Castaway (12 page)

Charles and Uncle Mungo drove everyone into town the next morning, except for Old Jock, who stayed home to ‘hold the fort’, as he put it. They all had to be interviewed by the police and give statements about what had happened. It took most of the day, and by late afternoon, Sam, George, Kalila, Tess and Darcy were slumped, exhausted, in the living room at the Munros’. Uncle Mungo and Jaz were out in the kitchen talking to Aunty Lou, whose shrieks and exclamations could be heard from time to time. Every so often she would
rush into the living room, a jingling, multicoloured blur, hug one of them fiercely, sniff loudly and disappear back to the kitchen.

The doorbell chimed, and Tess wearily hauled herself out of her chair to answer it. She returned a few moments later with Spiros O’Reilly, QC, who smiled at them all.

‘Well, you guys really know how to get some publicity, don’t you? Didn’t realise I was dealing with such professionals! Wasn’t the press conference exciting enough for you?’ He sat down on the couch beside Darcy, but caught sight of Horrible draped around his neck and quickly moved to another chair.

‘It’s still a big news issue, and the phones haven’t stopped ringing yet. “Children in detention” has been the hottest topic on talkback radio for days, and the letters to the editor in the papers are the same. I’m pretty sure we’ll hear something good soon.’ He paused, and looked at them all, sprawled on the furniture and the floor. ‘You guys must be pretty tired, hey? Well, I’ve got some incredible news for you, especially for young Kalila here,’ he said, nodding at her. ‘I think I’ve found her father!’

Kalila caught the word ‘father’, and began speaking earnestly in Persian, and then in broken English. Tess darted out to the kitchen and came back with Jaz in
tow. Jaz sat down beside Kalila, and slowly translated everything that Spiros had to say. Aunty Lou, Uncle Mungo and Charles crowded in at the door.

‘While you were all being interviewed today, I had a phone call from a Mrs Reza Dhazi. Mrs Dhazi is a cleaner at the hospital. She happened to be working in one of the wards this morning and there was a patient in there, under guard. Mrs Dhazi said she was singing a Persian song under her breath while she mopped the floor, and the patient heard her. He spoke to her in Persian. He said that he had seen the news on the hospital tv, and that he recognised his daughter, whom he thought had drowned. He told her not to go to the embassy, but to get in touch with the lawyer, or with the children who had saved his daughter. She phoned the tv station and found out my name. I spoke to the Immigration people straight away, and they let me go and talk to him. Until now, he’s refused to give his name to Immigration, so they had no idea who he was. Here,’ he said, fishing a photograph out of his briefcase and handing it to Kalila. ‘Is that your father?’

The response from Kalila was dramatic. Her eyes opened wide and she clutched the photo, a torrent of questions pouring out of her as fast as the tears.

‘Well I don’t think it’s the postman,’ said George. ‘And there she goes again,
more
waterworks!’

The next day Spiros and Jaz took Kalila out to the hospital for a tearful reunion with her father. He developed pneumonia after the sea voyage and had been admitted to the hospital, giving him the chance to catch sight of his daughter on the evening news. He would have to stay in hospital for a few more days, but clearly the knowledge that his daughter was safe was the best kind of medicine he could have been given.

While they were still at the hospital, Charles called by the Munros’ house and found the others sitting down to lunch in Aunty Lou’s kitchen. Aunty Lou herself had gone to work for the day. George poured Charles a cup of tea, and Darcy set a place for him at the table.

‘So what happens to this Mahsoud character, eh?’ said Uncle Mungo, putting down his mug. ‘I s’pose he just yells “diplomatic immunity” and gets sent home first class to Kabul, does he?’

Charles finished making himself a sandwich, took a bite, chewed thoughtfully for a few seconds and said, ‘Not if we can help it. Hamid Mahsoud is of particular interest to my colleagues in the Federal Police. I’ve spent a large part of yesterday and this morning with them, interviewing Mr Mahsoud, and Hasheem Tariq, Kalila’s father. It appears that Hasheem Tariq
was an officer in the Afghanistan version of the drug squad. He uncovered a network of corrupt government officials, some very high up, I might add, all involved in the illegal drug trade. Before he could do much about it, attempts were made on his life. His wife and son were killed in a car bomb attack meant for him, so he decided to make a run for it while he still could, and took Kalila out of the country. Mahsoud, who works for the biggest illegal drug operation in Afghanistan, was sent after them. He tracked them to Indonesia, tried to kill them at sea, and then followed up at this end in case they had made it here.’

He took another bite of his sandwich, inspected it closely and said, ‘What’s this?’

Tess sighed. ‘It’s Mum’s “vegetarian surprise” loaf.’

‘Yeah, it’s a surprise you can eat it,’ said Darcy.

Charles had another look, took another bite, and went on: ‘Tariq had a list which named all the officials in this network. Mahsoud’s job was to get the list, so that the drug cartel would know which people were exposed to the drug squad. Then they could replace them with other people and keep the illegal traffic flowing without interruption. Mahsoud was sure that even if Tariq had drowned, his daughter might have a copy of the list. He was certain that Kalila would have been given a copy in case anything happened to her father.’

‘Was she?’ asked Sam. ‘I mean, we never saw anything – she didn’t have anything with her when we found her.’

‘Well, she did, as a matter of fact,’ said Charles. ‘Remember the atlas you and George found washed up on the beach? Her father had copied the names into various parts of the atlas.’

‘No wonder she never let it out of her sight!’ said George.

‘So what happens now?’ asked Tess.

‘Well, Mahsoud has broken enough laws to keep him locked up for quite some time. We don’t let anyone, including foreign diplomatic staff, wave guns at people. And Interpol would like to speak to him about a few other matters, not to mention the Afghanistan police when he eventually gets home again. Don’t worry,’ he said to Uncle Mungo. ‘He won’t be flying first class anymore.’

Spiros, Jaz and Kalila returned from the hospital in time for some lunch, Kalila beaming from ear to ear. She went up to Sam and gave him a quick, shy hug, which made Sam blush a very deep shade of red. She looked at Jaz, and Jaz said, ‘Kalila wants to say thank you, Sam. She understands what you’ve been trying to do, and she’s very grateful.’

‘She’s not the only person, either,’ said Spiros, and he switched on the tv in the living room. ‘There should be
something interesting on the midday news right about now.’

Everyone found a place to sit as the tv newsreader turned to her next topic: ‘… and it seems that pressure from the general public over this issue has really hit a nerve. The government is now moving to take all women and children out of detention centres, and house them in the general community. It will allow the children to go to school, and to lead relatively normal lives while their parents’ identities and claims are examined.’

‘So we won?’ said Sam faintly. ‘We made the government change its mind?’

‘You sure did. And you did it, Sam, with the help of George, Tess and Darcy of course. In spite of all the adults telling you what was supposed to happen, how the system worked, and to let them handle things, you spoke up about something you believed was wrong, and you made people listen. That’s pretty terrific stuff, Sam. Kalila was a lucky kid when she washed up on your beach.’

Sam blushed an even deeper shade of red than he had before.

Sam and George were packed up and ready to go back out to the station a couple of days later. Kalila and her
father had been moved into a hotel in Darwin while he recuperated, and the refugee support people were already helping them with their future plans. Jaz had offered to stay behind for a week and look after Kalila while her father recovered. She would stay with the Munros and visit the Tariq family each day at their hotel.

It was time to go home, to try and get some normality back into life, Sam thought. He and George had spoken to their parents every day while they were in town, and Mac was getting stronger all the time. Sarah had wanted to fly straight up to them when she heard about Mahsoud and Abdul at the station, but the two boys insisted she stay and look after Mac.

‘We’re fine, Mum,’ Sam had said. ‘We really are. No one’s hurt or anything, and we’ve got heaps of people looking after us. You stay there and hurry Dad up. He’ll get better faster with you there.’ But he felt a little sad and lonely at the thought of arriving home to a house with no parents in it.

Just as Tess and Darcy were helping to load their bags into the Land Cruiser to start the journey back with Uncle Mungo, a car pulled up at the Munros’ front gate. Charles unfolded his lanky frame from the driver’s seat, and ambled towards them in his dark blue Customs uniform.

‘Hello, everyone. Looks like I’m just in time. Leaving already?’

‘Yeah,’ said Uncle Mungo. ‘Time to get home and back to normal, I reckon. Besides, we can’t leave poor ol’ Jock out there on his lonesome forever. I think we’ve had enough of town fer a while too, just quietly.’

‘Well, there might be a change of plan for two young gentlemen.’ Charles pulled an envelope out of his pocket, and handed it to Sam.

‘The Afghanistan ambassador heard about your father’s accident, and he thought maybe you could use these.’

Sam opened the envelope and pulled out two plane tickets to Adelaide.

Uncle Mungo looked over his shoulder, whistled admiringly and said, ‘Well, someone gets to fly first class after all, eh?’

Many thanks to Anthony Parker for his personal opinion on practical information about border enforcement agency operations. Any errors or judgements about Customs or Immigration policies are solely the author’s.

Warmest appreciation to Linsay Knight, Roberta Ivers and Sarah Hazelton at Random House, to editor Jo Jarrah, and to my agent Selwa Anthony.

And as always, love and thanks to my wonderful husband Lex for his unflagging support and enthusiasm.

Here’s how it starts:

The child was running for his life. His feet were a blur over the uneven ground as he dodged and weaved his way through the tangled scrub. Although branches snatched at his skin and tore at his hair, he was oblivious to everything but the terror that drove him on.

His right arm dangled limply by his side, blood dripping from an ugly gash that ran from his elbow to his wrist. He tripped, sprawling full length among the roots of a big tree, and lay there momentarily stunned and gasping for breath. Then, with a strangled sob, he scrambled to his feet, and began to run as he had never run before.