Scott drove towards the border of New South Wales and booked into a motel under another name. Once settled in for the day, he stayed indoors and watched the TV for updates. They didn’t show his face at this stage, but his identity was displayed. He watched an interview with journalist Pipa Barret, who saw the whole incident.

  “Miss Barret, you saw what happened at the assassination?”

  “Yes, I was seated in the second row and saw the whole thing.”

  “You saw this Scott Peters actually shoot this man?”

  “No, it was bedlam. It looked as though a diversion took place when people ran onto the dais. All I saw was the man falling to the ground after the shot was heard,” Pipa said.

  “So you didn’t actually see Peters shoot the cleric?”

  “No, he was standing alongside him, but the number of people rushing onto the dais made it impossible to actually see him shoot the man.”

  “Then how can you be sure it was him?” the reporter asked.

  “The police found the gun, and his fingerprints were all over it. He must have dropped it in his effort to get away.”

  “You have seen many episodes of violence in your profession. What do you think about Peters?”

  “These killers are gutless and cowards. It’s unfortunate we have people like that in our society.”

  “Did you know he was in the SAS and was decorated for bravery in Afghanistan?” the reporter asked her.

  “I did hear that, but he was also given his marching orders or face a dishonourable discharge. Looks like he found another way to make a living.”

  “As yet, the police have not apprehended him. How long do you think he will be at large?”

  “Hard to say with cowards. I suppose he will be trying to get out of the country now his identity is known.”

  “I understand you have a good relationship with the police.”

  Pipa nodded. “That’s correct. Both federal and local. I respect everything they do, and I’m sure they will soon catch up with this Peters.”

  “Thank you, Miss Barret.”

  The rest of the program was taken up with details and other interviews. Scott shut down the TV in disgust.

  So I’m a gutless coward who is fleeing the county. We’ll see, Miss Barret, we’ll see.

  Chapter 5

  Pipa looked with satisfaction at the interview. Nothing had happened at this stage, so she rang Greg for an update.

  “Yeah,” he said when he answered.

  “It’s me. Any more info?”

  “Hi, Me, nothing as yet. He was not at his garage, so it looks like he’s on the run. Don’t worry. As soon as we nab him, I’ll let you know. Are we on tonight?”

  “Not tonight. I have more research to do on this Peters. It looks like he is a dangerous character.”

  “Yeah, scum bags usually are. Talk to you later. I have work to do as well.”

  She replaced the phone and turned on her computer. A search yielded information on what the SAS did and what they had accomplished. No names were given for obvious reasons, but she was impressed with what she learnt. She did a search for Scott Peters, but nothing came up. Why would a soldier who had a bravery award stoop to such a disgusting action?

  I guess more information will come up once he is caught. She sat back and frowned. Something just didn’t sit right.

  She looked at her watch after an exhausting day. Time to go home and relax.

  * * * *

  Once home, she parked her car in the driveway, and gathered a few groceries she had bought on the way home. With an armful, she let herself into her home and closed the door with her foot. She turned on the hall light and carried the parcels into her kitchen. Fear grabbed her heart when she saw Scott sitting at her kitchen table. A gun rested on the table.

  “Who are you and what do you want?” She tried hard not to show her fear.

  “I’m that coward gutless scumbag you’ve been writing about.”

  “You’re Scott Peters.”

  “You got it in one,” he said.

  “Again, what do you want?”

  “A cup of coffee will do for a start. Then we have to talk.”

  “You’re not here to kill me?”

  “Now why would I want to do that?” He gave a half smile.

  “Maybe because you didn’t like what I wrote.”

  He watched her as she turned on the electric jug and reached for two coffee mugs. “You only write what the establishment wants you to write. I understand that.”

  That didn’t sit well. “You think I’m a stooge for the government.”

  “I sure hope not because I’m wasting my time being here if you are.”

  “Then why do you think I am?” she asked.

  “Where did you get your information?”

  She turned off the jug and poured out two coffees. “I was there, and my boyfriend gave me some information.”

  “And your boyfriend is—”

  “His name is Greg Halpin. He’s a detective with the Federal Police.”

  “I see. Is he likely to come here tonight?”

  “He wanted to, but I told him I had work to do. Now what’s this all about?”

  “I came here because you’re a good investigating reporter. What I am about to tell you is up to you whether you believe it or not.”

  Pipa sat opposite him, frowning. “Go on.”

  “Before I do, I want your trust.” He pushed the gun to Pipa. “It’s loaded.”

  “Why are you giving me this?”

  “I’ll explain. Pick it up and study it.”

  “I hate guns.”

  “Yeah, but just do as I say.”

  She tentatively picked up the gun and pointed it at him. “I could shoot you.”

  “Yeah, but after we talk, if you don’t believe me, then you have my permission.

  “Okay, I’ve picked it up. What now?”

  “If this gun was used to kill someone, the police would arrest you because they would have your fingerprints.”

  “Are you saying that’s what happened?” Pipa asked.

  “Okay, here’s the story. A year ago, I was a member of the SAS. My officer wanted to get rid of me because I was stopping him harassing a fellow soldier. She came to me for advice. I told him to lay off as she didn’t need sexual
harassment in this job.”

  “So you were looking after a friend. Was she a lover?”

  “No, just a close friend. He arranged for the two of us to try to infiltrate the Taliban in a secluded hut in the mountains. It was a suicide mission, and we both knew it. As expected, we walked straight into a trap. They were waiting for us.”

  “What happened?” she asked, now interested.

  “My friend was killed. Luckily, I escaped in the darkness. When I got back, I called him out in front of the group. He sneered and said I should have taken care of her. The whole group knew what an asshole he was, but I couldn’t help myself. I hit him and broke his jaw. A court martial gave me an option. Leave quietly or get a dishonourable discharge.”

  “So you left quietly. What happened to the officer?”

  “He got the same option.”

  Pipa stared at him. “I tried to look you up on the Internet.”

  “And found nothing. The Army doesn’t like details like that about the SAS being made public.

  “Okay, what has this got to do with the assassination?”

  “I left the army and bought a small garage in Mansfield in Victoria. Not a great business, but I wanted a quiet life to get away from all that shit. I made enough to get by but no fortune. A week ago, a man named Colin Creswick paid me a visit. He offered me a job for one day to act as a guard for this cleric. At first, I wasn’t interested, but he offered me a thousand dollars for a day’s work.”

  “He was a private citizen?”

  “No, he worked for the government. He said the government didn’t really want this man here but had to make some sort of effort to protect him. They gave the job to a private firm. Me and three others were hired, and guess what, one of them was this officer I told you about. They were told to mingle with the crowd, while I was to stand alongside the cleric.”

  “So?”

  “Creswick offered me a choice of two guns. I looked at them both and gave back the one I didn’t think suitable. That was the murder weapon.”