by Cenarth Fox
He bought a salad sandwich, and a bottle of water from the deli in St Kilda Road, and headed up the hill towards the Shrine of Remembrance. He passed the Observatory, and headed into the Gardens proper. As he passed the Ian Potter Foundation Children’s Garden his phone rang.
‘Maddy, what’s up?’
‘I’m fine but you sound strange.’
‘Me? No, I’m fine. I’m out getting some fresh air. What’s news?’
‘Great news. Our preferred nursing home just rang, and they can take Mum and Dad this week.’
‘This week? That can’t be right. How come?’
‘Huge slice of luck for us. A couple, just like Mum and Dad, vacated overnight. The wife’s had a stroke, and the husband died yesterday.’
‘That’s terrible.’
‘For their family, yes; for us, it’s perfect.’
‘What can I do?’
‘We now have power of attorney. We need to sign the nursing home paperwork, and make a deposit. Any chance you can get time off?’
‘Sure. I’ll call you once I’m back in the office.’
‘Okay. Bye.’
‘Oh and well done you.’
He felt good for the first time in ages. He wandered around the lush environment, found an empty seat, and ate his sandwich.
The Gardens were crowded with groups of children on school excursions, with tourists, and workers like him. Lunch eaten, he headed back to work, dodged some unruly kids, and then got a massive shock.
The Hyphen had a bad morning. Workman carrying out renovations in the office next to his drove him mad, his PA went home feeling ill, and the company accountant announced he was taking early retirement.
By the time Ralph dealt with these issues, he was back online. He checked the Recipe web site, and saw the message from his spy. Minor panic. He told the temp filling in for his PA that he had urgent business, would be back in half an hour, and could be contacted on his mobile.
He crossed St Kilda Road, and headed for his dead-letter drop.
Bernie froze. He couldn’t believe what he saw.
That’s Kate.
The woman was fifty metres ahead, and walking out of the Gardens.
I’m sure that’s her.
He thought about calling out.
No, it can’t be.
She followed the winding path and disappeared. Bernie ran. He took a short cut across the lawn then dived into a garden to save time.
He burst into the open and stumbled on some picnicking Japanese tourists. Trying to avoid standing on people, he fell decorating his strides with sushi. The elderly members of the picnickers screamed, attracting other visitors wishing to help or just sticky beak.
Bernie apologised profusely, offered to pay for any damage, and finally made his humble exit. So much for the mystery woman.
He headed back to work when he saw her again.
It is Kate. Shit.
She walked away from him then stopped suddenly, to read a board with rules of behaviour within the Gardens.
This morning she texted me from Sydney promising to call. Now she’s in Melbourne, a stone’s throw from Labcope.
Bernie walked towards Kate.
There must be a simple explanation.
He stopped dead. The dreaded Hyphen was walking towards him.
Bernie moved to the side of the path, dropped to the ground, and fiddled with a shoelace. People walked around him. He couldn’t see Kate. He hid trying not to look suspicious.
Be still my thumping heart.
He peered around bodies and through legs, and saw an amazing sight. The Hyphen and Kate stood side by side reading the same board.
Is that a coincidence? Should I confront them? And say what?
People were everywhere. Then the Hyphen headed towards Bernie. The CEO was scowling as he passed the kneeling scientist.
Bernie decided to confront Kate. Then his phone rang. He grabbed it but kept his eye on her.
‘Hello,’ said an anxious Bernie.
‘Hi stranger, it’s your favourite graphic artist.’
Bernie stared at Kate. She stood side on to him, fifteen metres away, with a phone to her ear. He stood.
‘Oh, hi Kate. Where are you?’
‘Where am I or how am I?’ She laughed.
‘I’ve missed you,’ said Bernie thinking he sounded insincere.
‘Likewise. Listen, my Mum’s out of danger, and I’ll be back in Melbourne tonight. I’d love to see you if you’re free.’
‘Sure, that’d be great.’
‘Why don’t I call you when I’m back in town?’
‘Great. Look, I can pick you up from Tulla. What time’s your flight?’
‘Thanks but don’t bother. I’ve moved in with my cousin, and she’s already offered to be my chauffeur.’
‘Okay, no worries.’
Bernie’s brain had trouble coping. Kate continued.
‘Listen, I’ve gotta fly. I’ll call you tonight. Bye.’
Bernie’s phone went dead as he mouthed Bye.
Kate headed out of the Gardens then suddenly turned, and headed back towards Bernie. Panic. He dropped again, fiddling with a shoelace.
He faced the fence, and prayed he wasn’t spotted.
‘I can tie my own laces,’ said a little kid pointing to his sandals.
‘Great,’ muttered Bernie.
Just stay there kid and give me cover.
The boy’s mother took her son’s hand and led him away. Bernie, still kneeling, looked behind him to see Kate. She followed the Hyphen, and was swallowed up by the vegetation.
He stayed kneeling, then stood and set off for Labcope.
What the hell is going on?
Ralph fumed. His day from Hell couldn’t get any worse. He needed news about Bernie Slim’s invention. When Ralph finally got back online, he discovered there was a new dead-letter drop.
He didn’t know his spy had one of those mornings too. Ralph walked into the Gardens, and suddenly saw his spy walking towards him. He fumed — strictly no face-to-face meetings. Okay, it wasn’t a meeting as such, and happened due to unforeseen circumstances.
The spy was late making the drop, and the CEO was late collecting it.
Alone, he read the hidden letter, and the news gave him a boost. Ralph discovered that Slim’s drug impacted the brain, and a leading figure in the government was an unwitting guinea pig. It involved the Premier’s 2IC, which made the whole thing super serious.
I have to get that formula. If it works, Head Office in the States will offer me the keys to the executive washroom in downtown Philadelphia. Okay, so how do I get the formula? Think outside the box, Ralph.
Jessica took the phone call in her office. The Hyphen was on the blower.
‘Good afternoon, Premier. We haven’t met but I have some important news about your Chief of Staff and her health.’
Ralph said as little as possible over the phone but enough to have the Premier demand his presence within the hour.
He entered Jessica’s office.
‘Thank you for coming Mr Hetherington-Smythe. Please take a seat.’
‘Actually it’s Doctor Hetherington-Smythe.’
‘My apologies, sir. Now please, what do you know?’
He told Jessica everything about a rogue chemist who secretly created a new drug, which attacks the conscience of those who consume it.
‘We have strong information, Premier, that your Chief of Staff has unwittingly been given the drug.’
‘I assume by “strong information” you mean your spies?’
Ralph reacted. ‘I’m here to help you, madam.’
Jessica’s uncanny knack of discerning lies kicked in.
‘You’re here, sir, because you want my help in sorting out your rogue scientist. He has the formula and you don’t. Am I right?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Oh, cut the crap, Doctor. What do you know about this drug?’
‘Nothing,’ replied a seriously frazzled CEO.
‘Allow me to explain. It makes you feel guilty, want to apologise, and confess your sins.’
She knows more than I do. ‘Yes, I know that,’ said Ralph. Liar.
‘So it’s a cyanide capsule for politicians and greedy executives.’ He nodded. ‘And I take it you can’t demand your geek hand over his recipe?’
‘I could but he won’t. He’s not a company man.’
‘I like him already. Do you know the formula?’
‘No.’
‘Can you get it?’
‘Possibly.’
‘Do you know where it is?’
‘Not as yet.’
Is there an antidote?’
‘No.’
‘How about your own name and address?’
Ralph scowled. ‘The rogue scientist is Bernard Slim, who either has the formula notated and hidden, or it’s locked away inside his head.’
‘If you had the drug, could you figure out its contents?’
‘Yes, but not how it’s created, and not straightaway. And we’re not absolutely sure it works.’
Jessica mocked him again. ‘Oh it works, Doctor, and unbelievably well. I saw living proof yesterday, right where you’re sitting.’
Ralph shifted. ‘Perhaps you could have the police arrest my employee, and demand he reveal the formula.’
‘I hope that’s not your best idea. I mean apart from the minor matter of the separation of powers, what charge did you have in mind? Messing about with Bunsen burners?’
The CEO loathed being ridiculed. He tried another tack.
‘We could take civil action against Slim, claiming that, as an employee of Labcope, the company owns the material he created.’
Jessica slipped on her lawyer’s hat. ‘Did he produce the work in your time, on your premises, and using your facilities?’
‘We’re not sure about that.’
‘You’re not sure about anything. Look, civil cases take forever and your scientist will have patented the formula, set up a shelf company in the Seychelles, and sold franchises universally before you even get to court. In short, Doctor, you’re screwed.’
That was it. Ralph stood. He’d had enough.
‘I didn’t come here to be insulted.’
‘No, you came here because you’re over a barrel. We both are. Now sit down and help me find a solution.’
He sat. Jessica went walkabout quizzing her visitor.
‘How good are your spies?’
‘Very good.’
‘Can they get the formula?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘My God, it’s politicians who can’t or won’t answer questions.’ She spoke with emphasis. ‘Can they get the formula?’
‘We’re working on it?’
Jessica fumed and swore. More scorn and humiliation for Ralph.
Why the hell did I come here?
She kept at him.
‘What about sex?’ Ralph blinked. ‘Can you set a honey trap, get fake footage of him with a kid, bribe him, kidnap his family, threaten him with castration, or torture his granny? Have you tried the basics?’
Ralph stuttered. ‘We’ve only just discovered the situation.’
‘Well if you’re the CEO, your minions must be Neanderthals.’
That was it. She’d gone too far. He stood in a fit of pique.
‘Premier, this ridicule diminishes you and your office. I thought you’d be interested in helping your colleague. I now know otherwise.’
He headed for the door but stopped when she spoke.
‘Okay, keep your rug on.’
Ralph froze.
How does she know I’ve had a transplant?
‘I’ll have a word with the Police Commissioner.’ Ralph looked at her. ‘But we need to work together on this. Tell me everything the moment it happens.’ He nodded. ‘Now write as many details as you can about your scientist, his colleagues, family, and the formula.’
She handed him a notepad. He wrote while she paced. He finished and offered the pad. She read it then placed it on her desk.
‘Thank you Dr Hetherington-Smythe. Let’s hope this matter can be contained with a minimum of damage.’
She walked to the door, and offered her hand. He shook it, and she smiled like a politician wanting his vote.
He left, furious.
Bitch.
Jessica went to her satchel and opened a little black book. She dialed.
Bugger the Police Commissioner.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I want to speak to Mr Luca Parisi.’
16
BERNIE COULDN’T WAIT to tell Lois his news about Kate. But where? The canteen seemed safe.
They sat alone, speaking softly. As Bernie told his tale, Lois’s face showed surprise, shock, and then anger.
‘The lying bitch; she’s a spy working for the Hyphen.’
‘It looks like it.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Not sure, but at least we’ve found the bad guys. Annuska told me that Labcope employs spies, and the company knows everything.’
‘She’s right.’
Back in the lab, the scientists struggled to work. Bernie kept thinking about Kate, and his thoughts surged when the Hyphen entered.
‘There’s been a directive from the States requiring a list of all new projects be they on-site or off-site. Have you declared all your projects?’
All three knew this was bullshit. The Hyphen stared at Bernie and Lois. They turned mute. The CEO fumed.
‘I would remind you of the terms of your employment.’
‘Well I’m up-to-date,’ said Bernie. ‘How about you, Lois?’
‘Absolutely.’
The Hyphen looked at them, his frustration at bursting point. He turned to leave but stopped when Bernie spoke.
‘Did I see you enjoying the Botanic Gardens at lunchtime today?’
A sliver of angst seeped from the CEO. ‘You didn’t.’ He tried to exit.
‘I was sure I saw you with an attractive young woman.’
The Hyphen produced steam. ‘I wasn’t there.’ He stormed out.
Lois looked at Bernie who put a finger to his lips.
She moved to him and whispered. ‘You’re playing with fire, Mr Slim.’
He whispered. ‘I know, and fighting fire with fire in the way to go.’
His phone rang. ‘Maddy, hi. Oh God, sorry, I forgot.’
She reprimanded him for not calling, and reminded him of the priceless offer from the nursing home, and that their parents’ babysitter, cousin Chloe, was heading overseas next week.
‘Yes, I know, I know. Look, I can get to your place by 5.30.’
She agreed and ended the call. Bernie grimaced.
Lois worried. ‘Problems?’
‘Possibly, but nice problems. It’s the Labcope spies who worry me.’
Luca Parisi had never been to Parliament House, let alone the office of the Premier. A trusted staffer brought him in via the back way.
Jessica smiled. ‘Mr Parisi, thank you for coming. Please take a seat.’
The Premier oozed sweetness and light. That mood evaporated.
‘Now Luca, I’ll cut to the chase. I’m up Shit Creek without a paddle.’
Luca tried to speak but failed.
‘I need the formula of a new drug before it hits the streets causing horrendous harm.’
Luca sat transfixed.
She knows about a new drug and I don’t?
‘It’s not a Class A drug, the type you crims flog, but something far worse.’
To my face, again she calls me a crim. What the hell is she on about?
She explained.
‘Tell me, what happens to colleagues who double-cross you? No, don’t answer. Imagine if one of your drug dealers found Jesus or veganism or Seventh Day Bike Riding, and gave up dealing drugs. Imagine if they confessed their crimes, begged for forgiveness, and publicly implicated you in all their wicked ways. Would you be a happy camper?’
Luca’s thinking crashed. Just being here and talking to this person had him hooked. What she now said blew his mind.
‘I’d be dead.’
‘You and me both, comrade. Well be afraid, be very afraid. There is a new drug which impacts the conscience — something neither of us ever use — and it changes anyone who takes the drug, making them a guilt-ridden, garrulous do-gooder. They suffer splitting headaches which only disappear if they blab about every dirty deed they’ve ever performed. How’s that for starters?’
Luca still struggled to speak.
This shit can’t be true.
Jessica hammered him.
‘Criminals and politicians need this drug like a hole in the head. So we must find the formula, and bury it on Mars, yesterday. Comprende?’
Luca nodded and finally joined the conversation. ‘Sì.’
‘The woman who dined with me at your restaurant, my Chief of Staff, has taken this conscience drug and now wants to sing like a birdie.’
‘Ouch.’
‘Ouch indeed, so this is where we join forces — The Premier and the drug baron.’ She smiled. ‘Nice title for a novel.’ She stopped smiling. ‘So, wotcha reckon, Lukey? Not about the novel; about the new drug?’
Am I awake? Is this shit really happening? She just called me Lukey!
‘Now if you agree to work with me — notice I said with and not for — there’s a catch. If you get caught doing whatever you have to do, this conversation never took place. In fact even if you don’t get caught, this conversation never took place. And if the Gendarmes come calling, you chummy, are on your Patrick Malone. Do I hear another Comprende?’
More nodding from the Italian. This setting, this conversation, this information and proposal, were so unusual he struggled — big time.
This woman can talk underwater.
She pointed to a copy of the current Herald Sun.
‘There’s an envelope inside that newspaper.’ He moved to pick up the paper. She barked. ‘Not yet.’ The naughty boy sat again. ‘In it are details about the drug, and the scientist who created it, plus his colleagues, family and hangers-on. You have one job; find that formula. How? That’s down to you. I understand you’re pretty good at persuasion.’
‘I’m very good at persuasion.’
‘Good. Now rules. Don’t mention my name. Never mention my name. What’s my name?’