The Redactor, Chapter 06

“Sorry, Mr—”

  “Professor.” I corrected the woman behind the Qantas ticket counter.

  “Sorry, Professor Griffin, the chances of getting on that flight are slim. The wait-list is already long.”

  I thanked her and shuffled off the head of the queue.

  I set my briefcase down on the floor and shrugged my shoulders in an attempt to stretch my neck. I felt stiff from the base of my spine up. The buzz of the airport’s eternal twilight filled my ears.

  There were no seats on Qantas Flight 97 from Perth to Hong Kong. The prophecy written on the sheet in my briefcase foretold the imminent murder of Li Min. But Fate had spoken again. The next flight with seats wouldn’t get me there on time.

  Can’t argue with Fate.

  Besides, Hiero wouldn’t do it. Perth was one thing, and he can’t have meant more than to scare Rhianne. She was a slim girl. If he’d meant murder, she’d be dead. So he’d done his research, and learned what mortal fear looks like, and how the garrotting wire feels in your palms as it pulls taut on young skin.

  But Hong Kong? He was yanking my chain.

  I wandered past a bar, and ran my eye over the bottles arrayed behind it. Perhaps a snifter would loosen my neck.

  Then I remembered her voice on the phone. I’d called Li Min’s number and reached her answering machine. The same smile I’d seen on her photo was in her voice, and I could see her speaking, recording the message, telling me, telling the world, she would be away until the next day. Her birthday.

  Surprise lit the face of the woman at the Qantas desk when she looked up to see me again. She took a moment, evidently, to remember me, and what I wanted. She smiled tightly.

  “I’m sorry, the wait-list hasn’t shrunk any.”

  “How about Business Class,” I said.

  She shook her head.

  I sighed.

  “First?”

  Now her eyes lit with a new light. She tapped at her keyboard and confirmed there was a vacancy.

  “How much is that?” I said.

  She told me.

  I did the sums in my head. It was more than a month’s pay, and my bank balance was already skimming, bouncing just above the mortgage line like a skipping stone. If I paid for this ticket, the stone might just bite on water and plunge into the silt...

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll take it.”

  The last thing I did before boarding flight QF97 to Hong Kong, was photocopy all of Hiero’s notes, and post them to a nonsense address in Queensland, with a return address of Murdoch police station.