In the prison wagon Fidel, whose face registered total confusion, turned to Hylas and shook his head in astonishment. ‘Who the fuck was that woman? Did you know her?’
Hylas’s astonishment was genuine and covered the nanosecond it took him to reply. ‘Never seen the stupid cow before,’ he snapped angrily. ‘I thought you must know her when she called you over. What was it all about?’
‘She’d left her husband and needed money, so tried to sell me that crappy thing she was wearing round her neck.’
‘It looked like junk to me.’
‘Yeah, it was. When I said I didn’t want it she said I could have it for nothing if I’d pretend to be with her, so Protectors wouldn’t pick her up for not being with a man.’
‘She’s too old and ugly to be a prostitute—surely she didn’t think you'd be attracted to her?’
‘Seems like it. Then when I refused she started screaming we were bombers.’
‘Do I look like one?’
‘Not to me. And the Protectors won’t think so either. They're not stupid. They’ll realise she was just a vicious cow. Hey, we’re here—wherever here is. I hope they don’t keep us too long.’
Arnold, Bart and Robert watched in horror as their friends were driven away. A local shopkeeper gave them directions to the nearest Protector Station and Watch house, so they drove to the vicinity, parked, then wandered around in the forlorn hope of seeing or learning something. The woman’s accusations had been loud enough for everyone in the vicinity to hear, so they didn’t want to go in and ask questions in case someone put three and two together and guessed they were the other Brisbane bombers. And it would certainly be noticed if someone remained outside the prison all the time. As they'd be no use if they were also locked up, they determined to keep themselves safe and ready for a phone call. Impotence and ignorance of what was happening to Fidel and Hylas annihilated the precarious feelings of security built so carefully over the years, replacing it with a deep, cold fear that clawed at their guts.
Inside the Watch house, Fidel and Hylas were stripped and searched, personal details taken, and the contents of their knapsacks inspected, noted and replaced. Then, despite no charges being laid, they were thrust into separate, bare concrete cells with no possibility of communication. Fidel’s contained eight other men in a similar state of nervous apprehension and despair. After walking up and down for an hour, he helped himself to water using a metal mug chained to the wall above a small sink with a cold tap, then copied the others, squatting with his back to a wall. It was hard, cold and very uncomfortable.
The afternoon wore away. No one would talk to him because of surveillance cameras that peered into every crevice. A bucket near the entrance grill was full of urine and faeces long before someone came to empty it.
The light faded from the single barred window. Traffic noises decreased. No food arrived. Eventually, numb, cold, painful and terrified, they fell asleep, most hoping they'd never wake.
But they did, scarcely able to move from cramp, cold and hunger.
The odours of lunch had long dissipated before Fidel was taken by an armed Protector to stand in a wood-panelled room before two men in dark suits, sitting behind a large desk. The JECHIS crest decorated the wall behind them. Faint with hunger, cold and shivering, he could scarcely stand.
‘Who is the woman you accosted yesterday?’
‘I’d never seen her before.’
‘What did she want?’
Fidel repeated the spiel he’d prepared on the way to the lock-up with Hylas.
‘What is you relationship with the other man?’
‘We’re friends.’
‘Why are you in Townsville?’
‘We’re travelling north looking for work.’
‘You have plenty of money in your bank account; why work?’
‘I like to keep active and feel useful.’
‘Are you the bomber we are seeking?’
‘I’m not any sort of bomber. I know nothing about bombs. I’d like to be a commercial artist. I like drawing and designing, but there aren't any jobs.’
‘Why didn’t you assist the woman?’
Fidel’s disgust was real and therefore convincing. ‘She was alone in public having left her husband! I thought she was a whore and I was about to report her to the Protectors when she yelled out those lies.’
‘She says she's your mother and that you and the other fellow are brothers.’
‘She isn't and we aren't.’
‘Why would she say that?’
‘Perhaps she hoped you'd believe her so she wouldn’t be punished for being in public without a male relative.’
‘But why say you're the bomber?’
‘Good question. I imagine she wanted to hurt me because I refused to do as she wanted. And that would make her insane—what mother would accuse her son of a crime that attracts capital punishment?’
‘Quite a few, in my experience. Women don’t have much respect for men in general; sons not excepted.’
‘Do you resent being locked up?’ It was the first time the other man had spoken.
Fidel looked surprised at the question. ‘I don’t like it, but I don’t resent it. Protectors have to take the maintenance of public order seriously, otherwise we'll be back where we were and that wouldn't be good. I feel safer now than before.’
The inquisitor’s smile was cynical. ‘A man with no guilty conscience eh?’ He turned to a Protector. ‘Bring in the woman.’
Fidel's mother shuffled in, ankles in irons, wrists cuffed. A loose, grey, hooded garment covered her from top to toe. Her face looked ill, terrified, and as exhausted as Fidel felt. On seeing her son she snarled, ‘What's he here for?’
Ignoring her, the inquisitor looked deep into Fidel’s eyes. ‘Is this woman your mother?’
‘No.’
Turning to the woman. ‘Mrs. Luckliss, do you still insist this young man is your son?’
She took a deep breath and stood proudly upright. ‘Yes.’
‘Do you hate him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then why did you ask him to accompany you?’
‘So your goons wouldn't charge me with being on the street alone.’
‘Why were you?’
‘Like a suddenly punctured balloon, her body seemed to crumble. Tears streamed unheeded. She sniffed them away. ‘Because my husband kicked me out.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he hates me.’
‘Why?’
She stared around the room, cringing like a trapped animal, then literally howled, sending chills down the spines of her audience. ‘Because I'm horrible! Everyone hates me! I want to die!’
‘Do you stand by your accusation that this young man is your son and a bomber?’
She looked at Fidel, slowly shook her head and sank to the floor. ‘No.’ The voice a whisper. ‘No. I'm sorry. I'm sure he's a good man.’
A Protector was instructed to bring in the other young man.
Hylas looked exhausted, but calmly resigned. He bowed slightly to the inquisitor, nodded at Fidel, then stood beside him.
When the mother was again asked if they were her sons and the bombers, she denied both, in a voice from which all life had evaporated.
Mrs. Luckliss, your confession allows me to grant you a merciful sentence. You will die in private this afternoon. Your husband will be informed and you will have time to speak to him beforehand.’
‘Thank you.’ A mere whisper.
‘Take her away and prepare her.’ Turning to the young men the inquisitor relaxed his expression slightly. ‘Do you feel sorry for the woman?’
‘No. She deserves her punishment.’
‘I’m pleased you understand that, and because the basis of our policy is an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, you two, being the victims, will be the executioners.’
Their hearts stopped beating. Alarm apparent on their faces. ‘What about her husband?’
‘He will be present and may choose to assist.’
‘How?’
‘How what?’
‘How will we execute her?’
‘Guillotine. It’s quick and neat. Merely an instant of confusion.’
Fidel and Hylas looked at each other, swallowed, gained strength and nodded seriously. ‘Thank you, sir. It will be an honour.’
‘It will also be satisfying, I hope. Now, you’ve half an hour to shower, retrieve your belongings and have a snack in the mess room.’ He nodded to a Protector. ‘Go with them.’
Accompanied by the silent Protector they felt watched and vulnerable while retrieving their belongings, and decided not to phone Arnold. The less the Protectors knew about them and their friends the better. Also, the call would certainly be monitored. They’d wait till they were well away from the cop shop. After a much needed shower they replaced shorts, T-shirts and sandals, assuaged their anguished stomachs with soggy pizza, chips, a banana and tea in the visitors’ cafeteria, then followed their guardian to a small walled courtyard to the east of the compound.
The guillotine looked practical rather than theatrical. A two-metre stainless steel shelf with a neat gantry straddling the end, and a cowling protruding about forty centimetres beyond that. The victim would lie face down on the shelf with her head sticking out over the end, concealed by the cowling. An electric winch would raise the angled blade between two slotted supports in the gantry, and a ratchet would hold it until released. Then a powerful spring would send the blade forcefully down, ensuring a clean cut. The head would drop, then roll down a sloping metal trough between shiny steel panels that enclosed the structure from the shelf to the ground, their purpose, like the cowling around the head, being to prevent blood spurting over walls and pavers. Two people were required to press the release buttons, which were too far apart for one person to manage, thus ensuring there were always at least two witnesses to an execution. The trough could hold up to ten heads, saving time during mass executions, according to their guide.
Ten minutes after they’d practised raising and releasing the blade, the inquisitor appeared together with four other men in suits, one of whom he introduced as Mr. Lukliss, the husband of the woman about to be decapitated. Two casually dressed men were dismissively referred to as ‘the Press.’
Fidel and Hylas’s hearts thumped in their throats. They knew Mr. Lukliss. He was their mother’s old boss. When introduced, he offered a sweaty hand and profusely nervous apologies for his wife’s behaviour. To their astonished relief it seemed he hadn't recognised them. When offered the chance to be one of the button pushers, he declined, saying the honour should go to the two men whose lives his wife had attempted to destroy by falsely accusing them of dreadful deeds.
Seats were brought, the observers sat, the husband nervously joined them, carefully avoiding looking at the guillotine. Fidel and Hylas moved to their positions and two Protectors arrived supporting the woman between them. Her head drooped and she appeared drugged rather than reluctant. They stopped in front of the two executioners and pulled her head up so they could see her face clearly.
‘Is this the woman who accused you?’ the inquisitor asked. They said it was. He asked her if she wished to say anything, but she shook her head, eyes closed. The Protectors picked her up and placed her face down on the shelf, head hanging over the end, invisible to the audience because of the cowling. Fidel and Hylas pressed the buttons. The blade dropped and their mother’s head fell with a slight thud into the trough below. After three spasms the body lay still and the observers left the scene. Hylas and Fidel remained at the guillotine, unable to look at each other. Not daring to think about what they'd done.
The inquisitor wandered up, stared at the headless corpse, muttered, ‘Not much blood,’ nodded at the two young men and with a bleak smile asked if they fancied a permanent job as executioners. They declined respectfully.
‘Come and I’ll sign you out,’ he said brusquely.
They followed him through several corridors to an office where Mr. Lukliss was signing documents. After countersigning their release papers, which included a statement ensuring whoever was interested that they had been very well treated while in custody, the inquisitor indicated the way to the exit, then turned on his heel and disappeared.
Certain it was a trick and they’d be grabbed as soon as they left the building and be brought back to have their own heads removed, they walked on trembling legs to the exit, down the steps to the pavement where Mr. Lukliss was waiting.
‘Can I give you young men a lift?’ he asked with a nervous intensity that invited acceptance.
Relieved at not having to trust their wobbly legs to take them away, they nodded. Fidel got in front and Hylas behind, ready to strangle the driver if he turned dangerous.
Lukliss touched his lips lightly to warn against speaking, then said he’d drop them in the centre of town. They thanked him, curiosity mounting. After a few blocks he pulled over beside a small park.
‘I’ll just pop over the road to buy a newspaper. Won’t be a tick.’ He got out and signed them to silently follow. They retreated a few metres into the park where he pretended to show them some diseased leaves on a sick looking plant. ‘That was brave,’ he said softly. ‘You did your mother a favour but you were too plausible. Too obliging. Not frightened enough…I don’t know. Anyway, the inquisitor’s certain you’re the bombers. I overheard him talking to one of the observers. He’s bugged your phones, noted your contacts, and probably put tracking devices in your knapsack, on your clothes…’ he shrugged, ‘so you'll lead him to your mates. You can get new phones around that corner.’ He drew their father’s amulet from his top pocket. ‘I spoke to your mother. She wanted you to have this, Fidel. Take care, and good luck.’ He returned to his car and drove away without further acknowledgement.
Before terror took all their strength, they removed all important documents from their knapsacks and hung them in a small zippered bag around their necks for security, leaving the phones minus sim cards in the knapsack and were about to dump them in a bin when they realised it would seem strange if someone was monitoring the tracking devices, for them to remain in the park for so long. So they shouldered them and raced to the electronics shop, catching the owner just as he was closing the door.
Fifteen minutes later they were squatting behind a hedge in front of an apparently empty house on a quiet street in deepening dusk; knapsacks and clothes in a heap behind them.
Arnold answered at the first ring.
After what seemed an age, but was quite a bit less, Arnold pulled up in front of the house for a brief minute to check a map with the aid of a torch, then drove away, apparently unaware of two naked young men on the floor behind his seat. An hour and a half after that, he turned west into an unsealed side road, and ten minutes later parked beside a similar all-terrain vehicle concealed among trees near an abandoned quarry in a narrow valley, seventy-two kilometres north of the city.