by Martin Roth
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Men and women were shouting. I could hear all the van doors being flung open. Some people jumped on the roof. Others were shouting at Alberto to surrender. I heard a second loud bang and he screamed in pain.
“He’ll be under the flowers,” shouted someone. The wreaths and my blanket cover flew off.
Never had I been so happy to see Australian police officers. Never had I seen so many of them. They were all over the van, men and women, like ants around spilled jam. They were wearing helmets and bulletproof vests. Many bore guns. I squinted as a spotlight flashed through the back entrance of the van.
A policeman used a knife to cut the ropes that still bound my legs. Then several of them dragged me onto a stretcher and started running. I twisted my neck to view the surroundings. It was still night, but we were in a well-lit main road, lined with tall buildings. Police blockades had stopped all traffic. A helicopter hovered overhead. Just as I was being lifted into a waiting ambulance I spotted several policemen half-carrying, half-shoving a handcuffed Alberto into the back of a squad car
Inside the ambulance, a middle-aged uniformed officer with tattoos on his wrist and an oily comb-over touched my cheek. “You okay, mate?” He grinned and winked.
I smiled back. “No worries, mate.”
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