by Graham Potts
“Since before my time. It got worse when Titan started searching for oil. I imagine it will be non-stop now that Titan is about to start drilling.”
“Have you had other threats? What about the Organizatsiya?”
“What’s that?”
“If you’ve read about Volkov, then you’ve heard of them.”
Robinson shrugged. “Have I?”
Singh heard Hartigan’s phone buzz. “Hartigan,” she said. He heard her leave the hotel room, the door squealing shut behind her. He drummed his fingers on his thigh and Robinson watched him patiently. “I’m going to keep you in protective custody for a little while longer, Miss Robinson.”
“I understand.”
“Is there anything else you want to talk about?”
“Yes,” Robinson replied. “If you’re going to take my laptop, then I would appreciate internet access. I also need some new notepads and a whiteboard.”
“I’ll look into that for you.”
“I would be grateful.” She smiled and Singh immediately wanted to collect everything she had asked for just to see her smile again.
That’s what he despised most.
“You should smile more often,” he said. “It would make you seem more of a person.”
She didn’t flinch. “I’ve found that people who accuse others of acting inhuman are at risk of becoming the worst animals of all.”
He tapped his finger against his lips. “Is that the ugliness you dismissed so readily before?”
“Agent Singh, a rainbow is many things to many people. It is refracted light, a poet’s palette, a child’s daydream, or even a sign of God’s grace. But, no matter what, it always means rain.” She finally reached for her glass of water. “I feel sorry for any man who believes that destroying all those things for all those people will stop a thunderstorm.”
“What the hell is going on, Lee?” Hartigan demanded, charging along the corridor. “Why didn’t you tell me you were interviewing Robinson?”
Singh threw his hands in the air and turned away from the elevator, pushing through the door to the stairs.
Hartigan trailed behind him, taking the stairs two at a time. “Hey!” she called out. “Don’t walk away from me.”
“I thought you might need some time to recover after last night,” Singh said, rapping his knuckles on the banister as he trotted down the stairs.
“Don’t bullshit me, Lee,” Hartigan snapped. “Trust, remember?”
“Let’s talk about that.” Singh nimbly climbed down another flight of stairs. “Did you discharge against medical advice?”
“I’m glad I did too,” Hartigan puffed, trying to keep up with him. “Andrei Sorokin’s computer finally showed up at headquarters this morning. It took the techs less than ten minutes to find some pretty incriminating emails.”
“I’ll make a note.”
“The emails show that Sorokin was having an affair with Giselle Geldenhuys,” Hartigan said, wiping her brow.
“Who?”
“The wife of Titan’s CEO,” she huffed in exasperation. “She administers Lime, the charity. Don’t play dumb.”
“So what? She was cheating on her husband. Not a crime.”
Hartigan raced past him, leaping to the ground floor and blocking the exit to the lobby. “Giselle Geldenhuys started an affair with Sorokin while he was working security for Titan. After he left the company, she kept the affair going, right up until she paid Sorokin to kill Natalie Robinson, using money from Lime’s accounts. Giselle believed her husband was having an affair with Robinson and decided to end it, violently.”
Singh grunted, pushing her out of the way and opening the door.
Hartigan slammed it shut, using her body weight to keep it closed. “If Sorokin had succeeded, we would’ve been all over the Organizatsiya’s operations in Australia. That’s why Volkov was sent here to kill him.”
“Enough, Emily.”
“Robinson’s testimony and the emails from Giselle on her laptop establish a motive for attempted murder and conspiracy.”
He tried to open the door again but Hartigan wouldn’t budge.
“Take Giselle’s fingerprints and I bet you they match those on the bullets in the weapon we found on Sorokin.”
Singh shook his head. “We’re not taking her fingerprints,” he said, “because she’s not under investigation. None of them are. Not Lime, or Titan, or anyone else associated with them. Get out of the way before I shoot you.”
Hartigan’s mouth opened, her protest catching in her throat. She stood aside and Singh pushed through the door.
“You’re covering up a murder,” she bellowed across the lobby.
The guests and staff looked up, staring at Singh.
He turned back to Hartigan and ran his thumb and forefinger down his cheeks, his mouth open. “Attempted murder,” he said, nearing her. “I’m covering up attempted murder. If you’re going to shout accusations in public places, at least get them right.”
“Oh, I got it right,” she countered. “Giselle Geldenhuys is nothing compared to her husband. He had motive to commit murder and the means to hire a killer to do it for him.”
“That’s news to me.”
“Geoffrey Geldenhuys could’ve hired Stepan Volkov through the Organizatsiya. For all we know, he had Dr Marco Belo killed in Jakarta to preserve Titan’s business interests in the Timor Sea.”
“That’s wild speculation.”
“It’s a valid hypothesis.”
“Based on nothing,” he spat. “What if the Organizatsiya killed Belo to make Titan look dirty? What if Sorokin was planted to manipulate Giselle Geldenhuys? What if Sorokin’s hit on Robinson was a setup?”
“That’s…”
“All of it arranged, and we end up distracted by an investigation that conveniently diverts our attention from figuring out what the Organizatsiya is up to.”
“We’ll never know if we don’t fucking investigate,” she said.
“Jesus. Do you even listen to the stuff that comes out of your mouth?”
“The deputy director can decide. He needs to be informed.”
“Okay, let’s go brief him,” he said mockingly. “And let’s talk about how our trap worked last night and you let the bait bite you while the Wolf ran away.”
“I did my best.”
“Your best isn’t enough!” Singh stepped closer, glaring down at her, stabbing her chest with his finger. “You need to understand what you’re supposed to be doing here.”
“Our job is to enforce the law,” Hartigan cried.
“No, we enforce our law. The law is a tool, a weapon that we use to protect our interests.”
“Bullshit.”
“Titan Energy is working to further our interests,” Singh pointed out. “The Organizatsiya, on the other hand.”
“All equal before the law, Lee. Do you remember that one?” “Oh, cut it out,” he snorted. “I don’t think you even believe your own crap.” He stepped back. “Titan is not the bad guy.”
“But you don’t even—”
“Enough,” he said, cutting her off. “Before you say another word, think about the guests staying in that hotel last night, all of those terrified people. How many of them want to ensure that Elliot and Murphy are subject to due process? How many of them would want to ensure the Wolf ’s human rights were protected?”
Hartigan’s eyelids flickered. “I’d like to think—”
Singh laughed derisively. “Yes, you’re good at that. It’s what you believe that lets you down. The taxpayers want these animals gone.”
“They’re not animals,” she protested.
“Oh, no, you’re right, of course. Take Murphy, for example. The country turned its back on him, the war hero, and threw him in jail without a trial, so we should forgive him.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
“And her.” He shook his head sadly. “Jesus. A traumatic childhood, rumours of sexual abuse and neglect. We le
t her down, didn’t we? Of course she was going to become a thief. It’s all our fault.”
“Is that what you really think I believe?”
“You think a simple guy like me couldn’t make sense of your academic gibberish? The world isn’t black and white like your essays, Emily. It’s grey.”
“That’s why we have due process.”
“Laws are for people who don’t break them or feel guilty when they do,” he said. “Next time you want to test a person’s faith in the legal system, ask them if they’re happy to have an acquitted paedophile living next door.”
“Right, much better to have Geoffrey Geldenhuys as a neighbour.”
“Yeah, it is.”
Hartigan blinked. “You don’t feel any shame at all, do you?”
“Geldenhuys is about to drill for oil,” Singh said. “Lots of oil. That means hundreds of drillers, drivers, mechanics, engineers, geologists, and that’s just the start.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Ports, roads, schools, hospitals, factories, universities,” he said. “Life, food, shelter, security and prosperity. That’s what we’re talking about here.”
“That doesn’t give him the right to have others killed.”
“Then go kick down his door,” Singh said. “Accuse him. Arrest him. Fuck economic development. Who gives a shit, right? You think he broke the law.”
“Jesus. I don’t…” Hartigan clutched her forehead and turned away. The concierge glanced at her but his gaze fell to the desk. The guests all feigned disinterest, awkwardly clutching brochures and pointing at paintings in the lobby.
“Are you listening to me?”
“I think I’m going to be sick,” she muttered.
“That would smell better than your bullshit.”
She whirled around and raised a finger. “I can go higher. I can take this to the minister.”
“You’ll never make it through his front door.”
“But—”
“Every country protects their interests in the same way. Korolev is the threat, Murphy is his instrument, and Elliot is our means to get at both of them. They are our targets and we’ll use them and then kill them.”
“You’re as bad as these ‘animals’ you hunt,” she said. “We’re supposed to be better than them.”
“We are better than them, Emily,” Singh said. “Do you honestly believe that the Organizatsiya uses their oil profits to buy teddy bears for orphans? Everything comes down to interest, to want, to desire. Everybody has theirs, even you.”
“This is not what we do.”
“Yeah, it is, and you need to come to the party,” he said. “Forget about Titan. I want Murphy.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “What’s your interest, huh?”
“That’s enough.” He placed his hands on his hips. “You fucked up last night, Hartigan. We had an opportunity to gain the upper hand and you blew it. If you still want to be a part of this investigation, then find me some answers. We have less than four hours left until the Sino- Russian deadline and we still have no idea if the Organizatsiya plans to force us out of the oil market. You either find a way to learn what Korolev is up to, or find me a way to Murphy so we can ask him.” He pointed at the ceiling. “Because that sex kitten knows less than nothing and doesn’t even make good bait.”
“Sex kitten?” Hartigan shook her head. “You’re a pig.”
“Trust me,” he said, “guys pay good money to download girls like her from the internet.”
“Just because she’s pretty and young doesn’t make her…” Her voice trailed off and she stared at the floor. “A porn star.” Her mind started racing.
Singh’s phone rang and he turned away.
Hartigan’s eyes searched for an emergency exit sign.
“Sorry, who’s this?” Singh asked. His eyes widened and he stared at his reflection in the lobby’s glass doors. “Yeah, do you have anything?” He listened for a few moments and checked his watch. “How about right now?” He paused. “Yeah, I know it. I’ll see you there.”
Hartigan was gone before he hung up.
CANBERRA, AUSTRALIA FRIDAY 16 SEPTEMBER 10:02 AM AEST
The park was older than most of the buildings, beginning life as five acres of trimmed grass dotted with shady trees. A playground came next and then a winding path, now sheltered by an arch of flowering creepers.
Statues of the gods of Ancient Greece had been erected along the path: justice, wisdom, beauty, love, and health. The statues had glistened brightly when the park had first opened, each deity a pure white stone beacon that lured people to walk the path.
Soon, the planners and developers and trucks and lawyers arrived. Buildings sprang up around the park and the green grass was darkened by the shadows of skyscrapers. Hotels and restaurants had been built on the lakeside while a mall was built at the city end. The park was crisscrossed with dirt paths, pioneered by pedestrians who wanted to get to the bank, the shopping centre, or the taxi rank. The statues had been blackened by the city, vines clinging to their stone skin, their limbs now perches for the birds. Nevertheless, justice, wisdom, beauty, love, and health were still there for anybody who wanted to remember what they looked like.
Emily Hartigan chose a park bench opposite one of the statues. The bench was shaded by a vast tree that sprawled across the sky, its boughs creaking as they swayed back and forth.
Hartigan’s hair whipped around her face and she brushed it out of her eyes in frustration. She watched the leaves swirl around the stone goddess before her. It was Themis, goddess of divine justice. Beneath the creeping vines and soot, she clutched a double-edged sword and a set of scales, her eyes hidden by a blindfold. Hartigan looked away, squinting as dust and debris whirled past her. She was forced to turn back to Themis, and shrivelled under her blind glare. Hartigan hoped she wouldn’t have to wait long.
Natalie Robinson rounded the corner and stopped, her shoulders slumping when Hartigan moved to block the path. Robinson cast her eyes around but saw that the park was deserted. “Hello, Agent Hartigan,” she said.
“How do you know who I am?”
“Your partner used your name while he was interviewing me.” She pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Then you volunteered the information when you answered your phone.”
Hartigan nodded and gestured for Robinson to sit down. “He’s not my partner.”
“I’m sorry. Boyfriend.” Robinson plunged her hands into the pockets of her coat and sat down. “Or is the correct term ‘de facto’?”
Hartigan curled her lip. “I called your professor. He told me you liked to go for a mid-morning walk.” She gestured towards the grass. “This was the closest park.”
“Did my professor praise you for your work?”
“I’m sorry?”
“I knew your name before we met but not your face,” Robinson confessed, crossing her legs. “Like so many others, I read your thesis some time ago.”
“I see.”
“I couldn’t share their opinions, however. It was typical idealistic nonsense written by a person who prefers to base theories on feelings rather than empirical data.”
Hartigan felt heat creep into her face. “Is that so?”
“And you were very selective when presenting evidence.”
“It’s funny you mention that,” Hartigan said, pacing in front of the park bench. “I was thinking about that this morning. You see, I did some research on people trafficking but I didn’t include it in the final draft, mostly because it turned my stomach. Do you know anything about people trafficking?”
Robinson shrugged.
“Girls were sometimes snatched from the streets, or even their homes. Most were lured to nightclubs and promised modelling careers. They were drugged and sold at auctions, and their parents were killed so nobody would search for them.”
Robinson didn’t react.
“Those girls went on to become strippers, prostitutes,” Hartigan said, plucking her pho
ne from her pocket. “In some cases, even internet porn stars.” She pushed a button and showed Robinson the screen.
Robinson watched a video play on the small screen. A naked girl moaned theatrically for the fat man standing behind her, thrusting his hips. Robinson’s eyes darkened.
"Naughty Nataliya,” Hartigan said. “That’s what they called you, wasn’t it?”
“The resemblance is uncanny,” Robinson said calmly.
Hartigan pocketed her phone. “You’re in a lot of films produced by Nikolay Korolev’s company. I even found a photograph of you dancing in his club.”
“It’s not me, Agent Hartigan.” Robinson uncrossed her legs and stood up. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do but I don’t appreciate being compared to an adult film star.” She turned to leave.
“I know who you are, Natalie,” Hartigan cried over a gust of wind.
Robinson stopped and turned around. “Who am I?”
“A girl who was trapped,” Hartigan said, “until someone set you free. You must be important because he took a huge risk coming here. Private jets stand out and he had to burn a passport to evade detection.”
“Who are you talking about?”
“He didn’t take the risk to kill Andrei Sorokin; this was all about saving you.”
Robinson raised her eyebrows. “Are you talking about Volkov?”
Hartigan ignored the question. “After I found your films, I decided to poke around your hotel to see how you were spending your time. The staff told me you had an argument with Simone Elliot in the bar the day you checked in.”
“I don’t know who that is,” Robinson said. “The woman I saw was Leanne Waters, the constable.”
“The staff heard you call her Simone,” Hartigan shot back. “‘I hate you, Simone,’ you said. ‘And I wish he did too.’”
“Why on earth would I say that?”
“They heard the name ‘Stepan’,” Hartigan said. She clenched and unclenched her fists. “You were talking about Stepan Volkov.”
“Perhaps. I can’t recall what Waters and I discussed.” She turned to leave again.
Hartigan grabbed her wrist. “I don’t care what you’ve done or where you’ve been. I just need to know what you know.”