‘Finally. Judd Bell.’
‘Petra Zellick.’
Judd turns to Doug. ‘I really need that phone.’
‘Of course.’ Doug looks to Petra. ‘There’s a guy outside, needs water. Take care of him?’
‘Sure.’ She stands. ‘Need a break anyway.’
‘Fill this up.’ Doug passes Petra the bucket then points Judd along the hallway. ‘We’re down here.’
From the chopper’s cockpit Corey sees a young woman exit the building carrying his lucky bucket. ‘Here’s your water.’ She reaches the Loach and puts the bucket down.
Corey steps out of the cockpit and sees her clearly. With her blonde hair and angular features he thinks she’s particularly fetching, and when he thinks that he becomes a bit tongue-tied. ‘Hi. I’m Corny, I mean Corley — Corey! I’m Corey.’
‘Petra Zellick.’
‘Nice to meet you.’ He grins his crooked grin except now it’s a little goofy.
‘Need anything else?’
‘Yes.’
She looks at him expectantly. He doesn’t need anything.
Spike barks.
‘Excuse me one sec.’ Corey places the bucket on the pilot’s seat in front of Spike and the dog laps at the water. Corey turns back to Petra, wracks his brain for something to say. ‘So, um, where are you from?’
‘Canberra.’
‘Great. Excellent. Great. So — seen much of the Territory?’
‘No, but I’d like to. It’s magnificent.’
‘So, you need a tour guide?’
‘Guess so.’
‘I’d like to formally apply for the position.’
‘Great.’ She smiles a million-dollar smile and Corey’s thrilled. A girl hasn’t smiled at him since, well, Sara Connolly two years ago and that was because she thought he was someone else.
Judd follows Doug down the corridor. ‘Just the two of you here?’
‘Yep, expecting a couple of others tomorrow, hopefully someone with a bit more experience with these older systems. We’ve been making it up as we go along. It was last upgraded in the mid-eighties so the blokes who know ‘em are mostly retired or, you know, dead.’ The beam of Doug’s torch hits a door. ‘It’s in there.’
He pushes the door open. ‘It’s recharging. This room seems to have the only power outlet that works.’ They enter and Doug flicks the switch on the wall. No light. ‘Shit, keep forgetting.’
The room has the sour smell of wet laundry left standing too long. The torch reflects off a picture window that dominates the far wall, throwing a pale glow over the large office. At one end a long desk topped with a green-shaded banker’s lamp is surrounded by half a dozen wood and vinyl chairs, circa early seventies. Everything’s covered in a film of grey-red dust.
‘Where is it?’ Judd turns to Doug and the torch’s beam blasts directly into his face.
‘Sorry!’
Judd turns away. Bright blotches swim across his vision. He blinks to clear them then catches sight of the reflection in the picture window. Doug’s right hand rises towards him. It holds a pistol.
‘Shit.’ Judd twists away as the pistol fires and the flash lights up the room. The sound reverberates, shakes the picture window. Judd dives, hits the ground, rolls under the table.
‘Your German friend sends his regards.’ The room flashes white again and wood splinters blast into the side of Judd’s face.
‘— so that’s the thing, I’m always thinking. It’s Wednesday and I’m already thinking about Thursday.’ Corey turns to Petra, unsure. ‘It is Wednesday, isn’t it?’
‘Monday.’ She jabs a nine-millimetre pistol into his ribs.
He looks from the gun to Petra, confused. ‘Does this mean you don’t need a tour guide?’
She pulls the trigger as he twists away and hip-checks her. She’s knocked sideways and the bullet slams into the dust. Corey dive-rolls under the Loach as she finds her balance and swings the weapon towards him.
He’s not there. She bends, looks under the Loach. No sign of him. Pistol raised, finger tight on the trigger, she stalks around the chopper. The Loach is not very big so it doesn’t take long to circumnavigate. He’s nowhere to be seen. ‘Where the hell are you —?’
Corey leaps from atop the chopper’s blades. She raises the gun but is too slow. He tackles her hard, drives her into the dust.
The pistol jars from her hand, lands in the red dirt five metres away. Corey scrambles after it. Petra swings out a foot, kicks his right ankle, knocks it against his left. He stumbles, veers sideways, overbalances and slams headfirst into the chopper’s tail section. Dazed, he crumples to the ground.
‘Enjoy the trip?’ Petra strolls past him and picks up the weapon.
Doug crouches, points the torch and the pistol under the table. There’s no one under there. Surprised, he stands, sweeps the torch beam across the room —
It illuminates Judd as he slides across the dusty table, feet first. He nails Doug in the gut and the Australian hits the floor hard. The pistol jolts from his hand and clatters across the green linoleum.
They both scramble for it. Doug grabs Judd’s belt, yanks him backwards, pulls himself towards the gun. Judd recovers, shoulders him in the back, knocks him over, snags the weapon, aims it.
It’s not the pistol, it’s the torch! ‘Shit!’ He finds the switch, turns it on, scans the floor for the weapon —
Doug kicks him in the back and Judd slams against the table, drops the torch. Doug comes at him and Judd reaches out in the darkness, for something, anything. His hand touches cool metal. He grabs it, swings it around.
Smash! It connects with Doug’s temple and explodes in a shower of glass. Doug flops to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Judd drops the shattered banker’s lamp and searches for the pistol.
‘I’d like to go on record and state I’ve always considered myself to be a lover, not a fighter.’ Corey sits under the Loach’s tail as Petra aims the pistol at his chest. ‘There must be some way we can work this out without resorting to violence —’
‘My God, would you just shut up!’ She squeezes the trigger.
Spike leaps from the Loach’s cockpit, clamps his jaws around Petra’s gun hand.
‘Christ!’ She cries out and the pistol fires. The bullet thumps into the ground between Corey’s knees.
Spike’s incisors rip into skin and grind bones as he bites down on Petra’s hand. She screams, wrenches the pistol from her captive hand, flips it around and aims it at the dog.
Thunk! She’s belted across the back of the head and collapses to the ground, out cold and soaking wet. Corey stands over her, the now empty bucket in his hand. ‘Thanks for getting the water.’
He looks down at Spike. ‘Good dog.’ The door to the building creaks open. Corey and Spike turn to the sound. A figure steps into the light. Doug’s face is covered in a maze of bruises and cuts. Corey’s not happy to see him, prepares for another battle.
Judd appears behind Doug, holding a pistol. The Yank looks almost as beaten up as his hostage. Corey’s relieved but concerned. ‘You okay?’
Judd nods wearily and his eyes find the unconscious Petra. Corey lifts the bucket and grins his crooked grin. ‘Told you it was lucky.’
In the centre of the main room sits an ancient control desk covered in a maze of worn buttons, tired dials and cloudy gauges. To the side sits a MacBook Pro, connected to the desk via a cable.
Judd frantically searches for something while Spike growls at Petra and Doug. Both gagged, they sit in chairs, back to back, in the middle of the room, bound together by a rope which is wrapped tightly around their chest, arms and legs. She’s still unconscious, he’s halfway there. In front of them Corey stares at both ends of the rope. Petra’s pistol is pushed into his belt at the front.