Canberra, ACT, Australia
THE aircraft bucked in the swirling heat. Flames shot up through the plumes of dense smoke, flaring and leaping as though trying to scorch the paint from the fuselage.
Kaitlyn’s five-point harness pressed into her, jabbing the sharp plastic edge of the Border Watch visitors pass into her chest. After a week in the air she still found the unpredictable movement of the Dash 8 alarming. The smoke had seeped through the air conditioning, biting at the crew’s throats and stinging their eyes. The two Border Watch crewmen, who sat at consoles that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a NASA space shuttle, appeared unconcerned. This was just another day at the office for the surveillance crew. On the other side of the aisle the Australian Federal Police senior constable had filled another sick bag. Trying to ignore the smell, Kaitlyn clutched her own sick bag in one hand and leant over the Forward Looking Infrared screen.
For a disconnected moment she felt as though she was a child again, watching her parents’ black and white television and feeling ill after too many of her mother’s homemade sweets. If only it were that simple.
‘There he is again.’ The mission commander next to her stabbed his finger at the FLIR screen.
Swallowing, Kaitlyn forced her throat to relax. ‘It looks like the same man we were tracking before. Even without being able to see his face clearly.’ She felt way out of her depth, but they were depending on her to read this man and his intentions. She summoned her confidence. ‘The way he’s holding the cigarette and leaning against the car with his ankles crossed says he’s enjoying watching the havoc he’s created. He’s relaxed, at ease with what he’s done. Same stance, same baseball cap – same guy as earlier in the week.’ The resolution of the image on the surveillance equipment was crystal-clear, but the man’s face was hidden by the square brim of his cap.
‘You’re absolutely sure?’ the mission commander asked, leaning closer to the screen. She could smell sweat overpowering his sharp aftershave and she raised her hand to her nose, trying to breathe normally.
‘Yes, I’m positive.’ She looked up at the commander as he started punching buttons on the satellite phone.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘We call it in. Do you think you can identify him?’
‘Not yet. With the sunglasses and cap …’ She hesitated. ‘He looks familiar.’
‘Okay, keep watching. I’ll zoom it up. Maybe he’ll remove them at some stage and we’ll get a better look at him. If not, no matter – the cops can pick him up anyway. We’ve got the registration and footage of his car. Fuckin’ arsonists. Capital punishment’s too good for them.’
Kait had been so focused on the car they’d been tracking that she hadn’t been paying attention to the landscape. They were now flying over another fire front, further to the west of their original track. It was disorienting to see the country from above. The hills lost their shape and height. Roads twisted in unpredictable ways.
The familiar roof and fence line of her neighbourhood’s primary school became clear in the jumble below. She froze.
‘Wait! Where are we?’
‘That’s Narangba Drive, off the Monaro Highway,’ the mission commander replied tersely, before returning to his conversation on the phone.
‘No!’ Kaitlyn stuffed her hand in her mouth. ‘It can’t be!’ The blood drained to her feet, leaving her cheeks cold. The sick bag crumpled in her fist.
The mission commander finally registered her distress as he ended his phone call. ‘You okay, love?’ he asked.
‘My house,’ she croaked. ‘I live on Narangba Road.’
‘Shit. You live down there?’
Kait’s fingers slid over the keyboard, taking the vision wider. She had no way of stopping the moan that started low in her chest. It couldn’t be. She didn’t want to believe the picture was real. As the aircraft flew on, she spotted her house. It was engulfed in flames, the corrugated-iron roof curling in the heat like the blackened petals of a flower opening on a glowing red heart. Worse still, she saw two familiar cars in the driveway, with flames already consuming them. What was her father doing there? Why was her husband home from work? He should be out fighting the fires. The fear, the pain, squeezed her lungs.
‘Noooo!’ She didn’t realise the wail of grief was hers until a strong arm wrapped around her, taking her weight as she slumped forwards.