Prohibited Zone (37 page)

‘I hope I
do
get picked off first,' he said. ‘Then I won't have to listen to you two lame fuckwits.'

We had spent the best part of the day driving across the red gibber plain that stretched out below us and I couldn't imagine retreating over it. Not until we found Amir. I looked at Baz and we held each other's gaze for a moment. I wasn't sure what I saw there, but after a few seconds we nodded to each other. He stood up.

‘I'll let you know if I get my head blown off.' He walked out between the Prado and Land Cruiser as casually as if he was heading off to the pub for a quiet ale. It was the most nerveless act I'd ever seen. I watched him stroll towards the depression for a few seconds, then stood and followed him, holding my arms above my head.

‘Amir,' I shouted. ‘We have Saira. She is safe.' There was no reply, but I kept shouting the same words over and over. I wondered if he even understood English. I heard the shuffle of feet behind me and guessed that Hindmarsh was following me. Soon, Amir's Land Cruiser came into view. It was standing on the floor of a shallow, dry creek bed, apparently intact. Baz had reached it and was peering in through a dusty window. He looked back at us and laughed.

‘I think you can put your hands down,' he called. ‘You look bloody ridiculous.'

I lowered my hands and looked behind at Hindmarsh, who was just lowering his, still holding his pistol in his right hand. I returned my gaze to Baz.

‘How's the car?' I called.

‘Empty.'

‘What did you expect?' yelled Hindmarsh. ‘That he'd be in there having a fucking snooze?'

Baz was studying the ground nearby, looking for tracks. I reached the car and looked inside. The jerry cans of diesel and containers of water were there, half covered by a tarpaulin. I opened the back door and threw the tarp back. Lying underneath was a very large rifle in camouflage colours. A meaty telescopic sight was mounted on top.

‘Looks like he forgot his rifle,' I said.

Hindmarsh had arrived. He bustled me aside, picked up the weapon and looked at it closely.

‘Disabled,' he muttered.

Baz joined us. He took the rifle from Hindmarsh and made his own inspection.

‘Australian Army,' he said. ‘Nice weapon.' He handed it to me. It was heavy. ‘He's removed the firing pin. Unless we have a spare it's now about as useful as a broom handle.'

‘Why would he leave it?'

He raised it to his shoulder and aimed up the hill, squinting through the telescopic sight. ‘Only one reason I can think of.' He trained the rifle in a grid pattern across the face of the hill before us. ‘He doesn't need it.' He put the rifle down. ‘I can't see him, but my guess is he's headed up the hill.'

‘I don't think he's planning to go far,' I said. ‘He can't have much water.'

‘What he's planning to do is ambush us,' said Hindmarsh, who had been looking under the car. ‘Then he can come back and have as much water as he wants and take one of our vehicles. This one is fucked. It's not going anywhere.'

I grabbed one of the water containers from the back of the car and took a long swig from it. I handed it to Baz, who did the same and then passed it to Hindmarsh. By the time we'd finished it was a couple of litres lighter. I emptied another five onto the hot sand.

‘Now I can carry it,' I said. Neither Baz nor Hindmarsh took any notice. Hindmarsh had a water bottle clipped to the belt of his trousers, like a boy scout.

We had perhaps four hours of daylight as we set off up the hill. Baz and I walked along the creek bed to a spur that led up the hill at a relatively gentle angle. Hindmarsh had decided to tackle the face. I watched him for a minute before losing sight of him as we started our own ascent, but in that time he had already slipped several times. It was tough going, even on the spur. The gibbers made traction difficult, sliding away underfoot. My left knee was sore. This was the sort of activity it didn't like. The soles of my feet were still sore, too, and probably bleeding inside my boots. Coming down would be even worse, but maybe I wouldn't be coming down anyway. Several times I stumbled, cutting my knees and hands on the sharp rock. Baz was more sure-footed, but even he had a couple of falls. I abandoned the water container about halfway up the hill after we both had long drinks from it.

‘We'll find him at the top,' said Baz.

‘You seem pretty damned sure about all this. What's he up to?'

‘My guess? He has less of a plan than we do.'

29

B
AZ
,
AS IT TURNED OUT
,
WAS RIGHT
, as he usually was. We broke the back of the hill and ambled across comparatively flat ground towards its approximate summit. I saw a movement among the low vegetation ahead of us and realised it was Amir. Baz touched me on the arm and motioned me to stop. Amir was kneeling, his backside in the air and his head close to the ground. We walked towards him, slowly now, until we were about ten metres from him. He was turned away from us towards the north-west and apparently hadn't noticed us. As we watched he sat up and put his hands on his thighs. We were close enough to hear him. He seemed to be mumbling to himself, I assumed in Arabic. Then he stood, stiffly, still facing the same way, and spoke again. Even I could understand:
Allahu akhbar
– God is Greatest. He repeated it three times.

Then he turned to face us. He was dressed in what were probably Rod's clothes – a set of camouflage fatigues, shirt not tucked in. The trousers weren't long enough and I could see he wasn't wearing socks. The laces of Rod's boots were tied in a crude knot. He wore nothing on his head. He had thick, black, matted hair, about shoulder-length, and a full, unkempt beard with threads of grey. His face was gaunt and tired, as if he hadn't had a proper meal or a decent sleep for days, which he probably hadn't. His skin was heavily scarred and lined, a parched manuscript of a hard life. Under his bushy eyebrows were two cold black eyes with no surprise in them. He stared at us without curiosity, without feeling, first me and then Baz.

‘Hello, Amir,' said Baz. At some point he must have drawn his Luger because it was in his hand, pointing to the ground. Amir didn't seem to notice it.

‘Ello, Meeser Rize,' he said. His voice was quiet and hoarse, not much more than a whisper. I strained to hear him. ‘Wha' you do 'ere?'

‘We've been looking for you.'

‘Wha' you wan'?'

‘We've come to take you back,' I said.

Amir shifted his gaze back to me. His black eyes had no expression; they might as well have been gibbers. The day was still hot. I was superheating from the climb up the hill. Sweat was running down my back.

‘Oo you?'

‘My name is Steve West. I'm a friend of Saira's.'

For the first time there was a flicker of interest. Not much, but not much was plenty on that face. ‘Whe' she?' Still the same whisper.

‘She is safe,' I said. ‘She is with Kara.'

Now there was a hint of something else. Perhaps it was just a softening of his scowl. Perhaps it was an easing of tension. Perhaps it was more than that, the foreshadowing of peace.

‘She's happy, Amir,' I said. ‘But she's worried about you.'

‘Bad thing 'appen 'er,' he said. ‘I only wan' 'elp 'er.'

‘Yes, we know. Janeway has been taken care of.'

Now his eyes widened, just a fraction, hinting at surprise, maybe amazement.

‘He is still alive but I doubt he will ever trouble a woman again.'

He took a while to process the words, and then to imagine what they meant. Then, astonishingly, he grinned.

‘Good. Is good.'

Now his gaze drifted back to Baz, looking at the pistol for apparently the first time. I wondered what had happened to Hindmarsh, and what he would do when he arrived.

‘Why gun?'

Baz gestured casually with it. ‘Just wanted you to know it was here.'

Amir looked back at me.

‘You 'ave gun, too?'

I held out my hands, palms up. ‘No, I don't have a gun. We just want to take you back. To Saira.' And a triple murder charge, I supposed.

Amir seemed to shimmer and suddenly
he
was holding a pistol, too; it must have been tucked into the waistband of his trousers. From where I stood it looked like a Beretta, like a Beretta I had already been introduced to. Almost certainly he had taken it from Brad.

‘I 'ave gun also,' he said, superfluously. He waved the thing towards Baz, but didn't aim directly at him. Baz didn't move, didn't flinch.

‘Why you do i', Meeser Rize?'

Baz still didn't move, didn't flinch.

‘We li' you, she li' you. Why you do i'?'

‘Why did you do what?' I asked, looking at Baz. His face was ruddy from sunburn and exertion, but even so it had a bleakness I hadn't ever seen before and couldn't understand.

‘Why did you do
what
?' I repeated. He turned his face to me. He was smiling. Baz was always smiling. It didn't show much joy, though, or amusement or warmth or humour. He looked back at Amir and moved his shoulders and arms in a sort of shrug.

‘I don't know,' he said.

‘You don't know
what
you did, or
why
you did it?' I asked.

‘Why. I don't know why.'

Amir raised his pistol, aiming it at Baz's heart. Baz didn't react.

‘You try say why,' whispered Amir.

‘Take it easy, Amir,' I said. ‘Lower the gun.'

Amir paid no attention. He didn't take it easy and he didn't lower his gun. Baz seemed to be struggling with his tongue.

‘It's okay, Westie,' he said eventually, his voice dry, barren. ‘It's all okay. You're going to find out something about me you won't like.'

‘You say why,' repeated Amir.

‘It was a mistake.' Baz turned his head slowly to look at me again. ‘That night at the detention centre, I did something wrong. I . . .' He paused.

‘Baz, you don't make mistakes,' I said. ‘You don't do wrong things.'

‘We all make mistakes, mate. Maybe you just don't know me as well as you thought.' His eyes faded out and I waited. He was working up to something.

‘Janeway raped Saira, right?' he said. ‘I told you I found her and the nurse gave her a sedative. It's true.' He licked his lips. ‘I already knew what had happened before I went in there. I had seen Janeway come out of her cell. It was obvious. I was appalled, horrified, angry.' He licked his lips again. ‘But to be honest, Westie, I was sort of turned on as well.'

‘You're kidding me, Baz, right? You're standing on top of a
fucking
hill in the middle of nowhere with a gun pointed at your
fucking
heart and you're pulling my leg, right?'

He shook his head. ‘She was naked when I went into the room. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, crying, holding a blanket. I tried to comfort her, calm her down. I put the blanket around her and eventually she stopped crying. I helped her put her nightie back on. She even smiled at me. She looked incredibly beautiful. Then I called the nurse and told her to give her a couple of pills.'

A movement behind Amir caught my eye. It took me a moment to realise it was Hindmarsh, practising his stealth craft again. He was still some way off but he had his gun in his hand. Amir couldn't see him because he had his back to him and, anyway, I don't think anything would have made him take his eyes off Baz. Baz hadn't seen Hindmarsh, either. He was too busy looking at an image in his mind.

‘I left the room and went on with my rounds,' he said, ‘but I couldn't get her out of my head. She has something, that girl. You've felt it, haven't you, Westie?'

I shrugged but didn't speak.

‘About an hour later I went back. I told myself I should check on her, make sure she was okay. She was asleep.' He paused again, swallowing. Amir stood still as a Stobie pole, his eyes on Baz, his hand holding the gun, the gun still aimed at Baz's heart. ‘It was the dead of night. No one was around. The entire solitary block was empty except for me and Saira. She was asleep and wasn't going to wake for hours. I realised I could do anything. I knew I should do nothing, but it's seductive, you know, power. I had the power.'

‘The power to do what, Baz?'

‘I pulled back the blankets and took off her nightie. I had my flashlight and I looked at her. I just looked at her. All over.'

‘Jesus, Baz. Were you out of your mind?'

‘Probably, sort of. Then I started to bathe her.'

‘You started to bathe her? In the middle of the fucking
night
?'

‘I know it was stupid. If I could take that night back, I would. I guess I convinced myself it was almost legitimate, washing her after the rape.'

‘What else did you do? Besides touching her up with a sponge?'

‘Then I . . . did what Janeway did.'

It was one of those moments that you hope will never come, a moment when the world as you know it warps and distorts and splinters and shatters. A moment when death kneads your soul. Maybe it was the death of a paradigm. Despite the heat of the afternoon I went cold, cold to the core. Sometimes the sun just isn't warm enough to take the edge off the deep freeze within.

‘No. No you didn't. You wouldn't do that. You wouldn't do something like that.'

He turned to look at me. There was no smile now, just bleak blue eyes. ‘You don't know what it's like, Steve, to have the power. Maybe you would do the same thing – shit, plenty of nice people have done evil things. It's true what they say. Power corrupts. We can't trust ourselves, mate. We can't trust ourselves with the power.'

He looked at Amir. ‘I'm sorry, Amir. What can I say? If I could undo what I did, I would.'