Chapter Fifteen

The Barracks

 

 

THE CCTV CAMERAS were designed to be seen.

Lea looked at the tops of the wrought-iron lamp-posts and checked the surrounding buildings. On each of them, red LEDs winked from a series of wall-mounted plastic domes. She wondered where the surveillance system had its headquarters.

The police presence on the compound was extremely discreet. There was no way of telling if anyone would bother to find out what had happened to Milo. Would they check the CCTV hard drives? The solar-powered kerb lights that came on after midnight wouldn’t reveal much about the vehicle. Perhaps the system was infra-red, and would display green ghost-figures drifting past the fallen old man.

Presumably the investigating officers had at least managed to question the compound guards, to find out if a car had left the grounds? If no-one had passed through the entry gates it meant that the vehicle was still inside, or that it had left via the unguarded underpass that linked to the workers’ barracks. It might have been driven by one of the men who lived in the dormitory blocks on the other side of the wall.

You’d better not get any further involved in this, she thought. But you could just take a quick look.

She turned the Renault right, toward the underpass. It drew her like a moment in a film she knew she couldn’t watch. She felt herself being slowly dragged toward the wrong choices, doing the exact opposite of what was expected.

At this time of the morning, the shadowed depression of the road that passed beneath Highway A6 was deserted. Decelerating, she coasted the car into the unlit tunnel and emerged in an alien world. The route took her between the vast concrete dormitories, aligned at right angles to the road. Dozens of workers sat on their haunches smoking or eating with their fingers from aluminium trays. They regarded her with little hostility and less curiosity. They were inert and exhausted.

Piles of rubbish and crates of rotting vegetables littered the open areas. A few fur-bald dogs snuffled through the trash. A single tap and an iron trough stood at the end of each block for washing.

Being here could only lead to trouble, but she was already inside the unauthorized zone, so why not take a look in one of the buildings? She pulled the Renault over and entered the nearest open doorway unhindered.

There was no lighting inside, just a stairway that stank of sweat and urine. Each floor had entrances leading to open dormitories. The walls were banked with mattresses, half of which were occupied by shapeless grey bundles. The men had pulled blankets over their heads to keep the light out of their eyes; there were no shades on the windows. In the corners of the room were hundreds of fluted aluminium containers, flyblown noodle boxes that had been discarded by exhausted workers.

She was careful not to enter the rooms. It was enough just to glimpse the sleeping shift-workers, lined in rows like wartime sleepers in the underground. Most appeared to be beyond the usual retirement age, or perhaps a combination of punishing sunlight, poor diet and manual labour had prematurely aged them. She counted 120 beds on one floor. A group of men crouching beneath an unfinished window glared sullenly at her as she passed, and she was overcome with shame. She should not have invaded their privacy. This isn’t right, she thought, I have no right to be here, I shouldn’t see them like this.

As she walked back out to the light, a broad-chested figure cut off her exit.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ he asked. She recognised the Afrikaans accent immediately, and heard anger in his voice. Don’t let him scare you, don’t apologise. You’re new, nobody gave you rules to follow.

She pushed past him, out into the light. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Hardy—the road is open from the compound, and I didn’t see any signs forbidding me from entering the place.’

‘The road isn’t supposed to be like that. We’re waiting for permission to seal it off, and if we don’t get it I’ll do it myself, as soon as a highway maintenance crew becomes available. This is company land, ya? You have no business here.’

‘I was curious, that’s all. I don’t wish to sound ungrateful for your interest in my welfare, but I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.’

Hardy’s jaw muscles worked as he tried to keep his temper. ‘Do I need to spell it out for you, Mrs Brook? Many of these men have been away from their wives for three years.’

‘They look too tired to assault anyone. Besides, I thought you imported prostitutes to take care of their needs. Adultery isn’t an imprisonable offence for your workers, is it, because their wives aren’t here.’

‘You’ve got quite a mouth on you, Mrs Brook. If I was your husband, I’d take you in hand.’ He looked as if he could hit a woman without feeling remorse.

‘Well, luckily you’re not. Let’s just regard this as a friendly conversation between a pair of economic migrants, shall we? We’re both in the same boat, Mr Hardy, we should be able to get along.’ She turned to go, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt.

‘Mrs Brook.’

She turned back to face him, glad that her sunglasses prevented him from seeing her eyes. ‘Yes?’

‘I don’t want to see you anywhere near here again. For your own safety. Or I will take action against you. Do you understand?’

‘Perfectly, Mr Hardy. Good day.’

As she slid into the driver’s seat, she realised her back was wet with sweat. Her hands were shaking slightly. If I’m going to survive in this place for two years, she thought, I have to learn to keep my mouth shut.