White Eye

by Blanche d'Alpuget

  At two o’clock, when she turned back to the house, she could barely see it through the trees. Most of the lights were out. At the base of the wooden steps, she halted and listened again. Somewhere in the distance, a mopoke’s call caressed the silence.

  The strip of neon under the house, which illuminated the parking area, had been turned out, and the only light burning was on the veranda. All the boxes had gone. Parker might still be downstairs, she thought. Suddenly there was a noise on the veranda above her head. A moment later, there was the sound of splashing on leaves and the smell of urine. She kept her eyes screwed tight, feeling small hot drops hit her forehead. The sound of feet on the veranda retreated. She waited to see if anyone was going to come downstairs to sleep in the cabin, but nobody did.

  Overhanging trees blocked the moonlight, and no light came from the cabin itself to guide her to it. She longed to use the flashlight, but the memory of the way Sonja had sensed an intruder made her decide she would have to do without it. Grace had taught her the basic tactic for seeing in the dark. She stood with her eyes closed for what she judged was twenty-five minutes. When she opened them she could see everything as if in twilight. The cabin door was dead-bolted. She went round the side to the window and pushed her ear against the cold glass. There was slow, heavy breathing coming from inside. She pulled back and quickly made her way along the path and kept going, out through the garden and onto the road. Her body cast a pale, short shadow, but she felt safe, and when she reached the airfield she shone her light around. There were the boxes that had been under the house, and four suitcases. She looked at each item carefully; none had anything to do with chimpanzees.

  It was almost 3:00 A.M., time to wave again, but she was sure Tom and Billy would be smart enough to examine the person with the flashlight through the night sights. Tom was only five hundred meters away. She waved and gave an owl call as well. A few seconds later, a strange sort of owl called back.

  Diana used the flashlight every few minutes until she was behind the hill, when she turned it on and chased the beam of light running in front of her feet across the uneven ground.

  Both the boys were awake. She explained that the people were going to fly stuff out, probably early in the morning, and maybe at the last moment they would load the chimpanzees. She was still hoping to photograph them. “I want to go back, but I won’t be able to wave to you after six o’clock because it’ll be getting light.” Tom patted her. “You have a sleep,” he said.

  The sky was still black when the alarm went off at twenty to six. Diana stumbled to her feet, drank coffee from the thermos she’d brought, and set out at a trot. Grace would be awake and getting worried by now—but she could not leave the job half done.

  By the time she reached the outskirts of the garden, the first hint of dawn was coming into the sky. Diana was at the base of the veranda steps when the electric light suddenly turned off, making her heart leap. When nothing more happened, she realized that the switch was connected to an automatic timer. She crossed the concrete as fast as she could, to the bushes on the right-hand side of the house. The path to the cabin was on the left, as was the door of U-1. Although she was farther away from the door than on the other side of the house, here she would be able to see somebody coming from the cabin before anyone saw her.

  She squatted down to wait, thinking of what to say to the sixteen people who were expecting her to take them bird-watching at 8:00 A.M. If I leave here by seven, she thought, I can drive to headquarters, ring up, and tell them to meet me at the lake in the usual place. On the bus journey from Fig Tree Gully Road to the wetlands, she always gave a talk about the lake and its avian life, explaining how to distinguish species and races, and the basic tricks of birding. She was still thinking about how to reorganize the morning’s schedule when, upstairs, an alarm clock rang. Within less than a minute she heard voices, lights were switched on, and the whole house was awake.

  Dawn colors were flowing strongly into the sky now, and from the camping ground on the other side of the fence, beyond the house, came the raucous yells of cockatoos and the rich, mellow caroling of magpies. She could hear swans bugling and ducks grunting and quacking. For a moment she closed her eyes and luxuriated in the music of the day.

  Almost imperceptibly, she became aware of another sound, interrupting the choir of birds. It was the dull, steady buzz of an aircraft. Diana clenched her fists in irritation, realizing too late that she had chosen a hiding place from which she was unable to see the airfield. The engine sound was so faint that had she not been listening attentively to the dawn song, she would not have heard it at all. She squinted in concentration. It was not the air taxi but something much larger.

  It was Kalair’s Cessna 421. Overnight, Kerry had painted out his registration number and painted on a different one. He had also sprayed over the Kalair logo on the tail. His plan was to fly up the back way, to Weewaa, staying below 1,500 meters. Flying low chewed up fuel, but under 1,500 meters he could legally fly No Search and Rescue-No Details. After refueling at Weewaa, still flying low, he could just make it to Cooktown on the north Queensland coast. In Cooktown he would refuel and fly straight for Milne Bay in New Guinea, and somewhere over the Coral Sea he would put out a Mayday. He had a stack of stuff—life jackets and Avgas—to throw out of the aircraft to look like a crash. Goodbye, bailiffs. Hello, Bangkok.

  There were no Customs in Milne Bay. Kerry planned to have a good sleep there. The rest of the journey to Thailand would be easy. But he intended to be strict about luggage: one small cabin bag each was all they could take.

  As he approached the airstrip, he saw the pile of boxes. “Bloody hell,” he muttered.

  In the house, Diana could hear the sounds of people hurrying about and Parker barking orders. Soon the young men came pounding down the stairs, carrying more bags, talking in excited voices. The Asian trotted after them. They all piled into the Land Cruiser and set off too fast. Not long afterward, the Cruiser returned, with only the Asian driver and one young man, who jumped out and almost ran to the door of U-1. He punched in the code. As the door opened, Diana heard him say, “We’ll use the Inclin-ator.” Over on the airfield, the plane landed. It was almost 6:00 A.M.

  Parker and Sonja came downstairs and stood by the Land Cruiser, their backs to Diana. They talked in low voices, then Parker said, “What the hell are they doing down there?” He strode to the door and yelled down, “Hurry it up, chaps,” and disappeared inside. Sonja paced up and down, her open-toe shoes making a scuffing noise on the concrete. She was wearing smart black trousers and a white silk shirt, and carrying a straw hat. She hunched her shoulders against the cold morning air and wrapped her arms around herself. On the middle finger of her left hand, Carolyn’s broad gold ring glinted.

  Suddenly Parker came hurrying out the U-1 door, calling, “Here’s Sailor. You drive, Sonja.” She climbed into the driver’s seat and turned on the ignition. A moment later, the Asian and one of the young men staggered out of U-1, carrying between them a crush cage with some clear plastic wrapped untidily around it. Inside was a chimpanzee. They were only four meters from Diana. She had her camera ready, but as she was about to shoot she realized there was so little light under the house, the camera would automatically flash. She lowered it and watched. The chimp was squeezed hard against the side of its cage by the crush plate, held so tight it could move only its eyes and mouth. Its mouth opened wide and its lips drew back to scream, but no sound came out. You bastards! Diana thought.

  Sonja said in a high, plaintive voice, “The petrol tank’s empty.”

  Parker answered, “You can drive forty K on empty.”

  “It’s been on empty for two days.” She looked out the window at the young man. “I thought you were going to fill it up yesterday.”

  “Sorry,” he muttered. “Forgot.”

  “We better take as much as we can on this trip,” Parker said. He turned to the Asian. “Dear boy, go and get Lucy.”

  A few minutes later,
the young men carried a second chimpanzee out to the parking area. This animal was not so difficult, apparently, because it was in an ordinary cage and its plastic wrapping was more or less in place. Eventually they were all inside and set off, Sonja driving.

  Diana stood up and stretched the cramped muscles in her legs. There was no sound coming from the airfield, which meant that they would not be flying off for a while yet. In the silence, she heard thumping noises from the direction of the shed.

  The air was heating up and she wanted to remove her parka, but she had to keep it on to protect herself from the bushes. Banksias grew on this side of the house, and their leaves were like saws.

  The cabin had a window on its right side. The thumping stopped as she reached the door. She glanced around and listened for a moment before looking in. She could see a table and two chairs, a miniature refrigerator, and, just beneath the window, a sink with a dripping tap. She thought something on a shelf opposite was a brass bell, until she realized it was a Buddha. By going to one edge of the window and craning her neck, she could look farther inside. There was a bed, but nobody was lying on it. She pushed her ear to the glass again but heard nothing. She walked around to the door and tried the handle; it was still dead-bolted.

  Inside the cabin, Michael Romanus lay still, listening for the door to be opened. During the night, while he struggled to untie his hands and feet, he had rolled off the bed onto the floor, and he was stuck there, barely able to move, except to kick with both feet on the wall. He gave another tremendous kick, but there was no response from outside. Perhaps it was just the wind, he thought, slumping back onto the dusty floor. The gag in his mouth made him thirsty, and the slow drip of the tap over the sink tormented him.

  Outside, Diana had heard the Land Cruiser approaching and was already hurrying along the path. She ducked into the bushes as the vehicle swept under the house. The Asian was driving. He was alone.

  Diana heard him pull on the handbrake and then the sound of grunting and dull thuds as he unloaded things. She took a look and saw that he had brought back several of the boxes that had been moved to the airfield last night. He carried them upstairs, locked the doors that opened onto the veranda, and returned to the parking area. Diana edged forward to see what he was up to, but he had disappeared. He’s the caretaker, she thought. He’s either gone down to the lab or gone back to the cabin.

  From the path behind the house, she heard a voice raised in temper.

  “You get in car!” a man said. Then he shouted a command in a language she did not understand. There was a crash, as if something had been flung against the chassis of the Land Cruiser. What is it? she wondered. Another chimp?

  “I cut you throat!” he yelled.

  A door slammed, and a second door. The Land Cruiser started, reversed, and, accelerating fast, shot out from under the house. Diana glimpsed a man, gagged, apparently with his hands tied behind his back, flinging his shoulder against the door of the Land Cruiser, trying to jar it open. A moment later, the Land Cruiser stopped. She heard the driver try the ignition, but there was no response.

  She took out her knife, pulled the blade open, and moved quietly out of the bushes. Ten meters in front of her, she saw the Asian manhandling his prisoner out of the Land Cruiser. The prisoner’s legs were tied at the ankles, so he could take only mincing steps. As the Asian pushed him, the man jerked his chin down at his legs, indicating that he could go no faster unless he was untied. The Asian, who was a whole head shorter than the prisoner, was holding him by a nylon rope that tied his wrists behind his back. He jerked it so the man had to stop. Then he bent down to his own left leg and drew a knife from a sheath on his calf. He quickly cut the bonds around the man’s legs and, straightening up, jabbed him in the back with the point of the knife. They began walking down the road to the airfield. With one hand the Asian grasped the rope around his prisoner’s wrists, while the other held the knife against his back. Diana looked around for something to throw. There was not even a stick or a rock. The camera was all she had. She grasped its cord in her right hand, took a deep breath, and with her left hand reached inside her shirt for the whistle. She started to run. The noise of the aircraft engine muffled her steps. Two meters behind them, she bit the whistle between her teeth and blew as hard as she could. Birds in the camping ground rose shrieking into the air, and both men leaped in shock. The Asian swung round, eyes wide, in time for Diana to bash him across the face with a swing of the camera. He slipped and fell to one knee, pulling the prisoner almost on top of him. As he recovered, she threw the camera straight at his face. Instinctively he tried to protect himself, letting go of the nylon rope. “Run!” Diana shouted. The man, meanwhile, was running, but in the wrong direction, heading up the hill toward the lab complex. The Asian’s hand jumped with surprise, and his knife, flung from his hand toward the man’s back, landed harmlessly in the grass beside the road. Diana yelled to the man, “Follow me!” and ran onto the rough grass of the paddock. The Asian rushed to retrieve his knife. Diana was sure she and the prisoner could outdistance him, but the prisoner’s tied hands were a disastrous handicap. The knife man had picked up his weapon and was pursuing them.

  Diana slowed until the prisoner was beside her. “The fence over there,” she said. She took a quick look behind and saw that the Asian was only eighty meters away. “There’s a rabbit hole just up ahead,” she panted. “I’ll shout Now, and you run on one side and I’ll run on the other.” He seemed to understand.

  “Now!” she shouted. They diverged around the rabbit hole, which was invisible until one was on top of it. A few moments later, they heard a shout and, looking back, saw that the Asian had fallen in. Diana grabbed the man’s swollen fingers pulled him to a halt and began sawing at the rope around his wrists. The blade was very sharp and sliced through most of the rope. She glanced back. The Asian had picked himself up and was running again. She gave a final, desperate swipe and sliced some of the man’s skin. Blood oozed, but his hands were free. “Go!” she yelled. The Asian was only twenty meters behind them now, and he had his knife ready again. For a moment she glanced at the airfield. The propellers on the big Cessna were spinning so fast they had disappeared. At every window there was a face staring out at them. Parker was standing at the top of the steps, and she had the impression that his hands were clenching his hair. She suddenly felt a sting shoot from her ankle up to her knee, and a moment later she landed on her face on the grass. She had fallen into a rabbit hole. Her ankle was on fire as she pulled herself onto all fours. The Asian was thundering toward her, his hair flying behind him, his knife raised. She looked around and saw that the gagged man had stopped and was dancing about from foot to foot, flapping his hands at the Asian like a bird trying to draw a predator away from its chicks. The Asian hesitated, then veered from Diana and ran after the man. They were heading straight for the Cyclone-wire fence. Diana began to stagger after them, yelling, “Go to the left! There’s a gate to the left!” She could see what would happen: the man would be trapped by the fence and the Asian would kill him, then come back for her.

  On board the aircraft, Kerry Larnach said, “Not long now. Got ’im against the fence …”

  Steve turned to Freddie. “Fantastic, eh?”

  “Amazing!” Freddie breathed.

  They were only meters from the wire. When Romanus hit it he began climbing, pulling himself up by his fingers … half a meter … a meter …

  Diana limped forward. Who is he? she wondered. She lifted the whistle and gave a long blast and looked up, as if she expected to see a bird come to her hand from the sky, crystal clear all the way to the horizon.

  Ahead of her, the Asian had reached the fence. He pulled up, judged his throw, and raised his arm almost lazily. It was an easy shot into the broad, sweating back. Romanus looked behind him. Somchai swayed and seemed to inhale as he fell dead on the grass. The sound of a gunshot rang across the lake.

  Tom and Billy, cowering beside the van, saw the old bush black turn
and vanish into the mountain.

  “We’re off,” Kerry said. He pulled out the throttle. The Cessna gathered its strength and charged.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Romanus climbed down from the fence and pulled off the gag, flinging it on the ground with a look of disgust. When Diana limped up to him, he was massaging his jaw. For a moment they stood in silence, watching the plane lift into the air. A cloud of ducks that had taken wing circled and, quacking loudly, headed toward the center of the lake.

  He turned to her and tried to smile, but his face hurt. “Thanks. You saved my life.”

  “Back there, you saved mine,” she answered. She felt numb, as if her emotions existed outside herself. “So who in hell are you?” He looked vaguely familiar.

  “Michael—” His face crumpled, and sobbing with relief, he slid to the ground, his back against the Cyclone wire. She hunkered down beside him and laid a hand on his knee, still not certain if he was friend or foe. Suddenly he lunged at her and pulled her to his chest, kissing her neck. Blood from the cuts on his hands and neck smeared her shirt. He sat back and grinned. “I’m so happy, it’s ridiculous,” he said, and touched her hair, then pressed his parched lips against her ear. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “I had no idea …”

  A delicious, diffused awareness was taking hold of her, so that she noticed everything at once, but dreamily, as if she were seeing the world and him from underwater. Floating around down there, she remembered a picture of him from the jacket of one of Raoul’s books.

  “You’re a photographer,” she murmured. “You worked with Raoul Sabea.”

  “He’s dead.” He looked past her shoulder. “That bastard murdered him.”

  She turned to see what he was looking at, and at once the spell broke. She scrambled to her feet, wincing, and limped over to the corpse.