THE BROTHERHOOD

by Steve Jovanoski

  Drops of sweat trickled down his face as the progress bar dragged to eighty-five percent; it seemed to be taking forever to download the last database. When the screen flashed DOWNLOAD COMPLETED, Aazim hastily pulled the flash disk out of the server. With his shirt sleeve he wiped his forehead and logged out of the console. He shoved the USB disk into his pocket and headed for the data centre exit. Server fans, air-cons and all sorts of electronic noises filled the huge room, which contained technical hardware worth millions of dollars.

  Aazim gave the security guard behind the glass window a quick nod. Without waiting for one in return he swiped his access card and hurriedly punched the four-digit code in the exit pad. INVALID flashed on the display screen.

  Calm down, he told himself and shot a quick glance towards the monitoring room. He tried again, more slowly this time. After two beeps a green light came on and the heavy fireproof door swung open. He walked out and got into the elevator, avoiding eye contact with his colleagues. For a moment he wondered if he should grab his laptop sitting on his desk or just get the hell out of there. But the program he needed to run the databases was on it. It was early morning; he had worked beyond the time he predicted it would take and workers were coming in. A fast-paced stride to his desk should do it, he decided.

  Aazim’s nerves were stretched to breaking point when he saw Sam appear on the other side of the office and walk toward him. Sam was preoccupied with reading a report, but as he drew near he looked up and nodded a greeting. Aazim smiled and held the door open for him, pale faced and saturated in sweat.

  Sam turned and asked politely, ‘Aazim, is everything okay? You look unwell.’

  ‘I’m fine thanks, just a little tired,’ he replied nervously.

  ‘Don’t spend too much time in the server room, the air-cons are not healthy for you.’ His duty as the concerned manager now complete, Sam walked on, turning his attention back to his notes.

  Aazim made his way towards the desk via a maze of cubicles and pulled his laptop out of the docking station. Not bothering to power it down, he shoved it in his backpack and made his way to the elevators and out to the car park. He figured he had about five minutes before the server sent Sam an audit report. He needed to get out fast.

  Adrenaline rushed through Aazim’s body as he fishtailed out of the car park, the reality of his actions sinking in. Was he nuts? What was he thinking? But he knew there was no going back: he was committed to seeing this through regardless of the danger he now faced. Reversing what he’d just done was not an option. He knew the information held on that tiny disk could flip the company upside down and cause chaos in the financial markets. It was now in his hands to do with as he wished.

  Aazim looked in the rear-vision mirror to check if anyone was following him, and to take a last look at the Aust Global Fund sign, an imposing symbol on a modern building that he now realised hid so many secrets.

  The vibrating mobile phone in his pocket startled him. He took it out and saw that Sam was trying to reach him.

  It had begun.

  Chapter 4

  Bill McKane picked up his mobile phone before the ringing became unbearable. His secretary was no longer with him; she hadn’t been paid in weeks and there wasn’t much for her to do anyway.

  ‘Mr McKane?’

  ‘Yes, how can I help you?’ Half in a daze from a hangover, he struggled to speak clearly.

  ‘You are a private investigator, yes?’

  ‘Yes,’ he drawled.

  Seeming to sense Bill’s tired tone, the man asked, ‘Have I got you at a bad time?’

  ‘Nah, you’re right.’ Bill stretched on the office couch and hoped the call wouldn’t take long.

  ‘You’ve been highly recommended by a mutual friend. I hope you have a moment to discuss a certain matter of concern.’ The man had an English accent and sounded well educated.

  ‘Okay then, who am I speaking to and what can I do for you?’ Bill was annoyed when people didn’t introduce themselves, as if he was expected to know who they were.

  ‘My apologies, my name is Saeed Hammoud. I’ve been told that you are a professional and you work alone. I have a job for you if you’re interested.’

  ‘Well, I’m a bit tied up at the moment, Saeed. It all depends on what your problem is and how long it’ll take.’ It was a lie. He hadn’t had a customer in months and his landlord was about to evict him.

  ‘Are you alone?’

  ‘I am, you can speak freely.’ Bill stretched towards his desk for a nearly empty bottle of scotch and poured himself a straight shot for a morning pick-me-up.

  ‘I would like you to keep all our discussions confidential. It’s a sensitive matter, you see. Can I trust you with this?’

  ‘My work depends on my keeping my clients’ business secret. I’m sure whoever recommended me would’ve told you that.’ Get to the point, he thought.

  ‘Quite so, Mr McKane. I don’t mean to be rude, I just need your reassurance, that’s all.’

  Bill didn’t respond to the pompous arse wasting his valuable sleeping time.

  ‘A certain individual has stolen some information from us and we urgently need you to recover it. It’s a very delicate matter as it contains highly sensitive data. Unfortunately we haven’t been able to persuade him to hand it back and we’re afraid it could cause a lot of damage in the wrong hands.’

  ‘If he’s stolen something why don’t you call the police?’

  ‘Well …’ the caller paused, sounding a little uncomfortable. ‘The information he has is very sensitive and we’d rather not involve the authorities at this stage.’

  Bill sensed the man was avoiding giving a direct answer. Knowing what he was getting into was the difference between failure and success.

  ‘Saeed –’

  ‘Please, call me Sam.’

  ‘All right, Sam, if you want me to take this job you’ll have to give me more than that.’

  ‘I can’t reveal too much at this stage but what I can say is that I work for a finance company. We deal with a number of domestic and international clients who acquire our services. One of our employees downloaded customer account information from a company server and disappeared before we could confront him.’

  ‘Has he tried contacting any of his colleagues or family?’

  ‘He has called me. I am his manager. He said he wanted a million dollars or he would sell the data on the black market. If that happens a lot of our clients will be ruined, not to mention the law suits we’ll be up against.’

  ‘Extortion is a job for the police, Sam. I deal with missing persons, spying on cheating spouses and other petty crime that people meddle in.’ Bill was testing the man’s seriousness, or desperation.

  ‘Eventually the police will be involved. However, our priority right now is to contain the situation before the press gets onto it. I was told you are more than capable of handling it. I’m sure you’ve dealt with worse cases in your previous job.’

  ‘What do you know about my previous job?’ Bill snapped to attention. His past wasn’t something he advertised or wanted to remember.

  ‘As I said earlier, Mr McKane, our mutual friend recommended you but I would rather not name him in our conversation. I’m sure he will reveal himself to you at some point.’

  ‘All right, Sam, I’ll be sure to ask this friend just how much he’s told you about me.’ Bill didn’t press the point but wanted to make his doubts known to this Sam.

  ‘Is the answer yes? You’ll receive twenty thousand dollars upfront, plus expenses, and another twenty thousand when the job is completed.’

  Bill’s eyebrows rose. Forty grand would get him out of a lot of mess. ‘What exactly do you want me to do?’

  ‘You’ll be sent to make the exchange and our security team will apprehend the thief as you do so. Once the data is safely in our hands the police will be at hand to arrest him.’

  To Bill the whole thing smelt rotten, but with a little prudence and caution it could be easy money
he desperately needed.

  ‘You have yourself a PI then.’

  ‘Excellent. If you walk out and check your mailbox you’ll find a thick envelope with your name on it.’

  ‘Really now, you should’ve knocked. I was home.’

  The caller ignored the sarcasm. ‘And I would like to keep a certain level of anonymity, if you don’t mind. All our meetings will be conducted over the phone for as long as possible.’

  ‘That’s fine by me,’ Bill replied. He knew that no one hides their identity unless something big is at stake, but all that mattered were the forty grand.

  ‘We need you to make the exchange, and ensure that no copies have been made and that he gives you the data personally. We can’t be seen dealing directly with a blackmailer. Publicly we would denounce any knowledge or involvement with regard to this matter.’

  ‘I need you to give me as much detail about this person as you can – all the names he goes by, addresses, contact numbers, next of kin, employment, and education background if possible, and anything else you can think of.’

  Sam told him he would have it all ready the next day. ‘Once I get in contact with Aazim I will advise him that you will be our intermediary and I shall call you for the details of the meeting.’

  Bill hung up and replenished his glass of scotch.

  William McKane was a former Australian Security Intelligence Organisation officer. In his late thirties, he was a little out of shape, but at six feet tall his muscular frame from rigorous training was still visible under his tight-fitted shirts. Once a quick-witted and sharp man, these days he sported a greyish tired look and a receding hairline. The piercing brown eyes that once never missed the smallest detail were now dulled by bags of dark semi-circles. He had never recovered from his wife leaving him and insomnia now gripped his life.

  Until his parents’ divorce when he was in his mid teens, Bill had enjoyed a carefree childhood. Their break-up had changed everything. When they finally separated he blocked out the sadness and replaced it with anger and suspicion. His father went to work in the goldmines of Western Australia and Bill stayed with his mother in Melbourne; he never saw his father again.

  In time he found himself mixed up with kids of the same mould, skipping school and on his way to becoming a career juvenile offender who saw the inside of a courtroom more often than a schoolroom. His mother could no longer control him. Theft, underage drinking, promiscuity and defacing private property were just some of his hobbies.

  Being streetwise earned him the reputation of being a fast talker and a good salesman. He defended himself in court and managed to win over the judge on numerous occasions, often being let off with a slap on the wrist. His intelligence was not outwardly obvious and he used this to his advantage. His blunt honesty and humility would soften the judge as he portrayed himself as a young boy from a broken family, lacking a father figure and going through tough times.

  One night he took a cab home from a party with his mates, drunk and high on weed. They did a runner as usual; none of them had any money and it was the last thrill for the night. Unluckily for Bill, the Indian driver was also a student athlete. The man did the unexpected – the drivers never left their cars – and ran after them, singling Bill out as the slowest. Bill was terrified when he saw the large man on his heels, yelling incomprehensibly and thundering toward him. The alcohol took its toll and Bill stumbled, tripping over his own feet and sprawling in the middle of the road. The man pinned him down until the police arrived. Bill was thrown in a divvy van and found himself back in a holding cell.

  Once again he appeared in court, where the magistrate recognised him and made it clear he’d had enough of Bill’s utter disregard for the law. This time he was given a twelve-month probation sentence. One more offence of the smallest kind would see him in a juvenile detention centre for four years, the magistrate told him. Describing him as wasted potential, he suggested that Bill join the army. ‘Discipline would do you good and you might even learn a trade.’

  Bill had broken his mother’s heart. He knew that having to bail him out had been humiliating for her and something had to change, at least for her sake. It was time he got serious about his life. He considered what the magistrate had said about the army. His mother would be left alone, but he knew she wanted the best for him and would rather see him in the army than in prison.

  Bill enlisted on the army recruitment program in his last year of high school. Defence personnel had visited his school and spoken to the students about the armed forces. Ever since the abolition of conscription, marketing and PR programmes had been essential in drawing young people’s interest and glorifying the armed forces as an adventure playground. Pay was tax free and a lot of focus was placed on the education the army could provide. Bill signed up immediately.

  He gave it everything he had and accelerated through every field of training. A photographic memory placed him above other recruits in a range of theory and activities. He excelled in sharp shooting and hand-to-hand combat, broke records in disassembling and assembling weapons, and succeeded in everything else that was thrown at him. A commanding officer noticed his progress and he was called in to sit an IQ test. He scored 119, well above average, and from then on a grooming phase began that saw him rise up the rank ladder. Finally he was asked to join the intelligence organisation, an area in defence where he could really put his brain to work. The 9/11 attack on the twin towers in the United States and the consequent war in Iraq was the beginning of a new world, and these events kick-started Bill’s career as a military spy.

  Australia was on a heightened alert; the threat of terrorist attacks on Australian soil was suddenly real. Bill was to bolster the under-resourced unit that now faced an immense task of intelligence gathering. The budget was doubled and fresh bright minds came aboard to strengthen the unit’s capabilities. It was an exciting time in his career; ever since he’d taken the IQ test he felt he was being prepared for this moment.

  Traditionally, military intelligence gathered information concerning the army, but Bill’s unit was different. Training was rigorous and involved martial arts and hand-to-hand combat by the best experts in the army. He was sent to the Australian Defence Force Academy in Canberra for lectures on terrorist groups, learning how they operated and how they were funded. He also learned about influential extremists and their supporters, religious figures, the mujahideen, al-Qaeda, war mercenaries and political factions that were considered both friendly and unfriendly to Western governments. And he gained a vast amount of knowledge about other intelligence agencies, both domestic and foreign.

  One afternoon two men in civilian attire had summoned Bill for a meeting, along with his commanding officer. They introduced themselves as ASIO agents. His progress had been closely monitored, they told him, and he showed a lot of potential as a field agent. They made him an offer to join their counter-espionage unit, which comprised a young talented team of spies.

  Bill was placed in the counterterrorist section and his training took on a new meaning. Dealing with the real thing was immensely exciting; it opened up doors to information that very few people would ever see.

  One of his early missions, not long after the 9/11 attacks in New York, involved the arrest of nine suspects in Melbourne and a few others around Australia. Agents had uncovered an elaborate plot to attack a number of well-known Australian landmarks, including the Sydney Opera House and Harbour Bridge, the Rialto Towers in Melbourne, and other strategic targets such as the Lucas Heights nuclear facility. All suspects were of Australian birth and citizenship, except for one who had come on a tourist visa via Pakistan straight from Afghan training camps in preparation for a suicide mission. A suburban garden and hardware supplier contacted the police when a man who appeared to be of Middle Eastern origin ordered high-grade fertiliser. Bill’s unit confiscated training manuals on bomb-making, weapons and religious material. The millions spent on television advertisements that called for ordinary citizens to report suspicious beh
aviour had paid off in this case.

  A number of agencies were responsible for the success of this globally publicised bust, including ASIO and the federal police. As the web untangled, further arrests were made in England, Europe and the United States. Bill’s section mainly provided the background intelligence on the suspects’ overseas activities, the type of combat and weapons training they had received, and traced bomb-making materials and military links. It was a tight-knit relationship with other secret agencies whose work crossed over theirs and information was exchanged.

  But one particular mission changed Bill’s life just as he was well into a bright career. He was on assignment in Jakarta, tailing an officer of TNI, the Indonesian military, who was suspected of illegal-arms and drug-smuggling activities in Australia. One afternoon intelligence received information about a plot by Jemaah Islamiyah to blow up a local restaurant, the TNI officer being the target. Bill was ordered not to issue any warnings to the Indonesian authorities. ASIO had been spying on a member of the Indonesian army without the knowledge of the local government and if the news had got out it would have turned into a political scandal and worsened relations, which were already on thin ice, between the two countries.

  The restaurant was in close proximity to a primary school and students had gathered on the street before going into class. Bill was furious; innocent children were under threat while ASIO just stood back and watched. It would have taken one anonymous phone call to the restaurant to avoid casualties. Sixty-three people died and scores of others were badly burnt or injured. No Australian citizens were among them and the mission was considered a success.

  From that day on Bill was haunted by the faces of innocent children being dragged out of the burning rubble, and his nights were plagued with nightmares. Due to the sensitive nature of the mission he was bound to secrecy and couldn’t talk to anyone about it. He thought about blowing the whistle and releasing his knowledge to the media but ultimately decided against this. The case was one of many situations where intelligence had known about an imminent attack but had failed – or refused – to act on it. At times it was the politicians who made the final call. Sacrifice a handful of people to save thousands of others, was the common wisdom.