Authors: Jo Nesbo
“At this minute we’re in touch with three blokes from the phone company following Toowoomba’s signals. We can connect them to an open line here in the conference room. For the moment we’re receiving simultaneous signals from only two stations and the overlapping area covers the whole of the city, the harbor and half of Woolloomooloo. The good news is that he’s on the move.”
“And what we need is a spot of luck,” Harry chimed in.
“We hope he moves into one of the small pockets covered by three base stations or more. If so, we can launch all the civilian cars we have at a moment’s warning and have a crumb of hope that we might find him.”
Watkins didn’t look convinced. “So he’s spoken to someone now, and he also called an hour and a half ago, and both times the signals were picked up by base stations in Sydney?” he said. “And we’re dependent on him continuing to chat on the bloody phone to find him? And what if he doesn’t ring?”
“We can ring him, can’t we?” Lebie said.
“Wonderful!” Watkins said. His cheeks were very flushed. “Great idea! We can ring him every quarter of an hour pretending to be the speaking clock or some such bollocks! Which will tell him it might not be a smart idea to talk on the phone!”
“He doesn’t need to do that,” Yong said. “He doesn’t need to speak to anyone.”
“How …?”
“It’s enough for his phone to be switched on,” Harry said. “It seems Toowoomba isn’t aware of this, but as long as a phone isn’t switched off, it automatically sends out a little
beep every half an hour, to say it’s still alive. This beep is registered by the base stations in the same way as a conversation.”
“So …”
“So let’s keep the line open, brew up some coffee, sit tight and keep our fingers crossed.”
A metallic voice came through the telephone loudspeaker.
“His signal’s coming through on base stations 3 and 4.”
Yong pointed to the map of Sydney spread over the board. Numbered circles had been drawn to show the areas of coverage for the various base stations.
“Pyrmont, Glebe and a chunk of Balmain.”
“Bloody hell!” Watkins swore. “Much too big an area. What’s the time? Has he tried to ring home?”
“It’s six,” Lebie said. “He’s dialed the number of his flat twice in the last hour.”
“He’ll soon twig there’s something amiss,” McCormack said, getting up again.
“He hasn’t yet though,” Harry said quietly. He’d been sitting still on a chair tilted against the back wall for the last two hours.
“Any news on the weather warning?” Watkins asked.
“Only that it’s going to get worse,” Lebie said. “Gale-force winds, hurricane force tonight.”
The minutes ticked by. Yong went for more coffee.
“Hello?” It was the telephone loudspeaker.
Watkins jumped up. “Yes?”
“The subscriber’s just used his phone. We have him in base stations 3, 4 and 7.”
“Wait!” Watkins looked at the map. “That’s a bit of Pyrmont and Darling Harbour, isn’t it?”
“That’s right.”
“Shit! If he’d been in 9 and 10 as well, we’d have had him!”
“Who did he call?” McCormack said.
“Our central switchboard,” said the metallic voice. “He asked what the matter was with his home number.”
“Shit, shit, shit!” Watkins was as red as a beetroot. “He’s getting away! Let’s sound the alarm bells now!”
“Shut up!” came the stinging response. The room fell silent. “Apologies for my choice of words, sir,” Harry said. “But I suggest we wait until the next beep before we do anything hasty.”
Watkins looked at Harry with his eyes popping out.
“Holy’s right,” McCormack said. “Sit down, Watkins. In less than an hour the block on the phones will be lifted. That means we have one, maximum two, beeps left before Toowoomba finds out it’s only his phone that’s still cut off. Pyrmont and Darling Harbour are not large areas in geographical terms, but we’re talking about one of Sydney’s most populated central districts at night. Sending a load of cars down there will only create the kind of chaos Toowoomba will use to escape. We wait.”
At twenty to seven the message came over the loudspeaker:
“A beep has been received at base stations 3, 4 and 7.”
Watkins groaned.
“Thank you,” Harry said, disconnecting the microphone. “Same area as last time, which suggests he isn’t moving anymore. So where can he be?”
They crowded round the map.
“Maybe he’s doing some boxing training,” Lebie said.
“Good suggestion!” said McCormack. “Are there any gyms in the area? Anyone know where the bloke trains?”
“I’ll check, sir,” Yong said, and was gone.
“Other suggestions?”
“The area’s full of tourist attractions which are open in the evening,” Lebie said. “Maybe he’s in the Chinese Gardens?”
“He’ll be staying indoors in this weather,” McCormack said.
Yong returned, shaking his head. “I rang his trainer. He wouldn’t say anything, so I had to say I was the police. Toowoomba’s gym’s in Bondi Junction.”
“Nice one!” said Watkins. “How long do you think it’ll be before the trainer rings Toowoomba’s mobile phone and asks what the hell the police want him for?”
“This is urgent,” Harry said. “I’ll ring Toowoomba.”
“To ask him where he is?” Watkins asked.
“To see what’s happening,” Harry said, picking up the receiver. “Lebie, check the tape recorder’s on and everyone keep quiet!”
Everyone froze. Lebie cast a glance at the old tape recorder and gave Harry a thumbs-up. Harry gulped. His fingers felt numb on the keys. The phone rang three times before Toowoomba answered.
“Hello?”
The voice … Harry held his breath and pressed the receiver to his ear. In the background he could hear people.
“Who’s that?” Toowoomba said in a low voice.
There was a sound in the background followed by children’s exuberant cries. Then he heard Toowoomba’s deep, calm laugh.
“Well, if it isn’t Harry. Odd that you’re calling, because I was just thinking about you. There seems to be something wrong with my home phone, and I was wondering if you had anything to do with it. I hope you don’t, Harry.”
There was another sound. Harry concentrated but he was unable to identify what it was.
“It makes me nervous when you don’t answer, Harry.
Very nervous. I don’t know what you want, but perhaps I should switch off this phone. Is that it, Harry? Are you trying to find me?”
The sound …
“Shit!” Harry shouted. “He hung up.” He flopped onto a chair. “Toowoomba knew it was me. How on earth could he know?”
“Rewind the tape,” McCormack said. “And get hold of Marguez.”
Yong ran out of the room while they played the tape.
Harry couldn’t help himself. The hairs on the back of his neck rose when he heard Toowoomba’s voice again over the speakers.
“It’s definitely a place with a lot of people,” Watkins said. “What’s that bang? Listen, children. Is it a fair?”
“Rewind and play it again,” McCormack said.
“
Who’s that
?” Toowoomba repeated, followed by a loud sound and children’s shouts.
“What’s …?” Watkins began.
“That’s a pretty loud splash,” said a voice from the door. They turned. Harry saw a small brown head with black curls, a little moustache and tiny, thick glasses, attached to a large body that looked as if it had been inflated with a bicycle pump and could burst at any moment.
“Jesús Marguez—the best ears in the force,” McCormack said. “And he’s not even blind.”
“Just almost blind,” Marguez mumbled, straightening his glasses. “What have you got here?”
Lebie played the tape again. Marguez listened with closed eyes.
“Indoors. Brick walls. And glass. No muffling of any kind, no carpets or curtains. People, young people of both sexes, probably a number of young families.”
“How can you know all that from listening to some noise?” Watkins asked suspiciously.
Marguez sighed. It clearly wasn’t the first time he had come across skeptics.
“Do you realize what fantastic instruments ears are?” he said. “They can distinguish between a million separate differences in pressure. One million. And one and the same sound can be comprised of tens of different frequencies and elements. That gives you a choice of ten million. An average dictionary contains only about a hundred thousand headwords. A choice of ten million, the rest is training.”
“What’s the sound in the background we can hear the whole time?” Harry asked.
“The one between 100 and 120 hertz? Hard to say. We can filter away the other sounds in our studio and isolate it, but it takes time.”
“And that is what we haven’t got,” McCormack said.
“But how could he identify Harry even though Harry never spoke?” Lebie asked. “Intuition?”
Marguez removed his glasses and polished them absent-mindedly.
“What we so nicely call intuition, my friend, is always supported by our sensory impressions. But when the impression is so small and delicate that we only perceive it as a sensation, a feather under a nose while we’re sleeping, and we cannot put a name to the associations, the brain cuts in and we call it intuition. Perhaps it was the way … er, Harry was breathing?”
“I held my breath,” Harry said.
“Have you rung him from here before? Maybe the acoustics? Background noise? Humans have sensationally good memories as far as noises are concerned, generally better than we ourselves are aware.”
“I’ve rung him from here once before …” Harry stared at the old fan. “Of course. That’s why I can recognize the background noise. I’ve been there before. The bubbles …”
He turned.
“He’s in Sydney Aquarium!”
“Hm,” Marguez said, studying the shine of his glasses. “That makes sense. I’ve been there myself, of course. A splash like that can be made by the tail of a pretty big saltie.”
When he looked up again he was alone in the room.
Seven o’clock.
They would perhaps have endangered the lives of civilians on the short stretch from the police station down to Darling Harbour, had it not been for the storm that had cleared the streets of people and cars. Lebie did his best, nevertheless, and it was probably the blue light on the car roof that allowed a solitary pedestrian to jump for his life at the last moment and a couple of oncoming cars to swerve to safety. Watkins was in the backseat swearing non-stop, while McCormack was in the front ringing Sydney Aquarium to prepare them for some police action.
As they turned into the car park the flags in the harbor were flying horizontal, and waves were crashing over the edge of the quay. Several police cars were already there and uniformed officers were closing the exits.
McCormack gave the final orders.
“Yong, you distribute the photos of Toowoomba to our people. Watkins, you stay with me in the control room—they’ve got cameras there covering the whole aquarium. Lebie and Harry, you start searching. The aquarium closes in a few minutes. Here are the radios, put the plugs in your ears, fix the mikes to your lapels and check you have
radio contact at once. We’ll guide you from the control room, OK?”
As Harry got out of the car a gust of wind caught him and almost knocked him over. They ran for shelter.
“Fortunately it’s not as full as it usually is,” McCormack announced. He was already breathing heavily from the short sprint. “Must be the weather. If he’s here we’ll find him.”
They were met by the security manager who showed McCormack and Watkins to the control room. Harry and Lebie checked their radios, were ushered past the ticket windows and set off along the corridors.
Harry checked for the gun in his shoulder holster. The aquarium seemed different now, with all the light and all the people. Besides, it felt like an eternity since he had been here with Birgitta, as though it had been in a different era.
He tried not to think about it.
“We’re in position.” McCormack’s voice sounded secure and reassuring in the earpiece. “We’re studying the cameras now. Yong has a couple of officers with him and is checking the toilets and the cafe. We can see you, by the way. Keep going.”
The corridors in the aquarium led the public in a circle back to where they had started. Harry and Lebie were walking anticlockwise so that all the faces were coming toward them. Harry’s heart was pounding. His mouth was dry and his palms were wet. There was a buzz of foreign languages around them, and to Harry it seemed as if he were swimming through a maelstrom of different nationalities, complexions and apparel. They walked through the underwater tunnel where he and Birgitta had spent the night—where children were standing now with their noses glued to the glass watching the marine underworld go about its undisturbed everyday business.
“This place gives me the creeps,” Lebie whispered. He walked with his hand inside his jacket.
“Just promise me you won’t fire a shot here,” Harry said.
“I don’t want half of Sydney Harbour and a dozen sharks in my lap, OK?”
“No worries,” Lebie answered.
They emerged on the other side of the aquarium, which was as good as deserted. Harry swore.
“They close the ticket office at seven,” Lebie said. “Now the people who are still here have to be let out.”
McCormack contacted them. “Afraid it seems as if the bird’s flown, boys. You’d better come back to the control room.”
“Wait here,” Harry said to Lebie.
Outside the ticket-booth window there was a familiar face. He was wearing a uniform, and Harry grabbed him.
“Hi, Ben, do you remember me? I came here with Birgitta.”
Ben turned and looked at the animated blond hair. “Yes, I do,” he said. “Harry, wasn’t it? Yeah, yeah, so you’ve come back? Most do. How’s Birgitta?”
Harry swallowed. “Listen, Ben. I’m a police officer. As you’ve probably heard by now, we’re on the lookout for a very dangerous man. We haven’t found him yet, but I have a feeling he’s still here. No one knows this place better than you do. Is there anywhere he could have hidden?”
Ben’s face was swathed in deep, thoughtful folds.
“Well,” he said. “Do you know where Matilda is, our saltie?”