CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN.

I've known worse nights, but not many. I've spent nights in damp and frigid caves, nights in the jungle with missiles raining on our positions and nights of fleeing the enemy across rugged terrain. But this night, spent with two women desperate for the return of their son and nephew, provided a new dimension in torment.

Each minute seemed like an hour. They paced up and down through the house, then sat back down again. They cried. At one point Miriam went and tidied Jonah's bedroom, as if she somehow thought that might bring him back. They turned on the television, then switched it off again.

At around midnight Miriam took note of Sarah's continuing yawns and decided we should try to sleep. Sarah had been in the spare bedroom, but now she joined Miriam in her room. I could have had Jonah's bed, but that might have implied something-perhaps that he wouldn't be needing that bed any longer. So I said I would sleep in the living room on the sofa. Miriam supplied a couple of blankets, although I didn't need them much once the fan was switched off.

I didn't sleep a lot, and I doubt that Miriam did either. Once I heard her crying. I wanted so much to go to her room to try to offer some comfort, but knew she had her sister with her. I kept wondering if I had done the right thing by insisting that we not summon the police.

At around five o'clock I heard Miriam in the kitchen preparing food. I got up and joined her. She immediately came and put her arms around me. "Oh Johnny. Hold me, please. I don't remember when I've felt so alone." She looked particularly haggard, with her hair unkempt and her face hard and dry.

"Did you sleep much?"

"Hardly at all. Probably a little more than I realized. I couldn't stop thinking about Jonah. How much I love him and need him. I did a lot of praying. I haven't done much of that recently. And some crying. Johnny, we have to get Jonah back. Do you think we should have called the police? I'll do anything. Please. I'll do anything." Her voice was again strained.

"We'll get him back. He'll phone again. Kidnapping Jonah-that's an act of desperation. Grapper has to contact you again. I feel he's got nowhere else to turn."

"That's not good, is it?"

I hesitated. "No. You're right. I don't think it's good." I cooked eggs and toast and brewed tea and coffee. Sarah, looking almost as ragged as her sister, joined us and we ate in silence.

Then Sarah spoke: "If you refuse to go to the police there must be something more that we can do. He phoned on that special cellphone. Can't you get his number?"

"No, I checked last night," I said. "He's done something to disable that function. I can't get his number. He's a professional."

It was nine o'clock before the phone rang again. Miriam looked at us both, then I saw her mutter something-a short prayer, possibly-before answering.

"Hello." The tension infused her voice.

"Now listen," said the gruff voice. "I'm going to give instructions about where you go."

"Is Jonah all right?" begged Miriam. "I want to talk to him."

"He's fine. Now you need to drive along the road from Healesville to Yarra Boss. After four miles you come to Henleyvale. Stop outside the general store. Make sure you're in your own car. And make sure you have the phone. And make sure no other cars follow you."

"Wait," shouted Miriam. "I'm bringing a friend. He's not a policeman. I promise you."

"Be there in fifteen minutes," said Grapper.

"Look after Jonah, please look after Jonah," cried Miriam as the line went dead.

I spoke: "Fifteen minutes. We have to hurry." I grabbed the phone.

"Can you drive, Johnny? I'm just not up to it."

"Give me your keys."

We said farewell to Sarah and set out in Miriam's white Corolla.

"I think I know that store," I said. "Don't you? It's the one we pass each time we're driving between Healesville and Yarra Boss."

"The general store? Yes, I know it. It's next to a few houses. Oh Johnny, I'm so glad you're here. I couldn't have done this by myself."

There was little traffic, but to my surprise a blustery wind was blowing, bringing a strong smell of burning. I tuned Miriam's radio to Boss Radio, and learned that, thanks to the wind, fires were now burning in several parts of the region.

We arrived at the store and I surveyed the area. Though we had driven through forest we were now in a clearing, with farmland stretching out on all sides and a hill over on one side. This was an excellent spot for Grapper. He would have seen our car arriving from nearly half a mile away and he would know about any other cars on the road. It was also possibly one of the few spots in this area with cellphone reception.

"He'll be here somewhere," I said. "Watching us."

"There are no other cars anywhere. He must know that."

"We have to wait. Nothing else we can do."

Abruptly the phone rang. She had it in her hand, and almost dropped it.

"Johnny, I'm too nervous. I don't think I can handle this." She handed me the phone.

I answered: "Hello."

"Who's that?"

"My name's Johnny. I'm a friend of Miriam's. A friend. I'm not a policeman. I'm in the car. She's too nervous to talk."

There was a long pause, and for a moment I feared he was going to ring off. But then he spoke again: "Drive to Yarra Boss. Go to the car park next to the community center. Be there in twenty minutes." He rang off.

I started up the car and set off. I told Miriam the new instructions.

"I thought we were going to meet him here."

"He needs to be sure we're not with the police."

"But is he going to drive to Yarra Boss too?"

"I doubt it. He'd have to take the same road as us. Maybe he's working with someone, and that person is at Yarra Boss. But I doubt that too. I'm sure he just needs us to go somewhere with good phone reception, so he can call again with a new set of instructions."

"How can he do all this to his own son? And to the mother of his son? We had a good time together. I've never tried to sue him for maintenance. Most other women I know would have."

I wasn't sure how you would sue a gunrunner whose country of residence-let alone his street address-was a mystery. But I let it pass. We arrived at Yarra Boss and I drove into the half-full car park. We both looked around. A few cars were moving in and out.

"Is he here?" she asked.

"I doubt it. There were no cars ahead of us when we were driving. I don't see how he could be here waiting for us." I looked at my watch. "And it's twenty minutes since we spoke."

As if on cue the phone rang again. I answered.

"Go back to the general store," said the now-familiar voice. "Be there in twenty minutes."

I started up the car. Around eighteen minutes later I pulled up at the general store. Two minutes passed and the phone rang.

"Look out to your right," came the command. "There's a grove of trees about one hundred yards away."

I looked. "Yes, I see it."

"Walk to the trees. Then follow the track up the hill." He rang off.

"Come on," I said to Miriam. We got out of the car, crossed the road and walked across a grass paddock to the trees. "Where's the track?" I muttered.

"Over there," said Miriam, pointing past some bushes to a small dirt path.

We hurried across. We were surrounded by dense undergrowth. We began walking along the track when a loud voice, from somewhere behind us, broke the silence. "Turn around slowly."

In tandem we stopped and turned. A man was standing a few yards away, half-concealed by a large tree. He was pointing a gun at us.

"Grapper," shouted Miriam.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT.

I tried to recall my meeting with Grapper. It had been many years earlier, in the jungle, at night. We were together for less than an hour, under enemy fire, speaking in whispers.

That man, that Grapper, had been a little taller than me, stocky with a barrel chest. He was middle-aged, with a thinning head of brown hair. He had a round and somewhat chubby face. He exhibited a supremely confident, almost cocky, demeanor. He was brusque but businesslike.

I looked at the man with the gun. He was half-concealed by the tree, but was clearly old and disheveled. Yes, he had a round, somewhat chubby face, but it was set off by a fold of flesh around his neck. As best as I could see he carried considerable bulk around his belly. He wore baggy brown trousers and a loose-fitting red check shirt and I could discern sweat circles in several places. His face was damp. He looked tired. But he also looked tough, and yes, desperate.

This is really the man who gave Miriam the time of her life? I mused. Who turned her into a new woman?

And I also wondered: Will I have to kill this man?

Miriam was staring at him. "Where's Jonah?"

"Jonah's fine."

"I want my boy. Where is he?" She started moving towards the man.

"Stop," he commanded. Despite the unkempt appearance, his voice was strong and confident. "Do not move nearer. Your boy is...Our boy!

Our boy is fine. Now listen to me. Move over there. Off the track." He pointed to a tiny clearing, behind some nearby trees.

We moved there.

"Sit," he ordered, as if we were dogs. We sat on a rough forest floor of bark and leaves.

He positioned himself behind a different tree, his gun still trained on us. "I don't expect anyone to pass by. But I warn you, if anyone comes down the track you are not to say anything. Nothing at all. Pretend you're lovers. Otherwise I shoot. Understand?"

I nodded. He was only about five yards away, but that was too far. I needed to be much nearer to be able to disarm him. I had told Miriam that I would take charge and get Jonah back. I needed to do something dramatic.

He waved his gun at me. "Who are you?"

"My name's Johnny. I'm a friend of Miriam's. She asked me to help. She didn't feel she could do this by herself."

He looked back at her. "Your father owes me half a million dollars. I need it."

She glanced at me, then back at the man. "Half a million dollars? Look Grapper, please understand. I don't have it. And there is no way I can get that sort of money." As she spoke I scanned the area, hoping to spot people, some activity, any kind of distraction. But the man had chosen our meeting place well. We were alone.

"Why on earth did the pastor owe you that money?" I asked.

A flash of anger passed across his face, as if he resented my question. But then he answered simply: "For weapons."

"Weapons? Was the pastor buying weapons?"

He ignored my question. "My suppliers are from the Ukraine. They are trying to kill me. That's what happens when you don't pay your bills. One of them has followed me to Australia."

"Someone is trying to kill you?"

"I have to get the money. Otherwise they'll hunt me until they catch me. And they'll kill me. There's someone here in Australia. He's after me. I had to escape to Sydney and hide for a few days, until I was sure I'd dropped him."

Suddenly Miriam spoke. "Grapper, don't you remember the fun times we had together? You know, in the rainforest. And that night you took me to the casino." Her voice was coquettish. It was as if she were flirting. I was amazed that she could turn it on so smoothly.

Grapper was not impressed. "I'm giving you twenty-four hours to get me my money."

It was my turn to try to turn on some charm. "Grapper, we've met before. Don't you remember?"

His face hardened, and he seemed to clutch his weapon a little more firmly. He wiped his damp face with a fat hand. "What are you talking about?"

"You supplied me with weapons."

He regarded me with suspicion. "I've supplied lots of people with weapons."

"In East Timor. It was a long time ago. You smuggled your way in, you got past enemy lines and we met in the jungle one night. You arranged a big shipment for us. It probably saved us."

He looked at me for a little while. "I've supplied lots of people with weapons," he said again, then looked back at Miriam. "I need that money in twenty-four hours."

I tried to keep him talking. "Why was the pastor buying guns?"

He looked in all directions. "You are to walk back to your car now."

I had to act fast. "Why did you kill the pastor?" I demanded. "Your own son's grandfather. What sort of coward are you?" I needed an emotional reaction. But he ignored me and waved his gun in the vague direction of the track back to the car.

I stood and pointed at him. "An old defenseless man. A man of the church. A pastor. And you burned him alive. What sort of coward does that?"

I took a step towards him, and in that instant I witnessed the ruthless nature of my adversary. For in a split second this old, sweating man had raised his gun and was pointing it straight at my heart, his knees slightly bent. And in that moment I knew two things. This man was a killer. And he was prepared to kill again.