Peter Corris - The Big Score

‘I can’t wait,’ I said.

I’d blown it but I didn’t much care. I assumed the trainees were paying through the nose for their bivouac and the privilege of being insulted by their instructors. Looked to me as if St James had some kind of frustrated obsession about the military life and the decadence of society that he was turning into money. Let him. Gary Pearson was a big adult with certain skills and rather uncongenial ideas. I couldn’t see him coming to any physical harm, and if he chose to embrace St James’s view of the world, that was his lookout. I felt I’d fulfilled my commission for Clay Harrison and I didn’t want to hang around this overgrown schoolboy atmosphere any longer. I started packing.

St James walked in without knocking.

‘Bad manners,’ I said. ‘Tsk, tsk.’

‘You’re a disgrace. I’m going to contact your editor and withdraw permission for you to write about us.’

‘Your privilege. I was never much good at writing comedy anyway.’

‘What do you think you’re doing?’

‘Packing. I’m leaving.’

‘You are not. The perimeter is patrolled and protected. You will remain here until you are given permission to leave.’

‘And when will that be, dear Leader?’

If he got the reference he didn’t react. ‘0800,’ he said.

‘Eight am, that’s fine. Goodnight.’

He was adept at heel-turning; he did it again and left.

I’d eaten, the room was warm, there was an ensuite and I had the scotch and a good biography of Paul Scott. No reason not to stay the night. I had the level in the bottle challenged and I was still reading a bit after one am when there was a faint knock on the door. I opened it to find Gary Pearson standing in the darkened passage in his socks, carrying his boots.

‘I have to talk to you,’ he whispered.

‘I thought the house was off limits at night for you guys.’

‘It is. They’d throw me out of the course if they knew. Let me in, Mr Hardy, please.’

I let him in and quietly closed the door behind him. Stealth, whispering and politeness were all very well, but was this one of St James’s little gambits? I pointed to a chair. ‘Want a drink, Pearson?’

‘Sure, thanks. In case you hadn’t noticed, the camp is dry.’

I poured some scotch over ice and added water. ‘I noticed. I could’ve used something to wash down those stews and pastas. So that’s another rule you’re breaking.’

He took the drink in his meaty fist. ‘Thanks. Yeah. Sorry I got up your nose tonight. I had to find out where you were coming from.’

‘And did you?’

‘Yeah, you think this is all a lot of crap.’

‘There goes another rule.’

‘Here goes another one-I have to get out tonight.’

‘Why?’

‘I can’t say, I just do. It’s important.’

‘Why tell me?’

‘I want you to help me.’

‘Why would I do that. I’m just-’

‘If you’re a journalist then I’m John Howard. I’ve seen the way you move and look at things, how you hold yourself. You’re here for some other reason. I don’t know what it is and I don’t care, but since you’re on the way out anyway, I thought you might help me. I’m going no matter what, but it’d be easier as a two-man operation.’

‘If they caught you sneaking out, what would they do?’

‘Something pretty rough, psychological as well as physical. I don’t like to think about it. I heard of this kid who finished up with a broken leg…’

‘So you reckon with me along they wouldn’t try anything like that?’

He emptied his glass. ‘I hadn’t thought about that, but yeah, I guess so. I can pay you.’

He had me over a barrel although he didn’t know it. My brief from his father was to look after him, and if I didn’t go along with his plan and it came unstuck as a solo, it sounded as if he was in for a bad time. I didn’t mind putting a thumb in St James’s eye, but it wouldn’t do to appear too idealistic.

‘How much?’ I said.

‘Five hundred dollars.’

‘Chicken feed, but you’re on. How d’you see it working?’

He told me that he’d located the control point for the sensor lights and the electronic gate. ‘I’m okay with that stuff,’ he said. ‘I can take them out long enough for us to get clear in your vehicle.’

I didn’t fully believe him but I was willing to play along. What was the worst that could happen? The Pajero could certainly break through the fence beside the gate once we got rolling, and I hadn’t seen any guard towers around the perimeter.

Pearson explained that he’d worked out a way to disable the lights and the gate for a maximum of thirty-five seconds. ‘Then a backup power source cuts in and the place is floodlit again, a siren goes off and the gate locks. And one more thing-the dog.’

I had seen a German Shepherd around a few times. It looked friendly enough and I said so.

‘He isn’t when he’s tethered at night near the electric control panel and instructed to bark blue murder if anyone approaches. But I’ve got matey with him and I can keep him quiet.’

‘I can’t see why you need me. A man with your resourcefulness should’ve been able to pinch a car key by now.’

He nodded seriously. ‘I probably could have but the thing is, I’ve got to cover nearly two hundred metres in thirty seconds in the dark. I’ve worked out that I could just about do it, but I couldn’t get my gear into a vehicle, get it started and reach the gate in time. That’s where you come in.’

‘I still can’t see the problem. If the gate locked my Pajero’d go straight through the fence.’

‘No it wouldn’t. The fence doesn’t look much but it’s electrified at a pretty high voltage. You hit it and it’d short out your electricals.’

‘A thousand bucks,’ I said. ‘And St James said something about patrols.’

‘Seven fifty. There aren’t any patrols. He says that just to make everything sound… you know, military.’

‘Sure you won’t tell me why you need to do this?’

‘I’ll tell you when we’ve made it. How’s that?’

‘Have to do. When do we do the Steve McQueen bit?’

He looked at me blankly.

‘A movie,’ I said. ‘ The Great Escape -you’ve never seen it?’

‘I don’t think so. Yeah, well, at 0300.’

He was hard to read-a gung-ho, dead shot, spit ‘n’ polish type who’d never seen one of the iconic war movies. The military lingo slid off his tongue but he wanted out. About an hour to wait. He said he had to sneak back to collect his gear and he nominated a meeting point.

‘What if one of your mates spots you?’

‘They’re knackered from today’s exercise. I’m fitter.’

Arrogant, too, I thought. I wanted to ask him about the NCOs, and particularly Sirdar Assad, but that would’ve aroused suspicion. It was all very odd but I reflected that my two jobs were to watch him and to find out what DTS was all about, and this was a perfect chance. I offered him another drink but he refused and took off in his socks. I poured another slug for myself and packed up my belongings. I was only going to have to travel twenty metres in the dark and start an engine. Piece of cake. I felt like Errol Flynn, except that there was no blonde in sight.

It went like clockwork. We met at the appointed time. I took his duffel bag and scooted across to my car. Pearson disappeared into the semi-darkness at the edge of the floodlit area. I heard a low growl a few seconds later and I started the motor. The lights went out. Pearson sprinted towards me and threw himself into the seat.

‘Go!’

I gunned the engine, hit the lights and headed for the gate. Pearson jumped out while the car was still moving, operated the mechanism and swung the gate open. He got back in as we passed through. In the rear vision mirror I saw the area around the house light up like a football ground at night, and I heard the siren scream over the noise of the motor and the tyres on the gravel.