by Tim Ayliffe
Omar stepped towards Geoff, grabbing him by the arm. ‘You’ve been in my house, eaten at my family table. Show some respect!’
Geoff pushed his arm away. ‘Don’t fucking touch me!’
‘Geoff! Cool it, bro,’ Hamid said. ‘He’s just trying to find Tariq.’
‘Well, he doesn’t have to be such a dick about it.’
‘You know, Geoff, you’re right, mate.’ Bailey stepped in front of Omar. ‘Everyone just needs to take a breath for a minute.’
‘Bailey!’
Bailey turned around at the sound of a familiar voice. Dexter. She didn’t look happy.
‘Sharon, what’re you doing here?’
‘No, Bailey.’ She was shaking her head. ‘That’s my question. And what you guys are doing right now is not helping anyone.’
‘Who’s she?’ It was Geoff again. ‘Are you a cop, lady?’
‘Sharon, these are Tariq’s friends, Geoff and Hamid.’ Bailey pointed at the two boys with scowling faces. ‘They were just telling us about the last time they saw Tariq.’
‘Bullshit we were –’
‘Geoff! Seriously, bro. Keep it cool,’ Hamid said. ‘Look, Mr Bailey, Mr Haneef, I haven’t seen Tariq since school last Tuesday. I’m not sure what’s up with him.’
‘What d’you mean?’ Omar said. ‘What d’you mean, you don’t know what’s up with him?’
Hamid looked over at Geoff, who quickly looked away.
‘Fellas,’ Bailey said, ‘If you know something, you should tell us. A fifteen-year-old boy out on the streets is serious, how would you like being alone and –’
‘You know nothing about me, old man,’ Geoff said. ‘No one would give a shit if I took off. What the fuck do you know?’
‘Geoff!’ Hamid whacked his friend with the back of his hand, turning to Bailey. ‘Look, all I know is that he said he needed to take off for a while, that he was in trouble and that there was something he needed to do.’
‘What kind of trouble?’ Dexter stepped in front of Bailey so that she could get Hamid’s full attention.
‘That’s all I know, lady.’
‘Fuck this.’ Geoff turned his back and started walking away.
Hamid looked like he was getting a change of heart too. ‘Mr Haneef, I hope you find Tariq soon. I really do. But I don’t know what else to tell you.’
‘Hamid?’ Dexter pulled a card out of her pocket. ‘Your mate was right, I am a copper. And it’s really important that we find Tariq. If you remember anything else, or you hear anything, give me a call, okay?’
‘Yeah, I guess.’
‘And don’t worry, you’re not in any trouble,’ she said. ‘Your friend just needs our help.’
They watched Hamid run up the street to catch up with Geoff, the pair of them looking back over their shoulders a half dozen times before disappearing around the corner.
‘You.’ Dexter poked her finger into Bailey’s arm. ‘Can we have a quiet word?’
Bailey smiled, readying himself for the lecture coming his way. ‘Of course.’
Dexter waited until they were far enough away from Omar before she started talking. ‘You being here has the potential to seriously jeopardise our chances of finding the kid.’
‘How so?’ Bailey said.
‘I’m not even getting into this with you.’
‘Let’s avoid the big statements then, shall we?’ Bailey didn’t like being reprimanded and he especially didn’t like the insinuation that he was putting Tariq’s life, or anyone else’s, in more danger.
‘Have you found out anything?’ Dexter said.
‘I was going to ask you the same question.’
‘Here’s one thing I can tell you,’ Dexter said. ‘The deal you thought you had with me about getting twenty-four hours is off. This thing’s moving too quickly.’
‘Then you do know something,’ Bailey said. ‘What’ve you got?’
Dexter grabbed his elbow and walked him further up the street so that her whispering voice wouldn’t travel.
‘Just chatter, Bailey. Chatter. Along the lines of what you told me. Something’s coming. We don’t know what, we don’t know when. We just know.’
‘Sounds like you know bugger all, then.’
‘Don’t be a smartarse,’ Dexter said. ‘But here’s something I do know. You and I are going back to Omar’s house right now. He’s going to tell us everything he knows about his son.’
‘Is that really necessary?’
Bailey was finding it difficult to separate an old loyalty from his relationship with Dexter and the reality of the dangerous situation in front of them.
‘Yes. It is.’
Bailey sighed, knowing she was right. ‘I’ll talk to Omar.’
‘No, you won’t. I will. Because within an hour, a car full of AFP investigators will be meeting us there.’
‘To what? Search the house?’
Bailey had almost forgotten what Dexter was like on the job. Everything by the book.
‘We need to look at any computers they’ve got. Phones, tablets, whatever.’
‘Do what you’ve got to do,’ Bailey said.
‘Don’t look at me like that, Bailey. I told you these ops can go sideways very quickly. Information doesn’t just fall out of the sky, we go looking for it. Just like you’re doing right now.’
Bailey knew that she was right. Tariq had been in the suburban wilderness for a week already. If he was involved in something bad, the window for stopping it was closing.
‘Let me break the news to Omar.’ He tried again, holding up his palms. ‘Please.’
Dexter took a moment to answer. ‘Okay. But he travels in the car with me. At least it’ll be a nicer ride than that pile of junk you drive.’
‘The Corolla?’ Bailey’s face lit up at the mention of his beloved old bomb. ‘Why is it that I’m the only one who sees beauty in that car?’
‘I think it’s time you got your eyes tested.’
He winked at her. ‘You know I’ve got a good eye for all things fine.’
That one drew a half-smile from Dexter. She went to say something, then stopped. ‘Let’s go.’
They started walking back to break the bad news to Omar about the unscheduled visit to his home.
‘And Bailey?’ Dexter said before they reached him.
‘Yep?’
‘Stay out of the way of my investigators. Most of these AFP guys are nerds, they won’t mess up Omar’s house, they’ll do what I say.’
‘Don’t we all?’
Dexter laughed, knowing there was truth in it. Most federal investigators in counter-terrorism had done their training in university lecture theatres. They dressed a little too sharply and spoke like intellectuals. They pissed off Dexter no end but they’d do exactly what she asked.
CHAPTER 13
Wiley Park was the kind of unremarkable suburb that people passed through without even noticing.
The streets were lined with weatherboard or orange brick houses and concrete driveways that took up half the land. Some families had so many cars that even the big driveways weren’t enough, so they parked the vehicles, side by side, on wiry grass lawns.
But the suburb, like the city, was changing.
These days, you wouldn’t get much change out of a million dollars for your average house in Wiley Park. And the immigrants who bought cheap houses here in the 1990s were laughing like anyone else that owned a block of land in Sydney. Omar Haneef was one of them.
After arriving from Baghdad, Omar had worked day and night driving his taxi, saving up a deposit for a new home and a new life.
Stepping through the front door, Bailey could see that Omar had done well. The walls inside were freshly painted, the furniture was neat and respectable, and the house was clean and tidy. There was a sense of history here too. Persian rugs on the floor, tapestries on walls and photographs of family and friends in gold-rimmed frames on the sideboard. This was a house where family mattered. Proud of the life that they’d built, while nev
er forgetting where they came from.
‘Please.’ Omar gestured to Bailey and Dexter to sit on the sofa in the lounge room.
‘Nice house, mate.’ Bailey was trying to make conversation while they waited for Noora Haneef to return with the tray she was preparing in the kitchen. ‘Good to see you doing well.’
‘It’s home.’
Noora set down the tray on the table, placing saucers and small cups in front of her husband and their guests. The pear-shaped dallah was made of copper and it had been meticulously polished. Noora tilted the pot by its curved handle, pouring the thick black coffee into each cup.
‘I’m okay, thanks,’ Dexter began, ‘I’ve had –’
Bailey touched Dexter on her knee and gave her a look that told her she was drinking the coffee, whether she wanted it or not. ‘This looks lovely, thanks, Noora,’ he said.
There were some cultural sensitivities that were worth respecting and refusing a cup of coffee in an Iraqi family’s home would be a sign of disrespect. If Bailey and Dexter were going to get Omar and Noora to talk, they first had to respect the rules of the house.
‘I was hoping you might be able to join us too, Noora?’ Dexter pointed to the three cups on the table.
Noora looked at Omar, who nodded his head. She sat on the sofa beside him.
‘So, what can you tell us about Tariq?’ Dexter said.
Omar went to speak but Dexter held up her hand.
‘If you don’t mind, Omar. I’d like to hear from Noora now.’
Noora hesitated until the silence beckoned her to speak.
‘My son is a good boy,’ she said. ‘He’s a normal boy. He plays football with his friends, he studies. He’s a good Muslim.’
‘Pardon my ignorance, Noora. But what do you mean by good Muslim?’
Noora gave her husband a hopeful stare.
Bailey cleared his throat and his cup made a loud clinking sound when he placed it back on the saucer. ‘Detective Dexter’s really just trying to learn everything she can about Tariq. She’s just trying to help, Noora. You don’t need to worry. We just want to find your son.’
Dexter glared at Bailey, then turned back to Noora. ‘John is right, we want to help. Now can you please tell me what you meant?’
‘A good Muslim is someone who says their prayers, who is gentle and kind, who doesn’t drink alcohol, who . . . who knows the importance of family, of community.’ Noora was distracted by a sound in the kitchen.
‘Is someone else here?’ Dexter said.
‘Sara? Sara is that you?’ Noora called out. ‘Come in here, darling. We have guests.’
Bailey remembered that Omar had a daughter too. His firstborn, older than Tariq.
Sara walked into the room. Like her mother, she was wearing a hijab. She had a bag slung over her shoulder, ready to go out.
‘John Bailey, Detective Dexter,’ Omar said. ‘This is our daughter, Sara.’
‘Lovely to meet you, Sara,’ Bailey said, standing up.
‘Is this about Tariq?’ Sara walked over and stood next to her mother. ‘Please tell me you’ve found him?’
‘Not yet,’ Bailey said. ‘That’s why we’re here, to help find him.’
Noora reached for her daughter’s hand, holding it tight. The one child that was safe.
‘Has he done something wrong?’ Sara said.
‘We just think he might be in trouble, that’s all,’ Dexter cut in. ‘Have you seen, or heard, from him?’
‘Not since last week,’ Sara said. ‘It doesn’t make sense for him to run off.’ She sat down on the arm of the sofa. ‘As Mum and Dad probably said, he’s never done anything like this before.’
‘Did you see Tariq hanging around with anyone unusual?’ Bailey got back in the conversation. ‘Any new friends?’
‘No. Tariq’s pretty straight.’
‘Any of his friends into anything we should be worried about?’ Dexter said.
‘I don’t think so. They just play soccer, video games. Stuff like that. I mean, everyone knows there’s plenty of drugs around here – ice, y’know . . . but that isn’t Tariq.’
‘What do you mean, drugs?’ Noora looked up at her daughter, the confusion telling on her face.
‘Sorry, Mum.’ Sara touched her mother’s shoulder. ‘I’m not saying that Tariq’s into drugs. But plenty of kids are.’
‘Tariq does not take drugs,’ Noora said, defensively, her eyes trained on Dexter. ‘I’m his mother. I can tell you that for certain.’
‘Good to know,’ Dexter said. ‘Sara, exactly when was the last time you saw your brother?’
‘A week ago, at dinner. Tuesday night. We all ate together and then I went to university the next morning, early. He went to school.’
‘You haven’t heard from him? He hasn’t called you?’
‘No. Nothing.’ Sara stood up, slinging her bag over her shoulder. ‘I really want to help but I don’t know much at all. I’ve got an important lecture at university, if that’s okay?’
They were interrupted by a knock on the door.
‘I’ll get the door.’ Dexter knew exactly who was standing on the Haneefs’ front porch. Before she moved to let them in, she pulled a card from her pocket, handing it to Sara. ‘Here. Go to class, but I will need to talk to you again. Meantime, if you think of anything, or hear anything, give me a call. Doesn’t matter what day, or time. Okay?’
‘Of course, thanks.’
After Sara left, Bailey watched in silence as the cavalry moved in. Australian Federal Police, men and women in ill-fitting suits with scowling, serious faces. Dexter took them aside for a quiet chat. The boss.
‘What’s this?’ Omar said to Bailey. ‘What’s going on?’
‘They just need to take a look around.’
‘At what?’
‘Computers, Tariq’s phone, if he has one, stuff like that.’
‘We only have one family computer,’ Noora said. ‘And Tariq took his phone. It’s been switched off for days.’
Bailey leaned forward, speaking quietly. ‘Omar, when we saw each other this morning, you said that Tariq had been speaking to people over the internet. How do you know that?’
Omar’s eyes were darting between the cops at his front door and Bailey.
‘Omar?’
‘Noora found something on the computer. A strange email account.’ Omar looked across at his wife, who nodded for him to continue. ‘In the deleted items there was a message.’
Omar was nervous and struggling to get his words out, knowing that they probably wouldn’t just be for Bailey.
‘Go on, mate. What’d it say?’
‘I’ll show you.’
Omar handed Bailey a folded piece of paper from his pocket. It was a print-out of an email that had been sent to an account name made up of a series of random letters and numbers.
Young soldier,
Our struggle needs great martyrs like you to show the infidels the power of jihad.
The instructions are coming. Allah is watching. You will be in his arms soon.
Mustafa
‘Was this the only message in the account?’
‘Yes,’ Noora said. ‘There may have been more but this was the only one I found.’
‘One for the police, then,’ Bailey said, eyeing Dexter who was still briefing the Feds at the front door.
Bailey refolded the piece of paper and slipped it into his pocket.
After the AFP officers had collected what they needed, it was time for everyone to go.
‘Sharon,’ Bailey stopped Dexter on the grass beside Omar’s taxi, ‘I’ve got to show you something.’
He reached into his pocket and handed her the piece of paper Omar had just given him. He had to share it now. If Tariq had been dumb enough to exchange messages with Mustafa al-Baghdadi using the family computer, it wouldn’t take long for the cops to find out.
‘You’re kidding me,’ Dexter said after reading the message. ‘Mustafa?’
‘That’s what t
he note says.’
‘You think it’s Mustafa al-Baghdadi?’
‘I know it is.’
She slipped the note into her pocket. ‘And what makes you so certain?’
Bailey knew that he had to tell her about the phone call with Mustafa, but he didn’t quite know where to start. Withholding information from the police was never a good idea. When the cop concerned was your girlfriend, it was just plain stupid.
‘Bailey?’
‘I spoke to him.’
‘Tariq?’
Bailey shook his head. ‘Mustafa.’
‘You what?’
Dexter’s face was flushed from the surprise. And anger. ‘You’re fucking kidding me. When? How?’
‘This morning, after I left your place.’
‘You’re unbelievable.’ She shook her head and turned her back on him, just for a moment, then she spun back around. ‘You realise the position you’ve put me in?’
Bailey needed to find a way out of this, or he could wind up sitting in a police station all night answering questions he didn’t know how to answer.
‘Look, I was going to tell you,’ he said. ‘It was only a few hours ago.’
‘A few hours can mean everything.’
‘Yeah, well, I’m telling you now.’ Bailey didn’t like what Dexter was insinuating. ‘And I’ve already got someone looking into the phone number.’
‘Ronnie bloody Johnson, no doubt.’
Dexter knew enough about Ronnie to know that he wasn’t just anyone.
‘How’d you guess?’
Dexter never quite understood the closeness of Bailey’s relationship with Ronnie. What had happened in Iraq must have bound them tightly together, because journalists and American intelligence agents were strange bedfellows indeed.
‘I’d like Ronnie’s number, please. Now.’
There was no point pushing back. Bailey thumbed through his phone and recited his old buddy’s digits to Dexter.
‘Thank you.’ She climbed into her car. ‘Ronnie had better answer and he’d better share what he’s got, or I’m coming back for you. Then you can meet some of my colleagues down at the station.’
‘Don’t worry, he will.’
Bailey knew that Ronnie worked fast – faster than any of the cops who worked with Dexter, thanks to the abundant resources of the CIA. It was why he went to him in the first place. But he’d never admit that to Dexter.
