‘They got sprung? Who by?’
‘A bloke having a root under the old, upturned fishing boat.’
‘You’re kidding?’
‘Just above Cheviot Beach is an Officer Cadet Training School. A young Lieutenant there, Kenneth Trenowden, was having an affair with the Commanding Officer’s wife, while he was posted to Vietnam. The old fishing boat was their Sunday rendezvous point where they used to do their bonking in private. Trenowden was giving her one under the boat when, first he heard noises, then a familiar voice. He kept the CO’s wife quiet while he had a look out through a hole in the clinkers and saw the whole thing. Holt actually caught his eye for an instant before he ran up the hill. Naturally, the young lieutenant was blown out by what he just saw, but he can’t tell anybody or it would be the end of his career, amongst other things. So he kept the whole thing to himself. However, he did write a letter, a sort of “in the event of my death” thing, and left it with his sister, Beverley. Two weeks later, Trenowden got a posting to Vietnam where he was shot by a sniper at My Phuoc Tuy. Very coincidental. His sister forgot about the letter and ended up moving to Geelong when her husband retired. He later electrocuted himself trying to fix a power point. When she was going through her private papers after it was all over, she found the letter from her dead brother, read it and gave it to Prior. He was her nephew and she knew he was a journalist. He’s read it, got a bit suss about this uncle getting knocked off in Vietnam so early when he shouldn’t really have got the posting. He revved up his modem, jumped on the internet, and zoomed off gathering information from all over the world on the superhighway, whereas, unfortunately, Les, you’re in an old Holden sitting on blocks with no wheels.’
‘Okay, I’m a loo-light or a loo-dite. Or whatever you call them. But you still haven’t told me what happened to the Prime Minister’s body?’
‘Okay, sit back, Br’er Rabbit, and oF Uncle Remus’ll finish this off for you. Phase Two. The panel van heads for Port Stephens. They hide Holt in a caravan near Shoal Bay, but Williamtown Air Force Base is just up the road and the SAS are having parachute exercise droppings into Port Stephens. The Australian Navy’s doing mine sweeping operations along with two American destroyers prior to leaving for Vietnam, plus the Air Force is doing low-level bombing exercises and submarine detection. So it’s mission aborted again. Plan Three. Sydney Heads. But by now the light’s stopped coming on in Harold’s fridge. He’s starting to crack. Oleg does his best to boost the PM’s morale and crack gags and joke around. But Harold’s losing it. They move into a flat in Rose Bay. Oleg organises a drink and a game of poker to keep Holt’s mind off things. He gets drunk and sees himself on TV. The whole country’s still looking for him. Then it flashes to his family all crying and praying, and Harold goes all lachrymose and decides to give himself up. He’ll cop the rap. Holt’s good Russian mate, Vatutin, rings Collins and asks what to do? And Collins said to shoot the Prime Minister. So Vatutin did, just like that.’ The Gecko snapped his fingers twice and looked at Les.
‘His Russian mate shot him?’
‘Yep, twice in the back of the neck — SS style.’
‘So where’s the body?’
‘Well, Les, that’s where the story ends. Or splits into two. The Chinese said they picked up the body, took it to China and buried it. But another report said the submarine got caught in fishing nets off North Head, burnt a motor out getting away from them, and headed out to sea for repairs, then back to China. Vatutin said they disposed of the body in his report. Khludov said there was a mishap with the body, but they disposed of it. That’s all. Prior’s got some longitude and latitude references there. I haven’t got the gizmo with me, but by memory they seem to be around Brisbane Water.’
‘Up the Central Coast.’
‘Possibly. And that’s where Prior is at the moment. He might be onto something.’
‘Funny if he was under the Florida Hotel,’ laughed Norton.
‘I think that’s gone now, Les. It’s Crown Plaza, or something.’
‘Is it? It’s a while since I been up there.’
The Gecko eased back in his seat and gave Norton a slow smile. ‘Well, come on, Les. What are your thoughts on Prior’s theory? You must have formed some sort of an opinion.’
‘Yeah, not bad,’ nodded Les. ‘But there are just a couple of things.’
‘Like what, lad?’
‘Well, why would Holt keep going? Once he got into parliament, he didn’t need the money, especially when he made Prime Minister.’
‘Holt still needed money. As well as poker and a punt, he liked the high life in general. And he was Prime Minister for barely a year. But when you’re in there, you don’t think of the circumstances. It’s the buzz. I was in Army Intelligence. I’ve worked with spies. They’re ice-cold adrenalin junkies getting high on controlled schizophrenia. Plus Holt believed in what he was doing. In his heart and soul, he honestly believed he was doing the right thing. The way things are coming out now with generals and ministers spilling their guts, possibly he was.’
‘Okay,’ nodded Les, ‘that makes sense. But how did Prior get onto all this in the first place? I know he’s a journalist, and he can use a computer . . .’
‘Like I said, Les. On the internet. It’s all out there now. Since the break-up of Russia, the wall coming down and the end of the Cold War, there’s records turning up everywhere. Vatutin ended up a colonel in the Stasi, the East German Secret Police, along with Khludov’s son, Lieutenant Nevsky Khludov. Vasily died flying a plane during the start of the war in Afghanistan. Chu Yu-lan is now number three in the Chinese Politburo. Prior’s been researching this for almost four years and knows what he’s doing. He’s done six trips overseas, including Moscow and Beijing.’ The Gecko patted the ten pages. ‘It’s all there, mate. Have a look for yourself.’
‘No, that’s okay. I’ll take your word for it.’ With all the techno-jargon in it, Norton may as well have tried to read a Chinese newspaper. ‘But it’s not as good as the theory I heard. From very reliable sources, too, I might add.’
‘What theory was that, Les?’
‘Harold Holt and Elvis Presley are running a fish and chip shop with Spike Milligan at Woy Woy.’
The Gecko was about to say something when the intercom buzzed. ‘Shit! That’ll be Eddie. Don’t say anything about this.’ He gathered the papers up. ‘I’ll go through it with him some other time.’ The major hit the intercom, put the papers in his room and was at the front door in time to open it for Eddie, who was wearing jeans, dark blue T-shirt, cap and sunglasses.
Eddie smiled when he walked into the kitchen. ‘So, how’s it goin’, big fellah? You ready for all the festivities tonight?’
‘Ready as I’ll ever fuckin’ be, Eddie, I suppose. What about you?’
Eddie made an expression with his hands. ‘What’s gotta be done’s gotta be done.’
‘Yeah, I s’pose you’re right. You want a cup of coffee or something?’
‘Yeah, all right. Thanks, mate.’ Eddie looked across at the major. ‘So what’s been happening, Garrick? Everything sweet?’
The Gecko made the same expression with his hands that Eddie had. ‘What could go wrong?’
‘Listen,’ said Les, ‘if you two want to go in the lounge. I’ll make this and bring it in.’
‘That would be excellent, Les. There are things I have to discuss. Thank you.’
Well, here I am, the little au-pair girl again. And once again I’ve learnt something from the major. I’ve learnt that I know absolutely fuck-all about computers and he’s a whiz. I don’t know about Prior, or whatever he calls himself’s, story. But the major’s a genius — how he got onto it and figured it all out. So Harold’s buried somewhere near Brisbane Water, eh, and there was a mishap with the body. A sobering thought suddenly hit Norton in the pit of his stomach. Just as long as there’s no bloody mishap with two certain bodies tonight. Les stared out the kitchen window into space. I honestly wish I didn’t have to do this.
For some reason I’m starting to get a bad feeling. Oh well, too bloody late now. He had all the stuff together on the tray and was just about to pick up the plunger from near the kitchen sink when Boris and Igor came out the front door and walked down the path towards the front of the flats. Off for another day’s fishing, are we, boys? Les let his eyes follow them for a moment, then he took the tray into the lounge, placed it all in front of Eddie, then walked out onto the sundeck and made out he was looking for something. The two Russians had gone past the front of the flats and were almost at Glenayr Avenue when two fresh-faced, fit-looking young blokes came out of the flats opposite where Les had seen the outline of the telephoto lens. One had bright red hair, the other black, and both were wearing Hawaiian shirts, board shorts and sunglasses, and were carrying boogie-boards under their arms. Something about their outfits told you they were anything but surfers. Les pottered around watching them for a while, then went back inside.
‘Those two Russians just went down the road and two blokes came out of that block of flats opposite. I think they were following them,’ he said to the major.
‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ replied the major. ‘Were they dressed as surfers?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Look like it, don’t they.’
‘Like anything but. They worth worrying about?’
The Gecko shook his head. ‘No. They’re after Boris and Igor for some reason. Probably like what I said.’
‘Is there some drama?’ asked Eddie, over the top of his coffee.
‘No,’ reiterated the major, ‘nothing to do with us.’
‘Good.’ Eddie looked up at Norton. ‘Sit down and have a cuppa, Les. And I’ll tell you what’s going on again. It’s simple really.’
‘Righto.’ Les sat down facing Eddie and the major and got a cup of coffee together. ‘Give me the SITCOM. Let’s get this briefing together.’
‘Okay, old boy,’ replied Eddie, starting off with a mock British accent. ‘Here’s the poop. The gen. You and Garrick are going to blow the handball court at ten. But first you leave your car above the boatsheds at Ben Buckler and walk round. When the bang goes up, I’ll arrive in a rubber ducky. We’ll toss the bodies into the rubber ducky and take them out to a fishing boat and they’ll take them out to sea and dump them. Then I take you back to the boatsheds and you run Garrick into Central railway to catch the train home. A piece of cake, old boy.’
‘Yeah, easy as shit. Just blow up half the baths, grab a couple of stiffs, throw them in a dinghy, and take them out to another boat for a burial at sea. What about this atom bomb he’s using? It’ll probably light up all Bondi Bay and half of Dover Heights.’
‘Only for a second or two, Les,’ said the major. ‘And there might be a bit of noise, but nothing to worry about. Hey, trust me, Les. I haven’t let you down yet, have I?’
‘No, I don’t suppose so,’ replied Norton reluctantly.
‘But what about this for a stroke of genius, Les,’ said Eddie. ‘The caretaker’s at work tonight. And because of the council, the club stops trading at eight. I’m going down there with a spray can when they close and writing HANDS OFF THE BERGS, DEATH TO THE ZIONIST DOGS, AL FATAH on the wall opposite.’
‘Why the bloody hell’s that?’ asked Les.
‘There’s a rumour going round that the Jews have bought the baths for development. With that plastered all over the wall, it’ll look like the work of Arab terrorists. Grouse or what, Les?’
Les shook his head. ‘Terrific. And who’s going to be in the rubber ducky with you? Who’s driving the getaway car? Or fishing boat?’
Eddie rubbed his hands together. ‘I got a couple of surprises for you — you’ll love it.’
‘I can’t wait.’
‘So that’s the story, Les. Garrick’s got all the times and exact locations written down. After the explosion we should be away in five minutes. Eight max.’ Eddie drained his coffee and stood up. ‘Anyway, I got to piss off. I got other things to organise. So everything’s about right, Garrick?’ he said to the major.
‘Everything’s fine, Eddie. I can’t see one hitch. I’ll make the device this afternoon and prime it. We do the job at ten. And around ten the next morning I’ll be home with my loving family. Beautiful.’
‘All right,’ said Eddie. ‘I’ll see you at the baths tonight. I can let myself out. See you, fellahs. And good luck.’
‘Yeah, see you, Eddie,’ chorused Les and the major. The door closed and Eddie was gone.
Les finished his coffee also and looked at the major. ‘So what’s our story now, Major?’
‘Well,’ answered The Gecko, looking at his watch, ‘by the time we clean this up and I get a few things sorted out, it’ll be lunchtime, and I wouldn’t mind another of those chicken schnitzels. That was good yesterday.’
‘Okay. I’m starting to feel a bit peckish now myself.’
‘Then we might go and walk it off.’
‘Walk it off,’ echoed Norton.
The Gecko smiled at Les. ‘You heard what I said, Les. Of course, you don’t have to come if you don’t wish.’
‘No, I’ll come,’ said Les, just a trifle reluctantly.
‘Good lad.’
Which was pretty much how they spent the afternoon. Les fiddled round in his room, still a bit apprehensive. Despite his assurances, Eddie made it all sound too easy. All Les did know was the major found a CD amongst Susie’s collection — Andrew Denton’s ‘The Money Or The Gun’ with twenty-two versions of ‘Stairway To Heaven’, including one by The Beatnix. The Gecko found it, and the remote, and played it nonstop until they left for the Bondi No Names. The food was excellent again. Except that when the waitress asked Les if he enjoyed his meal, instead of answering her, he turned to the major and said, ‘There’s a sign on the door, but she wants to be sure, because you know sometimes words have two meanings’.
Their walk afterwards started off pretty punishing; Norton’s legs were still stiff from the day before. But fortunately the major showed mercy at the stairs, saying there was no sense risking an injury with what they had in front of them that night. So they only went up and down twice. Back at the unit they got cleaned up and Les was standing in the lounge room in his shorts and a blue T-shirt when the major came out wearing his tracksuit pants and an old grey T-shirt.
‘Okay, Les,’ he said, ‘I’m going to be working on this for the next couple of hours. Why don’t you continue with your taping? I’d rather it if you stayed here in the flat.’
‘Suits me, Major. Can I help you in any way?’
The Gecko stared at Les for a moment. ‘Do you know anything about titanium steel alloy? Mini calutronic particle accelerators? Lithium and plutonium catalystic neutron blizzards?’
Les stared back at the major for a moment. ‘I’m not bad on particle accelerators, but I’d need the manual for the other stuff.’
‘Stay here and tape your music, Les. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.’ The Gecko went to his room and closed the door.
Lithium and plutonium fuckin’ what? Les shook his head. Oh well, mine is not to reason why, mine is but to tape or die. He unwrapped another cassette and started going through Susie’s CDs again. The first two tracks Les taped were ‘Communication Breakdown’ by Flash and the Pan and ‘Good Good Good’ by The Cockroaches. Two hours later he’d finished one tape and had started another. He stretched his back and walked out onto the verandah. It was almost dark. There were a few people coming and going and car headlights going past, but no sign of anybody Les knew. When he came inside the major was standing in the lounge room rubbing his eyes and stretching his neck.
‘How are you feeling, Major. Everything okay?’ asked Norton.
‘Yes, Les,’ replied the major. ‘Everything’s Al. As good as I can possibly get it.’
‘Your eyes look a bit sore.’
‘Yes, I’ve been peering through a magnifying glass half the afternoon. I’m going to make a cup of tea. Do you want one?’
‘No, you go for your life, mate. I’ll knock this on the head.’ Les finished the last track he was taping, ‘She Moved The Dishes First’ by Supercharge, and sat down on the lounge. The Gecko came out of the kitchen holding a mug with a teabag string hanging down the side. He looked down at Norton.
‘Well, would you like to see what I’ve been up to all afternoon, Les?’
‘Yeah, sure. Show us your atom bomb, Major. Long as the bloody thing doesn’t go off and blow us into the harbour.’
‘You’d simply vapourise, Les. In less than a microsecond.’
The Gecko went to his room and returned with his ‘atom bomb’. It was a brown, curved plastic object about 18 inches long, 10 inches wide and 3 inches thick, sitting at an angle on four spindly, pointed metal legs. On one side was written FRONT TOWARD ENEMY, on the other side, BACK, and beneath that 14-33 APERS MINE. Beneath that was the serial number, Lot MHK71A631-001. There were two plastic mouldings on top with threaded ends something like a tap. A brown cable ran to a roll of cable on the floor and sitting next to it was a flat plastic object with a moveable top that held a fat, round firing button inside. Another smaller box was attached to the front with thick cables and covers something like those on a distributor cap.
The Day of the Gecko Page 17