Prohibited Zone (36 page)

Hindmarsh shook his head.

‘Here's some good news,' I said. I held up an unopened bottle of cheap scotch whisky I had found while rummaging in the tent.

‘Body armour would be better,' said Baz.

Hindmarsh held out his hand for the scotch. He ripped off the seal, twisted out the cork and put the bottle to his lips. He grimaced as he swilled a mouthful and spat it out, stained red. Then he poured about a quarter of the remainder down his throat. He shook his head; then he handed the bottle to Baz, who wiped the lip, took a couple of swigs and re-corked the bottle. He offered it to me but on second thoughts I decided I wasn't in the mood.

Baz made one more discovery before we left. Walking between the hut and the tent he bent down and picked something up from among the red gibbers.

‘The murder weapon,' he said, holding up a jagged piece of plastic, the same colour as the shit bucket. I walked over to take a closer look. It was from the lip of the bucket. It had a reinforced edge, below which jutted a series of points sharpened to form a very crude serrated blade. It was coated in dried blood. ‘A plastic bucket for a murder weapon,' said Baz. ‘Now I've seen everything.'

He and I spent more time than we could probably afford trying to work out what had happened while Hindmarsh consulted maps and fired up his satellite navigation system. Our theory was that Amir had broken the piece from the bucket in the early hours of the morning. He had probably spent the rest of the night honing the serrations and sweeping the floor with his hand to gather sand that had previously been tramped in by his captors. Then he had waited for Neil to come through the door, which he must have done at first light, thrown the sand in his eyes, jumped him and hacked his way into his throat. He had then used Neil's corpse as a human shield as he came out of the hut. Rod had taken a shot anyway before Amir had drilled him with Neil's pistol. Brad had been slower than Rod to react, maybe because he had the earphones in. Amir had shot him, too. Then he had stripped Rod and put on his clothes.

‘What I want to know is why he wasn't tied up,' I said. ‘There were plenty of plastic cable ties in the tent. You know, like the ones you used on Kara and me.'

‘I'll tell you why,' said Hindmarsh. His face had grown much older in the last few hours. His nose and top lip were swollen after our brawl, but even his moustache seemed to have grown into something bigger, thicker and more macho. He also seemed to have developed a permanent look of apoplexy, but that might just have been the whisky and the swelling and maybe it would wear off. His face was sweaty. His pistol was inside a shoulder holster over his khaki shirt. He poked a pissed-off finger at me. ‘You were coming. The boys didn't want you accusing them of torture. They unbound him overnight so he could get some blood back into his hands and feet. When Neil went in to see him he probably didn't expect him to be on his feet or even conscious. Neil wasn't careful enough. And now three men are dead, thanks to you.'

‘Yeah, it's all my fault,' I said.

‘Why don't we save recriminations for later, when we're all not so tired and emotional?' said Baz.

Hindmarsh turned on him now.

‘Why don't you shut the fuck up yourself? You're just as bad as he is.'

Baz didn't lose his half-smile. ‘Yeah, Westie and I are to blame for
all
this,' he said, sweeping his hand to take in the ATCO hut, the corpses and a fair portion of the desert.

‘I blame Jesus Christ and Mohammed,' I said. ‘If only those two bastards hadn't invented competing religions.'

Hindmarsh looked at me sharply. ‘You are a dick and a fucking moron. Don't even dare to put Christianity on the same level as their dirty little religion.'

By now it was nearly seven, a big blue sky overhead. Far off I thought I heard the death call of a raven, but otherwise the world was silent. Not the slightest hint of a breeze. I caught Baz's eye and shrugged. We had just discovered what it was that drove Hindmarsh.

The flies were already out in force; they'd be having a good day today, which goes to show that most things are just a matter of perspective.

‘Something else I want to know,' I said, ‘is what you found out from all this. Did Amir tell you anything that might help thwart a terrorist attack, or is the national interest still in peril?'

Hindmarsh didn't answer.

‘You got fuck-all, that's my bet,' I said. ‘And you realised you never would. Not without Saira. Otherwise you wouldn't have agreed to let the bugger go. Maybe Amir didn't know anything anyway. Three dead for nothing. What a cock-up.'

Hindmarsh stared at me with squinting, bloodshot eyes. ‘You have no idea.'

I had a flash of realisation. ‘I think I do. You never intended to hand Amir over, did you?'

‘Enough bullshit,' he said. ‘Let's go get this cunt.' He stalked off to his vehicle. But it was clear to me now. The dead agents had intended to shoot Amir before we arrived. They had taken his handcuffs off the night before to reduce the evidence of torture. But early in the morning they had planned to let him do a runner and then to shoot him in the back. They were never going to let us take him away so that he could tell the world what they'd been doing to him.

‘I bet that sniper rifle is fully loaded because they were going to use it on Amir,' I said to Baz. ‘They just never got the chance.'

‘It makes sense,' said Baz.

‘The miserable pricks. They were going to murder the poor bastard.'

‘It might've worked, too, except that Amir didn't play along like he was meant to. Maybe they planned to shoot us, too.'

‘At the least they would've taken Janeway's phone – then it would've been our word against theirs.'

Hindmarsh's car started.

‘Ready to go?' Baz asked.

It was the beginning of the day and the beginning of the chase but I felt tired and dull.

‘No. But let's go anyway.'

28

B
AZ AND
I
RODE IN HIS
P
RADO
because we had both had enough of Hindmarsh's company. We picked up Amir's trail at the far edge of the salt lake but as the sandhills dwindled, so did the trail. Soon the sandhills were completely gone and we were battling our way across a vast gibber plain, just guessing at Amir's route. We were completely off-road now. Only camels and goats made tracks out here.

Ahead of us, Hindmarsh stopped and got out of his car. We drew alongside. He knelt and fingered the dirt.

‘Looks like the bastard did his sump.' He sniffed the discoloured earth in his hand. ‘This is oil.' He stood up and scanned the terrain, but there was little to see other than saltbush, spinifex, the occasional stunted tree and countless red gibbers. The only relief was a stony line of flat-topped hills, perhaps twenty kilometres away.

‘If I was wandering aimlessly in the desert with a busted sump, I'd head for those,' said Baz, gesturing at the hills with a languid hand. ‘More chance of setting an ambush. Nicer view.'

Hindmarsh removed his sunglasses to give his eyes a vigorous rub. They were red; two spent bullets in puddles of blood. His nose was still packed with cotton wad and neither of us told him he could probably take it out now. ‘Yeah,' he said.

We resumed our pursuit. There was little sign of life in the heat of the day. Occasionally a lizard scuttled away as we approached, or we flushed a topknot pigeon from its roosting place in a low bush, but only the bush flies were out in any sort of abundance, attempting to enter every bodily orifice in search of moisture and nutrition. We ate energy bars and drank warm UHT milk, both of which we had found at the camp, and for a long time we didn't talk. I was in a dream-like state brought on by lack of sleep, the idea of a killer ahead of us armed with a sniper rifle, the sugar buzz I got from eating too many energy bars, and the hypnotic monotony of the gibber plain.

‘You're a geologist, Westie,' said Baz, sometime in mid afternoon. ‘Where did all these fucking stones come from?'

I started to reply but found that my throat was too dry. I took a swig from my water bottle.

‘I'm not a geologist, I'm a mining engineer,' I said. ‘Big difference. And you don't really want a geology lesson, do you?'

‘No, not really. What I really want is a long, cold drink by the pool.'

‘Actually, the way in which gibbers are formed is quite interesting. Remind me to tell you about it one day.'

‘Yes, I won't.'

There was another long silence as the Prado bucked and kicked over the plain.

‘So how's young Saira bearing up?' asked Baz.

‘I think she's going okay. She's had a rough time. Nasty things have happened to her. You know she was raped at Woomera?'

He was concentrating on the uneven terrain in front of us but he shot a glance in my direction, his eyebrows rising over the top of his designer sunglasses. I was bracing myself against the violent rocking of the car by gripping my seatbelt above my shoulder.

‘Yes, I knew that.'

‘You knew she'd been raped?' I was surprised; Saira said she hadn't told anyone except Doc Khoury.

‘Yes. I was the one who found her. I was doing the rounds that night. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, crying. She looked like she'd been roughed up. She wouldn't tell me what happened, but I guessed.'

‘What did you do?'

We plunged into a hidden depression and the wheel twisted violently in his hands. He brought it under control and threw another glance at me. His sunglasses were still perfectly in place.

‘Wasn't much I could do. I called the nurse, who gave her a sedative and a glass of water. Saira didn't say anything. In the circumstances I didn't blame her.'

‘Know who it was?'

‘Not for sure, but I could hazard a pretty good guess. Janeway.'

‘Janeway it was.'

‘She told this to
60 Minutes
?'

‘Yep. It's in the can already. Although she didn't name Janeway. She didn't need to.'

‘What do you mean?'

I told him about what had happened later to Janeway. Baz smiled. ‘Good on Saira. That's what I'd call poetic justice.'

‘Yes, it's the sort of poetry I like. Beats haiku, anyway.'

‘I wonder what Janeway will be like without balls.'

‘It can only be an improvement. The guy is a freak and a sexual sadist. How the hell did someone like him get to be a guard at a detention centre, anyway?'

‘Didn't you know? They're the best types. Highly sought after.'

‘It's in the job description, is it? “Must be sadistic freak”?'

Baz laughed. ‘Not quite. We're not all like that.' He glanced at me. ‘I feel sorry for Lucy, though. How's she doing?'

‘To be honest I'm not sure. She doesn't want to see me. But she's a strong woman. She'll be okay.'

We reached the hills sometime after three in the afternoon. The closer we got to them the less attractive they became, and they hadn't looked like much to start with. The tallest of them was perhaps two hundred metres high, crusty, barren and red. We drove around the base of it in search of Amir's vehicle, following a line of low eucalypts that marked a shallow drainage line and climbing a dozen or so metres above the plain we had just crossed.

‘He was smart if he came here,' said Baz. ‘Gives him a significant tactical advantage. He can just sit up there and pick us off. If that's what he wants to do.'

I was scanning the flank of a hill to my left but could see nothing but rock and the occasional dull-green dots of desperate vegetation.

‘Hello, something's up,' said Baz. Hindmarsh had come to a stop on a slight crest about a hundred metres ahead of us. His reverse lights came on and he retreated quickly over the rocky ground in our direction. Then he stopped, jumped out and crouched down behind the vehicle, drawing his pistol. Baz pulled up alongside.

‘What's up?' he asked through his open window.

Hindmarsh looked at him briefly but stayed squatting.

‘He's ditched his car. In the depression over there.' He gestured in the direction from which he had reversed, but we couldn't see the vehicle from where we were. ‘For all we know he could be getting a bead on us right now.'

Baz took off his sunglasses and looked at me, a peculiar expression on his face, something like a smile, a gleam. It took me a second or so to realise what it was: enjoyment.

‘Baz, you're scaring me,' I said. ‘There's a son of a bitch out there with a sniper rifle and you're grinning like an idiot.'

‘Don't worry, mate. I think I know Amir.'

‘So do I. I've seen some of his best work.'

Baz grunted and we got out of the Prado unhurriedly, joining Hindmarsh in his squat behind the Land Cruiser.

‘Which one of us do you reckon he'll pick off first?' asked Baz conversationally.

Hindmarsh was peering around the end of the vehicle, scanning the barren terrain before us.

‘It'd have to be Hindmarsh, surely,' I said. ‘He's the bastard who kidnapped him.'

‘We can only hope,' said Baz.

Hindmarsh pulled his head back to safety and scowled at us. ‘Do you think he gives a shit who he whacks first?'

We were on the west side of the car and were copping the full strength of the sun.

‘Maybe, maybe not,' said Baz, reflecting. ‘He might even want to save you for last.' He was lying on the stony ground, peering under the car in the direction of the gully, which we couldn't see. He twisted around and looked at me. ‘The way I see it, we have a cuppa here and then go home, or we go out and meet the bastard.'

‘Cuppa sounds good. Or we can forget the cuppa and just turn back now.'

He grinned. Hindmarsh made a strange sort of growling noise from the end of the car.