Читать книгу Direct Action - J D Svenson - Страница 11

As they drove to Felipe’s in Elizabeth Bay, Darley Road was bumper to bumper, and at Syd Einfield Drive towards the Junction, cars turning right were being searched. Flashlights were shone into gloveboxes and under seats by black-clothed police while the car’s occupants waited on the roadside, mattresses and doonas ejected so boot linings could be palpated. ‘That’s a bit of overkill, isn’t it?’ said Cress. ‘I mean – what are they expecting to find?’

‘She loves you enormously, you know. And you shouldn’t tease her about still being single.’

‘Yeah,’ she sighed. ‘Like she didn’t, all those years before I met Felipe. And then tortures me about not having made Partner yet. At least I’ve got a life. Where do all these people think they’re going to go, anyway?’ she said, watching the line of cars in front of them inch forward. ‘The blackout’s everywhere.’

‘But it’s different for her, you know – in Singapore. And she works so much,’ said Helena. ‘You know they’ve set up Moore Park Stadium as an emergency centre. Twenty-five generators for the hot water and fridges.’

The lights changed and Cressida thought of the vegetables she’d left at Helena’s. She couldn’t use her juicer anyway; may as well donate them.

‘Really? Maybe they’d like my carrots and celery. What about a few of those cans of food we brought from my place, could we spare them?’

‘Absolutely,’ nodded Helena. ‘I was thinking the same thing. We can go this afternoon. Hey is that service station open? How are you for petrol? Oh.’ Bright orange witches hats blocked the entrance. ‘It’s closed.’

Cressida glanced at the gauge. Two thirds full. She’d have to keep a lookout for an open one; it would get low soon enough. And try and drive as little as possible until things were back to normal.

In Felipe’s cul de sac up from the harbour, the road was lined with fire trucks and police cars mounted on the kerb.

‘Hang on,’ said Helena, ‘is that police tape?’

Cressida slowed and followed Helena’s gaze. A blue and white strip was looped across the street ahead of them. She stopped. Next to them was a tiny space across an empty driveway. Cressida jammed the car into reverse.

‘Cressida, wait – there’s no way you’ll fit …’

Cressida grimaced as the back of the Fiat bounced against the car behind her. With the motor still running she picked up her charging phone from the footwell and dialled. Felipe picked up on the first ring. He was shouting at someone.

‘Look, for God’s sake … It’s quite a simple matter of … Sorry, one minute. Cressida,’ he answered, sounding relieved. ‘At last. Are you on your way? The police have bloody decided to take over my building.’

‘I’m about fifty feet from your apartment,’ she said, ducking under the tape. ‘Where are you?’ Then she saw him, standing by the entrance to the Rex. He was waving his hands at two police officers, and he didn’t look happy.

‘All I want to do is go up for five minutes. Look, less,’ he was exclaiming. ‘Up three flights, into my flat, down again before you even notice. Actually, why don’t we even do it that way – you turn around and … Oh Cressida, thank God,’ he said, squeezing her to him. ‘What happened to your hair? Look, I’m trying to persuade these clever, sensible people to let me go up for a teensy-weensy minute and retrieve my medical bag from my flat. The one I need for those life-saving operations on Monday,’ he added, putting an arm around her as he gave the police officers a tight grin. The medical bag. Felipe would only ever use his own personal collection of instruments when he carried out operations. He had an autoclave in his kitchen to sterilise them every night, and normally the hinged black bag went everywhere with him. He’d even negotiated a special clause in his hospitals’ insurance policies to allow him to use them. His voice dropped to measured consultant-persuasive: ‘I’m sure as fellow members of the emergency services …’

‘I thought you said you were an ortho,’ one of the officers said. ‘That’s hardly emergency.’

‘That may be,’ said Felipe, sighing in exasperation, ‘but they can still be life-saving. Look, that’s not the point – it’s not like there’s even any danger up there – Mrs Ahmadi lives on the first floor, for goodness sake. If it’s explosives you’re worried about, what am I going to do, shake the building with my footsteps going past up the fire escape?’

The officer gave Felipe’s broadset form a pointed once-over.

‘Anything’s possible.’

Felipe rolled his eyes, and Cressida could see by his intake of breath that a blast was coming.

‘Hi,’ she cut in, holding out her hand to the first officer and smiling broadly. ‘Cressida Mitsok. Nice to meet you. And you are …?’

‘Constable Glie,’ said the second officer, glancing past her down the street, impatient.

‘Hello,’ Cressida said. ‘Look, officers, it’s too hot for this, isn’t it? Thank you so much for being here. What a total drama. I don’t envy you two trying to do crowd control right now; it’s like everyone’s got heatstroke.’ She looked up at the apartment block above them. ‘Was anything found?’

‘Forensics are up there now. The best thing you could do for both of us is get back behind the tape. I can’t do anything about your boyfriend’s bag right now. We should be able to clear the area in a few hours. If it’s safe, he can get it then.’

‘Sure, officer. That sounds very sensible,’ she said, taking Felipe’s elbow. ‘Thanks again.’

Felipe sighed and eyed Constable Glie. ‘But please – it’s life-saving equipment.’

‘And I don’t want to be using it on you if you go up there and get yourself blown up. Back behind the line.’

Cressida steered Felipe away from the building towards the car.

‘Unbelievable,’ Felipe said, once they were out of earshot, running a hand through his grey-washed hair. ‘Two corrections for digiti minimi and a metatarsal tomorrow, and the possibility of no instruments. “A few hours”. It could take days.’ He looked down at Cressida with a sigh and took her hand, kissing the back of it with vehemence. ‘But how are you, my gorgeous creature?’ he asked, and leant in to kiss her hair. ‘Have you lost your brush?’

‘Happy to see you,’ she said, pressing herself into his armpit. ‘No blowdrier. This way.’ She pointed down the street. ‘Maybe you can come back for the bag tonight?’

‘With police on every corner? In this mood they’ll be arresting people just for popping out for a litre of milk. I think not,’ he said. Cressida looked at him quizzically. ‘All along Cowper Wharf Road they were, this morning when I went out for my run,’ he explained, shaking his head. ‘Police. At least I think they were. Could have been army for all we know. Impossible to tell. Lots of black and self-important attitudes, anyway. The place’s barmy. Terrorism suspected, but have they arrested anyone yet? No. How can they tell it’s terrorism? Helena,’ he greeted her, peering past her into the back seat of the Fiat with a look of chagrin.

‘Felipe,’ Helena exclaimed, and swung her door open. ‘Hang on, you come in the front.’

‘Thank God,’ he muttered. ‘Cressida, you know I’ve said this isn’t the most practical car for a man of my size …’

‘Are you alright?’ asked Helena, squinting up at him with one hand shielding against the glare. ‘Was there a bomb?’ She levered the seat forward and climbed into the back as Felipe folded himself into the front.

‘Oh God no.’ He waved his hand dismissively, straightening. ‘Complete overreaction. The lady downstairs is Persian, always getting packages from Iran.’ He sighed. ‘Spices or some such. Cressida darling,’ he said, peering in through the passenger window as Cressida started the car, ‘there’s no way you’ll be able to turn around with all these emergency vehicles in the way … Anyway, one was misdelivered to another resident by TNT yesterday afternoon, left in the corridor and then this morning the recipient said it was ticking. Ticking.’ He accentuated the word with the click of the seatbelt as Cressida spun the wheel one way and then back trying to ease the car out of the space. ‘This isn’t Get Smart. She threw it back into the corridor and called the police. And look at this,’ he said, indicating another police car that was crawling past. ‘How many millions are we spending on this completely hysterical overreaction? What was it, three power stations? It was probably climate whiners, for God’s sake. Terrorism? Poppycock.’

Cressida glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Helena’s face still looking stricken.

‘But what was it?’ she asked, leaning forward. ‘The thing in the package.’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ He sighed and squinted up the street at the apartment block. ‘Are you alright, Cressida? You seem to be taking rather a long time to …’

‘Sorry,’ said Cressida, peering over the bonnet. ‘With any luck this one’ll be it … Ah, yes,’ she said, breathing a sigh of relief as they made it out into the traffic again.

‘They’ve sent forensics up to find out,’ he continued. ‘Not that we’ll ever hear, of course. If the police have any pride they’ll be far too embarrassed to tell us. Sumac, probably. Anyway. How’s things back chez Helena?’ He attempted to turn to look at her but there wasn’t the room so he turned back. ‘Sweltering, I suppose? What’s that?’

Cressida followed his gaze. There was a large white object at his feet.

‘Block ice,’ said Helena. ‘There was a fellow on the footpath back there with a refrigerated trailer. There was a bit of a queue – but I got some while I was waiting. Twenty dollars a block, mind you.’

‘Gosh,’ said Felipe. ‘Enterprising.’

‘Felipe – how was the hospital? All those people on respirators, it must have been awful – what did you do?’

He shook his head. ‘Utter bedlam. Thankfully I wasn’t mid-operation, but I heard in Emergency they were hand-bagging people. Unbelievable. I mean, we have generators, but they kept cutting out …’ said Felipe, winding down the window. ‘Cressida, I might just turn that off – I feel like I’m parachuting,’ he said, turning the air-conditioner dial. ‘I think they’ve realised they need to upgrade the lot after this episode.’

There was a noise from the footwell and with surprise Cressida realised it was her phone, ringing.

‘Oh Felipe, answer that, will you?’ she said, navigating some cars double parked on Kent Street.

‘What? Oh,’ said Felipe, peering with difficulty between his knees. ‘I would if I could find the damn thing …’

Eyes still on the road Cressida caught the charger chord and fished the handset out of the footwell, handing it to him.

‘Oh, thank you.’ He spoke gruffly into it. ‘Hello? Cressida Mitsok’s phone. Oh. Yes, I’ll hand it right over,’ he said, and held it out to her. ‘It’s some fellow called Michael.’

They stopped, waiting for the traffic to move around an enormous personnel carrier mounted on the curb.

‘Can you put it on speaker? It’s just a tad hard to hold the phone right now …’

‘Hang on,’ he said into the phone again, fiddling about with the screen for a moment and then continuing loudly, enunciating every word, ‘are you there? I’ve put you on speaker.’

‘Er, yes? Hello?’

It sounded like the Managing Partner from work.

‘Michael? It’s Cressida.’

‘Oh good. Hope you’re nearby, Cressida. The CEO of SinoGen’s here from China. Private chopper from Melbourne, current mood foul. I’m not sure whether you knew, but they own the plants that were destroyed. All three. Eraring, Bayswater and Liddell.’

‘Shit,’ said Cressida. That answered that question. ‘All hands on deck, then.’

‘Meeting at my place. Twelve noon. We need you on planning law. Have you got a pen?’

‘Felipe – can you …’

‘Hmm? Oh, yes.’ He extracted a fountain pen from his breast pocket with a flourish. ‘Fire away.’

‘Seventy View Street, Woollahra. See you there.’