End It With A Lie

by Peter M. Atkins

Tuesday 10.30 pm 

  Mrs. Griffin became Sydney’s first victim.

  After watching the late night news she’d made herself a cup of tea. Then content, she returned to the A.B.C’s full coverage broadcast. To watch as events unfolded, while knowing that whatever the outcome, God worked in mysterious ways. Her pension offered small comforts in the Sydney suburb of Parramatta where she spent her days sewing and knitting amongst the Christian icons which adorned her living room.

  An ancestral set of Rosary beads rested in her lap, ready for her nightly ritual of prayer for the world and its inhabitants. She’d grown used to living alone since her dear Arthur passed away. Her loneliness reminiscent of the time a young dear Arthur had served in the Second World War.

  Her only wish was that her daughters and her son would visit more often. Allow her more time with her grandchildren, but she, in her understanding maternal way allowed them their reasons.

  “The world is much faster now Mum. Nothing is concrete and certain anymore. We can’t make the time like you and Dad did; now it’s… I don’t know. Different.”

  Mrs. Griffin picked the crumbs of fruit cake from her plate and drained the last of her tea. As she reached over to place the cup and saucer on her chair side table, she felt the first of the pain in her chest.

  She knew what it was. She had been down this road before, and she quickly picked up the hand held phone. She was successful in pressing the stored 000 button, but then the pain became greater. Suddenly she lost her ability to hold onto the phone. It fell to the floor at her feet and bounced away, a metre across the carpet.

  Mrs. Griffin folded down the front of her armchair. Finally, on her knees she reached out for the phone, but only succeeded in falling face down onto the carpet beside it. Facing it, but unable to lift her hand to reach it, she heard its engaged tone. Even if she had been able to perform the miracle of touching the redial button, she would need a second miracle to gain access to the 000 switch board. It was congested by those who sought immunity from the infectious alarm brought to them by their news service. Her loyal companion, lap dog, Kinkster, was unsure about this very recent event. He sniffed at his mistress’s face before licking at her cheeks. She didn’t respond.

  He laid his lower jaw on his outstretched front paws near to, and in front of her face. There finding small comfort in her shallow breath, as it at intervals caressed his whiskers and offered at least a hint of normality.

  The pity of it was, she was not to be the only one.

  Wednesday 6.10 am

   Ben Preston had not slept well. Visions of the probable effects of the deadly poison 10X had lingered in his head. The description by an expert at the late night briefing had also been enough to leave him with feeling of guilt. When his basic instinct had initiated a single thought in which he hoped he’d be nowhere near this W.M.D if its button was pushed.

  He’d put the thought quickly out of his mind, but the fact that he’d had the thought, drew his attention to the potential paranoia. Ben saw himself as a level headed man, and realized that if he had the thought, then so would many others in this city of millions.

  Once the rumours and inaccurate news bulletins were broadcast, the fear factor would most certainly rise. Reckless advertising by those who sold articles designed to give the purchaser an edge in a catastrophe would urge the fervour

  Ben had read all of the police manuals on the subject, so he had a fair idea what to expect. He was lucky in having access to firsthand information. The city’s citizens had to accept edited news broadcast, which may or may not be accurate and up to date. He’d considered worst case scenarios for some time, until he’d reached the conclusion that he’d be well advised to put it out of his mind. Prepare instead for the coming days and the business at hand.

  It had been two am by the time he’d finally removed a small fold up stretcher from beside his filing cabinet. He felt that he should keep on the job, but he knew that sleep was necessary.

  At six am he carried his fresh clothes to the locker room and its showers.

  Twenty minutes later, as he refastened his watch to his wrist he was reminded once again of his old fashioned mindedness. When with a wrist watch pressure tested to one hundred metres he still had the habit of removing it to shower.

  He checked its time as he recalled his enquiry with Rodney and Allen the night before. Their success with the transport driver and the traffic tapes had been limited, and before sending them home he’d suggested they get rest and report to him at seven am

  He glanced at his watch again. They would be another quarter hour he decided.

  He sat at his desk to fill in the time. As he did so he noted the name Horton on the cover of a file in his ‘in’ tray and began to read. It was a copy of a British Army document, and he discovered in the first two paragraphs that Henry Maurice Horton was a man not to be taken for granted.

  Accompanying the Army document was an Interpol facsimile, but the information on it was three years out of date. Probably of no importance he thought, except for the brief list of Horton’s then known aliases. He closed the file, leaving it on his desk top with the idea that the aliases could be looked into by Alan.

  Ben had organized teams of his men the previous night to carry out twenty-four hour surveillance on Kane, Walters and Wild. He’d considered full time surveillance on Lee, but the seriousness of the wooden box situation demanded he be economical with his resources.

  During the late night briefing, when Lee’s name had come up in connection with the wooden box. He’d learnt that the State Police were running an eaves dropping operation on Lee’s home and club phones.

  Their resources didn’t stretch to twenty-four hour surveillance, but the phone taps seemed in their eyes sufficient. Practical, since their interest was based only on a rumour that something was going on at street level.

  Ben surmised that he would have to be happy with what he could get. His fingers drummed on his desk top, more out of frustration than impatience, as he wished for something definite to get his teeth into. Maybe he’d feel better after some breakfast, he thought.

  He unplugged Cooper’s phone from the charger. Wondering at its necessity once Lee realised the importance of the wooden box which had been stored on his premises. His concern for the implications associated with it might outweigh his interest in Cooper’s financial affairs. Unless Lee made a last ditch effort to recover from her what West had stolen before he made a run for it. The State Police Commander had assured him the previous night, that Security at the airport and other points of departure would, as of today, be on alert with instructions to apprehend him if he tried to leave the country.

  Which suggested to Ben that they, the State Police, might have more than just a little confidence in their street level rumour? Maybe hope, he thought.

  They did have a possible connection between Lee and the wooden box. So they had at least, a reason to hold him while he helped with their enquiries into his criminal affairs.

  There was some activity about the office now as more of the troops rolled in. Much of it was passing traffic which moved with purpose to and from other offices strung out along the corridor.

  He glanced over to the wide doorway which connected his teams large work area to the corridor and was rewarded with the sight of Rodney. He stepped through the doorway some seconds before the wiry frame of Alan Rodgers. The two men looked rested, and Ben noted the expressions on their faces. They normally radiated freewheeling good spirit when they arrived for work and then became more businesslike as their day rolled on.

  Not today.

  Today was different.

  Today it appeared as though their ‘down to business-like manner’ had risen with them from their beds.

  Even their carriage suggested downright seriousness. As they bid him good morning, the tension in their voices made it apparent that neither man really believed there was anything good about it at all.

  “What’s happening outside?” Ben enqu
ired.

  “Traffic seems to be a bit on the light side. It might just be me Sir, but there appears to be fewer cars on the road into town. Even for this hour of the morning. Lots of traffic patrol cars and random check points, where uniform seem to be inspecting all small trucks and vans.” Allen answered.

  Rodney also had little to offer.

  “Talk downstairs is that all of the emergency services switchboards are in overload. It appears that people are seeing wooden boxes everywhere. At least three of the cities radio stations I tuned into are devoting all their air time to the terrorist situation. There seems to be a lot of experts around all of a sudden.”

  Ben wondered how many of the media commentators included accuracy in their expertise. He picked up the Horton file and handed it to Rodney.

  “This is the man who most certainly committed the outback murders. He may also be responsible for West’s boat explosion.” Rodney passed pages to Allen as he read them. Ben waited until they had both finished studying the thin file.

  “Allen, I want you to check out Horton’s aliases. We might be able to at least ascertain whether he has left the country. While you’re doing that, follow up on the new information you’ve gained on the fork lift truck. If it was purchased for this particular job, then it was more than likely advertised for sale somewhere. Find out where. While you are on that, find out what Steve Walters has been doing between the time he left Australia after the insider trading thing and the time he arrived back here. He’s the only one of Kane’s people who we are certain is using his real name.”

  “Rodney, its back to the tapes for you I’m afraid. Find out which direction the transformer truck went after it was loaded at the Liverpool building site. It’s all we have to go on for the moment, so we’ll have to be content with it until more information comes to hand.”

  Ben paused for a long moment. He sat with a clenched jaw, while his fingertips drummed heavily on his desk top. Finally, he looked up again at the two young detectives.

  “I know that more information is going to come in. The fact that the terrorists have allowed the media in London access to their activities, suggests to me that they’ll leak to us a little knowledge at a time. Enough I’d reckon to keep our attention diverted in a direction of their choice.”

  There was to have been another sentence. One that would have turned his statement into a phrase of wisdom, but his attempt to add it was blocked by the urgent call of his desk telephone. He lifted the hand piece and listened for some seconds before he used his pen to write on a scrap of paper.

  When he’d finished writing he listened for some seconds more before he put the telephone hand piece down again.

  “Allen, we need this web site now. We’re advised not to go online, because the site itself has been advertised through the news services and it’s expected that most of the country will try to access it. Fear of overload or something. Plug us into our central computer. It’s already connected to the site it seems.” He listened as Allen tapped keys with accurate speed, as his eyes settled onto a picture of an electrical transformer. It was obvious on the computers coloured screen, even though it was partly hidden behind a set of bright red numbers. Similar to those found on a digital bedside alarm clock, and seemingly superimposed over the transformer.

  The three men, along with most of Australia’s population stood staring at the number. Concentrating on the countdown, as its seconds slowly wound backward until the minute was gone.

  Ben found it difficult to tear his eyes away from the clock. It was not until the second counter showed thirty-nine of the next moment, that he found the will to avert his gaze directly to the numbers which denoted the hours. A bright red blinking nine sat beside the quietly descending minutes which read forty-eight. Nine hours, forty-eight minutes and twenty five seconds.

  “Until what?” he thought out loud.

  He’d spoken to himself, as he had for the last minute and a half been unaware of the presence of his two colleagues. It was Allen’s voice that suddenly wrenched his mind back to the physical world they shared.

  Ben looked around toward the sound of the rasping whispered voice. The words that were offered by the young family man were emphasized by the dark shadow in his eyes.

  “Maybe it’s more of a case of until ‘where’ Sir.”

  Wednesday 8.45 am

  Larry was some minutes early. Glad as he stepped through the coffee shop doorway to see that Adam was in a similar frame of time. Adam greeted him with a light smile. It undoubtedly mirrored his own as he made his way through a mixed aroma of cooked food and steaming beverage. Adam stood to greet him.

  There were few people in the café, and those that were held discussion between themselves. Captivating their attention to the extent they hardly noticed the warm handshake that joined the two men.

  Larry looked about the room. He had expected the place to be busier at this hour of the morning. A second glance at the small, but boisterous party gave reason for its engagement. He voiced his observation to Adam as if in need of a second opinion.

  “It might be that the night is too short for some?”

  Adam looked toward the crowded table.

  “They had better make the most of it. Their nights will soon enough grow long.”

  Larry looked at Adams face. The wisps of grey hair at his temples seemed to be complimented by the pallor of his nicotine soaked skin. The casual observer would guess Adam to be by far the elder, even though the two men were of the same age.

  A television was perched on a shelf fastened to the rear wall of the coffee shop and he glanced at it.

  “What’s the story behind this digital clock on the television do you know?

  Adam turned his head toward it.

  “Yeah, it seems that the transformer gas bomb innovators have set the world to a deadline. Something is apparently going to happen at around five this afternoon, bastards.”

  Larry sat slack jawed gazing at the television until he was reminded of the present by a girl’s voice. It cut the air and caught the attention of the occupants of the crowded table.

  “See, there it is, the web clock. They’re going to blow it up at five o’clock this afternoon. I told you so.”

  The volume was low, so the girl took centre stage as she explained to her friends her knowledge of the subject. She was at times frustrated by joking interjections by others at the table, but she persevered.

  Her mention of time brought an automatic reaction from Adam, who glanced briefly at his wrist watch. Larry mistakenly took it as a signal to get down to business. He laid his briefcase upon the table top, and after raising its lid he removed a large envelope.

  “I’ll make the lodgment within the hour.” Adam advised as he took the envelope from Larry’s hand and placed it into his own briefcase. Larry took a sip from his coffee cup, and was about to speak again when he suddenly noticed a silence. It seemingly descended upon the room and he lifted his chin to listen intently.

  Adam appeared to have also noticed a change in the volume, whilst looking in the direction of the party people at their crowded table.

  Larry turned to see what it was that Adam had found to be of keen interest and was greeted by the sight of the young people. Their stillness seemed in tune with their sudden silence.

  The only visible signs of life were the shifting of their eyeballs, as they gazed at and then evaded the eyeballs of those seated about them. He could see clearly that they sat in a silence brought about by their effort to hear. A brief glance at the coffee shop proprietor mirrored them, and proved that their effort had a contagious effect.

  Larry listened, and then heard the sound on which they concentrated.

  It was a siren.

  Maybe an ambulance, which was now not all that far away and it seemed to be approaching. It sounded for a moment to stand still, like it had cause to negotiate traffic. Then the note of its wail changed, as if offering a signal announcing its freedom to progress. Larry wa
s caught up in what felt to him like a listening contest, where each of the coffee shop customers were captivated contestants.

  “It’s the web clock,” Adam whispered.

  The words sunk slowly into Larry’s brain and he recoiled as he understood the implications.

  Sirens were an everyday occurrence in any city of the world. Sydney was no different, but that was yesterday. Today a siren bore a similarity to the V1 bombs that Hitler had rained down on London during World War Two.

  When the inhabitants of London waited for a motorized missile overhead to run out of fuel and begin its descent. Then, after its explosive impact had echoed over the city, the Londoner resumed his or her day.

  Larry’s mind envisaged for a moment the trials of London town as he looked again at the crowded table. They instead waited to see where the siren would go. Would it drive right by here? Was it connected to the transformer that everyone by now knew about? Had the 10X gas bomb been detonated early? Was there gas out in the street now?

  Suddenly it was obvious that the siren was bypassing this particular area. Its sound seemed to diminish with each slow breath of a second. Larry heard a comment made by one of the party at the crowded table. It was followed by a low laugh by one of the girls, before they picked up their belongings and quietly moved toward the door.

  It seemed as though the siren had taken the fun out of their recovery party and had caused it to come to a quiet whimper of an end.

  “I guess that now would be a good time to be out of the city,” Adam offered.

  “Do you think you’ll move out until it’s all clear?” Larry asked.

  Adam looked thoughtful for a moment as he looked toward the hurrying pedestrian traffic through the shop window. “No, I think I’ll hang around. I’ve nowhere else to be right now. Once you’ve organized our new company and we start to realize some cash from asset sales, then I will make a decision. I will have to. By then Lee will undoubtedly notice that his business is being dismembered and my people at work will start to ask questions. What about you?”

  “Probably start with New Zealand, after that I don’t know,” Larry said, “I’ll probably be on a plane and out of the country before this day is out, so I’ll not get the opportunity to see Mum. Will you tell her I love her and that I had to leave just in case I got caught up in my client’s troubles? I think she’ll understand. Tell her I’ll come back as soon as it’s safe enough, and that I’ll call her in the meantime.”

  “I shouldn’t worry about her worrying. I think she’ll be glad to hear that at least one of us is out of the country and harm’s way while this gas bomb thing goes on. Or off,” Adam added with a smile.

  Larry had always envied his twin brothers dry sense of humour and he laughed lightly.

  “If they do set it off, I think they’ll do so right here as close to the cities centre as possible, where they’ll expect the most casualties. So watch how you go, eh?”

  He held out his hand and Adam grasped it.

  “Yeah will do.”

  Adam looked at his watch. Expressing their feelings had always been awkward and now it became apparent again.

  “I’d better get moving. Good luck, Larry.” Adam turned and began the short walk to his office in the Australian Securities and Investment Commission building. A trek that he’d made for so long, he reckoned that by now he should be able to do it with his eyes closed.

  As he watched Adam disappear into the growing pedestrian traffic, Larry felt again the disappointment of another opportunity lost.

  On this occasion, the lost opportunity to express the importance of his brother’s existence was crowned with the knowledge, that it may be a long time before their paths crossed again.

  Larry suddenly felt alone.

  He put aside his feelings and concentrated on a path through the oncoming human tide that washed the footpath before him.

  A short walk brought him to his car where he built up the funds in its parking meter. Not because he couldn’t afford a parking ticket. It was more of a need to cover his tracks. He’d stepped over the line and had put himself on the opposite side of the street to the Law. Now his hand went to his jacket pocket for the assurance that his passport, and the cash for his ticket out of town offered.

  Larry was a little uncertain about the decision he had made, but as he stepped through the doorway of a travel agent he heard yet another siren and noticed that the girl behind the counter was listening intently.

  Yes, he thought. Now was good time to be somewhere else.

  It was obvious to him that the girl behind the counter was using both sides of her brain. She listened to his enquiry and also listened to the siren. It dawned on Larry that he too waited for a change in the direction of the mournful cry.

  “Ah yes. I need to be in Auckland this evening please. One way.”

  *****

  Lee had not slept well.

  He’d awoken a number of times during the night and now wondered if it was due to the fact that he’d left the television on. Even though he’d kept the volume down, the sound of gunfire and the roar of an aircraft seemed to be more than whisper in his ears. He did know for sure that his dreams had taken place behind closed eyes, and therefore could not be associated with the television screen.

  In the dream he’d been secreted behind a half closed door of a night filled room. Peering into the darkness outside which was then cut by a handheld searchlight. He’d watched as the light touched on walls of another building before it reached across the garden area. Briefly exposing trees and small bushes until it came to rest on the ground at the feet of its director.

  It had brought to light the silhouette of three men. One of them held a dead bird by its lifeless legs and dangled it in an effort to distract his watch dog. Lee saw a figure he knew to be himself, move from a position by the half closed door, to a telephone where he might try to call for help.

  A cold dread had swept over him when he found the line was dead. He was alone. He knew the end was near as he’d looked behind him to the half closed door. The inevitable flash of the searchlight finally pieced the darkness within the room and highlighted his presence.

  As Lee broke from the dream he turned sharply on the office lounge, so much so, that his legs fell from it. He sat there motionless for some moments, blinking his eyes and getting in touch again with his immediate surroundings. Rising to his feet he made his way to his small bar fridge, and took from it a bottle of water. Then picked up the television’s remote control and flicked through T.V programs until he found a news service.

  He was greeted by a young woman with a heavily made up face. She sat at her news desk, while highlighted on a screen high behind her, a set of numbers in bold red counted down.

  The numbers beckoned his eyes as he began to concentrate on the words she spoke.

  “… brought to the attention of the Nation. It is still unknown what can be expected at the conclusion of the countdown. It was decided by authorities that the outcome for Australia might be made known by the outcomes in the other affected countries due to the difference in the time zones, but that has been discounted by the now known fact that there is only one web clock. It appears that whatever the outcome at the conclusion of the countdown, all the affected countries, Australia, Canada, the U.S, the U.K and the Philippines will without doubt be struck with the reality of the terrorists actions at the same instant……”

  Lee flicked further into the programs until he found C.N.N, where he was met with the same thing. Only this time it was the President of the United States who stood at a podium and stated clearly.

  “..they will not escape their fate. I will see to it personally that every step is taken. Every avenue which can be followed will be, and the terrorists responsible for this outrage will be hunted down and brought to justice…” Lee switched over to the B.B.C. It too, was focusing on the web clock countdown.

  He sat back down on the lounge and stared momentarily at the floor, as if an
answer might be found in the carpets design. There was nothing, but the red numbers encroaching on his peripheral vision.

  A glance at his wrist watch told him it was nine thirty, and he wondered at his next move. A thought that dissipated rapidly as it was replaced by another. How come the police weren’t crawling all over him by now?” He’d expected them to come, and for some unknown reason he became suspicious.

  An overwhelming suspicion brought on by their obvious inaction. Why the delay, he thought. Surely they had made a connection between him and the crate that had been on his premises at Grey St? He’d been sure they would be knocking at his door. Particularly now, that the diabolical reasons for the existence of the crate had been made known.”

  Maybe they have enough on their plate in trying to find the contents of the crate, to bother right now as to how it came to be here? Maybe they have enough information to know it was all down to Sudovich and that Kane is the culprit?

  “Whatever,” he said quietly, “It’s obvious they don’t have enough on me to arrest me. If that’s the case, then…”

  He stopped speaking his thoughts and allowed them to linger in his head momentarily before he picked up his mobile telephone.

  “Larry, what time do you expect those papers to be lodged? You’ve done it? Good man. No, that’s all I need to know. I’ll see you then.”

  Lee broke the connection and dialled another number.

  “Tony. Is your boat available? I have a friend who needs to lay low for maybe two weeks, so cancel whatever you have on. I’ll pay you double rates, cash. I reckoned you’d be happy with that. Listen he likes good food, so stock up today and be ready to sail by ten tonight, alright? I’ll try to have him on board by nine.”

  He was sure. As sure as anyone, when it came to trusting another human, he could depend on Tony. It didn’t hurt to hedge your bets though he thought. Just to be on the safe side, he’d felt it prudent not to give Tony the identity of his passenger. He’d find out soon enough.

  Lee dialled another number.

  “Shane. I want you to be available tonight at nine o’clock. I have two cars that need to be parked out of sight for maybe a couple of weeks. No, I’ll ring you at about eight and let you know where I want you to be, alright?” Lee put the phone down and sat back in the lounge chair as he took another long swallow from the water bottle. He’d been on Tony’s boat a few times and it was top value when it came to comfort. After all, if one is going to go underground for a while he may as well do it in style.

  The red digital clock on the televisions screen added reason. Now is as good a time as any to go and do a bit of fishing. Lay low for a while and let all this shit blow over.

  He paused for a moment and considered Sally.

  “Fuck her,” he whispered as he gathered fresh clothes from a steel filing cabinet and walked into his personal bathroom. “With any luck she might have shot through with her boyfriend by the time I get back. If so, then I’ll at least know his identity and I’ll have Dan to pay him a visit.”

  “Teach the bastard a lesson in good manners,” he chuckled.

  CHAPTER 19