Seven Steps to the Sun (15 page)

'Papers, please,' said the giant of a man.

'Sorry,' said Mike vaguely.

'Identification papers,' said the man looking at Mike.

'Will this do?' he asked, as he produced his bank card. He had been very tempted to use some of the papers he'd picked up in California, but he couldn't risk it.

'Fine,' said the man, pushing it into a machine. They both waited. At last the reply came back. 'How long do you intend to stay?'

'A few days.'

'And where are you going to stay?' said the man pleasantly.

'A place called Windwood, or Woodwind. I believe it's a block of flats,' said Mike, beginning to feel he'd dropped into a new world where everything seemed to have a normality about it that he remembered.

'The Woodwind. When you leave the country, just hand this in.' The man gave Mike a card with holes punched in it. 'If you intend staying longer than a week take it along to any police station and they'll renew your permit.'

'Thank you,' said Mike and went to change some money.

The taxi put him down almost outside the Opera House. People were sitting on seats overlooking the river. Mike looked round and was surprised to see that Sydney's famous bridge had gone. He went over to a young couple and asked them where he might find the block of flats he wanted and was shown an exotic building hung out over the river. The lobby seemed to be seething with people and it took him a moment or two to get a lift.

Gill's flat was on the fifteenth floor. Mike used the key she'd given him and was soon standing in the quiet of her large studio flat. He walked over to the window and looked out at the breathtaking view. He could see the sails of the small boats bobbing up and down at the head of the estuary. Mike tried to remember what Gill's instructions were about operating all the gadgets, but his mind was almost a blank. The emotional and physical efforts of the last twenty-four hours were beginning to tell, especially when everything here in Australia was so normal. Normal in relation to his life in 1969.

The sun had gone down when Mike woke. His eyes felt heavy and sore, as he stretched out on the lump in the floor. The flat was in darkness and it took him some time to find the light control panel. After a quick shower he dressed. He needed a shave but since Gill didn't use a razor, he'd have to try to buy one. More important in his mind at the moment was the urgency to locate Pete.

Mike left the flat and made his way through the chill night air along the Circular Quay. At a junction he stopped suddenly to check what was following him. He turned but the street was empty. It crossed his mind that his nervousness must be caused by the accumulation of his past experiences. He shivered and decided to look for a good warm coat. He wasn't afraid of catching cold, but feeling cold depressed him. Mike's heart started to beat a little faster as he saw a car pulling up in the street. Out of it climbed a policeman. He plucked up all his courage and moved towards the car. As he did so he heard again the sound of footsteps behind him.

'Excuse me,' said Mike cheerfully, trying not to sound nervous.

'Yes?' asked the policeman.

'Could you tell me where I'll find the nearest police station?'

'Over there,' said the man, pointing across the street.

'Thank you, I'm afraid I'm a stranger in these parts.' The policeman smiled and opened his car door. Mike crossed the street, and went into the building.

'Can I do anything?' asked a policeman turning in his seat.

'Yes, I'm looking for a friend,' said Mike, looking past the man at all the electronic gadgetry lining the walls of the office.

'When did he go missing?' asked the policeman ready with his typewriter.

'He isn't actually missing, I just want to get in touch with him.'

'That's not really our job,' said the man severely.

'Maybe not, but I've travelled half-way round the world trying to catch up with my friend,' said Mike in a tired voice.

'Give me his name, and I'll see what I can do for you,' said the man.

'Peter Jones, he's a jazz drummer, and was seen on television about a week ago.'

'Programme?'

'I'm sorry I don't know.'

'Why do you want to find him?'

'I want to talk to him about a family matter, and finish a story I'm writing about him,' said Mike boldly.

'When did you last see him?'

'Two, three months ago.'

'Why don't you know where he is?'

'Why should I. He has his career, and I have mine. We meet up when and where it's possible ; we don't live in each other's pockets.'

'O.K., wait here,' said the man leaving Mike for his electronic equipment. Eventually he tore off a piece of print out paper and came back. 'Here you are, it looks as though you might be in luck.'

'Thank you.' It gave a complete list of all towns Pete had visited since he'd landed in Australia. Mike quickly looked down to see where he'd been within the last twenty-four hours.

'Excuse me,' he said to the policeman.

'Yes,' said the man turning round.

'It says here that my friend is with the Military, playing concerts. What it doesn't tell me is where the Military is.'

'That'll mean he's up in the Northern Territory. Your nearest town would be Darwin, but I doubt whether they'll let you in up there without special permission,' said the policeman.

'What kind of permission?'

'You will have to have more of a reason to visit the Northern Territory than to see an old friend.'

'What about a press pass?'

'That might do, but it would have to be signed by someone either from the Military or perhaps the Governor of New South Wales might do it,' said the man with a smile.

'Thank you,' said Mike feeling depressed. If he'd been at home, he could have easily got a press pass from any of his friends in Fleet Street. Here it would be another matter : he knew no one. He slowly made his way back to the flat.

Mike rummaged through Gill's phone cards until he found Ed Bolton. Gill had told him that she would ask this friend Ed to look after Mike until she returned, which she hoped would be sometime during the next few days.

'Hello, Ed Bolton?' said Mike as the phone was answered. 'Speaking.'

'This is Michael Jerome, Gill. . .'

'Yes, she rang about you,' came the brisk voice.

'I thought I'd just make contact.'

'Well look, I'm busy tonight, but I'll drop in the morning, and if you're free tomorrow night perhaps you'd join me.'

'That would be very pleasant.'

'Good, would you like to go to a concert I'm arranging?'

'I'd love to.'

'Fine, I'll see you in the morning; good night.' Mike smiled ruefully. He'd wanted to ask the man about getting a pass to travel north and instead he was going to a concert.

Mike sat thoughtfully for a while and then picked up the pile of phone cards and thumbed through them. He found one for the Darwin information service and slotted it into the telephone. He tried hard to discover a way of contacting Pete by phone, but the information service couldn't help him. He even tried to get hold of any northern military base, but they were apparently unobtainable. The thought of securing documents to travel north now became of paramount importance. It was on reaching the lobby that the thought of obtaining illegal documents struck him.

He walked briskly from the flats and out past the vast new music centre. In front of him he could see the old Government House and the Botanical Gardens. Striding purposefully across the park he slackened his pace as his suspicions about being followed began to take the shape of a slightly built man. It might be a good idea if he used his brains rather than his brawn.

First, he planned to go to the King's Cross area to see if there were still any clubs there. If not, he'd have to think again, but in any case he didn't want to be followed. He eventually reached the old Conservatorium of Music, to find that it had become a museum. He stood in the dark studying a notice board, which dimly showed the opening times, before turning to look where his shadow was. The man stood about a hundred yards or so back along the path he'd followed. There was no obvious escape here so he continued his walk, waiting for an opportunity.

The chance to make a break came when he reached Parliament House. A hover car with a big sign on it saying 'City Taxi' was pulled up outside the old colonial style building. His shadow was still some hundred yards behind. Walking to the entrance of the House, he prayed that nobody else would take the cab. He heard it start up and moved in behind. When he felt he was close enough he turned and jumped into its line of travel. By the time the cabby had the vehicle at a standstill, Mike was inside.

'Get moving,' he growled as he looked back. Then to his surprise he felt something move underneath his legs. He looked down to see that he was half sitting on a woman's lap.

'I do apologise, I didn't realize this cab was taken.'

'Well, it is,' said the woman recovering. He looked back. His tail appeared to be making rapid progress towards Parliament House.

'Again, my apologies,' said Mike with a smile, opening the door. He quickly pushed it shut and then, keeping the cab between himself and the House, he slipped into Macquarie Street. Not wanting to stay on the open street too long, he soon returned to the park.

Mike didn't know how much time he would now have, but he hoped it would be enough. He quickened his pace across the 'Domain', kept to the little sidewalks and byways as he crossed through 'Wool-loomooloo', and eventually found himself in Victoria Street. It seemed very strange to be walking through a city without seeing any people. The trouble with new replanned cities is that all the slum areas and low dives vanish, and then reappear somewhere else, and he felt that if his first stab in the dark was wrong, he wasn't going to get another chance. He walked round and round the empty streets until he found himself in Bayswater Road, where he saw a sign saying 'Hotel Mansions'. He walked into the smallish entrance and looked round for someone to talk to. In many ways he wished Gill had come back to Sydney with him, instead of staying on in California until the end of her tour of duty. For one thing she would have been able to tell him where to go. The place he'd walked into seemed to be devoid of any sign of life and he was just about to leave when a flashily dressed woman came lurching through the lobby.

'Excuse me, but where are all the clubs and night life in this town,' said Mike, stepping up to the woman. She looked at him and kept on walking until she bumped into him. Then she banged her hip up against his thigh.

'How about me?' she asked in a blurred voice. He was about to back off, as the smell of booze hit him, but the woman grabbed hold of his arm.

'Luv, I could fancy you if that was what I was looking for, but you see I'm in trouble and I need some advice,' he said, holding onto the woman to stop her falling over.

'Running from the little old police force? I'll hide you, in fact I'd love to hide you,' she babbled on.

'Not the police, the secret service,' said Mike very seriously.

'Who?'

'M.I.6., Q.E.D., K.B.G., or whatever you call it, police no, government yes.'

'You mean a nice young fellow like you is wanted by the security fellows,' she said with a gay laugh. 'What do you want, guns?' she asked, lowering her voice.

'No, I need some documents, special documents,' he said in a whisper.

'And if I tell you, maybe, where you can get some documents what do I get, what does little old Liz get,' she said, while Mike tried to keep her on her feet.

'A cuddly teddy bear?'

'Yes, I think I'd like you as a cuddly teddy bear,' giggled the woman.

'Right, I'm now your faithful cuddly teddy bear. Where would we find some documents, because, without papers, you've got no teddy bear,' said Mike, putting the pressure on.

'Let the lady alone,' came a cool hard voice behind them.

Mike turned to see the figure of his tail standing a few yards away.

'What the devil are you following me for?'

'Got a guilty conscience,' taunted the man with a linker of a smile.

The woman tapped Mike on the shoulder, smiled apologetically and beat a hasty retreat.

'All right. Let's go,' said Mike.

'Where?'

'To whoever sent you.'

The man looked a bit surprised, then with a sullen shrug of the shoulders motioned Mike out of the building in front of him.

They made their way to the corner of William and Victoria Streets, where a line of taxis stood silently awaiting some abundance of passengers. They moved about half-way down the rank and the man opened a cab door. Mike climbed in and they were soon travelling quickly and silently across town to their destination.

Mike watched the route, trying to orientate himself. At length the cab pulled up outside a small neon sign saying
bar
in Lower Fort Street. They walked under t he sign and down in to a sub basement. Once inside, his ears were shattered by a blast of canned music. The. room seemed to be full of rough darkly tanned faces staring intently at him as he was hurried through the bar. A door at the far end was opened by some unseen hand and he passed into a quiet cell-like room.

A moment later the door behind him opened and a ·.mall powerfully built man in his sixties came in spritely.

'Sit down,' he said with a thick accent. 'What the hell is all the cloak and dagger stuff about,' said Mike remaining on his feet.

The man looked hard at him and sat down.

'Who are you?' said Mike as the sharp eyes studied him.

'Mr Jerome, let's not beat about the bush, we're both business men and can dispense with formalities.'

'O.K.,' said Mike heatedly. 'Let's start both knowing who we are.'