‘Maybe we should get rid of HELLS ANGLES while we’re at it?’ Martin suggested. ‘We don’t want to get pulled over by the spelling police, you being a librarian.’
Faith laughed. She leaned forward and straightened the collar on his tracksuit. She was a very tactile person, he realised. And he also realised that he liked that a whole lot.
‘So, what do you think of your new look?’ she asked.
‘Well, you obviously spared no expense,’ he said. ‘Genuine polyester, is it? God forbid I should wear a fabric that breathes.’
‘In the spy game it’s called trade craft, Martin. It’s all about blending in. I suppose this means you’ll be wanting your change back now?’
‘Nah, you can keep it,’ he smiled. ‘I’m rolling in it.’
‘That’s exactly how you smelled in that bikie’s jeans, like you’d been rolling in it. And it, whatever it was, had been dead for a week. We should bury that stuff off the road somewhere.’
‘The sooner the better,’ he agreed.
‘Maybe we should ditch the rest of the armoury at the same time?’ Faith suggested. ‘Unless you’ve got one of those macho gun things happening?’
‘I think I’m over guns for all time. They’re too damn dangerous.’
Faith stood up and stretched. ‘A shower and then hit the sheets, I think. It’s been a very big day.’
‘Sure has,’ said Martin, fidgeting. He wondered what the sleeping arrangements would be in a situation like this.
Faith interrupted his thoughts. ‘The couch turns into a bed. Not ideal, but for someone who’s been jammed into a sidecar all afternoon it’ll probably feel like heaven.’
‘I’m sure I’ll be fine,’ Martin said, relieved that this was settled. He suddenly remembered something. ‘Is it really your birthday?’
‘Yep.’
‘Mine was yesterday.’
She smiled. ‘You can’t beat not getting killed as a birthday present, eh? How old?’
‘Fifty. And you?’ He stopped himself. ‘Sorry, that’s a bit personal.’
She shrugged. ‘No, it’s not. I’m forty-five and grateful for every day of it.’
‘Really? You don’t look forty-five.’
‘I’ve seen the million bucks, Martin, there’s no need to sweet-talk me. And you’re still on the couch.’
nine
Sergeant Colin Curtis was hosing out the satellite dish on the roof of the garage of the police residence. He did this regularly in the vain hope that a clean dish would somehow pick up less crappy programs. A black Commodore pulled into the police station driveway behind him. He noticed it had black tinted windows. Very black. The man who got out of the driver’s door was wearing a suit. A very nice suit. Col might have been a country cop but he knew an Armani suit when it walked up to him at three in the morning. The suit and its owner had been nosing around the bank earlier, during the preliminary investigation. The armed-robbery cops from Albury had been deferential to its wearer, which was unusual. The armed-robbery cops from Albury weren’t normally deferential to anybody. Everyone who had ever had dealings with them agreed that the armed-robbery cops from Albury were a pretty scary bunch.
‘Had your car washed then?’ Colin asked. ‘The Albury wallopers do it for you?’
The man in the suit smiled at him. About the same age as himself, Colin estimated. And fit. Extremely fit. Colin decided he could take him, probably. But it wouldn’t be easy. Someone would get hurt, and someone else would get very seriously hurt.
‘Didn’t wake you, I see,’ said the visitor.
‘I don’t sleep.’ Colin twisted the nozzle on the hose to off.
‘Gotcha,’ said the man. ‘I know what that’s like. How about we go for a little walk?’ He nodded towards the residence. ‘Wouldn’t want to disturb the wife and sprogs.’
Col scanned the stranger’s suit for evidence of a weapon. The man smiled and held his jacket open. ‘Feel free to pat me down if it makes you happy.’
Colin swung his hip slightly to make sure the revolver on his belt could be seen.
‘Must be your spare,’ said the stranger. ‘Word around town is the local bank manager took your service pistol off you.’ He shook his head sadly and made tut-tutting noises. ‘Not going to look too good in the old personnel file, is it?’
Colin shrugged. ‘Bad day,’ he said. ‘It happens.’
The two men walked down towards the creek, which ran through a gully behind the station. The pale glow from an almost full moon washed an eerie blue light over the property; the ghost gums cast long shadows across the track.
‘So what can you tell me about Martin Carter?’
Colin stopped at the question and looked closely at the man’s face. He was silent for a long time. ‘I gave all the pertinent details to the armed-robbery squad from Albury,’ he said finally. ‘And since I don’t know you from a hole in the ground, I don’t think I feel like saying anything else.’
‘I’m from the government,’ said the man in the suit.
‘Federal, state, local or shire?’ Colin asked. ‘I’m pretty sure you’re not the Burrinjuruk dog catcher because I think that’s me.’
The man took a thin black leather wallet from his jacket and flipped it open to reveal an identity card inside a clear plastic sleeve.
‘Sounds important, but I’ve never heard of it,’ said Colin after checking the details on the card. ‘Of course my twelve-year-old runs up IDs like that on her computer at school.’ He squinted at the wallet again. ‘Better than that, actually.’
The man in the suit closed his wallet. ‘We’re not a department that seeks out publicity, Sergeant Curtis, but we are tasked to report at the highest levels of government. Let’s just say that if you ring the Federal Police Inter-Departmental Liaison Office in Canberra, they will confirm we exist.’ His voice was suddenly cold. ‘And I think they’ll advise you that we’re a department you don’t really want to fuck with. So let’s start again. What can you tell me about Martin Carter?’
‘He’s fat, fifty, confused and extremely cashed up.’
‘Very droll. Anything personal you can tell me? Friends, relatives, acquaintances, accomplices?’ The stranger paused for a moment. ‘Any place you can think of that he might be heading for with all that money?’
Colin picked up a flat stone and skipped it across the shallow creek. It bounced twice and sank just short of the far bank. ‘Why would a federal security agency be interested in a rural bank robbery?’ he asked with his back to the stranger.
‘Let’s just say Mr Carter’s name rang some bells.’
Colin turned back to him. ‘Not buying it, pal. Martin’s just some rural bank shit-kicker who went a bit wobbly. People like Martin don’t ring bells. You’re going to have to do a bit better than that.’ Colin’s face was blank, but his mind was racing. Why would someone like Martin be flagged in Canberra? He’d done a cursory check of police records the first time Martin came in to renew his licence for the bank pistol – nothing had shown up, and the state police computer was cross-linked to the federal police mainframe. Every bone in Colin’s body was telling him that this bloke was ex-military, probably special ops. He’d be more likely to be out chasing terrorists than bank robbers.
Then suddenly it clicked. That was the connection. It wasn’t Martin, it was the mad major. It had to be. Nothing else made sense. But why the hell would Stark’s high-school friends and God knows who else be on a watch list? The list would go back over thirty years. Some serious kind of watch list, Colin mused.
The man broke into his thoughts. ‘I can hear your brain working, Sergeant. Just confirm where Carter was headed and everything stays pleasant.’
‘I really don’t know,’ Colin said, pulling himself together. ‘And I don’t like being threatened.’
The man picked up a stone and skipped it across the creek, watching as it bounced over the water’s surface and continued into the scrub on the other bank. ‘It may suit you to have the locals think
you’re just some laid-back dozy country copper, but we both know different. I don’t care why you want to rot out here in the boonies, but I do know about the three police bravery commendations and your decorations from ’Nam.’
‘Lot of people got medals over there,’ Colin said. ‘Doesn’t mean much.’
‘Yanks might have been chucking their gongs about like chook food, but our boys had to really earn ’em. And you certainly did. You weren’t just some pogo hanging out at Vungers. One citation says you offed three nogs with your bare hands when your section ran out of ammo on a very hot contact in the Horseshoe.’
The access to his service records and the casual use of military jargon confirmed Colin’s suspicions. Probably intentionally, he decided. This bloke was very, very good. Dangerously good.
Having reached the end of the track, they turned and started back towards the house.
‘So where’d you serve?’ Col asked finally.
The stranger smiled a cold smile. ‘Here and there. You know. The Delta. Up north a few times. Got around a bit. Guess you could say I was a bit of a freelance operative.’
‘I’ll just bet you were.’ Colin couldn’t keep the contempt out of his voice.
‘Someone had to do the really nasty stuff.’
‘It was the bods who enjoyed doing the really nasty stuff who gave me the creeps.’
‘Yeah, well, war is hell and all that bullshit. It’s been nice talking over old times, but let’s get back to tintacks. Where were we again?’
‘I think I was saying I don’t like being threatened,’ Colin said.
‘Right. And I believe I was indicating that I know better than to threaten a man like you.’ His smile was now ice-cold. ‘That’s why I’m threatening your wife and kids.’
Colin lunged instinctively, but the man stepped back quickly and put up a hand.
‘Let me just demonstrate something before we start getting all physical.’ He raised his right index finger in front of Colin’s face. A sharp red dot of light appeared on the tip of his finger, then disappeared as quickly as it had come.
‘You prick!’ Colin’s eyes instantly scanned the house and the surrounding bushland.
‘You won’t find him,’ the stranger said. ‘He’s very good.’ He gave a nod and the red dot reappeared on his fingertip. He moved his finger around in a random sweep and the dot stayed precisely in place.
‘The bullet hits where the red dot sits, and you know it takes one hell of a marksman to hold on a moving target like this.’ Leaning forward, he placed his finger in the middle of Colin’s chest. When he withdrew his finger, the dot stayed in place.
Colin looked down at the bright red dot over his heart. ‘Bit obvious, though, isn’t it?’
‘Not when we switch to infra-red. Totally invisible, except to the shooter. Let’s just say this is our demonstration model.’ He handed Colin a plain white business card with just a name – A. Smith – and a mobile phone number on it. ‘If he calls you, Sergeant, you contact me immediately. You do not call him. You do not try to warn him. If you do, believe me, we will know and there will be a price to pay. And you won’t like it. Not one little bit.’
It was the calmness and cold certainty in the voice that Colin found most unnerving. He watched in silence as the man walked to his car and opened the door. Smith looked back at Colin. ‘Don’t disappoint me, now,’ he said.
Colin held the man’s gaze while he slowly ripped up the business card and let the pieces drop to the ground.
Smith pointed towards the house, where a single light glowed from the kitchen. Colin’s youngest daughter had taped a crayon drawing of a clown to the fridge, clearly visible through the kitchen window. A glowing red dot appeared in the middle of the clown’s forehead. It stayed for a moment, then rapidly moved up the side of the house to the roof and across to the garage. There was a thud, and a neat but surprisingly large hole suddenly materialised in the metal skin of the satellite dish.
Martin, you poor bastard, Colin thought. You are in some seriously deep shit.
ten
There were no roadblocks on the highway, but every few kilometres they passed police cars parked on the verge, with officers scanning the traffic through binoculars.
‘What do we do if they flag us down?’ Martin yelled over the roar of the engine.
Faith shook her head, unable to hear. She flipped up her visor and leaned down and Martin put his face close to hers.
‘What happens if they flag us down?’ he yelled again. He found himself distracted by how good she smelled.
‘We haven’t passed any roadblocks,’ she yelled back. ‘They just seem to be watching. It’s very strange.’
Martin nodded and hunkered down as far as possible in the sidecar, keeping a wary eye out for the next sign of police. He found it impossible to get comfortable in the cramped space. The money that wouldn’t fit behind the sidecar’s seat was taking up most of the room in the nose, so he couldn’t stretch out his legs. He complained about it at a roadhouse where they stopped for fuel and an early breakfast. He also complained about the quality of his breakfast, but his mood improved when he was able to swap the coalscuttle helmet for something a little more conventional. A scooter rider heading for Sydney had been only too pleased to make the trade.
Just as they were getting ready to head back out on the road, a highway patrol car cruised into the service area. Martin, jammed in the sidecar once again, began to panic. He broke out in a sweat, even though the morning air still held a chill. Then he realised that the two officers were ignoring him, and were in fact much more interested in checking out Faith.
‘Nice bike,’ one said through the car window.
‘You bet, officer,’ Faith smiled.
‘Looks like fun,’ the second cop said.
‘You really can’t beat having something big, black and throbbing between your legs first thing in the morning,’ she said, kicking down hard on the starter. The still warm engine roared to life and they pulled out onto the highway with Martin hunkered down even lower in the sidecar and regretting that he’d got rid of the German helmet. He’d almost been able to get his whole head into it, and right now he wanted to be invisible.
Around noon they pulled into the car park of a large shopping centre to get lunch. Faith thought a picnic would be a good idea, letting them eat and keep an eye on the bike and the money at the same time. Three police cars were parked by the entrance, so they found some shade and waited to see if the cops moved on. Sitting on the kerb under a large old bottlebrush, Martin asked, ‘What made you become a librarian?’
‘Now, there’s a conversation starter you don’t often hear,’ Faith laughed.
‘No, seriously, I’m interested. Ducatis to Dewey decimal – bit of a leap?’
‘Not a lot of choices for girls back then – nurse, teacher, librarian … I could read pretty well by the time I was three – Dad helped me sort words out. At five I realised I was thinking like an adult and at six I decided I was a lot smarter than most of the grown-ups around me. I started spending a lot of time in the library and I guess I never left. I loved the sense of order, I suppose.’
‘Hiding out with the Famous Five?’
‘That’s a bit presumptuous,’ she said with mock outrage. ‘I was a Secret Seven girl! Actually, I’d read anything with words on it. Plus, when I read something it pretty much stays with me.’
‘Like a photographic memory, you mean?’ he asked.
‘Something like that. Bit of a pain, really. My head’s full of all sorts of often useless information.’
‘Like what?’
‘Okay,’ she said, ‘for instance, take your pills. ACE inhibitor for blood pressure, diuretic to make you piss and increase the action of the ACE inhibitor, and a statin to lower cholesterol.’
‘Sounds like what the doctor said,’ Martin agreed, craning his neck to check on the police cars, which were still parked at the entrance.
‘I can do better than that,’ Fai
th continued. ‘The ACE stands for angiotensin-converting enzyme, and the inhibiting ingredient in the particular type you’re taking is derived from the venom of a Brazilian brown tree snake.’
‘Really?’
‘Really. Which is why you don’t want to be running around chopping down rainforests. Who knows what else is waiting to be discovered?’
‘You must have been fun at parties.’
‘I was once I learned to keep my mouth shut. And don’t go anywhere with that statement,’ she warned with a wry smile.
Martin grinned. He was starting to think she could read his mind. ‘And why did you marry your ex?’ he asked.
‘Jesus, Martin,’ she said, ‘I thought banking required an ordered mind. Yours is all over the place like a mad woman’s breakfast, with no disrespect meant towards women, the mentally ill, or the most important meal of the day.’
Martin pushed a stone around with the toe of his Volley. ‘I spent thirty years trying to convince myself I was happy as a banker, and that I could think like one,’ he said sadly.
‘Didn’t work, I see,’ she said. ‘Still, we need bankers in society so we know exactly when a fad is over.’
Martin affected a hurt expression. ‘That’s very cruel, Faith. And if you’re referring to the diamond-stud earring period in retail banking, I was never a participant. I’m unpunctured.’
She let out a delighted laugh. ‘Very good, Martin! You have the makings of an excellent travelling companion.’
Martin rather liked the concept of being a travelling companion. Especially hers.
‘Now, back to your highly insensitive and grossly invasive question,’ she went on. ‘I married Giles because I was twenty-five and he had a shiny new engineering degree, an MGB and he asked me. Back then I thought that was love.’
‘Really?’ He turned to face her.
‘I said I was intelligent, Martin, it just took me a long time to get smart.’
‘Good old Giles with the MGB, eh?’ Martin chuckled.
‘I know, I know,’ she said defensively, throwing up her hands, ‘it’s a name for a butler, not a lover. You’re so hard, Giles. Slam it into me, Giles. Throw me onto the old four-poster and roger me rigid, Giles. It just doesn’t work, does it?’
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