Quinn left the golf course and found a hardware shop where he bought Araldite, the adhesive. There was a travel agent in the same shopping centre, so he took the opportunity to purchase a plane ticket to New Zealand for eleven o’clock the next morning.
The effects of the long trip from the outback dulled his senses, forcing him to return to the motel and to sleep for the rest of the afternoon.
He awoke at 7 pm and dined at the motel’s restaurant. The food was good, and he asked if the motel would provide him with some sandwiches. A midnight snack was usual for him he explained, before he returned to his room to prepare for his bushwalk.
Quinn entered his room, locked the door behind him and pulled the curtains, then dragged his tool bag from under his bed. He opened it and took out the crossbow and fishing rod reel, picked up a screw driver and took care to fit the reel to the stock of the bow.
When the reel was secured to the underside of the bow, he checked the mechanism, satisfied that neither the reel nor its line would interfere with the moving parts of the crossbow.
He’d redesigned its bolt. It now had a small loop of wire attached to its tail end where he tied the fishing line. He checked the firing mechanism again, and was satisfied that the bolt could fly free; leaving behind it a trail of fishing line that would keep it attached to the crossbow.
The smell of the adhesive was one he both liked and hated, but he forgot about the smell as he concentrated on gluing the old golf ball onto the flattened head end of the crossbow bolt.
He held it in place for fifteen minutes before testing it by tapping the ball end onto the concrete floor of the bathroom.
A knock on the door stilled his working hands, and he thrust the bow under the bed before he called through the closed door.
“Who is it?” Quinn felt edgy, a normality for a man in his line of work, for he never knew who would turn up on his doorstep.
He was satisfied that the woman’s voice belonged to the one who had said she would prepare his sandwiches.
She held out a package as he opened the door.
“Your sandwiches sir.”
Quinn thanked her.
“I wondered what time is the earliest I could get breakfast?”
“We are usually around the place and cooking at 6 o’clock, but breakfast is normally not available until 7 o’clock.”
Quinn reckoned from this that he could confidently operate unseen from 4 o’clock.
“About my car, do you ever have any problems with thieves at all?”
“We have a security system in place which allows us to know if anyone is around. It will sound an alarm in the office if anyone as much as walks through the gates or climbs the fences. So you and your car are quite safe.”
“I’m glad of that and I will sleep peacefully. Thank you, and thanks for fixing the sandwiches for me. I do appreciate it. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight Mr. Scott.”
Quinn had used the name Scott in his motel registration. It might put any police investigations off on a wild goose chase, searching for a man, who was, as far as he knew, buried out by the Darling River. The motel owner had taken the cars registration number, and although it might not be traced back to Sudovich, Scott’s association with Sudovich might be known to the authorities and confuse the issue some more.
Quinn closed the door and wondered how the hell he was going to break out of the place.
He opened it again and walked to the end of the building near the exit from the motel grounds, where he took a moment to seat on the front fence and watch the traffic.
As he sat, he looked carefully around the entrance and saw the small lens like dot where an infrared light might project. Before searching the place where he expected the light beam to hit on the opposite wall, where he immediately saw the reflector.
“O.K,” he whispered.
His only way out was under the infrared light. It meant he would have to leave his room and walk the lighted area of the other room entrances, then crawl under the beam, all while holding the tool bag.
The beam that obviously ran along the top of the rear fence would be more difficult to get around, or in this case, over.
Once back in his room he opened the curtains and tried to see in the poor light where the fence was. It was a well-built fence which stood over the normal six feet, and he reckoned the beam would probably run along the top of it. He discounted it. Without the beam it would have been easy for him to climb over, but the security devices changed the rules.
As he considered his options, he went back to work on the crossbow and fitted the bolt to the bow.
Satisfied that it would be effective he removed the bolt and released the mechanism, before putting the bow back into the tool bag.
One of his towels made good a cover for the crossbow, before he went through his clothes and chose a pair of dark coloured coveralls along with a floppy hat. Quinn took the tool bag to his car and placed it onto its rear seat, taking care not to upset the workings of the crossbow or the fishing rod reel.
The traffic was still brisk, filled with people returning home with their late night shopping he thought, as he eased his car into an outer most lane. The next available side street took him toward the golf club, until he turned off onto the dirt track that skirted the back of the golf course.
When he’d pulled to the side of the track and turned his motor off, he sat in the darkness listening to the quiet. Satisfied he was alone he took the bag from the car and hid it in the under growth, then returned to his car to listen for another ten minutes.
At ease with the thought he hadn’t been observed, he returned to the motel and set the alarm on his watch for 3 am.
*****
The pilot was preparing to meet his girlfriend when the doorbell rang. He cursed quietly, and hoped it was not who he thought it to be, and immediately began to work on the excuse he would have to give his girlfriend. She’d be annoyed, but she was probably getting used to it by now, he thought as he answered the door.
It was the same man who usually knocked on his door at odd hours, and as usual the man said nothing. He just handed over three envelopes and then quietly walked away. Not to be seen again until next time.
The pilot looked at the envelopes, opening the one addressed to him and read his instructions. He was to deliver a passenger directly to an outback town, in reasonable close proximity to the mid-western city he’d visited already.
Twice.
He wondered if this meant that the second man had failed, and felt sorry in a way, as he hoped that the one tonight would be of the same value.
With this thought in mind he readied to leave, and was almost through the doorway when he remembered his girlfriend.
*****
Quinn was already awake and had turned the alarm off before it sounded. He’d slept lightly, turning in his sleep many times, until he had finally woken to lie quietly staring at the darkened ceiling.
He rose, dressed and removed the hand piece from the telephone. Not that he expected any calls, but reckoned if the proprietors of the motel tried to contact him, then the engaged tone would suggest his desire not to be disturbed. Hopefully they’d leave it at that, he thought.
Outside the room he gauged the position of the infrared beam, then dropped to his knees and rolled under it.
Once he reached the highway, he broke into a jog and relished the cold night air as it blew into his face.
Some minutes later he was beside the dirt track looking for the team bag. He found it easily, and quickly removed the tracksuit he’d worn for his early morning run to make way for his work clothes.
The feel of the scrim scarf was soft at his neck as he moved into the bush. His team bag, now stuffed with the track suit stayed under bushes near the low fence, and he listened again to the night sounds. Satisfied with his privacy, Quinn moved into the under growth next to the fairway.
The sandwiches were tasty, and he drank from the soft drink bottle, draining i
t, before he stuffed the sandwich wrapper into the bottle.
He welcomed the firm fit of the soft leather gloves he’d carried with him in his top pocket. Comfortable in their wear, he removed the towel from the team bag and wiped everything he’d touched with his bare hands. Even the tool bags leather handle and the spare golf ball.
After he’d cocked the cross bow he lay in the leaves and watched the night sky, which he thought was clear for a smoggy city. His Polynesian girl crept into his mind, and he dreamt of the freedom that from tomorrow would be his.
CHAPTER 32