by Ian Wisby
“About bloody time. Where’s he being treated?”
“He’s at Sydney Hospital, Ward 5B.”
“Thanks, Felicity. I’m heading over there now. See if I can get him to talk, again,” said Ethan.
“Just be careful, Ethan. If the Boss finds out, there will be consequences,” she said. There was a brief pause.
“I know. I’ll let you know if I get anything. Cheers.” He then hung up, and started the ignition.
* * *
Brendan King, the President of Australia, was still blown away by the fact that he was the nation’s head of state. He’d been Governor of New South Wales for almost twelve years now, and it was mostly a ceremonial role, where he was required to appoint sate Premiers and other ministers.
The position of President was similar in that respect, however, the President had direct command over the nation’s armed forces.
After being sworn in by the Chief Justice of Australia, Brendan King was escorted across the river, where he was shown into the Admiralty House, the official residence of the President.
Of course, Brendan had been here before when he was sworn in as Governor by the Governor-General of Australia. It was all different now though, and he was still trying to get used to everything.
There was still a sense of grief in the air as President King was escorted inside the residence. All the staff members were probably expecting Charmaine Bradley to show up. Brendan made his way up the stairs to the upper levels where the President’s office was located.
Joe Parsons accompanied him. “If it’s alright with you, Joe. I’d like to keep you on as Official Secretary,” he said. Joe was surprised by that.
“Of course, Sir. It’d be an honour. What about Sophie?”
“She’ll still be on my staff. You can be co-Official Secretaries,” he replied, and Joe nodded. “So, what’s on the agenda?” he asked, getting straight to business.
At the same time, he was shown into the large spacious office.
“We’re making arrangements for Charmaine’s funeral service,” he said, as he closed the door.
“Of course, how’s it coming along?”
“It’ll be taking place tomorrow at St. Mary’s Cathedral. Shall I go ahead and confirm your attendance?” asked Joe. Brendan looked at him, oddly.
“Absolutely, Joe. This is Charmaine Bradley we’re talking about,” said Brendan.
“Of course, my mistake, Your Excellency. I’ll make the arrangements,” he said, and then started walking off. But before he left, he was stopped as the President called out to him.
“Joe, wait a moment.”
“Sir?”
“I realise this is all overwhelming, and I understand what you must be going through. You were friends with Charmaine for nearly three decades. It must be hard to deal with this,” said Brendan.
“It’s fine, Sir. I’ll manage.”
“I’m just saying, if you need to take some time off to grieve, you’re more than welcome to. Sophie will take over your responsibilities,” said Brendan. Joe smiled, empathetically.
“It’s no problem, Sir. I’ll be fine. I need to keep working, it’s what Charmaine would’ve wanted,” he said, and Brendan nodded.
“Fair enough…The offer is there if you need it,” he added. There was a brief pause. “Now, I’d like to set up a call with the Prime Minister. Can you manage that?” he asked.
“Sure. I’ll call Canberra right away.” Then Joe headed out the door.
* * *
Despite already giving up information about the bomb plot, Mark Hauser had been rushed to the emergency room for surgery.
He’d been treated for a gunshot wound to his thigh, after Detective Sergeant Ethan Cooper shot him during his interrogation.
It was the only way Ethan knew he was going to get him to talk in time.
Ethan Cooper arrived at Sydney Hospital. He wasn’t quite sure whether or not Hauser was going to be able to give him any more information about who was responsible for this tragedy, but he wasn’t going to give up either.
After finding a parking spot, Ethan made his way into the building. He was feeling a bit overwhelmed, as he remembered coming here when his wife was ill.
He hated hospitals because of that reason. Ethan took the elevator up to level 5. The doors opened and he stepped out. There was a medical reception desk to his right. They weren’t busy at the moment, so he went over to it. “Can I help you?” asked the receptionist.
“Yes, I’m Detective Sergeant Ethan Cooper, Criminal Investigative Branch,” he said. He took out his ID badge and showed the nurse. “I need to speak with one of your patients. Mark Hauser.” She checked her computer screen briefly, then pointed to the corridor.
“He’s in room 8C,” she said, and Ethan nodded. After putting his badge away, he made his way down the hall. As he got closer, he spotted a man standing outside the room. It was a cop from the New South Wales Police Force. A constable by the looks of his uniform badges.
“This room is off limits to visitors,” he said, sternly.
“Oh, I’m not visiting…Detective Sergeant Cooper, CIB. I need to question the suspect,” he said. Once again, he flashed his ID badge. The constable looked at it more thoroughly this time. Probably thought it was a fake.
“Okay, go in,” he said. Ethan nodded, and the cop opened the door. Ethan stepped in. It was a large hospital room, with all the usual equipment one would find in a hospital.
A bed was positioned in the middle of the room, and pushed up against the wall. Mark Hauser was occupying the bed, but he was resting at the moment, heavily dosed up on morphine from the pain.
Ethan went into interrogation mode. He stood at the end of the bed, and hovered over Mark Hauser like he was the Grim Reaper. He looked around the room and noticed the morphine drip next to him.
He had an idea. It was an unethical one, but he knew it was going to work. Ethan went over to the morphine drip. He took hold of the bag and squeezed it. Mark Hauser was shocked awake by the sudden lack of morphine.
“Comfortable?” said Ethan. He let go of the bag, giving some relief to Mark Hauser. But then he instantly squeezed it again. “How about now?” he said. “You and I are going to have a little chat…Feel like cooperating now?” Even though he was in a lot of pain, Mark found the strength to slowly nod his head. “Good.” Ethan let go of the morphine bag. The heart rate monitor was going crazy. “Now, I want some information.”
“I already told you everything,” he said, in a dry, husky voice.
“Not everything…Who else was involved with the bomb plot?” he demanded. Mark was struggling to respond. “Tell me who the fuck else was involved?” he yelled. The heart rate monitor was still going crazy.
Outside the room, nurses were trying to gain access, but Ethan had blocked the door using a chair. He looked over his shoulder when he heard them banging on the door.
At that, Ethan pulled out his Glock 19 handgun, and cocked it. “Tell me, who the fuck is involved, or I’m going to put a bullet in your other leg!” He yelled. He then placed the nozzle of the gun on Mark’s other thigh. That certainly shook some fear into Mark’s eyes.
“Okay…Stop…I’ll tell you,” he groaned. Ethan hesitated for a moment, and continued staring at him. Then he lowered his gun.
“Start talking. Who else was involved?” he demanded. Mark paused for a moment, collecting his breath. He was finding it difficult to breathe.
“I was hired…To sell off military-grade explosives.”
“You sold the Semtex explosives to Gregory Hughes?” Mark slowly nodded. “Who else was involved?”
“Greg was just the delivery guy…His handler would have more information.”
“Who was his handler?” Again, Mark didn’t reply straight away. “Who was the handler?”
“His name is…Nathaniel Manson,” he grumbled. The nurses were still trying to bash down the door.
“Where can I find this Nathaniel Manson?”
�
��I don’t know where he is…My job was to provide them with the bomb. I don’t ask too many questions. It’s how I stay alive,” said Mark. His breathing was quite rapid.
Ethan stood there for a moment. He was trying to figure out if Mark was telling him everything. But then he trusted his instincts, and headed to the door.
He took away the chair, and opened the door. At that, the nurses came charging in, almost pushing Ethan over.
The constable looked stunned. He watched Ethan suspiciously as he walked down the corridor at a quickened pace.
As he made his way towards the elevator, he took out his mobile phone to call Felicity Meyers. “Tech Ops, Meyers,” she answered.
“Hey, it’s me. I just finished questioning Mark Hauser, again…He gave up another potential suspect involved in the bomb plot,” said Ethan. He stepped onto the elevator and pressed the down button. “I want you to work your magic. Find out everything you can on a Nathaniel Manson. Hauser said he was Greg Hughes’ handler, so he must have contact with the people he works for.”
“Okay, I’ll see what I can come up with,” said Felicity. Ethan could already hear her typing away.
“And Felicity…Keep this between us, for now,” he said.
“Copy that.” Then, Ethan hung up.
CHAPTER 30
“Gentlemen, the meeting will now come to order.” Fourteen men had gathered in the main board room.
The board room was located on the top floor of the Birchall McClelland headquarters.
The BMC building was located in Sydney, the flagship headquarters of the organisation and occupied two thirds of the Governor Phillip Tower in Sydney’s financial district.
The building stood an impressive two hundred and twenty seven metres into the air and was one of the tallest buildings in the city.
The board room was set up just like any ordinary executive office boardroom. In the centre was a large square-shaped table with fifteen executive office chairs around it. Of course, one of them was at the front, reserved for the Chairman of the Board.
Ten of the men sat in padded office chairs around the conference table. The men represented various intelligence organizations and branches of the Australian defence department.
Against one wall, four more men sat in folding chairs. These men represented four broad civilian industries, including coal mining, oil and natural gas, banking and finance, and aerospace and defence.
The group operated in secrecy, even from itself. No one in the room wore identifying markers of any kind.
There were no name plates, no indications of rank, and no combat ribbons or medals in evidence. Indeed, there were no uniforms. The military men all wore dress shirts and slacks.
Although most of the men knew one another to some degree, two of the men were strangers, and had affiliations that were unclear to the rest of the group.
A silver-haired, four-star general, once a commander in the Army, stood at the head of the table. He rubbed an old, long faded scar on his forehead.
It was Karl Benedict, the Chief Executive Officer of Birchall McClelland. “You all know me,” he said. “You know my role here. So, I’ll get right to it. Events have moved forward quickly in the past twenty-four-hours, faster than we could have anticipated. I realise that past events were supposed to show this country that we mean business…However, it would seem that it’s not the case,” said Karl Benedict. “I know that you’re all against the idea of this country becoming a republic, and I know that you’re all aware that two days ago, there was a successful assassination attempt on the President of Australia,” said Karl. “I’d like to assure you all here today, that I, Karl Benedict, the Chief Executive Officer of Birchall McClelland, has sworn an oath to protect the Australian people from this disaster,” said Karl.
There was an eerie silence in the room as he looked around at all the members.
A hand at the table was raised. Karl recognized a man much older than himself, a former Royal Australian Navy admiral.
There was an iconic photograph from the event, which had never been declassified, but which the general had seen.
It showed the admiral at nineteen years of age, shirtless in a muddy trench, his eyes wild, his face and upper body painted dark red with the blood of dead communists. “Yes?” Mr. Benedict asked.
“Just what exactly are you proposing, Mr. Benedict?” asked one of the members. Karl didn’t reply straight away, and he grinned.
“I appreciate your curiosity. What I am proposing, will change this country.”
“Do you anticipate that it will cause any problems?” said another member. Karl picked up the paper in front of him and began to carefully shred it into long narrow strips.
“We don’t anticipate,” he said, “any problems at all.” There was silence across the room. “Now, moving on…According to my notes, some of you have expressed concerns with this operation,” he said. “Let me assure you, that this operation will help ensure the safety and the future of the Australian government…I realize that it is a drastic measure, to allow terrorists to carry out attacks on Australian soil, but we need to show this government is weak, and the Australian people deserve better,” he said. “I believe that a regime change in this country will make it stronger, and we can achieve those goals…Let’s stand together, and let’s make Australia great again!” the others around the table started clapping.
The board meeting ended. All the executives started making their way out of the dull, boring room, and headed back to their offices. Karl Benedict remained in his comfortable chair, feeling regal and impressed with himself.
He sat there going over some paperwork and his notes on the meeting. Just then, his Executive Assistant entered. She approached him with caution.
“Excuse me, Mr. Benedict. There’s a Mr. Manson here to see you,” she said. Karl immediately looked up, surprised.
“He’s here now?” she slowly nodded. “Son of a bitch…Send him in,” he demanded. She quickly raced off to carry out his command.
A few moments later, Nathaniel Manson entered the room. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Nathaniel was a little thrown off by his response.
“I apologise for the interruption. I couldn’t get a hold of you,” said Nathaniel, bravely. Karl let out a sigh.
“Your movements are supposed to be discrete. I can’t have you wandering about the office. This is supposed to be a clandestine operation,” he said.
“The operation was a complete success, Mr. Benedict…You got what you wanted, now I want what I wanted…My payment, and a one-way ticket out of this bloody country,” said Nathaniel. Karl didn’t look too impressed.
“I see…Well, your payment was wired to your account,” said Karl. “As for your travel arrangements…They will be handled by another associate of mine…Head to this address. He’ll meet you there to make sure you get out of the country,” said Karl. He then handed Nathaniel a piece of paper. He took it and checked the address.
He didn’t say anything after that. He nodded and then got up to leave. After he left, Karl picked up the phone and dialled a number. “It’s me…He’s on his way…Make sure you take care of it,” he ordered, and then hung up the call.
Karl went back to watching the large TV screen. It was currently showing updates on the upcoming memorial service for the Australia Day tragedy.
* * *
Detective Sergeant Ethan Cooper was sitting in the front seat of his car.
He’d just returned to the CIB after paying Mark Hauser a visit at the hospital.
Ethan collected himself and made his way back up to the office. There were quite a few personnel wandering about the Operations Centre. Many of them hard at work, conducting their own investigations.
Ethan walked across the floor, and approached Felicity Meyers’ station. She too was hard at work. “Hey. You got anything on that name?” he asked.
“As a matter of fact, yes. I managed to find a complete dossier on Nathaniel Manson. However, there’s on
e slight problem…Most of the contents of it have been blacked out.” Felicity handed Ethan a folder.
He opened it, and began flicked through the official documents.
She was right. Many of the pages had paragraphs with blacked out sentences, meaning it was classified top secret.
“Son of a bitch…Where did this file come from?” he asked, continuing to look through it.
“It’s a registered file from the Defence Department. ASIO must’ve classified it before it was published,” she added. Ethan let out a sigh.
“Bloody hell…This guy is our only lead behind the people responsible for the assassination plot,” said Ethan. Just then, Ethan looked up to see Mick Greer in his office. He was signalling him to come over.
“Looks like someone’s not happy,” said Felicity. Ethan didn’t say anything after that. He took the file and then headed over to Mick’s office.
He didn’t even knock on the door. He just showed himself in. Mick was on the phone talking with someone.
“Yes, alright. He’s here now, I’ll speak with you later,” he said, and hung up. “What the bloody hell have you been up to, Ethan?” he demanded. Of course, Ethan looked at him, oddly.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Boss.”
“Oh don’t give me that bloody bullshit…I’ve just spent the last ten minutes on the phone being grilled by the Commissioner,” he said. “Apparently a suspect was tortured at the hospital. You want to explain yourself?” there was an awkward pause after that.
“I wasn’t convinced that Mark Hauser had told us everything he knew about the bomb plot,” said Ethan. “Apparently, my hunch was right.” Ethan slammed the folder down on Mick’s desk.
“What’s this?” he asked. He opened it and started reading it.
“It’s a classified file on an employee of the Australian Department of Defence. His name is Nathaniel Manson…I have a sworn confession from Mark Hauser that this guy Manson was involved with the bomb attack!” there was a sudden pause in the room after that, as Mick Greer looked up at him, shocked. “I believe this guy Manson is the key to finding out who ordered the assassination of the President,” he said. Mick let out a sigh, as he continued reading through the file.