The Recipient

  “What would she be doing with case file numbers from a detention facility?” she ventured, as much to herself as to Lionel. “I mean, I get why she would have her own, but why would she have these other numbers?”

  “I think it’s more reasonable to ask what would anyone be doing with case file numbers from a detention facility. I would very much like to know who this person was that Saskia was seeing. He apparently had the means to have her released from Flaxley.”

  Lionel paused as he looked down at the numbers again. “She got these numbers from him?”

  Casey shrugged. Turning slightly, she studied her grandfather as he continued to mull over the numbers.

  “There’s something else,” she said.

  Lionel squinted. “Something else?”

  Casey reached out and pointed to the letterhead fragment in the top right-hand corner of the paper. He squinted through his glasses.

  “You don’t recognise it?”

  He shrugged momentarily.

  “Slattery and Ge…,” he began.

  His voice caught, in part because there was nothing left to read, but also because the familiarity of the words struck him.

  “Slattery & Gerard,” he said.

  Lionel drew in a sudden and sharp intake of air and he looked up at Casey.

  “Edie’s law firm?”

  “They do legal aid work for immigrants,” Casey said. “They have done it for a while. They’ve represented asylum seekers and visa holders who have disputes over their status. Edie told me herself.”

  “And Saskia Andrutsiv was one of them?”

  Casey’s gaze drifted out across the water. Without realising it, her jaw had set hard. “That letterhead would suggest that she was.”

  Lionel looked up from the note and studied Casey, conflict welling up inside him. “Wait,” he continued. “What are you thinking, Casey?”

  Casey stiffened and retreated from her grandfather. “I don’t know. I just…I was shocked when I saw that.”

  Lionel abruptly stood from the bench and stepped forward, gripping the piece of paper.

  “You can’t honestly be thinking that…your mother—my daughter—might know something about this?”

  Casey flinched at the flash of anger in Lionel’s voice.

  “I…don’t know, Pa. She told me that they had done that type of work, pro bono in a lot of cases. And she said that a lot of that work came about because of Simeera Fedele. When I saw that, I was just—it shocked me. It might be worth asking her.”

  Lionel glowered at Casey. “I think you are venturing into dangerous territory with your thinking, young lady.”

  “But, Pa, I just—”

  “No!” Lionel snarled, thrusting his finger out at Casey to silence her. She jumped where she sat. Tears threatened her as he turned away and shook his head angrily.

  Casey desperately cast her mind back over the conversation with Shelley, the photograph of Saskia and Shelley, the numbers Lionel held in his hand, the detention facility.

  The detention facility.

  Taking out her smartphone, she opened a maps application and entered “Flaxley Park Immigration Detention Facility” into the search pane.

  Lionel turned around and blinked in disbelief. Casey’s attention was now firmly concentrated on the device. She scrolled the display with her fingers, centering it over a satellite image of the detention facility.

  “What on Earth are you doing?” he probed fearfully, stepping forward. He frowned in confusion as he looked down at the satellite image on the display.

  When Casey did not answer, Lionel proffered the square of paper between them, gazing at it as the sunlight splashed across the back of the it and the breeze caught the underside of it, causing it to flutter in his grip.

  “I think we should take this to Whittaker,” Lionel said.

  Casey looked up from the screen. Her expression had shifted. To his utter exasperation, a curious smile tugged the corners of her mouth.

  “I think I’ve got a better idea.”

  ___

  Casey skipped up the warehouse stairs and was already unlocking the door while Lionel followed, exasperated, in her wake.

  “Casey!” he called after her, his voice plagued with frustration. “I really think you should slow down and think about this. I believe that Whittaker will take a look at these numbers.”

  Ignoring him, Casey went to the computer, touching her thumb to the biometric pad on her keyboard. She dropped her backpack to the floor and sat, examining the screen intently.

  “Casey,” he repeated breathlessly, stumbling through the open door.

  “Pa,” she said distractedly. “On their own, it’s not enough. And, besides, we’re talking about a Federal Immigration Detention facility here. If we go to him with this alone, Whittaker will laugh us out of the building.” She turned in her seat as he stood before her. “I need more to go on.”

  “What do you mean more?” Lionel shot back. “You’ve identified the car. You can prove that it existed and you’ve extracted new information from Shelley Agutter in the form of these numbers. It’s tangible, Casey, and it’ll be tangible for Whittaker, too. I know him.”

  Casey paused in the middle of typing and closed her eyes. She breathed deeply to quell her frustration.

  “I know him, too,” she countered. “The picture of a car—it’s just a picture and it’s not a very good one at that. And the numbers, we can’t be even sure what they mean at this point.”

  “I really don’t believe that Whittaker will dismiss—” Lionel began before Casey cut him off.

  “You’ve said it yourself, he’s pissed off enough already because of my poking around. Pissed off enough to let Prishna off her leash.”

  “Prishna?” Lionel’s eyebrows rose.

  Casey ground her teeth together. “I didn’t tell you before, but Prishna confronted me at the college. She told me that Whittaker was watching us. He found out about Lesia Andrutsiv.” She shook her head angrily. “If I go to him with this, not only will he rubbish it, but he’ll likely force us to stop searching.”

  Casey turned to him then stopped, realising that she was beginning to lose her patience. She did everything she could to soften her expression. “I need to dig a little deeper. I have to be sure about this.”

  “By hacking into a government computer system?”

  Lionel shook his head and placed his hands on his hips. He knew he was struggling. Casey’s dogged streak was rearing itself once again. When he looked up from the floor, his eyes fell across the computer’s screen. Casey had brought up a web entry for the Flaxley Park Immigration Detention Facility, located in Melbourne’s inner northern suburbs. She began scanning through the address details, making a note of the surrounding geography.

  Lionel’s eyes bulged.

  “Wait…what are you proposing to do?” he pressed, his eyes moving between Casey and the screen. “You can’t possibly be thinking of going sniffing around a Federal Immigration facility.”

  A light bulb went off and she stopped cold. She glanced over at him.

  “That’s exactly what I’m gonna do,” she grinned. She sprang from her seat and rounded the desk before Lionel could respond. She bounded up the stairs to the mezzanine, forcing Lionel to follow after her. She disappeared into the guest room before Lionel reached the top of the stairs. He found her on her hands and knees before the wardrobe, rummaging through boxes and tossing various equipment and computer hardware left and right.

  “Casey. Think about this for a moment,” Lionel pleaded. “Breaking into a federal facility could get you thrown into prison! What do you think you could possibly achieve if that happened?”

  Casey took a small black case out from a plastic storage container and unzipped it, checking its contents.

  “I’m not gonna get caught, Pa,” she said without looking up. “It would be more risky for me to try and hack the federal government network remotely. Their network infrastructure is too well-protected fro
m outside incursions. They would be onto me in a second if I tried to hack them from here.”

  “Even with your skills? Your hardware? Surely not.”

  Casey would not be assuaged.

  “If I’m onsite, I can access their database and see if those file numbers are still in their system. And I can look around and see who might be in there.”

  Lionel made a noise that was somewhere between a gasp and a hiss. He rolled his eyes and clenched his jaw.

  “You cannot be serious, Casey! It’s bloody stupidity. I cannot have any part in this.”

  Casey sprang to her feet. Glaring at him, she brushed past him, black case in hand.

  “Fine,” she snarled. “Don’t then.”

  “Casey.”

  “What if he’s still there?” she challenged, dropping back down the stairs. “What if this person works there right now and no one realises what he’s done?”

  “Whittaker will make sure—”

  “I don’t trust Whittaker,” Casey shouted angrily. “I can’t even be sure that he’s on my side. Hell, I can’t be sure if anyone’s on my side!”

  “Casey,” Lionel croaked. “That’s not fair and you know it. We’re all here for you. Your mother and your father and I. We all just want to help you.”

  Casey stopped at the bottom of the stairs and wheeled around, snapping her head up at Lionel.

  “Are you really? You might want have a talk with your daughter, Lionel. Because I think she knows a lot more than she is willing to admit about all of this.” Casey snarled, pointing her finger at her chest in a circular motion.

  Lionel felt a sharp pang in the pit of his stomach and he appeared to wilt at her stinging accusation.

  “Casey, that’s not fair. You’re not thinking straight.”

  Casey levelled a glare strong enough to bore through lead.

  “I am thinking straight,” she hissed, her whispered voice quivering on the edge of fury. “I am the only one thinking about this. I’ve done nothing but think about this for three fucking years!”

  She wiped angrily at sudden fresh tears.

  “I want it to stop and I am going to make it stop!”

  Lionel held up his hands to placate her but it was no use. “I’m…I didn’t mean to…”

  Casey turned on him and crossed the living room to her bedroom where she opened her wardrobe and snatched the first decent outfit that her hands fell across. She threw it down on the bed behind her then plunged her hand back in, grabbing a pair of heels.

  Lionel gulped. He wanted to move his legs but couldn’t.

  “Casey,” he said pathetically as Casey gathered up her belongings in both arms. She strode through the apartment, unable to look at her grandfather as she made for the door.

  “Go home, Lionel,” she retorted bitterly. “I don’t need you here anymore.”

  Lionel froze as the door clanged shut behind Casey.

  CHAPTER 26.

  The hand of the assailant came down, smashing through the chest wall with a sickening mixture of blood and bone.

  And still she fought to free herself.

  Saskia’s head twisted in a desperate effort to find a means of escape.

  In that moment, Casey and Saskia were looking at one another.

  Saskia thrust her free hand out, stretching her fingers as far as she could, searching in desperation for Casey’s own hand.

  Saskia’s face contorted; her lips formed words which Casey could see and understand though she could not hear them.

  Help me!

  Casey reached out, trying to cup her hands over Saskia’s cheeks. Once again, she began reciting letters and numbers.

  Casey repeated them back to her in silence until they were repeating them in unison.

  S…X…8…0…3…2…5…4…

  Saskia’s expression became serene. Casey thought she saw a smile.

  Then, Saskia’s eyes looked over Casey’s shoulder. Puzzled, Casey looked behind her hesitantly.

  Dark human forms coalesced from the darkness and stood on the road, watching the scene.

  Casey gasped as the forms seemed to step forward and come into focus.

  Lionel stood there. His expression was taut, plagued with disappointment. Beside him stood Edie, her expression stony. Next to her stood Casey’s father. He was shaking his head slowly, his eyes filled with anger. More figures emerged. First Prishna, then Whittaker. Behind them emerged Lesia Andrutsiv, supporting herself on her walker while her nurse shuffled along beside her.

  Casey looked back to Saskia who was weeping in terror while the assailant continued to violate her.

  What is this?

  Casey stood and spun on her heel to confront the audience behind her, all of whom were glaring with accusatory menace at her now.

  Why are you here? Casey’s mind shouted in silence.

  Lionel slowly raised his hand and, suddenly, Casey was yanked backwards. She cried out as her body tumbled and rolled violently along the bitumen. Saskia’s face, the car, the assailant, her family—all of them disappeared into the gloom.

  Clawing frantically at the air, Casey screamed…

  ___

  Somewhere in the chilly pre-dawn hours, Casey jolted in the confines of the cramped Volkswagen and reflexively clawed at the air in front of her. Her hands slapped against the windshield glass until she realised she had been dreaming.

  Shaking her head to rid herself of the dream, she shivered. She drew the blanket up around her shoulders, pulling it tightly against herself and blinked in the darkness. She peered through the windscreen but was confronted by a thin layer of frost that obscured everything.

  “Jesus,” she hissed reaching out and turning the key in the ignition. The car’s engine coughed to life, then Casey reached over and turned the climate control knob all the way over until the warmth from the heater filtered into the cabin. Relaxing into her seat, she cast a glance to her left, to the smartphone that lay on the passenger seat in pieces: the handset, battery and rear cover.

  Ever the paranoid cracker, she thought, even though she knew that was only part of the reason for ensuring she couldn’t be tracked.

  She picked up the handset, hesitating as she looked at the darkened screen.

  Part of her wanted to call Lionel to apologise for storming out the way she had. But she couldn’t bring herself to.

  She knew her outburst had been callous, that her accusations had been particularly cruel. She didn’t know what she could say to repair the damage. Feeling despondent, she lowered the handset to the seat, hesitated and thought about reinserting the battery so that she could boot it up in case Lionel had called.

  She growled and let it fall from her hand.

  Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back against the headrest, trying to rationalise her actions and push away her guilt. All she could see in her mind’s eye was her grandfather’s tortured expression and it caused her emotions to spin out of control.

  Everything was such a mess.

  Her gaze fell across the copy of the photograph she’d taken with her phone in Saskia’s bedroom, clipped to the dashboard vent. She reached out and took it, drawing it to her. In the half-light of the emerging dawn, she gazed into Saskia’s features, her worldly eyes, her carefree smile.

  What had happened? What had Saskia uncovered?

  Casey’s guilt was blunted by determination and she batted away her torment.

  Pa will have to wait.

  Sitting forward, Casey flicked the wiper controls and watched as the blades swung up, removing the rapidly melting frost so that she could see out through the glass.

  A four-lane highway separated the vacant car park in which she sat from the austere grey walls of the Flaxley Park Immigration Detention Facility. It stood out some distance away from her, amongst thick eucalyptus trees and dense fog. She could see lights winking from inside, signs of life—of the day beginning. Soon, people would come to begin their day as employees and administrators of the centre and Casey knew
she would have to be prepared and ready.

  The imposing structure caused Casey to shiver.

  Flaxley was described as a lower level facility in the Australian government’s federal immigration system, designed to house refugees whose status had already been determined and were awaiting release into the community. It also held visa holders who were in breach of their conditions, like Saskia, and were awaiting the outcome of their reviews.

  A nexus of hope and despair.

  Casey cast the blanket aside. She needed to get moving.

  Reaching into the back seat, Casey grabbed the strap of her bag and hefted it through into the front, setting it down on the passenger seat beside her. She rummaged through the contents inside until her hand brushed over a familiar rectangular object. She drew it out and held it up, then reached for the components of her smartphone. Reinserting the battery and securing the rear cover, Casey turned it over, powered it up, then twirled the rectangular box in her thumb and forefinger.

  Roughly half the size of her phone, the small, white object was featureless except for a silver micro USB plug that protruded from one side. Casey slotted this plug into the corresponding jack of her phone, then checked the screen as a notification window popped up.

  ‘RFID scanner detected. Please wait…’

  Casey built this device herself and had employed it frequently as a tool to test the custom security systems her corporate clients purchased along with her expertise. Casey’s brief included comprehensive testing of the security software she had designed and deployed; specifically those systems that employed the use of radio-frequency identification technologies, RFID for short.

  Though RFID technologies—particularly those applied to employee swipe cards—were improving all the time, the uptake of the latest versions was patchy at best, especially where governments, concerned more with their budgets than best practice, were concerned.

  Her device was able to ‘sniff’ any unprotected RFID chips embedded in employee identification cards and upload the data stored on them. She would then look for any weaknesses in the system that she could neutralise.