Wildfire

by Chris Ryan

  Kelly leaned on the counter and gave the receptionist her most dazzling Texan smile. ‘Hi – I’m expecting a visitor. A police officer. My name’s Kelly Kurtis.’

  The receptionist consulted a large diary beside the switchboard. ‘They haven’t arrived yet, Miss Kurtis,’ he said. ‘Actually, hang on a sec. A parcel came for you.’ He turned round and picked up a large box that was resting against the desk. It was the size of a tea chest.

  ‘Oh, that was quick,’ said Kelly. She smiled again. ‘I’m afraid I’ve been shopping.’

  ‘Is that right?’ said the receptionist. ‘Looks a bit big to be shoes.’

  Kelly shook her head and gave him an enigmatic look. ‘It’s a power chute.’

  ‘What’s a power chute?’ asked Ben.

  Kelly glared at him. It was a look that said, Children should be seen and not heard. Then she turned her attention back to the receptionist, hooked her phone out of her trouser pocket and showed him the picture on her start-up page. ‘That’s me and some friends power chuting in Wyoming.’

  The receptionist looked at it, then nodded. ‘Oh, those. We’ve got a couple of members who do that off the runway. They must be mad.’

  Ben could see Kelly took the remark as a compliment to her bravery. ‘You’ve got to know what you’re doing,’ she said. ‘You have to read the air currents, like a sailor reading the sea.’ She made to put the phone away.

  ‘Can I see?’ said Ben.

  Kelly gave him the phone just to keep him quiet, then started to lift the box down. ‘I don’t know how I’m going to get this out to my Jeep,’ she said, and gave the receptionist an appealing smile.

  Meanwhile Ben was fascinated by the picture. It showed Kelly dangling under a red and pink striped parachute with an engine strapped to her back. ‘Wow,’ he said. ‘What is that thing?’

  The receptionist answered him. ‘You put this engine on your back, then you clip on a parachute and buzz about in the air like a motorized maybug. You’ve got to be crackers, I reckon.’

  Ben looked at the box that Kelly was trying to lift onto the floor. ‘And that’s all in there? Can I see?’

  Kelly ignored him, but the receptionist answered, ‘You can buy those things in town. There’s an outdoor shop that stocks them.’ He noticed that someone had arrived at the other end of the counter. ‘Excuse me.’

  Ben looked at Kelly. ‘I’ll put the box in the car for you if you let me look at the chute later.’

  Kelly gave him an irritated look and lifted the box easily off the counter.

  Suit yourself, thought Ben. Sorry I’m not twenty-two years old.

  ‘Miss Kurtis,’ said the receptionist. ‘Your visitor is just parking now. You can use the manager’s office if you need some privacy. Would you like me to look after your parcel for you?’

  The policeman took off his cap and put it on the desk. The cap was white, with an intricate badge and a black peak which was so highly polished it showed a reflection of the fan rotating in the ceiling. His radio, clipped to a shoulder strap, made quiet crackles as it picked up the transmissions of other officers out on patrol. He sat down at the desk in the manager’s office, keys and handcuffs jangling at his belt.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt your plans,’ he said. ‘I won’t take up too much of your time.’ He took a notebook and pen out of his breast pocket. ‘Can you tell me briefly what you saw when you reported the fire?’

  Ben and Kelly pulled up chairs. Kelly shrugged as she sat down. ‘We didn’t see much really. It was burning quite well by the time we spotted it.’

  ‘You didn’t see any suspicious characters?’

  ‘Officer,’ said Kelly, ‘we were a thousand feet up.’ There was a poster on the wall of the airfield, showing the ground as photographed from a plane. A Cessna on the ground was just about visible as a small white arrow on a two-inch strip of black runway. She pointed to it. ‘It all looks like that. You can’t see what people are doing.’

  The police officer looked at the poster and put his pen down. ‘I thought that’s what you might say. It’s just that we have strong reasons to believe the fire was arson. As you were the people who alerted the authorities, you’re officially regarded as witnesses and so we have to question you. There is one piece of evidence I’d like you to look at. Again, I don’t suppose you can tell me anything, but I’m asking just in case.’ He took a sheet of paper out of his notebook, unfolded it and handed it to Ben and Kelly.

  It was a photocopy of a leaflet. The bottom part had been burned.

  ‘A stack of these leaflets was found at the scene of the fire. If we knew who produced them we might be closer to finding our arsonist.’

  Kelly glanced at the leaflet, then saw something that made her take notice. She read it out: ‘ “Stop secret US experiments” – what’s all this about?’ She scan-read the rest of the text and made a contemptuous noise. ‘Typical environmental scaremongering. They always make Americans out to be the bad guys.’ She handed the leaflet to Ben. ‘Your mom might know who these retards are.’

  Ben read the leaflet. The contents were actually quite weird.

  Not far from Adelaide, in the Great Victoria Desert near Coober Pedy, the American military built a listening station a couple of years ago. Ever since then, the people of Coober Pedy have been stricken by a number of strange sicknesses. Depression, skin diseases, strange allergies and migraines have all doubled in the Coober Pedy population. Not only that, but farm animals have been becoming ill, for reasons that vets are unable to explain. We want to know what goes on there. Are they polluting the water? The atmosphere? Are they releasing radiation or biological particles? This American-built listening station is counted as US soil. They do not have to stick to our laws – the laws that protect the environment and the people who live and work there. They do not have to declare what goes on there. Worse, if these sicknesses travel, could Adelaide—

  The rest was charred and unreadable. But after reading it, the sound of the police officer’s radio crackling away in the background seemed quite eerie.

  ‘Son, why might your mother know about this leaflet?’

  ‘She’s an environmental scientist,’ Ben said. ‘Her name’s Dr Bel Kelland and she’s speaking at the conference centre today.’

  The officer passed Ben his notebook and pen. ‘Can you give me her contact details?’

  Ben wrote down his mum’s mobile number and passed the pad back. ‘I doubt she’d know these people. She deals with more serious stuff: tsunamis and things. Governments come to her for advice. She doesn’t hang around with fringe groups and nutters.’

  Kelly leaned back in her chair, her arms folded. ‘Officer, do you really think the fire was started deliberately?’

  ‘Miss, we get one or two deliberate fires in Adelaide every month. There’s a small proportion of the population who like to see things burn.’ The officer put his pen and notepad away.

  ‘Why would environmental protestors start a fire?’ asked Ben. ‘That’s not very green, is it?’

  The police officer put his hat back on. ‘I admit it seems strange.’

  The radio on his shoulder crackled and this time it was louder. ‘Fire on Veale Gardens. Engines have been dispatched. Fire investigation officers, stand by.’

  He sighed. ‘That’s another fire. Thanks for your time. If either of you folks remember anything later on, give the station a call. Keep that leaflet, and if you see your mum before I do, would you show it to her?’

  Ben nodded.

  As soon as the officer had gone, Kelly looked at her watch. ‘You’re probably hungry. We should go to the cafeteria.’

  Ben didn’t feel remotely interested in food. ‘I only got about two minutes’ flying,’ he protested. ‘I thought I was going to get a proper lesson.’

  ‘It’s quite strenuous,’ said Kelly. ‘Two minutes is a lot of time to concentrate if you’re only thirteen.’ She started to walk towards the cafeteria.

  Ben fumed. He wasn’t going to let her b
rush him off like that. He caught up with her and spoke in a low voice. ‘If you take me up again and give me a proper lesson I’ll go and amuse myself this afternoon so you can chat up George on reception.’

  Kelly stopped in her tracks. She looked at him, astonished. Her voice came out as an incredulous whisper. ‘How do you know he’s called George?’

  ‘His records were on the desk in the manager’s office. I know other things about him too, which I might tell you later.’ Ben put on a pleasant smile and indicated the direction of the front door. ‘Shall we go for a spin?’

  Chapter Six

  Wanasri was having a busy day. Engine 33 had been called to a two-storey warehouse on the edge of town. Two teams were already there, playing hoses over the flames, but the fire was licking through the walls and the floors. A giant plume of black smoke hung in the air, blotting out the sun. Nearby, in the drive of the warehouse next door, a group of twenty or more people had gathered, watching the fire with expressions of dismay. A few of them were probably bystanders, but the rest were employees evacuated from the building.

  As Wanasri jumped down from the truck, she saw three firefighters in breathing masks coming out of the building. Their turnout gear was glistening wet and they were moving slowly, as though their clothes were very heavy. She had seen that distinctive walk before; it meant the heat was taking its toll. Inside the ware-house must be very hot – much hotter than the fire they had just been to.

  Petra gave Wanasri and the others a pep talk as they pulled on their gear. ‘The other crews have cleared the ground floor. You’ve got to check the top floor. The guys think the manager is up there as he’s the only one unaccounted for. The fire’s been knocked back to the ground floor, so you’ll have to be quick. Take breathing gear.’ She opened a hatch at the side of the red truck. Backpacks and masks were hanging there ready on pegs.

  Wanasri picked up a breathing pack and shrugged it over her bony shoulders onto her back.

  Andy was watching her as she did up the fastening. ‘Is this your first time inside?’

  Wanasri guessed Andy was wondering if she would freeze again. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’ll be OK.’ She took down a mask, wiped the visor clean and pulled it over her head. It smelled of rubber and smoke. She took a few moments to acclimatize. She hated wearing the mask. You couldn’t see very well through the goggles and it stopped you hearing anything but your own breathing. And it was always unsettling to put one on and breathe the smell of the previous fire. It always made Wanasri wonder, How had that one turned out?

  Darren clapped her on the back. ‘Come on, let’s go!’

  Wanasri pulled her helmet on, grabbed a small extinguisher and ran with them up the metal fire escape on the outside of the building. Darren jemmied open the fire door with a crowbar and they were in.

  The interior of the building was black with smoke. The heat was like opening an oven door.

  Although the Engine 33 crew carried small extinguishers, it wasn’t their job now to put out flames. Wanasri, Petra, Darren and Andy would have to rely on the firefighters outside to do that.

  Petra switched on her torch and touched Darren on the shoulder. That was the signal to pair off. They started to walk carefully into the darkened warehouse. The smoke swallowed them up. They became invisible, except for flashes of torchlight glancing on glowing yellow bands.

  Wanasri and Andy set off towards the right-hand side of the building. They stayed close together, walking slowly. Wanasri’s amplified breathing sucked and rasped in her ears. Her torch turned the smoke into glowing fog. They had to move by feel, which made the search process agonizingly slow. That was why they needed four people to search one floor in a warehouse.

  Along the middle of the room, a series of metal shelves was stacked with surfboards. The paint was peeling in the heat. Wanasri noted that and was glad of her mask. She was a surfer herself and knew the materials in the boards could combust and give off poisonous fumes.

  She noticed that the fire was licking along the skirting boards. Were her eyes getting used to the gloom, or was the fire on the floor below burning harder? At this rate, it wouldn’t be long before the walls up here caught as well.

  Wanasri took another step and felt something give under her feet. Too late, she registered what was happening. The floorboards had given way, and she was crashing through! Beyond her feet was a hungry mass of flames.

  She was falling into them—

  Suddenly something stopped her. As she was dragged back, she looked round in shock. Andy had managed to catch the straps of her airpack, and he hauled her back onto her feet. Her breath roared inside her respirator. Below, the flames burned and crackled. If she had fallen through she would have been trapped down there.

  She’d had a narrow escape.

  There was no time now to think about that, though. She still had a job to do. She tore her gaze away from the flames that had so nearly claimed her and continued her search, stepping even more carefully through the building.

  She saw movement ahead, a flash of fluorescent jacket in her torchlight. Petra was bending over something on the floor, then she straightened up slowly. Over her shoulder was a limp figure wearing a breathing mask.

  They had found the manager. And he was alive. Wanasri went to help Petra carry him down.

  Bel was in the foyer waiting for Major Kurtis. He had gone out to post a birthday card to his wife. Surely that shouldn’t take long? She looked at her watch. He’d been gone for ten minutes, even though he was supposed to be on the panel debating weather fore-casting technology and it was starting in barely five minutes. She needed to brief him, but they were fast running out of time.

  Outside was a group of environmental campaigners with placards. They had been gathering since early that morning, eager to join in the public debate later in the afternoon. Some of them wore T-shirts from old Fragile Earth campaigns. Good for you, thought Bel.

  Others carried placards. She saw: WHAT REALLY CAUSED THE OZONE LAYER HOLE? And STOP SECRET US EXPERIMENTS.

  That one must be from the mysterious Oz Protectors who had leafleted Jonny Cale that morning. If she got time before the public debate, she’d go and chat to them and find out what their issues were.

  Bel looked at her watch. In fact, if the major didn’t hurry up and come back, maybe she’d haul the campaigners in to take his place.

  When she looked back at the door, the campaigners’ placards had moved. Before, they had been spread out in a line; now they were bunched together around something, and there was shouting.

  The conference centre security guard pulled open the door and went outside. Curious, Bel followed him.

  Before she even got as far as the door, the guard was coming back. He had a sheltering arm around Major Kurtis and was barging protestors out of the way as he escorted him back into the foyer.

  ‘What happened to you?’ said Bel.

  ‘The rent-a-mob guys collared me.’ The major had an Oz Protectors leaflet in his hand. He crumpled it into a ball and dropped it into the rubbish bin. ‘They see the uniform and they all think the worst.’

  Bel folded her arms. ‘Well, that’s not entirely surprising, is it? The United States has the worst record on green issues. These people protest because they care, and thank God they do.’

  ‘I’m not arguing with that,’ said the major, still clearly rattled by his encounter with the protestors. ‘But not every bad thing that happens in the world is the fault of the US, you know.’

  Bel stepped aside to let a group of delegates go through into the auditorium. ‘Time’s getting on, we need to talk about this debate. We’ve had to change the other speaker … Ah, here he is.’ She waved, and a figure walking down the stairs waved back and started walking towards them. ‘Dr Yamanouchi?’

  The elderly man in a rumpled corduroy suit, his black hair threaded with grey, was about to greet Bel when his eyes opened wide with surprise.

  ‘Brad Kurtis. I didn’t recognize you at first.’

>   ‘Dr Yamanouchi,’ replied the major. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Do you two know each other?’ said Bel.

  ‘Dr Yamanouchi was my tutor at Harvard,’ replied the major.

  The doctor looked at the major again, shaking his head. ‘You know, the last thing I would have expected was to see you in a military uniform.’

  The major gave Dr Yamanouchi a broad Texan smile. ‘It’s not what I imagined myself doing twenty years ago, but it’s worked out quite well.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re a soldier,’ said the doctor. ‘You must have sold them one of your vastly impractical schemes.’

  Bel was interested. ‘His schemes?’

  Major Kurtis smoothed his hand over his cropped hair. ‘My strength was theoretical research. Whereas Dr Yamanouchi thought I should be finding new ways to analyse rainfall.’

  ‘Yes, I still remember Brad going on about weather control. He talked about nothing else for months. You had your head in the clouds in those days.’

  Major Kurtis gave a forced laugh. ‘Well, at least I’ve moved on from that. Those corduroy trousers look like the same ones you used to wear twenty years ago.’

  Bel put her hands up to call for silence. ‘Time out, guys. Save it for in there. If you two argue like that on the stage we’re going to have a great debate. Let’s get this show on the road.’

  As Bel shepherded them into the auditorium, she heard a rapping noise on the window outside. She turned and saw one of the campaigners waving. He pressed a placard up against the window and rapped on the glass again, as if trying to reinforce its message:

  STOP SECRET US EXPERIMENTS.

  Chapter Seven

  Ben was up in the microlight again. Down below were the gentle hills and valleys of the vineyards. Kelly had planned a flight path that steered well clear of the fire area.

  And Ben had control.

  Kelly’s voice came through on his headset. ‘Let’s practise those turns. Remember, don’t just use the stick, use the pedals as well. Don’t turn too sharply because you’ll lose airspeed. Feel what the craft is doing by watching your horizon.’