Free Underground by Andrew McGahan Page A

want you dead.’
    ‘Is that any surprise?’ I interjected. ‘She’s a terrorist. More than that, she’s one of the ones who nuked Canberra.’
    ‘Who told you that?’
    ‘She did.’
    He laughed. Stared at her for a moment. ‘Got tickets on yourself, haven’t you, girl?’ He shook his head. ‘Either way, she steps out the door and someone will gun her down. As for you—your own brother has declared you dead, when he knows perfectly well you aren’t.’
    ‘It’s some sort of mistake . . .’
    ‘No mistake. From what we’ve heard, the AFP has secret orders to shoot
you
on sight as well. The story is that you and her work together, and always have, but supposedly it’s all being kept quiet to avoid embarrassing the PM.’
    I was shaken. ‘That’s not true.’
    ‘We know. But even so, by government decree, you don’t exist anymore. Indeed, the government seems to be shifting heaven and earth to make sure that neither of you exists. Do you understand what I’m saying? The only reason you’re both alive is because we’ve got you safely hidden down here.’
    My mouth was dry. ‘Who
are
you?’
    He hesitated, picked at the hem of his balaclava. ‘I guess you should be told. The fact is, you two don’t have any choice but to trust us, if you want to stay alive.’
    Then to my astonishment he pulled the mask off. I saw a round, ruddy face. A dishevelled mass of sandy hair. And a wry, lopsided smile.
    ‘My name is Harry. Welcome to the Oz Underground.’

TEN
    So now I was a captive of the OU.
    And I know that you bastards don’t believe me—not if the interrogations are anything to go by—but until that very moment I had never in my life had a thing to do with them. Until that moment, in fact, I wasn’t even sure that the Oz Underground really existed. Yes, I’d heard the rumours. Yes, I’d seen the graffiti. But I never once read their name anywhere in the media. I never once heard any law enforcement agency decry their activities, or issue warrants for their arrest. So what was I supposed to think? And when, on occasion, I’d raised the question with the odd government official who crossed my path, I was always blithely assured that there was not now and never had been an Underground. They were a fantasy, a chimera, just the wishful thinking of a few left-wing crazies. Forget all about them, Leo, old son, and have another beer.
    Lying motherfuckers.
    Meanwhile, down in the empty snooker room, Harry was folding his balaclava neatly and trying to point out that I wasn’t a captive at all. (And no, I don’t know his last name. Or if Harry was even his real first name. And why am I bothering with denials? You’d know more about it than me. You’re the ones who killed him, and you’re the ones who have his body.)
    ‘You see what I’m saying?’ He was looking earnestly from Aisha to me. ‘There’s no point hiding my face. I know you two won’t betray me. There’s no one you could betray me
to
. We’re the only refuge you have left.’
    ‘The Underground?’ I said, still in disbelief. ‘You’re telling me that the Underground is real, and that you’re it?’
    He smiled. ‘Well, a part of it.’
    He sure didn’t look it. Of all the gun-wielding idiots I’d met in the last few days, he seemed the least likely to be part of a militant resistance movement. With his beer belly and open face and receding hairline, he looked like he should be sitting on a beach with a stubbie in one hand and a battered old trannie tuned to the cricket in the other, ogling topless girls who were twenty years too young for him.
    He asked, ‘You’ve heard about what we do?’
    ‘Yeah.’ I glanced at Aisha, then back to him. ‘More bloody terrorists.’
    ‘We’re not terrorists.’
    ‘No?’
    His expression had grown serious. ‘We don’t wish any harm to Australia, or to any western society.’ Aisha gave a cough of cynical laughter, and he stared at her levelly. ‘Or to any other society, for that