Miles Off Course (40 page)

“And the caves? You sounded like you were terrified?”

“We started the panic,” Abercrombie explained. “But in the darkness, I needed a way to help the boys find you—of course you just accepted it as poor old blithering
Humphrey.”

“You seem to be offended that I believed you a fool when you took great pains to act like one.”

Abercrombie stopped, and then he smiled. “You make an interesting point. Perhaps I am being a bit precious. I suppose Rowly, as much as I could see that being the Humphrey you remembered
would give me the perfect cover, some part of me wanted your respect. You were the closest thing to a friend I ever had at school. Perhaps some part of me hoped you would see through all
that.”

Rowland shook his head. “All you did was alert me to the danger.”

Abercrombie laughed. “You were already alert to it, Rowly. All my actions did was make you determined to ignore any danger… because of course you’re nothing like me.”
His voice was bitter. “It served my purpose.” Abercrombie pushed a glass of Scotch towards Rowland. “Initially, the plan was simply to make sure you were not at the Dangars board
meeting. Once I realised I could appeal to your better nature I hoped that eventually I could count on you for more than that.”

“By sending Moran to kill me?” Rowland bristled. “He was going to kill Ed, for God’s sake!”

“Believe me, Rowly, I didn’t sanction that. He was just to hold you till my men came out to get you. Moran had his own agenda. I apologise, Rowly.” He said it so fervently that
Rowland was almost convinced of his sincerity. “I would not have Miss Higgins hurt for the world.”

“So why didn’t you talk to me at
Woodlands
? You’ve been living in my house for the past week.”

Abercrombie shrugged. “Tactical decision. Perhaps I lost my nerve. I wasn’t sure I could bring you round.” The Englishman sipped his drink and glanced at his stone-faced
co-conspirators. He lowered his voice. “Look Rowly, the Lister operation is only a small part of a greater putsch. I’ll admit that your presence on the board caused me to take rather a
more personal interest than I probably should have. In doing so, I may have taken things too far.”

“I noticed,” Rowland said tersely.

Abercrombie went on. “It occurred to me at
Woodlands
that I could achieve the same thing by simply convincing you that Dangars was not in a financial position to take on the Lister
franchise. Of course you chose to take counsel from Mr. Jones on the matter instead.”

“And so you decided to kidnap me and Wil, because being held at gunpoint is going to convince me that yours is a reasonable point of view? Bloody oath, Humphrey, you’re an
idiot!”

Abercrombie’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Careful Rowly, I’m not the cowering buffoon you remember.”

“No, you’re not. Now you’ve got a gun.”

Abercrombie sighed. “I’d really hoped that we could forge a new friendship, as equals. Or is it that you can only befriend those who rely on you, so that you can lord it over
them… is that it, Rowly?”

Rowland bit his lip. “I should have let them drown you,” he said quietly.

Abercrombie laughed. “But you didn’t. You jumped in fists flying. You did that rather a lot back then—quite the angry young man. What happened to you, Rowly?”

“I grew up.”

“Rather a shame, really. There’s a lot to be angry about now. Inequity, oppression, persecution—you could be so valuable to the cause, Rowly. Don’t you want to have some
purpose—have your life mean something?”

Met only with simmering silence, Abercrombie stood and brought his chair around the table. He placed it beside Rowland’s and sat down again. “I need your help, Rowly,” he
whispered. “Everything that could possibly go wrong, has. I must bring them something… If I could just show them that an institution like Dangar, Gedye and Company could be
destabilised, they’d see that revolutions need not be bloody.” He brushed some lint from Rowland’s lapel and straightened his tie. “Help me, Rowly, just once
more.”

Rowland stiffened, unnerved by the closeness that Abercrombie was imposing on him. He tried to reason with the man, struggling to soften his voice. “My vote won’t make a difference,
Humphrey. All the other directors are for the Lister franchise.”

The Englishman’s face darkened. For a moment he looked away, and then without warning, he turned and struck Rowland. “You’re a liar,” he said. “A coward and a
liar!”

Rowland’s head snapped back with the blow. It took him a moment to focus again, and for a few seconds he simply stared at Abercrombie. It was when the Englishman smiled that Rowland
exploded and launched himself out of the chair.

He landed two punches before Abercrombie’s comrades dragged him off.

W
ilfred was sitting on a low cot when the trapdoor rose open and his brother was heaved through the opening. Rowland lay groggy on the floor of
the small airless attic.

“Rowly!” Wilfred pulled him to his knees as the bolt clicked into place again.

Rowland coughed, groaning as he struggled to get up. It was black. The attic was windowless, dark though it was now morning. It smelled of mice. Wilfred flicked open his cigarette lighter,
holding it up to see by the dim wavering light.

“Bloody hell, Rowly… for God’s sake, sit down!” He eased Rowland onto the cot.

“I’m all right, Wil,” Rowland said, grimacing. “I used to box, remember.”

“You don’t look like you were very good at it.”

“I meant that I know how to take a punch,” Rowland returned indignantly.

Wilfred put a bottle of lukewarm water into his hands. “Here, drink.”

“Don’t waste the lighter fluid.” Rowland spluttered over a mouthful of the tepid stale liquid. “We’ll need it to find a way out of here.”

“What happened?” Wilfred’s hand remained on his brother’s shoulder.

“They wanted me to vote against the Lister fanchise.” Rowland tried to pull himself together. “Humphrey completely lost his rag… he’s gone somewhere, so we have a
little while, I think.” He tried to stand again.

Wilfred stopped him. “Just take it easy for a minute, Rowly.”

“We have to get out of here, Wil. Humphrey’s trying to save face… When he gets back, they’ll start on you. He wants something to show that he’s not a complete
moron.” Rowland tested the bruise on his left brow gingerly. It was sticky with blood. “Let’s be honest, they can’t just let us go now.”

“Give yourself a second while we figure out what to do.” Wilfred sat beside him. “I take it your friend is some kind of international insurgent.”

“Believe me, he’s not my friend anymore,” Rowland muttered, thinking of the perverse pleasure Abercrombie had taken in belting him senseless while he was restrained from
fighting back. Now more than ever, he wished he’d left him in the pond.

“He did this?” Wilfred’s voice was hard.

“I’m starting to realise that Humphrey doesn’t take rejection all that well.”

“God, Rowly.” Wilfred took a deep breath. “What the devil did you do to him?”

Rowland swore as he shifted too quickly. “Apparently, I humiliated the bastard.”

“When you were schoolboys?”

“Yes, then… and now it seems.” Rowland was fed up with Abercrombie’s wounded feelings. “Humphrey’s been so obsessed with me, he’s cocked up his part of
this grand operation.”

“So the Dangars vote is just part of a general campaign to destabilise the country?” Wilfred handed Rowland his handkerchief.

Rowland soaked it with water and applied it to his head. “Humphrey seems convinced that economic recovery will cement capitalist dominance and allow the Fascists to march in.” He
sighed. “I can’t say I’m altogether happy about the Fascists either.”

For a moment Wilfred said nothing and then, “What exactly were they trying to get out of you?”

“In the end nothing. Humphrey was just angry… settling some old scores while he had some friends to help him. I wouldn’t know anything particularly useful anyway.”

“Of course.”

“I wouldn’t have told them if I did, Wil.”

“I know that Rowly. How are you feeling?”

“I’ll be all right. Nothing’s broken.” Rowland moved his battered body tentatively to make sure that was the case. “We have to get out of here. Humphrey’s got
it into his head that you might have some sort of information or influence he could use… I don’t think he’ll be long.”

Wilfred stood. Flicking open his lighter he surveyed the attic. He flinched slightly when he looked at Rowland again in the light. “Some of this wood looks quite rotten. We might be able
to break through it and kick out the tin.”

“It’ll make a hell of a noise.”

“We’ll have to risk that.”

Rowland nodded. “Okay then. Let’s get started.” He removed his dinner jacket. “It’s bloody hot up here.”

Wilfred dragged the iron cot over the trap door. “That should slow them when the noise starts.”

They found a patch low in the sloping ceiling that had been particularly affected by white ants. The lining boards came away without difficulty and they were able to breach the bearers to which
the roofing iron was secured. Light streamed in through large holes of corrosion. Wilfred inspected the area carefully. “This looks jolly rusty, Rowly. We might be lucky. I think it’ll
give with a decent kick.”

Rowland stood back and allowed his brother to do the honours. Wilfred went about the task with his customary force and efficiency and soon there was an opening in the roof large enough to allow
them through. Rowland draped his jacket over the jagged edges of tin, blanching in the sudden brightness of the morning. Already they could hear scrambling on the floors below.

“We’re going to have to make our way up the roof and along,” Wilfred said, as he climbed out and offered Rowland his hand. The cot started to buck as the trapdoor was pushed
from below. Rowland grasped Wilfred’s arm and hoisted himself onto the roof. He took a moment to find his feet on the slope before they clambered up the steep corrugated face to reach the
ridge capping.

“Rowly!” Wilfred seized the back of Rowland’s shirt as he slipped. Rowland grabbed the chimney.

“Are you all right?” Wilfred asked.

Rowland nodded, impressed by his brother’s pragmatic calm. He looked along the adjoining roofs for some way to safety.

Wilfred followed his gaze. “If we shimmy along the ridge cap to that one,” he pointed to a terrace house with a verandah at the back, “we might be able to slide down and drop
onto the verandah roof without breaking our necks. We can drop down from there.”

There was a crash beneath them.

“That’s the cot,” Rowland said, swinging his leg over the peak of the roof. “We’ll have company soon.”

They wasted no further time, working their way along the rusted ridge caps. Three men emerged through the hole in the tin.

Both Sinclairs turned when they heard the scream. Rowland saw the man grab desperately for the chimney. He missed and slid down the roof and over the edge. There was a splintering thud as he hit
the ground, and more screams from the street.

Rowland swore, horrified.

“Keep going, Rowly,” Wilfred commanded. “If we’re lucky someone will call the police.”

“Shouldn’t we just shout for help?”

“We don’t know who’s here. The whole flaming neighbourhood could be Red for all we know.”

The remaining men in pursuit were now shouting that the Sinclairs were burglars. The roofing iron was already starting to heat, and sections of it were rusted and jagged. Rowland gritted his
teeth and tried to keep up with his brother in the precarious, awkward scramble towards their planned escape route. People from the street joined the shouting.

Wilfred reached the roof of the terrace with the verandah first. He’d just turned to speak to Rowland when the missile caught him unawares—a half brick hurled from the street.

“Wil!” Rowland’s arm shot out as Wilfred overbalanced. He grasped Wilfred’s elbow and, for a moment, held the weight. But he too was off balance and the result was that
they both fell down the steep corrugated incline and then onto the roof of the verandah. Although the verandah had a gentler pitch, it was not wide enough to halt the momentum of their fall and
they plunged headlong over its edge.