Headhunters

Chapter Thirty-Five

They were back at the bar at six, just as Walter had instructed. The sun was just appearing over the tops of the low buildings and the streets were quiet. The bar was empty and had yet to be cleaned from the night before. There were empty glasses on the tables and spilt beer on the floor.

Walter was waiting for them.

“Well?” Milton said.

“It’s been arranged. You need to leave now.”

He took them outside and around to the back of the bar. There was a large dusty square of ground that had once, from the look of the charred debris that remained, accommodated another building. A tractor and semi-trailer had been parked in the space. A freight container had been loaded onto the trailer.

“Your ticket out of Australia,” Walter said, indicating the container with a sweep of his hand.

Matilda stopped in her tracks. “You’re kidding.”

“What?” Walter said, confused.

“I’m not getting into that.”

Milton understood her reaction. Her memory of the trip across country in the back of the van had probably not lost any of its edge.

“That’s how you’re getting out of Australia, darling.”

“No. Find another way.”

“How long do we need to be in it?” Milton interceded.

“The container gets loaded, you wait on board, the freighter sails.”

“When?”

“Tonight.”

There were no two ways about it, Milton thought: it was going to be unpleasant. The container would collect and amplify the heat, and Walter wanted them to stay inside it all day. They would cook.

“We don’t have a choice,” he said to Matilda. “We need to leave. This is the safest way.”

She held his eye, sighed, and shook her head. “This is ridiculous. All day, in there?”

“I know. It’s not going to be much fun, but there’s no other way. We can’t stay.”

“We can’t fly?” She spoke with resignation, already knowing the answer to the question.

“They’ll be covering the airports. They might be covering the ports, too. This way, there’s no way they’ll see us. We’ll be invisible.”

“And cooked half to death.”

“There are holes drilled in it,” Walter offered, “for ventilation.”

“Praise be,” Matilda said, turning her back to him. She looked at Milton, shook her head and mouthed, “Fine.”

Milton turned back to Walter. “What happens then?”

“The crew will get you out when you’re at sea. You’ll have a cabin.”

“Where’s the freighter headed?”

“Auckland. Six days.”

“Documents?”

“Here.”

Walter took a large envelope from his pocket. Milton opened it and took out the two passports inside. They looked legitimate, with the simple dark blue covers embossed with the Australian coat of arms. The photo page was microprinted with horizontal lines of text drawn from the lyrics to Waltzing Matilda. Milton’s name was David Anderson. He opened the other passport and flipped through it. Matilda was Miriam Shepherd. They would serve, he thought.

“Need anything else?” Walter asked.

“No. That’s good.”

“There’s food and water in the container. Enough for two days. The captain is reliable. You won’t have any problems.”

“That’s good to know, Walter.”

The man put out his hand. “Money?”

Milton had counted out the fifty thousand earlier, stuffing it into the cloth bag that the hotel left for dirty laundry. After paying Walter, he would have just ten thousand left.

He held out the bag, but as Walter reached for it, he drew it away again. “You know who I work for, Walter.”

“I know.”

He reached and Milton drew it away again.

“You know what will happen if this doesn’t go just like you’ve described it.”

“Take it easy. I got the message, okay? I understand.”

Milton flipped the bag at him. Walter caught it, his eyes lighting up with an avidity that was all Milton needed to know that it would be spent on whatever it was he was injecting into his arms. That knowledge did not make him any more confident. He was trusting their escape to a junkie.

Walter opened the bag and reached inside, pulling out the bundles of notes. Milton thought he was going to count it, but he didn’t; instead, he went around the back of the truck and yanked down on the big handles that sealed the doors. He pulled them back, exposing the inky blackness inside. Milton laid his hands on the sill and vaulted up. He turned and extended a hand to Matilda. She took it and Milton hauled her up after him.

“There’s a flashlight inside,” Walter said.

Milton turned and saw it propped next to eight one-litre bottles of water that were sealed together in a plastic sheath. There were packets of sandwiches and bags of chips next to the bottles. Milton had only just picked up the flashlight when Walter slammed the doors together. The lock clicked into place with an ominous finality.

He heard a muffled shout from outside and then the rumble of the truck’s big engine. The air brakes hissed and the container rocked a little as the truck pulled out.

Milton felt vulnerable now.