*
DC was not going to join Furn in conversation, so he joined her in gazing out the window. The helicopter flew low and fast, soon leaving the city behind for the rolling green hills of northern Victoria. The pilot was hugging the terrain so tightly that Furn was beginning to wonder if the man was in fact afraid of heights. Still, it was a nice change from the police helicopters, which always flew high in order to maximise the range of their surveillance equipment - an irony of sorts, for it meant the people on board could see virtually nothing, or at least not like this, where Furn could see the whites of a panicky crow’s eyes.
Furn and DC did not have the cabin to themselves. There were two solidly built members of the Australian Foreign Legion, leaning on their assault rifles. They had been sitting that way from the start, not even shifting when Furn and DC had first climbed into the helicopter: it was as though they were bolted down just as firmly as the seats. Perhaps, it was some sort of camouflage technique and it certainly words, for Furn soon forgot they were there.
He was thinking of Riley and Breeze and the Rogue Intercept Police and sensed that what had torn them apart was now waiting at the end of this helicopter flight. Colonel Skidmore had assumed command and Furn knew well the dispenses of orders could be the most dangerous of enemies. The perfect murder, after all, was one in which the killers were permitted to honour the death as noble sacrifice - and Skidmorewould have good call to see Furn out of the way, knowing what ramifications the Dokomad case would have if it ever became public knowledge. Furn could only shake his head and console himself with the thought that a commander who wanted him dead wouldn’t be all that different from Riley - and he was starting to miss him already. All the same, he would have to keep his eyes on the two machine gunners on board and all their comrades on the ground, for a noble death seemed something they specialised in - noble or otherwise. Indeed, DC was the only one of Skidmore’s troops Furn considered even halfway trustworthy - she, however, had the unfortunate habit of always looking down.
By the time the helicopter finally landed, Furn had lost track of time, but it was nothing compared to the destination itself: a line of ancient train carriages perched in a dry, dusty grassland that stretched as far as the eye could see. It may have been curious that there were no tracks or roads to indicate how the train carriages had come to be there, but it was nothing like the curiosity Furn felt for the helicopter landing in a place like this in the first place: even the nearest signpost that said the next town was hundreds of kilometres away was probably hundreds of kilometres away. Furn had known the odd police officer who valued remoteness as much as a hard core fugitive and it wouldn’t have surprised him in the slightest if Colonel Skidmore turned out to be of such a constitution.
Furn noticed that DC was actually removing her headphones and he had a sudden urge to make her wish that she hadn’t.
‘The Brighton Savoy might have five stars - although I daresay it may have just lost one, owing to the bullet holes and blood stains in the foyer - but I wonder how many stars this place has been accredited with.’
‘At night, all the stars you’d care to see come out,’ she muttered. ‘All you need to do is look up. You’ll have plenty of time to do that, I’m afraid to say.’
She pulled on the handle of her wheelie bag and she slid open the door. The dust was there to greet her. She stepped down into it, covering her eyes and mouth. Furn was not far behind. And amidst the swirling dust there was a man coming towards them. He was tall and wiry and the space in his uniform was flapping about as the rotor blades began to slow. He latched onto DC’s suitcase and pulled it further away, as though carrying a child from a burning building. Then he stepped to Furn with a salute that turned into a dive bombing handshake.
‘I’m Colonel Skidmore. We finally meet. You must be -’
‘Furn.’
‘Do you have a rank?’
‘No, but I’ll rank this place: it’s a shit hole.’
Skidmore put his hands on his gun belt and frowned. He backed away from the helicopter, gesturing for Furn to follow.
‘The Rogue Intercept Police, I suppose, have a different take on discipline. I would make it a military operation.’ In the clear air his face was pasty and pot marked, a bushy mustache seemingly an attempt to take the edge off it. His eyes were dour brown, and his teeth were only a few shades lighter – from the odour of his breath, Furn suspected he was a man who enjoyed a stiff pipe. Furn followed him further, curious of a leader of soldiers who was so repulsive.
‘Apologies may be in order. That is what civilians do amongst each other, is it not? Apologise?’
‘Apologise for what?’
Skidmore pointed to the railway carriage. ‘Your new residence. Temporary as it may be. It’s a staging post. Green Fields is a further hundred kilometres inland. The most secretive research facility in Australia. If you are to visit, it will be blind folded.’
‘And what will I see when I get there?’
‘Fertiliser technology. Biochemical R & D. Or should I say nature’s own R & D at its finest.’
‘Interesting. And how might I secure an invitation?’
‘Zulma Pei. She’s right in your line of work. Rogue ugly. She has been heavily involved in the Green Fields project and I suspect she is not out to destroy it. She is currently on the run somewhere in Indonesia and that is where I would like to take her out. But she is not to be underestimated, not with her band of Sapiens to do her bidding. So, you will be my last line of defense, you and Sergeant Cantrell.’ He looked at DC, who was standing with arms folded, pressing out her tattooed biceps. ‘You will be called in if needed. In the meantime, you will find the carriages well stocked for training.’
Furn glanced around at the flat, arid wasteland surrounding them and murmured, ‘But not much chance of an obstacle course.’
Skidmore took a stride back towards the helicopter, eyeing him coldly. ‘There is one obstacle you had better be worried about. Her name is Cantrell and she will be conducting your basic training here. You are in the army now, so get used to it.’
Furn frowned, but managed to hold his tongue.
‘Whether or not that involves digging latrines remains to be seen,’ added Skidmore and completed his march to the helicopter where the two machine gun carrying men inside were leaning out to offer a hand. The rotor blades picked up speed again and the moment Skidmore was inside, the helicopter was returning to the air. As Furn shielded himself from the wind and dust, he found that DC was now close enough that he was shielding her too, and although he no longer minded if she kept her head down with nothing to say, he had the nasty feeling he would not be so lucky. And then he felt her lips against his ear. ‘There are clippers in the end carriage,’ she said. ‘Use them to shave your head. That’s all I remember about basic training. After all, when it comes to Zulmei Pei and her Sapiens, how many pushups you’d need to stay alive is hard to say.’
Furn watched for the helicopter to leave, though he was starting to like her.
‘Didn’t he pull you out of the cops too?’
DC hesitated. ‘I was in Military Police. And I wasn’t some star performer like you. Skidmore picked me up just as I was about to be discharged.’
‘Discharged for what?’
DC shrugged. ‘Identity theft. The military finally realised they don’t actually know who I am.’
Furn raised his eyebrows. ‘Who are you then?’
‘If you really want to know, maybe you’ll find out one day. That’s your job, after all, isn’t it?’
Furn pointed to the rail carriages. ‘Are there locks on the doors?’
DC chuckled. ‘I’m the last of your problems. The one thing I’ve learned in the Military Police is that any rank from major onwards is always a case of bad news. They have the smarts at strategy, planning and, most importantly, manipulating people. And Skidmore is the smartest of the lot. Before I was assigned to his unit, I was investigating him. There are people in his life that ha
ve simply disappeared: girlfriends, military rivals and even neighbours. Frustratingly little evidence to pin him with anything.’
‘Perhaps he has sent them to a place just like this.’ Furn flapped his hands despairingly. ‘For all intents and purposes, we have disappeared too.’
‘He has us here and he has us under his command. We follow his orders we live, we follow his orders, we die.’ DC pointed in the direction of the fast fading helicopter. ‘I get the nasty feeling the decision has already been made, somewhere out there in the wastelands.’
‘Have you been to this Green Fields?’
‘No. You’re right now as close as I have ever been. The staging camp. And if you ask me, that close enough. The New Poison’s capital of the free world is the way Skidmore puts it in his Australian Foreign Legion graduation speeches.’
‘Like those two nice men on the chopper? I didn’t want to risk a bullet by asking them their names.’
‘You wouldn’t get their real names anyway. They are asylum seekers who tore their passports up into the sea before arriving, or had Skidmore do it for them. They swear allegiance to Skidmore with the promise of a pick of a new passport after two years of service. Who they really are and what happens to them may never be known.’
‘Torn up and thrown into a sea?’
‘Or a desert.’
The helicopter had completely disappeared now. Furn continued looking that way - surely there couldn’t have been much fuel left in the tanks; Green Fields must have been close.
‘Do you have an armoury?’ he asked of DC. ‘My gun was taken away by the Integrity Bureau for analysis. They do it every time I shoot someone, which means they must have a cupboard full.’
‘If you knew Skidmore, you wouldn’t have to ask. There are guns and ammunition, and even more rabbits than ammunition to shoot at.’
‘Good.’ Furn studied her closely. ‘If the C stands for Cantrell, what does the D stand for?’
DC shrugged and headed for the carriages. ‘My passport has been shredded too.’