by Jen Cole
What he might do, she realized, is send them to watch all the main roads out of Ballarat, but they’d be looking for a woman – either driving a rental car or as a passenger in a vehicle she’d hitched a ride in. Even at this time of night plenty of cars were travelling the main highways, and nothing about the black Lexus stood out particularly. It was the kind of car successful businessmen drove, and if any agents looked through its windows, that’s what they’d see – a lone male driver. As long as she lay out of sight on the back seat, she’d be safe. Satisfied, Jo allowed sleep to retake her.
The sharp beeping shocked her. I must have set the alarm wrong, she thought, squinting blearily at the dial, but the illuminated numbers said 4.55 a.m. Jo pressed the button to silence the beeping and in the absolute stillness that followed, realized they were in Seymour. The car was no longer moving and she was alone. Warmth was something else that had departed.
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CHAPTER 17
Angela Karpin snapped her fingers. The musical alarm turned off and she moaned, wishing she’d got more sleep. Of the nine hours she’d been in her tube, the first four had been spent captivated by Jo and the Hunter. After that she’d tossed sleeplessly with Jo’s words about The Company dancing in her head. Why had The Company stayed underground for so long after the Great Destruction? Had the Arising been heroic or opportunistic? Though ashamed of these thoughts, she couldn’t stop them bubbling up and in the end had managed only four hours of sleep. Now in the three hours of Tube-Time remaining, she had to catch up with her children before they went to their Playrooms, and review what she’d missed of the game.
Because Sandra, just turned two, and Ben nearly five, were too young for the work cycle, they alternated between shorter, more frequent tube and play cycles. That made it tricky to organize time with them. Right now they were both near the end of a tube cycle, so she put through a group call.
“Hi Mummy.” Ben was already wide-awake and doubtless eager for Play-Time to start. He enjoyed working on the challenges in the learning Playrooms and earning Children’s Personal Points. These could be used to buy treats, holo-clothing, tube games, and access to some exciting Playrooms. Ben cared nothing for holo-clothing, but he loved his tube games and the sports Playrooms, so he strove hard to earn points.
“Hi Darling, what are you doing today?”
“First I’m collecting Sandy. We’re going to have breakfast together in the alphabet food Playroom. She loves doing the Awful Ancestor jigsaw puzzles while we eat. After that I’m going to the junior construction Playroom to have another go at the bridge challenge. If I get it, I’ll have enough Points for the rock-climbing Playroom.”
“Mummy!” cried Sandra, rubbing sleepy eyes and appearing on the split screen.
“Hello Sweety.” “Hi Sandy!” Mother and son spoke in unison.
“Hey Benny.” She flashed her brother a smile before turning back to her mother. “When can I hug you Mummy?”
“Today my darling, I hope. I’m going to try get over to your Playrooms during my Play-Time to give you both a big hug!”
They all blew kisses at each other and then the children’s tube doors opened and they scampered out.
Angela’s lips trembled as she closed the connection. Sandra had only recently turned two, the age at which children stopped sharing their mother’s sleeping tubes and began living full time in the children’s silo. Her daughter seemed to be adjusting well, but she herself was finding the wrench hard. Still, she should be able to see her children today, unless the Prey was still alive and kicking and Play or Die started getting frantic.
If she didn’t make it to their Playrooms, the children would at least get a visit from Collis. He was so good with them. Angela closed her eyes. She missed Collis. Everyone knew it was a big mistake to choose a partner on a different cycle from yours unless you were just after a quickie in one of the fantasy Playrooms. But when you knew that person was the one, what could you do? She’d been in her first hour of Play-Time when she’d met Collis and he’d been in his fifth. It meant their times together were intense but always brief.
Sometimes Angela would lie in her tube with tears of regret streaming down her cheeks, but she’d never wanted anyone except Collis, so they got together as often as possible during the three-hour overlap in their Play-Time cycles. Collis was a wonderful father and the children adored him. For them, at this time in their lives, it was better their parents weren’t on the same cycle, since at least one of their parents was able to visit them on a daily basis.
She sighed and opened her eyes. No time for self-pity, she thought. Play or Die needs you. With a gesture she called up the Hunt screen and began scanning the archived files of the action she’d missed, starting with the most recent event. She was a little surprised to see that Jo had survived the night and was now waking up from her own sleep in the back of a car. This Prey was more resilient than she looked.
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CHAPTER 18
Jo sat up. On either side of her were empty parking spaces. Ahead was a paddock of some kind. She twisted around and peered through the back window. Petrol pumps stood under the yellow and orange roof of a Shell service station. A couple of buildings behind them must be a garage and the cafe, where George would be eating breakfast. He’d be annoyed that the parking area at this end of the service station was out of view.
Shivering, Jo zipped her jacket, straightened the blonde wig and scooped up her bag. She needed to get her bearings. Quietly she opened the door, climbed out and closed it with a gentle clunk.
She walked to the divided road and recognized it instantly. When it ran through Seymour, it was called Emily Street, but it was in fact the Goulburn Valley Highway. Followed north for an hour, it would take you to Shepparton. They were on the wrong side for heading north – George must have turned around, but that was fine. She had no intention of going to Shepparton. On the other hand, Jo wanted the Hunter to think she did.
She jogged to the median strip dividing the road and then across to the other side. In the pool of light under a streetlamp, she checked her watch. One minute to five. The Hunter needed to see a frightened young girl. She tightened her face into a pinched look and took up a typical hitchhiker’s stand, her thumb pointing towards Shepparton.
Holding that pose for a minute turned out to be harder than she’d expected. Her leaden arm swore that two minutes had gone by, but her counting said it had only been thirty seconds. A container truck came lumbering along the road towards her. Was it slowing?
Oh God, don’t stop for me, she thought. Keep going. Isn’t it illegal for truckers to pick up hitchhikers?
There was no longer any doubt the truck was pulling up. As it drew level, the driver leaned across and opened the passenger door. In the light of the streetlamp Jo noticed his eyes were red and sunken. Lack of sleep, Bennies, or both? One side of his mouth lifted in a leer.
“Hop in beautiful.”
“Are you going to Melbourne?” Jo asked innocently.
“What? You silly bitch, you’re standing on the wrong side of the highway!” He pulled the door closed and accelerated, leaving her in a cloud of dust.
Jo watched his taillights receding and checked the time – 5.02 a.m. Maybe that encounter had been lucky after all. If they’d taken her photo while she was talking to the truck driver, the Hunter would be telling his agents to watch trucks coming into Shep. On the other hand if the photo had simply shown her hitchhiking on the highway, and if the Hunter already had agents waiting in Shepparton in case she headed home, he’d be sending them down the road right now to pick her up!
Jo turned and ran back across the road to the cafe. Inside a few customers were tucking into breakfasts but George, she saw with relief, seemed to have finished his and was draining the last of his coffee. As she made her way over he looked up and raised a hand in greeting.
“Hi George,” she said, a little breathlessly, “I’ve just had a phone call from Andy. My meeting here has been cancelled and
relocated to Dromana, for would you believe, 8.00 a.m. Do you think you can get me there in time?”
Her driver looked taken aback but rallied quickly. “I’ll do my best, Mrs. Wiseman. I just need to settle up here…”
“Please,” she picked up the bill on his table. “It’s on me.”
George protested, but didn’t reach for his wallet. She smiled, glad of the opportunity to keep him happy.
Two minutes later they were heading for Melbourne, with Jo again down low on the back seat. Though the Hunter’s agents would probably be concentrating on vehicles heading towards Shep rather than away from it, she’d be crazy to take any chances.
She set her next alarm for 7.55 a.m. and lay thinking about her father and the two names she’d been given. She should begin by googling them, but the warmth, darkness and gentle rocking of the car were making her eyelids heavy and the thought of retrieving the laptop and starting it up seemed too great an effort. Jo slept.
Sunlight on her face woke her, and rising, she saw they were travelling on a busy highway with the traffic flowing well. Her watch read 7.15 a.m. and Jo did a quick calculation. She’d had six good hours of sleep over the night and she’d needed it. Reinvigorated, she dived for the laptop and as it started up, George’s eyes flicked to his rearview mirror.
“Good morning George.”
“Morning Mrs. Wiseman, did you have a good rest?”
She smiled. “I did. I’m feeling human again. Are we on track for Dromana?”
“If the traffic’s not too heavy through Frankston, we should make it in time.”
“Great. I’ll let you concentrate on the driving then, while I do some work on the computer.”
In the search window of the browser Jo typed, ‘Morris Blatman’, the man who’d been hired to kill her father, and got a couple of thousand hits, but some of those were just Morris or just Blatman. She did the search again, this time enclosing the name in quotation marks. Now she got six results, only two being actual people, both deceased Americans. Well, she hadn’t really expected to find a hit man on the Internet, but she’d had to give it a try.
Perhaps she’d be luckier when it came to the hirer, but no. Simon Brooks, even in quotation marks, gave her over twenty-five thousand results. She narrowed the search to Australia only, which reduced the list to three hundred and sixty-seven. These included writers, politicians, teachers and scientists. None of their occupations or interests seemed to have any connection to her father.
Was that it then? Was she stuck? Neither of the Hunter’s detective agencies will be giving me a job anytime soon, she thought. What about the phone book? She brought up the Australian White Pages and selecting ‘Victoria’, tried ‘S Brooks’ followed by ‘M Blatman’. She got a hundred entries for S Brooks, but just one for M Blatman.
Jo wrote down the address and phone number and chewed her pen. Now what? Call the number and ask for Morris? What if a Morris answered? Having the same name didn’t necessarily make him the hit man. In fact, what self-respecting hit man would have a phone number under his real name? Still, she’d have to investigate further, follow him and find out where he worked – if he worked, all the while, dodging the Hunter’s agents. And if this guy turned out to be the hit man and realized she was onto him, she’d have another hunter coming after her – a professional. Jo swallowed. Concentrating on S Brooks might be easier. At least it would be if there weren’t a hundred of them!
She sighed. What she needed was a tangible lead and the best place to find it, Jo reluctantly admitted to herself, was back home. Her father had a filing cabinet full of correspondence and if she could find a Simon Brooks amongst it, she’d have her man.
But wasn’t going home tantamount to madness? Even after the horde of agents sent there last night had departed, the Hunter would surely leave one or two behind, just in case. And by now he probably had her house alarmed and booby-trapped.
If she won the game, she’d be able to go home and check out Dad’s papers in complete safety. Perhaps she should just put all her efforts into avoiding the Hunter for the next four days.
Jo considered what those days would be like – always worrying about how close her trackers were getting, and constantly running and hiding, all the while alternating between varying states of terror. If the Hunter didn’t get her in that time, insanity probably would.
And what if after all that, she didn’t survive? Fitani had said her chances were minimal. If the Hunter did ‘bag’ her in the next four days, then she and her father would be dead and their murderers would have gotten away with it. But if she could find proof of Dad’s murder before the Hunter got to her, at least someone would pay a price!
At a deeper level Jo also knew that conducting her own hunt would help to distract her from the terror of being hunted, and give her back some feeling of control. She did not care to be cast in the role of victim.
I might be forced to play this game, she thought, but I won’t let it divert me from finding Dad’s killer. And while the game’s on, I have access to Fitani. Who knows what useful information or technical support he can give me?
Her doubts settled, Jo turned her mind to getting hold of her father’s papers. The trouble with travelling to Shepparton, whether by bus, train or car, was that the trip took from two to two and a half hours. That didn’t leave enough time to find a way of sneaking into the house and getting the papers before the Hunter learnt she was in Shepparton. Approaching gradually wouldn’t work either. Any coordinates posting that placed her within an hour of Shepparton would send up warning flags. If only she had a teleportation machine, she could jump straight into her house, grab the papers and be away before the Hunter was even aware she’d arrived.
Jo’s eyes widened. She could do it. Not with a teleportation machine, but the next best thing. Shepparton had a small airport – not large enough for commercial aircraft, but commercial aircraft weren’t an option anyway. They flew out of Tullamarine, Melbourne’s main airport and the Hunter was bound to have agents there. But Shep’s airport was designed for little planes and little planes flew out of training airports.
One of her friends, Jack Hudson, a year above her in school, had been mad about planes. He’d taken weekend lessons on a Piper Cherokee and at the tender age of sixteen had gained his Private Pilot’s Licence. His mum used to take him to the airport when he wanted to go flying, because in Victoria, though you can get your pilot’s licence at sixteen, you have to be eighteen to drive.
Jack had his sights set on a Commercial Pilot’s Licence and needed to build up flying hours, which wasn’t easy. Hiring a plane, even the tiny single engine variety, was expensive. Consequently he was always trying to get friends to go flying with him to share the cost. She’d once gone along despite her mother’s panic, when he’d flown a group of them to Swan Hill for a picnic. They’d chatted about the places he flown to in building his flying hours and he’d mentioned Moorabbin in Melbourne.
Jo did a search and discovered Moorabbin did indeed have a small airport, which boasted a host of flying clubs. Surely she’d find young pilots like Jack, keen to build up their hours, who’d jump at the chance of flying to Shep if she offered to cover the cost.
To Jo’s delight Moorabbin Airport was near Cheltenham station, just eleven stops, according to Metlink’s online map, from Frankston. Well that answered the question of where she’d be heading after her 11.00 a.m. coordinates posting. A sudden beeping reminded her that only five minutes remained until this posting. Almost simultaneously, George spoke to the rearview mirror.
“We’re here, Mrs. Wiseman. The Frankston traffic slowed us down a bit, but we made good time once we were through it.”
Jo looked out of the window. It was a beautiful winter’s morning. On her right the ocean sparkled under a clear blue sky. On her left the shops and cafes of the seaside town were opening their doors onto a new day. She grabbed her bag and put on the blonde wig.
“Well done, George. Right on time.”
&nbs
p; Ahead she spotted a cafe and said, “My meeting’s at Cafe Jett, which is coming up. You can let me out here and then head to that parking area by the jetty. I’ll join you in about ten minutes and we’ll go straight onto Mornington and meet Andy for breakfast.”
“Okay, Mrs. Wiseman.” He briefly double-parked to let her jump out and then nosed the car back into the traffic.
Jo entered the cafe and headed for the restrooms, where she took some time to wash up, brush her teeth and make herself presentable. She was pleased to see the face in the mirror had regained its old confidence.
When the waitress delivered a frothy cappuccino to her table at one minute to eight, Jo sipped it in satisfaction. Soon the Hunter would be receiving another nasty shock. She’d love to be a fly on the wall when he discovered that far from having her cornered in Shepparton, he’d once again let her slip through his fingers. She wondered how many agents he’d mobilized to Shep on receiving her Seymour coordinates. They would not be thrilled to learn the lead had been false and that she was actually in Dromana. By the time she did get to Shep, this afternoon she hoped, if things went well, the agents would all be back down here.
The numbers on her watch changed to 8.00 a.m. and realizing she’d come through her first twenty-four hours with flying colors, Jo was unable to resist smiling and raising her cup in a mock salute.
In the two minutes that followed, she set a new alarm for 10.58 and finished her coffee. Then she paid at the register by the door and strolled out into the winter sunlight. Crossing the road, Jo spied the Lexus standing apart from the few other cars using the jetty parking. Her driver however, was nowhere in sight.
She ran to the car and tried the doors. Locked. In panic she scanned the area for George’s solid build. At the end of the jetty a few fishermen sat idly behind their motionless, ocean-pointing rods. On the sand, seagulls preened then scattered at the approach of a gamboling Labrador pup trailed by its elderly owner, and in the nearby picnic area a couple of young mothers sat chatting while their preschoolers played on the climbing equipment. There was no sign of George.
