by Jen Cole
Don’t be silly, Jo told herself. He’d hardly abandon his car. He must have gone to stretch his legs or… she spied a public toilet block, to relieve himself.
Suddenly she felt horribly exposed. In the almost empty car park she was visible from every direction. She ran to the ocean side of the car and crouched, dragging off the blonde wig. The black one was in her bag, and she put it on. Where to change the rest of her clothes? The toilet block, on the other side of the picnic area, was the obvious place. She sprang towards it.
Drawing close, she spotted an opening with a female symbol and slipped inside. The dim interior had a dank, old concrete smell. A series of toilet cubicles lined one wall, with shower stalls opposite. Jo locked herself into a shower stall and dropped her bag onto the knee-high shelf. She rummaged through and found the track pants. The hoodie, she now remembered, was on the back seat of the Lexus, where she’d used it for a pillow. Well, beggars couldn’t be choosers. Stripping off her jeans, she pulled on the track pants and beige shirt. It was horribly creased, but it covered the money belt and blended somewhat with the grey pants.
As she thrust the black shirt and jacket into the bag, Jo sneezed. The thin beige shirt provided no protection from the cold morning air. If George didn’t return soon she’d freeze to death.
In the doorway she stood squinting towards the jetty parking area. The morning sun was in her eyes but she spotted George leaning against the front door of the car. Relief projected her forward but two steps out she realized something was wrong. Would George slouch in such an unprofessional way? The slanting rays were making her eyes water but the person by the car now also seemed too slender.
Jo pulled up, turned sharply, and ran to the beach wall, where a set of stone steps led to the sand below. Keeping close to the wall, she covered the distance back as quickly as her sinking feet allowed.
At the barnacle-encrusted piers, more stone steps led up to the car park. By standing on the bottom one, Jo could just see over the wall. The sight made her freeze. The man leaning against the car was most definitely not George. He was younger, slimmer and had not a hair on his head. George, she could now see, was sitting in the car, talking to the man through the open window. As she watched, the leaning man straightened and began slowly and carefully scanning the surrounds. She dropped, her back pressed to the wall and her heart pounding.
Agents should not have had time to get here yet – it was only ten past eight. Maybe one of the agencies already had someone in the area, working on another case and they’d lucked-out. Was this guy by himself? What had George told him?
She considered taking off on foot, but a tiny seaside town like Dromana would be easy to contain. No, she had to get out of here quickly before reinforcements arrived. Jo returned to the bottom step and peered over the wall in time to see the agent swiftly crossing the road and turning left to traverse the shops and cafes.
Keeping low, she crept up the steps and then headed for the car in a crouching run. As she opened the back door, the driver jumped and twisted around.
“Mrs. Wiseman,” he exclaimed, and then quickly, “I think we should leave straight away. And it might be prudent if you were to take another ‘nap’ while we drive.”
These were not the words of someone who’d changed loyalties, and Jo gladly clambered in, closing the door and stretching out along the back seat. George pulled smoothly out of the car park and turned left onto the beach road, continuing towards the freeway turnoff. Jo meanwhile retrieved the hoodie and pulled it on, thankful for the additional warmth. Then she spoke into the silence.
“You weren’t at the car when I arrived, George, so I went off to change.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Wiseman. I thought I’d be back in time.” He paused and added, “Soon after I returned to the car, a rather smarmy gentleman approached and showed me a photo of you on his cell phone. He said he was looking for a young blonde woman – a drug addict who had kidnapped a baby.”
“George, I can’t tell you what’s going on, but I swear I’m neither a drug addict nor a kidnapper,” she said quietly.
“If I thought you were, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” he said. “The young man asked whom I was driving at the moment and I told him I’d just finished taking an elderly couple to their son’s place in Dromana, and was now on a break before returning to base.”
“You’re the perfect chauffeur George!”
“Client satisfaction is our aim, Mrs. Wiseman.”
As they hummed along the highway, Jo considered the incident. Had she slipped up somewhere? Perhaps the bulk of the agents weren’t in Shepparton at all, but had followed her to Dromana. No, if that were the case they would have hit the cafe within minutes of her coordinates posting, and would have arrived in force. George’s questioner had been operating alone.
A chilling thought occurred. Could it possibly have been the Hunter himself? Had she been too predictable? She’d made long trips west and north. There were few places east of Seymour to hide. Maybe he guessed she would turn back south. If so, he couldn’t have been confident about that prediction. The most likely thing for a panicked eighteen-year-old to do would be to run home, and her postings had indicated she was doing just that.
To play it safe, he would have to have sent his agents to cover Shep, but maybe he hadn’t gone with them. She’d been trying to put herself into his shoes. He was probably doing the same. If she could use Google to measure a three-hour trip south from Seymour, so could he. Maybe he’d headed down this way, anticipating her trick. Even if he’d gone beyond Dromana, or not as far, he’d have been near enough when her coordinates were sent, to get here within minutes. If that’s what he’d done, this guy was scarily intuitive.
Jo suddenly realized there was a way to know for sure whether the questioner had been the Hunter – the photo he’d shown George. If it was this morning’s photo, it had to be him. There hadn’t been enough time for him to send that photo to the detective agencies and for them to forward it to their agents. And in any case, the Hunter wouldn’t be so stupid as to regularly send updated photos to the two agencies. It was one thing to tell each that the other had a confirmed sighting of her, but providing fresh photos as well would be too suspicious. Operatives who’d gotten close enough to take clear photos, but who had somehow failed to catch her on every such occasion would be too incompetent for belief.
“George, the photo that man showed you, can you describe it?”
The driver considered. “You were sitting at a table, holding up a coffee cup and smiling at someone out-of-shot.”
My 8.00 a.m. pose. That man was the Hunter. If I’d run straight across from the toilets, I would have jogged right into his arms! Where is he now? Still searching the shops of Dromana, or sitting quietly with a coffee, already predicting my next move?
A wave of dismay washed over Jo, her morning’s high spirits crushed by the frightening evidence of her pursuer’s ability. Don’t get spooked, she told herself. Dad always said every experience teaches you something, so what have I learnt? Well, not to underestimate the Hunter for a start. And now at least I know better what he looks like. I’ve confirmed he’s a male, and bald. George will have got an even closer look.
“George, can you describe the guy who showed you the photo?”
“An unpleasant young man,” was the immediate reply. “With a false smile and an air of self-importance.”
“Young?” said Jo. “How old would you say?”
“Early twenties, if that. He seemed to assume his charm would be sufficient for me to happily answer all questions. He implied he was working for the law but failed to provide any kind of identification.”
More proof it was the Hunter. An agency employee would surely have introduced himself and shown ID, and maybe through such a display of legitimacy, have convinced George that I was a bad one. It seemed the Hunter had done her a service in conducting the questioning himself.
“Go on George.”
“He was bald, bu
t shaved not natural, with a shadow indicating he’d have dark hair if he grew it out. He was wearing a suit, but as he walked away, he pulled down on the jacket and I’d swear I saw part of a tattoo on the back of his neck.”
“This is great George. Do you remember anything else?”
“Sorry Mrs. Wiseman, his face was ordinary, no distinguishing marks… but I’d say he was slightly shorter than me.”
“Thank you George, I’ll pass this on to Andy. He’ll know what to do.”
“Speaking of which, we’re close to Mornington. Where will you be meeting Mr Wiseman?”
“At a cafe, but I’ve forgotten the address. I’ll look it up as you drive.”
Moving awkwardly from her horizontal position, Jo opened the laptop and accessed the online Yellow Pages. A large number of cafes were listed in Mornington, most of them in Main Street. Good, she thought. That means a lot of people. She picked one at random and said, “31 Main Street, George. The cafe’s called Avocado Blue.”
“I know Main Street, Mrs. Wiseman. We’re not far from it now.”
Jo checked her watch. 8.25. Unless they arrived in the next couple of minutes, she’d have to tell George to pull over. It would be trying his tolerance too far if Fitani suddenly appeared in the car.
“Mrs. Wiseman,” George spoke cautiously, “I don’t want to alarm you, but a silver Ford Falcon has followed us off the freeway into Mornington.”
Jo drew a quick breath and tried to keep her voice calm. “Where is it now?”
“Three cars behind us.”
“Okay, change of plan. Turn into the next busy street and let me out. Then drive around for a while. Park in a public place and do some shopping if you like or have something to eat. Take your time. I’ll find my own way to Avocado Blue and you can meet me there at 9.15.”
“Right Mrs. Wiseman. A street’s coming up.”
Jo pushed the laptop into her straw bag and braced herself as the car turned sharply. It slowed and she rested her fingers on the handle. As they came to a stop, she flipped open the door, leapt out between two parked cars, and threw the door closed. There was a fruit shop in front of her and Jo ran a good way into it before turning to view the street from the cover of a stand of oranges. The Lexus was already out of sight.
About ten seconds later the silver Falcon came gliding by. She made out its single driver, bald, before the car passed from view. The Hunter! Why had he decided to follow George? Another intuitive leap?
Jo went cold. The hoodie. If the Hunter had seen it in the back seat, he’d have known George was lying about having finished his assignment. He’d certainly have got one of his agencies to find out which limo company the Lexus belonged to and who had recently hired it. She’d learnt not to underestimate the Hunter. The married couple story wouldn’t have fooled him once he’d heard the pickup had been from a hotel in Brighton last night.
So what was he planning now? He couldn’t grab George for questioning without involving the police, which he’d no doubt prefer to avoid. Would he send agents after the Lexus? He wouldn’t have many to send. Most would still be travelling down from Shepparton.
Then what would he do? Since his Prey wasn’t in the Lexus, and the last broadcast had put her in Dromana, he’d probably use whatever agents he had down here to block the exits out of Dromana. Meanwhile, he’d follow the Lexus himself to make sure the driver really was returning to base and not about to double-back and pick up the Prey.
Damn! Jo bit her lip. She hadn’t wanted to leave the limo this soon and she hated the idea of failing to meet George after all his loyalty. Nor did she want to get him into trouble over the loss of the laptop.
But George was a smart guy. He’d now be watching for a tail and he wouldn’t lead the Hunter to her if he could help it. Not sure about the wisdom of her decision, Jo decided that she would meet George at Avocado Blue, at the very least to return the laptop and learn what had happened after he’d dropped her off. If he’d managed to throw the Hunter off his tail, she might even be able to risk going a little further with him.
Jo tore a plastic bag from the roll on a nearby stand and dropped in the orange she’d been clenching in a bruising grip. Adding a couple more, she made her way to the cash register.
As the young Asian checkout girl placed her bag on the scales, Jo asked, “Where’s Main Street from here?”
The girl pointed. “Three down.”
“Thanks.” Jo handed over a note and received some coins in change. As she stepped from the shop a gorgeous display caught her eye. Joseph’s famous coat had been made from the feathers of a peahen compared to this shimmering creation. The migraine-inducing blouse was accompanied by a pair of pantaloons, which, embroidered from top to bottom with the usual gold logo, provided a positively dull relief.
“Good morning my dear. How nail-biting that little escape just was!”
Jo answered calmly. “Yes, but at least I now know that the man who questioned my chauffeur is the Hunter.”
Fitani grinned. “Naturally I can neither confirm nor deny it, but I’d be interested in hearing why you think so.”
“A number of reasons, but the clincher was the photo,” she said. “The odds were just too small that anyone other than the Hunter would have had my most up-to-date photo at the time he showed it to my driver.
“I see,” said Fitani. “In any case, I’m glad you’re still beating the odds.”
“Are you?” Jo’s tone was dry. “Perhaps you’ve wagered a few Personal Points on my progress?”
Fitani chuckled. “Our audience does love Prey with a sense of humor. However, you haven’t yet quite achieved your next thousand points, so I can’t answer the questions you’ve just asked. What I can and will do is finish answering your question about my world and my people. It’s why I returned if you’ll recall.”
“I’m listening,” said Jo, striding down the street.
The host kept up without effort.
~~~~
CHAPTER 19
“I believe I was about to describe Play-Time. Play-Time is when the people of my world spread their wings and live life to the full.”
Jo crossed the first street and then turned to Fitani. “Hard to imagine a bit of gym equipment and a few fairground rides providing so much satisfaction.”
“Wha...” Fitani spluttered and then laughed. “Ah, you’re teasing me. You’ve guessed Play-Time is much more than that. True, we have a variety of exercise Playrooms – a fit employee is a happy employee, but exercise and fairground rides, as you call them, form only a miniscule part of the options available to us.
“The majority of Playrooms are dedicated to particular activities, but there are also blank Playrooms, which can be rented from The Company and used for anything the renter cares to do. Blanks are expensive, so usually only a group, pooling their Personal Points can rent one – and then not for more than a day or two. However, if the group uses the blank Playroom for an activity that brings in Personal Points, extended renting becomes possible. I, in concert with some others, have been renting the same blank Playroom now for over three years!”
Fitani waited, obviously expecting some kind of congratulatory remark.
“I’m scared to think what activity you’ve devised that pays your exorbitant rent.”
“What are you talking about?” He said impatiently. “You know what it is. We produce and broadcast Play or Die.”
Jo frowned. “You mean you’ve turned your blank Playroom into a television studio? But to do that you’d need expertise in a whole range of areas, and you’d require specialized equipment.”
“Exactly,” Danny agreed. “And where does one acquire expertise and equipment – the Playrooms!”
Jo had now passed the second street and could see the third coming up. This should be Main.
“So you learnt your hosting skills in a Playroom.” She tried to make it a statement, but needn’t have worried. Fitani, anxious to get his point across, had forgotten about not answering qu
estions she hadn’t earned.
“Of course I learnt them in a Playroom. Just as my camera operators and technical crew went to Playrooms to learn their skills.”
“But using microwaves to view the past – that discovery would have involved complex science. It couldn’t have been made in a Playroom.”
“Where else? The research and development Playrooms are popular with our more intellectual employees. In fact, we have many Playrooms devoted to different branches of math and science.”
“And the people who use those rooms…”
“Study, experiment and push forward the boundaries of our knowledge.” finished Fitani.
Jo felt dazed. “For no reward.”
“There are many rewards.” Fitani began counting them off on his fingers. “The joy of tackling knotty problems with like-minded employees; the satisfaction and kudos of expanding human knowledge; the Personal Points awarded by The Company for significant discoveries or inroads; and for employees whose discoveries are used in some practical way, those Points can really begin to roll in.
Take interacting with the past via microwaves. The employees who discovered how to do this received a reward from The Company, but when I and some others, made practical use of the process to create Play or Die, the original discoverers continued to gain. Hundreds of thousands of viewers pay Personal Points to watch Play or Die. The Company takes eighty percent, but my team receives the rest. We in turn give a percentage to the originators of the process that made the game possible. Everyone wins!”
“The Company, with zero contribution, winning the biggest slice of all,” said Jo, turning into Main Street.
“Without the Company none of this would be possible,” growled Fitani. “We’d still be running around in the wilderness like savages.”