Chapter Three
It was quiet around the Sydney Harbour Bridge, the sort of quiet that wasn't really quiet at all, but rather a long wait until something would explode.
The nearby area had been shut off, troops guarding and waiting.
Waiting.
Inside the Opera House, there wasn't much to do but wait either. Leaning against Mick, Alex tried to breathe normally. It was surprisingly hard. She was also very aware that Mick had an arm half way around her waist, resting on her hip.
That was hardly the thing to concentrate on now, but then again, it stopped her from thinking about.. Well, everything else.
Taking his hand and slowly stroking his fingers, she decided if this was it, she might as well enjoy herself as much as she could. Mick seemed to be like-minded.
Pulling her in closer, he allowed himself to take in the smell of her and not think about the horrors outside. She was warm and seemed to fit so perfectly in his embrace. He let a finger run down from her jaw, the side of her neck, her shoulder, her arm and all the way to her fingertip.
"Mick?"
"Hmm.."
"Did you kiss me last night?"
"Yeah."
"Ah."
The door slammed open, and they both looked up to see what Mick had thought to be the leader of the terrorists march in with a speakerphone. Everyone fell quiet, even the few children in the room without being hushed. The man radiated intensity and conviction, Mick observed. Two very dangerous qualities when focused on the wrong issue.
"Ladies and gentlemen, you are under control of the American Liberation Movement. We have no wish to harm you; if you remain calm no one will get hurt. We are here to liberate you.."
"God.." Mick muttered in Alex's ear, his hot breath tickling her skin.
The man plunged on. "The government in America is tyrannising us and taking away our constitutional rights. We are fighting a war, a war that will decide the freedom of all of humanity. In this war, we have to take whatever steps necessary to win."
"You blew up the bridge!" a woman suddenly screamed, and stood up. "You bastards!"
She took a step towards the man, and even before anyone could blink, a gunshot echoed through the room. The woman got s surprised look on her face, then slowly keeled over.
There were a few stifled cries, but no one dared move. A few mothers made their kids look away, and the terrorist leader just kicked the body out of the way, getting blood on his boots. Alex leaned her face against Mick's chest, biting her lip so hard she nearly drew blood.
"We do not wish to harm you," the man was idiotically enough still saying, "but anyone who tries to hinder us will be treated like enemy soldiers. The government is the enemy, and if you act on behalf of them, you are the enemy. We are here to open your eyes, to make you see the light. To prove to you I am sincere.."
The prime minister was pushed forward and onto his feet, looking haggard and nothing like the leader of the nation.
"This is your enemy. I will liberate you." The terrorist leader lifted his gun, and the prime minister paled.
"Shit.." Alex muttered, closing her eyes as several gunshots echoed through the room. Mick's body tensed, and she knew what had happened. There were a few shocked gasps around her, but no one cried out.
She glanced up to see the pool of blood, and the slumped body of Prime Minister John Howard. Late prime minister now.
It took a considerable amount of willpower not to break into tears. She pushed herself tighter against Mick, wishing like hell she would wake up soon.
"I know," Mick whispered, gently stroking her back.
"Throw his body out to show we are serious and will kill more hostages if they attack," the leader ordered, and stepped out. Hateful eyes followed him, but no one moved.
There had been too much death already.
II
Rachel stood in the hallway and tried not to panic. It was hard, seeing how there was no good news to get anywhere. There were no sightings of the Footloose, and everywhere there was so much death she felt like she was sinking into it. Like quicksand, the more she struggled, the harder the pull was.
Leaning against the wall, she waited for Russell to return. He had promised to find out if Frank and David were at any of the hospitals. She tried not to hope too much. They might not even be in need of medical assistance. In fact, it was almost better if Russell couldn't find them..
Almost better.
He came walking out, and she immediately knew something was amiss.
"Russell?"
"I.. I checked the records. She's dead. Maya, I mean. She was on the train."
He looked up at her, eyes so wide she could see all of herself in them.
"She's.." He staggered, then straightened. "Apparently a Frank Holloway did come in to this hospital with a young boy, just with minor injuries."
She managed not to cry out in joy. It simply wasn't appropriate, given the situation. But her heart skipped a beat, cheering widely.
"I'm so sorry, Russell."
He managed a weak smile. "I know. Go to your son. He's on the second floor."
"Thank you," she whispered, and ran so fast her feet barely touched the floor. They were alive. They were both alive.
She took the stairs two steps at the time because the elevator was too slow. Finally, she slammed open the door to the second floor. Glancing around, her eyes suddenly fell on a familiar face pacing just a few metres away.
"FRANK!" she screamed, not caring about anything except the fact that he was alive. He was alive. There could have been two Frank Holloways in Sydney after all, but seeing him she finally knew for sure. He was alive.
He turned, and as his glance fell on her, there was a sunrise on his face. She could see him mouthing her name, as he took a step toward her. And another. And another.
She stood perfectly still as he came running towards her, just drinking in the sight of him. She flung her arms around him as he swept her into an embrace, holding her so close it hurt. But neither let go, clinging onto each other like it was a matter of life and death.
Maybe it was.
"David is fine too," he whispered. "Just swallowed some water."
"Thank you, thank you," she whispered back, not quite sure what she was thanking him for. Maybe for saving David, or maybe just for being alive.
"I love you," he simply replied, realising if he ever was gonna say it, now was the time. He had never been so scared in his life as when he had waited for some scrap of news telling that she was okay, that she wasn't among the many, many dead. He wasn't sure what he'd done if she hadn't been all right.
"Me too," she whispered so quietly he barely heard it, not trusting herself enough to actually say the three words. She hoped he knew she meant it anyway.
She didn't see the completely ridiculous grin on his face.
"David is just down the hall," he said as he finally lessened his grip on her. "Come on."
She followed him down the hall, her legs nearly buckling under her until she finally saw David, sitting on the bed and being treated by a nurse. He lit up as soon as he saw her.
"Mum!"
"David," she whispered, relief and grief mixing as she realised she had to tell her son his father was dead.
Frank's hand took hold of hers reassuringly, sensing that something was wrong even before she said anything.
II
"Jeff!" George came running in, not even realising he was using the first name of his superior. Catastrophes had a tendency to put you on first name basis with even the president.
"Helen is at Sydney Hospital. She's not in critical condition, but that's about all I know."
Exhaling, Jeff muttered a quite thanks to a God he had never quite believed in.
"Frank's fine too, apparently."
Jeff sensed the huge but, and realised it would not be a good but. He tried to brace himself, even though he knew it was pointless. Bad news always hit you hard, no matter how well you braced yourself.
"Gavin and Tayler are dead. They're on the official casualty list the hospitals are releasing. Still no word on Mick and Alex."
"Thank you, George," Jeff said quietly, and watched the younger man walk out. George was upset as the rest of them, but he didn't know them all. He couldn't begin to understand the loss.
Jeff did. And before he realised what was happening, big tears were forming in his eyes. He tried wiping them away with his sleeve, but new tears kept coming and coming until he finally gave up and let them fall.
Strangely enough, he felt slightly better, letting the emotions flow and not keeping them locked up for once.
But there was still work to be done, so he wiped away the last tears and pushed away the emotions again.
Sometimes he wondered if he was getting too good at that.
II
Helen stared at the well-meaning nurse, and fought an urge to strangle the young woman. The question "how are we feeling?" was probably meant in the best intention, but it didn't stop Helen from wanting to wring the girl's neck.
Luckily, a doctor called out for the nurse just then, and she disappeared, leaving Helen quietly fuming.
Idiots. What did they know? What could they possibly know about what it was like knowing the one person in your family who could still stand you, was gone?
She had heard the nurses whisper about fourteen hundred dead, and so far, seventy-six survivors. Seventy-six. And she was one of them.
Why her? Why had Tayler died and not her? It was almost better if it had been her to die, Helen thought. Tayler was young and full of life, and fairly happy with her new boyfriend, Mitch something.
Tayler had still had a shot at happiness.
And Helen had never felt so old. Numbness seemed to have taken over her body, as she lay motionless on the bed, staring at the ceiling. There didn't seem to be any point in moving. It didn't lessen the pain.
Somewhere in her chest her heart had to be beating since she was alive, but she couldn't feel it. She couldn't even feel her breath any more.
God, Tayler..
Closing her eyes, Helen could see the faces of all those in the train, all of them screaming in terror as they had fallen, fallen, fallen..
Strangely enough, it felt like she was still falling, and when she finally hit the ground, it would kill her.
II
The news reported that the American Liberation Movement was behind the bombs, and that they had the US president hostage, along with a hundred or so other hostages.
John Howard was dead.
People didn't react with as much shock as the news would indicate. Too much had happened, and people were trying desperately to process what had already happened before taking on even more.
So the news was received fairly calmly. Another name to the death toll, that was all.
Jack had managed to get as far Circular Quay and the last military blockade between him and the Opera House when he heard on the portable radio he had nicked, that Prime Minister Howard had been killed and the terrorists were threatening to kill the rest of the hostages too. Donna had slipped earlier and mentioned Alex and Mick might be trapped there.
Damned if he was going to stand and wait like some idiot, like bloody Jeff wanted him to do. He had to do something, otherwise Jack was sure he would go stark raving mad.
There was nothing worse than just waiting.
And if he concentrated on Mick and Alex, he avoided thinking about Tayler and Gavin and Matt, and possibly Emma and Helen, and the fact that he couldn't reach Sophie and..
"You can't enter here," one of the soldiers said as he approached the roadblock.
"Sydney water police," Jack replied, holding out his badge. The soldier didn't look too impressed.
"This is land."
"Two of my colleagues are in there," Jack said and indicated the Opera House. Bloody ugly tourist magnet. Yet, as Jack looked at it, and noticed the areas that had been slightly burned in the blast, he felt a surge of anger.
It may be an ugly tourist magnet, but it was Sydney's ugly tourist magnet. If anyone was gonna blast it, it should be them, not some bloody Americans who wanted to make a point that had nothing to do with Australia in the first place.
"Sorry, sir," the soldier replied in a voice that suggested he wasn't sorry at all.
Glancing towards the shut off area, Jack noticed a few shadows moving along the roof.
"You're going to bloody storm it!"
"Sir, step back," the soldier warned, but both snapped out of their staring contest as sounds of gunfire ripped through the tense silence.
II
The air inside the Opera House seemed to have become heavier, or maybe it was just harder to breathe. Huddled together, people waited and waited and waited, until ever second held a small eternity.
There wasn't like there was much else to do.
Alex occupied her time indulging in some rather juicy fantasies. It kept her mind off the more dire thoughts and with Mick's warm body so close to hers; it was quite easy to project herself elsewhere. Like on a warm, sandy beach, hot sun on her face, warm hands caressing her back..
"Alex?" Mick whispered suddenly, tearing her away from the daydream. "If that one guy by the door was distracted, it would be possible to turn the light switch and.."
"What you wanna play secret agent, Reilly, Mick Reilly?" she asked angrily. "Get yourself killed?"
"I have to do something!" he snapped back, then noticing one of the terrorists giving him a look. He lowered his voice and leaned in closer to Alex, so close their cheeks touched.
"No, you bloody don't!" she whispered fiercely, brushing a thumb against his lips when he tried to protest. "If you die, I will never forgive you."
"I know," he said softly. And then the lights flickered off, and a lot of things happened at once.
Hurried steps could be heard, and doors slamming open. Gunfire erupted, and Mick pushed Alex to the floor, even knowing she wasn't going to be very happy about his protective 'masculinity crap', as she would probably phrase it. He couldn't stop himself though, it was a purely instinctively act.
There were screams around them, a few cut short as bullets slammed into people. Alex opened her mouth to make a sound as well, and realising the terrorists could very well be firing at the sounds they heard, Mick did the only thing he knew would shut her up when his arms were locked under her body.
He glued his lips to hers. It wasn't a kiss as much, more a lingering touch of lips to lips. Still, it worked. She turned very silent, even her breathing seemed to slow. It was hard to breathe, even painful. Her eyes were beginning to water, and she realised some kind of gas had been dropped into the room.
Mick had realised the same, and rolled off her. The gunfire had died away, and faint coughing could be heard.
'Shit!' Mick thought, and grabbing Alex's hand, they began crawling towards the door. All around them, people seemed to be doing the same.
Up the stairs and into the brilliant sunlight and the chaos.
II
The darkness began to unravel as Emma slowly opened her eyes and winced. She was quite sure she was supposed to be in pain, but her body felt too distant for the pain to be a bother.
"Em.." Tommy's face drifted into view, looking so pained it was heartbreaking to watch.
"What happened?" she managed to mutter, her voice sounding as far away as her body felt. She was definitely on drugs of some kind. They had to be heavy, which told her she had to have been messed up rather badly.
"The bridge fell," he replied quietly, stroking her cheek. "You were hit by debris."
"Gavin?" The look on Tommy's face gave her the answer even before he spoke.
"He.. He drowned. I'm sorry."
She wanted to cry, but her eyes didn't seem to respond. They were so dry it was hard to blink. She did remember something falling at them, cutting into her flesh, and then pain, pain like she had never felt before.
"How.. How many?"
Tommy rubbed his temples, shaking his head slightly. God, she would do anything to take the sadness away from his features. He looked lost, like he had when Rhonda had died. He was radiating the same kind of intense guilt and sadness mixed together as he had then, but many times worse.
"They estimate about fourteen hundred dead."
The number meant nothing to her. It was simply too large. She tried to focus on it, but her mind kept on wanting to drift away and it was hard to stop it.
"I'm so sorry," Tommy said again. "I could have.. I.." His voice faltered, and he leaned his head against her hand, as if trying to draw strength from the feeling of his skin against hers.
"Tommy," she whispered helplessly, and because she didn't know what else to say, she kept repeating his name. Putting her other hand on his head, she combed his hair; being the only thing she had energy to do.
Quiet sobs escaped Tommy, and she felt her hand become wet with tears. They stayed like that for a small eternity, him crying and her wishing there was something she could do, something she could say...
And eventually, her tears came too.
II
Coughing madly, Mick stumbled up the last step and practically dragged Alex with him. They collapsed onto the pavement, Mick throwing a quick look towards the bridge area, just to make sure he hadn't dreamed it all.
No, the bridge still wasn't there.
Alex landed on top of him, and they both stared at the sky for a few seconds, feeling too wired to do much of anything.
"Shit, shit, shit," Mick muttered, adrenaline pumping through his veins. They were outside, and they were alive (for the time being), and he felt like he was going to burst.. People were still coming crawling out, and as he threw a quick glance around, he saw that armed people were standing around.
Australian military.
"We made it," Alex whispered, the sudden relief of being alive washing away the horror, grief and strain of what had happened.
"I know."
And then she kissed him, because if she didn't do something, she was going to explode. He seemed startled, but it only took a few seconds until his lips were eagerly parting hers, kissing her deeply and possessively. Her hands wandered inside his shirt, to feel his heartbeats against her palm.
Just how long they were engaged in the tongue-groping fest, Mick wasn't sure, but suddenly he became aware that a shadow was falling over them. He glanced up at the heavily armed soldier – who looked slightly bemused.
"Our medical personnel want to have a look at you," the soldier informed them, and they scrambled to their feet, noticing that the terrorists were being rounded up a few metres away.
"Um, yeah," Alex muttered, all the adrenaline leaving her and she just felt dead tired. Mick put an arm around her shoulder as they walked unsteadily towards the other surviving hostages.
It was over then.
And yet, she had a feeling, it had barely begun.
II
Frank walked quietly into the room, taking in the scene before him. David asleep on his mother's lap, tears streaking his face, and Rachel must have cried too, judging from the slight swelling around her eyes.
"I found you some coffee," Frank greeted her, and she gave him a tired smile that was really more of a grimace.
"Thanks."
"How's he taking it?" he asked as he handed her the mug, and she swallowed the content in one sip.
"How do you think?" she replied, but without any venom.
"Sorry."
"Don't be, Frank.David told me you had swam both of you to shore after the Footloose went down. You saved his life."
Frank shrugged as modestly as he could.
"I think you're his new hero."
Chuckling softly, he sat down on the bed next to her, taking her hand.
"How are you doing?"
For a second she considered answering "fine", but the look of pure concern on his face made her change her mind. It seemed idiotic to pretend everything was fine when it was obvious it wasn't.
"Not very good. I don't even know who to begin to grieve for. Jonathon, Tayler, Gavin.." her voice cracked, and she looked down at her son, shifting slightly in his sleep.
"I know what you mean," he said softly. "They say Helen and Emma will make it though."
"And you and David are fine," she whispered, leaning her forehead against his.
"Oh yeah. I'm not letting you off the hook to help clean my house that easily."
She couldn't help it, she had to let out a small laughter. "You have the worst sense of humour, Frank."
"Hey, you laughed, not I."
He waited for a comeback, but it didn't come. Sadness fell over her face again, and her hand began stroking David's hair. He was going to make them both smile again, Frank vowed. He knew he had no right to claim David as his own, but the boy was so much like Rachel.. How could anyone not be charmed by the kid?
In time, maybe they could be a family. The thought warmed his heart, even in a hell day like this.
"We'll be fine, Rach."
Rachel wasn't so sure. Could Sydney ever be fine again after this? A gaping wound had been left in the middle of the city, literally.
Harbour Bridge was no more.
II
Ambulances began to speed away, as the crowd began together around the no longer shut off Opera House. TV crews were already there, and what had to be hundreds of reporters.
'Like vultures swarming a dead body,' Jack thought irritably.
Pushing through the crowd, he tried to spot Mick and Alex among the people being medical examined. A few dead bodies were being covered up, and some were being loaded into ambulances. He couldn't spot them immediately, which made his worry grow stronger. They had to be there, they had to be..
He waved his badge impatiently at some soldiers who tried to object as he moved through, and this time, it seemed to work. Finally, he reached the area where medical personnel where examining the lightly injured no-longer hostages.
He spotted them almost at once. Even with an ambulance worker checking out a head wound on Alex, their bodies were glued together. Jack told himself there was no reason to be jealous. They had just been through a horrible experience together. That had to give them a bond.
And suddenly he had to stop and catch his breath. He and Rachel had had been through a horrible experience, together, but it had tore them apart. Why? Why did she have to run to bloody Frank Holloway?
What did Frank have that he didn't?
'Focus, Jack,' his mind instructed him.
"Jack!" Alex exclaimed, suddenly spotting him. He walked over, wincing at the sight of the nasty wound on the side of her head. Mick looked a little better, but not by much.
"How is Matt?"
"He's dead," Jack replied as gently as he could. "We've lost Gavin and Tayler too."
"God," Mick muttered, taking Alex's hand without thinking. "How many on the bridge?"
"They think it's about fourteen hundred."
The statement hung in the air a while, all three trying to wrap their minds around the number. Alex closed her eyes, suddenly worried that some of her family could have.. No, they didn't normally take the train. Normally.
That was a hell of a dangerous 'normally'.
God, she had to call so many people and make sure they were all right.
"Are you two okay?" Jack finally asked.
"What do you think, Jack?" Mick snapped, more harshly than intended. He was just so bloody tired, and the day wasn't even finished. Jack could go hang himself right now.
"Just asking," Jack held out his hands, feeling his own anger rise.
"Oh, shut up both of you," Alex said irritably, wincing as a bandage was being applied to her head. "This is not the time to play 'mark the territory'."
To her amazement, both shut up. The glances they sent each other weren't very promising though.
"Emma and Helen are in hospital," Jack muttered in a low voice. "I can't get in touch with Sophie."
"I'm sure she's fine," Alex replied, but she felt less than sure herself. She had been sure it would be just another Tuesday, and look where that assumption had brought her.
And the day wasn't even bloody over yet.
II
"Hostage crisis over!" the TV screamed, just as Jeff poked his head into the eating area. Half the crew was watching the broadcast, and before he could tell them there were more constructive things they could do with their time, he noticed the footage.
The Opera House.
"Just a few minutes ago, the dramatic situation of the Opera House hostage situation was resolved when SAS troops stormed the building, releasing tear gas.."
Channel Nine had obviously had a chopper flying over, zooming in on the people coming running out of the Opera House. And there was Alex and Mick, looking quite haggard, but most definitely alive.
A small cheer broke out in the room, and Jeff felt his own lips curve into a smile. They were alive, and obviously not too badly hurt. And for a brief moment, it made up for all those dead.
Just for a too brief moment.
The cheering turned into a low whistle as Mick and Alex were quite obviously not noticing the cameras.
"The hostages were relived to be free," the TV commentator announced, "but condition is still critical for US President Bush, who suffered several gunshots as the SAS stormed the Opera House.."
"It's over then," George muttered.
"No," Jeff replied quietly, mostly to himself. He thought of fourteen hundred people dead, a bridge no longer there, Gavin, Matt and Tayler no longer among them, Emma and Helen possibly scarred for life, hell, they were all probably scarred for life. And then there was a dead prime minister and possibly a dead president.
Sydney would be in chaos, traffic would be hell, the United States and Australia would fight over who got to prosecute the terrorists and there would be so many funerals people wouldn't have time to go to work for a while.
No, it was definitely not over. Now came the hard part, rebuilding, grieving and eventually, moving on.
If they could.