Jana didn't even have a passport anymore. Her legal re-entry into Australia had been facilitated
by her contact in the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade, Mick Fleming. That he had done the
same for all the Aussie delegates only proved that sometimes the wheels of government, and DFAT in
particular, worked for its citizens stranded on foreign soil. Mick had even promised to fast-track a
new passport so she could leave the country again on Saturday as planned.
The Dock 5 building manager had met her in the foyer with her mail, and a new door key - the
original was buried in the sands of Laui along with her passport. She let herself into the corner
apartment with more relief than she'd ever felt about coming home.
Home? Now that was a strange notion. Jana had spent a grand total of maybe nine weeks here in the
15 months since she'd inherited the place from her father. Still, right now, all she wanted to do
was shut herself in, surrounded by familiar things, and sleep and read for a week.
Oh yeah, dream on. She had to be in Thailand in two days.
As much as Jana would rather be travelling than not, there was a part of her gypsy soul that did
like the occasional breather between trips. It was the only time she got to lie around and do
nothing. She dumped her bag on the kitchen bench, smiling at the irony of that simple desire:
technically she'd been doing nothing at all on Laui for the last nine days. Choosing to hide away
with a few good books and movies was, however, a far cry from being held hostage in idleness on a
small island in a tiny
bure
surrounded by itchy-triggermen and the Pacific Ocean.
With only 36 hours to get her act together, there was no time at all for lolling around. She
fired up the espresso machine, turned on the desktop computer in her office to check her emails, and
threw back the lounge room curtains. The city skyline took her breath away, as it did every time she
came home to it. The north windows overlooked a plummeting panorama of Victoria Harbour and the
Docklands precinct, while the sliding glass doors to her outdoor deck on the west side, took in the
Bolte Bridge, the Yarra River and Moonee Ponds Creek. The north-west cityscape spread out below her
and far away like a living Persian carpet of woven brick, steel and concrete.
A tantalising aroma drew her back to kitchen where her coffee had espressed itself into a large
cup. Detouring by her computer was a mistake. She backed away from a scary 634 lurking emails and
took the small pile of snail mail, and her coffee out to her balcony table instead.
Oh, how nice.
The first envelope contained her official end-of-contract notification
letter from the Economic and Tourism Council.
'Bloody charming,' she said aloud. 'Posted while I was a hostage in the middle of the bloody
Pacific Ocean!'
Returning to the kitchen for more coffee, she unfolded
The Age
while she waited. The usual
insanity of Middle East car bombs and suicide bombers, US school shootings, and home-grown domestic
murder, mayhem and political stoushes, was relegated to mentions in the 'what's inside'. The front
page was all pictorial coverage of yesterday's terrorist attacks in Texas; and a photo of the
mangled train in Europe. Jana couldn't believe that the 'Laui hostage crisis' had already been
overtaken by not one but three tragedies far worse than the nightmare she and her colleagues had
been through.
What the hell is wrong with the world?
So far the death toll for the Luxembourg train was 166, with upwards of 90 injured. Seventy-five
people had been killed and more than 125 wounded in the bomb blast in Dallas; and seven soldiers and
two civilians had died in the terrorist attack on the Fort Hood military base in the US. Add the
seven rebels and three US Marines killed on Laui Island to the week's tally and one might be
forgiven for thinking that something strange was going on in the world.
Well, stranger than usual.
Jana headed back to her balcony.
Or in stranger than usual
places.
The last three items of mail were from
This Week, The World
; the Helix Foundation; and
Barnum & Murch Inc. The first one Jana knew, the second she'd most certainly heard of, and the
third was a mystery. She started with the unknown.
Barnum & Murch, it seemed, were executive headhunters. Someone had let it be known that Dr
Jana Rossi might be looking for gainful employment because B & M Inc allegedly had a client
interested in talking to her.
'When?' Jana asked, as there was oddly no date on the letterhead. She couldn't read the postmark
on the envelope either. Next she opened the missive from
TW,TW
so she could laugh at what
they might have to offer in terms of a job package.
Damn. That, as they say, would've been a nice little earner
.
It was such a pity she'd now rather kill Alan Wagner than work with him.
The Helix Foundation, Jana knew, was one of the country's largest philanthropic organisations. It
had been founded by Ruth Jardine partly on the fortune she'd inherited from her father, the cosmetic
and pharmaceutical billionaire Franklin Jardine. After marrying the also-wealthy Jacob Rankin, of
Rankin Aeronautics, Ms Jardine and her consort had diversified into so many fields that Rankin
Jardine Inc. was almost its own economy. The company owned real estate, engineering and construction
firms, medical research facilities, private hospitals, and an electrical superstore chain. The
country airline, AusAir, had been one of Jacob's legacies, before his untimely death in the
Philippines a decade ago. He bequeathed 50 per cent of its continuing profits to the 45 employees
who'd built the service with him.
The Helix Foundation had been Ruth Jardine's official memorial to her husband. They had always
given generously to the arts in Australia, and a multitude of charities at home and abroad. But
Helix was specifically established to generate its own income by investing in a network of national
and overseas projects that then shared the wealth. Within five years the recyclable fortune of Helix
was also in the billions.
Jana couldn't grasp money with any more than three zeroes, but she figured if a company's seed
money was several million to begin with, then making it grow was just a matter of watering it.
Every Australian knew about Ruth Jardine and Helix, and Jana often saw evidence of the
Foundation's incredible work in many of the places she visited with her job, ex-job. Helix had
donated, funded, or invested in irrigation projects in East Africa, small business programs in China
and South-East Asia, and women's farming and retail collectives in India, Thailand and Vietnam.
And now, it seemed, Helix wanted to invest in her. The letter was supposedly written by Ms
Jardine herself. Having heard that Dr Rossi was leaving the AET Council, she was offering an
interview for a possible position with her Foundation. The interview was to be with Ms Jardine
herself in Sydney before -
oh bugger, yesterday
- she left for a business retreat
elsewhere
Jana stood, stretched and leant on the balcony. The Helix Foundation was based in Sydney. Jana
had absolutely no desire to live there. She certainly wouldn't give up this view for anything. She
wondered whether there was a possibility that the job - if it was even still going - might not mean
a move anywhere.
On the off-chance that being held hostage on a Pacific Island for over a week and only narrowly
escaping with her life, might be a good enough reason for not getting back to Ms Jardine any sooner,
she decided to call the number on the letter.
Patong Beach, Phuket, Thailand
Thursday 12 noon
Kaisha had the door of the blue taxi open before it came to a stop on the seafront
Thaweewong Road. Scott clambered out more slowly and handed 500
baht
to the lunatic who'd
given them a 45-minute dodgem ride from Phuket International Airport.
The Kaji restaurant advertising 'a Japanese experience' was right in front of them; behind them
was beautiful Patong Beach, long since recovered from the devastation of the Boxing Day tsunami.
This was the third of Hiroshi Kaga's four restaurants they had visited since arriving in Thailand
the morning before. Unlike yesterday however, when she had burst into the Bangkok establishment,
Kaisha was now loitering nervously on the pavement.
'What? You're not going to rush in there like a…'
'Don't you call me a fool,' Kaisha glared at him. 'I only do stupid things once.'
'That's a very good rule to live by,' Scott said. 'Shall we?'
He pushed open the door to a truly elegant slice of Japan, albeit identical to the two slices
they'd visited in Bangkok. If they didn't find Hiro's brother here, they'd have to head north again
to catch him at his 'number one' restaurant. Why the man didn't carry a cell phone was a mystery.
His Bangkok restaurant manager had said he was paying surprise visits to his other businesses, so
couldn't be contacted through them.
In Hiroshi's Patong Beach Kaji, four of the tables were occupied by 13 westerners in various
degrees of dress, from girls and guys in T-shirts and sarongs, to a man wearing plaid shorts, knee
socks and sandals.
Two Thai waiters hovered with intent while a Japanese man sat at the back watching.
'That's him. That's Hiro's brother,' Kaisha said making her way to the rear.
'Are you sure this time? Because that guy you threw yourself at yesterday is probably still in
traction.'
'Oh ha, Mr Scott Dreher, very funny.'
Hiroyuki Kaga's brother stood to greet them. He was smiling at Kaisha as if he knew her.
Obviously, he had received a warning call from Bangkok.
'Hiroshi?' Kaisha said.
'Hai,' the man bowed.
Scott watched as the late Hiro Kaga's brother, in a most un-Japanese manner, held out his arms to
a completely strange woman - in every sense of the word - and hugged her warmly. When he stepped
back he had tears in his eyes. They spoke for several moments in Japanese before Hiroshi motioned
them both to sit down with him, whereon Kaisha decided it was time to introduce Scott.
'Kaisha tells me that my brother asked you to bring her to me, Mr Dreher. I thank you.'
'Please, call me Scott. To be precise, Kaisha had a very strange message to pass to me from your
brother, part of which was to bring her to you,' Scott said. 'It was my honour.'
'I heard of my brother's tragedy on the CNN.'
Scott frowned. 'His wife, or your family didn't inform you?'
'Ah. No. Sadly I am
kazoku ni tsuiho sareta hito
- outcast from all my kin, except Hiro.
We are twins, were twins, identical.'
Scott raised an eyebrow at Kaisha then gestured questioningly at their tall, slender and handsome
host. 'Jetlag was it?'
'What?'
'That made you leap on that poor little guy yesterday.'
Kaisha tipped her head towards Hiroshi. 'Scott thinks
he's a comedian, always making jokes in the tense and
difficult moments.'
Hiroshi said something to her, again in Japanese, and then returned to English. 'My brother, I
think not, would commit
sepuku
.'
'And not according to Kaisha either,' Scott said.
Hiroshi called his waiter, ordered some '
sake, tempura, sashimi, temaki
and
yakitori
,' and then turned back to his guests. 'Please tell me what happened - in English
Kaisha, so we can all understand.'
Understanding is not what we'll get out of this
. Scott leant back in his chair as Kaisha
began.
A mini feast was brought to the table while Kaisha gave her account. Scott enjoyed the fresh raw
tuna and squid, but the seaweed wrapping of the
temaki
made the rice taste like a beach.
Twenty minutes later, after Scott explained why he'd been in Tokyo, Hiroshi sat back and shook his
head.
'None of this makes sense,' he said.
'My thoughts exactly,' Scott agreed.
'This message Hiro gave you for Scott, what was it Kaisha?'
Kaisha closed her eyes and repeated what her lover had told her a lifetime ago in Tokyo. 'The
game has been altered. Check source. Take Kaisha to Hiroshi. Convince Harry Carter, dead stalks, he
will explain everything. Make Scott understand the danger, and also the deception in their next
actions.'
Kaisha swallowed. 'And then he said, "it has started". But I don't know if that part
was for Scott or not, because he soon died in my arms.'
Hiroshi's reaction was unreadable. The understandably awkward silence was finally broken by
Scott, who said, 'I believe he was saying
arigato
, not 'Harry Carter'. Kaisha thinks he was
talking about deceased birds, but beyond that we're clueless.'
Hiroshi Kaga's expression then became odd indeed until Scott realised that, despite the tense and
difficult moment, the man was trying not to laugh.
'Not Harry Carter - or
arigato
,' he managed to say. 'Ari Carver.' Scott looked around his
memory then shook his head. 'Don't know him either.'
'But I do,' Hiroshi smiled. 'He's my business partner and my ah…' He waved his hands before
looking to Kaisha for the best translation, 'My
aijin
.'
'Really?' was all Kaisha said for a moment, then shook her own head, as if to clear it, and said
cheerily, 'Hiroshi and this Ari Carver are poofters.'
That made Hiroshi laugh even more; although Scott doubted it was the translation the man had been
expecting.
'
Aijin
- it means lover,' Kaisha explained.
'Ari is my boyfriend and partner,' Hiroshi said. 'Explains the family exile - yes?'
'I guess so,' Scott replied.
'So please, please tell me about the dead storks,' Kaisha said, which set Hiroshi off again.
Finally he said, 'My Ari is many things. This last nine years he is an economist. Before he was,
like my brother, a computer programmer and game designer. He was with Hiro at Firebolt in the
beginning years. Now he advises big companies about…' Hiroshi waved his hand around again,
'economics. He is in Kuala Lumpur giving a speech - a talk - at the Asian Debt Conference.'