No Free Man

by Graham Potts

  “What happened?”

  “The unit was often invited back to the village to eat and celebrate.” She paused and started to scratch the armrest of her chair. “They went back a few times. The last time, there were some problems. We had a new rookie officer.” Her face pinched and she drummed her fingers on the chair’s armrest. “Damn, I can’t remember his name,” she said in frustration. “I told myself I’d never forget it, either.”

  “It’s okay,” Elliot said.

  “Anyway, command figured the task was culturally oriented rather than combat intensive, so the rookie would be fine. The sergeant had come down with food poisoning and was stuck at the base. The young officer insisted on making the meeting without the sergeant, so Spud was appointed to lead the section.” “Spud?” Elliot closed her eyes. “God, I forgot they called him that.”

  Murphy—a name as common as potatoes.

  Elliot opened her eyes and saw that Little was studying her with sparkling eyes. “So, uh, was everyone okay with that?” Elliot asked. “Spud, I mean, Stephen.” She exhaled. “Was everyone happy having Murphy in charge?”

  “Oh, yes,” Little said, “everyone liked Stephen. You knew him,” she added with a wink. “He was one of those people who made you feel that everything was going to be okay. The men would have followed him to hell and back.”

  “Really?”

  “Nobody had a problem with it, except for the new officer. They didn’t get along. I think the lieutenant was straight out of training and was on his first tour.” She shrugged. “He confronted Stephen about his soldiers’ haircuts and uniforms, all the trivial stuff that doesn’t matter when you could die the next day. Stephen tried to reason with him but the officer kept yapping like a dog.”

  “He hit him, didn’t he?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “Like you said, I know him.”

  “Put him on his back,” Little said, grinning. “Anyway, Stephen took us back to the village and I tagged along. We got there and learned that the chief ’s daughter had been snatched the night before. The family were frantic and the villagers were baying for blood. I was busy talking to the mother, trying to get some sense out of her, and Stephen was talking to the father, the chief, trying to find out what had happened. The lieutenant was very jittery, pacing around the room, and Darren was keeping an eye on things.

  “We heard cheering outside and suddenly this young girl was carried into the house. She was wearing this bright red hijab,” Little said, gesturing with her hands. “I’ll never forget that.” She cleared her throat. “Not as long as I live.”

  Elliot hunched forward.

  “The family went to hug her, to welcome her home, but she told them to get away from her. She was crying. Oh, God, I’ve never seen a young girl as frightened as that.” She started scratching her armrest again. “Her mother knelt in front of her and opened her shawl and we could see she was strapped with a suicide vest. Everyone started to freak out, except for Spud and Darren. Stephen told me to talk to the mother and the girl and find out what had happened. He especially wanted to know if she had the trigger or if someone else was holding it. So, I was busy doing that. Meanwhile, the lieutenant was losing it, yelling that we needed to kill the girl before she killed all of us. Your brother was trying to cool him down but it didn’t help. Eventually, the lieutenant pulled his weapon.”

  Elliot watched Little’s eyes glaze over.

  “He killed her,” Little murmured. “Shot her in the head. I was right next to her when it happened.” She crossed her legs. “Now her parents wanted us dead. Stephen broke the lieutenant’s nose, arm, and collarbone in half a second. He dragged him outside while Darren was pushing me out the door. I was talking over his shoulder to calm the family down and then…”

  The only sound in the room was Little scratching the armrest of her chair.

  “Your brother saved my life,” she whispered. “He pushed me through the door at the last second. He was standing up and the girl was lying on the floor. A table blocked most of the blast but not enough to save him. Stephen ran straight past me and into the house and I leapt up the steps. It was too late, though.”

  There was a long silence and Elliot could hear voices in the hallway. Two students chuckled, their shoes scuffing the carpet. The voices faded away.

  Elliot felt her medallion burning through her pocket. “Did Darren say anything before he…?”

  “He told Stephen not to feel bad, that he knew what he had to do. Then he handed him your photograph.”

  Elliot nodded slowly.

  “Stephen got us out of there before the locals tore us to pieces. He carried your brother all the way to base on his shoulders.”

  “What happened when you got back?” Elliot croaked.

  “The young lieutenant told command that Stephen had neglected his duty and allowed a suicide bomber to breach their security, leading to the death of a member of their team and three civilians.”

  “But that’s not what really happened,” Elliot protested.

  “No, it wasn’t. Technically, it was true though, and that was enough. None of the other soldiers were in the room except for your brother and I. Spud’s men wanted to defend him but they couldn’t, and command took the officer’s word over mine.”

  “And then he went to jail.”

  “Well, yes, but there was no trial.”

  “What?” Elliot cried.

  “The unit was top secret so it was all hushed up. We all signed non-disclosures and Stephen was dishonourably discharged and sent to a civilian prison.”

  “I don’t fucking believe it.” Elliot clutched her forehead. She took a deep breath and looked up at Little. “What about the girl?”

  “She was forgotten. She was listed as collateral damage in the report, not as the bomber.” Little shook her head. “I just wanted to scream at people for weeks after that, to tell them the truth about what happened, but I couldn’t breathe a word about it. Murphy and your brother did everything they could and it was all ruined by a young officer who panicked.”

  Elliot slouched back in her chair and sucked in her bottom lip.

  “That’s the last I ever heard of Stephen,” Little said. “As far as I know, he’s still in jail. Most of his unit left the army soon after that tour. So did I. I have no idea what happened to the lieutenant. It’s like he just disappeared into thin air.” Little shook her head quickly, her shoulders drooping. “I have to confess, telling you all that doesn’t make me feel any better. I had hoped it would.”

  “If it helps, I’m not sure it made me feel any better either.”

  Little shuffled her chair towards Elliot, reaching out her hand.

  Elliot jerked her arm away.

  “You’re not an easy person to comfort.” Little curled her fingers and sat up. “Your brother told me it took him months to earn your trust.”

  Elliot widened her eyes. “He told you that?”

  “Confided, I suppose,” Little said. “Not even a handshake, he said. You’d always squirm.”

  “He never said anything to me,” Elliot murmured.

  “Did you ever tell him why? I mean, there must be a reason for it.”

  Elliot shrugged.

  “Is that a no?”

  “My personal space, my rules.”

  “But those rules didn’t apply to Stephen.”

  Elliot flinched.

  “Stephen was different, right?” Little paused. “You were in love.”

  “It’s complicated.” Elliot’s face fell. “We were young, you know?”

  “So you haven’t seen him lately?”

  “No.”

  “You blamed him,” Little said knowingly.

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Did he try to reach you?”

  “He might have but I don’t think so. I’ve been hard to pin down.”

  “Running away?”

  “Working.”

  “If he hasn’t tried to reach you, then he proba
bly feels guilty.”

  “He does. I know he does.”

  “It wasn’t his fault.”

  “He promised me Darren would come back alive,” Elliot mumbled.

  “And you held him to that?”

  Elliot stared down at her hands.

  Little’s chair creaked as she sat up and swept her arm across the bookcase. “You know, I’ve been hoping to find one book that tells us how we can stop all this. Someone must have figured it out and written it down. Somewhere there is a scrap of paper with that one piece of advice that we can use to save ourselves.”

  “I don’t think there is.”

  “I like to hope there is.” Little leaned forward. “What are you hoping for?”

  Elliot shrugged and rubbed her chin. “I want to find him again.”

  “He was never lost. He’s still in a cell.”

  “In a metaphorical sense,” she added, curling her fingers over her lips.

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  Elliot’s hands fell heavily into her lap. “I hope I’m not too late,” she said quietly.

  “For what?”

  “To tell him I understand; that I was wrong; that I was…” She choked. “I am afraid.”

  “What changed?”

  Angela.

  “Simone?”

  “I really should go,” Elliot said, standing up. “I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

  Little clicked her fingers. “Singh.”

  Elliot froze.

  “That was the lieutenant’s name,” Little said. “Lee Singh. He was Indian but I think he spent his entire life in Australia.”

  Elliot looked down at Little. “Singh.”

  “You know him?”

  Her mouth fell open. “The name rings a bell.” She flexed her fingers and closed them into a fist.

  CANBERRA, AUSTRALIA FRIDAY 16 SEPTEMBER 8:46 AM AEST

  Lee Singh despised women like Natalie Robinson. She was that woman, the one who sat alone in cafés, nursing a cup of tea, her elbow on the table with her hand against her cheek. A closed book, Singh thought, but the story was always the same.

  She would read a newspaper or a paperback, but she could never find the right words when she spoke. She had photographs on her refrigerator, pictures of her posing around the world, well-travelled but still lost. Of course, she had friends, all the company she could ever need, but she would always be lonely.

  Singh had seen the men who pined for her, too. They would steal glances across the café and sigh longingly as they imagined saying something that would prompt her face to fracture into a smile. They would imagine a carton of skim milk in their refrigerator, one of their t-shirts fragranced with her scent and tossed carelessly over the foot of the bed, and lost strands of hair that clung stubbornly to the pillow. Then they would realise that she was empty, and to peel off her clothes was to see all of her. So they would leave, forgetting her forever, and she would still be alone. The only men left for her were those who would devour her whole while pushing her mind to the side of the plate.

  “Make yourself at home, Agent Singh,” Robinson said, sweeping her arm across the hotel suite.

  Singh unbuttoned his jacket and sat on the sofa. The same old story, he thought. All her life spent writing out her soul word for word in a diary and, in the end, it was just a collection of tangled lines and blank spaces because she never bothered to find someone to help make sense of it—and was too afraid to do it herself.

  Robinson sat on an armchair and poured a glass of water, peering at him with mournful eyes. Her movements were graceful and precise, barely creating a ripple in the universe, as if the laws consciously surrendered to her wishes.

  “You’re a physicist,” Singh said.

  “No,” Robinson said. She left her glass on the coffee table and settled into the armchair.

  Singh stroked his chin. “You study physics.”

  “Yes, but I’m not a physicist.” She plucked a pencil from behind her head, her hair tumbling down in straw-coloured waves. “I haven’t contributed to the field through research. I am only a student.”

  Precise. “It’s a strange choice of career for a woman like you, isn’t it?”

  “What kind of woman am I, Agent Singh?”

  The door opened behind him. He heard a rustle and turned his head to see Emily Hartigan take a chair against the wall. He slouched into the cushions before stretching his arm across the back of the sofa. “Your accent is barely noticeable,” he said to Robinson.

  “My parents were Russian but I was raised in Geelong.” She pulled her hair taut and used the pencil to bundle it into a knot. “It’s difficult not to be influenced by Australia. You have a unique language.”

  “English?”

  “That’s too simplistic. Australian language has a distinct character.”

  “I thought scientists were fond of simple explanations.”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Are you?”

  “Fundamentally, the laws of the universe possess an elegant simplicity. That is their foundation.” She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “But the laws swirl around us and twist together, creating randomness, irrationality, and chaos. It is one thing to unweave the rainbow and quite another to understand the rainbow as a whole.”

  “I see similarities in my work.”

  Her eyes flashed but her voice was calm. “Your laws are a tangle, not a tapestry,” she said.

  “A criminal’s motives are often simple.”

  “But a person’s nature is not.”

  “True. It can be random, irrational and chaotic,” he said. “It can be ugly.”

  “I feel sorry for anybody who believes the world is ugly.”

  “I’m talking about people.”

  “Are you exempt?”

  “Is Stepan Volkov?”

  Robinson’s expression remained disinterested. “So it’s true,” she said. “It was him.”

  Almost had her. “Yes, it was.” Singh fiddled with the knot in his tie. “Stepan Volkov killed Andrei Sorokin on Monday night, in a pub that is over 200 kilometres away from where you live.”

  He paused, hoping that she would feel compelled to fill the silence but she was guarding her words. Her hands remained casually clasped on her lap and she stared at him, waiting for him to speak again.

  “What were you doing in that pub?” Singh asked finally.

  “I was attending a friend’s birthday party,” Robinson replied.

  “Her family lives in the town so we made it a long weekend.”

  “Do you know Stepan Volkov?”

  “I read about him on the internet.”

  “You’ve never encountered him before? You are Russian.”

  “There are 143 million Russians on the planet. Technically, I’m not one of them. I certainly haven’t met them all.”

  “Fair enough.” Singh leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Let’s talk about something else instead,” he said. “Tell me about the CEO of Titan Energy, Geoffrey Geldenhuys.”

  “My professor’s chair is funded by Titan Energy,” Robinson explained. “He conducts research into renewable energy on behalf of Mr Geldenhuys’ company.”

  “Are you involved?”

  “Yes.”

  He folded his arms. “How?”

  “I read an article one day and approached my professor to discuss the potential of using helium-3 for fusion power. He gave me some information and equations and invited me to help him with his research.”

  “Is that normal?”

  “He’s attempting to nurture my potential.”

  “Are you sure he’s not sexually attracted to you?”

  “I’m certain he’s not.” She answered the question without outrage or doubt.

  “How do you know?” said Singh.

  “Because I know when a man is attracted to me, or another woman for that matter. I’m a brain on a stick to him.”

  “Is Mr Geldenhuys happy with the direction
of your research?”

  “I have no reason to believe otherwise.”

  “Was he happy to see a young woman assist the professor?”

  “He seemed grateful that the research could continue if my professor were to pursue retirement.”

  “How grateful?”

  “He offered monetary bonuses to fund my research in exchange for sexual favours.”

  Singh sat up. “Are you serious?”

  “No, I’m not. I’m just annoyed with your ridiculous questions. If you want to ask me if he wants to sleep with me, just ask.”

  Singh heard Hartigan stifle a giggle behind him and he frowned. “Do you think he wants to sleep with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you consider sleeping with him?”

  “No.”

  “What if there was a fully funded chair in the physics department at stake?”

  “I don’t need his money.”

  “Has he propositioned you at all?”

  “He satisfies himself by staring at my breasts.”

  “Are you comfortable with that?”

  “I can live with looking. Men do it all the time. However, when he pinched me, I felt compelled to knock out one of his teeth.”

  “You hit him?”

  She nodded. “He apologised afterwards and asked me not to tell his wife. He’s been much more professional since then.”

  “Has his wife noticed his interest?”

  “She started calling and emailing me threats, telling me to stay away from her husband.”

  “You didn’t tell the police?”

  “That a woman is jealous of me?”

  “Do you still have her emails?”

  “They’re on my laptop.” She pointed towards the desk in the corner of the hotel room.

  “Did you tell the professor?”

  “No. We often receive threats. Our close relationship with Titan Energy draws accusations of collaboration or conspiracy. Activists are perhaps the worst.”

  “Surely, you would call the police? It’s against the law to use email and phone calls to make threats.”

  “Yes, I know. The Criminal Code Act 1995, Division 474, Subdivision C.”

  Singh’s mouth fell open. “I’d have to check that.”

  “She’s right,” Hartigan said from the back of the room.

  “Thank you, Agent Hartigan.” Singh scowled. “How long have activists been making threats?”