Snatched! (Foley & Rose Book 6)

by Gary Gregor

  Finally, Russell Foley broke the silence. “How do you know stuff like that?”

  Sam shrugged. “I flew one once,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “You flew one?”

  “Yeah. Out at Uluru. Flew over the Rock, and the Olgas. Good fun. You should try it.”

  “You get dizzy climbing a fuckin’ ladder,” Foley scoffed. “I’ve seen you in a chopper a couple of times. You would be the most unreligious person I know, and all you did the whole trip was whisper Hail Marys and cross yourself until your arms ached.”

  “Be nice, Russ, Sam said. “You don’t want Spog and Max to get the wrong impression of me.”

  “Too fuckin’ late for that,” Foley murmured.

  “What?”

  “Never mind,” Foley said. He turned to Barker. “What’s the deal with this para-glider thing?”

  “Para-motor,” Barker corrected. “Our Traffic chaps reported there was one on the back of the Toyota. It was mangled so badly in the smash it took them a while to identify exactly what it was.”

  “Maybe they were doing what Sam wants us to believe he did,” Foley offered. “Sight-seeing over the Rock and the Olgas. They were apparently coming from that direction.”

  “There is another theory,” Barker said. “What if they intended to use it to pick up the ransom money?”

  “Wow!” Foley responded. “You don’t think that is too much of a stretch?”

  “It may well be a stretch too far, Russ. However, let’s think about it for a moment. Let’s look at what we’ve got so far. We’ve got two men fitting the description of the two men at Tilmouth Wells in a Toyota that fits the description of the vehicle they were driving. We’ve got the Toyota involved in a smash carrying number plates taken from a wrecked Ford out at Haasts Bluff. One of the crash victims possibly worked for a few days on a building project at the Haasts Bluff school. The ransom money was dropped at Mount Liebig before dawn this morning and the Toyota was carrying a para-motor, ideal for flying in, grabbing the ransom, and flying out again. Are you starting to see a pattern here?”

  “Circumstantial evidence only, boss,” Foley said.

  “Yes, it is, Barker agreed. But a little bit too much of it to be ignored I think.”

  “What now, boss?” Sam asked.

  “We wait to hear from the kidnappers with the location of Tracy and her class,” Barker answered. “When we get photos of the deceased through, Max may recognise the bloke who was working at the school. If he does, it will be another piece to the puzzle.”

  Foley looked at Sam. “You really flew one of those contraptions?”

  “I’m nothing if not a risk-taking adventurer,” Sam said with a wide smile.

  “You’re nothing if not an idiot,” Foley offered.

  33

  Craig Garrett tapped his watch face with his finger and stared for a few moments at the second hand, satisfying himself the watch was working. He was worried. Something was wrong. He should have heard from Frayne and Thomas by now. They should have picked up the ransom money and contacted him with a ‘thumbs-up’ icon long before this. By now they should be almost at his location to pick him up and carry out the final part of their plan. Right now, he had no idea where they were or why they had not contacted him, and that worried him. The instructions were clear. They went over the plan a hundred times and then a hundred more before moving forward. Frayne and Thomas were to send a brief text when they had the money in their hands. That was the plan. They should have had the ransom money before dawn. Why had they not contacted him? They were all ex-military; they all knew the importance of planning, and the disciplined execution of such plans.

  He checked his phone again and saw there was still plenty of battery charge remaining. He clicked onto messages for the third time – there were none. Something was very wrong. Even if the ransom had not been delivered, Frayne and Thomas would have messaged him.

  They had a contingency plan in place in the event the ransom money was not delivered but they never anticipated they would have to use it. Surely the government would pay. They were holding a teacher, and eleven young students hostage. How could they not pay? They would not risk the lives of twelve people over two million dollars, surely.

  Then, an unheralded thought sprang to the fore-front of Garretts mind, one he immediately tried to dismiss. It was ridiculous. Frayne and Thomas would not abandon him. They were friends. When you stand on the front line in heavy combat with someone, over and over again, friendships are forged that can never be broken. No, Frayne and Thomas would never abandon him. They stood by him through the whole Court-Martial debacle, even quit the army in protest following his inglorious exit from the military. Their friendship was far and away unlike any that most people could ever imagine. You had to be there, on the front line, up to your armpits in the firefight raging all around you, trying to stay alive and keep your mates alive in the process to fully understand the bond of friendship that is implanted deep into your being.

  Had their vehicle suffered a breakdown, Garrett wondered? Had the para-motor failed? Either was possible albeit unlikely. Besides, if it were any sort of mechanical problem, they could still have messaged him. Had the police been waiting for them? Were they both in custody at this very moment?

  Capture was always a possibility. But if they had been captured, he knew they would never rat him out. That was the kind of men they were. All three of them were trained in the art of resisting interrogation should they ever be captured by the enemy. Interrogation by the police would be a walk in the park compared to interrogation by the Taliban. Thomas and Frayne would not talk. If it came to it, each one of them would go to prison and do the time knowing Garrett was free. He would do the same for them; that’s just the way it was.

  If, by chance, the police were waiting and watching, they would have no vehicle close by; that would be too obvious. They could have been dropped into position by police helicopter at the same time as the ransom drop, or even as early as the afternoon before. They could have climbed up the Mount, and hidden somewhere up amongst the scattered rocks. However, getting down safely, and in a hurry, would be extremely difficult, particularly in the dark.

  From a pre-determined launch site a couple of kilometres away, the para-motor could sweep in on the drop sight, the pilot could grab the bright orange ransom bag and be gone before the cops had time to do anything but watch the strange craft disappear in the pre-dawn darkness behind the bulk of the Mount.

  If there were any weaknesses at all in their plan, it was that the police might be watching the drop sight. Probably from somewhere high up on Mount Liebig, waiting to pounce when someone arrived to collect the ransom. Their planning had, of course, taken into account such an eventuality, and that’s where the para-motor came into play.

  The other weakness, the one Garrett was rapidly coming to favor, was Cornwell. If this whole thing was going to fall to shit, he was willing to bet that Cornwell had his fat nose in it somewhere.

  But there is, in even the best laid plans, a degree of vulnerability exposing them to the possibility of failure. Unforeseen circumstances are a risk, and the number and variety of such circumstances can never be pre-estimated. If they arise, they have to be dealt with effectively, in real time. If not, everything falls to pieces. Should that happen, and Frayne and Thomas did not return to Lake Lewis, they had all agreed it would mean they were unable to and that Garrett should simply walk away.

  Garrett looked at his watch again, just as the time ticked over to 12.25 PM. He walked to the top of the entrance ramp, the concern gnawing a little deeper at his gut now. 1200 hours was the time to start planning his exit from Lake Lewis if Frayne and Thomas had not yet returned. Allowing for a two-hour leeway, 1400 was his designated departure time. He had to believe that something had gone terribly wrong.

  At the top of the ramp he shaded his eyes against the harsh glare of the midday sun. A prominent heat haze shimmered across the wide horizon offering distorted, wavering glimpse
s of Mount Liebig beyond. He stared out across the endless, empty landscape, his eyes scanning the hot, barren land between himself and the faint outline of the distant Mount. There was nothing there. Not even a thin cloud of dust which might indicate a vehicle heading towards his location.

  As he watched, a small whirlwind, spurred and accelerated by a sudden, hot, eye-watering wind-gust spiraled skywards just a short distance from where he stood. Momentarily distracted, Garrett watched the tiny vortex as it snaked into the sky and finally dissipated. So eerily familiar was this place, if he closed his eyes, he could easily imagine he was back in Afghanistan. The only difference was, he was alone. His comrades who shared the horrors and torment of the far-off war zone were not with him, and there was no battle raging around him. Notwithstanding the teacher and the kids locked in a compact room below him, he felt desperately alone.

  It was an all-consuming loneliness. Exacerbated by the non-appearance of Frayne and Thomas and the now very real sense that all their planning had seemingly amounted to nothing, the feeling came over him suddenly, enveloping him like a thick fog. He lowered his head and looked at the ground at his feet. He inhaled deeply, his breath catching a little as he fought against the urge to weep. How did his life get to this point? What did he ever do, other than the job he was trained for, that would bring him to such a low point in his life?

  He knew it was the killing of the woman and her child in Afghanistan that instigated his descent into melancholia and, while he deeply regretted the incident, in his heart, he believed killing the woman was the right thing to do. She was the enemy. She was a terrorist; indoctrinated and brainwashed by cowardly leaders into believing that killing herself, her child, and as many of the infidels as she could she was doing exactly as Allah demanded. At the time, Garrett believed the woman was a suicide bomber and if he hadn’t done what he did, he and several of his comrades would almost certainly have been killed. In the wash-up following the incident, it was determined the woman was indeed an enemy combatant, but she was not a suicide bomber. The death of the woman did not particularly torment Garrett, but the death of her child did.

  Garrett also knew that the Australian government was the instigator of the enquiry and his subsequent Court-Martial from the Army that followed. The government had to be seen to be pro-active in what was an un-popular war. Australian soldiers were bleeding all over the Afghani desert sand and it was the governments job to convince the Australian public that it was all worthwhile.

  Now, all this time later, standing at the top of the ramp in this isolated, unforgiving country, Garrett just felt incredibly sad. It seemed to him that it was all for nothing. A decorated soldier, facing what he considered to be a long and fulfilling career with the Australian Army had been reduced to a lonely, broken, worthless being.

  He sighed deeply, took another long, hard look across the flat, arid land and turned and walked back down the ramp.

  34

  Divided into two teams of six, Tracy and the children were playing a made-up variation of softball. Normally played on a field similar to a baseball game, the rules and playing conditions had to be amended to accommodate the space available to them in the compact room. They used their hands for a bat, and a ball made from a scrunched-up sock from one of the children jammed into an empty paper cup.

  Running the bases was awkward in the restrictive dimensions of the playing field, but it made for lots of laughter as children collided harmlessly with each other as they ran for the base just a few steps away from the batting plate. They found it particularly funny when their beloved teacher, while making a run to first base, slipped and fell when attempting to weave around one of the fielders.

  Tracy laughed along with the children. It was nice to see them happy, she thought. It was important, she believed, to see that they remained as cheerful as possible given there was nothing about their situation that would inspire happiness.

  At first, with her back to the door, she did not hear the rattle of the locking bolt over the laughter and banter of the children. Then, in rapidly dwindling increments, the noise faded and the room finally fell eerily quiet.

  When Tracy turned, she saw the man standing in the open doorway. He looked around the room. His eyes, expressionless, roved from child to child and finally to Tracy. Like chicks huddling around the protective mother hen, the children closest to the door shuffled closer to their teacher.

  “We need to talk,” the man said to Tracy.

  Tracy stepped around the children and moved a little closer to the door. “What about?” she asked.

  “Outside,” the man answered, inclining his head towards the room behind him.

  “I’m not leaving the children,” Tracy said adamantly. “You can talk to me here.”

  For a while, the man did not respond. It was then that Tracy saw something about him that confused her. Something she didn’t understand. He did not seem to stand as erect and as strong and confident looking as he usually did. His shoulders seemed to have slumped, and there was an emptiness in his eyes, a hollow, empty space that, strangely, made her feel a little sad. Not for herself, but for him. There was a look about him, an impression she could only describe as defeatist.

  Finally, he spoke. “Out here, in the other room. I’ll leave the door open.”

  It was in his voice also, Tracy observed. It was softer. Not as demanding and authoritative as she had come to recognise. His tone was almost submissive, she decided; and that was strange.

  “You’ll leave the door open?” Tracy asked.

  “Yes,” the man answered with an almost imperceptible nod of his head.

  Tracy paused. Could she trust him, she wondered? After everything he had put her and the children through, could she trust him? She stared into his expressionless eyes, considering her options. There were only two; go with him into the next room and trust that he would leave the door open, or refuse to leave the children and stay where she was. “What’s so important you can’t tell me here?” she asked, finally.

  “Please,” the man said.

  There it was, Tracy thought. There was definitely something wrong with the man. The very word ‘please’ was the give-away. It was almost like he was pleading with her and something inside her cracked. He was hurting. Perhaps not physically hurting; he did not appear to be injured. But he was hurting nonetheless. Somewhere, somewhere deep within his very being he was suffering. Like he had lost someone very close to him. The longer she stood there looking into his eyes, the more obvious it was.

  If it were anyone else, she would, without hesitation, move to offer comfort and reassurance. But this man was their captor. He had a gun. He threatened and intimidated. He locked her and her class in a tiny, dark and uncomfortable room. There was every reason why she should despise him and refuse to co-operate with his demands. But she couldn’t. It was the look in his eyes, the drastic change in his physical bearing, and the soft tone of his voice that convinced her she should go with him.

  “Do you promise to leave the door open?” she asked, finally.

  “Yes,” he answered.

  Tracy turned around and faced her class. “Children,” she began. “I want you all to remain here. I am going into the next room for a moment. The door will be left open and I will stand where you can all still see me. Please be quiet and wait for me.”

  She took a couple of steps closer to the man standing in the doorway, paused and waited until he stepped backwards into the outer room. “Move further back,” she said, fixing the man with the most determined stare she could muster. She waited and watched as he moved back and stopped in the middle of the second room. Tracy moved forward, paused in the open doorway, and pushed the door open as wide as it would go. She turned and looked back at the children. They had all shuffled into the centre of the room and were now huddled close watching her, the looks in eleven pairs of wide, staring eyes both curious and confused.

  “I’m not going any further,” she said to her class. “I’ll be right her
e.”

  Tracy turned back to face the man. “What?” she asked.

  “Soon you will be leaving here.” He said softly.

  “What?” Tracy said.

  “You and the children will be able to leave this place.”

  “When?”

  Garrett glanced at his watch. “Soon.”

  “You are releasing us?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is someone coming to pick us up?”

  “No. No one knows where we are.”

  Tracy paused, her mind awash with questions. “How will we get away from here?” she asked, finally.

  “You will have to walk out,” Garrett answered.

  “Walk out? You can’t be serious!” Tracy said, exasperated. She glanced behind her at the children and then turned back to face the man. “They are just children! We can’t walk out. I don’t even know where we are. That’s the desert out there.” She lowered her voice a little and leaned forward. She did not want the children to hear her next words. “We will die out there in the heat!”

  “Not if you walk at night,” Garrett said.

  “It’s freezing at night!” Tracy insisted.

  “If you stay here, no one will ever find you,” Garrett responded. “If you take as much water as you can carry… “

  “Why don’t you take us back in the bus you brought us all here in?” Tracy interrupted.

  “There is no bus, Tracy,” Garrett answered. “And, I’m not going with you,” he added.

  “I… I don’t understand,” Tracy stammered. “What do you mean, ‘there is no bus’?”

  Garrett shrugged. “It means what it means,” Garrett explained. “There is no bus. The bus is gone and is not coming back. Your only way out of here is to walk out. The authorities have been searching for you and the kids. I have heard planes flying over the country for the last couple of days. A group as big as yours will be easy to spot. They’ll find you quickly and send vehicles to pick you up.”