Blood Brothers Page 3

  “So Martin…you’ve squeezed all my history out of me; what about you?”

  “I like that,” Martin rebuffed him. “I couldn’t stop you after I asked about you coming to Australia.”

  “I got the impression you wanted me to take your mind off the flight.”

  Martin laughed. He felt relaxed again after the turbulence.

  “All right I admit when we’re having a conversation I feel at ease…okay?”

  “So what sort of an engineer are you, if you’re not an executive?”

  “I suppose you could call me an expert in mining equipment. They call me in if a problem is too great for the resident working engineer, or they need to know if a particular machine can tackle a new type of terrain.”

  “That sounds important. Have you always been a mining engineer?”

  “Good heavens, no; I had to learn like everyone else.”

  “So what led to that?”

  Martin reached over to the tray above his legs and retrieved a bottle of water. He broke the seal and removed the cap and took a couple of mouthfuls. After returning the bottle he contemplated how to simplify what seemed to him a convoluted journey over several years.

  “I have to go back to the early fifties when I took an engineering course at Willesden Technical College in London. When I finally got my Diploma in Mechanical Engineering, my first apprenticeship was at Battersey Power Station working on turbines. Some years later, in 1993, we decided to immigrate to Australia, and as we had relatives in Melbourne, that’s where we headed.”

  “So your first experience of the big country was Melbourne?”

  “Yes…and I soon found out about the rivalry between Sydney and Melbourne so don’t say anything. We thought it was pathetic.”

  “Sydney should have been the capital.”

  “What did I say?”

  “Sorry…carry on.”

  They laughed, but not enough to stop Joe from checking his heading.

  “Right…where was I…oh yes. I soon found out that the only power station in Victoria had more engineers than they wanted, a union problem, and they had different turbines than the out-of-date ones at Battersey. So I pottered around taking engineering jobs far below my diploma level, which I might add was not accepted in Australia, until I saw an advertisement in the paper, not unlike your father did.”

  “Isn’t that funny?” Joe said. “It’s the same all over again.”

  “Yes, that’s true. This was for the same company, only they wanted to retrain experienced engineers.

  We had a big family discussion. The money they were offering after the training was out of this world. So that was it…Broome was our next destination. Oh, and another persuasive factor was that they were going to pay for all our removal expenses, even accommodation assistance until we found our new home. And as an added bonus, should I meet their requirements, help with our loan.”

  “Bloody Hell…no wonder you accepted the job.”

  Another turbulent spell seemed to push the plane sideways. Joe struggled with the control column, keeping an eye on the instruments all the time. He was concentrating on the heading. They were well off course, by the curses he was uttering under his breath. Then he relaxed; all was well again.

  “Sorry, Martin,” he eventually said. “I can’t understand what’s going on.” He glanced out of the window in the direction of the gusts. “It looks pretty clear.”

  “It’s not that storm front coming through?” Martín asked.

  “No, Martin. It’s only six-forty-five. It’s behind us.” He paused a moment as if he was going through the scenario. “Sometimes the weather is unfathomable despite all the information the meteorologists manage to get hold of. You can get a freak circumstance like a build-up of warm air that is forced out of the way by a cold front. This might be what we’re experiencing now.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “I don’t know what to think. Anyway, it’s calm enough now. So…what made you decide to immigrate to Australia?”

  Martin thought he had finished his history, but was happy to continue, if only to take his mind off the turbulence. “Oh, it was a number of things. Don’t get me wrong. We loved living in England, especially in Yorkshire, but back then it was literally going to the dogs. The final clincher was the massive unemployment, the changing social structure and the constant rise in the cost of living; there seemed to be no end. What sort of an environment was that to bring up children?”

  “How did you know it wasn’t any different in Melbourne?”

  “Actually, that was the changer. We have relatives in Melbourne. They came over in 1953 and they supplied us with mountains of information: newspapers, pieces copied from job ads and would you believe, they even sent us some junk mail, giving Kate an idea of the food prices. We were astonished. Our assets were going to be worth twice as much on the exchange rate, the cost of living was cheaper and we could buy a house outright with what we got for ours.”

  “And is that what you did?”

  “No. The interest on a loan was so low compared to back home we took out a small mortgage and banked the rest in case of an emergency.”

  Martin was not sure Joe was listening to his last remark. He expected one of his terse quips. He had only known Joe for a short while, but in these close confines he had learned Joe seemed to have a sharp retort to just about everything. There was no content in it or any sign of malice; he was just trying to be clever.

  He was back to checking the weather as the Cessna started climbing and falling again. Martin could see things were getting worse; he was gripping the control column just as he had done before.

  “I don’t like the look of that, Martin,” he said with his head turned to the left.

  Martin tried to see what was capturing his attention, but Joe’s body was in the way and the window behind his seat was covered in rain drops streaking backwards. He had been so preoccupied with Joe that he had not noticed the rain.

  “What can you see?”

  “There’s a nasty black cloud coming up on our tail.”

  The black cloud was the least of Joe’s worries. Since he’d left Broome he’d been forced to make several heading corrections. The small light plane was being buffeted about by the sudden gusts they were experiencing and forcing the Cessna alarmingly off course. It was not equipped with a GPS system like the Lear Jet and all he had to rely on was his compass and some quick dead reckoning.

  Joe knew if he brought out his heading calculator it would alert Martin to the possibility that something serious was brewing behind them, so he did the maths in his head. By all accounts he might be twenty kilometres off course and would have to choose a new heading. He decided he needed help from the wise guys in AMINCO; they would know what to do.

  CHAPTER 3

  After Philip Hastings escorted Kate off the premises he returned to his office to finish off the reports he was preparing for his American boss, Larry Kingston. It was an irritating task, as he listened to the metal window frames rattle each time the building was hit by a gust of wind. He began to wonder if there was any validity in Kate’s fear that the storm was a little premature. He had no reason to doubt his meteorologist’s earlier report, but at the same time there was something brewing outside.

  Philip made his way to the operations room to check if there was a fresh weather update on the storm front. Other than the low hum of the monitors the room was deathly quiet. For obvious reasons operations was soundproofed against any extraneous sounds that might distract the technicians formulating flight plans, watching the weather over AMINCO’s various sites and monitoring radio traffic.

  Having experience in all these areas, Philip was the operations manager. It was his job to oversee the smooth running of the company’s communications, safe transfer of workers and consultants to and from the sites and if it was possible, the administration of the departments and employees of AMINCO.

  Philip was an easy-going boss; he had to know the sweet way
to get the best out of his technicians. Not an easy task here in the laid-back atmosphere of Broome. He obviously had to maintain some level of officialdom, in his blue company shirt and grey trousers. Then again he would have looked silly meeting clients in a sweat shirt and shorts. That was the attire of the nerds, as they were called, in the controlled environment of their computerised haven. The computers had to be kept at a constant temperature and that was difficult in Broome’s climate.

  Philip crossed the room to the chart table where two figures were bent over a large map of Western Australia. They were on the side of the table adjacent to the top end, as it was referred to: the Timor Sea on the upper edge, the Indian Ocean down the left side and the irregular coastline of the north-western corner; with Broome on the left, the Durack Ranges on the right and the Sandy Desert below.

  Their focus appeared to be on the Sandy Desert, particularly on the coloured strings radiating from the AMINCO headquarters. They were casting shadows across the table because of the overhead lights and Philip’s arrival added another. They looked up at the man with greying hair; he could give each of them at least a decade.

  Max Wendeler was closest to him. He was probably the most Australian of any of the company’s personnel, despite his name, descending from Dutch settlers back in 1850. He still bore the distinctive blue eyes, blonde hair and Arian features, even if somewhat tanned from his sailing obsession. He was Philip’s meteorologist, the obvious one to explain the present conundrum.

  Then again his colleague, Bryce Chandler, may well become their saviour before the day is out. He is the introvert navigator of the team; also the tallest. Probably why he is bald with thinning hair and brilliant at what he does.

  They had that look of collusion on their faces, as if they knew why Philip was there and were in the process of coming up with an answer to suit him.

  “I know that you’re pretty-well protected from the elements in here, but have either of you got any idea what’s happening outside?”

  “We’ve heard,” Max replied. “Elsie rang through a few minutes ago.”

  “Have you got an explanation or is this another storm you missed?”

  “It’s a cyclone,” Max nonchalantly advised him.

  “A cyclone? What are you talking about?”

  “This isn’t a cyclone, Philip…it’s the original storm front. The cyclone is in the Timor Sea. It just sprang up out of nowhere and it’s pushing energy into our ordinary storm. The cyclone’s like a vacuum cleaner; it’s come up against this cold front and it’s trying to push it out of the way, and in the process it’s changing our storm’s course and pumping it full of extra energy.”

  “Describe the energy for me,” Philip asked.

  Bryce jumped in. He was the mathematician of the team and he had already worked it out. “We got confirmation last night that a grade two storm was heading for Broome at about 100km/h. Everything was going to schedule; the storm would arrive over Broome around eight or eight-thirty, which meant it would be well behind our flight to Site 21. Then this cyclone sprang up suddenly and it’s heading west along the Timor Sea. We’re not sure yet, but it looks as if it’s merging with our storm. If that’s true, we have an out-of-control monster travelling at an estimated 200km/h. And it’s following the same path as our plane.”

  “And it’s going to get there faster,” Philip commented.

  “It’s already arrived,” a voice from the radio section shouted.

  Josh Mackenzie was the hermit among the bunch. His array of radio equipment was tucked away in the far corner of the building for fear of interference from their computers and long-range weather devices. He was so wrapped up in his own little world no one paid much attention to his part in the overall picture. Not until they wanted to communicate with one of their pilots or, like now, monitor the radio traffic coming in from distant sites and commuting planes.

  Another reason for his reclusive nature was the difficulty understanding his thick Scottish accent. It made little difference to his credentials when he applied for the position way back when AMINCO first set up their headquarters in Broome. They were looking for more than his ability to communicate; which he could do when he needed to. They were looking for a radio operator with experience in the desert and his service career in North Africa clinched that.

  Philip turned his head and stared down the room into the darkness. “What’s that, Josh?” he shouted.

  “I’ve got ALPHA, TANGO, ZULU on…he sounds upset.”

  “Who’s that, Josh?”

  “It’s Joe…heading for Site 21.”

  “Oh, damn…put him on speaker, will you?”

  There was a loud click and Joe’s curses could be heard clearly. “What the hell’s going on?” he ranted. “I thought this storm was two hours away.”

  “Calm down, Joe. It’s Philip and I’ve got you on speaker.”

  “Oh…hello Philip. What’s happening?”

  “I’ll let Bryce explain. We’re still trying to work things out.”

  “Okay…what am I in for, Bryce?”

  “Joe…calm down and listen. Everything I briefed you on last night was still in place until after you took off. What has changed is a cyclone has popped up in the Timor Sea and altered everything.”

  “How come?” Joe questioned.

  “You’ve got a 200km/h monster wagging the 100km/h tail of your storm. It’s pumping massive energy into what was only a moderate wind and some rain.”

  “I can see it racing up on me, Bryce. What do I do?”

  “Get out of there. If you can’t fly around it and get back on your heading later, climb above it. How high are you now?”

  Joe checked his instruments again: “Twenty-three thousand feet.”

  “Oh well, you’ve got plenty of leeway. Take her up to five thousand and see if that gets you out of harm’s way.”

  “It’s Philip again, Joe, how’s your passenger?”

  “He doesn’t look too good.”

  When Kate opened her front door after leaving the AMINCO airstrip she saw an explosion of orange light streaming through the glass patio doors across the family room and into the hall. By now it was bucketing down outside and the terrible thought of what it was like in the small Cessna caused her to stop and look back towards the Indian Ocean.

  It was six-forty-five. She had plenty of time to have a shower and a hot drink before she had to leave for work. She had to be quick. Jennifer, her daughter, would be up soon and she would commandeer the bathroom right up till she had to set off for her Chemistry class at the university. Kate contemplated ringing Philip but quickly abandoned the idea, thinking it was too early. This bad weather might only be the cloud rushing in front of the storm like Philip had explained.

  Following her shower Kate saw to her make-up, changed into her light-grey working suit, collected her briefcase and went down to the kitchen. She had hardly put the kettle on when she heard Jennifer moving about upstairs. Then the hot pipes in the larder began to rattle as she ran her shower and the kettle popped.

  Ten minutes later Jennifer walked into the kitchen and dropped her satchel down by the door as she did every morning. Kate glanced up at her from the edge of her mug of tea. Jennifer looked different somehow. She looked too casual for a girl in her first year at university.

  There were no uniforms as such anymore. Once you went to university it seemed anything was the order of the day. Jennifer was comfortable in a tee-shirt and jeans, a cardigan or jumper if it was cold, but that was not what had Kate scrutinising Jennifer’s appearance. There was definitely something different this morning.

  “Good morning Mum,” Jennifer said, walking around the table, checking the kettle and switching it on. She then prepared her breakfast of cereal and a sprinkling of blueberries and pineapple chunks and placed them on the table opposite Kate before she returned to make her mug of tea. She brought the mug and the jug of milk back to the table. All the time Kate had said nothing.

  “Good morning Mu
m,” she said again, sitting down.

  Kate broke from her stare. “Oh, sorry. Good morning dear.”

  Jennifer looked across to her mother. “What?”

  “There’s something different about you this morning and I can’t fathom what it is,” Kate said, continuing to examine her daughter.

  Jennifer ran her fingers through her light-brown hair, teasing the shallow waves that fell onto her shoulders.

  “Your hair isn’t straight anymore,” Kate said.

  Jennifer waggled her fingers again. “And,” she emphasised, “you’ve changed the colour.”

  “No, Mum. I’ve added highlights. Don’t you think it makes my hair look more golden? You should see it in the sunlight. It actually radiates.”

  An expression of relief crossed Kate’s face. She had no idea what was different, but the little change Jennifer had made to her hair was fine with her. “You look beautiful, dear. I only hope this isn’t going to entice the boys.”

  Jennifer laughed, “Oh Mum…they don’t need any enticement.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Kate said over her mug of tea.

  There was a quiet moment as Jennifer got on with her breakfast and Kate pondered on a classroom of boys bursting with testosterone. It was a fleeting fear that was quickly superseded by the rain pounding on the kitchen window.

  “Did I hear you get up early or was it a dream?” Jennifer asked.

  “It wasn’t a dream, dear. Your dad forgot to order a taxi to take him to the AMINCO airstrip, so I had to drive him there.”

  “I bet that was interesting. What was it like? I bet it was one of those mysterious hangars at the airport,” Jennifer said, finishing her breakfast.

  “That was the mistake I made, thinking it was at the airport. But it wasn’t. It was nine kilometres outside the suburbs. It was quite big, what I saw of it. A little run down, but adequate for their needs.”