“Going…up,” the female voice in the lift announced, as the lift demonstrated why it was also called an elevator. “Level…twelve.” The doors slid open.
Michael stepped out onto the coloured carpet, hearing the doors click shut behind him. He turned right, checking out the doors for one of the sporting clubs. The first one he came to said, “City Squash.” He suppressed a smile. Like the lift had said, maybe his investigation was gaining ground, after all.
He squeaked the glass door open and the receptionist looked up. He pulled out one of his headphones, letting it drop onto the shoulder of his polo shirt. “Can I help you?” His expression said that he didn’t think he could.
Michael ignored the expression and pulled out his folder of photos. “I work for ASIO and I’m running an investigation into potential terrorist activity in this area. Can you tell me if you recognise any of these people?” He spread the photos across the receptionist’s desk.
The receptionist hunched over and peered at the pictures, pulling a fish-lipped pout that Michael thought made him look even more stupid. He wondered if he’d have to repeat it in smaller words. He waited.
And waited, while resisting the urge to pull out his taser to hurry the bloke up a bit.
After a few minutes of pouting, the receptionist finally tapped his finger on the woman holding a squash racquet. “I’m not sure, but I think this woman might’ve been a member here. I dunno, though.”
Michael clenched his fists by his sides, trying to keep his voice calm. “Do you know her?”
“Nah, mate, but she’s carrying a squash racquet, so she must’ve been coming here.” He pointed at the racquet.
“But you haven’t seen her?”
The receptionist shrugged. “I haven’t seen her this week and I only started on Monday. Gaz might know.” He stood up. “Oi, Gaz!” he shouted. “Some terrorist bloke to see you!”
Michael gritted his teeth and thought about the sound the man’s teeth would make as his fist shattered them. He hoped Gaz would have a few more brains.
“A WHAT?” came a voice, growing louder as footsteps squeaked on vinyl. “Baz, what the fuck are you on about?”
The bloke who appeared was equally athletic as the first and wearing the same polo-shirt-and-shorts uniform.
He looked at Baz and then at Michael. Turning a sneer on Baz, he said, “He doesn’t look like a terrorist. What were you on about?”
“I work for ASIO in counter-terrorism and I’m trying to find some persons of interest, so I can ask them a few questions. Can you tell me if you recognise any of these people?” Michael broke in smoothly, not wanting to wait for Baz to beat his one functional brain cell until he remembered how to speak. Michael waved his hands over the photos spread across the desk.
Gaz leaned over and looked. It was barely a second before he replied, “Sure. That one’s Althea…nope, don’t remember her last name. I haven’t seen her in months – she used to be a regular. All the blokes used to fight over who got to play her, because they all wanted to beat her. No one ever did, though. She was the best player we had.”
Michael was almost ready to hug the bloke. “Any chance you’d know where to find her now?”
Gaz shrugged. “She used to work for the physiotherapist next door, but she moved to work in a hospital in March. She wanted to work closer to her husband, she said.”
“Do you have any of her contact details? It’s a matter of national security – we need to contact her.” Michael crossed his fingers.
Gaz shrugged again. “Sure, mate. We should still have her membership form on file. Let me see what I can do.”
Twenty minutes later, which was the time it took Baz to print out Althea’s details once Gaz had located them in about three seconds, Michael left the squash club.
Next, martial arts, he decided.
YOU ARE READING
Going Down (Nightmares Prequel)
Mystery / Thriller“Find Al Himar. That’s one terrorist who’s going down!” After a dead terror suspect’s body is found, anti-terrorist operatives search her house. The only clue she left was a handwritten diary. Cryptic references to Al Himar and six people are all th...
