Sweat stung his eyes as he opened them. The sheets scrunched beneath his fists. He unclenched them, sat up and looked down at the tattoo. Numbness had forced the strength from his hands and he worked his fingers back and forth to regain the circulation. He half expected blood to be oozing from the tattoo, like in the dream. He glanced around the room, hoping the little girl had gone. He licked his lips and recalled his last drink, remembering his collapse. Had it been due to exhaustion?
The bedside clock read 10.38. The interview with Catherine had been scheduled for 10.00. Where the hell was Sarah? He scrambled out of bed and searched for his clothes. A note lay on top of his folded jeans.
Didn't want to wake you. You crashed quick last night. Gone to pick up Catherine. Will be back soon. Miss you already. XXXX
Jay ran a hand through his hair, wondering why she hadn't woken him. He didn't trust Catherine and hoped that Sarah would be able to bring her back without any trouble. He figured she was trying to assert some authority or independence by doing the questioning alone, but it would have made more sense for her to have woken him to prepare for the confrontation.
He stretched and licked his dry lips. Morning routine was needed: a strong coffee, cigarette and shower. They'd rejuvenate his tired body and his spirits.
The hotel bar seemed the logical place to kill some time and have a late breakfast while he waited for Sarah to return. He tucked the Browning into the back of his jeans and headed across the drive.
The bar was free of patrons; it was just after opening time. He pulled up a stool and admired the warm country atmosphere of the pub, decorated with local relics and memorabilia. It had a welcoming feel of anonymity, just the way he liked it. No gaming room or poker machines to attract punters who couldn't afford to feed their kids. There were a couple of pool tables and a sports channel playing on a big screen in a corner. The kind of place Jay would come to watch a game of rugby.
The first pint of beer didn't last long. The barmaid wearing a Blow up the pokies shirt poured a second. She didn't seem the type for conversation, barely moving her lips when she asked what he wanted to drink. He figured she was the kind of woman who had watched her dreams evaporate with each beer poured, stuck in an eternal rut. Or maybe she was just part of the anonymity of the place. She continued with her routine of flipping stools off tables and laying out beer coasters. It made him realise how fortunate he was to have accomplished his goals so early in life. Not everyone could say they had reached the top of their chosen profession. Problem was, he felt like he'd fallen on his own sword. His major achievement a catalyst for his own undoing.
He reflected on his dream about the little girl. Since the dreams began, the bomb had always exploded without her saying a word. He'd interpreted it as revenge for him not stopping the war. The last dream confirmed these thoughts. He'd tried to ignore the dreams and the little girl, but she'd worn him down. Without doubt his trust in the system had wavered in the past few days. He'd always had faith that if he performed his job right, those to whom he passed the information would make the right decisions, that they would use the intelligence to protect those who needed protecting. It made him sick to realise that his information would be used as some political point-scoring exercise; it was very disillusioning. Once he'd reassured himself, rationalising that he wasn't aware of the bigger picture and that tough decisions had to be made in order to fulfil long-term objectives. The honour of serving his nation and his loyalty to the army had pulled him through when times were tough. But now he'd begun to question whether the little girl had been right all along. His boss and mentor had betrayed him. He wondered what could have turned Bowen into that type of person and thought about Catherine's psychological powers. Maybe he should have accepted the deal to steal secrets, but his father would still have been in the same spot of bother. Rescuing him remained his priority.
Jay ordered a bowl of hot chips and another beer from the robotic barmaid. She grunted a price and he flipped her some change. She started to work on rearranging glasses behind the counter and Jay decided to check out the bar. Being a fugitive, he should at least look out for the authorities. Likely escape routes would be handy if needed.
There were tables and chairs on the grass in front of an outdoor entertaining area. A good spot to soak up the morning sun and observe the main road. The tranquillity of the morning felt like the calm before a storm.
A light breeze carried the smell of cow manure from a nearby paddock. The sun quickly deserted him and ducked behind a dark cloud. A flock of galahs took flight and a sense of doom caused Jay to reach for the comfort of the Browning. Touching it lifted his confidence, yet a strange dread remained. He suddenly felt exposed – to the elements and to an unknown threat. His eyes searched for the danger as he made his way back into the bar.
He took up a stool by the front windows that allowed him a view of the road and his room. The bowl of chips arrived with a practised fake smile. He was halfway through his unconventional breakfast when the rain began. He rolled back his sleeve to check the time. Greeted again by the rose tattoo. It had scabbed over and he wondered whether it was a cruel reminder from the little girl in his dreams. He removed his watch from the other hand and placed it over the tattoo, with the face of the watch on the inside of his wrist to cover the evil rose.
The rain increased in volume and he could barely make out the main road through the haze. A set of headlights caught his attention as they pulled onto the side of the road. The passenger side door opened. A figure hurried out and slid down an embankment. Jay leaned closer to the glass and watched the car pull away without its passenger.
Instinctively, Jay reached for the Browning, remembered the barmaid and pulled his hand away. He watched the person's head bob up and down as he or she moved slowly through the gully, paralleling the road toward the hotel.
The rain eased, as if the eye of the storm had reached the hotel. The person's head came up again.
He watched Warren Primrose run the copper comb through his thinning hair.
The wind picked up and the rain began to fall again. Jay's heart pounded above the noise of the water gushing through the hotel's gutters. Primrose became a blur behind the deluge.
His immediate thoughts were of Sarah. Only the two of them knew of the hotel. Primrose must have gotten to her. God only knew what the little psychopath had done to make her talk. Jay clenched his fists and slammed the benchtop. Chips flew high above the bowl and scattered onto the floor. The bowl slid from its spot and shattered, shards of china flying everywhere.
The broken china squealed under his boots as he made his way to the back door, his jaw locked tight in determination. The barmaid said something but he ignored her. He wanted to round up Primrose and kill him. A burning desire he had never felt before. An animal instinct overcame him as he began to stalk his prey.
He kept tight to the outside balcony and made his way to the back of the building. After vaulting the rail, he removed his jacket. The rain pelting against it was too loud for the hunt. He took hold of the Browning and flipped the safety to fire. Holding it by his side, he crouched and moved forward to the edge of the building. An empty paddock the length of a football field was to his immediate right, between him and Primrose.
Water gushed from his hair and into his eyes. His focus didn't waver. He breathed in hard and ran to another building ten metres directly in front of him. The eaves provided some shelter from the storm as he edged along the back of the building. At the far end, he stuck his head around and noted Primrose's position.
Jay ran hard for a tree-line no more than thirty metres away. He prayed that Primrose wouldn't look over his right shoulder toward him, but instinct told him that Primrose would remain fixed on the hotel room.
The large pines provided ideal cover as he slid into the mud and lay facing Primrose, now more than the football-field distance away. He caught his breath. Primrose sat waiting in the gully. Jay didn't know what Primrose was waiting for and at this point didn't care.
He pushed up off the ground with his free hand, ducked into the gully and began stalking Primrose through the tree-line. Water cascaded down the sides of the gully and quickly filled the trench. He rolled his ankles to the side with each step, careful not to collect mud on his boots. They were heavy enough with the rain. He pushed through patches of knee-high grass. The pines and shrubs provided enough cover. They also shielded Primrose. Jay lost sight of him until he rounded the corner near the road.
The wind picked up as he hit the bend. The rain pelted his face and body, stinging his exposed skin. He came to the last of the pines and propped himself against a tree. Their scent reminded him of Christmas. Of happier times.
Jay wiped the rain from his eyes and looked ahead. Primrose sat in the ditch with his back toward him. There was no longer any cover between them. If Primrose turned, he would see him. Jay hoped he wouldn't turn. He put his hand on the pine tree, optimistically using it as a lucky charm. Here's hoping we both live through this, Dad, he mumbled to himself.
Rising from the cover of the pine tree he commenced the final leg of his pursuit. He held the Browning in front of himself with both hands while he continued to roll his ankles with each deliberate step. He dared not blink and concentrated on his target. The gap slowly closed as the rain continued to fall. Primrose remained seated and occasionally pulled the copper comb through his hair. The gap continued to narrow and the rain picked up, thick drops that pummelled Jay's face. He pushed forward.
A truck's airbrakes suddenly drowned out the thunderous roar of the rain. Caught off guard, Jay flung his head around as the truck passed.
In an instant, he realised his mistake and turned back toward Primrose.