The only difference between her and Tom was that Tom faced these people down. Didn’t that increase his safety rather than lessen it? Not turning his back on the beast? Knowing the direction the bullet would come from? Hang on a second, do I want to be married to someone who wears a target? Annabelle Gilbert wondered whether her unresolved feelings about Tom were making her hormonal. The mood swings were playing havoc with her usual equilibrium. The fact was, she’d given Tom an ultimatum: to stay in the army or be with her. She realised that if the positions had been reversed and he’d said as much to her, she’d have told him to stuff off.
The major handed around sealed plastic bags and instructed Annabelle and the crew on their contents and the use thereof.
‘The pack I’ve given you contains a hypodermic syringe containing an antidote to VX contamination.’ He opened a bag and pulled out a large hypodermic. ‘Depending on the level of contact, you will have enough time to administer it. Inject it into the muscle on your arm, thigh or buttock.’ He placed the tip of the protected needle on the relevant parts of his own body to reinforce the demonstration.
‘The wipes in the bag should be used if you come in direct contact with VX. Just wipe it off, seal the used towels in the bag, then administer the antidote and get to the nearest decontamination centre.’ He put the bag down.
‘Now, you cannot pass freely around the city. It’s dangerous. You need an escort. The army is providing you with a driver and liaison officer — me — plus an armed escort. My presence will make things as easy as possible for you. My name is Major Short.’
‘As in sentence structure,’ said Weaver smiling conspiratorially at Annabelle, who rolled her eyes.
‘Why do we need an armed escort?’ asked Annabelle.
‘For protection.’
Annabelle thought his answer seemed somewhat evasive but let it rest for the moment, in the spirit of cooperation.
‘Can we go back a bit?’ asked the cameraman.
‘Yes.’
‘Why can’t we just use the antidote now?’
‘Everyone asks that,’ said Short, cracking the barest of smiles. ‘Because it’s a poison, not a vaccine, is why. It neutralises the VX and the VX neutralises it. Administer it now and it could kill you.’
‘Sorta like a yin and yang thang,’ Weaver suggested, not taking all this terribly seriously. ‘
‘How will we know if there’s VX in the air?’ asked Annabelle, giving Weaver the ‘please behave’ look.
‘Believe me, you’ll hear the sirens. Also, if you have a mobile phone, you’ll get a message sent to your screen.’
‘Are there any updates on the situation?’
‘Nothing official, Ms Gilbert. I’m told we’re pretty safe as long as the monsoon’s active.’
Annabelle had the impression Short was the type who always played it by the book. The khaki-blooded type.
Weaver took out a notepad and pencil. ‘Any places that are off limits, where we can’t shoot?’
‘Plenty, sir, starting with the airport here.’
‘What?’
‘That’s right, sir. The airport is a restricted area — no pictures.’
‘What? We can’t show people the scene here at the airport? Why the hell not?’ Annabelle didn’t like being told she couldn’t do something, especially when there didn’t appear to be a good reason.
‘Orders.’
‘But it’s just the airport,’ said Annabelle.
The major shrugged.
‘Obviously, Canberra doesn’t want the rest of the country to see the panic up here,’ said Weaver. ‘Is that true?’ Annabelle couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
‘I don’t know the reason for the restriction, miss.’
A small mountain of discarded possessions was forming in the car park. Evacuees were allowed twenty kilos each of personal items, the limit rigidly enforced on departure. Armed soldiers patrolled the mountain to discourage looters, but people were still picking over it, diving in when the troopers turned their backs. The sight of a fullsize upright piano that had somehow come to rest halfway up the mound intrigued Annabelle.
She heard Weaver say, ‘You’re kidding yourselves. Trying to censor this? Hasn’t anyone told you people about personal video cameras, phone cameras? This sort of stuff gets out, for Christ’s sake.’
‘Okay, then,’ said the major, growing impatient. ‘So what’s first on the list? Where do you want to go?’
Annabelle saw that they’d get nowhere if they wanted to stay at the airport. And in truth, this was her first paid reporting job. She’d gone straight from university to the anchor’s desk and was feeling out of her depth. ‘I’d like to drive around, get a feel for the situation.’
‘Sure. Let’s get a feel for the girlie bar situation. Are they restricted?’ Weaver was angry. The people in the bus looked at him as if he’d said the c-word in church during a lull in the service. Indeed, there was a sudden and eerie silence. Something had changed. It was the rain beating on the roof of the bus. It had ceased and the setting sun was throwing shafts of light clean through the cloud cover. Despite the heat and humidity, a chill turned Annabelle’s skin to gooseflesh …we’re pretty safe as long as the monsoon’s active.
The arrival of the sunshine was accompanied by the sudden staccato bark of an automatic weapon followed by the screams of women and children. ‘What now?’ said the major, bending to look out the heavily fogged windows and wiping a section clear with his hand. A fat young soldier with a baby face clattered heavily up the bus’s stairs, rocking the whole vehicle. ‘Major, we’ve got a problem here,’ he said, with red cheeks his grandmother would have been proud of.
‘What?’ asked the major, grabbing his Steyr.
‘The crowd’s charging the departure lounge, sir. And the military museum, sir. It’s been looted.’
‘Shit,’ the major said as he left the bus, the young soldier following.
‘What’s the problem?’ said one of the soldiers in the bus to another, loud enough to be overheard. ‘The war museum — it’s just old Second World War stuff, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah,’ replied his comrade, ‘plus a whole heap of weapons from the old government weapons buy-back program are held there — AR-10s, shotguns, MP-5s, Rugers, Armalite AR-50s…’
‘You’re kidding. Civilians had that stuff?’
‘Yeah, they were at war with the crocodiles.’
Someone chuckled.
The bus rocked again as Baby Face made a return appearance. ‘Excuse me, miss?’ Annabelle turned. ‘If you TV people would follow me? I’ll take you into town. To the Novotel. Something’s come up and the major’s asked me to step in. Grab your gear and we’ll go now.’
‘Novotel. I’ve never stayed at a Novotel. They have a bar there, don’t they?’ Weaver asked no one in particular. With the restrictions in place, he sensed Darwin was a dead end, a nothing story, and he was already putting it down as another dopey assignment dreamed up by some network nancy. ‘Novotel, Novotel. It sounds like some Seventh Day Adventist hotel concept.’ He knew that wasn’t the case, but if he couldn’t do his job, at least he could keep himself amused by giving the authorities a dose of the shits.