Prohibited Zone (19 page)

‘If we were to kill you now and bury you in some field,' he whispered, keeping the barrel aimed at my eye, ‘you probably wouldn't be found for a thousand years.'

I didn't say anything. I was too busy looking at his trigger finger, but it neither tightened nor relaxed. I moistened my lips with my tongue.

‘You won't shoot,' I said at last. ‘I don't know where we are, but I bet there'll be someone to hear a gunshot in the middle of the night.'

He shrugged and pulled the trigger. There was a click as the hammer hit an empty chamber.

‘Jesus,' I said. There was a sudden intense pain in my head and I nearly passed out again. It took a few seconds to realise through the mist of confusion and fear that the pain was not due to a bullet, but by the thought of one.

He laughed. ‘You've gone suddenly pale, fucker.' He laughed again. Then he put the gun back in his overalls and pulled out a cord. He hoisted me up by the arms.

‘Stand,' he said, as if I had a choice. He kicked my chair away. Then he bent my bound hands upwards behind me so that I had to stand on my toes and lean forward. I heard the snap of a clip and he let go of my hands but the tension on my arms didn't ease. I had to keep standing on my toes to maintain my balance. My face was inclined towards the floor and the black boots came back into my field of view. He pulled out a long, thin object from another of the pockets of his overalls and slapped it in his hand. Then he grabbed my hair and held my head up. The fear of a few moments ago was morphing into a reactive anger. I spat at him.

‘What's that? Your dildo?'

He dropped my head and stepped back, wiping the spit from his face. Whatever it was he was holding, he belted me across the face with it. I staggered and lost my footing. I didn't fall over, finding instead that I was suspended by the bindings on my hands. The strain on my elbows and shoulders was unbearable and I had to quickly regain my tiptoes to relieve the pain. Both men laughed.

‘Get the idea?' said the one who was doing all the talking. ‘You've got to keep your feet, but I'm going to keep hitting you and making you fall over.' He turned to Kara. ‘Every time you give me a piss-weak answer, I take my frustration out on your boyfriend.'

‘He's not my boyfriend,' said Kara, her voice raspy.

That earnt me another whack in the face.

‘Where is the Afghan girl?'

‘Who?'

Whack.

‘Saira Abdiani. You helped her escape from Woomera.'

‘I don't know her.'

Whack.

And so it went on. Every time he hit me I lost my footing, dangling by my bound arms until I could regain my feet, ready for the next one.

Kara was prepared to give some information up. She admitted, in the end, that we had helped Saira escape and had smuggled her to Adelaide.

‘Why?' asked my tormenter.

‘To show the world what is happening at those detention centres. To get them closed down. To bring down the fucking government.'

The second man had so far taken no part in the interrogation and hadn't spoken. I couldn't see him clearly because of the spotlight behind him, but he started rummaging about in what I eventually realised was Kara's satchel. He motioned to his mate, who went to him and they talked in low tones. The baton-wielding one came back to us, holding something.

‘What's this?' he demanded of Kara.

‘It's a DVD.'

‘What's on it?'

‘Footage.'

‘Of what?'

‘Of the detention centre. Saira took it.'

The man tossed the DVD in the direction of his friend.

‘Do you have any more copies?'

‘No.'

He stepped towards me and hit me with his baton.

‘Do you have any more copies?'

‘No!'

Whack.

‘Do you have any more copies?'

She made a single, loud, sobbing noise. I liked her for it. ‘Yes,' she said, quietly.

‘Where?'

‘In a locker, at the Adelaide Railway Station.'

‘Where's the key?'

‘I don't have the key.'

Whack.

‘What's the locker number?'

‘Three seventy-two.'

The Man Who Did Not Speak left the room. The Man Who Beat Me stayed.

‘This is going well,' he said cheerfully in his strange accent. ‘Now all we need is the place where you're hiding Saira Abdiani.'

‘That you won't get,' I said. My diction wasn't great; my lips were swollen and my jaw was aching.

Whack.

‘What are you holding out for?' he said. ‘One fucking little Muslim girl? Is she really worth a bullet? Because that's what you're heading for. Think about it.'

‘All I'm thinking about is smashing your head in,' I said.

Laugh. Whack. Laugh. Whack.

He sighed. ‘This is getting boring.' He looked over to Kara. ‘Let's play a different game.' He stood in front of her, contemplating her. He grabbed a roll of tape, tore off a section and put it over her mouth. Then he reached down, grabbed her shirt by its tail and yanked it over her head, exposing her torso. She was wearing a black bra.

‘I'm going to ask
you
questions now,' he said to me. ‘Every time I don't like the answer, she loses some clothing. You know, like Strip Jack Naked. Of course, I'm kind of hoping you give me a few wrong answers. Where is Saira Abdiani?'

‘I have no idea, fucker.'

He walked behind her and unsnapped her bra, exposing her breasts. He reached over and cupped them in his gloved hands.

‘They feel nice,' he said. ‘Where is Saira Abdiani?'

‘You slimy little pervert.'

He hoisted Kara onto her feet. Her hands were still bound to the back of the chair, forcing her to arch her back and thrust her pelvis upwards. He undid the buckle on her belt and pulled it from her jeans with a sharp tug.

‘Where is Saira Abdiani?'

‘That's enough!' My mouth was dry. I wanted to spit.

The door opened and the second man paused in the doorway. He ogled Kara for a few seconds, her body arched and half-naked. Then he motioned to his friend and they left the room together. A moment later the second man returned and ripped the tape from Kara's mouth. Then he left again.

Silence for a while. I closed my eyes against the harshness of the light. The muscles in my arms and legs were aching but if I'd had to make a call on it I'd have said that my face was hurting more. It had been hit more than a dozen times with the baton and twice with a fist. My head was pounding.

‘Are you okay?' asked Kara. I opened my eyes, raised my head and looked at her. She was sitting back on the chair, her face still a mask and her breasts still on view.

‘Do I still have a face?' It was a struggle to make my lips move.

She gave a short, quick smile that didn't quite reach her eyes or crack the cement. ‘Yes, sort of.'

‘Then I guess I'm okay. By the way, have a couple of nails been hammered into my head?'

‘No. No nails.'

‘That surprises me. How are you?'

‘I'm fine.' She shuddered. ‘I think.'

‘Did you get hit when they grabbed us at the Ark?'

‘No. But they were quick. I didn't have a chance even to call out. You think they're listening to us now?'

‘I'm sure that's why they ungagged you just then.'

There was a pause. ‘Maybe it's time to give them Saira, before they really get nasty,' I said. She held my gaze but didn't reply.

After a while she said, ‘Who
are
these arseholes?'

‘Don't know. Not sure that Arsehole Number 2 was happy that Arsehole Number 1 had started stripping you. Didn't mind getting an eyeful, though.'

She looked down at her breasts as if she was seeing them for the first time. ‘I don't have much, do I?'

‘Don't worry about it.'

‘I'm not worrying about it.'

‘I think they look nice, if that's what you mean.'

She sighed. ‘Christ, what is the matter with men?'

We were both silent again for a while, she staring vacantly at the wall, which was dirty, the ancient paint cracked and peeling. My neck was aching so I let my head hang down. The floor might have been carpeted once or covered in linoleum, but now it was bare concrete. It was littered with brown specks that I decided were rat shit; there were also green pellets that must have been rat poison. By the quantity of shit, I guessed the rats were winning the war.

‘I wonder where we are,' said Kara.

‘It ain't the Hilton.'

‘West?'

I looked up at her. ‘Yeah?' She had worn her hair untied to the Arkaba and now it was falling at random around her face.

‘This is out of control.'

Like her hair. ‘You're telling me.'

‘You think we'll get out of here alive?'

‘I guess it's a good sign they're wearing balaclavas.'

‘Yeah.'

She was quiet again and I didn't prompt her. My arms and legs were aching unbearably and my face was stinging and I didn't feel much like talking. I wondered what would happen when they came back.

‘Kara?'

‘Yes?'

‘Where is Saira?'

‘You don't need to know.'

‘Yes I do.'

‘Why?'

‘I don't want him touching you again.'

Her face reddened. ‘I can handle it.'

‘I can't.'

It reddened even more. ‘Yes you can. And I am not giving her up.'

We held each other's eyes for a moment; hers were bruised but steady.

‘That's that, then.'

‘Yes.'

16

I
DON
'
T KNOW HOW LONG WE WAITED
. It might have only been twenty minutes but it felt like a re-run of the Cretaceous Period. Eventually, the door opened and a man wearing a balaclava entered. It was Arsehole Number 1.

‘Have a nice little play with your dildo, did you?' I said.

He stepped towards me and slapped me, first with the forehand and then with the backhand. On top of the beating I had already had it was excruciating. I screamed. He laughed.

‘We're cutting you a break, big mouth,' he said. ‘Interview's over.' He gave me one more punch, this time to the stomach, stopped to fondle Kara's breasts again, and left the room. He was back a couple of minutes later accompanied by Arsehole Number 2, who helped Kara get her shirt back on. He cut me down with a knife and let me fall to the floor. Between the two of them they checked that my hands and feet were still secure and taped my eyes and damaged mouth. Then they carried me outside and dumped me into a small compartment, no doubt the same car boot in which I had arrived. A few minutes later I was joined by Kara. Judging from the way she wriggled she was still alive and still feisty.

Many twists and turns later we were back on the freeway and, sometime after that, they dumped us with little care in the Arkaba car park. Someone gave me a final kick in the ribs. Before they left they must have cut the bindings around Kara's hands because I heard her ripping the tape from her face.

‘Arseholes!' she shouted. An engine receded into the distance.

She bent down and peeled the tape from my battered mouth and eyes. I nearly passed out with the pain. When the mists cleared I saw her peering at me.

‘You okay?' she asked.

I tried to laugh but it came out more as a bloody sneeze. ‘I'll survive. Nothing a general anaesthetic wouldn't fix.'

She rummaged around in her satchel, which the kidnappers must have left behind, and pulled out her pocket knife, which she used first to cut the cable ties that bound her legs together and then the ones around my wrists and ankles. As soon as my hands were free I stood up, hobbled painfully for a few metres and took a much-needed piss. The relief was sweet. When I turned I saw that she was doing the same thing, squatting mostly out of view behind one of the few cars remaining in the car park. I spent some time flexing my legs and arms, trying to get the circulation going again. Kara was back rummaging in her bag.

‘Everything there?' I asked.

‘Everything except the DVDs and the memory sticks. All the stuff we had from the detention centre. Who
were
they?'

‘Whoever they were, they've taken my wallet and keys.'

‘They're in here,' she said. She handed me my wallet. My driver's licence and credit cards were still there. Only the cash was gone.

‘And presumably they've got the stuff from the railway station,' I said. ‘They probably had someone grab it while they still had us.'

‘It doesn't matter,' she said. ‘I've already emailed the files to
60 Minutes
.' She looked up at me. ‘You're a mess,' she said.

‘You're not so well-groomed yourself.'

Kara had lost her concrete face. She looked pale in the car park's fluorescent light. She dropped the satchel and bent to pick it up; her knees seemed to buckle momentarily, but she recovered and, with my help, stood up straight again. She even managed a little smile, a brief spasm of the cheeks. Then she shuddered and leant on me for a moment. I put my hands around her, but she pushed away and handed me the keys.

‘Hate to tell you this, but you smell like spew. Let's go.'

It was after three a.m. and too late for Lucy. Besides, my face and body ached and all I wanted to do was lie down, rest and wallow in self-pity. It was a twenty-minute drive to Luke's house and we said little to each other; I think we were both too knackered. At the house she took a long shower and went to her bedroom, shutting the door behind her. I showered very gingerly. I studied my face in the mirror; it was red and raw and swollen but there didn't appear to be any structural damage. There were several cuts, but mostly they were shallow and probably didn't need stitches. My lips looked like they'd been over-inflated with a bicycle pump and had a couple of vertical lines where the skin had split. I thought my two loose teeth would survive. After I had dried off I used butterfly strips to pull the cuts together and re-bandaged my feet, which were leaking after the evening's excitement. Luke had a supply of Panadol, no doubt to ease those hangovers. I took two, thought for a bit, and took two more, washing them down with water out of the tap.