No Man's Land - A Russell Carter Thriller (33 page)

32

Carter plunged into the cool water and kicked and stroked to propel himself toward the bottom of the harbor.

After a few seconds the water shook and churned violently.

Carter had no idea how Samudra had responded to the dilemma he had posed. Had he dialed the number to detonate the explosives or dived over the side to save himself?

He’d bet on the latter.

A giant watery hand grabbed hold of him and thrust him even deeper underwater.

He relaxed and went with it.

There was no use fighting.

Less than four seconds later the water stopped moving.

Carter stroked and kicked upward until his head burst through the surface.

Sucking in a lungful of air, he stared at where the launch had been.

The hang-glider had made a direct hit. All that remained on the surface were fragments of floating plastic and wood.

A couple of the other boats in the fleet had capsized and several more had rammed into each other.

People were yelling and waving their arms. Some were inexplicably cheering. Thankfully no one appeared to be seriously injured.

Fifty feet away he spotted a lone figure swimming toward shore using a cross between a frantic freestyle and a dog paddle.

Samudra.

He’d opted to jump overboard rather than dial the number, choosing to save himself rather than die a martyr’s death. His rhetoric had proved hollow when put to the ultimate test.

Carter started swimming toward him, his gaze never leaving the back of his head.

Samudra was no swimmer. He thrashed his arms and made slow progress. Even one-armed, Carter caught him in a dozen strokes.

Samudra turned and faced him, defiant. Treading water seemed an effort for him; his arms splashed about as he struggled to keep his head above water.

“You cannot harm me,” he said. “You have no idea of my power. If you lift a finger against me, God will strike you dead.”

“Let’s put that theory to the test, shall we?”

“If it’s money you want, I’ll give you whatever you ask. Name your price.”

“I don’t have a price.”

Carter kicked hard and strong, propelling his torso out of the water, reaching out with his arm and putting his hand on the crown of Samudra’s head.

A look of alarm and indignation crossed Samudra’s face. He swung one arm in the air, trying to swat Carter’s hand away, with no effect.

Carter gripped his hair and held him at arm’s length.

“I’m warning you in the name of Allah,” Samudra said. “No matter how hard you try, you cannot defy the will of God. Djoran tried to do that and for his efforts I slit his miserable throat.”

“You fucking arsehole.”

Carter allowed grief and anger to well up inside him, allowed himself to feel them.

“You cannot defy God’s will,” Samudra said.

“No man can know what God’s will is,” Carter said. “But I know what it’s not.”

He kicked his legs harder, pushing his torso further out of the water, and forced Samudra’s head under, holding him down using every ounce of his weight.

Samudra kicked and thrashed, trying to grab Carter’s arm and break his grip, but Carter was far too strong.

Forty seconds passed.

The thrashing subsided, growing weaker, and then finally stopped.

From down the harbor Carter heard the distant roar of the crowd counting down the new year.

Four, three, two …

Horns and whistles sounded.

Carter held his breath. Samudra might’ve dialed the number before he jumped.

He still held the man’s head underwater.

A distant explosion rocked the night.

He looked down the harbor toward the bridge.

A dazzling spiral of white light flashed above it.

Then, after a brief pause, another set of explosions erupted.

The skyline was flooded with every color of the rainbow, throwing myriad multicoloured reflections on the water.

The Sydney Harbour Bridge stood firm.

Amid the mayhem people were clapping and cheering.

He heard the opening line of “Auld Lang Syne”: “
Should old acquaintance be forgot …
”

He thought of his friend Jacko, of Muklas, Wayan and Djoran.

They’d all shown ultimate courage in playing their role. Any success he’d had that night was founded on their sacrifice.

The ugly truth was not everyone made it home.

Another explosion rocked the night.

The Harbour Bridge erupted with showers of dazzling pink, green, purple, red and orange.

Waves of sparkling silver stars shot into the night, exploding with bursts of color.

A moment of quiet darkness followed. Then, as if out of nowhere, two bright pink hearts burst in front of the bridge, surrounded by an orb of golden light.

Blue lights spelt out one word.

LOVE.

He released Samudra’s head, and his lifeless body floated to the surface and drifted away.

33

Carter trod water, watching the spotlight from the police launch speed across the harbor toward him.

Erina stood in the bow, composed but smiling.

The launch swerved and slowed to a halt, sending a bow wave of broken water toward him, lifting him up and then dropping him down gently.

Erina, still dressed in her wetsuit, climbed onto the gunnels and dived into the harbor.

She disappeared under the water and surfaced a few feet from him, pushing the hair out of her eyes.

He swam toward her and, with one arm, gathered her around the waist.

They bobbed up and down with the gentle swell, locked in each other’s embrace and cocooned in their own private world.

She kissed him gently on the lips. “We got it done.”

“At a cost.”

“It’s who we are.”

“I know.”

He held her tight.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you too, Russell Carter.”

Lennox Head, 7.50 p.m., 15 February

Darkness was fast approaching on a big Sunday out the back at the point of Lennox Head.

There was not a breath of wind. The water was smooth as glass and the dying sun was only minutes from slipping below the green hills running behind the town of Lennox.

Carter sat alone in the take-off zone, watching a swell roll in from the north-east, hoping to catch a final wave before the light disappeared altogether.

It’d be his last surf at Lennox for a few months at least. He was heading to Bali in the morning to train some new recruits for the order and, to his surprise, was looking forward to the challenge.

In the gathering gloom a familiar voice yelled out to him. “Hey, Carter!”

Carter turned to see Knowlsie pulling up next to him.

“Haven’t seen you around for yonks,” Knowlsie said. “You been on holidays?”

Carter paused a beat. “Something like that. What’ve you been up to?”

“Visiting the rellies in Perth. And I’m now in Year Ten. Man, it’s full-on.”

“You’ll be sweet.”

“Dunno about that.”

“Just do what you do in the surf. Charge every test. You’re a smart kid.”

A broad grin spread across Knowlsie’s face and his eyes dropped as if embarrassed.

“Hey,” he said, changing the subject, “one of my mates reckons he eyeballed you arm-in-arm with a hot-looking woman. Is that your new girlfriend or something?”

“Wouldn’t say that exactly.”

Erina had left the day before for Burma – there was trouble on the Thai border at the refugee camps – and he didn’t know when he’d see her next. He’d miss her, but their relationship was what it was.

Both needed to do what they needed to do. Their duty to the order came first.

Thanks to Callaghan the order had more autonomy now. And Thomas had undergone his own personal jihad, becoming far less autocratic and more willing to listen before making decisions.

He’d begun to trust the group’s intelligence, rather than dictating to it. That was, in part, due to Kemala’s softening influence. She and Thomas were now “officially” in a relationship.

Kemala was the first woman to be endorsed as head of the Sungkar clan and was in the process of reforming it, endeavoring to instill in all its members the profound spirituality at the heart of Islam – something many in the West could learn from, including Carter himself.

“Hey, Carter,” Knowlsie said, pointing out the back. “Big set coming.”

A snarling double overhead wall of water reared up fifty feet out to sea, promising to form a perfect arching barrel.

“It’s all yours, big guy,” Carter said, expecting it to be the last rideable wave of the day.

Knowlsie gave Carter a grateful nod, turned and started stroking hard for it.

The wave reared up. Carter took great pleasure in watching the kid leap to his feet, gun his board down the line and charge like he’d always told him to.

Carter turned back out to sea.

From nowhere another perfect wave rolled in from the deep, the biggest of the session. It rose up and towered triple overhead, the size of a small building, forming a steep wall of water.

He spun his board around, powered into the wave and sprung to his feet in one fluid motion.

The lip curled. His board raced across the near-vertical wall of smooth water. He dropped down the face and lined up the barrel peeling in front of him.

The board accelerated. He crouched even lower and charged forward.

A thick wall of water broke over his shoulder. He entered deep inside the holy vortex of the green room, covered by a cascading curtain of crystal liquid.

For some reason unknown to him, a reason that had nothing to do with Islam, Christianity or any other religion, he thought of Djoran and whispered, “Allah akbar.”

Before You Go

Thank you so much for reading No Man’s Land. I really hope you enjoyed the experience.

If you did, I would be very grateful if you could:

1. Encourage anyone who might enjoy taking the journey into No Man’s Land to buy the book.
   
2. Write a generous Amazon Review. It will bring an appreciative smile to my face and, according to statistics from who knows where, will convince up to eleven people to give the book a try.
   
3. Go to my home page to read about the writing of No Man’s Land, get updates on future novels in the series and immerse yourself in Carter’s world. You can also get in touch with me directly from the contacts page.
   

www.rolandfishman.com.au

The Writers’ Studio

After working as a journalist and columnist for The Sydney Morning Herald, The Good Weekend and The Financial Review for many years, I decided to follow my passion for fiction, which I believe nourishes and expands the spirit of both the writer and the reader.

I founded The Writers’ Studio in Sydney in 1992. It offers live and online creative writing courses and is suitable for complete beginners, professional writers and anyone in between.

www.writerstudio.com.au