Free Underground by Andrew McGahan Page B

matter. Certainly not Islam. But we
are
prepared to fight, to save this country.’
    ‘Save it from who?’ I asked.
    ‘From itself. Or at least from its government. This police state they’ve set up.’ The smile again. ‘In particular, we’re trying to save it from your brother.’
    ‘Good fucking luck.’ What did this bloke expect—that just because I hated Bernard I’d be impressed by a bunch of would-be revolutionaries trying to overthrow him? ‘And you can just leave me out of it, okay?’
    ‘Even when your brother has ordered your execution?’
    ‘So you tell me.’
    ‘What do you think that news report was about?’
    And there was nothing I could say to that.
    At the same time, a list of stories about the OU was running through my head. How they supposedly had a secret network throughout the country. How they had members from all strata of society—public servants, farmers, doctors, mechanics, priests, IT workers, dock workers, lawyers, teachers—any sort of people you cared to name. How they were waging a hidden campaign against the security laws, against the detention laws, against the US bases, against our involvement in all the wars—in other words, against just about everything that had happened in Australia over the last decade, all the way back to the September 11 attacks. How they had hundreds of safe houses from city to city, and ferried all kinds of illegal persons between them. How they had reportedly sabotaged US army vehicles, or ambushed AFP roadblocks, or broken imprisoned dissenters out of jail. How they scrawled their catchcry on billboards and brick walls and battleships, only to have it hastily painted over by the authorities. ‘Free Australia!’ The words always accompanied by the drawing of an upside-down Southern Cross.
    Phantoms. Except, here was one of them.
    I said, ‘Okay, if I’m not your prisoner, what exactly
do
you want with me?’
    ‘First of all, to keep you alive.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because the government wants you dead.’
    I puzzled this through. ‘But how did you know about me in the first place? I mean, that I’d been kidnapped?’ I noddedtowards the brooding Aisha. ‘And how did you happen to show up just when they were about to shoot her?’
    ‘Ah . . .’ Harry pondered the question for a moment. ‘I only know so much myself, you understand. I get orders and information from above, and I don’t always ask for explanations. But the Underground has contacts everywhere. Even, dare I say it, in the ranks of the AFP itself.’
    That
did
impress me. ‘Someone in the AFP tipped you off?’
    ‘Yes. But the truth is, this isn’t the first we’ve heard of our lady terrorist here and her group. We’ve been watching them for some time now.’
    Aisha’s eyes narrowed. ‘Bullshit.’
    ‘Sorry luv, it’s true. And we’re not the only ones. It’s like this. About a year ago now our sources let us know that the AFP had become aware of a group called Great Southern Jihad. Our informers are only low level, admittedly, but they were confused, because no one in the AFP seemed very worried about these particular terrorists. In fact, orders came down from above that agents were to subject GSJ to only light, intermittent observation, with no interference. And that’s unusual. Sure, sometimes the Feds might watch a terrorist group for a while, to see who its contacts are, but this was different. These were “keep your hands off” sort of orders. Which is all pretty suggestive. So the Underground started its own surveillance of GSJ cells, wherever we could find them. We wanted to know what was really going on.’ He smiled at Aisha. ‘Your little cell was one of the first we started to track. We didn’t actually see you nab Leo, but we heard about it from our AFP sources, quick smart.’
    Aisha glowered at that. ‘The abduction was a mistake.’
    ‘Yes, I’m sure it was. But the question you should be asking is—how did the AFP themselves know about it?