by Jack Dey
After many anxious moments driving her little car around the unfamiliar suburb, she finally recognised the focus of her thoughts and then found a place to park. Walking up to the red brick church building, she glanced around for a moment, remembering scenes from her childhood, and at the same time, butterflies began to make her stomach feel queasy. Drawing in a breath to calm her anxiety, she ambled up to the door and was greeted by a woman in her forties, handing out bulletins.
She eyed Megan with a disdainful look and almost threw the bulletin at her. "A woman like you needs to be in a place like this," she grumbled.
Megan's heart sank and her hope evaporated, while she silently took the bulletin from the woman. She couldn't turn and run now: she was boxed in by the woman's gaze. All the while Megan was feeling sick and wanting to cry. She found a place in the back row and slumped down onto a long, wooden seat, but remained close to the aisle and as soon as the door was unattended, she would make her break for freedom. Outside the door, her world was lonely, but at least she fitted into it and it didn't make her feel like she was dirt.
She watched people standing around talking to each other close by, but no one came near her. Megan grabbed up the bulletin and pretended to read, counting down the minutes before she could break for freedom.
Just then, a small voice startled her and spoke directly to her. "Hello, my name ith Leetha. What's yours?"
Megan lifted her head from the bulletin to come face to face with a little gappy-toothed redhead girl, about five years old. She had a patch of freckles on her cheeks and her hair was tied back in a long ponytail. She wore a blue dress and white shoes, with pink socks.
"Megan," she answered nervously.
"You're pretty," the little girl stated.
"Thank you, Lisa, and so are you."
"My Daddy is bringing my sister in from the car. She is sick. Can I sit next to you?"
"Sure."
Megan didn't want to give up her aisle seat, so she lifted Lisa over her and sat her next to her.
"Are you married?"
Megan choked and then laughed, "I was, but my husband died."
"My mummy died, too. Eighteen months ago," she said sadly. "I miss her."
Megan put her arm around the little girl. "I am sorry to hear that, sweetie."
"Daddy cries a lot, when he thinks we can't see him. He tries really hard to look after us, but he can't do things like Mummy used to. His name is Gavin."
"Oh," Megan replied.
Just then, a harassed looking man appeared in the doorway, searching the crowd, looking for his second charge. Megan couldn't believe her eyes. He carried a carbon copy of Lisa over his shoulder, but the second child looked sickly and pale. She waved her hand at him and pointed to Lisa, sitting next to her. The man's face lit up in relief, then he shuffled past Megan and took a seat next to Lisa.
"I hope she’s not being a nuisance to you?"
Megan shook her head. "No, not at all. In fact, she is the only one who has spoken to me."
Gavin sighed. "I am afraid this church can be like that. My name is Gavin," he extended his hand and shook her hand, his second daughter still lying over his shoulder, holding his neck.
"I know," Megan replied, looking down at Lisa.
"Well, if you know that, then you probably know she misses her mum."
Megan nodded. "I am sorry for your loss. My name is Megan."
"This little one's name is Natasha, but she isn't very well at the moment," Gavin offered.
"Hello, Natasha," Megan smiled and placed her hand on the child's back.
Natasha's blue eyes flicked at Megan and a half smile appeared on the little girl's face.
"Twins?!" Megan stared in disbelief.
"Mmm... identical," Gavin admitted. "You're obviously a visitor here."
Megan nodded. "I came here once, when I was a child."
"I don't mean to be forward or offensive in any way, but would you like to come back to my in-laws' place and have some dinner with us, after the service?"
Megan began to feel uncomfortable. This man didn't know anything about her and once he knew the truth, he wouldn't want her within a hundred miles of him or his beautiful daughters.
Lisa began to tug on her arm. "Please come back to Grandma's. She loves to meet new people... please!"
The two little girls had melted her heart and reluctantly, she agreed. Lisa held onto her arm and Natasha smiled a weak smile at her.
A long pause passed and then Megan asked, "Do you attend this church regularly?"
"No, we are just visiting. We have been here on a number of visits, but no one talks to us, either.” Gavin smiled at the irony. “This was my wife's first church and we visit every now and then. We spend quite a bit of time with my wife's parents and they attend the same church we do.”
Megan couldn't help but ask where they went normally.
"We attend a wonderful, small church a few suburbs away. They keep me sane. Dan and Linda Harop are the pastor and his wife. Do you know of them?"
"No," Megan replied.
"You should come for a visit."
*~*~*~*
Chapter 38
Dulcet had given Ryan a lot to think about. His theories seemed to be holding water and it was only the Magician himself, who could confirm or deny his thoughts now. If he was right, the Magician needed to do something spectacular that would put him back ahead of the game and discredit those who sought to frame him.
Ryan was tired and his superiors wanted an interim report on the attack on Leanne Bates and the disappearance of Gracie Freeman. He sighed and flopped down at his computer, ready to start work and then glanced up at the clock on the wall: 7 pm. Dejectedly, he threw off his suit coat and settled in for a long haul; his shift had already finished, but he still had at least four hours of report to write.
Ryan glanced across at a colleague who was about to do the same thing. "Looks like I'll be keeping you company tonight, Jim."
"The work of a cop never ends, hey, Ryan."
Ryan made a quick visit to the coffee machine and brought back a cup for Jim too, ready to continue his report. He’d just settled in again and typed the opening statement to his report, when his desk phone rang. Ryan sighed, rolled his eyes at Jim and answered the interruption.
"Senior Detective Ryan."
A breathy voice greeted his ear, "Detective Ryan, I am only going to say this once, so listen carefully."
"Who is this?" Ryan demanded.
"Someone is trying to muscle in on my act and frame me, making me look like a beginner. I never leave a trick to an amateur to take the applause. I am the Master Magician. When someone commits a despicable crime like this, don't you tell a policeman?"
Then the phone went dead.
Ryan scribbled down the conversation and glanced across at Jim. "I think I just had a contact from the Magician."
Ryan picked up the phone again and rang communications, to trace the call. A few minutes later, communications confirmed the transmission came from a recently stolen mobile phone, outside police head quarters.
Ryan and Jim raced outside and checked up and down the street, but it was deserted.
*~*~*~*
Dulcet's desk phone rang and when he answered it, an impatient voice barked.
"Yes, sir. I will get the information for you right away...! Call sign Peter... got it. Yes, I will email it to you as soon as I have it."
He hung up the phone, annoyed at another interruption.
Dulcet strode into Blair's office, eager to fulfil his demands, settling at Blair’s desk and booting up his computer. The screen flashed and the computer displayed, military use only, no unauthorised access, while a function box flashed, demanding, code required. He punched, call sign Peter, into the access bar and a list of files came up. Dulcet ran his eyes down the list. Most of the names he recognised as past missions, but he abruptly stopped on one file that was simply named, Maralinga. He hadn't seen that one before. Meanwhile,
Dulcet could almost feel Blair’s antagonised hot breath behind him, burning the collar from his uniform. Now wasn’t a good time to go investigating, so he just kept going.
"Here it is: Flight procedures for human drones."
He copied the file and emailed it to Blair's smart phone, then shut down Blair's computer and went back to his desk next door. He’d just settled back into the planning for a combined army/navy operation, trying to find his train of thought before Blair interrupted him, when his office phone rang again. He sighed, expecting to hear Blair ranting on the other end and ostracising him about something he had forgotten to send with the file.
"Dulcet," he answered.
"Dulcet, this is Ryan. Can you talk?"
"I am in the middle of planning a big operation, Ryan. Can it wait? If I don't get this finished, Blair will have my guts for garters."
"I think the Magician contacted me last night," he paused, waiting for the thought to sink in.
"What...?! Are you sure?" Dulcet responded incredulously.
"No, I can't be sure, but somehow, he knew who I was and how to reach me."
"Have you been quoted by the press?"
Ryan thought for a while. "Only to say, no comment."
"They would have printed that and your details. You can be sure that is how he found you."
Dulcet was losing interest in planning Blair's operation, while thinking about this latest development with the Magician. "I knock off at five. Can I meet you at Sygh's then? I will finish what I can here and complete it tomorrow," Dulcet responded, hoping Blair wouldn't chew him out for not getting his task finished.
*~*~*~*
Dulcet recognised Ryan sitting at their usual table as he strode towards him. Two cups of black coffee awaited, one directly opposite and sitting in front of a vacant chair and one in front of Ryan. Ryan glanced up as he arrived, while his body language said, you're late.
Dulcet sighed loudly, noticing Ryan’s unamused countenance, pulled out the chair in front of him and sat down. "Blair cornered me as I was leaving. Told him I had a hot date and had to go," Dulcet joked.
"So tell me what happened," Dulcet surveyed Ryan over the lip of his coffee cup, taking the first cautious sip.
Ryan’s annoyance at Dulcet’s tardiness quickly evaporated while he outlined the phone call encounter precisely, like any good detective would. Dulcet's browed creased as he mentally chewed on the latest information, repeating each word back to Ryan.
"Someone is trying to muscle in on my act and frame me, making me look like a beginner. I never leave a trick to an amateur to take the applause. I am the Master Magician. When someone commits a despicable crime like this, don't you tell a policeman? Is that it?"
"Yeah, verbatim," Ryan claimed.
Dulcet appeared deflated, while the meaning of the riddle eluded him. "Well, he made contact like I thought, but what does it mean?"
"He is letting the police know that someone is framing him?" Ryan contended.
Dulcet didn't look convinced. "There’s something else we are missing."
The two men went their separate ways, when nothing more could be figured out. Dulcet was keen to get some more work done on Blair's operation before tomorrow, hopefully offsetting Blair’s full-on tirade.
*~*~*~*
Dulcet situated himself back at his office desk, trying to concentrate on the joint operation plan staring dumbly back at him. It was getting late and his mind kept wandering back to the Magician's speech. Suddenly, a chilling thought hit him like a thunderclap.
"Of course...!" Dulcet bellowed in the empty room. He fidgeted with his desk phone and in his haste, the phone fumbled from his hands and dropped heavily onto the floor. Grasping the spiralling wire connecting the dialling mechanism to the handpiece, he pulled the handpiece back into his hands and excitedly punched in the number.
"Senior Detective Ryan."
"Ryan, it's Dulcet. He's going after Sam Young again."
"What...?! How do you know?"
"I never leave a trick to an amateur to take the applause. He went after Sam Young and he was thwarted. Whoever it was that thwarted him, he thinks are amateurs. He is going to finish off Sam Young! You have to get around to her as fast as you can, and get her out of his way!"
Ryan went quiet.
"Are you there, Ryan?!" Dulcet began to panic.
"I have an idea, Dulcet. I wonder if Leanne Bates could use some company."
"What are you on about?!" Dulcet complained loudly.
"Trust me. I will talk to you later," Ryan hung up.
*~*~*~*
Chapter 39
The glassy sea reflected the orange sun sinking over its western horizon. Moments in time seemed to stand still, as the colours mixed deep red, swirling into orange, then purple and black, while the sun disappeared over the edge of an endless expanse of water. Twilight threw a blanket of silver across the sea and then millions of tiny lights pierced the darkening sky, promising the great light would return with the new dawn.
The dying rays mirrored in Grandma's tired eyes, as she watched the light of her hope sink and felt desperately alone. The oppressive humidity never let up, draining away the small amount of life she had left and adding to her misery, while the future seemed like a dark place indeed. She’d lived in Vietnam all her life, experiencing wars and violence, floods and drought. Seen generations of her family come and go, but now she felt disconnected, a traveller in a place of unknowns, to a new and desperate world. A new start at her age seemed pointless, while her heart was back with her home and with her people.
She glanced across to the man who had saved her life and that of her village and wondered whether he would ever find his way again, without her. She sighed in desperation and felt weak: her time was close. She could feel it. The commitment to him had cost her dearly and now, she would pay the ultimate price, dying in a foreign land or dying trying to reach it.
A sudden cry went up from the bow, dragging her thoughts back aboard the boat.
"Land!"
The pop, pop, pop of the engine exhaust confirmed she was back in her nightmare. People started to cheer when the lights of Natuna Besar suddenly came into view, sending chards of land-based crystal light, twinkling across the dark sea to meet them.
In the dark, the old man skilfully guided the boat down a shallow and narrow passage between small islands, using his many years of seamanship to funnel them into a natural harbour. The boat turned sharply and lined up with a makeshift dock, running a few hundred yards out into deeper water for larger craft.
As they tied up to the dishevelled pier, people began to disembark, joyously standing on unmoving ground and chattering excitedly. The old man shut down the engine and the incessant popping finally ceased. An eerie silence pervaded and strained eardrums laboured to come to terms with the quiet. Grandma couldn’t care where she was as long as it was firm and didn’t rock. She had every intention of sleeping on the beach tonight and not under someone's armpit.
The old man could hear water dripping, under the mooring, and when he located the tap and tasted the water, it appeared fresh. Immediately, he set about to fill the large drums on the bow with fresh water, as their supply had run dangerously low. He shook the drums to gauge their contents: two drums were completely empty and one had only a few gallons remaining. While he refilled the water supply, he calculated the next phase of the voyage. They had one more refuelling stop before they tackled the open ocean and the last leg to Australia. Once they were resupplied there, they were on their own, with no one to help them if things went wrong.
To aid in conserving fuel, the old man had to rig up a makeshift sail, but for now he was tired and would attend to that project in the morning. At the same time, finding someone who would supply them fuel and food was another hurdle that needed his attention. The old man, fearing danger if they were discovered, warned people not to wander off too far, just in case they ran into the Indonesian authorities and had to make a quick getaway.
*~*~*~*
A young, dark figure swaggered along the dock to the beach and stood for several moments on the shore, steadying himself against the unmoving ground. His body was still pitching, after an uninterrupted week on the boat and it was difficult to walk, without the feeling of falling over.
He pulled a mobile phone from his pocket, wondering whether there was a signal here and whether the battery had any life left. He pushed and held the talk button, as the phone blinked on, while a flash of light illuminated the dark. He quickly placed his hand over the light, to deter any interest in his activity. The battery showed only one bar and he had to be quick. He had a signal, but it was weak, though it should be enough to send a message.
He punched the worn miniature keyboard using his thumbs, while his fingers wrapped around the device to steady it. Finally the message was complete and he jammed the send button with an excited stab of his thumb, and then watched the device struggling to initiate his request. The battery light was flashing, while the small screen returned a communication: message send failed.
"Come on!" he hissed violently and then repeated his actions.
Again the dying machine struggled with the instruction and finally the screen reported: message sent. In a moment of surrender, the blinking battery light stopped; the phone shut down and the screen went dark.
*~*~*~*
A thousand miles to the north, a message received signal beeped. The shirtless man reached into his trouser pocket and retrieved his phone and read the message. A smile broke across his dark features. "Well done, Little Brother."
He grabbed his shirt from a freshly fallen Sassafras tree and pulled it over his torso, hiding the dragon tattooed to his right shoulder blade. He made his way back to the sampan and pushed it out into the waterway, started the engine and pointed the little boat towards the maze of canals surrounding My Tho.
Twenty minutes later, the river settlement lights came into view, while the animated figure pointed his craft at a nearby landing and secured it to the river bank. Quickly, he made his way into the humid, crowded streets and located his section leader in a sleazy bar, and relayed the message with great pride.