by Peter Cotton
‘Yes,’ said Peterson. ‘Go on.’
I eyed the stranger, and looked inquiringly at Peterson.
‘Oh, forgetting my manners,’ he said, affecting an embarrassed laugh. ‘This is John Stacey. From the Security Coordination Centre. John’ll have a hand in your debriefing.’
The Centre worked on counter-terrorism and high-order crime that affected national security. That made Stacey a very senior spook.
The four of them closed in on either side of my bed, and I told them everything I could remember, starting with the events of the previous evening: being approached by Jade’s boyfriend in the Jervis Bay store; my ride out to Steeple Bay and subsequent capture; the highly organised force of masked men; their apparent connection with the attack on Creswell; their ‘altercation’ with Manassa and Bynder; Manassa’s death; my conversation with Bynder; his claim that the masked men had murdered Kylie Stevens and John Sheridan; his swimming off; and my time in the water with Jade.
When I told them how the masked men had taken the trawler out to the open ocean, Peterson nodded at Trainor, and she whipped out her phone and left the room. I didn’t dwell too much on the sharks in my recounting. I thought I’d finished, and then I remembered the rumour Jade had heard about a tunnel emerging inside Creswell.
When I told them about that, Peterson and Stacey exchanged a glance that I couldn’t interpret. When they looked back at me, they both wore the same grim expression.
‘Jade might have more details,’ I said. ‘If she’s up to talking.’
‘I’m afraid she’s not,’ said Peterson. ‘Miss Rawlins hasn’t regained consciousness, and the docs doubt she will.’
It may have been the shock of this news, or maybe my medication was finally kicking in, but on hearing Jade’s prognosis, the world around me shifted somehow and I passed out.
17
In my dream, three blurred images hung like ghosts over the bay. The pixels in the first one rearranged themselves into a picture of Jade looking up from the sidecar, relieved and grateful to have been rescued. The second image resolved into a smiling Jade, the one I’d seen seconds after she’d found her grandfather’s hiding spot in the desert. The final image was of Jade being attacked by a shark.
One by one, the images floated down like dead leaves and disappeared into a flat red cloud that hung low over the middle of the bay. Father Radcliffe ascended out of the cloud. He was wearing his billowing cassock, and his hands were wrapped around the Spanish crucifix, which he lifted high above his head. ‘Jade needs our protection,’ he said, and he pulled the blade from the crucifix and sliced the air with it a few times. Jade screamed, and I turned to see her and the shark rising from the cloud. She was flailing desperately in the shark’s jaws, and both she and the shark were covered in blood.
‘The only thing that’ll save her now,’ said Radcliffe, in a deep and serious tone, ‘is to kill the thieves who stole the black man’s land. It’s no sin. And no one will miss them.’
‘What about black women?’ I said. ‘What about their land? And how is killing anyone going to help Jade?’
Radcliffe’s cassock morphed into a black cloak, fire built in his eyes, his skin went pale, and his scowling mouth looked as though it’d been pencilled on. I shook my head, desperate to escape the nightmare. The movement jarred the scene, but didn’t erase it. It took Trainor to do that.
‘Glass,’ she said. ‘Glass, are you with us?’
‘Of course I’m with you,’ I said. ‘I’m not in the water, am I? Not now.’
Trainor’s face shifted strangely. Then it bled out of her head altogether. I closed my eyes and opened them. I was relieved to see her head and face had merged again. The ripples on her forehead were perfectly parallel, except for the pinched furrow above her nose, which broke the alignment. I examined my observations and realised the pain medication was affecting my thoughts and perceptions. I had to focus. Turn my mind to what really mattered. Things were not good with Jade. I needed the details.
‘She’s no good,’ I said. ‘Jade.’
‘Ms Rawlins suffered major trauma to her upper body,’ said Peterson, looming over me. ‘A punctured diaphragm, a pierced scapula, and a ripped lung. Her ribcage and upper stomach were exposed in the attack …’
‘Okay, Commander,’ said Stacey, shaking his head. ‘That’s more than enough.’
‘Terrible …’ I said, Jade’s condition penetrating. ‘Just terrible.’
I tried to sit up, but general giddiness forced me back onto my pillows.
‘And the attack?’ I said, ‘You guys took a pounding?’
‘There were twenty-two in the force that attacked our outer perimeter,’ said Peterson, grave and reflective. ‘They all carried packs of explosives and essentially blew their way in. We lost twelve in that fight, but we finished them before they could penetrate further. So, our defences held.’
‘They blew themselves up?’
‘Correct. Or blew each other up. It was a suicidal bloodbath out there.’
‘And this tunnel business. Onto the base. Do you rate it?’
Peterson looked at Stacey. McHenry and Trainor followed his gaze.
‘We’d already heard the rumour,’ said Stacey, in a monotone that could’ve been mistaken for disinterest. ‘It surfaced at Steeple Bay about forty-eight hours ago. We haven’t identified the source, and we don’t expect to, given the nature of these things. In any case, we don’t believe an illicit access exists, but we’ve got the sonar team looking at it, and we’ll bolster our defences until we can rule it out.’
‘Safety first,’ said Peterson. ‘Always safety first. But you’ve got to ask yourself, if the enemy knew a way onto the base, why didn’t they use it to mount their attack? Why would they employ suicide vests to pierce our defences if they could walk straight in? Doesn’t make sense.’
‘The Commander makes a fair point,’ said Stacey, suddenly reflective. ‘And without wishing to pre-empt our investigation, you should understand that rumours like this are straight from the terrorists’ playbook. Mount an audacious attack. Put the fear of God into your enemy. Degrade their morale with distortions and rumours. Then strike again.’
‘Sounds fair and reasonable,’ I said. ‘But the guy on the boat? The boss cocky? I don’t know why, but I got a strong sense that the attack wasn’t the be-all-and-end-all for him. The way he treated it was secondary somehow. Like it was a means to an end.’
‘Your point, Detective?’ said Peterson.
‘In the lead-up to the attack,’ I said, ‘and in the minutes after it started, that guy did not behave as you’d expect. He had his back to Creswell most of that time, and he was intent on one thing: getting us off the trawler and onto the launch he’d come in.’
‘Why was that so important to him?’ said Stacey.
‘He wanted us there to kill us — don’t ask me why — but once he had us on the launch, he couldn’t do the job until the fireworks here started. Otherwise you’d have been alerted that something was up before they launched their attack. The thing is, if I were a senior player like him, the attack on this place would’ve had my whole attention, and I certainly wouldn’t have allowed myself to get side-tracked by some executions.’
‘What would you have been doing?’ said Trainor.
‘I’d have been in the wheelhouse of the trawler, riveted as the attack unfolded. I’d have been expectant and anxious, and obviously so. Unlike that guy. It’s why I think the attack could be part of a process, and not the end game. And if that’s the case, then maybe this tunnel story isn’t so far-fetched. Because if there is a secret tunnel onto the base, maybe they didn’t want to burn it first time round. Does that make sense?’
‘Some sense,’ said Stacey, though he seemed doubtful. ‘The debriefing team will explore it with you later. Anything else you can give us right now?’
‘Just bef
ore he swam off,’ I said, ‘Bynder said something that fits with my feelings about the head goon’s disposition — about this attack being only the start of something. As I said before, Bynder told me that the whole point of the effort was to punish white Australia. And then he said that once the dust had settled on the business they were engaged in, that’s all that would be left around here — dust.’
‘Were those his exact words?’ said Stacey, suddenly keyed up. ‘Is that precisely what he said?’
‘As close as I can recall.’
I looked at Peterson. He, too, was suddenly perplexed. About what? Bynder’s prediction that people would be turned to dust?
‘It may be worse than I thought,’ said Peterson, his eyes drilling Stacey.
‘Anything else, Detective?’ said Stacey.
I closed my eyes and visualised the wheelhouse. The men in black. Bynder pleading for Jade. The smell of fear and sweat. Manassa’s death.
‘The head guy and his goons were dressed in the same black outfits,’ I said. ‘Not uniforms, but in that style. Acquired at the same time, I’d say, and maybe from the same place. We should scour all the surplus stores. See if anyone’s bought a job lot in the recent past. And they wore black gloves, balaclavas, and sunglasses. Get-ups that ensured none of their skin was on show, which is interesting in itself.’
‘Tell me how?’ said Peterson.
‘Consider the identifiers you use to describe a person. Hair, eyes, and skin colour. Their clothes and height. General appearance. Ethnicity. The guys on the boat had every possible identifier covered up. So, what were they hiding? Their membership of some ethnic or racial group, maybe? It’s just a thought. And what was the point of maintaining their anonymity, anyway? As soon as they saw me, I was dead, so they weren’t hiding themselves from me. Maybe Jade? But they didn’t expect her to be there. And Bynder knew the boss cocky, so the dress-ups weren’t for his benefit.’
‘Interesting,’ said Peterson. ‘Anything else about the guy who commanded them?’
‘He spoke in a neutral accent,’ I said. ‘But it was tinged with something that I couldn’t identify … I’d say he was highly educated — probably in an English-speaking country. But … he bunged it on somehow. Like he prided himself on his ability to speak English well.’
‘Very good, Detective,’ said Peterson. ‘Anything else?’
As I paused to think, McHenry’s mouth tightened, and his eyes twitched a few times. A disturbing thought had just occurred to him. His face reddened, and he clenched his jaw so tightly I imagined everybody in the room being showered with bits of his tooth enamel.
‘Bynder’s talk about a calamitous attack on the bay could all be bluster,’ I said, before McHenry could speak, ‘but the lengths he went to to get Daisy and Jade out of the area indicate a real concern for their welfare if they stayed here. And finally, and it’s no more than a thought bubble, but Bynder, Jade, and Kylie have all come to grief. Daisy Rawlins is the last person from the house they shared who’s still standing. Does that indicate something about her possible involvement? Or is she in danger?’
‘Yes, but danger of a different kind, I’m afraid,’ said Peterson. ‘We just got word that she collapsed when she heard about Jade and Bynder. She’s currently under observation in the Alice hospital, so we’ll have to bide our time before we talk to her again. Which we will do.’
Having dropped that additional bit of sobering news, he and Stacey left the room, and Trainor squeezed my foot and followed them.
‘So where does that leave us?’ I asked, looking at McHenry.
‘No idea,’ he said, visibly fuming now we were alone. ‘And that’s because these buggers have treated us like mushrooms from the start, and that almost got you killed. They talk about known unknowns and unknown unknowns. Well, I’ll tell you what I know. Whatever’s going on here, it’s much bigger than a murder or two.’
McHenry’s phone vibrated. He put the palm of his hand on his breast pocket and left it there for a moment. I thought he was going to ignore the call, but he fished the phone out and put it to his ear.
‘McHenry,’ he said, turning towards the window.
The caller talked for a minute and McHenry listened. When he ended the call, he turned back to me, his face flushed with a smile.
‘Well, Glass,’ he said, ‘After all you’ve been through, I think you’re ready for some good news.’
BLOOD OATH NEWS BLOG
SUNDAY 4 DECEMBER, 11.00AM
Indonesia has ‘pardoned’ the Australians it ‘arrested’ last week when its troops stormed the Jayapura blockade. Of the one hundred and twenty-three Australians on site at the time, four are known to have died in the attack, while nine remain in a critical condition in a Jayapura hospital.
The one hundred and ten ‘able-bodied’ Australians released from detention today are already in the air and on their way back home. Their plane is due to touch down in Sydney in about half an hour. Among them, my friend and colleague Jean Acheson.
It’s not clear what prompted the Indonesian leadership’s change of heart. They made it clear as recently as three days ago that everyone arrested at the site would be subjected to the full weight of Indonesian law. Now, this welcome change.
Prime Minister Lou Feeney’s office said Mr Feeney would comment on the release of the Australians after this morning’s special Cabinet meeting called to discuss the extraordinary attack on the Creswell Naval Base overnight.
18
The news that Jean was on her way home brought such instant relief that I sunk into my pillows, I melded with the mattress, and my whole body relaxed for the first time since the Jayapura business went bad. McHenry patted my shoulder, moved to the window, and stared out at whatever view it afforded, and I closed my eyes and rode the remnants of the painkiller to a soft and safe place.
When I opened my eyes, Jean was leaning against the windowsill, watching me. Strangely, instead of her usual stylish garb, she was wearing big blue overalls. She smiled and came over and kissed my ‘good’ cheek. I thought I was dreaming, until she spoke.
‘You silly bastard,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Always in the thick of it.’
I tried to talk, but my mouth was glued shut. She helped me sit up and worked the rounded end of a plastic straw between my lips. Watered-down orange juice. My lips loosened, and I emptied the cup and slumped back onto the pillows. I gazed around the room, getting my bearings.
‘How long you been here?’ I said, my voice so croaky it surprised me.
‘Twenty minutes,’ she said, ‘Listening to you mumble, you poor bugger. So, how’re you feeling?’
‘I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘Weird. Sore. Lucky. A mixture. I don’t know. Lucky, mostly, because I’m still in one piece, apart from a couple of broken ribs and a sandpapered face — shark burn, they call it.’
I touched the bandage that covered the right side of my face. The damage felt hot and on the move, as if my skin were rearranging itself.
‘The girl wasn’t as lucky, though,’ I said. ‘Jade.’
‘Yeah, I heard,’ said Jean, her face scrunched up. ‘Not good. But you did what you could. You just couldn’t beat a shark.’
She pulled a chair over, sat down next to me, and put her hand on my arm.
‘How’d you get here so quickly?’ I asked.
‘I flew virtually direct,’ she said. ‘McHenry arranged it. When we landed in Sydney, there was a navy chopper waiting for me, would you believe. Apparently, he told the brass here it was the one thing that’d speed your recovery. To see me. I hope that’s true.’
‘You’re a tonic, that’s for sure. But isn’t this place off-limits to you and your lot? After what happened here?’
‘I signed some papers saying I wouldn’t utter a word about anything I saw or heard on site. Then they couldn’t say no.’
I studied her for
a moment, marvelling that we’d both survived our separate ordeals. She grimaced, and her green eyes glistened with tears. I pulled what she called my ‘funny face’. It drew a half-smile from her. She stood up and leant over me, and her blonde hair curtained our faces as we kissed. She drew away after a few seconds and looked down at me, and we held each other’s gaze for a moment. Then she sat down and rested her hand on my arm again.
‘God, if only you knew how shit-scared I was in that prison,’ she said, squeezing my arm. ‘And I’ve been thinking — that’s the only good thing about having been in there, it gave me plenty of time to think. Anyway, I was thinking how I’d got some things arse-about.’
‘In what regard?’ I said, ‘I thought you were living the dream.’
‘I am, and I’m not. I love my work, as you know, but as I’ve said before, it’s not my only priority, and I’ve let some important things slip because of it.’
‘Sounds like both of us,’ I said, my eyes locked on hers. ‘Letting things slip, that is.’
‘That’s right, Glass. And I want it different. Because I want us really together. Anyway, I’ve got to go and finish something in KL — just a couple of days — then they want me to take a long break, and after Jayapura, I really need one. And, clearly, so do you. So, what do you reckon? Maybe we could spend a week somewhere, breathing in some mountain air. Or we could hang out on a beach. Take some time and space to feel things out. I’ll book whatever you want. I love you, and I know you love me. It’s just a question of how much.’
I reflected on the revelation I’d had in the water, staring death in the face, but I held back telling her about it. It was the subject of a more leisurely conversation — lying on a beach, as she’d suggested, or walking a mountain track. And, anyway, we felt the same way about where we should take things. I just needed more distance from the grim circumstances that’d helped me reach that conclusion before I could fully open up with her.