Читать книгу Grievous Harm - Sandy Curtis - Страница 9

The land surrounding the Duralinga weapons research facility reflected the extremes of temperature the area experienced. Red earth, baked beyond hardness to a layer of dust, gripped the roots of trees stunted and warped by many rainless seasons. A small spur of hills, more rock than dirt and startling in its unlikely emergence from a flat landscape, thrust its craggy escarpments at a cloudless sky.

The man in grey overalls unloading supplies from a truck paused and looked at the arid landscape. He felt the sun's warmth on his face and was grateful for the natural feel of it. The winter nights here were bitterly cold, and even though the low concrete buildings nestled into the narrow rift between two of the hills were air-conditioned, he sometimes felt the desire to breathe fresh air, to walk into the sweeping plains and lose himself in their vastness.

He understood the reason for choosing this place to build the facility. Scanners on top of the hills gave 360 degree views; the fenced compound allowed only one entry point, and the road leading in was posted with signs that said 'Private Property - Mining Lease', 'Explosives in Use' and 'Keep Out'; surveillance cameras covered every angle; and artesian water was plentiful. But most importantly, the building closest to the nearest hill gave access to a series of lifts and tunnels that led under that hill and in which the most important work was carried out. Even an aerial or satellite photo would show no more than the outside buildings.

Although he'd worked here many months, he had never lost the feeling of weight that seemed to oppress him each time the lift took him under the hill. He wondered how some of the workers who'd been at the complex for years were able to stay sane in the circumstances. Sure, there were recreational facilities like swimming pools, both indoor and outdoor, a tennis court and cricket pitch; there was even a fake putting green for one of the scientists who'd been focused on one of the ongoing projects for several years now. But he found the lack of normal social interaction and the pressure of intrusive security almost suffocating.

He didn't wonder at the scientist insisting he be allowed to pursue his passion for golf. Being penned up here most of the year without practising would certainly lead to deterioration in his skills. So along with the putting green had come permission for him to use the wide open spaces beyond the fence as a driving range. The man chuckled. He'd once heard the guard assigned to be the scientist's 'caddy' complain that he not only had to retrieve and account for each of the balls but he also had to contend with avoiding the shit from cattle occasionally herded past the facility.

One of the guards overseeing the unloading called his name. Luke. It wasn't his real name, but little of what was on his CV was genuine. His real name was Ryder. It was his surname, but he hated his first name with a passion that only a childhood of peer tormenting could invoke. A few close friends knew the name his mother had inflicted on him, but also knew better than to call him by it.

He picked up a box marked fragile and walked out of the sunshine.

The small alcove off the far office wall obviously doubled as a lunch room and storage area. Kate scrunched down between a large cupboard and a fridge, grateful for the concealment they offered.

She heard numbers being punched into the phone, and restrained anger tightening Nathaniel's voice as he said, 'I pay you good money to keep on top of these things.' A pause as he pulled open the filing cabinet. 'I know the figures are due today.'

Kate concentrated on her breathing, anxious not to make a noise. There was a sound as though Nathaniel shuffled through paperwork. 'It's here,' he said. 'And it's been paid. The stuff-up must be at your end.'

The phone was thumped back in its cradle.

Kate held her breath as a knock sounded on the door. She heard Nathaniel open it. Then came the voice of one of the disciples. 'There's a problem with one of the newer members.'

Muttering an expletive, Nathaniel walked out.

Kate willed her hands to stop shaking. Her heartbeat slowly returned to normal. She hurried towards the office door. Her fingers were on the handle before she realised that Nathaniel had left a file on the desk. Torn between her need to find what information she could and the even greater need to get out as quickly as possible, she hesitated, then raced back to it.

Invoices. Just invoices. She brushed them apart, glancing at the contents - electricity, stationery, telephone, rent …

She stopped, her heart pounding. One invoice was for the space the church occupied at Kings Cross, the other, from a different firm, was for the rent of three properties whose names she could barely pronounce, let alone identify. She grabbed a piece of notepaper, scribbled down the names and that of the firm, Jenalbers Pty Ltd, and tucked the paper into her pocket.

Not daring to stay longer, she opened the door, peered into the deserted corridor, and hurried from the room.

Two hours later, Kate slipped onto a chair in front of a corner computer in the almost-empty internet cafe and began her search on Jenalbers Pty Ltd. Using the internet here at least provided some anonymity; she didn't want to risk using her iPad and having anything traced back to her.

Due to her administration work with an import-export company in LA, she knew that unlike in the US where most companies were incorporated, in Australia they were mainly limited or proprietary limited companies, and it didn't take her long to track down the Australian Securities & Investment Commission and get the company's details. Unfortunately these didn't give the location of the properties.

Thirty minutes later and with another chunk of money chalked up on her credit card to pay for the information, she left with the addresses of the three properties she'd seen on the invoice and with maps showing how to get to the locations.

Dealing with customers who'd caused their problems through ignorance and stupidity had taught Kate more patience than she'd been blessed with growing up. As she walked back to the hostel, she subdued her instinctive need to rush to the properties to look for Melanie and Cindy.

Dealing with men like Nathaniel required patience and logic. She had to convince Nathaniel that she had a good reason for leaving Sydney. She could simply disappear, but after her 'devotion' of the past weeks, he might become suspicious, and she'd learnt that his network was like a spider-web over the Kings Cross area - almost invisible, but definitely sticky enough to catch the unwary.

'My mother wants me to come home, Nathaniel.' Kate's carefully prepared lie slipped easily from her tongue the next morning. She hoped her smile was tentative but excited, an appropriate mix for someone who was supposed to feel rejected by the only remaining member of her family. 'She said she misses me. So I'm going home.'

Disappointment, and something else, flickered briefly in Nathaniel's eyes. 'I'm pleased for you, Kate. But we will miss you, too.'

'I'd rather stay here, but it's the first time Mom has ever really needed me.'

'When do you leave?'

'In a few days. I thought I should see a bit more of the country before flying out, so I just came in to say goodbye and thank you for your help.'

His pleased look was genuine, and Kate realised his ego hovered close beneath the veneer of humble leader.

Her feelings were ambivalent as she offered her hand. She knew he was behind the disappearance of Melanie and Cindy, but he had also offered her insights into her relationship with her mother and father, and it was difficult not to feel some appreciation for that.

He took her hand in both of his, holding her captive, as though reluctant to have her leave. In another man, the expression in his eyes would have been flattering, but the naked desire and force of will he was imposing almost frightened her. She had to resist the urge to pull her hand free and run. In that split second before he resumed his normal solicitous demeanour, she saw the predator within.

She stepped back a little and he was forced to let go. 'Goodbye,' she whispered, and walked quickly towards the stairs.

If the traffic hadn't eased when it did, John might have missed Kate Maclaren's hurried exit from the church entrance. Immediately his interest spiked. The file had shown that since her first morning at the church, she had attended regularly, even on those days when Nathaniel visited his Heavenly Houses.

He checked his watch. She'd been inside less than fifteen minutes. Now she was almost running down the pavement. Instinct had often proved more productive than procedure in the past for John, and now he dashed across the street and moved behind her.

Eventually Kate stopped outside a car hire office, looked around quickly and went inside. John walked past, then went into a café several shops ahead. He bought a drink, then sauntered back and glanced through the glass front of the hire office. Kate was sitting at a desk, filling in forms. He watched as she handed over her credit card, had it recorded, shook hands, and rose.

For the next hour he followed her to several charities and second-hand shops where she purchased camping gear and binoculars. By now John's antennae were vibrating. Kate Maclaren was obviously planning a trip, but to where? And why? There was an urgency about her movements that suggested more than a normal time constraint, and she kept looking around as though afraid someone might be watching her.

He opened his smart phone and speed dialled. Craig Sharpie answered immediately. John gave him Kate's details and the name of the car hire firm and asked him to find out what he could. Not only was Craig their computer expert in Brisbane, but John knew he would also be reluctant to discuss his request with McSwain, and that suited John at the moment.

Now that he thought about it, John realised that Craig had been wary of the boss for some months, not just recently. When this assignment was over, he resolved, he would look into that further.

He watched Kate struggle up the pavement with her bulky purchases. She stopped at a taxi rank, gazed at the sole waiting taxi, then shook her head before pressing on. There was something so determined, so tenacious, in the movement that John felt a sudden urge to help her. Instead he phoned Craig again. Knowing Kate Maclaren's financial situation might prove advantageous.

Melanie Maclaren dug her hoe into the rich soil. She didn't mind the hard work. That, together with the many daily sessions of prayer, meditation, singing and group therapy left her so pleasantly tired each night that she no longer dwelt on her past life and the loss she had endured.

Living here was wonderful. She had no responsibilities apart from her daily chores, and these were regulated so that it was easy to fall into the commune's routine. Even Cindy wasn't a problem like she had been when they'd lived in Sydney and she'd missed her American friends and family. Now Cindy played and prayed with the other children, becoming as serene and compliant as the other commune members. Well, almost as compliant. Her daughter had a strong, independent personality that didn't conform well to the regulations at the commune.

Nathaniel was due to visit in a few days. Melanie's heartbeat quickened at the thought. Some of the other women had been euphoric in their accounts of their private sessions with him. Although not preaching total 'free love' for the commune members, Nathaniel encouraged them to enter into relationships, no matter how short the duration, saying that the act of love was a gift to be shared.

He would often select a woman to share his physical love with, saying this was an expression of the overwhelming love he had for all the church members. Melanie hoped she would be chosen soon. So far she had not shared herself with any of the males in the commune, wanting Nathaniel to be her first. After that she would be like the other members who enjoyed the freedom from social censure that the commune encouraged.

After Craig phoned him with the information he'd requested, John made two other phone calls. Giving McSwain's name as authorisation was a risk, but John hoped they wouldn't double-check with his boss.

Confirmation came two minutes later.

Within half an hour he had checked out of his hotel room and was sitting behind the wheel of a grey late-model Falcon, waiting for Kate Maclaren to emerge from the backpackers' hostel's parking area.

The phone call he made subdued Nathaniel's anxiety. He hadn't believed Kate Maclaren this morning, but he'd had no way of knowing whether she was lying or not.

Now he relaxed. He'd soon know what she was up to.