The Third Day, The Frost (20 page)

When I did straighten up, I noticed a quick
movement around his lips. It was almost a smile, as though he’d
expected me to do something very like that. I did not respond. How
could I? I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, vomit would come
from it; the vomit of fear, the vomit of hatred.

Major Harvey moved his right arm and slid open
a drawer in the desk. He brought out a small silver tape recorder
and placed it in the middle of the big desk.

‘Sit down, Ellie,’ he said.

I obeyed, slipping silently into the nearest
chair, a trendy grey one made from cane and steel. I gripped its
armrests tightly, knowing I was leaving clammy wet sweat on it, but
appreciating its coolness and strength. Major Harvey turned the
tape recorder on.

‘Now, Ellie,’ he said, ‘I don’t think you’ll
have many surprises for us. We know just about everything. But for
the record we do require a full statement, detailing your
activities. You can start with your name, address and age, then
work backwards from the Cobbler’s Bay attack. And, please, don’t
forget to mention the officer and two other ranks you killed in
cold blood when you stole the Holden Jackaroo.’

I sat there staring at him. I didn’t know what
to do. I couldn’t think. I had no idea what was best for me,
whether to say nothing, whether to tell him everything, whether to
put together a mixture of lies and truth. It was quite likely that
he did know most things, especially if he’d already questioned the
others. If I got caught telling lies I suspected he’d treat me very
badly. I didn’t want to make him angry.

So I said nothing, not because I wanted to be
a hero, but because I couldn’t think of what to say. Then I decided
that silence was probably quite a good strategy.

He waited for a minute or so. Then he said:
‘You know, Ellie, the first time I met you, you struck me as a
particularly rude and pig-headed young lady. It is unfortunate for
you that you were raised in a society where standards have been so
corrupted that behaviour like yours has been tolerated. But you are
a child no longer. You will be treated here as an adult.’

He paused. He seemed to be waiting for me to
say something, but I couldn’t think of anything. So he
continued.

‘When a child commits an offence he is
punished. But the punishment an adult would receive is modified for
the child, who is judged not yet responsible for his actions, not
able to grasp the full extent of what he has done.’

He seemed to be quoting from a textbook or a
speech or something. I still didn’t know where this was heading but
I was frightened in a cold sickening way, like no fear I’d felt
before. It was like the chill of death was already moving through
me, turning my skin white and liquefying my insides.

‘We believe in adult punishments for adult
acts. You have, for a long time now, acted in a thoroughly
irresponsible, destructive way. You have committed appalling
crimes. You can, of course, no longer expect to be treated as a
child. I’m sure you wouldn’t wish to be. We have reintroduced
capital punishment to deal with crimes such as murder, terrorism
and treason. I’ve talked to your friends at length today and formed
an accurate picture of what you’ve been up to. I wasn’t surprised
to learn that you and the Greek boy are the ringleaders of your
little group. The only thing I really require from you is a list of
these crimes, for our records, and the details of how you committed
them, so that we can improve our security. In particular, we are
concerned about the acts of terrorism at Cobbler’s Bay. In
supplying this information it may be that you will make us aware of
circumstances that might incline us to consider clemency in your
case. We are considering that for one of your companions who has
been especially helpful, instead of the extreme punishment that,
frankly, is well deserved; in fact has been earned many times
over.

‘So, Ellie ...’ He leaned back in his chair
and crossed his arms behind his head. Up till then I’d thought he
was perfectly relaxed, completely in command, but, when he lifted
his arms, I saw huge sweat patches in the armpits of his shirt,
stretching almost to his waist. It made me feel a fraction
better.

‘... I understand you are something of a
writer – the record keeper for your little bunch of hooligans.’ He
peeled a sheet of paper from the pile on the desk and placed it in
front of me. From his pocket he drew a cheap grey biro, with the
words STATE GOVERNMENT written in red down its side.

‘Stealing pens,’ I said. ‘That’s a criminal
offence.’

It was the first thing I’d said since coming
into the room, and it was a pretty dumbass comment. Major Harvey
just smiled, and shook his head.

‘People don’t change, Ellie, do they?’ he
said. ‘I don’t think you’ll ever change. And I feel sorry for you,
I really do, because things might have gone easier for you if you
had. Well, there’s your paper, and here’s a pen. As I said, you can
start with the mess you caused at Cobbler’s Bay. We’re particularly
anxious to know how you got in there, what explosive you used, and
how you got that explosive. We’ll leave you alone for an hour. I
suggest you write fast. The only chance you have is to write down
everything. Everything, you understand?’

He said the last three words with sudden
ferocity, taking me by surprise, but I tried not to show it.
Instead, I gazed sulkily at the floor as he and the two officers
left the room. They shut the door behind them and I heard the key
turn.

I sat gazing at the paper. Even if I’d wanted
to, I couldn’t imagine how to put down so much on paper in just one
hour. I’d need months, and hundreds of thousands of words. It
seemed pointless anyway. I didn’t have the energy to write
anything.

Chapter
Twenty-four

Major Harvey picked up the piece of paper. ‘I
see writing on this paper,’ he announced.

I didn’t say anything; I assumed he was going
to make some dumb comment about the blank sheet.

‘Yes,’ he said, putting it down again. ‘I
certainly see writing on it. I see your death warrant. That’s what
it says to me.’

He looked at me, waiting for a reaction. I
wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of one. I was very confused,
uncertain, of what I should do; the only thing I was reasonably
sure of was that whatever Major Harvey wanted me to do, I
wouldn’t.

‘A very well-written death warrant,’ Major
Harvey concluded, milking his little joke for all it was worth.

He sat at the desk again. The woman officer
was there too, and she sat down this time, in a chair in a corner
of the room. Major Harvey continued to talk to me.

‘I’m a very busy man, Ellie,’ he said. ‘I’m
trying to help you but I’m not going to spend day after day
persuading you to save your own life. If you’re not interested in
doing it, I don’t see why I should be. You’re a very silly, very
stubborn girl, and I can tell you now that you’ll be shot before
the week’s out if you don’t make the effort to tell us what we need
to know.’

I wanted to believe I had a chance, but I
couldn’t. If they were going to shoot me, a few little details
about Cobbler’s Bay weren’t going to stop them. At the same time
there was no point in not telling him.

‘It’s no big secret,’ I said. ‘We got into
Cobbler’s Bay in the back of a broken-down container truck that
they towed in. We’d stuffed the container with anfo, and when they
loaded the container onto a ship we blew it up.’

‘Anfo? What’s anfo?’

‘You ought to know. You were in the Army,
weren’t you?’

He flushed a little. ‘Just answer the
question,’ he said stiffly.

‘It’s ammonium nitrate, fuel oil. You use a
detonator and that sets off the anfo, and the whole thing blows sky
high.’

‘How did you get that material?’

I shrugged. ‘You can get stuff like that on
any farm.’

‘How did you know this? How could you make a
bomb of that force?’

‘My father used anfo all the time. To blow up
tree stumps, stuff like that.’

His head came forward and his small black eyes
glittered at me.

‘But when I spoke to you and your friends the
very first time, on that memorable occasion in the Holloway Valley,
I distinctly remember you told me you knew nothing about
explosives. “We don’t know anything,” was the phrase used, I seem
to recall.’

I was silent. I sat there blushing, caught out
in the lie, and unable to explain it away. I was trying to protect
Kevin of course, but I was off to a bad start. The Major pressed
home his attack.

‘You spoke of “we” when you described the
actual attack. Who are the “we”? How many people attacked Cobblers
Bay?’

‘Oh sorry, it was just me. The others helped
me get a few things together, that’s why I said “we”. But I did it
on my own.’

He laughed, but with no humour.

‘You’re not doing a very good job.’ He waited
a moment without looking at me, then leaned forward again.

‘I’ll tell you what really happened,’ he said.
‘Somehow you have managed to link up with trained soldiers. I’d
guess, saboteurs of the New Zealand Army who parachuted in. We know
they’re in this area. You met them and you’ve been working with
them, under their orders, and when you were caught last night you
were either on your way to rejoin them, or you were in the middle
of a mission that they’d sent you on. Which is it?’

I sat there open-mouthed.

‘I know you’re trying to protect them,’ he
said. ‘But I warn you for the last time young lady, your life
depends on telling me everything. So far you’ve told me
nothing.’

I struggled to get a voice.

‘Why ... What makes you think we weren’t on
our own?’ I finally managed to ask.

He gave a tight little triumphant smile, as
though I’d confirmed his theory. I think the way I had asked my
question made him think he was right; that he’d busted me.

‘Quite simple,’ he said. ‘You are six school
students. I’ve been working with young people since I left
Teachers’ College at the age of twenty. I know what they can and
cannot do. These things you and your friends claim to have done are
simply impossible. When I first met you, and you made various
boasts about attacks you’d made on the Wirrawee bridge and so
forth, I dismissed them as typical teenage bragging.

‘Later, some time after the battle in which
I’d assumed you were killed, I found out that the Wirrawee bridge
had in fact been destroyed, and at least two girls were witnessed
running from the scene. I knew then that I’d underestimated your
group, and I realised that you must have had Regular Army
support.

‘Then there was the explosion in

Turner Street

– you had some involvement in that, didn’t
you? That had all the hallmarks of professional terrorists. The
attack on Cobbler’s Bay. The attack and destruction of a grounded
helicopter by a New Zealand Air Force jet: that was just a pleasant
coincidence for you, was it? Is that what you seriously expect me
to believe? The ambush and slaying of the officer and two soldiers:
you think a bunch of kids could catch professionals that way?

‘No, Ellie, the truth is that you’ve become
involved in something much bigger than you realise, something
that’s gone way beyond your control.

‘And if you want to still be alive this time
next week, you’d better tell me everything and tell me fast. We
need to know where to find these people right now. If we don’t find
them then you’ll be dying on their behalf, and I don’t think you
want that, do you? You’re very young, too young to die, if you’ll
forgive the cliché. These people you’ve been working for, these
people who have in fact exploited you – if only you could see it –
they’re professional soldiers. They accept dying as an occupational
hazard. They know that when they sign up. You don’t have to take
any responsibility for them.’

It all made a weird kind of sense, that was
the terrible frightening thing about it. I could see exactly how he
would have arrived at the conclusions he’d reached. In a way he’d
paid us a compliment, by being unable to believe we could have
achieved what we had. By being such bloody legends we’d got
ourselves into an awful mess.

I didn’t know where to start. I began by being
rational. I tried to explain to him how we’d gone about our
attacks. But I was too tired and scared, and the words came out
badly. I couldn’t remember half the things we’d done or the order
in which we’d done them, and within three minutes I was
floundering, tying myself up in a fishnet, almost feeling the lines
cutting my throat. I switched from rational to begging, at last
dropping my pride to the floor and pleading with him for my life.
The only thing I didn’t do, the only way I kept any self-respect,
was not to dob in Homer about Cobbler’s Bay or Kevin about the
explosives. Perhaps I would have if I’d thought it might make a
difference, but I knew it wouldn’t. The best story I could finally
come up with was to tell him about Chris, and to say that Chris
taught me about explosives. But, as Major Harvey said, if that were
the true story I would have told him straight away. I had no reason
to protect Chris.

There was nothing I could say to that, because
it was true.

At one stage, sick of being picked on, I said
to him, ‘Why don’t you ask the others? They’ll tell you the same
thing.’

That’s when he told me that they were in the
hands of other interrogators; he’d spoken to all five of them but
he’d saved me for his own special attention.

We went on for hours until the Major started
to look as exhausted as I was. The woman left at some stage; I was
hardly aware of her going. The soldiers who’d escorted me lounged
around in the corridor outside, glancing into the office
occasionally. In the end I gave up. There seemed nothing I could
say that would convince Harvey we’d acted on our own. I sat there
in grim silence as he tried and tried again to convince me to tell
him everything.

I think he honestly believed his own theory.
But I also think he had something to prove. I wondered if he were
under pressure himself, maybe to prove to the soldiers that he was
loyal to them, and good at his job. I didn’t know, and I didn’t
care a lot. I had enough problems of my own.

The only thing I was grateful for was that it
hadn’t occurred to him that our attack on

Turner Street

was aimed right at him. We’d set out
deliberately to kill him; that was the main point of it. We’d
failed, but in our failure we’d apparently achieved something
dramatic, because right at the end of the session he said to me:
‘And the attack on

Turner Street

, that was another coincidence, I suppose, was
it?’

‘How do you mean?’ I asked tiredly. It was the
first time I’d bothered to respond to anything he’d said for
fifteen minutes.

‘How did you know General S – was there?’

I couldn’t pick up the name he said; it was
not an easy one to pronounce.

‘Who?’

‘You see, that’s yet another reason I know
you’re lying. Or are you going to tell me your little gang had an
intelligence network as well?’

‘What?’

‘Ellie, it took a very sophisticated
intelligence network to know that the General was in Wirrawee that
night. Most of our own soldiers didn’t even know. But you knew. You
and the people who planned that attack. Sooner or later you’re
going to tell me about that too, how you got that information. It’s
very important to us. But the most important thing right now is to
know where the New Zealand soldiers are. We want them Ellie, can
you understand that? And we’re going to get them, whether you’re
alive or not to see it.’

And on that cheerful note I was returned to my
cell.

I had a bit of a reaction in there. I was
totally exhausted; I had no resistance left. I wanted to crawl
under the bed and go into a foetal position. As there was no ‘under
the bed’, all I could do was huddle in a corner. I didn’t cry; but
I shook a hell of a lot. I wanted to pull myself together because I
knew I’d need all the strength I could get but there was no
strength there. So I huddled and shook.

They were still feeding me, which was
surprising, and when they brought tea in, it motivated me a bit. I
didn’t get up or even look at them while they were in the cell, but
after they’d gone I staggered up, went to the desk and forced
myself to eat the meal. I didn’t know when I’d get another one.
Major Harvey obviously wasn’t pleased with me.

Less than an hour later I got taken back to
his office. I felt there’d been a very slight change, though. He
seemed more resigned, less urgent. Gradually, listening to his
threats and insults, I realised what was happening. By then six of
us had been through hours of questioning and all six of us must
have shown such complete amazement at the New Zealand commando
theory that they were starting to doubt it themselves. There was no
suggestion that it was going to make any difference in the long run
but it did mean that the pressure on me was fractionally lighter.
He still ranted and raved but without quite as much confidence. The
stumbling block for him was the idea that we could have done so
much by ourselves. Because he refused to believe that, he had to
look for another explanation and, as they’d caught everyone else in
the Stratton-Wirrawee district, he thought it had to be the
Kiwis.

We struggled on way into the night, hour after
weary hour. At times Major Harvey shouted and screamed, at times he
reasoned with a kind of fake patience, at times he became
emotional. ‘You’re an attractive young girl, Ellie,’ he said, in a
way that made my skin crawl, ‘and the last thing I want is to see
your life ended at such an early age. But you’ve got to tell me the
truth or I can’t help you. I know you’re holding out on me. I know
young people, you see. I’ve had a lot to do with them over the
years, and I know when they’re telling the truth and when they’re
not. I’ve developed a sixth sense about that kind of thing. Now,
Ellie, please, help me, help yourself, help your friends, by
telling me who organised these attacks.’

Thinking that anything was worth a try I
started acting repentant.

‘I know we did the wrong thing, Major Harvey,’
I said, hanging my head. Mr Kassar’s drama lessons in body language
were quite useful sometimes. ‘But we didn’t know what was best. We
didn’t have anyone to tell us, you see.’

He became instantly pompous. It was like
adding boiling water to coffee. For someone who claimed to be an
expert in young people he didn’t seem too smart to me. ‘Yes, but
Ellie,’ he said, ‘when I gave you the chance to learn from me, to
carry out orders in a proper well-organised military environment,
you adopted a sullen and resentful attitude. You can’t dispute
that.’

‘But I didn’t know what I was doing then,’ I
said. I nearly added: It was just a stage I was going through. ‘I
admit, I was disobedient. But I’ve learned better now. I won’t be
like that again, I promise. Just give me a chance and you’ll
see.’

He looked away, and I sensed with a sad stale
sense of despair that there was no hope.

‘It’s not in my hands,’ he said stiffly, and I
knew, with my highly advanced expertise in dealing with adults,
that for once he was telling the truth. ‘Those decisions are made
by others. My job is to persuade you to tell us where the
terrorists are, and I have been instructed that if you do, there
may be some chance for clemency.’

‘I can’t tell you because they don’t exist,’ I
said wearily, and for the hundredth time. Then I lost my
temper.