Game Theory (26 page)

I sat down on the bench before my legs gave out, bent my head. Dixon's cigarette butt was in my direct line of sight and I focused on it. The voice continued.

‘But here's the positive. You worry I will harm Phoebe regardless of what happens. That I would . . . eliminate incriminating evidence. Believe me. Once I receive the cash, Phoebe will be released. I will not ask for more money. I do not need it. And as for your sister identifying me in court, I will be out of the country within an hour of receiving the money. I will not return to Australia and it would not be in my interests to provoke an international murder manhunt.'

I stood and walked to the edge of the lake. My legs were numb and my feet tingled with pins and needles. I was dimly aware of Dixon in my peripheral vision. He had stopped gesticulating.

‘We are approaching the endgame, Jamie,' the voice continued, ‘and we can both come out winners. It all depends on the choices you make. Now, listen carefully and do not write anything down. Here is what I want you to do with the money . . .'

I listened carefully and I didn't write anything down. The phone went dead. I stood for a few moments, watching the ducks
as they sailed peacefully over the lake. I guess I must have appeared like them – at peace on the surface, but underneath it was all churning movement.

Dixon appeared at my side. He'd lit another cigarette. For a moment we watched the ducks together, thin trails of smoke drifting across my vision.

‘Anything you want to tell me, son?' he asked finally.

I shook my head and put the phone back into my pocket.

‘Sorry,' I said. ‘But I think I need to talk to Gardner.' I put out my hand and Dixon regarded it for a moment, his moustache writhing as he sucked at his teeth. Then he gripped it and we shook.

‘Thanks,' I said. ‘You've been a great help and I appreciate it.'

He held onto my hand for a few more seconds. ‘Police procedure, Jamie,' he said. ‘Remember that.'

I nodded, turned and headed towards home.

The endgame was approaching and I had to make my move.

CHAPTER 24

The adrenaline that had kicked in at Phoebe's school had returned, and in some curious way I was relieved.
The kidnapper was always one step ahead. And that made my decision easier. I even found myself believing him when he said he had no interest in harming Phoebe. There was something authoritative, not in his tone, because there wasn't one, but in the logic of his words.

I knew what I had to do.

Gardner was not pleased at my prolonged absence.
Neither was Mum. Luckily for me, both were heavily engaged in planning. Well, Gardner was, and Mum was following one side of the conversation as he spoke to people on his phone. Another cop had turned up. He was a huge guy, obviously chosen for his bulk rather than his conversational skills, since he didn't say a word. He just nodded at me when I came in. Gardner covered the mouthpiece of his phone and glanced over.

‘Has the call come through?' he asked. I could tell he really wanted to say,
where the hell have you been?

I shook my head and he returned to his phone conversation. I went into the kitchen. Summerlee sat at the table, looking like hell. Even so, without makeup she still managed to look years younger. She raised her head at my entrance.

‘I need your help, Summer,' I said.

‘What?'

‘In fifteen minutes I want you to get those cops, and Mum and Dad, into the kitchen and keep them here for five minutes, tops. That's it. Close the door when they're in.'

‘Dad's having a lie down.'

‘Where?'

‘In their bedroom, I guess.'

I nodded. ‘Okay. Just whoever's down here, then.'

‘And how am I going to get them into the kitchen?'

‘I dunno. Make them a sandwich or something.'

She raised an eyebrow.

‘C'mon, Summer. Throw a screaming fit. Use your imagination.'

She looked at her watch. ‘Fifteen minutes?' I nodded again.

‘Okay,' she said.

I went straight to my bedroom and got the remaining backpack from under the bed. I stuffed it with what was left of my printer paper, but I only had a ream of that. So I added maths text books. Fortunately I had plenty of those, and they were heavy as hell. The shapes were all wrong, but I was banking on no one
examining it too carefully. All I needed was around twenty kilos in weight. I picked up the backpack. It felt heavy enough, like a suitcase being checked in on holiday. It would have to do.

I opened my bedroom door carefully, keeping the bag concealed. Just as well, because the door to Mum and Dad's bedroom opened and Dad stood there, gazing at me, his eyes blank and distant.

‘Jamie.'

‘Hi, Dad.'

‘What's going on?' He ran a hand through his hair.

‘Nothing. No news. Go back to bed.'

He continued to stare as if not comprehending my suggestion. Maybe he didn't. I was almost tempted to take him by the arm and lead him back, but he was so wired I couldn't guarantee he wouldn't scream. It was a stand-off. His hands twisted against each other, like he was washing them.

‘I can't sleep,' he said eventually. ‘Whatever I do I can't sleep. Need the bathroom.'

I nodded and waited. He continued to stand, but then seemed to remember why he was there and shambled off down the corridor. I waited until I heard the door close and then I lugged the pack down the stairs. I propped it up outside the front room and listened at the door. Gardner was still speaking on the phone. I glanced at my watch and prayed no one would think to open the door to the hallway. What was keeping Summer?

Then I heard her scream.

There were sounds of scrambling feet from the front room. I waited about twenty seconds and opened the door. The room was deserted but the kitchen door was slightly ajar. I could see a slice of Gardner's suit. Summer's voice was loud and panicky.

‘I saw someone through the kitchen window,' she said. ‘A man. He was there a moment ago.'

The slice of suit moved. I rushed over to the pack in the corner and exchanged it for the one full of textbooks. Mine sagged in a way the other didn't, but there was no time to do anything about it. I took the money and went back out into the hallway. Dad was coming down the stairs, his previous lethargy gone, face filled with terror. I dumped the bag against the stairwell and stood in front of it.

‘What is it, Jamie?' he said. ‘I heard screaming.'

‘In the kitchen,' I said. ‘Summer thought she saw someone in the garden.'

Dad brushed past me and I took the pack and hefted it up the stairs. It was damn heavy and I was relieved when I finally had it stowed under my bed. Then I went down and joined the others.

The big guy had gone into the garden, presumably in pursuit of Summer's imaginary intruder. Gardner was on the phone again. Dad had his arm around Mum, whose fist was pressed halfway into her mouth. Summer gave me a questioning look and I nodded.

‘I might have imagined it,' she said. ‘My nerves have been playing up recently.'

There was considerable bustle, but it all calmed down after fifteen minutes. The big guy came back in and shrugged. Eventually we all went back into the front room and settled down to wait for a call I knew wasn't coming.

I got a text message, though. At nine-thirty my phone buzzed and everyone reacted like they'd been tasered. I held up a hand. ‘It's just Gutless,' I said. I opened up the message.

steakout at monkhouse place. dude hasnt bin in school 2day but shitloads gossip. maybe wife or mhouse bin shagging sumone els. sumone moving out. seen car loaded up with own eyes. fuckin worldwar going on in his house. Da Horse.

I deleted the message and while I was at it, went to settings and deleted the record of the last incoming call.

At midnight I excused myself and went to bed, promising I would come down if my phone rang. Gardner vetoed the idea. He insisted that if I wanted to go to bed I would have to leave my phone with him.

‘Trust me,' he said. ‘When it rings, I will be in your bedroom in five seconds.'

I thought about it. I didn't think I would have further use for the phone, especially as I had already received directions. In some ways, it was to my advantage. Gardner's attention would be focused entirely upon my phone, which meant he wouldn't be checking up on me during the night. Or, even worse, posting the big guy outside my bedroom door. But I worried a little anyway.
What if the kidnapper changed the instructions and tried to tell me at six in the morning? Gardner would come rushing to my room and find it deserted. The shit would hit the fan in a very big way. In the end, I decided I would have to take my chances. The phone would ring out or Gardner would be forced to answer it. Either way, the kidnapper would understand I wasn't in a position to take further instructions.

So I handed over the phone and went to my room. I had no idea what the morning would bring, but I thought it wise to get what rest I could, even though I knew I couldn't sleep. More than anything else, however, I needed space and time to think.

Time to prepare.

CHAPTER 25

I keep to the track of broken lines in the middle of the street.
Everywhere is dark. Everywhere is quiet, except for the soft kiss of rubber soles on tarmac.

I'm conscious of the weight of two million dollars on my back, but the backpack takes that weight and distributes it, just as the man in the shop said it would. After half a kilometre, I almost forget it's there. I keep my head down, focusing only on the lines. At the back of my mind is the possibility that someone might step out in front of me. Perhaps an addict. Maybe just an ordinary thief, looking for a few bucks in a wallet, a backpack to sell. I imagine his face when he opens up his prize and finds two million dollars in neatly packed bundles, rather than dirty socks, T-shirts and torn jeans. I know it's unlikely. I also know I have a gun tucked into my waistband. For the moment at least, I'm glad it's there.

Time passes and, as it does, loses meaning. It is one step in front of another. Another broken line and then another. I think of Phoebe's face. For some reason, I think of her expression when she is mad. At me. Or the world at large. The way her mouth sets in that determined, thin line, her little brow scrunching. Putting her hand on her hip, turning a foot. The classic body language of annoyance. And then I think of how quickly that changes. When I tickle her or make her smile by saying something silly. Her irritation dissolves. Solid and immutable one instant, insubstantial the next, gone entirely a moment later. How life floods into her eyes and her lips part, revealing small teeth with that tiny gap between the front two.

I feed on those images and the belief that every step takes me closer to her.

The meeting point is an hour's walk away. I know the general area. It is run down, a suburb that used to be home to an industrial complex before a new development on the far side of the city brought about its death. Now it's a landscape of desolation, empty buildings, vast car parks where the tarmac is cracked and weeds invade, chain-link fences full of gaping holes. It's a year since I passed by it, on a trip with Dad to a destination that escapes my memory. I suspect chaos will have made further inroads. It's a good choice, at least from the point of view of the owner of the mechanical voice. It is far from residential property, yet the roads that once serviced it are still there. Any movement in the complex would be easy to pick up, for someone observing. A difficult place
to infiltrate without being seen. Yet also ideal for escape, the roads branching off in every direction, so that, within fifteen minutes, a car would be lost among a multitude of possible highways.

I will be early for my appointment, but I understand that I will almost certainly not be early enough. He will be there already. Possibly, he was always there. I see him in my mind's eye, on top of a building, perhaps, scanning the landscape through night-vision binoculars, waiting for the signs of those grey-suited figures with guns slung over their shoulders, threading their way across fields, through fences, swarming into buildings and finding holes in which to hide. He is listening for the drone of a helicopter. Yes, he will already be there. Prepared to follow through on his threat at the first sign of scurrying movement. Is Phoebe at his side, shivering in the chill night air, her hands tied in front of her? Does she, too, watch, wait and suspect her world is on the cusp of ending? What thoughts will go through her head? Is she aware that I am coming for her? Does that help keep her darkness at bay? The questions are insistent but I try to push them away, and focus only on the road markings and my feet as they move in and out of vision.