Claire McNab: Quokka Question

"Indeed I will, unless you do exactly what I say."

I couldn't believe he was serious. "I'm not keen," I said. "Let's call the whole thing off."

"Amusing," said Yarrow, stone-faced. "We're going to walk out of the building together and make our way to the nearest parking structure. Nothing will be out of the ordinary. It'll all be very smooth, very calm."

Behind him, the door opened yet again. This time it was Georgia Tapp. She bustled into the room, then stopped dead, her mouth open, when she saw the gun. "Professor Yarrow!"

"Everything's under control, Georgia."

She'd gone a pasty whitish-gray, probably the color I was too. "Professor Yarrow," she repeated, this time as a whisper.

Sweat was running down his face. He licked his lips. "Forget you saw this, Georgia. Kylie and I will be leaving in a moment, and you must carry on as though nothing has happened. Can I trust you do that?"

Georgia just stared at him.

"That's asking a bit much of an administrative assistant," I said.

"Shut up," he snapped at me. To Georgia he said, "Go into my office and wait there. I'll be back shortly and explain everything to you."

She ducked her head in a quick nod, then scuttled out of her office.

He jerked his head at me. "Your turn. Start moving."

"And if I don't cooperate?"

"I'll kill you. It won't be convenient, but Georgia will back me up. She'll agree you burst into my office, frenzied, this gun in your hand. Incidentally, it cannot be traced to me. In fear of my life, I struggled with you for the weapon. It went off. Tragically, you died instantly."

I said, "Make a bit of a mess of your carpet."

He regarded the floor pensively. "True, but carpet can always be replaced." Suddenly peeved, he snapped, "Look, I didn't want to get involved in all this violence. It's been forced upon me. First Oscar Braithwaite with his wild accusations. Now you."

"Seems to me if I agree to do what you say, you'll take me somewhere more convenient, and then kill me."

Yarrow pasted a sincere expression on his face. "I assure you that's not my intention. I merely want you out of commission until the Global Marsupial Symposium concludes. Then it won't matter. No one will listen to the ravings of an unbalanced graduate student determined to get revenge when I spurned your advances."

"If that's the case, why spirit me away? According to you, no one will pay any attention to me anyway."

His smile was cold. "Sophistry will get you nowhere." He gestured with the gun. "Turn around."

"Crikey," I said, "you must think I came down in the last shower. I'm not going anywhere."

His face became a hard mask. "Listen, you bitch," he ground out, "you've got two choices. Walk out on your own two feet right now, or be dragged out, unconscious, in the middle of the night. The first gives you the opportunity to stay in one piece. The second means I'll have to beat you unconscious-an unappealing option-and stash you under my desk until I can arrange to have your body collected."

"Do you have duct tape handy to restrain me if I wake up?"

That got me a wintry smile. "Indeed I do."

"I'll take the walking option," I said. I didn't believe for a nanosecond that Yarrow had any intention of letting me live, but at least I'd have some slight chance of getting away from him if we were out in the open air.

My Complete Handbook noted that most people were dreadful shots, especially with handguns, and that it was preferable to run and take your chances, rather than allow yourself to be put into a vehicle.

I was prepared to do this, but as soon as we were out of Georgia's office, Yarrow locked one arm around my shoulders, and rammed the gun against my ribs with his other hand, his jacket coat hiding it from view. We strolled like lovers down the hall, clattered down the steps, and outside into the warm morning air. My heart was hammering and I felt light-headed. Perhaps I could pretend to faint? Perhaps he'd shoot me, if I did.

"Let me make this very clear," he said, once we were on the wide concrete walkway leading to the parking structure. "If you cooperate, nothing unpleasant will happen to you."

He emphasized this comment with a sharp jab of the barrel into my ribs. "Winona is waiting for us at the car. When I give the word, you will climb into the trunk. Winona will drive you to a friend's place. You'll be his guest until after the symposium. You'll be quite safe. Nothing will happen to you."

"This friend wouldn't be Wally Easton, would it?"

He was momentarily surprised, then smiled thinly at me. "How perspicacious of you, my dear. I'm sure you'll enjoy his particular brand of hospitality. I must warn you, however, not to rile Wally. He can be impulsive, I'm afraid."

The thought of being in Wally Easton's clutches was too horrible to contemplate. I looked around, frantic to find some way out before I lost any option to escape. There were a few students around but no one close to us.

"Don't do anything stupid," Yarrow hissed. He tightened his arm around my shoulder. "Try something and I'll pull the trigger. I won't hesitate."

We were getting dangerously close to the parking structure. I had to do something-now. I'd take my chances at being shot. Anything was better than the fate Yarrow intended for me.

"Judy! Hey, Judy! Over here!"

Twenty meters away stood Clifford Van Horden III, cast in the unlikely role of my knight in shining armor.

While Yarrow swiveled his head, obviously wondering where the hell this Judy was, I summoned up what I hoped was an alluring smile. "Cliff! Darling! I've been looking for you everywhere!"

The "darling!" did it. He came rocketing over. "Here I am, Judy, ready and willing."

"Meet Professor Jack Yarrow," I said politely. "He's intending to murder me."

Clifford Van Horden III blinked at this but still thrust out his hand. "Pleased to meet you, sir."

"He's got a gun," I yelled, breaking Yarrow's hold on me.

My would-be rescuer's eyes were wide. "A gun?" he said, shrinking back. Not hero material at all.

As though I rehearsed it every day, a move from my self-defense course at the Wollegudgerie Police Club came back to me. With every bit of strength I could muster, I whacked Yarrow across the bridge of his nose with the side of my hand, then jabbed him in both eyes with my extended fingers. Blood spurted from his nose; he fell to his knees, the silver gun spinning away from him.

I became aware that Clifford Van Horden III was gazing at me, openmouthed. "Judy," he said at last. "Judy!"

I'd broken a bone in my hand and had bruised ribs from being poked by the gun barrel, so I was in some pain, but it was nothing to the pain Jack Yarrow was feeling. Not only had I fractured his nose and given him two black eyes, but his faithful administrative assistant was singing, as Lonnie said, like a yellow canary. Yarrow had been arrested on suspicion of murder, and Winona and Easton were under intensive investigation with charges likely to follow.

Pen Braithwaite came close to snapping my bruised ribs with a huge hug; Di Niptucker sent congratulations from Australia; even my mother admitted I'd done a bonzer job. Everyone at Kendall & Creeling was pleased with me, except Ariana. Oh, she commended me for solving the case of the quokka question, but it was cool praise. A chilly curtain seemed to have come down between us.

Fran chose this point to stage a surprise disaster drill. Everyone was involved: Ariana, Bob, Melodie, Lonnie, Harriet, me, and, of course, Fran herself. The drill did not go well. Fran was seriously displeased with us, observing acidly that if this had been a genuine terrorist attack or natural catastrophe, we would all be stone-cold dead.

Her main ire was directed toward Lonnie, who had finally got his gas mask in place and was doing a jerky robot-walk while repeating "Take me to your leader" in a machine-voice monotone.