by Ian Wisby
He even crashed his own company car and faked his own death. Still somehow they found him.
The motherfuckers were everywhere. Like a damn crazy ant infestation in every intrinsic network of the government. There was no one left to trust. No one in the organisation, anyway.
Shots fired from behind him. The heavy booted footsteps falling as loudly as the pounding of his bad heart. Sweat poured down over his eyes, his breath becoming more and more laboured with every stride. The shopping complex was not far now. He had to make it. He had to.
Finally, he made it to the main entrance of the complex. He quickly made a scan of the building pounding on the glass doors.
Though, all the blinds on the inside were closed maybe someone was there. But there were no signs of life there, or in the eerily quiet car park.
The only sounds were that of the distant foot falls of those who would certainly kill him. He had to find a phone, they had found a way to track his last burner phone. He was running out of options.
Eureka! There it was about several hundred metres up the path was a pay phone. His heart was pounding more. The adrenalin certainly kicking in on overdrive.
Ezra used the last bit of energy he had left in his tired and exhausted legs and sprinted over to the pay phone.
He picked it up and began to dial. But he was not calling the police. They wouldn’t be able to help. They certainly wouldn’t get to him in time. He was calling the only person he knew, he hoped, he could still trust.
The phone rang for what seemed an eternity. Ezra filled with panic as he waited, knowing they were getting closer.
It was only a matter of seconds before they would find him. Someone answered, but his heart fell when he realized it was only her voicemail.
“Hi, you have reached Jennifer Sanders. I can’t come to the phone right now, but if you leave your name number and a brief message, I will get back to you as soon as possible. Thanks and have a great day.”
“Jenny, listen, I don’t have a lot of time…” and he was right. Just then, he felt the muzzle of a handgun pressed to the back of his head and all the lights went out.
* * *
Charmaine Bradley was somewhat overwhelmed. Almost certainly honoured by the prospect she was given. It was coming to the end of March 2019.
Two months had gone by since the successful referendum held by the Australian government. The referendum was put forward to the Australian public to see whether or not Australia should become a republic.
The results of the referendum were overwhelming, and thus, that day turned into a momentous victory.
Australia was now on the path to becoming a republic. It was something that had been sought after ever since the failed republican referendum held back in 1999. But now, it was a success.
There was no denying that this was going to be a long process, but with a lot of cooperation and hard work, the government was attempting to get the republic finalized by January 2020. Tonight however, there was cause for celebration.
Charmaine Bradley had been selected over five other candidates to be appointed Australia’s first president. The president would be directly-elected by the Australian electorate.
The position of president would be purely a ceremonial figurehead, and hold similar powers to that of the Governor-General of Australia.
Charmaine Bradley, a woman who just recently turned fifty-four, was sitting in the back seat of her car. It was a black Range Rover Sports edition, and she was starting to get a bit anxious about tonight’s event.
She was on her way to the National Press Club in Canberra, where she was set to give a speech about how grateful she was at being selected for the greatest honour in the country’s history.
She was with her husband, John Bradley, who’d been extremely supportive of Charmaine’s endeavour. He was certainly excited for his wife to be selected for this position. “I still can’t believe you were selected over everyone else,” said John, as they held hands in the back of the Rover.
They were being driven by a chauffeur. Charmaine looked over at her husband, and smiled, showing all her glistening white teeth.
“I can’t believe it either. I was not expecting to be picked. Especially with such a diverse selection of candidates,” she replied.
She held John’s hand tightly. He could tell that she was anxious, but who could blame her. “You spoke with Amanda?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Yes. She and Andy are already at the Press Club,” he said. Charmaine grinned, and looked out the window. It was dusk, and the street lights were just starting to come on.
A few moments went by, and they finally arrived at the National Press Club, which was located in the Canberra suburb of Barton.
It was expected to have upwards of three hundred people at the event, all supporters and members of the Australian Republic Committee.
The Prime Minister of Australia would also be attending, as was the Governor-General of Australia, who would be handing the reigns over to Charmaine in ten months’ time.
The vehicle pulled into the building’s main entrance. There was already a large gathering of people out the front, as well as a mob of reporters and photographers, all waiting to get a glimpse of Charmaine Bradley. She was not used to having such a high caliber of attention.
The chauffer pulled up and parked the car. He looked over his shoulder at Charmaine. “We’re here, Ms. Bradley,” he said. He then got out to open the door for her. She could hear the ecstatic whistles and cheers from the crowd. This was getting real. Then, her door was opened. She was trembling, but at the same time, she was excited.
“Hey, sweetheart…You’ve got this,” said John, as he patted his hand on hers. She smiled at him, and leaned over to give him a peck on the cheek. She let out a deep breath and climbed out.
Her ears were deafened by the sudden explosion of cheers and whistling noises from the supporters. Cameras flashed and reporters shoved microphones in her face. She didn’t know what to do.
* * *
She was just a few days away from her death. He watched her, unconsciously fisting his hand as anger rose inside him at a maddening rate.
Only Charmaine Bradley could cause Karl Benedict to feel this way; possessed with all the attributes of the devil.
She was smiling proudly, the whites of her teeth stark against her dark skin as the audience applauded her.
It was atrocious to think that Australia could be a republic, let alone have a female as its head of state.
He hated it when he found out that Charmaine Bradley was selected to be appointed Australia’s first President upon the success of the republican referendum.
It was at that time, he decided he needed to do something, and fast.
Karl Benedict, a die-hard supporter of the traditional British Monarch, wanted to march right there on stage and push her off the podium, take the mic and point to her lying down there, taken by shock at his actions.
Then he would yell, loud enough to pierce the brainwashed citizens; “That is where she belongs! Not above us! There on the ground!”
The thought did nothing to calm him down, for there she was, still beaming and the applause had gotten louder.
He must have missed something she had said, because his ears were almost blocked from the deafening cheers and palms slapping hard against each other.
* * *
Charmaine Bradley was getting ready to go on stage. She was currently waiting in the back entrance with her husband, John Bradley, as well as Joseph Parsons, who was her Executive Assistant.
The Prime Minister of Australia was currently on stage, and he was giving a brief introductory speech. “How are you feeling?” asked John, as they shared a close intimate moment together.
“I’m okay, just feeling a bit overwhelmed by all of this,” she replied.
“It’s understandable. But I’m here with you,” he said, with a smile. She smiled back. Just then, Joe came over to them.
“Ma’am, are
you ready to go on?” he asked. She hesitated for a moment, and nodded.
“Yes, Joe. Thank you.” Then, she and John followed him towards the door. They could hear the PM finishing up his speech.
“And now ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to officially welcome to the stage, the future President of the Republic of Australia, Charmaine Bradley!” he announced, and started clapping. Music began to play in the background, as the room full of spectators stood and were cheering. They whistled loudly as Charmaine stepped up onto the stage.
She started waving at everyone, and she had a big smile on her face. She was accompanied by her husband, John, who also waved to the audience.
She approached the podium at the front of the stage, and she took a few moments to collect her breath. She was overwhelmed by all this support. Members of the audience were still cheering and clapping.
“Thank you!” Charmaine shouted. “Thank you very much!”
Victor Walsh was working at the National Press Club as a cater waiter. He’d been on shift for the event and was serving an a la’ carte menu.
However, his position at the Club was purely a disguise for his true purpose for being there; he was in fact hired by a third party to carry out a hit on Charmaine Bradley.
He had concealed on his body a pistol. It was a Glock 19 handgun, the kind used by the Australian Federal Police.
Victor was making his way through the maze of tables and people, pitying them as they cheered and whistled at Charmaine Bradley.
He was about a hundred metres from the stage, and he was getting ready to withdraw the gun. He had his hand on the handle.
Charmaine Bradley was still standing there, smiling away and continuing her speech. But she wouldn’t be for long, if Victor had anything to say about it. He got closer and closer to the stage. His heart was racing, and he’d been sweating the whole time.
He was about thirty metres away from Charmain Bradley. At that moment, he withdrew the handgun, raised it into the air and aimed it at Charmaine.
At the same time, he’d dropped his waiter’s tray, making a loud crash. The whole room fell silent, and they all stared at Victor, as he stood there holding the gun.
His hand was trembling as he prepared himself to fire. As he went to pull the trigger, he said; “Death to the republic!” He fired a shot at Charmaine Bradley.
However, at the same time, one of Charmaine’s private bodyguards spotted Victor, and made a dive at him. They both fell to the ground.
Charmaine had been hit by the bullet; but the wound was on the side of her stomach. She was bleeding, and as she clutched the wound with her hand, she collapsed to the floor. John immediately ran over to her, as did several other people nearby.
Meanwhile, everyone else in the room were scattering and running towards the exits as they were frightened by the gunshot.
CHAPTER 12
THE SHRILL SOUND that woke Amanda Shaw up must have been from hell. She had been in the middle of a dream that put a big smile on her face.
She didn’t remember what the dream was as she woke up with a start. Damn alarm! She groaned seconds before realizing it was not her alarm. It was her partner’s phone.
The ring tone was the Rolling Stones’ Sympathy For The Devil song. Now, it was a shrilling tune that had stolen her sweet sleep. She cursed again under her breath as she stirred.
Amanda hated mornings. She was never one to be woken up early, especially if it was unnecessary. She loved her sleep, and cherished every minute she could to use it for sleep. Her husband, Andrew Shaw, answered the call. “Hello?” His usually gruff voice had an extra edge to it this morning.
He hated to be woken from sleep this way. “My God…Are you sure?” said Andrew.
There was a brief pause in the conversation and Andrew closed his eyes. “Okay, sure. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Thank you,” he said, and then hung up. Amanda Shaw’s eyes widened as her husband broke the news to her.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” asked Amanda, as she sat up and leaned against her pillow.
“It’s Mum…She died early this morning,” he replied.
“Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry. Come here,” said Amanda. She grabbed onto Andrew and held him tightly. She knew how much Andrew loved his mother, but sadly, she had been unwell lately, and it would seem her illness had caught up with her.
More than a few times, she had caught herself wishing she had a father she could love that way. Amanda’s father, John Bradley, was the Spouse of Charmaine Bradley.
Amanda had recently found out that her mother had been selected to be the nation’s first female head of state. She rarely spoke with her mother, as they’d had a huge argument many years ago, over something so stupid, countries would go to war over.
One of the reasons that she never spoke with her mother was because of the fact that Amanda Shaw was an investigative journalist.
Her mother disapproved of the idea of her becoming a journalist, but Amanda decided to disobey her mother, and chose to follow her own dream.
Amanda was a brilliant investigative journalist and had written some award-winning stories. She worked for the Sydney Gazette, an independent news and print media house that was struggling to keep up with all the main stream publishers.
But since Amanda had started working for them, they’d gained a bit of reputation back. She knew in the back of her head that the only reason they were doing so well was because of her mother, and her recent spike in publicity.
It was ever since her mother had been selected to be Australia’s first President; everyone seemed to be wanting to hire Amanda, but she stuck with the Gazette.
Amanda never knew what to say in these sorts of situations. She always felt awkward and that if she’d said the wrong thing, it could end up in tears. She reached across to him on the bed and held him tight.
The smell of the mint hair oil he used for his hair made her want to kiss him desperately, but she knew that moment wasn’t right for it. She held him to herself as the spasms rocked his body.
It was just after six thirty in the morning. Normally, Amanda would be wide awake hours ago, but she’d been working tirelessly lately, and she needed sleep. “Are you going to the funeral?” asked Amanda, as she slowly got out of bed to get ready for a busy day at work.
“Yeah, I’m catching the next plane out to Melbourne…You want to tag along?” he asked. He knew that she’d say no, because Amanda was so dedicated to her career. Which he fully respected.
“I wish I could sweetheart, and I am truly sorry about your mother…But we’re pushing for a deadline on a major story. This could be the biggest break the Gazette has ever had,” Amanda said, icily. Andrew slowly nodded, reluctantly.
“It’s okay, I completely understand…Besides, my sister will be a mess, so I’ll have babysit her,” he replied.
“Of course, Sonia.” Amanda knew Sonia very well. She was a bit of an alcoholic, and she knew too well that Andrew will have his hands full with that. “Good luck with that one, sweetheart,” she said, sarcastically.
“Fuck, today is going to be a long day,” Andrew cursed, as he too got out of bed. He wiped away a tear and headed straight into the bathroom to take a shower. Sonia was Andrew’s younger sister. Recently, she’d gone through a tough divorce with her husband.
It hit her pretty hard, as she found out her husband had been cheating on her with a secretary at his work.
Since then, Sonia had gone through several mental breakdowns, which both saw her end up in hospital as a result of her drinking excessively.
She’d always looked up to Andrew, and he always knew what to say and do when she was going through one of her episodes. Amanda and Sonia never saw eye to eye.
From the day they met when she and Andrew started dating, Sonia was convinced that Amanda was out to take him away from her.
Meanwhile, Amanda had gotten dressed. She then wandered into the kitchen. It was a modern kitchen with all the latest appliances. The house itself
was very modern; it came with one of those voice activated ‘Home Assistants’.
As soon as Amanda entered the kitchen, the lights turned on. The coffee machine kicked in and began making a cappuccino.
While the coffee was brewing, the flat screen TV switched on. A news report was being displayed and the anchors were talking about the recent incident that took place at the National Press Club in Canberra.
Amanda’s mother, Charmaine Bradley, was shot during her speech at the National Press Club. The speech was to commemorate her success for being selected as Australia’s first President.
The reporters were stating that a gunman disguised as a waiter had concealed a weapon and used it to attempt to kill Ms. Bradley. They stated that the shooter had been detained by the AFP and was being questioned.
They also said that Charmaine Bradley had survived the gunshot, and had been in hospital recovering.
Amanda went over to the kitchen bench and switched on her laptop.
She was currently working on a major story, one that would take her career to the next level. It was also a very risky story, but she didn’t care.
Amanda opened up her email inbox. She had dozens of unread emails, but there was one at the top that she’d not read.
It was marked as *URGENT* She opened it and carefully read what was in it. The email was sent from a contact of hers.
It stated that he wanted to meet with her today, as he’d gotten some more information for her story.
Attached to the email were several images. She opened them, and they were images of two murders.
She gasped at the sight of them almost dropping her coffee cup. She’d seen this sort of thing before, but she just wasn’t expecting this.
She looked closely at the photos. The bodies had been brutally murdered. A man and a woman. It would seem she was onto something BIG.
Suddenly, her smartphone started ringing. It made her jump as she was too involved with the images on her screen. Amanda loved this stuff. She quickly answered the call. “Hello?”