Page 12 of The Bait

Jake looked at the valve and then he looked twice. “Well, it’s a special firefighting fitting, so maybe they have to have a secondary cut-off feature, I don’t know.”

The valve looked like a standard ball valve on almost every tank in the country; when August turned the lever, water came out of the tap. Exactly as it should have done.

But there was a gate valve at the base of the tank. The type with a circular flat tap that you had to rotate.

So August rotated it. He turned it all the way off. Nothing unusual happened, but then he turned the lever handle.

No water came out.

“You turned the water off,” Jake said flatly. “Congratulations.”

August gave the lever another heave, pushing it all theway round—which it certainly didn’t do before—and there was a muted beep, the sound of a pressure release, and the metal seal in the tank popped open to reveal a door.

Jake grabbed August, pulling him back at the same time as he drew his weapon. “Jesus Christ,” he hissed. “August, get back.”

August stood his ground, heart hammering. It was dark inside. Cool stale air met August’s nose when he stepped forward.

What the hell . . . ?

“Give me your torch,” August said quietly.

“I don’t like this,” Jake whispered back, but he held out his torch.

August opened the door wide and shined the torch down, illuminating the steps down into the earth. “There’s a light switch,” he noted. “Stay here; hold the door open.”

“August,” Jake breathed.

“I’ll be okay,” he assured him. He unholstered his weapon just in case, holding it and the torch in front of him, he entered the tank.

He hit the light switch, and after a click and a buzz, a blue light lit up the room below. No movement, no sound. August held his breath as he took the final few steps.

He found himself in a room, about four metres by four metres, concrete walls by the looks of it, with ventilation and lighting... and a whole fucking armoury.

There were no sensors, not that he could see, though he assumed there were cameras or eyes on him.

He went back up the stairs to an impatient Jake. “What is it? What’s down there?”

August held the door for him. “Go take a look.”

Unsure of who to call,August and Jake decided to call everyone. NSW Police Commissioner’s office, the Federal Police, and lastly, ASIO.

Not that August expected to get far, but this was too big for him.

While Jake sat on the phone to the Feds in Canberra, August was on hold to ASIO.

He’d first thought he’d get nowhere or be told, in no uncertain terms, to drop his inquiry. “It relates to Michael Hill and Joshua Hill, Tallowwood, New South Wales,” he’d explained. There had been a pause; he was told to please hold. He’d since been transferred twice, on hold again.

Jake seemed to be having better luck. He could see him at his desk, talking to a person on the other end of his line at least.

August was beginning to think he’d been given a dead end, that he’d been put on hold with no one intending to take his call at all, in hopes that he’d just get tired of waiting and just hang up.

He passed the time by googling any keywords he could think of. Any news headlines pertaining to ex-military, or currently serving military, or government officials to see if any images popped up.

Most of the images he found had been from that whole military top-brass case a few years back that got blown open: spies, espionage, murder, treason, embezzlement. It had read like a Tom Clancy novel, and August couldn’t remember what ever happened to that guy.

The director of Special Operations Command. Parrish was his name. The court case was ongoing, of course. It’dprobably take years. Parrish would probably die of old age before convicted, August remembered thinking at the time.

August was jaded about the legal and judiciary system. He couldn’t help it. He’d spent his life’s work trying to put bad people away and lawyers armed with loopholes got them off.

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