Dirty Fracking Business

by Peter Ralph

  The others looked relieved but sick and Clarrie muttered, ‘Bloody fool.’

  ‘What’d you say?’

  ‘Nothing, Nick. Nothing.’

  Nick Gould leapt from the chopper and embraced Moira. He liked what he felt. Even though he had never got far with her, he enjoyed the hunt.

  ‘Are we having a drink after this bloody palaver’s over?’

  ‘I wouldn’t miss it, Mr Premier. I’d like you to meet Donny Drayton. He’s one of your greatest supporters and biggest fans.’

  ‘It’s an honour, Sir,’ Donny said, gulping as Nick pounded his back.

  ‘G’day kid. Hey, Moira, where’s your boss?’

  ‘He’s in the boardroom, preparing,’ she lied, knowing Harbrow had said he wasn’t going to waste his time waiting on the rooftop.

  Nick Gould scowled and thought who does this prick think he is? He mightn’t like or respect me but where does he get off disrespecting the office of the Premier? His mood didn’t improve when he entered the boardroom to find Harbrow sitting at the head of the table, a position that he thought should be reserved for him.

  ‘Hello, Nick. How are you?’

  Bloody hell! What a bloody cheek. In public everyone calls me ‘Mr Premier’, ‘Premier’ or ‘Boss’. ‘I’m well,’ he said, without any warmth, as his entourage took seats around the table.

  ‘I’d like a quick word in private. Let’s go into Moira’s office while she entertains your troops,’ Harbow said, relishing the opportunity to exclude and put her down.

  ‘Sure, but I want Clarrie to hear what you’ve got to say.’

  In Moira’s office, Harbrow showed them to seats around the coffee table. Much to Nick’s chagrin, he did not offer them drinks.

  ‘The election’s on a knife’s edge and could be won or lost by one or two seats,’ Harbrow said.

  ‘We know that,’ Clarrie responded.

  ‘The growing public opposition to coal seam gas companies isn’t helping,’ the premier barked. ‘We look like losing the only seat we hold in the Fisher Valley and another two on the pipeline route.’

  ‘Yes, I realise that we’re not popular and the greenies are scare-mongering about supposedly dangerous air and water pollution. It’s complete rubbish! But, as you know, if enough mud’s thrown, some will eventually stick. That’s where I think we might be able to help each other.’ He picked up a company report from the table and handed it to the Premier. ‘There’s a small company, Hercules Gas, that has some licences in Tura. Have you heard of it?’

  Harbrow had their full attention. Clarrie leaned across to see the report. ‘No, but go on.’

  ‘The guys who run Hercules have just fessed up to the environment authorities that they’ve found benzene, toluene, ethylene and xylene in their water samples and the few locals who know about it are jumping up and down screaming. They’re worried that the chemicals might be in the aquifers or their drinking water.’

  ‘Aren’t they used in fracking?’ Clarrie asked.

  ‘They can be, but they can also occur naturally in minute and harmless quantities and that’s what happened with Hercules. When the water analysis comes back in a few weeks, that’s what it’ll reveal. I know, because we took our own samples and we’ve already had them analysed.’

  ‘Christ, how’s that going to help me win or retain any seats in the valley?’

  ‘Bear with me, Nick, I’m coming to that. If you were to launch a personal attack on gas companies engaged in unsafe fracking, it’d go down well with the greenies, nutters and farmers in the valley.’

  ‘Yeah, I can see that, but it wouldn’t help you, so why are you raising it?’

  ‘We’ve already made an announcement to the Stock Exchange, stating that the processes we use are totally different to those used by Hercules and that all of the water samples we’ve tested at our wells are clean.’

  ‘But you said it wasn’t the process and that the chemicals detected were naturally occurring,’ Clarrie said, looking puzzled.

  ‘I did say that, didn’t I?’ Harbrow smiled. ‘But the greenies and landowners out in Tura will never believe it and, if Nick was to announce a full-scale investigation into Hercules, it’d have wide community support.’

  ‘Yeah, and it’d ruin the company. The share price would go through the floor and Hercules might have to sell assets to stay afloat,’ the premier said grimly. ‘It’d present a perfect opportunity for some opportunist to buy the company for a song.’

  ‘I’m glad we see eye to eye, Nick.’ Harbrow picked up the report and turned to the financial statements. ‘And what you say is correct. Hercules is severely undercapitalised and any bad news will most likely tip it over.’

  ‘I don’t like the smell of this one little bit.’ The Premier stood up and paced around the room. ‘I don’t like it.’

  ‘It’ll save Bill Warburton’s seat and might even save the government,’ Clarrie said. ‘We don’t have a choice.’

  ‘Yeah, and what happens when the analysis is issued in a few weeks and it’s found that the chemicals occurred naturally? The press will slaughter me.’

  ‘The only analysis that counts is the one performed by the state’s environment authorities. Just make sure it’s not completed before the election and don’t worry, I can assure you there’ll be no complaints from Hercules after you’ve been re-elected.’ Harbrow smiled through tightly pursed lips.

  ‘Shit! You’re actually asking me to help ya steal the company and its licences.’

  ‘No I’m not. I’m giving you some advice that might help you retain your premiership and govern the state for another four years.’

  ‘What if we lose and the conservatives get hold of the analysis? They’ll crucify me.’

  ‘Nick, if you lose this election, Hercules will be the least of your problems,’ Clarrie said. ‘You don’t have a choice. This will give us a chance in three, maybe four seats we hadn’t counted on and that may be enough to get us over the line. You have to do it. Jeez, Spencer, have you ever thought about going into politics?”

  ‘Never. I like to be properly remunerated for the work I do,’ Harbrow said sombrely. ‘If you want to get maximum exposure, you’ll make the announcement about Hercules tonight.’

  When Buffy put the call from the Maddock Group through to Steve, he had immediately been suspicious. ‘Now, really, no joking, who are you?’

  ‘As I said, I’m Amanda Simpson from the Maddock Group and we’d like to publish your article about land rights in the National Advocate and eighty-six other newspapers around Australia.’

  Steve started to laugh. ‘Look, I don’t know who you are, but I’d sure like to know who put you up to this.’

  ‘Mr Forrest, we’re not getting anywhere, so I’m going to hang up. We’re willing to pay you a generous fee for your article and we’ll publish without any amendments or deletions. That’s a real rarity. If you’re as smart as I think you are, you’ll phone me back within the next ten minutes. I’m based at head office in Pitt Street and I’ll be waiting for your call.’

  A few minutes later Steve was amazed when the receptionist at the Maddock Group said that yes, Amanda Simpson was a senior executive. As he was waiting to be put through, he was still doubtful, as perhaps some prankster had phoned him using her name, but he soon heard her lilting voice. ‘Do you believe me now?’ Steve was stunned and only wished that the overture had been made before he’d had dinner with the obnoxious Norris Scott-Tempy.

  Paisley Town Hall was bursting at the seams again but this time a bank of loudspeakers carried the speeches out to the street so that those who could not cram into the building didn’t miss anything. There were television crews in attendance, more than a dozen reporters, eight federal police, and a small group of locals who supported the coal seam gas companies, including Norris and Bianca Scott-Tempy. Bianca had got to know Donny Drayton when he was negotiating the Morrisey deal with her father and they were sitting together, chatting comfortably.

  There wa
s a vacant seat reserved for Harbrow on the far right of the front row near the steps to the stage, while Moira sat on the far left, with CEGL executives occupying the seats in-between. Josh and Sandi were again stationed at the front doors, scanning the crowd. All the regulars who had attended the Fisher Valley Protective Alliance meeting three weeks earlier were there, but this time the mood was subdued and restrained. Josh sensed it was the calm before the storm and that it would take little for it to become violent.

  As an introduction, the mayor spoke for a few minutes about what an honour it was for Paisley to have ‘the Premier, the Honourable Nicholas Gould, and the chief executive of CEGL, Mr Spencer Harbrow, take time out from their busy schedules to address us about an important development in the valley.’

  As Harbrow took the microphone, there was a smattering of applause.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I’m not here to make an announcement, that is for the premier to do. However, I know some of you have concerns and I want to give you an undertaking that my company will not do anything unsafe that might jeopardise the health of the community or the environment.’ He paused for impact and there were a few boos and catcalls. ‘I understand your apprehension, but be assured that my family has been in the gas industry for nearly one hundred years. We’re vastly experienced; we don’t make mistakes and our processes are fail-safe.’ What he didn’t say was that for over ninety years the company had been a gas retailer and it had less than ten years’ experience in exploration. ‘Careful planning and experienced personnel remove the risk from the projects we’re involved in and I give you my personal assurance that you have no reason to be concerned. I’ll now hand you over to the Premier.’

  Harbrow left the stage and the ever-popular Nick Gould took the microphone. There was spontaneous applause from a large section of the audience and a smattering of begrudging handclaps from those who knew what he was about to say and opposed it. He may not have been Nelson Mandela but he knew how to control a meeting. His gravelly voice, the legacy of smoking far too many cigarettes which he was trying to give up, and drinking too much whiskey which he had no intention of giving up, echoed around the hall. He thanked Harbrow, spoke about CEGL’s investment, the jobs it would create, the increased prosperity that those in the valley would enjoy and then, looking directly at the cameras, said, ‘This project will provide cheap gas and power to all those who live in our great state and more particularly to those in suburban Sydney.’

  ‘And to the bloody Chinese and Indians,’ someone shouted from the audience. The cameras swivelled in a vain attempt to find the interjector.

  ‘Yes, and what’s wrong with that?’ Nick barked. ‘It helps the state by providing the funds to invest in hospitals, schools and other infrastructure, while helping our neighbours to the north achieve a better lifestyle. I’m not about to apologise for that.’

  There was a lot of shifting in seats and muttering, which gave Charles Paxton an opportunity to interject. ‘And, Mr Premier, does your approval of this development justify killing our kids?’

  Nick had been briefed on Charlie’s death and was prepared for the question. ‘Mr Paxton, I cannot tell you how sorry I am for your loss, but I am informed that doctors and scientists have been unable to find any direct link between coal seam gas and what befell your poor son.’

  Paxton jumped to his feet again and was about to read from the autopsy, when the Premier held his hands up.

  ‘Please let me finish. I promise I’ll take questions at the end of the meeting.’ Nick could feel the tension and knew that it would only take one or two hotheads to inflame the crowd and then anything that he had achieved by way of the television cameras would be lost.

  ‘Quiet,’ someone in the crowd shouted. ‘Give him a go.’

  ‘Let me just say that safety is of paramount importance to this government and, if we thought there was any possibility of jeopardising the health of those of you who live in the valley, we would have never approved this project. Why, only today I asked my Minister for Industry to launch a full investigation into the processes of one of the gas companies operating in the valley, Hercules Gas, and, pending the outcome of that investigation, I intend to suspend its licence. I want to stress that I’m not prejudging Hercules and its processes might well be up to standard, but a little delay won’t hurt the company while we determine whether it’s operating safely or not. So, as I said,’ Nick beamed at the audience, ‘safety is paramount and we have no intention of jeopardising anyone’s health or well-being.’

  Moira looked along the row at Harbrow, bewildered as to how he’d convinced the premier to make an announcement that would surely destroy Hercules. There were a few gasps from the audience and some subdued clapping, but Tom Morgan and Simon Breckenridge immediately smelt a rat. So did Charles Paxton, who was back on his feet and about to speak when there was a disturbance at the back of the hall.

  Josh and Sandi had been standing on tip toes watching the Premier. They had their backs to the street, when a man barged past them. He was wearing a gasmask and a white boilersuit with the words chemicals killing our kids embossed on the front in large black letters. He pushed his way through those standing at the rear and ran down the aisle, shouting, ‘You’re a bloody disgrace, Nick Gould. CEGL poisoned me and my kids and you’re not only licensing them to poison the valley but Kravis Island as well. You’re a bloody disgrace!’

  Josh and Sandi raced after him, but the feds were quicker and already had him covered, with two of them behind and two in front of him. They would have liked to eject him but they had been warned not to use strongarm tactics that would make the premier look bad, unless it was a matter of life and death. One of them snapped at Josh, ‘Get back to the front door, and this time try to stay awake.’ Camera flashes went off like strobe lights as photographers fought to get closer to the man in the white boilersuit.

  Harbrow recognised the voice immediately as the phantom early morning phone caller and cursed the police for letting him turn a perfectly-scripted meeting into a total disaster.

  The man continued shouting, while opening the front of his boilersuit to reveal the scars on his body. ‘Filliburton and CEGL did this,’ he screamed, as the television cameras zoomed in on him. Billy McGregor and his gang started yahooing and yelling and someone threw an egg at the premier. It whistled over his head and splattered harmlessly into the wall behind him. Norris Scott-Tempy was hurling abuse at Charles Paxton and the man in the gasmask was being swamped by reporters firing questions at him. In fifteen years Nick Gould had never lost control of a meeting. He stood on the stage, angry and open-mouthed in astonishment at the pandemonium. He felt someone tugging on his sleeve and looked around to see Clarrie and two feds, ‘Come on, Boss, let’s get out of here.’

  ‘Shit, what just bloody well happened? I need a drink, real bad.’

  Steve pushed his way through the crowd to get closer to the man who was the centre of attention, catching a fleeting glimpse of Donny Drayton with his arm around Bianca, protectively steering her towards the exit. As he drew closer, Steve recognised the man in white; he didn’t know him but had seen him around town.

  Harbrow had been going to stay in town overnight, but now he was anxious to get out as soon as could, ordering his driver to take him to the airport where, he hoped, his crew would have readied the jet for take-off. He’d had enough of Paisley to do him for a lifetime.

  The premier and his entourage were staying at the upmarket Blaxland River Motel, where Moira had booked a function room so that they could share a few celebratory drinks. As she handed her car keys to the valet, a sense of dread overtook her. She knew that Nick Gould could be a real pig when things didn’t go his way, particularly when others were at fault. She had asked the motel to cater for fifty but, when she entered the room, it was like a wake, with only the premier’s entourage and half-a-dozen freeloaders there. The premier beckoned her over to where he was holding court at the bar, his face black with rage. He downed a whiskey in one gulp an
d told the waiter to ‘keep ’em coming.’

  ‘Who was that prick?’ he growled. ‘Christ, how’d he get in wearing that stupid boilersuit? Where was security? Where were the cops? What happened, Moira? What happened?’

  Before she could answer, he held his hands up as the theme music for the Channel Six late-night news played on the flat screen televisions. A female reporter led in with the premier’s attendance at a meeting in Paisley to announce the approval of CEGL’s twenty-billion-dollar development in the Fisher Valley and Kravis Island, before the image of Charles Paxton appeared, asking if the approval would justify killing our kids. Then there was footage of a man wearing a gasmask running down the aisle shouting. There wasn’t a word about the supply of cheap power and gas to suburban Sydney or the investigation into the operations of Hercules Gas.

  ‘Get me another whiskey,’ Nick demanded, resting his forehead in his hands and muttering, ‘I’m finished, I’m gone.’ Then he heard the reporter ask, Mr Prezky, why did you attack the premier? He looked up to see a rugged, dark-haired man still wearing the white boilersuit.

  Because Filliburton and CEGL poisoned the air and the water in my dams when they were exploring for coal seam gas and me and my kids got very sick. And we’re not the only ones; there are many families around Tura who have recently been struck down by ailments that leave them with red itchy welts on their bodies, bleeding noses and diarrhoea.

  Filliburton and CEGL are big, responsible companies and they say that the ailments have nothing to do with them. Why are you so certain that they’re responsible?

  There was no sickness in the valley until the gas companies started sinking gas wells. In my case, Filliburton dumped wastewater on the tracks on my property, which seeped into my dams. When I had my dam water analysed, it contained dangerous chemicals used in fracking.

  Why didn’t you complain to the company?

  I did, and they told me to get lost, and the local council said that the big gas companies had the government in their pocket. They built a compressor station near my home that runs twenty-four hours a day and it makes it impossible for me and my family to sleep. Worse, I’ve since found out that it vents invisible toxins into the air. They don’t seem to have to comply with any laws, so I guess they’re not worried about noise and air pollution.