Vanished James Delargy (digital book reader .txt) 📖

in an old western. Lorcan wasn’t keen on that. People got shot in westerns. The Good guys as often as the Bad.

Despite it being only a couple of hundred metres away, he insisted on driving. For easy escape if needed, which Naiyana accepted.

They pulled up to the crossroads at quarter to nine and waited.

At almost nine on the dot, the rusted ute pulled into town, its lights off as it sidled down the moonlit dirt street like a cowboy, stopping on the far side of the crossroads, thirty metres away, laying claim to its side of town.

Neither side exited their vehicle.

Nothing happened for a few seconds. Lorcan glanced out the side windows checking for any ambush. Then the leader got out of the rusted ute followed by his two companions. Lorcan performed a visual check for weapons but realized he didn’t really know what he was looking for. Bulges? Awkward stances? He turned to find Naiyana glaring at him. She obviously wanted him to get out first but that wasn’t part of his plan, so he watched as she opened the door and stepped into the night, taking Dylan with her.

Now he moved, sliding the Browning rifle out from under the driver’s seat, stepping out and, using the door as cover, quickly sliding it down his pants leg, shuffling to catch up with his family. He ignored Nee’s look of disgust. She was unaware of the reason he had to stall. Best that she didn’t know, given her stance on guns. He focused on the three men, keeping his hand close to the butt of the rifle, ready to draw.

‘Nice of you to meet us,’ said the lead guy. His accent had a hint of Queensland about it. Lorcan had worked with a few guys from Brisbane but had never actually been. ‘We’ve been neighbours in town for a while, so I suppose we should meet.’

‘Who are you?’ asked Lorcan.

‘We don’t need names, do we?’

‘Neighbours normally exchange names.’

The bearded man smiled, teeth shining. ‘I’m Ian.’

‘We really doing this?’ sneered his stocky, bald companion. Again a Queensland twang, but with a staccato caused by the persistent chew and clack of gum.

‘Let’s be friendly, Mike,’ said Ian.

The third man introduced himself. Of Indigenous descent as Lorcan had thought. ‘I’m Stevie,’ he said, looking to Ian for reassurance. Another Queenslander. An invasion of them.

‘I’m Naiyana.’

‘Not your real name,’ said Lorcan.

‘And this is Dylan,’ she continued, twisting sideways to reveal Dylan cowering behind her.

‘And you?’ asked Ian, looking at Lorcan.

Lorcan grit his teeth. ‘Lorcan.’ He felt exposed now. Despite the rifle.

‘These are the men who are digging. That made that tunnel,’ said Dylan, looking up at his dad.

The focus switched to the boy. There was a look of bewilderment on Ian’s face and concern on the others’.

‘Perceptive child,’ said Ian, but there was no congratulations in his tone.

The tension was almost unbearable. Lorcan’s hand moved further down the butt of the rifle. How quickly would he be able to draw it? He still felt they should have remained in the ute and conducted the meeting from there.

‘Why are you here?’ asked Naiyana.

‘Mineral analysis.’

‘Bullshit,’ said Lorcan, nerves causing him to unwittingly externalize. All eyes were on him now. Shit. He went all-in. ‘If it was mineral analysis you wouldn’t be sneaking in and out at night. Plus, it would be a bigger operation.’ He wasn’t sure what he was doing provoking them like this. From the look on Nee’s face, she wasn’t sure either.

‘It’s an exploratory concern,’ said Stevie, calmly.

‘And do you have a permit?’

‘Do you?’ asked Ian. ‘Kallayee is off-limits without one.’

Ian delivered this with charm, every word, be it a threat, accusation or general conversation, bound by a casual bonhomie. He continued.

‘Look, we are all here together. Attempting similar things. You are here to make something above ground and we are trying to make something below ground.’

Naiyana turned to Lorcan. ‘It might be useful to have someone else here watching our back.’

‘I agree,’ said Ian. ‘We can work separately and in collaboration with each other.’

Lorcan didn’t know what to say. He had assumed that as soon as the meeting happened – and assuming they weren’t murdered – that Nee would join him in jumping on the first train out of here. But she seemed to be in full agreement with Ian’s plan.

So the six of them stood there, facing each other in the waning heat of the evening with a tentative arrangement in place. But how much could he trust an agreement with strangers?

They were probably thinking the same thing.

59

Emmaline

After a breakfast with Matty that she paid for – and a bunch of gawping stares and reporters’ questions that she didn’t – Emmaline had spent the rest of the morning looking for anyone in town who might be able to corroborate what Bobby Marley had said and provide her with a better description of Naiyana’s acquaintance.

Nearing the end and having the square root of bugger-all to show for it, a call came through from HQ. Queensland police had a name for the voice on Lorcan’s phone.

‘A Mike Andrews. Originally from Brisbane. Forty-five years old. A scientist.’

‘How sure are they?’

‘Pretty sure,’ said Zhao.

‘Who ID’d him? A relative?’

‘No relationship as far as we can tell. They recognized it from television. I’ve sent you the link.’

Confused, Emmaline clicked the link on her phone. It was a news report from a local channel in Queensland. Late September last year. A balding man was standing in front of an office block, clearly enraged. He was in his mid-forties but looked older given the angry furrows across his brow. He was protesting his lay-off vehemently, his excessive chewing causing a clack every few seconds that the microphone thrust close to his mouth only exacerbated.

The accent matched. The gum chewing as well. His name flashed up in the ticker at the bottom of the screen. Mike Andrews.

‘Find out what you can—’

Zhao interrupted. ‘Already done.’

Emmaline should have expected as much.

‘Let go from Skyline Industries in late September.’

‘What