The Worm King (36 page)

Nathan ushered them into the cafe and
Francesco immediately got off on the right foot by apologizing for taking the 4WD
that long. Both wore loose-fitting charcoal suits over white shirts, Scottish woollen
waistcoats and tan leather shoes. They sat politely at one end of the big table
while Nathan’s wife made tea, which she now had courtesy of the bus although preparing
it over the pot-belly in the kitchen was still an operation in itself. She had
to remain with the stove virtually all the time because if there was a fire,
they’d have no way of dousing it.

The old man with the beard, straggly hair
and grubby overcoat was asleep at the far end of the table, face resting flat
on the wood. Strangely, Montabelli knew him, saying solemnly, ‘Lord Brown, good
afternoon,’ at which the old boy woke, grunted hello and called out some numbers
that didn’t make sense, then went straight back to sleep.

Forsyth sat next to Wiremu, his daughter and
Astrid, facing the road. Sgt Kevin, his son, Jerry and Ken took the other side,
with their backs to the window. The rest of the bus crowd were asleep in the
boatshed except for Azziz, the dwarf and the man in the slouch hat who’d all
passed out on the floor of Nathan’s lounge in various states of inebriation and
gluttony.

Montabelli got down to business. ‘Captain,
we must apologize again that the Mayor could not make it. His wife is very ill
and not expected to last any more than . . . well, you
understand, I’m sure. However we have spoken of your situation at length, and
the Mayor has instructed me to ask you for assistance, if you possibly could.’ He
paused waiting for Forsyth to reply, but he didn’t, so Montabelli continued. ‘We
cannot make contact with, well, virtually nobody in Canberra who is in position
to help us. When we first send people, they do not return except for one man, but
perhaps this was for some other reason.’ He waved his pudgy hand at the window
and the darkness beyond. ‘There is much going on out there, so who knows?

‘Then we think, we go right to the top and
speak to the Prime Minister. She is still at the Hyatt Hotel, the man who come
back tell us, even though he was not able to meet her.’

‘The twins are there too!’ said Astrid. ‘We
have to get
them
back.’

‘Of course, of course,’ soothed Montabelli. ‘We
can do this!’ Forsyth smelt a deal on the horizon and those alarm bells started
dinging again.

Francesco took up the line. ‘This is what
happen. We send three men to see what can be done and two of them speak with a
minister at the Hyatt, we believe, but they no come back.’ He shrugged. ‘So
then I go to the same place, with Astrid and my other little friend who is . . . ’
He looked around quizzically.

Astrid pointed out back and shook her head.

Francesco smiled, then tapped the table with
his finger and the smile vanished. ‘So I go to Hyatt, to help see these twins
are alright, and to speak to this Snow, and we nearly all no come back either. There
is link, perhaps. Snow, he take twins in the first place, we know this for
sure, so he is link.

‘This is what we do now. I go back to Hyatt
and I will ask for the girls again. This time, with me will be ten others.’

Montabelli cut in. ‘We could spare maybe
fifteen men, but that’s a logistical issue for the Captain . . . ’
he trailed off, giving Forsyth a questioning stare. Clever strategy, getting his
buy-in with the mechanics so he was committed before agreeing to squat. However
Montabelli was right: fifteen men, armed (and sober) who knew what they were
doing could probably waltz right through that place. It wouldn’t be pretty
though. He gave a non-committal shrug.

Francesco continued. ‘Listen, this man Snow when
we ask him, he has only three option. He can give us the twins and say all was
mistake, but this he will not do because he could have done before and he did
not. So why would he now? The second option is he say no, you can go to blazes.
This we think he will not do either, because he will know that we have the men
there and it will be bad for everyone, which mean bad for him too. Last option
is he say, “Yes, I give you twin, but you give me something.” He will want to
trade. This is what we think he will do.’

‘And if he does accept this,’ said
Montabelli eagerly, ‘it confirms he is . . . problem, and
we can arrest him!
You
can arrest him, can you not Captain?’

Possibly. Forsyth liked the simplicity of
it, and the potential for zero bloodshed. He also liked his own general lack of
involvement until the end, when hopefully the case of guilt was essentially proven.
What he didn’t like was it smelt dirty, and dirty plans have a way of coming
apart at their dirty, rotten seams. It was a box. They were pinning him in a
corner then blasting him as soon as he reached up for the carrot. Forsyth remembered
the way Snow had laughed with that maniac friend of his while watching rats
burn alive at the hotel, and all he could think was:

That man won’t go down easy.

‘What have you got, to get him away from the
hotel and arrest him without any trouble?

‘We’ve got a tanker that’s half-full of petrol,’
replied Francesco. ‘Nearly five thousand liters, at a truck depot. Then if he
wants to send someone first and check, it’ll actually be there and all look legit
and above board. When Snow comes to take it, we arrest him.’

‘Where’s the depot?’

‘It’s in Yass.’

Jerry agreed to ferry Francesco and his “assistants”
to Canberra in exchange for half the petrol in the tanker at Yass. Montabelli would
then swap the petrol for diesel from the council reserves, liter for liter, so
Jerry could use in his bus. The council wanted the petrol more, and Jerry
wanted the diesel more, so it was a beneficial arrangement. After this, Jerry intended
to have a quick drive past his sisters in Katoomba then he’d cart everyone back
to Griffith. Personally, it sounded like he just enjoyed driving around. Forsyth’s
job was to deliver Snow to Duntroon to face the medicine, but he suspected in
all probability, it’d be him getting the dose not Snow.

Straight after Montabelli left, they got to
work covering the windows. The Māori teenager Āmiria said she wanted
to join the army when she finished school and asked to help. Her friend Tim
also volunteered although didn’t seem as keen. He muttered something about
“grenades and shit,” and she punched him a beauty on the arm.

It took three hours using corrugated iron
off the chook house and there wasn’t enough to do the cafe windows, but they
decided to leave these uncovered anyway, in order to keep an eye on the road.

‘Shouldn’t we turn the lantern off then?’
said Nathan. They were having their scheduled afternoon tea break. Seven sat
around the cafe table: Wiremu and his daughter, Nathan, Winston, Tim, Lord
Brown and Forsyth.

‘Can you leave it on till I’ve finished
this?’ The dwarf held a broomstick and was using a breadknife from the kitchen
to carve a sharp end on it.

‘Hey Winston,’ said Āmiria, ‘if you put
the end in the fire from the lantern for a few seconds and char it, it’ll
harden the tip considerably.’ Her father nodded approvingly and Forsyth
wondered what sort of school she went to. Earlier, the man in the hat said she
was a General in the Girl Guides. The dwarf did as instructed, then used the
edge of the table to scuff the burnt surface away and hone the tip. Nathan
frowned at the punishment his table was taking.

‘Thanks sweetheart.’ He stood and waved the
stick with a menacing swish in the direction of the cash register. He’s a tough
little sod, but likable, thought Forsyth, resolving to make an effort in future
to also call him Winston instead of just “the dwarf”.

‘Will it work?’ Āmiria asked her
father. ‘The plan to get them back? I don’t see why anyone would want some petrol
so much.’

‘Me neither girl. What do you think Browny?’

Lord Brown pondered. ‘Remember what we
talked about in Tamworth? About everyone being a chemical soup? The two most
precious things to that soup at this exact point in time, are water and fuel. Fuel
for transport and fuel for light. I think Mr Snow might have plenty of water
where he is, but fuel, that’ll be more tempting. It’ll work alright. The
question is, how will he react to the bait?’ He turned to Forsyth. ‘Do
you
trust him?’

‘No.’

Wiremu persisted. ‘Then should we even trust
these blokes here, on the council? Why would they be any better than the ones
in Tamworth, or even Dubbo.’

‘No reason at all but it’s as good a guess
as any. They have a long-standing Italian community here with a well developed
Mafia-based social structure already entrenched. It’s perfect for the current
climate: a family-orientated, multi-layered, agrarian dictatorship. I’ve always
liked their general philosophy and it does have an underlying tenet of honesty,
so yes, I do trust them,’ said Lord Brown. ‘And on top of that, they dress well
and enjoy a drink.’

Dick watched Francesco from the veranda of
the Hyatt. He’d been watching for more than fifteen minutes with his head not
far up above the edge of the railing, even though there were no lights on the
veranda and the foyer lights had been switched off. He could see two of the
guards from the gate waiting next to Francesco, while the third guard stood
directly behind Dick on the veranda, in full view should some sniper have a
nightscope but he didn’t care in the slightest about that. It was this guard
who’d delivered the message, that Francesco wanted to speak with him urgently. There
were eight men, perhaps nine, standing by the bus which was parked twenty meters
behind the gate. All the men appeared to be armed. He couldn’t see Forsyth
amongst them, although he may of course still be on the bus.

‘You think they’re shotguns?’

‘Yes Sir. I’m fairly sure they are.’ Dick was
fairly sure the man would’ve hardly glanced at the weapons, rather scuttled
back here as fast as his ratty little legs would carry him.

It occurred to Dick that if they’d wanted to
charge in, they would’ve done so without asking for any chit-chat. He could
smell weakness a mile off. They must have something to offer. He decided to
take the small risk and invite Francesco to come and speak with him on the veranda.

The conversation unfolded entirely as
expected, and Francesco did indeed have something to offer: a substantial
amount of petrol. To be honest, Dick didn’t give the blustering fool a chance, going
in hard throwing a curveball by saying the girls weren’t even here, when in fact
they were still in Room 237. Then he said Astrid had “broken faith” by running
away, and he needed some “token” they were now genuine. The petrol would be
fine, thank you. After this it didn’t take long to iron out the details. Dick also
happened to mention Captain Forsyth had killed his chauffer and it was obvious
Francesco hadn’t known. Dick enjoyed that. Then Francesco left.

Back inside at the reception counter, he
asked the concierge for a sheet of hotel stationary, drew his pen and wrote a
note to Brigadier Hensley at Duntroon, inviting him to dinner. He gave the note
to the ratty-legged guard still waiting on the veranda, telling him to deliver
it immediately then return and confirm when this task had been completed. Now he
had reading to do, so returned to his suite.

Dick had only cast a cursory glance over the
weather diary when Bob first gave it to him, but now went through it carefully,
slowly, from cover to cover. Especially the parts where that filthy wog had
told the twins not to trust
him,
after they’d found the hole in the
wall. He clenched and unclenched his fists trying to work out the tension but
it did little. He decided to go outside.

The men were moping around, giving the place
a thoroughly grim atmosphere. He didn’t know why they were so down in the
dumps? They had it all here! Why, just yesterday, an elderly gent and his wife tried
to sneak in through the fence and steal food, and the guards caught them, so
for a show Dick organized Bob to do a live strangling in the ballroom, but that
hadn’t bucked them up at all.

What do you have to do!!

Hensley looked distinctly nervous. Beads of
moisture glistened on his puckered brow, always a dead giveaway. Dick lifted
the bottle of Margaret River Pinot Noir and refilled the Brigadier’s glass. He’d
arrived with a new adjutant who on this occasion had been made to wait in the
car.

‘ . . . Anyway, therein
lies the problem,’ droned Dick, placing the bottle down gently so as not to disturb
the sediment. ‘If we can get this repeater station up, we’ll have a chance of
getting a large chunk of the whole network back on.’ The Brigadier slurped greedily,
understanding none of that technical mumbo-jumbo, but worried nevertheless. ‘I
have to go there personally, tomorrow, and bring back a truck with fuel and
some of the more sensitive station equipment, which a group in Yass appear to
be unlawfully holding. They said they’d just give it to us but I’m expecting
trouble, and I’ll have a contingent of the cabinet personal security team there
with me. The thing is, we’ve heard your fellow Forsyth may be in with them, so
I feel this is a slightly sensitive issue, if you know what I mean? The
Brigadier froze. ‘I wondered if it’d be possible to have any extra resources
from your end, which may be able to help out?’ He re-topped their glasses.