Snatched! (Foley & Rose Book 6)

by Gary Gregor

  “Do we know where they were when they sent the drop details?” Spog asked.

  “They’re working on it back in the Alice,” Foley answered. “However, knowing where the message originated is not going to help us much. The chances of them still being there are remote,” Foley said.

  “Like Tilmouth Well,” Sam said.

  “Exactly,” Foley nodded. “It’s almost certain they are moving around, sending their messages from different places to throw us off the track.”

  “It’s working,” Sam said.

  Foley turned to Sparrow. “Any chance you and Marian can put up with us for a while longer?”

  “Of course,” Sparrow said.

  “What’s on the menu tonight?” Sam asked.

  “How about I throw a few steaks on the bar-b-que?” Sparrow answered.

  “Steaks!” Sam exclaimed. “We must be paying you too much!”

  Sparrow laughed. “As a matter of fact, Max and I have a good relationship with the cattle station owners in the district. What are you gonna do when they offer you prime beef steak just for calling in on a courtesy visit once in a while?”

  Sam turned to Foley. “I’m shocked, Russ. It seems like graft and corruption is alive and well in the bush.”

  “Well,” Foley responded. “We either turn a blind eye and eat prime beef steak, or we eat greasy junk food from the local store.”

  “Which, no doubt,” Sam said “I’ll wind up paying for.”

  “Of course,” Foley smiled. “Rank has its privileges.”

  Sam covered his eyes with his hands. “Suddenly I’ve gone blind,” he said.

  27

  Constable Lachlan Jefferies was again on duty at the front counter at police headquarters in Alice Springs when the Education Minister, Peter Cornwell returned. Jefferies briefly closed his eyes, wishing he was anywhere else but here.

  Cornwell pushed through the front doors and strode purposely up to the front counter. He fixed the young constable with a glare that said. ‘I’m back – give me the attention I deserve and be quick about it!’. “Where is Superintendent Barker?” he demanded.

  “Good morning, sir,” Jefferies said with a contrived smile.

  Cornwell ignored the greeting with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Where is Superintendent Barker?” he asked again.

  “The Superintendent is in his office, sir,” Jefferies said.

  Cornwell indicated the half-door at the end of the counter. “Open that door and let me through.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t do that.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t let you in, sir,” Jefferies repeated.

  “Why not?”

  “The area behind the counter is a secure area, sir. No civilians are allowed back here unless accompanied by a police officer.”

  “Do you know who I am, young man?”

  “Yes, sir. I know who you are.”

  Cornwell raised his voice. “Then open this damn door and let me through!”

  “Again, sir, I’m sorry, but I can’t do that.”

  “You do know that I could have your job for this?” Cornwell said.

  “With respect, sir, I don’t think so. I don’t make the rules, I just follow them.”

  Exasperated, anger rose in Cornwell’s face in the form of a crimson glow. “Get him on the phone and tell him I’m here!” he demanded.

  “Now, that I can do,” Jefferies smiled. “If you would like to take a seat over there by the front door, I will call Superintendent Barker and let him know you are here. I’m sure he won’t keep you waiting long.”

  “He better not,” Cornwell huffed. He turned away from the counter, spotted a row of three chairs against the wall next to the front door and strode angrily across the foyer. The chair, a typical government issue, uncomfortable, steel-legged apparatus looked the same as the other two next to it, and the same as the chair in Barker’s office he sat in on his previous visit. It creaked loudly under his ample weight when he lowered himself onto it.

  Behind the counter, Constable Jefferies turned his head away and smirked, secretly hoping the chair would fold and collapse beneath the fat, arrogant prick. Composing himself, he picked up the telephone and dialed Cameron Barker’s extension.

  “Constable Jefferies here, sir,” he announced when the phone was answered. “The Education Minister, the Honourable Peter Cornwell is here to see you.”

  “Honourable?” Barker said. “You mean the Fuck-wit Peter Cornwell?”

  “Yes, sir. That’s correct.”

  “Okay,” Barker said. “Show him through to my office, would you?”

  “Yes, sir.” Jefferies hung up the phone and looked across at Cornwell.

  The Education Minister was leaning forward, examining the legs on his chair.

  “Everything alright, sir?” Jefferies asked.

  Cornwell looked across at the constable. “You need to get stronger chairs,” he said.

  “Not me personally, sir,” Jefferies responded. “The chairs are supplied by the government… your government.” What he really wanted to say was ‘the chairs are strong enough for everyone else. If you lost half-a-ton of fuckin’ weight you fat bastard, they’d be strong enough for you - maybe.’ It was tempting but he restrained himself. “If you’ll follow me, sir, I’ll take you through to Superintendent Barker’s office.”

  “About bloody time!” Cornwell said. he pushed himself awkwardly up and, for a brief moment, the arms of the chair clung to his thighs and lifted the chair an inch or two from the floor.

  Constable Jefferies bit down on his tongue, lest he laugh out loud.

  Seated once again in a similar chair in Yap Yap Barker’s office, Cornwell waited impatiently while Barker finished writing in a file on his desk.

  Finally, Barker looked up from his file and smiled at Cornwell. “Minister, nice to see you again,” he lied. “What can I do for you?”

  “Keeping you word would be a good start,” Cornwell sneered. “You were supposed to keep me informed on the progress of your investigation.”

  “I’ve been busy,” Barker said, as if it was the only explanation he needed.

  “You know, Superintendent, I cancelled an important trip overseas to be here… at your behest, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “Actually, Minister, I was simply passing on a directive from the Commissioner’s office.”

  “The police commissioner?”

  “Yes, he is my boss. It would not be a wise career move to disregard directives from the Commissioner.”

  “Why wasn’t I told about the ransom?” Cornwell asked.

  “What is it specifically about the ransom you haven’t been told?”

  “You informed me that there would be no ransom paid. Now I hear, from the fuckin’ media of all places, that the ransom is to be paid.”

  “The media?”

  “Yes, the media.”

  “Wow!” Barker said. “They are fast, aren’t they? How much do they know?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do they know the location of the drop? Because that would be bad.”

  “Ah… I don’t know.?

  “Do you know the location of the drop?”

  “Ah… well… no,” Cornwell was beginning to sweat heavily. “Bloody hot in here,” he said, tugging at the collar of his shirt.

  “The room is airconditioned, Minister. I find it quite pleasant.”

  “Why wasn’t I told?” Cornwell said angrily.

  “Perhaps that’s a matter you should take up with your boss,” Barker suggested. “I told you that the police policy is that we do not pay ransom demands. That is still our policy. However, I am not about to rule against the Territory Chief Minister. He wants the ransom paid, so it will be paid.”

  “I am the relevant Minister for Education,” Cornwell announced. “Why wouldn’t he discuss this with me before anyone else?”

  Barker shrugged. “Again, that’s something you should ask him.”

>   “Where does the Chief Minister think the money is going to come from?” Cornwell asked.

  “I don’t know,” Barker answered with an exaggerated shrug. “And what’s more I don’t really care where it comes from. Perhaps from the government ‘slush fund’. Or maybe out of ministers’ travel allowances,” he added sarcastically.

  “What?”

  “Never mind, Minister. Look, I apologise if you feel like you’ve been left out of the loop here. I’m not in politics, and I would have thought you people would communicate a little better with each other.”

  “Where is the ransom drop?” Cornwell asked.

  “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.”

  “Why not, for Christs sake? “I’m the minister responsible for the whole education system in the Northern Territory. I have a right to know.”

  “Perhaps you do, Minister,” Barker conceded. “But you won’t hear it from me. And, if the media also knows the drop location, and I sincerely hope they don’t, it could only have come from your department. This is an ongoing investigation and I am not at liberty to comment further than I already have, even to you. Anyway,” he added somewhat sarcastically, “if what you say is correct, you should be able to read about it in the media. Where have you been since we last spoke?”

  “In my accommodation, waiting to hear from you.”

  “At the casino?”

  “Yes, it’s where I am staying.”

  “Maybe you should check with the casino reception. They may have overlooked a message for you.”

  “They’re very efficient,” Cornwell said. “Unlike some, they know and respect who I am, and the position I hold. I’m sure they would have passed on any messages.”

  “Not if you were in a red wine coma,” Barker was tempted to say. He took an audible breath and continued. “You are the head honcho in the Education Department, Minister Cornwell. The ransom drop details came to me from your Departmental Secretary. Those details are, for very good reasons, confidential. If the media knows, I don’t know how they got to know before you but I can assure you it did not come from my people. May I suggest you go back to your people and kick a few arses, or at the very least, make yourself familiar with exactly what news releases are coming out of your own department. I’m not sure you realise the extent of the shit-storm it will create if the media is aware of the drop location. That would put the lives of eleven young school children and their teacher at serious risk.”

  Cornwell was sweating profusely. He pushed himself from his chair and stepped closer to Barker’s desk. “I will be flying back to Darwin on the earliest flight,” he said. “I will liaise with my department heads and straighten this mess out. It seems there are others besides yourself who have forgotten who I am and the important position I hold in this government.” He turned away and waddled laboriously from the office.

  “Thanks for dropping by. Have a lovely flight,” Barker said to Cornwell’s retreating back.

  When the minister was gone, Barker picked up his phone and called the internal Communications room.

  “Sergeant Clarke,” a familiar voice answered.

  “Clarkey, Cameron Barker here.”

  “Good morning, sir. What can I do for you?”

  “Your people put a call through to me about half-an-hour ago. It was from the Departmental Secretary in the Department of Education in Darwin. I need to call him back. Can you get me the number?”

  “Yes, sir. I can do that. It might take a few minutes. Do you want to hold?”

  “No, Clarkey. Call me back as soon as you can will you?”

  “Of course, sir. I’ll get right on it.”

  “Thanks, Clarkey,” Barker said. He lowered the phone and sat back in his chair. “Fuck!” he cursed loudly. He was angry and the anger threatened to consume him. He didn’t want to think about what might happen to the hostages if the media began swarming all over the ransom drop site. Something was niggling at the back of his mind. Something did not quite fit? What was it, he wondered? Was it something Cornwell said, or was it just that the fat, arrogant, sleaze-bag annoyed him so much he was grasping at straws? How could Cornwell not know the ransom drop location? He was the head of the Education Department, he would surely be the first to know, wouldn’t he?

  28

  Tracy was confused. The man, ‘Jack’ as she had named him, was an enigma. When she first had contact with him, three days ago, she considered him the most hateful, evil man she had ever met. Who would kidnap a bus load of young school children, and lock them in a cramped, dark and musty metal room with no way of escape? What could possibly motivate someone to do such a thing to innocent young children? Money? It had to be money. In Tracy’s mind, no amount of money would justify the kidnapping of one child, let alone eleven children. Three days ago, maybe even up to yesterday, she hated him.

  Hate, towards anyone, was not an emotion Tracy had envisioned she would ever feel. Hate was something she thought filled the hearts and minds of evil terrorist organisations who killed wantonly, indiscriminately and with absolutely no compunction. They killed anyone; men, women, children, anyone who did not accept their religious or cultural beliefs. ‘Jack’ was not a terrorist; Tracy was certain of that. But, at first, she hated him nonetheless.

  Now, three days later, while still very scared and unsure about him, perhaps hate was too strong a word to use in relation to her captor. Having always considered herself a good judge of character, there was something about the man she simply did not understand, and that bothered her.

  She had seen little of him since he locked her and her students in the room, and if he was the evil, hateful man she first thought, he would have reacted far differently than he did when he discovered their ridiculous escape attempt through the air vent in the ceiling. Then, when he took Toby and John outside to empty the toilet and bring back more water, he seemed… well… almost personable.

  Was the display of aggression, the threatening posture, the demands, the gun, all a convincing act? Was ‘Jack’, deep down inside, a totally different person than she had at first thought? If it was all an act, he was very good at it.

  It was the little things she couldn’t quite grasp. If he, and his partners in this awful kidnapping, intended to kill her and the children, why would they have not done so already? Why would they go to the considerable trouble, and risk, of keeping them locked up, supplying them with food and water and standing watch over them twenty-four hours a day while they waited for a ransom to be paid, and then kill them? It didn’t make sense.

  If anything, the fact that she and the children were still alive gave her some small degree of hope that they would all survive this thing and be released when their captors got what they wanted. It wasn’t a lot to cling to, and her hold on it was tenuous, but it was all she had.

  Tracy knew next to nothing about kidnapping, ransom demands and threats of violence other than what she had seen in movies; and she didn’t watch movies of that nature very often. Her boyfriend, Richard, loved them. It must be a cop thing she thought. She would watch what he referred to as ‘bang, bang, shoot-em-up’ movies with him from time to time but always closed her eyes when the violent scenes came on. It always seemed like she had her eyes closed for most of the movie.

  Tracy was more a devotee of the romantic comedy genre. To his credit, Richard would return the favour and sit, albeit somewhat restlessly, with her through some ‘feel good’ movie she had selected.

  She smiled thinking about Richard and the times they spent together. Dating in a place like Haasts Bluff was difficult. There were no cinemas, no hotels, no restaurants, no small, intimate cafes where they could get a nice coffee and just sit, watch the world go by, and talk about nothing in particular. Sometimes she missed those things but it was easier if you missed them with someone you cared about.

  Richard was a nice man. There were no ‘bells-and-whistles’ self-promoting posturing with Richard. It was more a case of ‘what you see is what you get’. He was just pl
ain nice. He was nice-looking without being ‘movie-star’ handsome, and nice-looking was good enough for Tracy. Where his job was concerned, he was strong, efficient and dedicated. With her he was gentle, considerate, and understanding; and he made her laugh.

  Did she love Richard? Maybe. Perhaps more than maybe. What she was sure of was that she felt good when she was with him. Feeling good was something she could use right now. Richard would be looking for her. He would never stop looking for her, and that gave her hope.

  Was ‘Jack’ like that? Beneath the brash, commanding exterior, was there a decent, caring individual? Three days ago, she would have said definitely not. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  Tracy was no psychologist, but she knew that when assessing a person’s character, physical appearance should be irrelevant. Like Richard, ‘Jack’ was also a nice-looking man. He had a good physique, he looked strong and capable. But looks could be deceiving and should never be used as a measure of what lay beneath well-formed muscle tone.

  ‘Jack’ kidnapped her and the children. He carried a gun tucked into his belt and held them hostage. He gave no indication of when, or even if, they might be released. None of these things could be seen, by anyone’s perception, as something a good person would do. Nevertheless, there was something about “Jack’ that confused her. There was something behind the clear, deep-brown eyes that she did not recognise. Was it sadness? Regret? Grief? It could be any of those things, she thought. She was pretty certain that whatever it was, it was not happiness.

  Tracy rubbed her eyes and gently shook her head. She had to stop thinking about ‘Jack’ and focus on the children. ‘Jack’ was who he was. He was their captor. There was no getting away from that. No amount of speculation on her part on what type of man he might really be was ever going to change the fact that she and the children were his prisoners.

  She turned away from the door and crossed to where the children were gathered close around Toby Miller and John Jabaldjari. It seemed everyone wanted to know about their brief sojourn into the outside. Several voices, all speaking at once, made for a confusing clutter of sound as the questions came fast at the two boys. ‘Was there anyone else out there?’ ‘Was it hot?’ ‘Was it cold?’ ‘What did the bad man do?’ ‘Did he speak to you?’