Without You I Have Nothing

by J A Scooter

  Red faced and embarrassed the detective stumbled over his excuse. "What I really meant... Isn't security for the whole block excessive? Even the crèche and Pre-school at the back of the block are under constant security."

  "I own the lot and I will decide what is excessive!” Peter's blunt answer stopped further discussion as the detectives meekly followed Peter into the Motel Dining Room.

  The moment they saw the room set up with TV cameras and lights, they tried to evade the interview but four Gurkhas barred their exit.

  "Mr. O'Brien, the news crew is unnecessary. We'll interview you when they have finished!"

  "Oh no, you won't!” Peter's voice had the tone of a man in authority who intended controlling the meeting. "The meeting is here, now and with both TV and reporters present. I've not the faintest idea why you are questioning me when I am the victim of a failed assassination attempt but sit down gentlemen and let's get this interview started."

  Nonplussed by Peter's attitude, the detectives began stuttering their way through their questions.

  Peter assumed his inscrutable mask of the east and when the senior detective asked about his day on the harbor, Peter merely nodded and one Gurkha left the room.

  Slowly Peter stood and drawled, "Listen mate! Am I under suspicion of committing some crime? A free, innocent man whose workshop was blown up in an attempt to kill him is not allowed a day on the harbor without questioning by three detectives who have proved they couldn’t track an elephant through snow with ink on its feet.” He turned to the reporters.

  “There’s no need to be insulting!” came the quick retort.

  “Well have you charged the people who tried to assassinate me?” Peter was not impressed. "Am I speaking slowly enough for your note taking?"

  Neither of the reporters replied, merely holding up their recorders.

  "Do I need to speak louder for the cameras?"

  One audio man from the news crew merely gave the thumbs up but the arrival of the Commander who made an impressive entrance halted any further questioning.

  "Who are you and what right have you to be in here?” The senior detective was irate at the interruption. It was difficult enough under the glare of the lights of the TV cameras and the attendance of reporters. Now this interruption seemed the last straw!

  "I am retired Commander Bill Williams Ex-RAN and I have arrived to stand with my friend, Peter O'Brien. I believe that you want to question Peter about his day on the harbor.

  "Peter was with me that day and yes we followed 'The Pony Stable' downstream. We were in the same bay as 'The Pony Stable' when the boat sank and a police launch rescued a well-known criminal and his party . That is a statement of fact.

  "How it sank and why it sank is beyond your powers of questioning gentlemen as it is a naval matter and should you pursue your enquiries, ASIO will be informed and you will all end up doing the beat in Bourke. That is no threat. That is a warning that you have no right to be questioning Peter about his day's relief from the stress of business.

  "Did you get all that on film and on your recorders?” Brutally businesslike, Bill waited for the detective's reaction.

  One detective didn't get the message and turned to Peter, "A number of men and women on that boat were rescued. They disappeared after their rescue and no one has seen them since. Mr. O'Brien can you explain this?"

  Bill roared with laughter. "My god! Now NSW detectives are asking a businessman to do their work. Did you get that piece of footage?” Bill directed his question to the TV crew. A thumbs up showed they were successful.

  "So let me see if I have got this straight. A police launch rescues Mr. Big of crime and his male associates after his boat strangely springs a leak and sinks. The water police, at the same time, rescue a number of women. Now everyone is missing. My god, talk about Constable Plod. You have the hide to question Peter about the missing people.

  "Look! Some common sense here wouldn't go astray. I respectfully suggest you try questioning Santa Claus. Perhaps he is wrapping the whores as presents for good little policemen.” Bill's disgust at their ineptitude was obvious.

  "Commander,” the senior detective interjected, "your facetious comments are not helping any. We need to get some information. We suggest you leave."

  "Officer, if I leave then so do you, the camera crew, Peter and the reporters. The meeting will recommence in Fleet Headquarters, Sydney. Shall I ring for a naval escort now?” Bill stared at the detective until the detective looked away.

  "Mr. O'Brien! Can you explain your presence in the company of a large number of Asians?” The senior officer resumed the questioning.

  Peter forced himself to smile as he stood. Standing at attention, he barked an order in Nepali to the amazement of the detectives. One guard left and soon marched back into the room and threw Peter a salute that Peter returned. He then handed Peter the registration book from the motel office.

  Peter flicked through the pages until he found the two registrations - one in Tamil the other in Mandarin. "Those are the registrations of engineers and accountants from two well known international companies. One has its head office in Singapore and the other has its head office in Malaysia.

  "Before you ask, they were here to meet me as the representative of Blake Pastoral which is working with two universities and the Commonwealth Government to develop water harvesting and green power. That is all you need know. Anything further is confidential, commercial information.

  "The registration is written by me and anything further about my history is available through ASIO but I will add that I am Major Peter O'Brien of the 6th Brigade of Gurkhas. That should stop your worries about my guards and the language I used.

  "If there are no further questions I might remind you that both the Commander and I have businesses to run but perhaps you would like some hospitality before you leave.” His face revealed nothing as he signaled and one bodyguard left.

  Within minutes, Susie entered, followed by the chef who set up a morning tea table. Susie's presence seemed to relax the detectives especially when the news crew and the reporters left and they were no longer under a microscope.

  Weeks dawdled past and Peter still couldn't free his mind of Jennifer. He loved her and missed her but he couldn't torture himself by being with the lifeless body, which was once his warm, vibrant, happy wife.

  His health was a shadow of its former vigor. As he shaved, he could hardly recognize the gaunt face and bleary eyes that faced him in the mirror.

  Bob and Ted had long since stopped enquiring about Jennifer and no longer asked him to join them for a beer or a game of tennis. He'd become a loner once again and his heart was slowly breaking into a thousand pieces.

  As the days passed, he ceased worrying about a return visit from the police. Yet he still would not return to the farm in case something cropped up with the police investigation. He spent his days working in the workshop.

  Then his life changed.

  "Someone on the phone,” Mark called Peter to the office, "said it was the RSM."

  Reluctantly Peter took the call. "Peter speaking."

  "Major, something strange occurred here this morning and I have to apologize as it was my fault. I was so angry and I just didn't think. Jennifer's family was with her in the ward when I burst in and said, 'That bastard, Dingo, is repeatedly demanding to be set free along with his people.'

  "Jennifer struggled to sit up, and then leaning against her mother for support she looked straight at me. She shrieked as best she could, 'Kill him. He murdered, Peter. I want him dead.'

  "Then she started to sob, 'If only my friend could learn to fly this would all be over.'

  "The surgeon has taken this as a major breakthrough and has ordered a strict regime of physiotherapy for her . He would like to keep her in hospital for at least another two days. The family are disappointed as they feel she would be better off at home with all that is familiar around her but the surgeon has insisted she stay.

  "Elizabeth is fu
ssing over her daughter, dressing her in her own clothes and encouraging her to use her makeup. All Jennifer does is cry and mutter, 'He murdered, Peter. Kill him.' No matter how many times we assure her that you're alive, she just replies, 'He murdered my Peter. Kill him.'

  "Hang on, here's Andrew."

  Andrew, true to form didn't waste words. "Peter, you miserable bastard get down here at once and help Sis. You ran. Get back here, Jennifer needs you urgently. She believes you're dead."

  Ignoring the insults, Peter was calm as he asked for more details, "The RSM said something about learning to fly..."

  "Yes,” was the quick reply, "and that's what's so strange. When we question her all we get is gabble about jungle, old man, a snake bracelet and learning to fly."

  Musing over the information but knowing he had the key to unlock the puzzle, Peter chatted on completely disregarding the urgency in Andrew's voice.

  "She's talking of suicide!"

  "Put a 24/7 suicide watch on her, two women and one Gurkha.” Peter didn't sound the least sympathetic.

  Andrew's angry voice shouted through the hand piece but Peter ignored him. "No Andrew, that's not possible. I can't get down there as quickly as that. First, I have to follow Jennifer's directions and teach a friend to fly."

  Ignoring Andrew's swearing and anger, he continued. "I'll be there when I can. It may be a week. It may be two weeks and talk of coming after me with a shotgun is stupid. My love for Jennifer has never wavered and she's dearer to me than life itself. I'll be there with her friend and together we'll convince her that I am alive.

  "As for Dingo and company, I'll set them free. The night we arrive the 'Angel of Death' will arrive with us and that same night they will dwell in hell. My mind hasn't altered one bit on that.

  "I'll be disappearing for a while and the next time you hear from me will be when I ring to say lay out the red carpet your brother-in-law is arriving."

  Unable to take anymore insulting threats, he hung up.

  Two days later Peter made his way through the Kuala Lumpur International Airport. "Selamat Malam.” Peter's fluent Malay surprised the Immigration Officer.

  Within minutes, he was eating with his taxi driver at a wayside makan stall before booking at a Malay non-tourist hotel. He immediately changed into the local dress. His intention of merging into the crowd wearing brown contact lens and speaking with his impeccable Malay accent certainly helped.

  Settled in his hotel room he immediately made a phone call to the airport arranging for early morning transport.

  With all his business well underway, he could at last give way to his feelings. Wrapped in nothing more than a sarong he flung himself on the bed and wept. The last time he was in Malaysia, he'd been so happy and so proud. This time?

  He cried himself to sleep.

  A Muezzin was calling the Faithful to Prayers as he made his way to the helicopter pad at the domestic terminal. Soon he was in the air and swinging away northwards towards the Cameron Highlands.

  The small chopper had barely landed in the same jungle clearing of his honeymoon when he was out and running.

  With his sarong flapping around his legs and his shirt sticky in the heat, he hurried. His sandals were less than helpful in the ooze of the jungle floor but still he pressed on. He knew his every movement was under scrutiny so he removed his shirt. No sooner had he slung it over his shoulder than Orang Kanaq surrounded him. He was home!

  Along the muddy track, up an incline, down a slope and across a creek they wended their way chattering furiously. They led him to the village and sat him at the communal fire.

  "So Peter, what took you so long to get here? At last, Jennifer gave you the message and you are here to teach me to fly.” Cackling, the old man of the jungle continued, "Notice I'm speaking English, as I need practice and I'm a bit rusty. Now let's go, the pilot will be worried. No, I have no luggage . I fly lightly."

  He was still babbling when they arrived at the chopper.

  They passed the next few days waiting for seats to Sydney and purchasing Matt Selah, European, clothing for this strange jungle man.

  In Sydney when they hailed a taxi, the Old Man of the Jungle easily passed the taxi driver's scrutiny especially when he started talking cricket.

  In Peter's spacious penthouse, Jennifer's gold gown that she wore to the Hunters Hill party along with her diamante sandals lay undisturbed with the note on their bed.

  "Hmm,” mused the Old Man, "so that is what she was wearing and I would say she would have looked extremely beautiful. Pack those clothes and shoes as well.” Knowing Peter was unwilling to move them, the old man added, "I'm in charge, Peter, so do as you're told for once.” The wise old man stared at Peter until he dropped his eyes and did as bid. "We'll take the clothes with us if you can book flights for tomorrow evening.” For a jungle man he had plenty of shrewdness about the modern world.

  "Along with the clothes we'll deliver this note from us,” and he dictated a note for Peter to write.

  "We'll take Jennifer's letter as well. You'll need to remind her of her promise.” Smiling, he ignored Peter's embarrassment, and continued, "We'll also set up everything for Friday night when your Jennifer will return to you."

  Three weeks had passed without any further contact from Peter. His lack of communication confused Jennifer's family. They wondered if he would ever return.

  In her familiar surroundings, Jennifer was recovering, but without Peter's presence, she was unable to accept that he was alive. To avoid the possibility of upsetting Jennifer, Elizabeth, Eric and Andrew could only talk of Peter when she was not present.

  Then things seemed to change, when early one morning the RSM handed Elizabeth a written note with a parcel. Hoping to bring the mystery of Peter's absence to a satisfactory conclusion Elizabeth promised that she would follow the instructions.

  With Jennifer, Elizabeth opened the parcel containing the gold gown and diamante decorated shoes Jennifer was wearing at the Hunters Hill mansion where all the trouble began.

  Recollections of dressing and modeling for Peter were prevalent in Jennifer's mind. She remembered Peter's eyes, his playful comments, and that she had felt so glamorous.

  The family sat down to their Friday breakfast with a pale Jennifer who had cried herself out yet again. It was the usual sad meal with Eric and Andrew seething at Peter's cold-blooded desertion of their daughter and sister. They could hardly be civil.

  The RSM arrived, interrupting the meal. He asked them to dress for a special evening and they were to be ready to leave at eight. A car would collect them.

  With no knowledge of what the events of evening would bring, Eric and Andrew could only growl in reply.

  The moment Jennifer left the room Elizabeth stood and moved to go with her. Then the RSM took Elizabeth by the arm and quietly added, "I have to warn you that tonight's events will be most distressing and you will hear of some atrocities that were committed. You will learn the horror of her plight while Dingo held her captive. Will you be able to cope? The evening's success will depend on your ability to cope and support Jennifer.

  "The night will end on a joyous note which will please us all.” Without waiting for Elizabeth's reply, the RSM turned to leave.

  Elizabeth grasped his arm and quietly questioned him. "We will cope with the evening but there is something that concerns us. We know Peter, you and your men fought together in Malaysia but why are you involved now and why are so many of your men involved?"

  Quite taken aback by the question that showed so little knowledge of his culture, the RSM studied Elizabeth's face. Then grinning broadly the RSM replied, "This is family.” Elizabeth instantly understood - he was now talking her language.

  The RSM continued, "Peter is more than a comrade in arms he is part of our family. He is one of the bravest men I have ever known and he was prepared to give up his life to protect us. Peter called on us for assistance and it wasn't until a few months ago that we realized how significant the danger was for
him and Jennifer."

  "When one of us is hurting or in danger we all support and fight together. It is the way of the Gurkha.

  "I can only feel sorry for Dingo and his followers. They picked one of our women, Jennifer.” He patted Elizabeth's hand. "To do that is to cast a slur on the Gurkhas and there can only be one outcome. Now they must face the consequences of their stupidity."

  Showing that in spite of his gruff military bearing, he was kind hearted. "Stop worrying! Tonight will be the end of a very difficult period.” Then he was gone.

  Elizabeth left to follow her daughter upstairs while the men pondered over what the evening was to bring.

  Although accustomed to farm life Eric and Andrew feared that the evening could end in a bloodbath. Neither dared discuss their fears with the other. Eric was troubled that Elizabeth would not cope despite her words of assurance.

  Jennifer allowed her mother to dress her. Making no effort to help, she was completely disinterested even when her mother applied her make-up and did her hair. In contrast to the last evening she wore those clothes, tonight she felt neither glamorous nor special.

  The men were standing at the bottom of the staircase when the women appeared on the landing. Seeing Jennifer dressed in her gown Eric realizing what he had lost - one beautiful daughter - almost sobbed.

  Andrew placed a hand on his father's shoulder to give him comfort but he was also trying to find strength to cope with the loss of his sister's vitality for life.

  Armed Gurkhas in their uniforms stood at the car and the RSM saluted the party as it emerged from the house. Walking slowly before the car he led the way to the shearing shed where rolled out before them was a red carpet.

  Completely perplexed, the silent party entered the transformed shearing shed. Black sheeting hung from the ceiling and spotlights focused on the middle of the free space. In the center of the shed, was a 44 gallon drum cut lengthways. Supported on bricks it contained a blazing fire although the night was quite warm. Behind the fire was a table on which rested a laptop and a projector.