by Steve Lewis
‘By my count you have eight seconds to get that thing back in your pants,’ Crespo wheezed as he leaned on the elevator handrail for a breather. ‘And when those doors open you keep pace.’
‘Ground floor,’ the mechanical voice rang.
‘Run, fuckwit!’
Crespo had hold of the libidinous minister’s jacket as the two hurtled across the marble hall, with Quinn trying to haul up his fly without inflicting permanent damage. That wasn’t such a success.
‘Arrgghh!’ Quinn stumbled as their footsteps echoed in the glass-walled corridor just metres from the doors. Crespo yanked on his lapel and the MP managed to keep his footing.
The two men collapsed into the chamber just as the sands on the four-minute hourglass ran out. The bells fell silent. The Speaker intoned: ‘Lock the doors.’
In the Prime Minister’s office the night was proving as expensive as it was long. The smell of a desperate government is like the scent of blood for a shark to a crossbench MP. And, like all commodities, the cost of a vote rises with the level of demand.
George Papadakis was charged with keeping a running tally of the promises as five of the seven crossbench MPs cycled in and out. At 5.30am he, Martin Toohey and Crespo took stock. The Prime Minister had handled the negotiations and was exhausted but pleased with himself.
‘I think we’re just about there, aren’t we, Burt?’
Crespo had checked and rechecked the undertakings as the numbers shifted through the night. He nodded.
‘Right now, if everyone holds we have seventy-four votes to their seventy-three. So there will be no reason for the Speaker to have to use his casting vote. But if anything changes, if anyone goes missing and there’s a tie, then he assures me he’ll vote the bill down.’
Toohey turned to Papadakis who was nervously shuffling a small pile of notes and looking every one of his fifty-six years.
‘Didn’t we even try to get him, George?’
‘PM, as I said, I went round to his office and personally invited him to chat with you. He made some joke about not wanting to be swayed by your charms and repeated that his electorate would rebel if he supported the bill. Almost nothing would sway him.’
‘Almost. You’re holding out on me, aren’t you?’
‘It was absurd, I’m sure he was joking.’
‘What did he want?’
‘Ambassador to the Holy See.’
‘And we can’t do that?’
‘Not if you want to retain a shred of dignity. But after tonight I’m sure dignity is also on sale.’
Stung, Toohey changed the subject.
‘And what did Paxton want?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing?’
‘Yep. I visited his office at about 2am. He said he was voting with us because he believed in the bill and would I mind pissing off because he’d found a replay of the drawn VFL Grand Final in 1977. He said it was his favourite game for two reasons: the drama of the draw and knowing that Collingwood would lose a week later.’
Toohey made circles with his finger on the rim of a glass balanced on the armrest of his burnt-orange lounge chair.
‘So what’s the damage?
‘After the Tasmanian left ten minutes ago with his pockets stuffed full of cash, the bill for this little exercise topped one billion dollars over four years, Martin.’
Papadakis didn’t hide his distaste for the vote auction. He knew Toohey also felt sullied. The Prime Minister gulped a mouthful of water and wearily put the glass down.
‘It’s a small price, George; we’re making history here. Think of the legacy.’
‘I will. But I’m also thinking about the bill I will leave my grandchildren.’
Toohey was starting to wriggle in his seat. Papadakis knew it was a signal he was tiring of the debate. The Prime Minister went fishing for a compliment.
‘But George, the great negotiator sealed the deal again.’
‘Martin, you can win over anyone when you give them everything they want.’
The government called on the vote at 7.22am and 147 exhausted MPs and a weary Speaker trudged into the chamber. The public galleries were packed with people who had come from across Australia to cheer the landmark reform. Several activists were ejected when they called out ‘Shame on you, Emily Brooks’ as the Opposition leader entered.
Toohey looked across the table that separated him from Brooks, caught her eye and glanced towards the Speaker. They rose and walked into the small space behind his chair, out of range of prying cameras.
‘Emily, trust you had a good night.’
‘And you, Martin.’
‘We have the numbers.’
‘It looks that way.’
‘You should back this bill, Emily. This is a historic reform that would really benefit from bipartisan support.’
‘It’s billions we don’t have and I will never support it.’
‘As you wish. But this will be popular and I will make you wear your opposition like a crown of thorns.’
‘Do your worst. Oh, and Martin. If this vote goes down I will count it as a want of confidence in your government and begin calling for an immediate election.’
Before he could answer, she had turned and walked over to the Manager of Opposition Business who was standing nearby. Something was up. As Toohey returned to his seat he heard the Speaker’s call on the Third Reading vote.
‘All those in favour say “Aye”.’
Labor roared ‘Aye’ in unison.
‘Those opposed say “No”.’
The Coalition benches rang with ‘No’.
‘I think the ayes have it.’
‘The noes have it,’ called a group of Liberal frontbenchers.
‘The House will divide. Ring the bells for four minutes.’
The clerk turned over the first of the three hourglasses that sit between the dispatch boxes on the table separating Government and Opposition. The Prime Minister was transfixed by Brooks, just metres away. He knew how hard she had fought to stop this bill and yet she was laughing with some of her frontbench colleagues. He motioned to Crespo, who was a handful of paces away and talking to the whips.
‘Burt, do we still have the numbers?’
‘Yes, just. By one. Seventy-four to seventy-three. Why?’
‘Something’s up, Brooks is too relaxed and was making threats about what she’ll do if we lose.’
‘There’s no way. With Bailey out and her vote paired, seventy-four wins it.’
‘Burt. That’s it! Who’s Bailey’s pair?’
‘Melanie Alexander.’
‘Is she in the chamber?’
Crespo hoisted himself up onto the green leather frontbench and searched the faces of the Opposition. Then he saw her, tucked away in the National Party end of the chamber known as ‘Cockies Corner’. With the pair withdrawn the vote would be tied, and the Speaker’s casting vote would see the bill defeated. The Liberal MP’s unexpected presence in the House had doomed Toohey’s landmark reform.
Crespo jumped down beside Toohey and caught the eye of the Manager of Opposition Business, then hissed in a stage whisper, ‘You rat.’
Toohey grabbed his arm. ‘Stop the vote.’
‘I can’t. The division’s started.’
‘But they’ve broken the rules.’
‘There are no rules. It’s a convention, a matter of honour. And they have none.’
Brooks smirked. Toohey’s shoulders sank and he slumped forward on the table. He turned his head to the hourglass and could see his dreams running out with the sand. In less than a minute, his treasured bill, and Labor’s last hope of redemption, would be lost.
It was the change in the chamber chatter that made him look up. The gossip of the MPs began to wind down and heads were turning towards the rear doors that led to the Members’ Hall.
There, framed in the light, was the silhouette of a wheelchair. Toohey wondered if it was a protester. Then there was a gasp of recognition from one of the La
bor MPs near the door.
‘Catriona Bailey.’
The chatter faded to astonished silence as the Foreign Minister’s electric wheelchair glided across the threshold as the hourglass ran empty.
‘Lock the doors,’ boomed the Speaker.
The public galleries exploded in applause and cheers echoed ever louder despite the Speaker’s protest.
The messiah had risen.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Canberra
It was a dangerous and symbolic location. But there were no safe places now. Her every movement was being monitored.
So she had chosen Nara Peace Park deliberately, ignoring his pleas for somewhere more secluded.
The park edged down to the lake. It was a short distance from the Chinese embassy with its secretive sister compound taking shape behind the razor wire. Weng Meihui had ventured several times to this lush square since arriving in Canberra, marvelling at the grace of its pagodas and stone sculptures.
Japan’s Nara had forged a sister-city relationship with the Australian capital two decades ago and presented this small themed garden, featuring two of the largest stone lanterns ever built in Japan, as a gift to the people of Canberra. The lanterns symbolised the robust relationship between Australia and one of its largest trading partners – which also happened to be China’s historic enemy.
He arrived late, sweating under the white-hot glare of a midday sun. The ComCar had dropped him off behind the Hyatt. He was dressed in a charcoal suit, white shirt and a tie of bold yellow.
Very handsome today, Bruce.
Paxton surveyed the garden suspiciously. A handful of women were pushing strollers along a stone path, engaged in the carefree banter of mums with a rare bit of time on their hands.
A park attendant, dressed in a khaki uniform, was fiddling with a sprinkler, trying to redirect its spray towards newly laid turf.
They met and embraced. He pulled back quickly.
‘Relax, my darling,’ Weng whispered in his ear. ‘Of course they are watching. They expect us to meet. I want to make it easy for them to see but not hear us.’
She led him down a wide path to a gazebo where they took a seat on a timber bench. To the unsuspecting, they were a normal, loving couple stealing a moment.
Weng leaned into him, nestling her head on his right shoulder, dropping her voice.
‘I’m scared, Bruce.’
Paxton looked down on her black hair.
‘Why?’
‘The Ambassador is suspicious of me. He caught me asking questions about two men.’
She sighed. Paxton reached out to hold her shoulders, lifting her gaze to his.
‘What did you want to know about these two men?’
‘They were room-mates of Lin An, the man who drowned in the lake. They are both dead, although I’m sure they had no choice in deciding their fate.’
Paxton’s head was spinning. Three Chinese men dead.
‘How do you know about this, Mei? When do you think they died? And why?’
‘He told me, the Ambassador. He was warning me. I don’t know all the details.’ Weng straightened and pushed away. She looked careworn. ‘Lin tried to defect and died in his escape. Nothing was handed back when we retrieved the body. But he is – was – one of our best cyber-minds and he could have placed a lot of information somewhere. And knowing the man who questioned Lin’s roommates, I assume they died at his hands.’
Paxton gazed out at the surrounding parklands: Canberra at its orderly best. The heat had deterred the luncheon crowds. Mothers shielded their children from the sun. The lake was tranquil, several yachts trying to catch a few wisps of breeze.
And in the midst of this, just a few hundred metres away, two men had been murdered.
He shivered.
‘Do you think he might hurt you?’
‘Yes Bruce, I know he will.’
Paxton drew her close again as he absorbed the horrifying news.
‘We could call in the police, Mei, or I could make an official complaint through Foreign Affairs.’
‘Your government will not take the risk of offending mine. If there is a controversy the State will drag me back. And if I’m sent home I have no future.’
He looked at her tenderly. ‘Perhaps you should consider defecting.’
‘Where could I ever go, Bruce?’
‘Look, I’m no great friend of the Yanks. But I’ll give them this. They don’t have any problem standing up to China. I know their defence attaché well. We could get you out of the country. Soon. Mei, you would be a coup for them.’
She started to sob quietly. He held her tight, ignoring a couple walking past the gazebo just a few metres away. He needed to protect his angel.
They would make plans to get away. Yes, the risk would be great, but the risk of doing nothing was far greater.
‘And maybe if you go to America I could join you.’
Weng nestled into his embrace, resting her head on his shoulder. For the first time in days she felt safe.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Melbourne
‘Saffy, what’s your favourite colour?’
‘You know the answer Jimmy: green, green, green.’
Saffron Burgess and James Saville sat a few metres apart in front of a bank of computer screens flashing lines of technical data.
They were two of Vodafone’s leading security boffins, paid to monitor the beating heart of the telco’s vast mobile network. Burgess, a computer science graduate from Sydney’s UTS, had punched her way to the top of the notoriously blokey culture. She was now one of the senior members in Vodafone’s network operations centre, based in Melbourne.
Saville was her boss, a street-smart IT buff who had joined Vodafone back in the ’90s, shortly after the British-based firm had secured Australia’s third mobile phone licence. He was closing in on his fifty-eighth birthday and was known affectionately throughout Vodafone as T-Rex.
Each day, they and their team monitored the cellular base stations and network for hiccups, ensuring that customers got their dollars’ worth.
The last two years had been the toughest in memory, a series of network crashes earning the ire of customers and management alike. Saville knew the real reason behind the outages – a failure to invest by the Scrooge-like board.
But that didn’t stop the executive team giving him a kick up the backside every time they went to red.
‘Have you been to that new laneway bar, Jimmy? The something Institute?’
‘C’mon Saffy, those places are for you young types. Besides, Anna and I try to walk every night around the bay. Clears the head after—’
Saville pulled up quickly. ‘Uh oh, we’ve got orange in the west.’
He traced his finger along a row of data to a pulsing circle that had suddenly changed colour: green to orange. That meant an overload of data traffic on one of the gateways.
And that meant customer access to the internet on mobile phones would be cut off.
‘We got a position on this yet?’ Saville asked his offsider.
‘No. I’m trying to locate it right now. Looks like it’s on the coast, just south of the CBD.’
Saville punched a series of buttons, trying to get an accurate picture of the network traffic levels. Something was amiss. A swift response was crucial if they wanted to avoid further outages.
‘Mandurah, Jimmy.’ Burgess spat out the name.
‘Jesus, I thought we’d spent decent money upgrading those gateways down to Margaret River. Okay, let’s divert some of this traffic to Rockingham.’
Garden Island, WA
The military band stood poised, waiting for the conductor’s signal. As the first strains of ‘The Star Spangled Banner’ rang out, Aubrey W. Holland raised his right hand to his breast, eyes trained on the unfurled beauty of the American flag.
The four-star admiral had been appointed Commander of the US Pacific Command just under a year ago. This was his first official visit to HMAS Stirling, the
Australian navy’s main base on the west coast.
It was just after 11am and an early sea breeze was softening a blazing summer’s day. Holland had arrived in Perth the previous evening, and had several days of meetings lined up, primarily to discuss a series of joint naval exercises. He was also hoping to catch up with several old naval buddies, including an Aussie mate he’d met during his first tour of duty to Vietnam in ’72.
It reminded him of San Diego, this naval base; the sparkling waters and friendly personnel. A small flotilla of vessels was moored at the dock, undergoing routine maintenance while their crews enjoyed several days of shore leave.
‘Admiral, this way sir.’ He was guided up the gangplank of HMAS Perth, the youngest of the navy’s fleet of ANZAC frigates, commissioned just seven years ago.
It was impressive, a descendant of the warship that was sunk by the Japanese during the Battle of Sunda Strait at the height of World War II.
‘The commander is waiting for you, Admiral.’
‘Thank you, sailor.’
Holland was ushered into a plush boardroom, lined with photos of the ship and its crew. A waiter poured coffee as the admiral waved away a plate of pastries.
Michele Miller bounded into the room, flanked by an aide. She’d made history when appointed to command the warship in 2007, the first female sailor to do so. Holland considered her an impressive addition to Australia’s naval elite, although her absence at his official welcome had been a tad mysterious.
‘Nice to see you, Commander.’
‘And you too, Admiral. You look well, sir. Sorry I missed the anthems. For some reason, Vodafone has decided to shut down our internet coverage. Again.’
Melbourne
Saffron Burgess straightened, pushing her ribcage and lower back forward to untangle the knot of her muscles. The pressure was building.
A small network hiccup had grown into a more serious problem. She and James Saville had tried to isolate the outage but it had spread. Orange lights were flashing across her screen and Saville was increasingly frustrated at the time it was taking to put in place back-up systems.
‘Christ, I thought we had this covered,’ he said, his voice rising in volume.