Red Ice

by James Phelan

  “This? This is different … This is how I always wanted it to be … He’s what I’ve wanted. He’s safe.”

  “Yeah, I understand.”

  “No, you really don’t,” Kate said. “He’s there and he’s present and I’m in the middle of his picture.”

  Fox shook his head, smiled at the phrase.

  “You were gone,” Kate said. “I was gone. I had nothing, then him. See? I needed someone. You really don’t have any idea what it was like, do you?” She pointed a finger back towards Shanghai. “You back there … Nothing’s changed.”

  “Nothing’s changed? Kate, you have no fucking idea. You wanna know what losing you the first time did to me?” He looked out at the sea, fists clenched. “I was a drunk, I was a drug addict … In Nigeria … I fucking killed so many people! I thought you were dead and I thought about joining you—only I had no idea that you were anywhere but not on this Earth.”

  He’d finally let it out, but it was too late. She opened her arms, he moved away, but she followed him and held him tight.

  They both had tears in their eyes.

  “You don’t look at me like you look at him.”

  Kate looked back at Jacob. He remained facing the other way. Fox took her hand, she met his eyes and he saw the last glimmer of summer on her eyelashes.

  “It doesn’t have to end like this.” she said.

  Fox smiled, kissed her, soft and quick, a goodbye. A slight tremble in her warm lips. Her cheeks were wet and she squeezed his hand. She smelled so good and felt so right and something in that made him doubt everything—that this was not meant to be, that he’d regret parting ways—but what could he do? She’d moved on, and maybe he could too …

  “It’s not a goodbye forever this time,” he said, his chin rested on her head as they watched the sea slip by.

  She didn’t acknowledge it. She stayed in close to him, he felt her heart beating against his chest, not sure whose was fastest.

  One day, years from now, time would have passed enough that they could be friends. The desire may never leave, but it would get easier, wouldn’t it? Didn’t it always get easier?

  “It’s Sunday.”

  She looked up at him, sleeved away her tears.

  “It’s Sunday,” he said. “That was our favourite day.”

  He stroked the back of her neck, pulled her back to him, close.

  “With the last breath of my soul, I’ll be blessing you,” she whispered. “Isn’t it pretty to think so?”

  Epilogue

  ITALY

  Fox was on his iPhone to McCorkell and Hutchinson.

  “Umbra is over,” Hutchinson said. “My FBI team along with the EU police and Interpol are assisting the Russian government to round up all the known suspects—Babich rolled, we managed to get the motherlode of intel out of him.”

  Fox listened.

  “Where is he?”

  “Dead,” McCorkell replied. “Died yesterday.”

  Fox wasn’t that displeased.

  “Okay,” Fox said. “Thanks.”

  “Thank you—the President really wants you to come into the White House, talk about some jobs—they don’t have to be pointy-end work, advisory type—”

  “Thanks, Andy. Tell him I’ll take a raincheck.” Silence.

  “Okay Lach,” McCorkell said. “I got a job for you, too. UN, pointy-end, new investigative team I’m—”

  “Bill, I’m gonna take a raincheck on that, too.”

  “You going back to work for GSR?”

  Fox looked out at the view.

  “I’m getting pretty tired of searching for truth in a corrupt world,” Fox said. “Keep it up and what—I’m destined to die a lonely young man … I’m not sure. I’ll be in touch.”

  He ended the call. Turned to his friend.

  “What? I’ve got my own path to choose.”

  “Sure. The adventure isn’t knowing what’s going to happen next,” Gammaldi said, walking around to the bow of the boat. He looked out to sea and waved his arms theatrically: “It’s accepting that all you have is the present moment, right now, and to make the most of that so that every step you take isn’t calculated, it’s made in the fullness of being present right now. To the unknown!”

  Fox laughed, threw a tennis ball at Gammaldi who turned in time to catch it. He tossed it high—Brujon leaped onto the marina and caught it on the first bounce, came bounding back.

  “Say goodbye to the folks at GSR for me,” Fox said.

  “Yeah.”

  “And thanks for organising to store all my stuff.”

  “Yeah … I might set your TV up in my den.”

  “Nice,” Fox said, looking back at Ravello. The little seaside town on Italy’s Amalfi Coast was probably his favourite spot in the world.

  “Where you going?”

  “Not sure,” Fox said. “Might stay here a bit, then set sail. Home, maybe.”

  Gammaldi squinted at the bright water sparkling in the sunlight and appraised Fox’s yacht.

  “Home—Australia home?”

  “Yeah. Maybe. Maybe Christmas Island.”

  “Should try for the Bahamas, see how that goes.”

  “Yeah, maybe. Any island will do.”

  “Manhattan is an island, you could sail there,” Gammaldi said. “I’d come, cash in my flight.”

  Fox shook his head.

  “I could come with you,” he repeated, serious—perhaps concerned. “Wherever you want to go.”

  “Al—”

  “I mean, that’s what I do, right? Follow you, always, wherever, whenever—”

  “It hasn’t been like that—”

  “Hasn’t it?”

  Fox sucked it up.

  “Shit, Al, it’s never been hard saying goodbye to you before.”

  Gammaldi punched Fox hard in the arm.

  “Something to remember me by,” he said. “I always wondered, at what distance does an electrical current in the water no longer pose a danger?”

  “What?”

  “If I were somehow able to drop a plugged-in toaster into the water at a beach, how far off would a person need to be in order to be safe?”

  “The short answer—don’t do that.”

  “Yeah,” Gammaldi said, disappointed. “I think there’d be a lot of fall-off in danger with increased distance though, something to do with dipole faults—but quantifying that would be hard.”

  “Al, you’re an idiot, don’t let anyone ever tell you any different,” Fox said, climbing onto the marina and helping his mate up. He gave Brujon a scratch on the head and tossed the tennis ball ashore.

  “Anyway,” Gammaldi said, staring at the water. “You should try for Malta first, that’s what I’d do.”

  “Yeah?” Fox said. How did Gammaldi always know so much? “And what’s in Malta? Maltese?”

  “Hot Maltese chicks. Smoking hot. Stacked. Badonkadonk.”

  “Too bad you’re married,” Fox said and punched his friend’s arm. Truth was, he was going to Malta—to fulfil a promise he’d made to a dying man. They ambled towards one of the little bars down on the beach.

  “I wanna be somewhere building houses,” Gammaldi said. “I’d like to build something.”

  “I’ve made something of a career of blowing a lot of shit up,” responded Fox.

  “Yeah, exactly,” Gammaldi said. “So, maybe we can go volunteer in some place that’s been affected by disaster.”

  “Afghanistan?”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Gammaldi said. “Maybe somewhere in Africa or some speck in the Indian Ocean. I like the idea of making something tangible.”

  “Yeah,” Fox said. “I miss the quiet … The quiet inside my head.”

  “It ever been like that?”

  “Well, no, not really.” They passed a few happy families with picnic baskets returning from a day at sea.

  “How about McCorkell’s job at the new UN th
ing?” Gammaldi asked. He put on a mock announcer’s voice: “You’d be like an international man-about-town, the spirit of opposition, a spy without borders or national accountability, kicking arse on a global scale…”

  Fox smiled and snorted a laugh.

  “How long you going for?” Gammaldi asked.

  Fox watched the crowd back at the main pier. The afternoon sun was tiring in the sky, could be the end of any day. The voices comforting in the background, a hum of humanity in a beautiful spot, the sound of people having a good time. A life of fewer consequences beckoned.

  “If you have another kid before I’m back, sell all my stuff and put it towards his education.”

  “Done. And what, I suppose we’ll have to call him Lachlan?”

  “Kid could do worse,” Fox said, and smiled.

  They rolled up to a bar, took a table in the shade, ordered some beers.

  “Here’s to you going out to find yourself,” Gammaldi said. They clinked bottles. “This reporting shit wasn’t you and you know it. You belong in the arena, not documenting it from the sidelines.”

  Fox knew his friend was right. Maybe. What would it be like if he really let go and went in there, in the arena—that would be interesting, right?

  Early the next morning they said goodbye, Gammaldi headed to the airport and Fox prepared to cast off, head south and not look back.

  He thought about Kate. She’d once told him, Living on a boat is my dream … Sailing around the world, going from port to port, following the sun. He couldn’t imagine anything better than doing that with her … but that would never happen, would it? No. She’d moved on, it wasn’t meant to be. It felt right this way. He felt free.

  Casting off, Fox let the boat go with the wind. Brujon slept on the aft deck, every now and then his legs twitching as if he were dreaming of chasing rabbits. The water was like a still pond and the breeze was slight. The sun was low and the only movement was the twinkling of the sea and the occasional kestrel. There was nothing on the horizon but possibility. Maybe he’d keep chasing that sun home. Maybe he was tired of chasing, and would just go where the wind took him. He slung his legs over the starboard side, the only sound the water lapping against the hull. He closed his eyes and felt the rising sun on his face and listened. Silence, the greatest pleasure of all.

  Author Q & A

  (WARNING: CONTAINS SPOILERS)

  So, is this the end of Babich? Kate?

  This is the end of Babich. Umbra has been a great foil for Fox for three books now, and I planned for their relationship to span a trilogy. I always wanted a SMERSH-type outfit and I think it’s created some nice interlinking stories through the Fox books.

  Kate, as far as I know, is gone for good this time. Over the years no other character has provoked as much feedback—really divisive, for and against. I thought the end of their affair was a satisfying way to end a love story that’s been spanning a few books—it suits the realism of the series.

  Is Fox leaving GSR for good?

  I don’t know. He’ll never say goodbye forever, and I miss the staff from there and would like to bring them back for an adventure someday to learn more about them as individuals, but for at least the next novel Fox will be doing some work outside GSR.

  How was writing this book different from the previous four Fox novels?

  Each book has been easier to write than the last. Well, it somehow feels easier—they seem to take about three months to research and three months to write. There’s quite a large cast of continuing characters to choose from (although we lost a couple in this book), and it’s a lot of fun to bring them back in. This book was exciting to write as the narrative of the three parts took place within twenty-four hours. I considered making it within twelve hours, and just keeping Paris as the setting, but my research at the start steered me towards getting Babich to China, so I had to get Fox there, too—and that chewed up some time, though it is mostly off-page with his flight taking place between two parts of the book.

  How much planning went into the book, and how do you actually write your books?

  I spend several weeks reading and making notes and collating research material, and then I fill about fifty or so pages of notes before I sit down and start typing. I work every day, from the morning until late at night. I don’t refer to any notes or research when I write; if I’m unsure of a detail (time zone, street name, et cetera), I’ll put a place-mark in the document and keep writing, and when I finish the book I’ll fill in those blanks. I don’t plan the story beats in detail, but I have a sense of their tone and feel—that is, how I want the reader to feel—and I try to weave a compelling narrative through that as I explore the story. My main writing rule is: write fast, edit slow. I take as long as I can with the editing process, right up to print date, and then that’s it; I never look at it again.

  Do you think of your novels as being Australian novels?

  In so far as my character is concerned it’s as much an Australian story as it is a global story—Lachlan Fox is the quintessential man of the world. That said, he certainly sees foreign climes in the same way as me: through Australian eyes. Like any of us, he can feel lonely and he can feel at home, wherever he may be. The key in these novels is that we only see his life through the points closest to the dramatic climaxes, so he may see things how an Australian does, but boy, what he sees and goes through! I’ve met plenty of readers in Australia who’ve said they assumed my books were written by an American, but I think that’s more to do with the cover design than content. In terms of the narrative, I write about an Aussie character because it’s what I know.

  So your style isn’t American?

  I don’t think so, but then that’s hard to define nowadays. I’ve certainly been shaped much more by American writing than by our own. It’s that American simplicity and inclusivity of their literature that appeals to me. My own literary heroes and models—the people who made me want to write—are mostly American.

  The humour in your novels is one of their distinct and most enjoyable characteristics. Is that a conscious decision on your part?

  I think we all need to laugh more, and I write the books I want to write; readers will either respond or not respond. I came into this series with a couple of buddy characters, wanting to explore that humour in both fun times and difficult times—that gallows humour that I loved so much in films like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, Lethal Weapon and Die Hard. My individual jokes and observations, and use of irony in smaller narrative episodes, come through the actual writing rather than as a result of any preparation, and those fun surprises are a big reason for why I write.

  What’s next for Fox?

  How would I know? Oh, right, okay. Well, I’m answering these questions a day after finishing the editing of Red Ice, so my mind has set sail with Fox. I love that this is like a reset of his character—sure, the readers and I know a lot about who Fox is and what’s he’s capable of, but now he’s off into the unknown. I figure I’ll let him sail alone for a few weeks before I summon him for a new adventure. I do know that in the next book we’ll meet him in Malta and I know how that meeting will unfold, who the characters are … but that’s all; the options for the plot are still percolating. I like that we met Fox on an island at the start of Fox Hunt; he’s being living on the island of Manhattan ever since, and we’ll be meeting him on that little speck in the Mediterranean for a re-launch of his life. Anyway, I still need to think about it, read, immerse myself in possibilities, make my notes, and trust that Fox’s What’s next? moment will arrive.

  How many Fox books can we expect in this series?

  It’s still an open-ended endeavour. I like that Fox is not going to be a character who’s doing the same old job for perpetuity. I’ve known him for many years—about four in his world—and in that time (well, since the end of Fox Hunt) he’s been working as an investigative reporter. I always knew he’d move about work-wise, and I think these novels are mor
e reflective of the real world than most other thrillers out there; how many of us stay in the same job for years on end, after all? Plus, it’s very much in Fox’s character to be constantly on the move, to never feel at ease, particularly if he’s in one place for a long period of time. Anyway, time will tell.

  Lastly, you are also now writing another series?

  Yes, the Alone series started publication in 2010. It has a postapocalyptic backdrop with a sixteen-year-old main character in Jesse. He’s Australian, and the setting is New York City, but that’s where the similarities with Fox end. The narrative is first-person so we feel for him a bit more—which I thought was important for that crossover age-group—and helps to completely immerse the reader in that kind of pandemic scenario. At the time of this interview, the first of those books, Alone: Chasers, it out and the feedback from Fox fans and new readers has been encouraging. So I have plenty of novels ahead to write!

  More from Lachlan Fox

  Fox Hunt

  It’s hard to bury a past. Lachlan Fox is about to discover it’s ever harder to dig it back up.

  While most of the world’s Intel resources have been tied up in Afghanistan and Iraq, the president of Chechnya has been making plans— and the clock is ticking. A world away, off Christmas Island, ex-navy operative Lachlan Fox is on a diving trip with his best friend, Alister Gammaldi. From the moment they lift a mysterious metallic object off the sea floor of the Indian Ocean, the two men set in motion a chain of events that will drag them into the corrupt world of international politics and arms races.

  From East Timor to Grozny, Washington to New York, and Venice to Iran, Lachlan Fox is forced into an adrenaline-fuelled quest to save his friend, himself … and the world.

  Patriot Act

  When knowledge is power, every bit of information can be a lethal weapon.