by Justin D'Ath
The kidnappers must have two vehicles, not one. It made sense. They’d need something smaller and less conspicuous than a campervan when they went to collect the ransom money. That was probably where they were going now. Not all of them had gone. I could still hear snoring outside. I wondered who’d gone, and who’d stayed behind.
In the morning, the kidnapper called Cain let me out to have breakfast. It was sausages again, but this time there was toast instead of bread. I noticed that the boss and Steve weren’t there.
‘How’s the baby?’ Angelo asked.
‘He’s fine,’ I said, without thinking. I was still half asleep. ‘I mean, he hasn’t got any worse.’
Angelo sipped his tea. ‘You’re doing good work, Sam,’ he said with a smile.
He must have heard my name on the radio reports. It was nice to be called Sam, not Mr Mum or Dr Mum. It made me like him a bit more.
‘I thought I heard a car during the night,’ I said casually.
‘That was the boss and Steve.’
‘Zip your mouth, Angelo,’ Peewee warned.
‘Why should I? He’ll find out soon enough anyway.’
I looked from Peewee to Angelo. ‘Find out what?’
‘You’re off to school this afternoon,’ Angelo said.
14
NO CHOICE
The blazer was a bit tight, but everything else fitted me perfectly. Even the brown leather shoes.
Brown leather shoes!
‘Tuck your shirt in,’ the boss said.
‘You wear them hanging out.’
She shook her head. ‘Not at Hobart Grammar. You have to look just like everyone else.’
I was glad I didn’t go to Hobart Grammar. I felt like a dork in the purple, green and yellow uniform. But the boss was right – I needed to blend in with the crowd. If this went wrong, Princess Monica and Prince Nicklaus would never see their baby son again.
The boss and Steve had returned at lunchtime. Instead of collecting the ransom money, they’d been shopping for clothes. A school uniform for me, football supporters’ gear for them. Now Steve had a Hawthorn jacket and scarf to match his yellow-and-brown beanie, and the boss was decked out all in blue and white like a Geelong supporter.
Before sending me into the campervan to get changed, the boss had explained what was going on. I wasn’t going to school, I was going to the footy. Two of the AFL’s top clubs, Hawthorn and Geelong, were playing in Hobart that afternoon. It was a special promotion for the Government’s brand new health program aimed at kids, Sport in Schools. Anyone wearing their school uniform would be allowed in free. And so would their parents. The boss, Steve and I were going as a family.
‘Why are we going to the football?’ I asked.
‘To get the ransom money,’ the boss explained. ‘And that’s where you come into it. You’ll be making the pickup.’
My jaw dropped. ‘Me? That’s crazy!’
‘Not crazy at all. Whoever makes the drop won’t be alone – there’ll be undercover agents tailing him, or watching from a helicopter. We have to surprise them. They’ll be expecting an adult to collect the money, not a sweet-faced private schoolboy.’
Sweet-faced? I’d peeked at myself in the campervan’s mirror earlier. I had a monster black eye and an ugly yellow-and-blue bruise that ran all the way down the right side of my face. ‘Who’s going to give a million dollars to a fourteen-year-old kid?’ I asked.
‘They’ll do what I tell them,’ the boss said. ‘And don’t even think about double-crossing us. We’ll be watching you, too. Say one word to the drop, and nobody will ever see little Prince Thomas again.’
The look in her eyes showed me she meant it.
‘Are we taking him with us?’ I asked.
‘No. Once we’ve collected the ransom and made sure it’s all there, we’ll leave him somewhere where the police can find him,’ the boss said. ‘In the meantime, he can stay here with his Uncle Peewee.’
Peewee, who’d been listening, gave a nasty laugh.
‘Can’t Angelo look after him?’ I said.
Angelo nodded. ‘I’ll take care of him, Sam.’
It was nice to have a friend, even if he was one of the kidnappers.
‘Okay, I’ll do it,’ I said to the boss. ‘I’ll pick up the ransom money.’
‘You don’t have a choice,’ she said.
15
A VERY BAD FEELING
The sign on the shed said CROWFORD KAYAKING CLUB, not KING CLUB. Half of it had been hidden behind the trees when I’d looked out the toilet window. As Steve bent to open the roller door, I noticed a snapped padlock lying in the dirt. The kidnappers must have broken into the shed so they could hide their second car. I was right about it being inconspicuous – it was a small green hatchback, the type of car no one would look at twice. Two racks of kayaks had been shoved against the walls to make room for it.
‘Would you like to drive us, Mother?’ Steve asked, dangling the keys.
The boss laughed. ‘No, you drive, Father,’ she said.
She held open one of the back doors for me. ‘Get in and lie on the floor. Keep your head down.’
I did as I was told. But it seemed silly to be hiding. There was no one around.
After nearly an hour, the boss finally told me I could sit up. I was stiff from lying on the floor and my right arm had pins and needles. We were driving along a quiet suburban street.
‘Welcome to Hobart,’ said Steve.
Now I realised why they’d made me keep my head down all the way from their hide-out. Not so nobody would see me, but so I wouldn’t see. They didn’t want me to know where their hide-out was, in case something went wrong – like if I got away, or talked to the drop. But I wasn’t going to do either of those things. I was going to cooperate with the kidnappers one hundred percent. The boss was right – I didn’t have a choice. Tommy’s life was on the line.
Mine was, too. I still didn’t know what the kidnappers were going to do with me once this was all over. I’d helped them by looking after Tommy – especially when they thought he was sick – and now I was helping them again.
I hoped it was enough to make them let me go when this was all over, and not get rid of me permanently.
We turned down another street and came to a small park. Steve drove round behind the toilets. No one was about.
‘Get out and stretch your legs,’ the boss told me. ‘Use the toilets if you need to.’
When I came out, Steve was tying yellow and brown streamers to the car’s aerial. The boss was sitting in the passenger seat putting on blue and white face paint. She looked like a fanatical Geelong supporter. It was a good disguise.
Next, she painted Steve’s face in the yellow and brown Hawthorn colours.
Then she turned to me. ‘Which team are you going for, Mr Mum? Geelong or Hawthorn?’
I shrugged. ‘Hawthorn.’
She made me lean against the car while she painted my face in yellow and brown stripes.
‘Lovely!’ she said, standing back to admire her artwork. ‘Even your mum wouldn’t know you.’
The boss threw the face-painting gear into the car and pulled out a large black backpack.
‘Put it on,’ she said.
The backpack was very light. ‘What’s in it?’ I asked, threading my arms through the straps.
‘Nothing,’ the boss said, mysteriously. ‘But there will be.’
As we drove out of the park, we must have looked like a normal family on their way to the football. I wished we were. My palms were sweaty and I’d started shaking again. Despite all the boss’s careful plans, a thousand things could go wrong. Even if they didn’t, I had a very bad feeling about how this was going to end. Maybe not for Tommy, he was just a baby. But I’d spent twenty-four hours with the kidnappers. Except for the boss, I knew all their first names. And I knew what they looked like.
They weren’t going to let me go.
16
NEEDLE IN A HAYSTACK
Steve pulled over to the kerb. I could see the stadium rising above the rooftops about a kilometre away. I wondered why we’d stopped. It was just after four o’clock in the afternoon. Unless the game had started late, it would be over in half an hour.
The boss tapped a number into her mobile phone. ‘Football stadium, ten minutes,’ she said in a disguised voice, then snapped the phone shut.
I guessed she was speaking to the drop – probably an undercover agent or a plain-clothes policeman. She and Steve must have arranged it when they came to town that morning. They would have told the drop to have the ransom money ready and be waiting for their next call – the one the boss had just made. By telling them the drop-off point at the very last moment, there wasn’t time for the police to get there before us and set up a trap.
We sat in the car for five minutes. Then the boss nodded and Steve drove off. Half a block from the stadium, Steve steered the hatchback into a crowded car park. It was packed – there were no empty spaces. As we cruised slowly between the rows of cars – nearly all of them with coloured streamers on their aerials like ours – the boss twisted around and handed me a mobile phone. It wasn’t the one she’d used to talk to the drop.
‘Put this in your pocket,’ she said. ‘We’ve fixed it so it can’t make outgoing calls, but we’ll know if you try. Go to the stadium and wait just inside the main gate.’
‘Then what do I do?’ I asked nervously.
‘I’ll phone you and let you know,’ the boss said. ‘Make sure you’re there in five minutes.’
She told Steve to stop the car. Wearing the backpack, I opened my door and got out. The boss wound down her window.
‘Don’t try anything,’ she warned. ‘We’ll be watching your every move.’
Walking away from the kidnappers’ car gave me the strangest feeling. I was free, but I wasn’t. If I didn’t collect the ransom money, Prince Thomas might never be seen again. The hairs on my neck stood up and my palms were sweaty. I was terrified something would go wrong.
Ohmygosh! A policeman and a policewoman stood on the pavement outside the stadium. They were looking right at me, watching me approach. It was too late to stop, too late to look for another entrance. If I changed direction now, it would look like I was guilty of something. And I was guilty of something – helping the kidnappers get their money.
As I crossed the wide street towards the two police officers, my heart rate increased to about two hundred beats per minute. I felt sure they’d recognise me. I was a Missing Person – the ‘young hero’ who’d caught Prince Thomas when he fell out of the cable car and then tried to escape from the kidnappers. My photo would be in all the newspapers and in every police station around the country. I was famous.
But in the photo I wouldn’t be dressed as a Hobart Grammar student. My face wouldn’t be caked with yellow and brown paint.
Was the disguise going to work?
The policewoman smiled as I walked past. ‘You’re a bit late, aren’t you?’ she said with a friendly smile.
I smiled, too, but I didn’t say anything. The boss and Steve were watching from the car park. If they saw me talking to the police, they might get the wrong idea.
A huge roar went up from the crowd inside the stadium. Someone must have kicked a goal. Even though the game wasn’t over, people were leaving already, probably to get to their cars before the big rush after the final siren. There were quite a few kids in school uniform. It made me feel less conspicuous as I jostled my way through the gates, going in the opposite direction.
I found myself at the mouth of a wide tunnel leading under the stands. A few people were coming out, but most stood at the other end with their backs to me, watching the final moments of the game. I heard another loud cheer, then a boo as something happened on the field that the crowd didn’t like.
My mobile rang. ‘Where are you?’ the boss asked.
‘Just inside the gates.’
‘The drop’s on his way. You should see him come through the gates any moment. He’s got a red-and-black beanie on, and he’s wearing a backpack.’
Right on cue, a man in a grey tracksuit wearing a red-and-black beanie came pushing through the crowded entrance. He carried a bulky blue backpack slung across his shoulder. A backpack full of money. A tingle ran up and down my spine. It was really happening. They were going to pay the ransom.
And I was the pickup.
The drop’s eyes darted left and right, but he didn’t give me a second glance. He wasn’t expecting the pickup to be a schoolboy.
‘I can see him,’ I whispered into my mobile.
‘Follow him,’ the boss said. ‘He’ll go into the stadium and pretend to watch the game. He’ll put the backpack on the ground. Come up behind him and say, “Prince Thomas.” Then pick up the backpack.’
‘What if he tries to stop me?’ I asked, nervously.
‘He won’t. Walk calmly away and blend into the crowd. Make sure nobody’s following you. Find some toilets and transfer everything from his backpack into yours. Wait there till the game’s over, then leave the stadium with the crowd. I’ll make contact when you get outside. Have you got all that?’
I wasn’t sure. It sounded complicated. ‘I guess so,’ I said.
‘Don’t stuff up,’ the boss warned. ‘We’ll be watching you.’
It was easy following the drop, even in the crowd. He must have been the only person in the stadium wearing a red-and-black beanie. I stayed ten or fifteen metres behind him all the way along the tunnel. When he reached the end, he turned left into the stands. He found a couple of empty seats at the end of a row and sat down, putting the backpack on the seat next to him. Then he pulled a small pair of binoculars from his jacket pocket and pretended to watch the game.
I walked slowly down the aisle towards him. Everyone seemed intent on the game, but it felt like they were watching me. I heard a helicopter overhead and wondered if it was the police. One of the Hawthorn players took a mark, and about thirty thousand people cheered. I sat down behind the drop and leaned forward.
‘Prince Thomas,’ I said, my voice going suddenly squeaky.
The drop didn’t give any sign to show he’d heard me. He kept his binoculars fixed on the football players.
Reaching across the back of the seat in front of me, I picked up his backpack. This was the moment of truth. I half-expected the drop to swing around, grab my wrist and ask me what the heck I thought I was doing. But he didn’t move. He kept his eyes on the game. The Hawthorn player took his kick and a mighty roar filled the stadium.
By the time everyone had stopped cheering, I was halfway to the men’s toilets carrying the drop’s bulky blue backpack under my arm. It was surprisingly heavy.
I found an empty cubicle and locked the door. I placed the backpack on the toilet lid and undid the zipper. Hooley dooley! It was full of money. More one-hundred-dollar notes than I could count. They were packed in bundles the size of house bricks and bound with rubber bands. With shaking hands, I transferred the ransom money from the blue backpack to the black one the boss had given me. When I was finished, I stuffed the empty one down behind the toilet bowl and put the black bag on my back.
I felt calm as I stepped out of the cubicle. If there were other agents trying to spot me leaving the stadium, they’d be looking for someone with a blue backpack, not a black one. I’d be just another school kid in a crowd that included nearly every school kid in Hobart and the surrounding towns. It’d be like looking for a needle in a haystack.
They’d never find me.
Even though she was a criminal, I had to admire the boss for her clever planning. She had thought of everything.
Well, not quite everything.
‘Hey, you,’ a voice said behind me. ‘Stop right there!’
17
THE WRONG PERSON TO BULLY
There were two of them. They were standing over by the washbasins. They looked like Year Twelves. Both wore the same uniform as me.
‘Where’s your
boater?’ said the one with a prefect badge pinned to his blazer.
‘My what?’ I asked.
‘Your hat, idiot!’
They both wore hats – silly-looking, square-topped, imitation straw hats with bands in the purple, green and yellow Hobart Grammar School colours. The boss hadn’t got me a hat.
‘I left it at home,’ I said with a shrug. ‘What’s it to you?’
‘I’ll tell you what it is,’ Prefect said in a bossy voice. ‘It’s a uniform infringement.’
I shifted the backpack straps higher on my shoulders. I didn’t know how much money was on my back – one million dollars? two million? – but it was really heavy. ‘We’re not at school now,’ I said.
Prefect sniffed. ‘When you’re wearing the Hobart Grammar uniform, you’re representing the school. It doesn’t matter where you are, you have to be correctly dressed.’
‘It’s just a hat,’ I said, walking past him to get to the basins.
‘It’s part of the uniform,’ said Prefect. ‘I’m putting you on report. What’s your name?’
I said the first name that came into my head. ‘Tommy.’
‘Tommy who?’
‘Smith,’ I said, busily washing my hands.
The other boy was looking at me in the mirror, trying to see who I was under the face paint. ‘Are you new?’ he asked.
‘I started this term.’
‘Who’s your form master?’
Uh oh. Now I was in trouble. I turned off the tap and started moving towards the paper towel dispensers. They were near the door. But Prefect stepped in front of me, blocking my escape.
‘We asked you a question, Smith. Who’s your form master?’
I looked him in the eye. ‘Just let me past,’ I said softly. ‘something really important’s going down. Way more important than school uniforms.’
‘Cut the bull and tell us who your form master is.’
My mobile rang. Perfect timing. ‘Excuse me,’ I said, pulling it out of my blazer pocket.
It was the boss. ‘Have you got the money?’ she asked.