by John Kelly
It was two days later. Amanda Blackburn arrived early and first noticed him walking along the gravel pathway through the gardens, flanked by the brilliant yellow autumn elms that fashioned a glow underneath their stunning foliage. The glum, grey sky above set a stark contrast to the dazzling array of colour below; the spacious lawns displaying a deep green, upon which children played with their friends in the shadow of the Shrine. He walked toward her, upright and steady, but head drooped downward scanning the gravel as if navigating his way a few metres at a time rather than absorb the panorama ahead. He was perhaps sixty, she thought, and wore an overcoat and hat despite the mild nature of the morning. She wondered momentarily what on earth she was doing here, meeting a total stranger under such unusual circumstances. As he came closer to her, he raised his head as if aware all along that she was there. The park bench identified by the crack in the concrete leg was exactly where he said it would be.
'Amanda Blackburn?' he asked. She nodded. 'Mr. Avers, I presume?' she responded.
'Thank you for meeting me,' he began. 'I know you must think this is probably a waste of time,' he said, as he sat down on the park bench beside her, taking care to leave a space between them so as not to make her feel uncomfortable.
'Well, yes it might be, but then again it might not,' Amanda answered confidently, not wanting to betray any sign of her inner doubt. 'I won't know that until we talk and anyway it's a lovely morning, the sun is shining and you have given me an opportunity to escape the office, so at the very least I'm well disposed to talk with you.'
Mr. Avers grinned. 'I'm glad you feel that way. I liked your book. You write well. You have a certain style that appeals to me. You write plainly and without fear, and not too much literary la-di-da.'
'Thank you for that,' she replied, 'although I'm not sure if the literary writers of the world would appreciate you referring to their work as, la-di-da.'
'Have you ever found when reading a book you suddenly become aware that you have failed to absorb the entire paragraph you were just reading?' he asked.
'All the time,' Amanda answered, keen to share her experiences with someone who articulated clearly and intelligently.
'It's because of all the la-di-da,' Avers answered. 'So often, writers get carried away and begin to indulge in their own romantic notion of what someone should enjoy reading, when in fact, all they are doing is alienating the reader from what should be both an enjoyable experience as well as informative. You did that very well in your book. You wrote forcefully, without fear, on a subject that few would be willing to risk their careers. That's why I was attracted to you. Fancy anyone having the temerity to suggest that we de-criminalize the drug trade. Not only that, but go the whole hog and recommend governments take over supply and distribution. That's gutsy. That's why I asked if you would see me.'
'What a pity more people didn't read it. It didn't actually cause a flood of protests did it?'
'I read it. And I liked what you said.'
'It's a fairly simple equation to me,' Amanda said. 'All I wanted to get across was the simplicity of the debate. Surely it's not that hard to work it out? Fifty years ago, 3 out of 4 adults in Australia smoked cigarettes. Today, less than one in four is a smoker. Did we achieve this result by making cigarettes illegal? I don't think so. We achieved this result through education and rehabilitation! If we were to de-criminalize drugs, and take all the money we currently spend on law enforcement of illegal drugs, and transfer that into the education of our young and the rehabilitation of existing users, I cannot see how we would be any worse off trying to stem the tide than we are now. Our existing laws and the enforcement of those laws are a proven failure. Nothing will stem the tide of illicit drugs better than an educated, well informed public. That doesn't mean to say that no one will die of an overdose in the future. Of course people will continue to die, just like they die from cigarettes and alcohol. But when you consider the number of people who die from cigarette related diseases today, drugs are less destructive. And maybe, just maybe, in 50 years time, fewer people will be interested in taking them.'
'You don't need to tell me. I agree with you,' Quentin Avers answered quickly, wondering if Amanda was going to stop. Amanda wanted to ask him more about his impressions of her book. It was a momentary lapse of professional conduct and she checked herself.
'Well, I'm guessing that you didn't ask to meet me to talk about my book, so what is it you want, Mr. Avers?'
She looked at him closely as he drew breath and reached into his coat pocket producing an envelope.
'I have a story that needs to be told and you were recommended to me,' he began. 'It's about my father. He is the victim of a great injustice and I want you to correct the record. Someone has written something about him; about his exploits of sixty years ago. Their account is wrong. It is accurate to a point but has drawn the wrong conclusions. I have all the information you will need and I will guide you through it all, but were I to simply tell you now, it wouldn't mean anything. It would amount to nothing more than a hollow denial. So, I want you to discover the truth for yourself without any prompting from me. I want you to write the story and I will pay to have it published. So, what do you think so far? Interested?'
Amanda was momentarily speechless. She stared at the man sitting alongside her. She had never seen him before, knew nothing about him, and yet could not resist the allure of something quite thrilling about him. She observed him. It was his deep blue eyes that captivated her. The eyes revealed so much. Look deep into the eyes of anyone, she once read and the truth of their intentions can be detected. Even the most experienced trickery can be detected in the eyes. A slight watering, a blink at the wrong moment, a glance away; each movement can reveal an attempt at deception. She studied his eyes. He held firm his appearance, a soft, gentle, even sad, but penetrating gaze. He gave off none of the tell-tale signs with which she was familiar. She decided to persevere, although still wondering what on earth she was doing there.
'Well,' Avers prompted, 'what do you think?'
Amanda gathered herself together.
'I don't know what to think,' she replied, trying to collect her thoughts. 'You said I was recommended to you.'
'Yes.'
'By whom?'
'It was one of those serendipitous things,' he lied. 'I was looking for a way to respond to allegations made about my father. I attended a book launch, thinking that I might find someone to do it. I met a woman there who offered to help me. By a strange coincidence she had read your work too, and suggested I contact you.'
'I had no idea I was that popular,' Amanda said, half embarrassed, half joking. 'I thought I was coming here to discuss a biography. Perhaps if you told me a little more about your story, I would be in a better position to consider it.'
'No, it's not a biography. I'll tell you everything you need to know, bit by bit. If I tell you too much to start, you will begin to form your own conclusions too early and that would be unfortunate. But, before you decide I have to tell you that it won't be easy. It won't all be smooth sailing. You will be delving into some shady areas of the past, interviewing people who may not appreciate your good intentions; people who might be inclined to shun you.'
'Shun me, why?' Amanda asked, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.
'I don't know! They may try to frighten you off somehow. I can't guarantee that you would be welcome,' he added, slowly, with a wry smile, trying not to frighten her. 'But what I can promise, is, that if you can get the story written and published in its entirety, beyond a point where it could be denied, you might become very rich or,' he paused momentarily, 'maybe you won't, but you will be doing an extremely important service to a large number of people and you may even be acclaimed as a celebrated author.'
That last reference ignited her imagination, not so much with the promise of money as acclaim within the literary world. But this time as he spoke, Amanda studied the man's eyes once again, searching for a flaw, hoping not to detect anything. This time also, she listened t
o the sound of his voice. It was not, as she had experienced elsewhere, full of bravado, confidence and arrogance. Avers spoke with a degree of humility, even melancholy, as if, he himself, were the victim of the alleged injustice.
'And what will you gain, Mr. Avers? Will you become rich too? Is that what this is all about?' she asked, testing his unassuming nature.
'No,' he replied quietly. 'I will not get rich. Just paying for you to do the job will be a serious drain on my finances.'
'Then why are you asking me to do this?' she queried.
'That question requires a very long and complicated answer. Let us, for the moment, say that my reasons are both legal and honourable, and if you are successful then the most important thing achieved beyond both your elevation to fame and my personal satisfaction, is that justice will be served.'
'Is this story confined to Australia?'
'No, it goes well beyond our boundaries. You will have to travel some distances.'
'Why me?' Amanda asked, now uncertain and slightly intimidated by the whole idea.
'I told you before. I like the way you write.'
'No, that's not good enough,' she interrupted. 'You must have a more significant reason than that. There are plenty of well known, highly respected investigative journalists who could do a better job than me. Why me?'
'You just answered your own question,' Avers replied.
'How?'
'Nobody knows you,' he answered. 'You will be able to move around freely, without making your real intentions immediately obvious. There is much you will learn without revealing what you are really after.'
She paused, her thoughts whirling erratically in her mind. The excitement was intoxicating, the mystery, and the romantic notions, all racing though her body. She wanted to say yes, but caution prevailed. She needed time to think things over.
'I take it, you expect the company I work for, to publish and distribute the story?' she asked.
'As I said, I will pay for it to be published if necessary, but if you do it well, I'm inclined to believe that your employer will be more than happy to publish it themselves,' he replied.
'Then I will need to discuss it with them, first.'
'That's fine with me. I would expect that. But it has to be you that I work with. They can't nominate anyone else.'
Amanda felt a surge of confidence and relief. The confronting nature of Quentin Avers' proposition was now balanced with transparency. Her employer would be part of the adventure. That aspect introduced an element of safety that was missing earlier. She would be on assignment so to speak, reporting regularly, keeping others in the loop. That sounded better.
'I'll have to talk with Janet,' she added.
'Janet?' he queried. 'You mean the lady I spoke with on the phone?'
'My boss,' she replied.
'It's important that as few people know about this as possible,' he replied. 'Janet should be the only one.'
'I expect she will have to clear it with Mr. Balwyn, the owner of the company.'
Avers was silent as he seemed to digest this additional request. 'If that is necessary, then okay, but no one else. I will be covering all your expenses. You will have to give anyone else in the firm some other reason for your secondment,' he added.
'Okay then,' she said, drawing breath. 'I'll speak with Janet and get back to you.'
'You'll need this,' he said to her, handing across the envelope he held in his hands.
'What is it?'
'It's a cheque for five thousand dollars as an advance on expenses.'
'I'm not sure I should take it just yet,' she said, cautiously.
'Take it. It's all in good faith. If you decide not to go ahead, you can tear it up.'
'And when do I get some idea of what the story is all about?'
'As soon as you agree to do it!'
'And what if we agree and then somewhere along the way we decide we don't like it and don't want to continue?' she asked, trying to cover questions that she knew Janet would ask.
'You can walk away and forget the whole thing. But frankly, I don't expect you will. Do you have a current passport?'
'Yes. Where am I going?'
'Japan. Ever been there before?'
Once more, excitement gripped hold of her and she struggled to keep her emotions in check. 'Could all this be real?' she thought. All she wanted to do right now was race back to the office and blurt out all she had been told to Janet.
'Er, no, I haven't,' she answered. 'What's in Japan?' she asked, vaguely disconnected; her mind now centred on how quickly she could set up a meeting with Janet.
'Lots of Japanese,' he replied, observing her detached, starry-eyed expression, and the nature of her question.
'Sorry,' she answered, 'I was just thinking ahead. I think I need to take a reality break here. All this is beginning to sound a bit too much. I don't suppose you will be telling me what Japan has to do with all this just yet, will you?'
'No,' he answered shaking his head, smiling. 'I don't want to fill your head with too much at this point. You have a decision to make first, and you clearly need some time to make it, so I will let you go. Contact me again when you decide. You have my number.'
'Okay then. The number I have is a mobile number. Do you have a landline number as well?' she asked, hoping that she might establish some base, something solid under foot that would help identify the mysterious Mr. Avers.
'Not for you. And I say that for your own benefit, not mine. It is better that you know as little about me as possible for the time being. The integrity of the story depends on that.'
'Then I'd better go back to the office and report to Janet. I'll call you back sometime later then,' she said, gathering her thoughts together and standing up. 'After the proposal has been run past Mr. Balwyn, that is.'
'That's fine. I'll wait for your call. Please take the envelope. It will help expedite matters should you decide to go ahead. If you don't proceed, you can just tear it up.'
Amanda paused briefly, then, considering her options, took the envelope and placed it in her pocket.
'Until later then,' he said, as he turned to leave. He did not offer to shake her hand or engage in any further small talk. She watched him. He did not turn back but continued along the pathway past the Shrine of Remembrance toward St.Kilda Road. She continued watching, trying to concentrate on him but confused and bewildered and deeply energized.
Quentin Avers kept walking until he reached the western side of the shrine and then made his way across the grass to the footpath along St. Kilda Road and finally to a waiting car.
'Did you get a photo of her?' Quentin asked the man in the driver's seat.
'Yes, like to have a look?' the man replied passing over his digital camera.
'Okay, that's a good shot. She's the one. If all goes to plan I want you to shadow her and keep her out of harm's way. Will you be ready to leave by the 17th of April?'
'Yes, I can manage that,' the man replied.
'Good. Let's get back to my office and I'll fill you in on the detail.'
4.