Devil Danger

by Justin D'Ath

  No way would the boss let me take a wild Tassie devil – even an unconscious one – into their hide-out. But it was already in the car, and the car was quite warm. Carefully, I lowered the devil onto the floor behind the driver’s seat and hid it under my blazer. Then I slid out of the car and softly closed the door.

  Peewee shone the torch in my face. ‘So you decided to come back,’ he said.

  ‘I didn’t think I had a choice.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you didn’t want to come back?’ the boss said in a teasing voice. ‘You’re practically part of the gang now.’

  All three of them laughed. They were in a good mood. I wanted them to stay that way, so I played along with their joke.

  ‘Aren’t I part of it?’ I asked. ‘I was kind of hoping to get a sixth share of the loot.’

  Steve ruffled my hair. ‘I like this kid. He’s got a good sense of humour.’

  ‘I wasn’t joking,’ I said.

  That brought even more laughter. I joined in. But I wasn’t laughing on the inside. All sorts of thoughts were running through my head, and none of them were the kind that makes you laugh. Top of the list was: Am I going to get out of this thing alive?

  Next on the list was: How’s Tommy?

  I soon found out. I could hear him crying the moment we stepped out of the kayak shed.

  ‘Sounds like Peewee wasn’t the only one who missed you, Mr Mum,’ the boss joked as we walked across to the sawmill.

  This time I didn’t join the others’ laughter. I was thinking of Franky Budd. He must have contacted the police several hours ago.

  How long before they arrived?

  21

  TOMMY’S REVENGE

  I didn’t get much sleep. Tommy woke up at least once every two hours, either for a feed or a nappy change. Or just to be held and rocked. The boss was right – he had missed me. Angelo didn’t know much about looking after babies. I suspect he’d been trying to feed Tommy cold milk. And he’d only changed his nappy once. Useless kidnappers!

  They were annoying, too. When Tommy wasn’t keeping me awake, the kidnappers were. I was locked in the campervan again, but I could hear them outside. Talking and laughing and making plans about what they’d do with the money. I listened to them counting it. Even in bundles of ten thousand dollars, it takes a long time to get to two million.

  Another thing kept me awake. My brain. It wouldn’t shut down. Even in those rare quiet moments when neither Tommy nor the kidnappers were disturbing me, my brain was ticking over. What if Franky Budd didn’t contact the police? What if he did, and the police thought I was just some smart kid playing a joke? What if the police couldn’t find the sawmill? I should have told Franky about the Crowford Kayaking Club.

  What if the police found the sawmill, but didn’t arrive in time?

  From what I’d overheard, I knew the kidnappers were planning to leave the sawmill first thing in the morning. But they’d said nothing about what they were going to do with Tommy. Or what their plans were for me. I had a very bad feeling about that. Tommy was no threat to them – he was just a baby. But I’d seen too much and I knew too much. I’d be able to identify any of the kidnappers if I saw them again. And I could give the police good descriptions. I must have fallen asleep finally, because I had a dream.

  I’m back in the steep narrow valley, practising for the heats of the Devil’s Run Skiing Championships. Suddenly I hear yelling. It’s not Princess Monica. It’s a man. I can’t hear exactly what he’s yelling, just a word here and there: WEAPONS … DOWN … GROUND! There are some crashing sounds, too. And the thump of boots running across an iron roof high above me. I look up. There’s no roof, only sky. And a cable car. Its door bursts open and something tumbles out. A baby! Launching myself forward with a double pole push, I shoot down the slope to catch it. But just before the baby lands in my arms, it morphs into Peewee.

  That’s when I woke up. I was no longer on Devil’s Mountain, I was back in the campervan. Lying in a sleeping bag in the cramped floor space. Someone was leaning over me. It was too dark to see who it was. I could hear shouting outside, loud men’s voices.

  ‘POLICE! DROP YOUR WEAPONS! GET DOWN ON THE GROUND!’

  Peewee’s voice was much softer. ‘Where’s the baby?’ he hissed, prodding me with his pistol.

  Tommy was in the sleeping bag with me. It was the best way to keep him warm.

  ‘I’ll get him,’ I said, wriggling out of the sleeping bag a little so I could reach round behind me.

  I was still half asleep, but I knew exactly what was going on. The police had arrived. They’d broken into the sawmill just before dawn to surprise the kidnappers while they were sleeping. But they hadn’t caught Peewee. He must have heard them coming and sneaked into the campervan without being seen. Now he was trapped. It was only a matter of moments before the police found him. That’s why he wanted Tommy. If he walked out of the campervan carrying the baby crown prince with a pistol pointed at him, the police would have to let him and the other kidnappers go.

  But I reckoned it was time the kidnappers stopped using Tommy as a hostage. My hands found what I was feeling around for in the campervan’s dark interior.

  ‘Catch!’ I said, and flung it in Peewee’s face.

  Sometimes you hear people say, ‘He didn’t know what hit him.’ It wouldn’t have been true this time. Peewee knew exactly what hit him.

  One of Tommy’s dirty nappies.

  ‘Urghhhh!’ he cried. His voice sounded muffled.

  Peewee dropped the pistol and clawed at his filthy face with both hands.

  Now he was an easy target. A hammer fist punch to the chest sent him smashing backwards through the flimsy door behind him.

  He landed at the feet of a tall, black-clad figure armed with a Heckler and Koch submachine gun.

  22

  DID YOU SAY FOUR?

  Sergeant Pringle of the SOG (Police Special Operations Group) asked me to remain in the campervan with Prince Thomas until the area was secure. He meant until all the kidnappers had been rounded up. Another officer stayed with us, keeping watch at the door. It was getting light outside. A new day and I was still alive. Even though the danger was all over, I found myself shaking.

  ‘Are you okay, son?’ the SOG officer asked.

  I guess he could hear my teeth chattering. It was embarrassing. ‘I’m fine,’ I said.

  ‘We’ll get the medic to check you out.’

  That was even more embarrassing.

  ‘I really am okay,’ I said.

  The medic was dressed the same as the others – black overalls and matching black helmet, and a black jacket with POLICE written on the back in large white letters. But instead of a submachine gun, he carried a medical kit. He gave Tommy a thorough examination, then it was my turn.

  ‘Been to the footy?’ he asked as he checked over my black eye.

  I realised I hadn’t washed my face since the boss painted it brown and yellow. ‘I went, but I didn’t get to see much of the action.’

  ‘That’s a shame. It was a really good game.’

  ‘Were you there?’ I asked.

  ‘I took my son along,’ the medic said, listening to my heart. ‘He goes to Hobart Grammar, too.’

  I was still wearing the uniform. I quickly changed the subject. ‘How’s Tommy?’

  ‘He’s a bit dehydrated, but overall the little prince has come through the whole ordeal with flying colours. Someone’s taken good care of him.’

  ‘Mr Mum,’ I said softly.

  Five minutes after our medical check-up, a helicopter landed outside. Two air ambulance officers came bustling in. But they weren’t interested in me. Strapping Tommy securely into a small stretcher pod, they whisked him away, flanked by four heavily armed SOG officers.

  ‘Royal cargo,’ Sergeant Pringle said, as we listened to the helicopter lift off. ‘Unfortunately, the rest of us have to drive. Ever ridden in a Hummer, Sam?’

  He finally let me out of the campervan. I noticed t
wo large, rectangular holes in the sawmill’s roof. Sergeant Pringle’s men must have quietly removed sheets of iron and slid down ropes while the kidnappers were asleep.

  But now it was all over. Except for an SOG officer standing guard at the door, and another guarding the backpack of ransom money, the building was deserted.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ I asked.

  ‘On their way back to headquarters with the prisoners,’ Sergeant Pringle said.

  ‘You guys work fast.’

  He nodded. ‘We have to, in situations like this. So we can catch them off guard. Four armed suspects, and they didn’t get time to fire off a single shot.’

  I didn’t remind him that he and his men hadn’t exactly caught Peewee off guard – I’d been the one to do that. Something else he said had set my heart racing.

  ‘Did you say four?’ I asked.

  Before the sergeant could answer, I heard the scuff of quick footsteps behind me. And felt something cold and hard pressed against the side of my head.

  ‘Tell your men to drop their guns, Sergeant,’ the boss said. ‘Or the kid gets it.’

  23

  SCREECH!

  The boss hadn’t been asleep when the SOG launched their raid. She must have been visiting the toilet and heard all the shouting. She’d hidden in a pile of sawdust down the back of the building, staying there until the arrests had been made and nearly everyone had left. Then she’d made her move.

  ‘Chauncy, Evans, put your weapons down,’ Sergeant Pringle told the other two SOG officers. He lay his own submachine gun on the floor near his feet.

  ‘Hands up, all three of you!’ shouted the boss. Her voice sounded really loud in my ear. ‘Walk away from your guns! Go and stand next to that big saw!’

  When the three SOG officers were lined up next to the saw, the boss shifted her pistol from the side of my head to my back. She gave me a vicious prod.

  ‘Get their handcuffs, Mr Mum. Lock them to the saw frame.’

  The three officers stood as still as statues while I clicked one end of their handcuffs around their wrists, the other end to the rusty iron frame of the giant circular saw.

  ‘Do them up nice and tight,’ the boss said.

  I had no choice but to obey her. I felt really bad.

  ‘Now get the handcuff keys,’ she ordered, ‘and chuck them to me.’

  When I turned around to toss her the keys, I saw that the boss had exchanged her pistol for Sergeant Pringle’s submachine gun. She slipped the keys into her pocket, then waved the evil-looking weapon at me.

  ‘Get the backpack, Mr Mum. We’re going for a drive.’

  She had a final message for Sergeant Pringle and his men before we left.

  ‘If anyone tries to follow us, or if there are roadblocks, the kid gets it.’

  We all knew she meant it.

  The boss made me walk ahead of her, carrying the backpack filled with money. There was a big black Hummer parked outside the sawmill with POLICE written on its door. We walked past it. The boss didn’t have to tell me where we were going. I made straight for the King Club.

  There was a blood-curdling screech. It was the most horrific sound I’d ever heard – worse than anything in a horror movie. And it was even more horrific the second time. As we walked towards the shed, there was a series of screeches, each one louder and more chilling than the one before it.

  ‘What is it?’ gasped the boss.

  My brain raced. ‘It’s just that lyrebird. They make all sorts of noises – not just chainsaws.’

  ‘I think I liked its chainsaw imitation better,’ the boss said.

  She’d bought it. She believed me.

  When we reached the shed, I hitched the backpack over one shoulder so I could open the roller door. As soon as the door slid up, the noise stopped. Just as I’d hoped.

  The boss prodded me in the spine with the barrel of the submachine gun.

  ‘Get into the car.’

  As I walked around the passenger side of the hatchback, I saw the devil staring out at me from the backseat. It looked fully recovered. Instead of retreating to the other end of the seat like a normal wild animal, it put its front paws on the window and opened its mouth in a silent snarl.

  Tassie devils’ mouths are huge. All I could see through the fogged-up glass was a big pink oval surrounded by teeth. The teeth were big and pointy and they looked razor sharp.

  I reached for the door handle.

  The boss was standing behind the car. A plastic sun protector on the outside of the rear window prevented her from seeing inside.

  ‘Not in the back,’ she told me. ‘I want you in the front where I can keep an eye on you.’

  ‘I’ll just put the money in the back,’ I said.

  I clicked the handle only halfway up, pretending it wouldn’t go any further.

  ‘The door’s locked,’ I said.

  The boss rolled her eyes. ‘I told Steve no one was going to steal a car around here!’ she grumbled.

  Switching the submachine gun from her right hand to her left, she fished the keys from her pocket and stepped forward to unlock the car door.

  I kept my fingers on the handle until the boss was about to walk past me, then I tugged the rear door open.

  24

  DEVIL DANGER

  You couldn’t blame the Tassie devil for being mad at us. First we’d run over it, then we’d left it locked in the car all night. It had a score to settle. Flying out of the backseat like a small black missile, it sank its teeth into the boss’s left arm, just below the elbow.

  It was the arm that held the submachine gun.

  There was a deafening burst of gunfire – Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam! – and a row of nine-millimetre bullet holes ripped across the concrete floor, narrowly missing the boss’s own foot.

  The devil got such a fright it let go of her arm and went scuttling out through the roller door to freedom.

  Everything had happened so quickly that the boss hadn’t even had time to scream.

  But she wasn’t the screaming type. Gritting her teeth, she dropped the gun and fell against the side of the hatchback, clutching her injured arm.

  I picked up the gun and pointed it at her. ‘Sorry about your arm,’ I said.

  The boss turned her eyes on me. I’ve never seen such a scary look – from a human.

  ‘You knew that animal was in the car, didn’t you?’

  ‘I put it there,’ I said.

  The boss nodded. ‘I should have shot you the first time we met.’

  ‘Then they’d be locking you up for murder, not just for kidnapping.’

  ‘Nobody’s locking me up,’ she said.

  Pushing herself upright, the boss picked up the backpack, which I’d dropped on the floor when I let the Tassie devil out, and flung it onto the backseat. Then she slammed the door.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I asked.

  ‘Leaving.’

  I raised the gun to my shoulder. ‘No you’re not.’

  She laughed. ‘You’re not going to shoot me, Mr Mum.’

  She was right – I could never shoot someone. I watched the boss tie her scarf around her bleeding arm. Then she walked around the other side of the car and got in.

  ‘So long,’ she said, and reversed out of the shed.

  I leaned the gun against a stack of kayaks and followed her out into the grey morning light. I felt tired and defeated, like you do when your footy team has lost the grand final. The boss had won.

  Or had she?

  The car stopped for about three seconds as the boss changed from reverse gear into first. That’s when I made my move. I rushed over, yanked the passenger door open, and jumped in next to her. The car had just started moving.

  ‘Hey!’ yelled the boss. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  I didn’t say anything. There wasn’t a plan in my head.

  I guess I just didn’t want her to get away after everything she had done.

  ‘Get out!’ she yelled, trying to d
rive with one hand and shove me back out the open door with the other.

  But I was sitting on her left – the same side as her hurt arm – so it was easy to fend her off. I didn’t fight too hard – I would never hit a woman – but when the boss elbowed me in the ribs for the third or fourth time, I grabbed her sore arm. It must have hurt. The boss screeched like a Tassie devil.

  ‘Stop the car,’ I said.

  Instead of stopping, she planted her foot on the accelerator. The car shot towards the bridge. I let go of the boss’s arm and grabbed the steering wheel instead, wrenching it sideways. The car veered to the left.

  It was heading straight for the river!

  ‘STOP!’ I yelled.

  The boss wasn’t listening. She hit me again with her elbow and tugged the steering wheel in the other direction. The car started to turn, but it wasn’t going to make it. I let go of the steering wheel, grabbed the handbrake and pulled it up as far as it would go.

  There was the sound of skidding tyres and the car spun in a circle. It came to rest, rocking slightly, on the very edge of the steep river bank.

  ‘Get out of my sight!’ she said.

  She shouldn’t have said it. Because her side of the little green hatchback was hanging over the river like one end of a see-saw. Only my weight was stopping it from tipping over the edge. I opened my door and stepped out.

  The boss’s eyes widened in fear. Almost in slow motion, the car tipped and skidded down over the edge.

  Oops, I thought.

  Luckily the car didn’t fall all the way down to the river. It came to rest three metres below me, wedged between the bank and one of the sturdy wooden bridge pylons.

  The driver’s window slowly rolled open.

  ‘Help me,’ the boss commanded. ‘I can’t get out.’

  I scrambled down the bank and looked in. The boss was right below me.

  ‘Help me out.’