by Gary Kemble
A folder, with a bunch of spreadsheets inside it. ‘SC accounts – 2005–current’.
‘Bingo,’ Harry said.
CHAPTER 25
Harry got into work early, set his cup of coffee beside his keyboard and logged in. His morning run was becoming pleasurable, an antidote to the nightmares. He sipped his drink, thinking about Nick Swenson, wondering if he could be trusted. His motives seemed genuine, even if Harry’s were slightly concealed. Nick was right – land developers were an easy target. They were never popular when they moved into inner-city areas and started throwing their weight around. The people who lived in those areas had carved out a niche, in many cases mortgaging themselves up to the hilt to do so, and they didn’t appreciate someone coming in and downgrading their investment.
Harry slotted the memory stick in. He opened the files and copied them onto his hard drive, emailed them to his private account, and uploaded them onto his storage space in the cloud. He didn’t want this evidence to go missing, as had happened at uni. Harry scrolled through pages and pages of spreadsheets, not really looking for anything in particular, just trying to get a sense of the task ahead of him. It was monumental. It was beyond him, to be honest. He wished he’d taken his mum’s advice and done a business major at uni, instead of double journalism.
He looked back over the notes he’d jotted down while going through his Cherry Grove folder. Searched for the names of the front companies he’d located: Bright Wing Holdings, Orange Water Pty Ltd, Circle Diagnostics Inc. Nothing. That made sense. Harry had had to apologise for the story and retract it, but it was still published. Other journalists would have checked out the accusations and Swenson would’ve known he had to shut down those front companies, just in case. Harry searched again, this time breaking down the front companies into their component parts: Bright; Wing; Orange; Water; Circle; Diagnostics. Plenty of hits on those words, but there was no pattern he could see. Harry shook his head.
The one thing that was blatantly obvious, even without a business degree, was the company’s rapid decline in 2008. The company dropped into the red that year, and its condition worsened each year since. Harry didn’t know how much they were hoping to make off The Towers, but it would need to be a lot to turn the company’s fortunes around.
He spun in his chair, saw Christine come through the front door. She looked at her reflection and checked her hair. Harry watched her for a moment, then turned away.
The year 2008. Swenson Constructions heads south. Geoff Lane and John Birmingham killed in Afghanistan. Tim Daniels and Justin Middleton die in a Black Hawk crash off Fiji. Rob Johnson survives – just. Andrew Cardinal wins preselection for the Labor Party after leaving the military. Coincidence? Harry didn’t believe in such a thing anymore.
Harry checked his bookmarks and found the conspiracy theory forum. He scrolled to SASmate’s post, then clicked on his name and checked his general stats. He’d last posted on the forum a couple of weeks earlier, on a thread about the continuing troubles in Afghanistan. Harry couldn’t send him a message without joining the forum, so he signed up. He thought about his username. He didn’t want to use his real name. But he didn’t want anything too flippant either. Tainted Scribe. He smiled to himself. He wrote a quick email to SASmate, telling him he was working on a follow-up on the Black Hawk crash – would he be interested in commenting?
He hit ‘Send’ just as Christine sat down next to him.
‘Morning,’ she said.
‘Morning, Chris.’
She sipped her coffee. ‘What’re you working on?’
Harry paused, considering. She was right, he needed to open up to her more. He moved his chair closer to hers.
‘I think Swenson has been up to his old tricks,’ he said.
‘Huh?’
‘Or rather, he hasn’t been up to his old tricks. And the lack of the tricks means the company’s about to go down the gurgler.’
‘What!’
‘Yep. Now, I’ve just got to prove it,’ Harry said. ‘I don’t have enough to go to print yet, so just keep it under your hat, okay?’
‘Sure thing. And, Harry?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Be careful.’
‘Don’t you start.’
Harry got back to work. He opened a stack of text documents, one for each aspect of the story, and wrote down everything he knew, everything he could prove, and everything he suspected. He lost himself in his work. He could see a story, or maybe a couple of stories, coming together. It sounded wanky, so he never told anyone, but sometimes when he wrote he felt like a sculptor. He started with big chunks of marble and then gradually chipped away, following the lines in the stone, bringing the shape out and refining it.
Harry’s phone rang. He picked it up.
‘Harry?’
‘Jess.’
‘I’ve got something exciting to tell you,’ she said. ‘Well, it’s not so much to tell you, as to show you.’
Harry could hear the emotion in her voice.
‘Actually, so have I,’ he said, thinking of the new tattoo. ‘Do you want to come over after work?’
‘Sure thing.’
He gave her his address, and they decided on a time.
‘Great, Harry. I’ll see you then.’
CHAPTER 26
Harry stood at the front window, watching as Jess climbed out of the car. She looked beautiful, dressed in her white blouse and black skirt. There was someone else in the car.
Jess walked around the car and opened the passenger door. Harry caught a flash of white, but Jess was blocking the view. Then Jess stepped back and he saw the woman. Her face looked so dark, framed by the white hijab.
Harry moved to the front steps and watched, silent, as they walked through the front gate. Jess saw Harry’s expression and smiled.
‘You’re not the only investigative journalist around here,’ she said.
The other woman smiled, but Harry thought it was more through politeness. At the bottom of the steps she stopped and looked up at Harry.
‘This is Afsoon,’ Jess said. ‘Ahmed’s wife.’
Harry stood there, stunned. Then Afsoon crossed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him. She released him, and they shook hands. He stood back, looked at her.
‘Please, come in,’ he said.
As she walked past him, into the house, he shook his head. Afsoon. Ahmed’s wife. He pulled Jess to one side and spoke into her ear.
‘How?’ Harry said. ‘How did you find her?’
‘You know that dream I told you about? The one in the kitchen?’
Harry nodded.
‘It must’ve been when they went to get the tattoo, after the run-in at the Shelter Bar. I had the dream again, and this time I saw a bill on the fridge. With their full name.’
He ushered them through to the kitchen, doing a quick clean-up on the way, mumbling apologies for the state of the house. He didn’t really know what he was saying, just couldn’t keep quiet. He put the kettle on, rummaging around in the cupboards for three cups.
‘I can see Rob in you,’ Afsoon said.
‘You should see me with my shirt off.’
He realised how that must’ve sounded. Blushed. ‘I mean, the tattoos.’
Afsoon laughed. They sat down together at the table. Outside, the light was fading from the sky. Afsoon’s hijab glowed in the gloom.
‘How is Ahmed? Is he working tonight?’ Harry said. Then stopped, realising why Afsoon’s husband wasn’t with them.
‘He was killed,’ Afsoon said. ‘Shot, like a dog.’
She folded her hands on the table in front of her, stared at them.
‘I’m sorry for your loss.’
Afsoon and Jess sat at the table in silence, while Harry finished making the tea and brought it over.
‘Rob was a great man,’ Afsoon said. ‘I can remember when Ahmed phoned me from Christmas Island. This was many months after he left. I had thought he was dead.
‘He told me the story.
He told he about how Rob pulled him out of the clutches of that cold, angry sea.
‘He told me how the soldiers could have stayed away. Should have stayed away. But they came anyway. And they saved as many as they could. Brave, brave men.’
Harry shivered, remembering the nightmare. Afsoon sipped her tea.
‘When they got back to Christmas Island they were checking the survivors, deciding which needed to go to hospital and which straight to detention. Rob asked about the tattoos. And Ahmed told him.’
Harry nodded. He felt humbled. He gestured to the tattoo on his neck.
‘What does this do, exactly?’
‘It’s an old symbol. Older than any of the tribes in Afghanistan. It will protect you from your enemies. The symbol itself is only part of it. My husband had. . . skills.
‘That was part of the reason he had to flee our homeland.’
Afsoon pulled up her sleeve, revealing an arm covered in ink. Harry recognised one set of symbols – the same as on his and Jess’s necks. The rest were in a similar style.
‘These were no trouble for me,’ she said. ‘I was covered all of the time. From head to foot. You know, the full burqa.
‘But the men, they were not so lucky.’
She circled a symbol with her finger, over and over again.
‘This symbol, like all these symbols, has been handed down from generation to generation. Like any sigil, its strength derives not just from the lines but from the way they are applied. Only the Mullah Sensees – magical healers, magicians like my husband – know how to apply them properly.
‘This symbol is a curse and a blessing. It seeks to protect the wearer. If this is not possible, it seeks vengeance on those responsible for harming the wearer.’
‘What do you remember of that night? The night they came for Ahmed?’ he asked.
Afsoon looked taken aback by the question.
‘I know it’s painful, but I think I can bring these men to justice, and I think I can do it without shedding blood.’
Afsoon nodded. A stiff up-and-down motion. ‘I understand.’
‘Can I talk to you on the record?’
Afsoon shrugged. ‘I told the police everything. There were stories in the newspapers at the time, on TV. I don’t understand. . .’
‘Please,’ Harry said. This time Afsoon nodded, and swallowed. Harry got his notebook and phone and returned to the table. He set his phone up to record.
‘Can you talk me through that night?’
‘It was dinner time,’ Afsoon said, glancing down. ‘Little Wasim was in his high chair, throwing food off his fork. Ahmed was driving taxis then, but he had the night off. It wasn’t his choice. Work phoned him and told him the car was in getting fixed.
‘So he was home, and I was dishing up dinner. It was nice, you know? Most nights, he worked. And then there was a knock at the front door. Ahmed had nothing to fear. We had nothing to fear. Occasionally some kids would throw stones on our roof, tell us to go home. . .’
She shrugged, as though this was nothing, given what they’d gone through to get to Australia.
‘Even after Rob confided in him and he marked Rob and Kyla, he had no reason to fear anybody.
‘And yet. . . I had that feeling. In that moment when he walked to the door, I knew.
‘Does that make sense?’
She clutched a tissue in one hand, then dabbed her eyes with it. It did make sense. It made perfect sense. Even before all this, Harry had been in situations where something, some force, had tried to warn him of impending calamity. He thought, deep down, that he knew Bec was going to break up with him as he walked up to the apartment that day.
‘I knew. And I pushed it away. I had a saucepan in my hands, you know? I was busy.’
She threw her hands up, pushed the air out of her mouth with a sharp hiss. ‘How many times have I wished I could take that back? But you can’t take those moments back, can you?’
Jess held Afsoon’s hand.
‘The screen door opened. There was a massive bang and I knew what it was. I knew from back home what a gun sounds like. A shotgun. And my first thought. . .’
You used a shottie.
She was crying openly now. Hands over her eyes as though she should be ashamed of it.
‘My first thought was of little Wasim! I ran to him and he was crying but he was okay. Just scared. And then I turned. . .
‘Ahmed was on the floor. The blast had thrown him across the lounge. There was blood on the floor. A lot of blood. I ran to the door. I don’t know why but I ran to the door.
‘I don’t know what I thought I could do. Get myself killed too!’
‘What did you see?’ Harry said. He was prepared for her to say ‘nothing’. But his premonition was wrong.
‘I saw a man running away. There was a car out front. As he ran under the streetlight he turned. I flinched. I thought if he saw me there he’d come back.’
‘What did he look like?’ Harry said.
‘Dirty jeans. Black t-shirt. I noticed the tattoos,’ Afsoon said, holding up her arms. ‘I always notice the tattoos. He had those European designs, interweaving bands. . .’
‘Celtic bands?’ Jess said.
‘Yes! And a tear. Tattooed under one eye.’
Harry didn’t make a big show of it, but he felt like punching the air. It was shaky, but it was coming together. He thought he could write a story about this.
Jess shook her head.
‘You said that your son is living with you – Ahmed was murdered there. Why hasn’t the tattoo manifested?’
‘I don’t know,’ Afsoon said. ‘I have seen this tattoo work. One time, back in Afghanistan, Ahmed was out tending the goats and he trod on a land mine. But it didn’t explode until he was safely out of range.
‘Another time – just before he escaped into Pakistan – the Taliban came to collect him. To take him away. They drove over one of their own bombs. All dead.
‘But this,’ she gestured to the tattoos on Harry’s body, even though she couldn’t see them. ‘This is a mystery to me. Something is different.’
Harry thought about Rob’s body, under the house. And about Kyla’s, under Jess’s. He held his tongue. He didn’t want Jess finding out like this.
‘Is there any way we can reverse the spell?’ Jess asked.
Afsoon shook her head.
‘No. This is old magic. Older than the American invaders. Older than the Taliban. Older than the Russians, and the British who came before them. Older than the Mongols. This magic is as old as the mountains themselves and, like the mountains, eternal.
‘This will only end when justice has been done.’
‘Justice?’
‘Justice. If the people who did this are brought to justice, it will end.’
‘As in, courts? Jail?’ Harry said.
Afsoon shrugged. ‘Harry, I could be wrong. But the magic is borne of blood. I would say this magic would require blood to satisfy it.’
CHAPTER 27
Afternoon rush-hour traffic clogged the Stones Corner roundabout. Irate commuters hunched in their cars, windows up, everyone cocooned in their own world of talk radio or music or podcasts – whatever it was that got them through.
Harry had spent the day in a daze. Partly from the lack of sleep. Partly from Afsoon’s revelations. And partly just from being with Jess.
It was past midnight when she returned to Harry’s after dropping Afsoon home. While she was out, Harry went over his notes and played back the interview. Ahmed had confided in his wife some of Rob’s concerns leading up to his death. Magic was a big deal for them. Ahmed had not performed any since arriving in Australia. He said that was part of his old life. He was leaving it all behind. Afsoon had trouble enough getting him to speak Pashto around the house.
That all changed when Rob turned up on his doorstep, wanting to quiz him about the ‘protection’ tattoo Ahmed wore. After all these years, Rob had remembered the story Ahmed had told him in the aftermath
of the Fajar Baru incident. A story about a special tattoo that would protect the wearer from harm or, failing that, wreak vengeance on the wearer’s enemies.
Harry shook his head. Shit – Rob must’ve been desperate.
Ahmed tried to tell Rob that all that was in the past, but then Rob spilled his guts. Telling Ahmed about the drug deal, the massacre in Afghanistan, the rape. About how Andrew Cardinal had tried to cover his tracks. Bury the story so deep it would never see the light of day.
When Jess got back, he poured two big glasses of red wine and they sat out in the back garden, listening to the possums scratching about in the mango tree. Harry filled her in on all the latest on the Swenson story, and how it seemed to tie in with Cardinal. Harry copied the Swenson Construction documents for Jess. She was going to turn her eye for shonky deals onto it.
Harry felt as though he had a future with Jess. It was stupid. She was married. And he’d only been away from Bec a matter of weeks. Less than a month ago, they’d had their routine. Monday night watching the ABC. Late-night shopping on Thursday. Sleep-in on Saturday. Sunday morning at the New Farm markets. He thought he was so in love with her. And now. . .
Things just felt so easy with Jess. He’d never believed in soul mates. But now he wasn’t so sure. Jess slept in his bed, while he took the couch. He wanted more. And he felt she wanted more. But Christine had shown his radar wasn’t really working that well right now. Was this another rebound? Or was Rob asserting himself, projecting his feelings for Kyla?
Harry stood now on the pavement for a moment, staring at Stones Corner Tattoo. The building sagged with the weight of existence. The front windows were painted – Stones Corner Tattoo, and then underneath, ‘Brisbane’s first, Brisbane’s best’ – so it was impossible to see inside. A thick coating of grime covered the glass.
Harry walked past the front door, scoping the place out. Always have an escape plan. The thought came from nowhere, but it made sense. He was scared. He didn’t know why. He’d visited West End Tattoo a couple of times, but this place had a different vibe.
He kept walking and saw the Harleys parked out the back. Saddlebags proclaiming the Dreadnorts Motorcycle Club. Harry felt the adrenaline drop into his system. He clutched his notebook like a shield and crossed the road.