After the Flood, page 25
‘I saw something,’ he whispered. ‘Could be an animal, could be them.’
Clement nodded and they continued, moving swiftly up gradually rising ground towards the position where Earle had sighted movement. Every now and again there would be a fold in the hill. If their quarry was down in one of those, it would be easy to miss them. Now Clement could clearly make out some old ruins on the hill’s crest. He guessed they must have been some army quarters from the atom bomb testing seventy years back. It was eerie to think all that time had passed while these man-made buildings slowly rotted. Clement stopped their advance and indicated Earle should check the landscape ahead. He put the monocular to his eye, scanned, then shrugged. There were three possibilities. Berryman and Styles and whoever might be with them had managed to crest the hill already; they had doubled back down one of the little hollows; or they had realised they were being pursued and were hiding, either amidst the few boulders or up in the ruins. Clement doubted they had crested the hill yet. But they could be lying in wait, and armed. It was also possible they would split up, and that would present major problems. He loaded the non-distress white flare cartridge, pointed the gun to the sky, aimed over the area they ought to be, and fired. The projectile shot up through the sky. There was a crack and then the earth lit up stark and white. Earle and Clement might not have spied them had they remained motionless, prone behind a few scattered low boulders. But they must have panicked as, before the light had been sucked back into the night’s belly, two figures sprang from the ground and ran towards the ruins. Earle set off at the same time as Clement. Despite his size, he was only a fraction slower.
It was possible that the fugitives would head for the ruins only to use them as cover in order to slip away and make for some other part of the island. But unless they had another boat stashed, there was no escape. It was more likely that if they were armed either with guns or explosives, this might be where they attempted to eliminate their pursuers. And there could be others waiting to ambush them. But Clement had no choice. Those he was pursuing had no way of knowing how many they were either. They were all truly groping in the dark. Still Clement was absolutely certain of this – Berryman was prepared to kill. Clement and Earle advanced rapidly to within a hundred metres of the ruins that seemed to be remnants of one hut-like structure; no roof or windows, gaps in the walls, and a few scattered pieces of heavy iron lumps that may once have been additional parts of the building or ancillary machinery.
Clement signalled they stop. They squatted low while Earle used the monocular and Clement loaded the flare gun with the remaining cartridge. This was red for distress.
‘Can’t see them,’ he said.
‘You guard the front here,’ whispered Clement. ‘I’ll circle around the back. Keep an eye out in case there are more than those two coming up behind. Sorry, I better have that.’ Clement took the monocular and both men drew their pistols. Crouching low, Clement moved to his right, feeling his muscles tense. There was no cover and if whoever was up there had night-vision goggles, he’d be a sitting duck. As his angle took him to the back of the little structure, he brought out the monocular and swept the back side of the hill but could see nothing. Now he turned it up on the ruins. He was no more than eighty metres from them but still below the crest of the hill, and the insides of the ruins were obscured. Mostly he could see just the tall, mainly intact side wall. He needed to improve his angle, so he crawled on his belly further round and closer still. Around fifty metres from the ruins, he could look up to where the back wall had disappeared, leaving just some wooden beams and then inner partitions. He put the monocular to his eye, and by one of the remaining inner partitions could see somebody’s back leg and foot. They were still facing the front. To his right and ten metres up was a mound of some old rubbish that offered slight cover. He got to his haunches and, gun ready, dashed to it. Immediately there was noise within the ruins. They’d heard him.
‘Thomas, Annika,’ he called. ‘I am Detective Clement, Major Crime, Broome. There is no way off this island for you. If you have any weapons put them down and come out with your hands open and above your head.’
There was no response. Clement couldn’t be certain it was them and not some associates but he tried again.
‘Thomas, please –’
‘We’re not surrendering, ever.’
It was a man’s voice, Clement assumed Thomas. And now there was movement and he could see the outline of two bodies in the gloom of the ruins.
‘Does Annika feel the same way as you?’
‘Yes,’ came the response from a female.
Okay, Thomas and Annika. Hopefully nobody else.
‘We are not going to subject ourselves to minions of the multinationals!’ the man he assumed was Thomas bellowed.
They advanced further out towards the back of the ruin facing him, and now Clement could clearly see the two of them standing there.
Clement called up, ‘We’re employed by the people of Western Australia, not multinationals.’
‘You’re their lapdogs, though!’ It was Styles this time.
Clement said, ‘Are they your own words, Annika, or his? Because Thomas, you and I know this whole thing isn’t thanks to something those big companies have done. Not really. It’s more to do with your mum, isn’t it?’ In the dark, from the distance, Clement couldn’t see facial features to judge how effective his torpedo had been but he counted Berryman’s silence as a hit. Again, it was Styles who led the counterattack.
‘They killed his mother. As good as murdered her.’
So she didn’t know.
Clement said, ‘I don’t think Thomas has told you the whole truth, Annika. I spoke to his aunt yesterday.’
‘Shut up!’ snapped Thomas.
‘His mother is still well and truly alive and living in Queensland, Annika.’ The girl swung towards her partner. Clement had the blade in the crack. He kept working on widening it. ‘Thomas, I understand. It’s a traumatic event. You’re ten years old and your mum runs off with a bloke and dumps you with your aunt and uncle because her boyfriend won’t have her kid around. I get you’re angry. You have every right to be. But you need to be honest with Annika, let her know you’re doing this because you’re a damaged soul. The bloke who took your mum away was a FIFO miner. That’s your real gripe, isn’t it?’
‘Thomas?’
Clement just made out the word from Styles. He could imagine the confusion swimming in her head. Good.
‘Shut up, you lying pig.’ Clement could see he was holding a backpack. Did he have a weapon in there? Clement’s gun hand was steady but his heart pounding.
‘We both know I’m not lying. Your aunt gave me your mother’s phone number. Put your hands up and walk out and we can call her.’
Clement thought he could see Thomas’ body trembling and took a few steps closer. They were maybe thirty metres apart now.
‘Is that why you killed Seydoux?’ Clement was pushing. ‘Did he find out it was all a lie? Or was it because he was only after the money?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ muttered Thomas.
‘Come on, mate. Nobody has been hurt in the explosion at the plant. And Seydoux, well, you can tell us your side of the story. I mean I guess you weren’t planning to kill him, or Annika wouldn’t have smashed up the childhood clinic.’
‘What?’ The word exploded from Berryman.
She stammered, ‘I wanted to tell –’
‘You stupid bitch!’
Before Clement could react, Berryman had seized her and even in this low light Clement could tell he had a knife or something like it at her throat. Styles half gasped, half screamed.
Clement shouted, ‘No, Thomas. Don’t destroy what you’ve achieved. Right now, you get to tell your side of the story. People will give you a fair hearing. But you hurt her …’
It was like speaking to stone.
‘You stupid, dumb bitch! That’s how they knew!’
Clement hoped Earle had followed the exchange and was moving up from behind. There was no way Clement could take a shot. Annika was wailing.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know it would matter.’
Keeping the Glock trained on Thomas with his right hand, with his left Clement felt for the flare gun. Berryman and Styles went at it.
‘Didn’t know it would matter!’ Berryman mocked.
‘I didn’t know you would kill him!’
‘We killed him. Us. Together.’
Clement fired the flare. The whoosh swung Berryman’s head. Styles took her chance, shoved him and threw herself forward. As the flare burst overhead, Berryman roared and lunged at Styles with the knife. Clement fired the Glock. There was a thud and Thomas Berryman went down. Moving too fast for her feet to balance, Styles sprawled forward and tumbled down the hill towards Clement who caught her, then threw himself over her to shield her from Berryman.
Clement pulled up the Glock and aimed with the flare’s last gasp. Berryman was gone.
‘Thomas?’ cried Clement out in the new dark but the only answer was the clatter of shoes on stones heading down the hill to his left.
Emotion and reason rushed through Thomas, intertwined like dirt and rain in a flood down a gully. For as long as he could remember, this had been his life, cold and alone. So what if his mother’s desertion had burned like acid? That didn’t invalidate everything he’d worked for. These corporations were vile ogres and those in their service were complicit zombies. He’d sold drugs to their children at university. He’d stood outside the red velvet rope at their private functions. But even though they had kept him in the shadows, even though he was as smart as any of them, they had ensured he remained dispossessed. And the new generation with their beards and groovy tattoos were worse, manipulating his life with their Facebook and Instagram as surely as if they had been KGB. Everybody had betrayed him. His mother, Seydoux, and now Annika. That was his own fault. Hadn’t she abandoned her old boyfriend to be with him? He should have known, should have smelled her weakness.
All of a sudden he felt light-headed, the strength rushed out of him, his legs went.
‘Thomas!’
Berryman heard the cop yell his name. He was cold now, his legs growing numb. The gunshot wound must have been worse than he realised, his adrenaline getting him this far. Maybe if he surrendered he could survive. But what was the point? A trophy for those bastards. No way. And even Annika had ultimately let him down. He reached inside the bag and slid out the booster. Seydoux had attached a cap that could be detonated by a hard blow. His hand crawled across the earth and wrapped itself over a rock.
‘Thomas!’ yelled Clement and started after Berryman.
‘He’s got a bomb.’ Styles’ voice sounded so thin it might have been stretched across the Grand Canyon.
Clement hesitated. An image of Phoebe flashed through his brain. He couldn’t lose her. Then before he was aware that he had even made a decision, he was charging. ‘Thomas! This is pointless.’
There was one of those dips in the ground ahead. Clement bolted down and was on his third stride up the other side of the gully when the earth exploded.
28
After the red flare burst, Graeme Earle had decided to leave his position. He had closed the distance to the ruins by half when there was an almighty bang from somewhere to his right. The shockwave rippled his clothes. Despite ringing ears he could hear high-pitched screaming. His thoughts dived headlong towards Dan. He dashed to the old ruin through clouds of dirt. Out the other side he saw Annika Styles standing there, face in her hands.
‘Where’s Clement?’
She pointed over to her left. Earle ran that way, yelling for Dan. As the dust cleared, he saw a large crater and something mangled. Earle started running towards the crater. There was a fold in the hill just in front of it. As he was about to start down, he saw Clement. Lying on the bottom, spreadeagled on his back, his shirt torn from his body and most of his pants ripped away.
Clement was dead. He must be. He was in a soundless, dark space. A light was hovering. When you die you must move towards the light, he remembered his religious aunty telling his mother. The light is your guide. He tried to reach for the light but the spirit world was different to a human life on earth and you had no limbs. You must have to think your way there. He tried to transport himself to the light by thinking it. It was working! The light was coming closer and closer. And then God’s face loomed above him and smiled. God, it seemed, was the spitting image of Graeme Earle.
29
Clement sat up in his hospital bed. It was now fourteen hours since he’d been airlifted from the island by helicopter but the first seven of those had passed him in a blur: sleep, headaches, pain, scans, some delirious snatches of slumber, more pain, a lessening of his deafness. The only sense of his that seemed unaffected was smell. That was working fine and told him he was hungry. He’d just eaten some egg sandwiches. The painkillers must have been working for he was not experiencing pain except when he’d turned to his left side. The poor doctor had been forced to brief him twice because the first time he’d not retained a thing. Being ninety percent deaf didn’t help of course. A broken rib and hopefully only temporary deafness, the doctor had declared. Apparently, he’d been lucky he’d been below Berryman by a metre or more when the booster detonated. The angle of the blast had meant the lower part of his body was mostly unscathed. His chest and head had borne the brunt of the blast and resulted in a bad concussion but his neck and spine and skull appeared to have no fractures though a small rock had done its darnedest and he had a very large bump on his head.
Berryman had been a different story.
He was no more than a lump of seared flesh.
Scott Risely had flown down to Karratha Hospital and was sitting with him now. Graeme Earle had been there the whole time until a couple of hours ago but had been allowed to head to the motel to get some sleep.
‘The Dampier police took Annika Styles back by boat. Graeme stayed with you.’
Clement knew Risely was shouting although it sounded like a whisper.
‘How come Dampier cops were in the chopper?’
Risely had a soft satchel across his lap. He reached in and extracted a photo and passed it across to Clement. It showed a middle-aged man Clement did not recognise. He looked dead.
‘His name is Paul Isegar. He worked in HR at the plant and we guess he must have been the inside man. He was found stabbed, barely alive on the road in Dampier. Looks like he crawled out of a house there. He was wearing a pass with Paul Seydoux’s photo on it. One of the responding cops was sharp, recognised the face and called me. I told them to grab a helicopter or plane and get to the plant as quick as they could to support you. They were almost there when Nordling told them to go to the Montebello Islands. They saw the flare …’
‘Is he dead?’ Clement handed back the photo.
‘Touch and go but they’re pretty sure he will pull through now. When you’re feeling up to it, Internal will interview you. Styles says she has no idea if Berryman lunged at her with the knife like you said, but confirms he had one and was on edge. I’m sure you’ll be fine.’
Clement was sceptical. Somebody on social media would decide he was a trigger-happy cop but right now he couldn’t give a toss. Despite it all, he couldn’t help feeling for Berryman. ‘When can I get back to Broome?’
‘Three days observation at the very least here. My orders. The concussion was severe and they need to monitor your hearing.’
Clement had seen a Fellini film on SBS once. That’s how the night passed. Fragments. Terrors, pain, equanimity, Phoebe age six in a tutu, Berryman screaming, bursting flares lighting up his parents sitting in fold-out chairs in the old caravan park they owned. Doubt. Lucinda. Marilyn.
Darkness.
Graeme Earle dropped by the next day and was pleased to see his mate conscious and relatively unscathed.
‘I brought two,’ said Earle pulling two beer cans from a paper bag.
They sat quietly drinking. Clement had no idea what the time was except that it was some time after breakfast.
‘I got Keeble to check Seydoux’s space at Deep Adventures that they let him use. They found another four grand cash stuffed in a duffle bag and traces of ammonium nitrate and various wires and shit.’
No doubt that was where he had been disappearing to, building the bomb for those hours.
‘I should have seen it,’ said Clement bitterly.
‘Come on. Nobody else saw shit. If it wasn’t for us, they’d have more than a dozen dead at the gas train. At least. The whole island could still be on fire.’
‘I see you’re writing yourself into the script.’
‘Fucking oath.’ Earle took a pull on his beer. ‘I thought three grand was a bit light for breaking into Lizard, stealing the shit and building bombs.’
‘How is Rhys taking it?’
‘Pretty good but shaken up. He liked those guys. But I told him, good people do bad things.’
‘He saved lives.’
‘I told him that too. He can’t get his head around it. Hard enough for me.’
Ain’t that the truth, thought Clement.
Earle said, ‘I know Styles can’t confirm Berryman was lunging at her when you shot him. But I can. I was standing on the hill looking through the ruins.’
Clement put down his can. ‘No you weren’t. And they’ll prove it. Don’t worry. I’ll be right.’
Three days later, Clement was looking forward to the drive back to Broome. He’d been so exhausted from the injuries and the investigation that he enjoyed having the second day in bed. But by the third day he was ready to move on. His hearing in his right ear was fine. His left ear still had some problems, and every now and again his cracked rib sent a jolt of pain through his body. He spent long zoom chats with Phoebe reassuring her he was fine. She offered to ditch the band tour to the US but he told her not to be silly, he would be okay and they could still do stuff in January. He then put a call through to Deep Adventures and spoke to Mark Coleman, wondering if there might be any places in January on a diving safari. Coleman said he would ensure those places and offered a two-for-one deal. Clement accepted. Bill Seratono had called, so Clement rang, assured him he was okay and informed his friend he was no longer in need of a boat. They arranged to meet at the Anglers Club as soon as Clement was back in Broome. There were numerous well-wisher calls from all the bods at the station. Keeble said she had been praying for him because he still owed her two bottles of Kahlua. Clement rang Lauren Bagot. She was back at work and sounded miserable but thanked him for his efforts.
