When Steve arrived at the station, there was no one at the duty desk, and no one standing around drinking coffee, waiting for their shift to start. That was the first sign.
He checked his watch, just to be sure. He was twenty minutes early.
Invisible hackles lifted on the back of his neck, prickling painfully. Moving casually, he stepped into the office area and walked around the island of battered tin desks pushed together in the center of the room.
“Hello?”
Silence. Then, faintly, keyboard clicks from the sergeant’s office. Sergeant Borelli at his post on a Tuesday afternoon?
Steve stopped at the deserted desks. Ghostly cold fingers were playing a blaring tune up and down his spine now.
There was a tiny squeak, one he knew well, the sound of standard issue rubber-soled boots on the faded institutional green linoleum. He whirled, to find Chris Goonewardene behind him. The constable leaned against the desk next to him. It conveniently blocked off Steve’s retreat. Intentional?
“Borelli’s looking for you,” Chris said.
“Thanks.” Steve waved a hand. “Where’s everyone else?”
“Gone. You’re the only slacker here today, mate.”
Not bloody likely. Steve knew that Chris himself was inclined to park in one of the national park turnouts and sleep away a hot summer’s afternoon shift. Same as Borelli’s Tuesday afternoon tryst with the wife of a town council member was a staple, as predictable as duty shifts that started on the hour and not before.
“Guess I’d better go and see Borelli, then,” Steve said. He realized that he was sweating, although today was a mild thirty-two Celsius. He went to Borelli’s door, tapped and stepped inside.
In that instant, he knew it was all over. Borelli’s computer screen was one of the big flat-panel things, with a high resolution and crystal clarity. The grainy black and white images of the three of them, Steve, Montana and Caden, were unmistakable. So was the backdrop behind them—the main cavern of the cave dwellers.
Somewhere, there had been a security camera they’d failed to notice. It had framed them for all time.
Despite the ice in his gut, that was spreading frostbitten fingers through the rest of him, Steve spoke casually. “You know, it wasn’t until we got down there that I finally questioned whether that convenient cave-in had really blocked off the main entrance at all. All those police warning signs and barriers scaring away the high-school kids...I’m kinda pissed off I didn’t see it before. Of course they’d have local help. They couldn’t remain hidden for so long without it.”
As he spoke, he was moving closer to the monitor, peering over Borelli’s shoulder. Information. He might die with it, but it was all he had left, now. The three images were inside an email message. The header at the top had the sender’s email address. Only a few more steps and he would be able to read the address on Borelli’s big monitor.
Borelli turned to face him, smiling genially. “I wouldn’t feel too disheartened, Steve. We went out of our way to keep you distracted. A small deal here, a bad guy there. Steve, check out this surfer accident at the Bommie. Steve, go check out the deaths at the hospital.”
“I never did get to the bottom of that one,” Steve admitted easily. “How did he pull it off? He never set foot in the place. Just looked at them through the window.”
Borelli shook his head. “These people have a discipline and commitment you and I will never be able to understand, not with our upbringing, not in a million years. They pledge their lives when they join and they know they’ll be called upon to die for their cause. That’s more than can be said of anyone in this miserable station.”
“You’re overlooking one, there.”
Borelli’s smile broadened. “Right. I forgot about you, didn’t I? Well,” He slapped his thighs as he stood up. “How about we go fix that right now?”
Steve took the last step he needed and read off the address. Ligurio@bigpond.com.au.
His gaze dropped to Montana’s image. The best he could do now was try to protect her. Help her. He swallowed and looked up at Borelli, dropping his hand into his pocket, the one with his personal cell phone inside. “We going a long way?” He felt for and found the power switch and depressed it.
“Not far.” Borelli put a friendly hand on his shoulder and steered him out of the office. “But I guarantee that to you, Steve, it’ll feel like a thousand miles.”
* * * * *
The consulate offices took up a whole floor of one of the biggest tower blocks along St. George’s Terrace. Because the elevators and amenities were in the center of the floor, the offices were laid out in a big square around the four edges. The reception area faced the bank of elevators and the interview rooms where they were holding Caden were just off that area.
But Nelson’s office was all the way down the other side of the building and Nelson would never run, not even to save his life. Montana wondered if it was even possible for him to run, but he moved swiftly enough even at a walk. His huge girth disguised the fact that he was actually quite a tall man, with long legs to match.
They were barely halfway there and already she could hear frightened screams. Overriding them were loud, angry bellows. There were words in those fury-filled shouts, but she could not make them out. Consulate staff were streaming back up the corridor, looking over their shoulders.
They rounded the corner to the reception area and halted. Montana could feel her jaw dropping and snapped it closed, for Crystal Wong stood in between a row of the low leather waiting room chairs, all by herself.
Everyone else in the area—consulate staff and visitors alike—were pressed against the walls. Many were frankly cowering. Peppered between them were four of the five security staff who were on duty at any one time and they were standing back, too.
At the end of the big rectangular area, in the spacious section in front of the counters, stood one of the biggest men Montana had ever seen. He was possibly over seven feet tall with the very black skin of a Papua New Guinean. He was holding the fifth security guard, his hand around her neck.
Crystal Wong stood slender and upright before him, confronting him. She lifted her hands in a calming motion. “There are better ways to be heard, Mr. Popowich. Really. You don’t want to do this.”
Popowich stamped his feet. “You people do not listen! How can I be heard when you only listen long enough to find a reason to say no?” His speech was slow and thick with a tribal accent.
“We will listen, sir,” Crystal assured him. “But you must let the girl go, first. Let her go and we can look more favorably upon your position.”
“You have already decided!”
Montana leaned towards one of the front desk clerks nearby. “He was turned down for a visa?”
She nodded, her eyes wide. “His whole family. His wife is pregnant. Three year old boy.”
“Residency?”
“Yeah, no special status.”
Popowich’s eyes seemed to roll. “You have all decided,” he declared. “None of you listened to me. I tried to tell you about us, but no one would listen to my story.”
It’s all about people, even when you think it’s not. Caden’s abiding philosophy. Montana marveled at how often it applied.
Crystal spread her hands wider. “Sir, we considered your application as fairly as we do all of them.”
Wrong words. Wrong response.
Popowich began to shake with fury. “You do not know anything about me! Nothing. You asked nothing of me. I want to speak to someone who knows how to talk.”
Montana didn’t realize she was moving forward until Nelson’s hand on her arm tried to hold her back. She shook it off and crept to Crystal’s side. “Back up,” she told her softly.
Crystal glanced at her. “You sure?” she whispered.
“No, but back up anyway.”
She eased away from Montana, moving slowly, until Montana stood alone in the middle of the floor, facing the Papua New Guinean. She focused on the security guard. The girl’s eyes were big, but she seemed calm. “Are you all right?”
She nodded minutely. “He’s not hurting me,” she said. “But if I move, his grip tightens.”
“Don’t move then.” Montana looked up at the man. “Mr. Popowich, right?”
“That is me.”
“I’ll listen to you. I’ll listen, but you’ll have to start at the beginning because I don’t know anything about you. Were you applying for residency in the United States?”
He scowled. “My fambly. All of us.”
“Are you a resident of Australia?”
The scowl deepened. “They won’t let us stay.”
“You’re here on a visitor’s visa?”
“Half of a year. But that was last year.”
Caution flooded her. “You’re in this country illegally?”
“I’m not going back.” His voice held a note of warning.
“Why not?” she asked, keeping her voice softy, empathetic.
“I is Mekeos. My boy, too. The Kuku Kukus, they kill me, my boy, so there be no more Popowich.” Amazingly, his eyes filled with tears. “My woman, she be with child and they kill her too, so there be no more Popowich.”
Tribal wars. Suddenly, she understood. “Sir, you can file for refugee status. Didn’t anyone tell you about this?”
“For what?” he said, frowning.
“Refugee status—”
“This is Consular Security!” The voice was tinny, vibrating through a bullhorn. “Put your hands in the air and no harm will come to you!”
Popowich glared at her. “You are a mean woman. You tricked me.”
She glanced over her shoulder. The four security guards on this shift had donned riot gear and were now shuffling into the reception area behind Plexiglas shields, holding stun guns.
“No!” she cried. “Stay back!”
“Damned woman!” Popowich roared. He thrust the security woman aside with a casual fling of his arm and came striding for Montana, his hands held out for her.
The security force rushed forward, yelling, trying to get his attention.
“Montana!” It was Caden’s voice, coming from her left, where there could not possibly be any people.
She had time to turn her head to look and when she did, he was already in mid-air, flying towards her, one arm outstretched like a quarter back.
The thick part of his upper arm slammed into her stomach, lifting her off her feet and folding her over his arm. She flew through three feet of air with him and bounced into something soft and yielding. They were still moving.
He’d pushed her into one of the low leather reception chairs. They were throwbacks to another age, complete with pleats and studs—and wheels. Caden’s knees were on either side of her thighs and his hands were clamped onto the back frame.
He looked down at her. “Tuck your legs up, we’re going to roll.”
She pulled her knees up to her chest and tucked her head in tight. She could already feel the chair tipping—it was too tall and unbalanced for such speed and the wheels too small.
The center of balance shifted and they tipped suddenly. Like water from a bucket, they spilled out over the back of the chair as it slapped into the floor. Montana rolled once, twice and came up against the elevator wall.
She picked herself up fast and looked over the seat of the chair.
All five security guards and three of the biggest men in the office were piled on top of Popowich, holding him down. They weren’t using anything more than body weight to hold him there. No batons, no stun guns.
Caden was sprawled on his back, his head about a foot from the back of the chair. He lifted himself onto one elbow as she got to her feet. Someone had found him a tee-shirt, but he was still barefoot.
“You’re not supposed to just stand around and take it in the jaw when someone that size comes at you,” he said.
“Where the hell did you come from?” she demanded. “You were locked in an interview room.”
“Funny thing, that.”
She glanced at the morass of bodies writhing in the reception area. Popowich was fighting back. No one was taking any notice of them. Montana grabbed a bunch of Caden’s tee-shirt in her fist and hauled. “Get up, Caden. Move it.”
He looked up at her and his eyes lit with warmth. “You used my name. Finally.”
She tugged on his shirt again. “Prioritize, Rawn. Come on.”
He glanced at her fist in his knotted shirt. “There’s no going back if you do this.” His eyes were very black now and his expression grave.
“Maybe I don’t want to go back.”
He caught her face between his hand and lifted himself up enough to kiss her hard. When he let her go to flex and rise to his feet, she frowned. “I wish you’d stop doing that.”
“I thought you liked cricket?” He grinned.
“Sure, when I don’t have to do other things like save my ass and yours and I can afford to have my concentration scrambled.” She tugged on his shirt again, pulling him down the corridor.
“Nice to know something rattles you. Even nicer to know it’s me.” He sounded inordinately pleased and as calm as if they really were watching cricket.
She pushed on the emergency stair door and almost staggered through, so fast was she moving.
“I’m with you,” he growled. “You can let go. I’m right behind you.”
“Good.”
Her feet slapped the cold, painted concrete of the stairs, as she hurried down them.
“Short cut,” Caden called.
She looked over her shoulder, as he vaulted over the rails, down onto flight of stairs beneath, landing sure-footed like a cat. “Watch for where to put your feet,” he said, stepping down another three steps and vaulting over that railing.
She mimicked his movement and realized that by using her arm as a vaulting pole, it gave her time to spot her landing and get her feet down.
She landed, pattered down four more steps and vaulted again.
They dropped the twenty-three floors to the basement in about forty-five seconds. Her feet hurt from the constant impact and her shoulders throbbed, but any possible pursuit was minutes behind at best.
Caden paused with a hand on the door out to the parkade. “They may not have figured we’ve gone, yet.”
“Out the door, to the left,” she told him. “There’s a small side door out into an alley. It leads to the bus terminal next to the river.”
Caden hesitated and she saw him swallow. He shook his head, as if he were trying to clear it. “We need to hole up somewhere.”
“There’s taxis at the bus terminal all hours of the day. It’s a hundred yards, right across the road. It’s almost knock-off time. It’ll be busy.”
He thought about it. Nodded. “I wish we were dressed better. The taxi driver will remember us. So will others.” He shrugged. “Can’t be helped. Have to get out of sight fast.” He licked his lips again, then pushed the door open, checked around and held it fully open for her to slide past.
They emerged into the lane unseen and ran to the end, where it emerged onto the little-used road that gave access to the bus terminal. They walked down the pavement to the nearest traffic lights, where they could cross the busy road, hurrying but trying to make it look casual. Montana looked at her watch. “Screw this,” she said. “Let’s run. People will think we’re running for a bus.”
Caden shook his head. “Can’t,” he said flatly. He was holding his side, like he had a stitch.
“Are you alright? Did you get hurt back there?”
“I’m alright. I just need to get tucked away somewhere and take a moment.”
They reached the lights and she hammered at the crosswalk signal button with the side of her fist. Caden kept his gaze on the terminal building and the big clock out in front of it. “Four-thirty,” he muttered. “Shit.”
She stayed silent, but suddenly wished she had her car, her handbag and her belongings. Being on the run without resources was severely limiting her choices.
The light clicked on, halting traffic. They hurried across the road and over to the taxi stand. There was a Swan taxi at the front of the line and they slid onto the back seat.
“Head for Lesmurdie,” she told the driver.
He looked at them over the back of the seat. “That’s going to be about fifty. You got the cash?” It was a fair question. She was still wearing the salt-stained jeans and shirt that she’d been wearing for the last forty-eight hours. Caden’s jeans were just as stained and the tee-shirt he wore was too small by several sizes. They were both barefoot.
She smiled her most reassuring smile at the driver. “We’ll have it at the other end. It’s my house. I have two hundred in cash in the house and I’ll add an extra fifteen percent to the fare just for the inconvenience.”
He looked skeptical, but he put the car in gear and nosed out into the busy lanes of Riverside Drive.
“Not your house,” Caden said in an undertone.
“There’s cash, food, clothes. You need somewhere fast.” She kept her voice down.
Caden closed his eyes for a moment, as if he was sleepy. He licked his lips again, swallowing hard. “We need to hurry.”
He sagged against her.