Coming Home

by Max Bolt

  “We can reinstate your position,” Craig says.

  Mason laughs and holds up his cut hand. The bandages are already soaked with blood.

  “Cut meself today,” he says, enjoying the young man’s discomfort, “hey, it ain't that bad, saw far worse in the field. You know I went to a medical centre but the Doctor didn’t know the first thing about fixing it. Bloke makes a million dollars a year sellin’ Botox and fillers and silicon injections but didn’t have the faintest idea about basic first aid. I stitched meself up, like I was taught in the army.”

  “About your role sir,” Craig tries to ground the conversation.

  Mason ignores him and gestures toward Ben.

  “This is my son. Ben meet Mr King, the boss of my former company.”

  Ben regards Craig coldly and Craig returns the favour. It’s hard to be civil when you’ve got a gun in your face. Ben resumes his drawing.

  “Don’t worry,” Mason whispers conspiratorially to Craig, “it’s not you. Kid hasn’t said a word for five years. He ain’t stupid though. Sharp with his maths.”

  Mason glances out the window. It is dark (when did that happen he thinks) and the lights of the surrounding office buildings float like fireflies. But Mason perceives a threat. The police, once they cotton on to things, will likely set up snipers in the neighbouring buildings.

  “Ben please move to the corner beside the cabinet.”

  Ben moves away from the window and squats behind the metal shelving. Mason then waves his gun at Craig.

  “Mr Craig, please lower the blinds.”

  Craig does as he is told. The office seems a lot smaller with the blinds down.

  “Now where were we?” Mason continues, “oh yeah the shit I’ve seen. You reckon we live in a civilised society?”

  Craig stares at him.

  “Well?” Mason urges.

  Craig doesn’t know what to say.

  “It ain’t a trick question. Yes or no?”

  Craig nods.

  “Well shit so did I but it’s rubbish. People are out there doing the most damndest things to each other.”

  Craig doesn’t care about society; he’s focused on the here and now.

  “Are you going to shoot me?”

  Mason glances at the gun like he forgot he was holding it.

  “I’m sorry about your job,” Craig says, “you can have it back.”

  Mason laughs. He had started today’s journey intending to confront this man about his redundancy. But he has realised that losing his job is just symbolic of a deeper injustice.

  “This is not about getting me job back. It is about why you took it from me in the first place.”

  Chapter 17

  Time. What is it? Where does it come from? And more importantly, where does it go? Because time, for Fitch Turner, is running out.

  Fitch is standing outside the stationary room with a clear line of sight of the CEO’s office. The frosted glass makes it impossible to see what is going on inside. The PA, who was on her way out when Fitch and Nate arrived, has told Fitch everything she can about the strange man and boy, and that Mr King, the Company’s CEO, was alone before they locked him inside his office.

  “If I’d known I’d have…”

  You would have what? Fitch thinks. Risked your life for your boss? Conducted a citizen’s arrest? Please. Fitch tunes out from the upset woman’s narrative.

  “We going in chief?”

  Nate wants a piece of the action. But the kid has no idea what is awaiting for him inside.

  Fitch shakes his head. He needs to think. He has heard the media and police reports. Light on facts they have assembled a convincing profile of Mason Turner the terrorist, complete with Islamic radicalisation back story. Time in Afghanistan keeping the peace saw Mason bring the war and terror home with him. They’re calling him a radicalised sleeper.

  Fitch knows the police will put two and two together and come up with this building in the city. They will converge on the place en mass. Counter terrorism and hostage extraction teams. Full riot gear, stun and flash grenades, and glass breaking equipment. Snipers in the surrounding buildings. No bullshit negotiators on the phones. Mason will not stand a chance. Fitch knows he must act before the real police arrive.

  The remaining office workers are hovering around with their camera phones intrigued by what a pair of police officers are doing outside the CEO’s office on a Friday night. Has Craig lost the plot totally this time and they’re here to arrest him? Or even better, is this something to do with that terrorist on the loose in the city? Fitch sets Nate the task of clearing the floor and mobilising building security.

  Eager to be involved, Nate starts ordering the people back, and Fitch turns to Craig’s PA.

  “You have a second key to the office don’t you?”

  A little white in the face but otherwise holding up, she nods.

  *

  Why me?

  Craig knows that is what the lunatic is really asking. And it is a dangerous question. How does Craig answer a question like that? Does he tell this maniac what he wants to hear, or does he tell him what he needs to here? Truth or dare anyone?

  Thankfully Mason distracts Craig.

  “Did you know houses are burning in the mountains right now? Just going pop, pop, pop, like little Paddle Pop stick houses,” Mason says.

  Craig nods. Is that what this is about? This bloke has lost his house in the fires. Shit, we’ll buy him another home.

  “Tell me about yourself,” Mason says.

  “Huh?”

  “Tell me about you,” Mason clarifies.

  “I – I don’t understand,” Craig says.

  It is a simple question, but in Craig’s defence, how do you start a D&M with a gun toting lunatic.

  “Brothers? Sisters?”

  “Only child,” Craig mutters.

  “Mum and Dad? Alive? Dead?”

  “Both alive,” Craig says, “separated.”

  Craig wonders if Craig Senior and his mother are aware of what is happening to him right now. Unlikely. Craig Senior has deals to do and Mum has parties to organise.

  “Girlfriend?”

  “Yes.”

  Mason raises his eyebrows, willing Craig to continue.

  “Elaborate. What’s she like?”

  “Blonde. Tall. Likes the attention of my mates. She’s with me for my money.”

  “Doesn’t sound like a keeper.”

  Now that is almost as insightful as his Head of Marketing’s departing words. Not a keeper, so why does Craig keep her?

  But Craig sees past the distracting Q&A and gets to what really matters.

  “Are you going to kill me?”

  *

  Mason considers the question. Why would someone think that of him? He is not a violent individual. But before Mason can answer, the phone rings again. Mason raises his eyebrows; PA? Police?

  “Girlfriend,” Craig says.

  Mason grins, the woman’s ears must have been burning.

  “Put her on speaker phone but let it ring through to voicemail.”

  Craig does and the love of his life Mia leaves a flustered message.

  “Oh Craig dear. I’ve heard about things on the news. Some madman on the loose near your offices. They say he’s one of those Middle Eastern people and he’s got a gun and bombs. Are you alright? Please call. And oh,” she adds seemingly as an after thought but Craig knows it was the real reason for her call, “should I defer tonight’s dinner reservation by an hour or two? Such a shame.”

  She signs off with a lip smacking kiss.

  “Cute,” Mason says, wondering how he became a Middle Eastern terrorist, “but I repeat – not a keeper.”

  Craig doesn’t argue. He is relieved to know that the authorities know.

  *

  The media cop a lot of flak but they are a resourceful bunch; who else can turn a decorated terror fighter into a terrorist in less than three hours? And right now they’re listening into the secure police c
hannel and learning about an incident at Goldfields Tower, the head office of Southern Cross Building Materials. Reports of an armed male with hostages on the upper floors. All available units ordered to respond.

  That’s our man.

  The news spreads faster than the fires in the mountains. Police and media swarm on the locale like locusts.

  Chapter 18

  Mason sits in the chair opposite Craig. He has a captive audience, so to speak, and he has some things to get off his chest.

  “I spent a decade of my life fighting for this country. Ten years, risking my life for you and twenty-three million other sponges just like you. I dodged the bullets in Afghanistan so you lot can binge on reality TV and complain about the quality of your coffee and the speed of your Internet connection. You want to see reality? Get over to the Stan some time. They’ve got it all over there. Entire villages being razed. Innocent women being raped and killed. Children orphaned. And those same orphaned children recruited as suicide bombers. Taliban, ISIS, Al Qaeda, Haqqani Network. You name ‘em, they’ve got ‘em. And the one thing those bastards hate more than their ethnic minorities, is the invading infidels. They try and kill you in ambushes and with roadside bombs. And–”

  Mason hears something outside and sees a shadow moving behind the frosted glass. He drops into a crouch, gun raised. He stares, waiting. All is still. Silent. He sits back in the chair and continues.

  “You know I shot a lot of people in my time. Pow - pow - pow.”

  Mason makes a mock shooting motion with the gun and Craig flinches back in his chair.

  “Just shootin’ up everything I saw in that dirty desert. And I got shot at plenty of times. Pure luck the bullets missed me. But I saw me mates killed by snipers and hidden bombs. When’s the last time you saw a person with third degree burns, skin just peeling off them, missing an arm, missing a leg?”

  Craig nods, because he thinks that is the response the man wants.

  “And then you come home, which should be cause for celebration, the homecoming of a hero soldier, but it is the ultimate insult. This country doesn’t even remember the war you’ve been fighting. Afghanistan – where’s that? We pulled out of the Middle East years ago didn’t we? The very society you risked your life to defend doesn’t want to know you. You struggle to get a job. People look at you weird. You get kicked around in the street. You watch your mates committing suicide. You lose your friends and your family. And the Government’s response?”

  Mason pauses and gestures for Craig to fill in the gap. But Craig is too afraid to speak. And even if he could he isn’t sure what to say.

  “Well the Government puts you on medication. They turn you into a doped up zombie and cut you loose. Thanks soldier for your service, good luck now.”

  Now that Mason has started he cannot stop. And Craig sits and listens and thinks this cannot be real. It is like the backstory for some movie character. The gross mistreatment from the ruling hierarchy that sets the former good guy on a path to destruction. Craig can’t help but compare his trivial concerns to the life of this man.

  “I’m sorry,” Craig says.

  “What for?”

  The question stumps Craig. He is sorry. He knows he is. He feels sorry for this man. Doesn’t he? Or does he feel sorry for his current situation and will say anything to save himself.

  “For everything,” Craig says.

  Mason laughs. He is pacing now. Walking the length of the office, keeping away from the external windows. The phone rings.

  Bloody call centre this place.

  “The non keeper? PA?” he asks.

  Craig shakes his head.

  “Answer it on speaker phone,” Mason snaps.

  Craig does.

  “Hello Mr King are you alright?”

  Mason recognises the voice. It is his brother; police officer Fitch Turner.

  *

  Mason starts pacing again. He gestures for Craig to respond to the call.

  “Yes. I am unharmed.”

  “Mason can you hear me?”

  Mason stares at the phone. He smells a rat.

  “How many police have you got with you Fitch?”

  “Just me.”

  “I don’t believe you Fitch.”

  Mason strains to see through the frosted glass. All is still out on the floor. But he knows they are out there.

  “Put the gun down Mason and come out. I promise I will protect you.”

  “Not going to happen Fitch.”

  “At least let Ben out.”

  Mason does not want to let Ben out. There is still more for his son to learn about this country’s injustices. About why his father is the way he is. And why all of this is not his father’s fault.

  “Not going to happen Fitch. So you best tottle home for dinner now.”

  “If you do not let Ben and Mr King out Mason I cannot control what happens to you.”

  “Good bye Fitch.”

  Mason ends the call and stands rocking on the spot. Fitch being out there has rattled him. Why can’t people just let him be? He slaps his face and clenches and unclenches his fists. He peeks out beyond the window blinds looking for movement atop the surrounding buildings or in the office windows. He can hear police sirens echoing through the city streets. They’re coming. Or more likely Fitch was lying and the police are already outside.

  “They think I’m mad,” Mason says, levelling the gun at Craig, “why is that?”

  *

  Fitch can only see shadows through the frosted glass but it is enough. One sitting at a desk, he presumes CEO Craig King, and another, he presumes Mason, pacing the office. But concerningly he cannot see Ben. He can hear Mason’s raised voice. He can also hear the police sirens converging on the area. Time is running out.

  The police approach to resolving terrorist standoffs has evolved. The Lindt Café siege taught the AFP a thing or two about dissolving hostage situations. The approach has become a touch more French and a little more United States. A bit more, shoot first and ask questions later. You are a terrorist and that gives you zero rights, so we’ll blow you away before you can do the same to anyone else.

  Fitch knows he must act. The incessant ticking of the clock on the wall reminds him of every second that passes. He has a flash back to a suburban supermarket and a crazy man with a shotgun. His annual birthday trip through purgatory is playing out in reality, but with a twist. It is his brother in there with the gun. But this is what Fitch wanted all along isn’t it? A shot at redemption. To banish the demons of the past.

  Nate will be back soon and that will complicate things. Fitch wants to keep the kid close enough to be useful but out of the line of fire.

  Fitch readies the spare key the receptionist provided him and creeps hunched over to the door. He pulls his gun but then decides to return it to his holster. He breathes hard. He knows what is inside; the beginning of the beginning or the beginning of the end.

  But what else is there to do?

  He turns the key in the lock, pulls the door open, and passes the point of no return.

  Chapter 19

  An enemy breach.

  For Mason it is all instinct and muscle memory of the things that kept him alive in the Stan. He dives across the desk and drops behind his former CEO, gun trained on the Taliban suicide bomber entering the office. Mason’s a feather width away from shooting before he realises the invading Taliban is unarmed. A police officer patting the air.

  “Easy. Easy. I’m unarmed. Easy.”

  The familiar voice brings Mason back. He blinks and steadies his gun hand.

  “I told you to go home.”

  “Put the gun down Mason.”

  Fitch’s tone is even and he stands still. Mason is fighting to regain control. The drug withdrawals have intensified his anxiety. Fitch knows even slight jerky movements might be misinterpreted.

  “Lock the door, gun across here, and sit down,” Mason orders.

  Fitch slides his gun, nice and slow, across the floor a
nd sits with his back against the frosted glass wall. Welcome to the Turner family reunion.

  “Now Fitch,” Mason says picking up the gun and slipping it into the rear waist of his pants, “why’d you have to go and ruin everything?”

  Fitch takes in the office. He sees Ben crouched in the corner watching him. At least Mason has had the sense to put his son somewhere half safe. Mr King, who seems too young to be CEO, is sitting at his desk, staring sideways at the gun Mason rests against his head.

  “Put the gun down Mason,” Fitch instructs, “it is over.”

  Mason laughs. “Over. What’s over?”

  “Let Ben out.”

  Mason glances at his son.

  “He’s fine. He’s learning some life skills.”

  Craig shifts and Mason jabs the gun against his temple. Craig’s hands spring back on to the table.

  “How many are out there?” Mason asks.

  “None – yet,” Fitch says.

  “Bullshit.”

  “Truth. But they are coming. An army of them.”

  “An army of them,” Mason muses, “what do they think I am?”

  “They’re confused. They have gathered the pieces Mason and put them together the wrong way. They think you are a terrorist.”

  Mason laughs. He spent ten years of his life fighting terrorists only to become one?

  “You’ve done some bad stuff today Mason,” Fitch speaks like he is addressing a child, “you shot up a bunch of kids. The police believe you have hostages and are planning a larger attack. When they arrive they will take you down.”

  Mason keeps laughing.

  “I shot up a bunch of terrorists Fitch because the little bastards were going to behead me for their Internet show. I took down the terrorists but now I’m the terrorist? I didn’t ask for any of it Fitch. But people just keep pushing me.”

  “Let Ben out.”

  Fitch is thinking hard about a way to bring his brother down. But he knows from experience that talking to Mason when he is in this state is futile. Pressured, he plays his trump card.