June, as it turns out, is the expectant month, the pregnant pause. I know we can’t continue this way, we all know that. It’s all got to change and we need an alternative plan. But how do we convince the Canadian family to leave behind their cosseted faith and move into the expensive expanse of the unknown?
JULY 2009
Blink and you’ll miss Vancouver
Nigel
The Beach House
Wednesday,8 July
Captain Yahya tightens the reins even further. Before now, to get the boys’ attention when I needed the toilet or water I would stand up and knock on the door. The simple freedom of being able to stretch my legs is now gone. I’m ordered to bang a cup on the floor when I need something. It’s Abdullah’s duty to inform me of the new rule.
‘It is not my decision; the Captain says.’
These small indignities are the things I struggle with the most – I have come to terms with the chains and the isolation, but now having to bang a cup on the ground like a leper, strips me of all self-respect. I’m feeling more like an animal than a human being.
I hear Amanda sobbing for what seems like hours on end. The cracks are finally starting to show. She’s been strong for so long. I just wish I could reach out and tell her everything will be okay.
I manage to see her in the doorway; we have become brazen in trying to communicate, using the times when we wash for prayer to get a glimpse of each other. She’s standing there gesturing to her groin, using sign language and I suddenly realise what she’s implying. Having not had her period since we were taken, Amanda is menstruating, and judging by how distraught she is, they haven’t provided her with any sanitary products. I’m sure for the gang it comes down to money and them not wanting to spend it, especially on a woman. Maybe they treat their own wives like this, who knows? I can do nothing more than blow her a kiss and mouth ‘I love you’ before she disappears.
Saturday, 11 July
After dinner Jamal and Abdullah tell me I will soon take a call from a man in Australia. This man is going to give me my brother’s number and I am not to answer any questions.
Joseph walks in, handing me the phone. I recognise Adan’s voice on the other end. ‘Nigel.’
‘Hello, Adan,’ I reply, the static over the line making it hard to hear.
‘Yes, yes, Mr Nigel, it is Mr Adan. Um, hear you well, Mr William?’ he asks.
‘Yes, I am here,’ comes another voice. The accent is clearly not Australian; it sounds more German.
‘Hello, Nigel Brennan,’ I reply, unsure who I’m actually talking to.
‘Ah, yes, ah, okay, ah, Nigel, good evening. How can you hear me?’ he asks, the German accent now very strong as he stumbles over his words.
‘I can hear you okay,’ I reply.
He continues, ‘Can you, can you take down a telephone number, uh, so that you can talk, ah, to your bro directly?
‘Yah, and, ah, also one, one important question was, ah, what do you think is the best way forward?’ Yeah, I wish I knew, mate. Even if I did, it is too risky to convey it with the boys sitting around me and Adan on the line. Instead I repeat his question back to him.
‘Um, what is the best way forward?’
‘Yah, I mean, ah, um —’ before he gets the chance to finish Adan cuts in over the top saying, ‘The line cut, the line cut.’ There is irritation in his voice.
‘No, it’s okay; I’ll, ah, give you the number,’ Mr William says, sounding defeated. Then, painfully slowly, he gives me the digits of Ham’s phone number. After that, the line goes dead. I’m annoyed that Adan has cut the call but I feel certain that I’ve got the number right. Once I’ve handed the phone back, the boys are eager to know what was said. I rack my brain about exactly what is going on. The unanswered questions bounce around my head: who was I speaking with? How did he get my brother’s number? But most importantly, will I actually get the chance to talk to Ham?
Nicky
Moore Park
Saturday, 11 July
Ham’s newest contact, the Professor, gets a direct line in to the kidnappers using an alias and asks to speak with Nigel. He passes on Hamilton’s phone number and advises Nigel to call ‘his bro’. All this is going on without the rest of the family being aware of it.
Adan calls Ham a couple of times, possibly to check the Professor’s bona fides. All the while, Ham is juggling work – supervising the building of a bridge – and taping calls to pass on to us.
Ham asks the AFP for negotiator assistance and the request is denied. Hardly a surprise as the relationship between Ham and the government is pretty sour. It’s dangerous ground to be on: I feel like the little help we have at the moment could be pulled because of these personality differences. Ham doesn’t care that we are over a barrel; to him assistance is just K-Y Jelly. He’s of the opinion we are going to be buggerised by the government regardless, all that’s missing is the gimp mask and billiard ball.
The government’s stance is that it will not provide assistance for a strategy they have not implemented. If we have tasked someone else to negotiate the release of Nigel and Amanda, they must step back.
We haven’t tasked anyone. All we are after is a proof of life and this professor guy is saying to Ham he can get one. I go over all my strategy notes with Ham and give him a crash course; I recommend he tells them loud and clear that we’ve sold everything, we’re not holding out, and this is it. He should use the ‘selling off’ line to explain the extra money we now have. Ultimately, though, he’ll have to fend for himself.
Tuesday, 14 July
Kristine from Australian Story has done a pretty remarkable thing. She knows we are on the hunt for credible private crisis-response companies and has done a bit of research into who trains the ABC journos when they go into inhospitable places.
She passes on the name of an English company called AKE – Andrew Kane Enterprises, Kane being Maggie Thatcher’s right-hand security detail while she was the Iron Maiden. AKE insures journalists from the ABC, CBC and NBC. As well, she’s tracked down the number of their director – John Chase. At the risk of losing him as a major part of her story, Kristine is on the phone to me straightaway.
‘There are days when I need to put my job aside and be a human being, and today is one of those days. You need to phone John Chase.’
I count back the hours to UK time. It’s 4 a.m. over there. Should I hold off for a couple of hours?
Bugger it. I’ll leave a message.
‘Hi, this is John Chase, leave a message and I will get back to you.’ Oh, he sounds very English. I’m a sucker for an accent.
Deep breath. ‘Hi, John. My name is Nicky Bonney; I’m calling from Australia. My brother is the photojournalist who has been kidnapped in Somalia. I was wondering if I could talk to you in regards to this.’
By the time John calls back, AKE has been solidly Googled. Si and I chuckle over one of its principles: ‘The Indispensable Virtues of Humour and Humility’. They’re so going to need that when dealing with our lot. I silently hope it’s not humour of the Benny Hill variety.
The first thing John states is that we have to negotiate for both Amanda and Nigel. We have to get the two families working together. I explain to him that this is a major stumbling block, that Jon and Lorinda have unshakeable faith in the RCMP.
‘Look, I have worked with the RCMP,’ says John. ‘I’ve just had a kidnapping case of a Canadian citizen in Afghanistan.’
Bingo! I think. This is the guy.
‘I’m going to be in Vancouver in late July. Maybe I can talk to Amanda’s family when I’m there?’
‘Oh, Kel, he sounds great,’ I say when I report back to the rest of the family.
‘What’s he going to cost?’ is Ham’s response.
‘Hammy, I don’t know. We didn’t get into that.’
‘Yeah, well, Mick’s only going to charge for expenses.’
‘Ham, Lorinda is so pissed off with you both, she will never agree to Mick getting Am
anda out. She thinks you’re both the devil’s spawn. I don’t think it was a great relationship but this guy’s worked with the RCMP. That’s the point we need to push with Lorinda.’
‘The chances of talking her around are pretty fucking slim.’
I don’t disagree with him. But in my gut I know John Chase is our best chance yet of convincing Lorinda to go with a private company. This has to be a softly, softly approach, but I’m sure it means more indigestion for me. Bet I’m getting an ulcer.
Nigel
The Beach House
Wednesday, 22 July
Almost eleven months after I last spoke to my family, Romeo informs me that my brother will call later that night. I have to prepare a statement.
Ham is three years older than me and we are incredibly close. I saw him as a hero figure while I was growing up. That said, I’m a bit worried that he has been put in charge of the negotiations, knowing that he is way too emotional and aggressive to act coolly in this sort of situation.
I draft the statement while Romeo constantly asks what I will say, adding his two bob’s worth. For the rest of the day I psych myself up. As darkness approaches, my anxiety levels jump. I’m nervous that I won’t be able to pull myself together once I hear Ham’s voice. Romeo comes in after dinner. The call is only minutes away. He is soon accompanied by Jamal and Abdullah.
I sit there as Romeo goes over the rules of engagement.
‘Do not answer any questions, read the statement only and do not talk about Amanda, understand?’ There’s a hard edge to his voice. Suddenly I hear the conference call being made from the other room, then Captain Yahya walks in, phone in one hand, pistol in the other. I’m holding the phone to my ear, and dread pushes down on my chest. I hear Adan’s voice, then Ham’s.
‘Ham, Ham, it’s Nige.’ I try to maintain my composure but the tears roll down my cheeks. At last my family will know for certain that I’m still alive.
I struggle to get the words of my statement out as my throat clamps up; my chest tightens with each gasping breath.
‘Mate, I’m hearing you, Nige,’ Ham replies. I know it’s just as hard for him to hear this as it is for me to say.
‘Ask Mum and Dad and the family to pay, to pay for my release —,’ there’s desperation in my voice, and I feel disgust at myself as these words pass my lips.
‘I want to come home,’ I bawl, my self-control lost. I’m no longer able to hold it back.
Romeo is in front of me, tapping the paper, gesturing for me to stick to the script. Trying to steel myself, I say, ‘Ham, they are saying you must pay this money or else they will kill me. I know it’s a lot of money, I know you are doing everything you can. I’m so sorry for the hurt and pain I’ve caused all of you —’ Ham cuts me off.
‘Mate, don’t stress about that, don’t stress about that. You haven’t done this on purpose so don’t stress about that. We all love you, mate, you know that? So just hang tough, all right?’ Romeo, anger etched across his face, snaps his fingers then points to the paper, instructing me to continue.
I’m certain the call will end at any moment. Under pressure to get the words out I say, ‘You’ve got to listen, you have to talk with these people, you have to try to pay this money as soon as possible. Please, please, please, this is my life, Ham.’ Now I’m a complete wreck, sobbing uncontrollably and hating myself as I beg for my life.
There is a softness in his voice. ‘I understand, mate, I know, I know what you are saying.’ Then the phone goes dead.
Sitting there, my face wet, snot running from my nose, I’m sick with guilt. I try to regain my composure but there’s no time as Romeo starts firing questions at me.
‘What does your brother say to you? How much money do they have? Why do they not pay?’
I relay what has been said during the conversation, saying it loudly, hoping that Amanda will be able to hear. As always, they leave me once I have satisfied them.
I’m left alone in the dark and I bury my head under the pillow and completely lose it.
Nicky
Moore Park
Wednesday, 22 July
The call from Nige comes through. Afterwards, Ham plays the call to us over Skype. Nige sounds scripted, similar to Amanda’s calls. Ham tries to make it as familiar as he can.
‘G’day, black dog, howyagoin mate?’
Nige’s response is automatic. ‘Yeah, all right.’
This is owed to years of Mum drumming into us when we were kids that unless you’re carrying your head under your arm, there’s nothing wrong with you. Then he realises what he has said and corrects himself, ‘Aah, not really that great.’
He sounds really upset. He’s sick and passing blood then goes through a textbook of ailments he has had. If it weren’t so serious, it would be the perfect opportunity to take the piss out of him. In the past, if Nige was sick and didn’t get sympathy from us, he’d take himself off to the doctor to a chorus of deserved ridicule.
Nige goes on to say that he’s chained up in a dark room and has been isolated. Does he mean from Amanda? I assume so. That is not good to hear – we Brennans are gregarious by nature. Being isolated is going to be really tough on him. There’s no clean water and very little food. All his thoughts are ‘very dark at the moment, I don’t know how much more I can take’.
I don’t like the way he has phrased that at all, it sends a chill through me. Nige pauses in conversation – it sounds like he’s fortifying himself or gathering his thoughts.
Ham talks over him, telling Nige about what we’ve done at this end.
‘We’ve sold houses, mate, we have, we have sold houses. Rouen Road has been sold, I’ve sold Cairns, we’ve sold houses, but these guys don’t understand the government doesn’t give a fuck. They’re never going to give us one dollar, the government; the Australian government and Canadian government will never give us one dollar, so we have sold houses, we’ve sold cars, we’ve done everything we can but these guys still think we can raise a million dollars.’ There’s frustration in Ham’s voice.
Ham starts laying into the Nairobi cell, heartily criticising them. He compares the difficultly in raising money to how hard it would be for Adan if we stole his kids or wife.
Ham then tries to calm Nige. ‘It’s okay, mate, I know you didn’t do this on purpose. Shit happens.’
It is so amazing to finally hear his voice after so long. The relief is liberating. I am crying and laughing at Ham, especially at the end of the call. The ‘Ah, fuck me dead’ said and recorded by Ham after Adan had hung up captures the full gamut of emotions, the sadness and the frustration. I see the humour in it – how else do you end a call from a kidnapper?
The call confirms Nige is alive. That’s what matters. Ham, I decide, is a legend. He got what the government couldn’t, a proof of life.
Kellie
Newcastle
Mid-July
A lot has happened this week.
Heather and Aunt Alison, who has lived in British Columbia for the last thirty years, had a doozy of an argument over the phone. Alison is convinced that the Canadian government can use her US$250K, plus the money we already have, to get Nige and Amanda out. A young chap in the RCMP has told her so. There’s no convincing Alison otherwise.
Jon and Lorinda are still on board with their government too. They have ‘biblical faith’ that the RCMP and DFAIT, the Canadian version of DFAT, are going to get Nige and Amanda out.
The family is in turmoil. Ham and Heather still want us to task Mick F. Geoff and Heather are fighting because of her argument with Alison. Nic and Si are madly investigating third parties. All of us are going back over DFAT and the AFP’s strategies to find somewhere to start on our own. And this is all completely futile if the Canadian family wants to stick with the RCMP. Fissures are starting to open up within the family. A thought keeps nagging: This situation is going to claim a marriage and I need to make sure it’s not mine.
I head off to bed after another exhausting day of
where-to-next thoughts going over and over in my head.
I wake early the next morning and Matt and I have another 5 a.m. discussion about what to do next.
Matt, in a moment of clarity, says, ‘We have no choice but to go this alone, and we have to get the Canadians on board. We have to go to Canada.’
I get out of bed and head to the shower. I do my best thinking there – for some reason it helps me to see my path clearly. I call out to Matt.
‘I’m going to ring Nic and suggest that she and I go to Canada, and if she can’t afford it then we will pay for her ticket. Is that okay?’
‘Kel, it’s the only way forward.’
‘All right. Let’s do it.’
I get on the phone to Nic. We talk it through. She thinks it’s a brilliant idea but is concerned about the cost.
My phone rings on the way to the shop. It’s Matt with the news that Heather and Alison are going to foot the bill for the trip. John Chase is in Canada at the moment as well, and it’ll give us an opportunity to talk to him.
I hang up and the immensity of what’s about to happen starts to roll in on me like a king tide.
All right then, I think to myself, I’m going to Canada.
Nicky
Mid-July
Kellie calls with an unexpected proposition.
‘Hey, Nic. How would you like to go to Canada?’
I focus hard on the St Andrew’s Cross spider web stretching from roof to verandah rail, something to fix on so I don’t cry. We don’t have any money, our loans have been called in, the house has gone, and we are only borderline keeping the farm. I feel panic rising; I can’t even come close to buying a plane ticket to Canberra, let alone Canada.
Then Mum calls with an offer to pay for the tickets. This is one big roll of the dice and we are dipping into the ransom coffers. If this doesn’t work, we won’t be recouping those funds.
The Price of Life Page 26