The next document was a letter, in a different hand from the previous one. It had no date or address. Rafe read it.
Tonia,
I did as you asked but I've got to say I'm shaking all over still. I wish I had your nerve but I don't. It looks like you got Dad's genes and I got Mum's. I don't know if I'm cut out for this, Ton. I mean, I believe in The Cause and everything but I just don't have what it takes to do what you do.
I got that little gizmo you sent that looks like a gold crucifix on a chain. The guy who brought it said I should wear it all the time – even in the shower – to establish a credible pattern or some such. Then, when I get the tag removed, the device takes over as me and I can leave it at home when I go out to do secret squirrel stuff. He made it all sound so mundane – and I suppose it must be for you and him and the others. For me, it's just another scary reminder of my scary new life.
Anyway, I'm booked in with your doctor friend to have the tag removed next Friday. I hope she knows what she's doing. But I suppose she must since she did you and didn't manage to fry your brains – not so you'd notice. Look, I wish we could meet up and talk. I'm going nuts thinking about all this on my own. I can't remember the last time I got a good night's sleep. We can't all be fearless warriors, like you. Some of us need our hands holding while we save the world from injustice.
Don't worry, I won't do anything stupid. Just drop by one day, alright?
Love,
Gav.
Chapter 8
Rafe woke up on the bed with crumpled documents all around him. Through the window of the hotel room, he could see the sun already high above the bay and its long, low islands. The view itself meant nothing, the room probably didn't even have a window, but auged illusions tended to stay in sync with local time. He glanced at the bedside clock – another aug illusion – and was astonished to see it was nearly eight AM.
Cursing, he jumped up, showered, crammed the documents back into their folder, stuffed the folder in his bag, and hurried out. He called a cab and was back at Tonia's unit within an hour. This time, no-one answered the doorbell and no-one came when he pounded on the door. He went out to find something to eat and failed. When he returned, there was still no answer. He sat in the hallway and waited for four hours before he gave up and left.
He found a stall selling food from a printer at the airport, so he printed off a meat pie and a custard slice and ate them as he pondered his next move. He could go back and wait for Tonia Birchow to reappear, or he could go home and forget about it. Going home was by far the more attractive option. Yet he lingered through two cups of coffee that only a man with no other option could drink, and went out to the taxi rank, unable to give up on the story until he had at least spoken to Tonia again. The documents she had given him were teasers. He couldn't make them add up to a coherent picture. They told him Tonia was a terrorist, probably the leader of a September 10 cell, and that she was concerned about the upcoming vote on the anti-terror bill, connecting it obscurely to other, similar pieces of legislation all over the world. There were links to other people, her brother, Gav – Gavin? – and the Brit, Cal Copplin. But what did any of it mean?
He wished he knew more about September 10, but he daren't look up anything on QNet for fear of setting off alarms in government basements where, no doubt, computers watched night and day for any mention of terrorist organisations. If he were in Canberra, he could ask Jan, she tracked all this stuff for the Sentinel. She'd have all the background. Dare he call her and ask? Not unless she'd agree to a quantum-encrypted call and if he asked for that, she'd know something funny was going on.
He took a cab back to Tonia's unit and spent another three hours sitting outside her door. By then, he was convinced the fearless warrior woman wasn't coming back. He was also wishing he had printed off a couple of extra pies. He leafed through the documents as he waited, hoping for fresh inspiration but the only thing he found was a page from a small notebook with the name and street address of a woman called Virginia Galton. The page carried no hint of who she might be or what her connection was to September 10. Perhaps she was the doctor Tonia's brother had visited to get his tag deactivated. Perhaps she was Tonia's dentist. The only thing that made Virginia Galton stand out was the fact that hers was the only address in the folder, and she lived right there in Brisbane.
“Bugger it,” he said, climbing to his feet. His back ached and his legs were stiff. He'd missed the only flight to Canberra for the day – perhaps for several days – and he needed to find a hotel and somewhere to eat. He wrote a virtual note and fixed it to Tonia's door. He might have used paper since he was carrying so much of it around with him, but he had no pen or pencil and had no idea where he might get one. If Tonia had any kind of aug, she'd get the note. If not, well it was probably better if he never met her again. The note said, “Call me. Rafe.” It seemed safest not to say anything else.
He went back to the same hotel and they put him in the same room. He spent the evening reading through the contents of Tonia's folder again, this time setting up a whiteboard in his office so that he could draw timelines and lists of names and the places and organisations they were associated with. He wrote it all in code, Tonia was Warrior, Cal Copplin was Recruit, and so on. He didn't use the hotel's tank, but stayed on the bed, slipping in and out of his office and the hotel room, not daring to take images of the documents into VR with him, but memorising the content, in case those computers in the government's basement were snooping around.
It was seven PM when he started. When he checked the time again it was past midnight. The virtual whiteboard in his office had multiplied. Luckily virtual spaces could expand as required. Each board was full of notes and figures, every detail hard won from the jumble of documents Tonia had given him.
He was certain now that Tonia ran a September 10 cell, that she had recruited her reluctant brother and probably Cal Copplin. There were other members too but It was Cal Copplin that was central to what they were planning. Rafe went to stand in front of board number five. At the top of the board, he'd written “Master Plan” and underneath were several islands of information associated with references to action that he'd seen in the documents. He still had no clue as to what Tonia had in mind, but he could see it was going to happen soon – before the vote on the anti-terror bill.
On the board labelled “Membership”, in large capital letters, was the word “Pocahontas” with a large question mark after it. It was his code name for Virginia Galton. Tomorrow he would visit her and see if he could get some answers.
Reluctantly, he left his office and sat up on the bed. As before, it was littered with paper. This time he tidied it away and slept under the covers. But his sleep was broken and shallow. The material in the documents went round and round incoherently, but no new insights came. He kept coming back to the Galton woman. Would she be another hard-faced terrorist with a concealed weapon and eyes that watched you like a cat watched mice? Was she the doctor who had hacked Tonia's brother's tag? He hoped it was the latter. He could deal with a doctor. He didn't know whether he could face another cold hard criminal. If Galton was like that, he'd just turn around and walk away. If he spotted even a hint of a weapon, he'd get out of there, go home, and hand the whole thing to Becky to reassign as she saw fit. As for him and his career, well maybe that was all over anyway. He'd panicked when he met Tonia. He'd run like a rabbit. He'd lost his bottle. He should look for some other line of work. Something that kept him safely out of the way of crazies and crims and terrorists.
Maybe.
Tomorrow would be the decider. Tomorrow, if he could face Virginia Galton and do his job without cracking up, maybe he could stick with it.
He fell into a fretful doze, a drugged misery of memories and fear, the old dreams of Sam Hopwood and his knives, the dreams that had plagued him asleep and awake ever since he'd regained consciousness in that Melbourne hospital all those months ago.
-oOo-
“Virginia Galton?”
The woman let out a cry and jumped back, trying to shove the door closed. He rushed forward and put his foot in the jamb to prevent her.
“I'll call the police!” she shouted.
“You're breaking my foot,” he shouted back.
“Get away. Leave me alone.”
“I just want to talk. I'm a reporter with the Sentinel. Rafe Morgan. Maybe you've heard of me? I'm chasing down a story about the new cyberterrorism bill. Your name came up. I'd just like to ask you a few questions.”
“My name? I've got nothing to do with terrorists.”
Despite the pain in his foot, Rafe noticed she had answered a question he hadn't asked. “I don't think you're a terrorist, Ms Galton. Can we just talk, please?”
“I don't believe you. Go away. I'm calling the police now.”
“What don't you believe?”
“I don't believe you're a journalist.”
“Look me up. My picture's in the Sentinel brochures.” He was pretty sure he could push the door back and get in, but that would just scare the woman even more. “Please open the door, Ms Galton. I'm Rafe Morgan, a journalist. I've been out here ringing your bell all morning. If I'd been a burglar, or whatever you think I am, wouldn't I have broken in before now?”
“You waited for me to come out and ambushed me.”
“I was waiting for you to come home. I thought you were out.”
“Why would I be out?”
Rafe took a deep breath and tried a new tack. “I got your name from Tonia Birchow.”
There was a gasp from the other side of the door and then silence. Rafe cursed himself. It seemed the lovely Tonia had the same chilling effect on all her acquaintances. Ah well, in for a penny...
“You know Tonia Birchow then. And her brother, Gav?”
“Gavin,” said the woman behind the door. There was a hollowness in her tone, a hint of despair. “Who are you? What do you want?”
This was getting silly. “Look, Ms Galton. I'm a reporter. I'm going to take my foot out of your door now and let you close it. Please just check my credentials and confirm what I say. I'll wait out here while you do that.” He pulled at his foot but couldn't get it out. The damned woman was pushing on the door with all her strength. “You'll have to ease off on the door a bit so I can get my foot out.” There was no response from the other side, just the unrelenting pressure on his foot. After a while, he put his shoulder against the door and shoved hard enough to push both door and woman a few inches into the apartment. He yanked his foot back as fast as he could, almost losing a toe as the door slammed shut with a force that shook the wall.
He limped across to the other side of the hall and sat down to check his foot for broken bones. Whatever kind of reception he had expected, this was not it. The woman was scared out of her wits. The good news was that she obviously knew something. The bad news was that she wasn't being exactly cooperative.
Seconds ticked by, turning slowly into minutes. He got up again, wondering whether to try ringing the bell, but it was hardly as if the woman would have forgotten he was there. No, patience was the only way. Even so, what the hell was she doing that was taking so long?
The door opened a crack and a woman's face peered out at him. He stepped towards her and she slammed the door again.
“Ms Galton?” he called through the door. “Just check my credentials. Please.”
“I did.”
“Then may I come in, please?”
“Credentials can be faked.”
“Oh, for God's sake!”
She opened the door again, a bit wider this time. It was his first good look at her – a woman in her early thirties, slimmish, longish dark hair, probably not bad looking if you took away the suspicious frown and the bruises under her eyes left by too many sleepless nights. He knew those bruises. He saw them in the mirror every day. In his own case he knew full well why that was, but what was keeping Virginia Galton awake at night?
“I phoned your editor,” she said.
“Becky? Then you know I'm who I say I am.”
“She said to get your useless arse back to Canberra and stop pestering women while you're on her expense account.”
“Well that sounds like Becky all right. Can I come in now?”
She held the door wider but didn't move to let him enter. “Why didn't you call, or visit me at my office?”
“I'm sorry but I want to use QNet as little as possible. It's the story I'm working on. I was worried that if we met in VR or even if we talked on the phone, people might be able to listen in. I don't want that. Not yet. I need to find out who's who before I trust anybody – even the Government.”
He saw her mouth twitch. “You're even more paranoid than I am,” she said.
“You don't know the half of it.”
He stood there waiting while she stood there weighing him up. He had time to notice the hand that was holding the door. It was a beautiful hand, long, with delicate tapering fingers. An artist's hand. At last, she stepped back and he went in. Crisis over, he looked around the apartment and realised there were other pressing needs. “Do you mind if I use your bathroom, only I've been hanging around in your hallway for hours.” She looked taken aback but waved him towards a closed door beside what he could see was the bedroom. “And I couldn't beg a cup of coffee off you, could I? I'm dying of thirst.”
-oOo-
“So?” she said, putting Rafe's coffee down in front of him. “What do you know about Tonia and her brother?”
Rafe shook his head. “I want to know who you are first. Then I'll answer your questions.”
She sat down in a chair opposite him. He could see she was keeping her distance. “You've got a bloody nerve,” she said, but seemed to accept his condition.
“What do you do for a living, Virginia?”
She gave him a baleful stare. “If we're on first name terms now, Rafe, you'd better call me Ginny. Only my mother calls me Virginia and I've just had three glorious weeks of it.”
“Right. Ginny, then. What business are you in?”
“Why don't you read my bio?”
“I would normally, believe me, but I can't do that without a QNet query. And that might bring me attention I don't want. For that matter, it might raise a few flags against your name and maybe you don't want that either.” He was fishing for a reaction but he didn't get one. “So we need to do this the old fashioned way, through conversation.”
“We don't need to do this at all.”
“No, we don't, but from your reaction when you met me, I reckon you're in some kind of trouble and you'd like to hear what I know maybe more than the other way round. Is your job some kind of secret.”
She scowled. “I design soundscapes for worldlets.”
“Soundscapes? So you're not a doctor or some kind of medical professional?”
“Are you really a journalist? You don't seem very good at this interviewing thing.”
Rafe took a deep breath. She was right. He was making a complete balls up of it. Time to start again. “Sorry. Look, here's the thing. Someone got in touch with me and said they had information about the upcoming cyberterrorism bill. I agreed to meet them here, in Brisbane. They wanted a real, physical meeting. As it turned out, that was so they could hand me some documents. Paper documents, that is. Those documents suggest a connection between my informant and a terrorist group called September 10. They also contained several other names. One of them was yours.”
Ginny's reaction was to stand up and pace away from her chair and then back to it. “I'm nothing to do with terrorists. I don't know anything about it. I did one stupid favour for a friend, that's all. Just one stupid favour.”
“Which friend was that? Tonia Birchow?”
“Tonia? That psycho?”
“So you do know Tonia then? I met her myself yesterday. Charming woman.”
“Is she your informant? Is she the one in this terrorist group?”
“How do you know Tonia, Ginny?”
&nb
sp; Whatever progress he thought he'd made in gaining Ginny's trust, seemed to have been undone. The woman said, “The problem is, I don't know you, Rafe. For all I know, you're working for the police, or ASIO, or maybe you're with the terrorists. Being a journo might just be a cover. Spooks have cover. Cops have cover. So do criminals. This interview is over. I want you to leave now.”
Rafe didn't move. He'd fought too hard to get a seat to give it up, and he hadn't drunk his coffee yet. “Ginny, I can see you're scared, and, considering what you're mixed up in, I don't blame you a bit. This is scary stuff. To be honest, I'm scared shitless myself. The thing is, we've both got monkeys on our backs now and the only way to shift the little buggers is to share what we know and help each other out.” Even as he said it, he realised it was true. This woman was no terrorist. She had stumbled into something dangerous and didn't know what to do about it. It had made her so paranoid she didn't think she could trust anybody. He was willing to bet she hadn't even told her best friend. What's more, he was in the same position. He needed a friend and confidante as much as she did.
“You just spent three weeks at your parents' place,” he went on, letting his intuition guide his words. “That was to lie low wasn't it? You were hoping it would all blow over if you gave it a bit of time, right? But it didn't. No sooner do you get home than there's a stranger accosting you on your doorstep, wanting to rake it all over again. Who else has been on at you, Ginny? Tonia and her friends? The cops?”
She turned away from him, shoulders hunched. “You need someone you can talk to, Ginny. To be honest, I could use someone myself. Even the little bit I already know about this is driving me nuts.” She didn't respond. “Tell me about this favour you did. Someone you knew – a friend maybe – dropped you in it, didn't they? Was it Tonia? Or Gav?” Still no response. He took a wild leap. “Was it Cal Copplin?”
She spun round to face him, eyes wide, and said, “How do you know Cal?”
Heaven is a Place on Earth Page 10
