Chapter Nineteen

The Fracture

 

 

THE STREETS WERE bathed in melancholy aqua light from the overhead lamps, the colour of loneliness. They drained the warmth from the red roofs and green verges so that the world appeared to be under shallow water. No breath of air stirred the branches of the eucalyptus trees.

Lea checked her watch. Just after midnight. She was about to head back when she heard a sound in one of the front gardens, a plastic scrape like a dustbin flap being dropped back in place. She slowed and looked over. As she passed through the blackness between the kerb lamps she could vaguely discern a pair of slender figures in whispered argument. They stopped and loped off, doubled low. Curious, she walked nearer.

She was still trying to decipher what she had seen when the package in the bin exploded. The detonation was muffled by plastic bags, but caught her by surprise. Its vibration set off an alarm inside a garage, and moments later several confused residents emerged on the street to look at the smoking, melted mess of garbage in the driveway.

She found herself sitting on the kerb, unable to recall how she had got there. It felt as if the air had fractured. One of the householders came over and put his arm around her, and her surprise at this intimate gesture was mitigated when she realised she was bleeding. She was taken to a peach-coloured bathroom in the villa, and saw there was a small cut on her forehead caused by a tiny shard of glass, but it had bled enough to make her appearance disturbing.

The wound was already scabbing over as a woman fussed around her with a hot flannel. Everyone seemed overly excited. Her ears were singing. The couple who lived in the house introduced themselves as Bill and Nancy Cooper from Seattle.

‘Is there someone we should call?’ said Nancy, peering anxiously into her face.

‘Did you see them?’ asked her husband, storming back and forth.

‘No—yes—not really,’ said Lea. ‘Just their backs. It was dark.’

‘What were they like?’

‘There were two of them, short, dressed in jeans and grey jackets I think.’

‘What my husband means is, were they—you know—’

‘Black,’ completed Bill. ‘Were they from the workers’ barracks?’

‘I’m not sure,’ she said, resenting the question. ‘It was hard to see.’

In the disordered minutes that followed, Roy somehow appeared, accompanied by James Davenport. ‘Lea, would you mind giving a statement to the police?’ he asked.

She nodded numbly. ‘Can I do it here?’

‘I’m afraid we have to go down to the station,’ said Davenport. ‘I’ll drive you. You’ll be home in an hour.’

‘No, really, Roy can drive me, or I can drive myself.’

‘I don’t think that would be a good idea, Lea. You could be in shock,’ said Davenport.

‘Please, everyone’s overreacting, it’s just a scratch. It took me by surprise, that’s all.’ I lived through the London 7/7 bombings, she wanted to say, stop treating me like a child. But she let herself be led to Davenport’s Audi, climbing into the back of the car with Roy.

She could tell Davenport was anxious to question her himself, but Roy deflected his enquiries. ‘Perhaps we should wait until she sees a police officer,’ he said. ‘It’s better to keep her answers fresh.’

Good move, she thought, I don’t trust you, James. You’re the one who accidentally sent Milo the email. They talked about her as if she wasn’t there, as nurses did beside hospital patients.

The state institutions all shared the same architectural ethic. School, government building, hospital, police headquarters, all were low white rectangles with airy, empty spaces, built with an odd disdain for human scale. There was something about them that encouraged calm and a sense of respect. Very few members of staff were on duty, but Davenport found someone from the national security office. A tall, goateed man in a crisp white thobe introduced himself as Mr Qasim, the Deputy Commissioner, and led her to an interview room.

‘Can’t my husband be with me?’ she asked, looking back over her shoulder at Roy.

‘It is better if we take notes from you without intervention from anyone else,’ said Mr Qasim. ‘People want to be helpful, but sometimes they make our job more difficult without meaning to.’ He held open the door to a bright featureless office and seated himself opposite her.

‘Please do not feel uncomfortable concerning the question of racial identity,’ he instructed, opening a folder and unsheathing a silver fountain pen. ‘It is simply a matter of accurately recording what you saw.’ There was a computer on the table, but he ignored it.

She did her best to describe the pair, apologising for her disappointing powers of observation. Mr Qasim sat patiently, allowing her to gather her thoughts. His soft, insistent tone teased out details from Lea’s memory. He seemed like a good man. Finally, after listening to her account and confirming her contact details, he sat back and regarded her coolly for a moment.

‘What do you think actually happened?’ he asked, placing his slender hands flat on the table.

‘What do I really think? That it was probably a prank.’

‘A prank.’ He turned the word over, slightly puzzled.

‘Maybe a couple of the workers got drunk and came into the compound looking to play a joke.’

‘These are sensitive times, Mrs Brook. It is not the kind of joke people find funny.’

‘Mr Qasim, if this had happened in London, we would probably have dismissed it as high spirits.’

‘But we are not in London. This is the Middle East. There are a great many political and religious sensitivities to take into account.’

‘I appreciate that, but whatever it was they detonated barely had the strength to blow a plastic bin apart. I hear much louder fireworks at the beach every weekend.’

‘You know there were bombs found at the Dream World resort? Did your husband tell you that somebody smashed a sewer pipe today, causing poisonous effluent to leak into the sea?’

‘No, he told me he had to work late, but didn’t explain why.’

‘Because of this we will undergo a heightening of status to the area’s security, an inconvenience to everyone. How we handle such situations is as crucial as anything we build. In Britain every move you make is filmed by closed circuit television cameras every minute of the day. We do not wish to take that path, because we must be able to trust our citizens. We cannot afford to start curtailing the freedom you enjoy here.’

‘But that’s nonsense—there are CCTV cameras all over the place.’

‘The compound cameras only record during the day. They don’t operate after midnight. The ecological lighting—’

‘It’s too low to see anything, I imagine.’

‘The presence of the cameras is intended to warn, not to control.’

Lea wanted to argue that it was a waste of time having them if they couldn’t be properly used, but kept her counsel.

Mr Qasim checked his notes. ‘Is there anything else you can remember about the men who planted the bomb?’

She thought for a moment. Something drifted just beyond the edge of her consciousness. ‘Something.’ She said, trying to remember. ‘They both had hats of some kind. White, with no brims—’

‘A kufi.’

‘Maybe, I’m really not certain.’

‘Muslims.’

‘Surely Christians wear them too.’

Mr Qasim closed his book, clearly disappointed. ‘Mrs Brook, I would like you to think carefully tomorrow about what you saw. It could be very important. You must call me if you think of anything else.’

She emerged to find Roy and Davenport waiting for her. She began to wish she had lied to Mr Qasim, and remained silent on the drive home, unwilling to share her thoughts with Dream World’s PR chief.

As soon as they were back in their own car, she could sense a bad atmosphere building between them. ‘I don’t know why you wouldn’t speak to James on the way back,’ said Roy, nettled. ‘He was good enough to wait for you.’

‘Anything I say to him will go straight back to his bosses, you know that,’ said Lea.

‘No, I don’t, Lea. He has a difficult job to do. He’s here to help you. Anyway, what the hell were you doing wandering about the neighbourhood at that time? I came home to find the place empty. Where did you think you were going?’

‘You hadn’t come home, Cara was still out with her friends and I needed to stretch my legs. We’re not in a police state. I’m still free to come and go, or perhaps you’d like to lock me away inside the house like Mr Mansour does with his wife.’

Roy gave a sigh of impatience. ‘Jesus, Lea, try to see it from my side just once. We had a terrorist act at the resort today. Somebody smashed a section of temporary pipe and tampered with the pressurisation software. The police are involved now.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Lea. ‘It’s been a bad day for me too. I know it’ll seem like a small thing to you, but I’m trying to find some work that actually pays instead of writing free content for a website nobody reads.’

‘You don’t have to look for work anymore,’ he said gently, touching her arm. ‘We’ve got good money coming in and we’re saving a ton each month. I’ve been meaning to tell you. I’m in line for a directorship.’

‘How is that possible? You’ve only been here a short time.’

‘Jeez, I thought you’d be pleased for me.’

‘I am but—’

Roy shrugged. ‘A couple of group heads decided not to renew their contracts, so I got fast-tracked. I’m just waiting for the confirmation letter.’

‘I’m really happy for you, honestly.’

‘Well, you should be. There’s no going back now. I’m senior management material. Cool, huh?’

‘Of course—’

‘But what?’

‘I need to do something too. It’ll put me in a better mood and stop me from moping about the house while you’re out building an empire.’

‘You make it sound like such a bad thing. It’s giving us better lives, Lea.’ Roy’s anger would not allow him to stop. ‘So it’s a leisure complex—big crime. It creates employment and pours money back to places where the standard of living is lower, so that people can buy houses and start families. Think about that for a change.’

She forced a smile. ‘I’m sorry. I know you think I’m being selfish. I hope the police don’t come down hard on your workers. There’s no proof that any harm was meant. I hated having words put in my mouth.’

‘Why? You were just telling them what you saw.’

‘But if I hadn’t been there, no-one would have been hurt.’

‘Oh, Lea, you’re always the liberal. You know the police have a detention protocol that could have kept you in for questioning tonight? They were good enough to let you out. You have to start taking this kind of stuff more seriously.’ He shook his head in wonder. ‘Boy, I’d love to live in your world for a while.’

‘You did, Roy. When we first met, remember?’

‘Don’t start that again. You know what? You always say you want one thing and then back off when you get it.’ He concentrated on the road in silence.

When they reached home, Roy looked in on Cara and sat with her for a while, then went to bed. He held Lea in his arms for a brief moment and kissed her on the forehead, but a distance had opened between them that would not easily be closed.

 

 

THEY SAT AROUND the breakfast table in silence as Lastri made buttermilk pancakes. The maid had claimed the kitchen as her own domain, and refused to let anyone help her. Cara was absorbed with her iPad. Lea waited for Lastri to finish so that she could talk to Roy. She still didn’t feel comfortable having the young woman waiting on them.

‘What are you doing today?’ she asked.

Roy had been studying his Blackberry with angry intensity for the last twenty minutes. ‘Intermittent electronic faults. The inspectors found non-approved materials above some ceiling panels, and now the whole lot will have to come out. What are you doing?’

‘I honestly don’t know,’ Lea admitted. ‘Preparing meals. Looking for magazine contacts.’

He put down the Blackberry and rubbed his eyes. He looked exhausted. ‘It means a lot to you, doesn’t it?’

‘Of course. I don’t like feeling useless. Nobody does.’

‘Something will turn up. It’ll take time.’

‘I’ve never had much patience. I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. I have to run.’ He raised his voice slightly. ‘Don’t do me any pancakes, Lastri.’ Roy’s electronic gadgetry was lined neatly along the kitchen counter, fully charged and waiting to be placed in his shoulder-bag. She watched as he carefully packed each item, already at work in his head. He kissed her absently and headed to the carport.

That evening, he called to say that he would be late again. Lea decided there was no point in planning family recipes. Instead, she cooked separate dishes and sealed them in plastic freezer tubs. She took no pleasure in eating alone. It was becoming obvious why the wives arranged coffee mornings and lunches at the golf club.

Rachel called to say that Milo had left instructions concerning his ashes, which were to go to a nephew in Hamburg. There was to be no formal send-off. Lea raised her lemonade glass to him.

Roy arrived home close to midnight. His eyes were dark and tired. ‘Harji Busabi’s team found the cause of the problem,’ he said, rummaging in the refrigerator for a sandwich. ‘The remains of a pipe bomb attached to the main sewage outlet out by the marina. It was made from a soft drink can, just like your one, with another can finely grated up into aluminium filings for the filling, so that it acted like thermite. They chucked in some magnesium powder, a firework fuse and a cheap plastic wristwatch, that’s all. The can is an Indian soft drink popular with the workmen. They have vending machines at the barracks. It’s specially imported for them, a brand you can’t buy anywhere else.’

‘The couple who got bin-bombed,’ said Lea, ‘you know them?’

‘Bill Cooper from Seattle, works in HR. It was his wife who helped you. She remembered you from the welcoming party.’

‘There were too many people to take in that day. How do you know it was the same kind of bomb?’

‘I shared notes with your Mr Qasim.’

‘He didn’t call me, and I was the one it happened to.’ Lea was unable to keep the tone of irritation from her voice.

‘He has my number. Besides, why would he think you needed to know?’ He rose from the fridge. ‘I don’t like cold beef. Isn’t there anything else?’

‘Look in the bowl at the back. If it wasn’t a prank, why do you think they targeted the Coopers?’

‘One of Bill’s jobs is to release any workman who fails to show at the resort site on time.’

‘What happens to the people he fires?’

‘They’re escorted back to their barracks and sent home on the first cheap flight that becomes available, so it’s unlikely to be anyone he’d just let go.’

‘Maybe the workers are upset about somebody getting fired. When I saw them in the underpass, they seemed pretty angry.’

Roy looked up from the fridge. ‘Why are you so interested?’

‘What happens in your job is going to affect all of us,’ she replied, trying to sound casual. ‘I need to know what’s going on.’

He narrowed his eyes at her in suspicion. ‘I wonder.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘I don’t want you writing about any of this. You have to promise me, Lea.’

‘Look in the big bowl, there are hard-boiled eggs,’ she said.