The exclusive enclave had a huge stretch glass window which revealed the true beauty of the southern rain forest. He would spend three to four weeks luxuriating in the complex, then explore and potter around the wilderness in complete peace and privacy.
It amounted to the Lord of Manor syndrome as some psychiatrists referred to it. He would imagine himself as a gentleman of substance (which he was) living in a grand manor (The Queens Palace Hotel) and roaming and exploring his large estate (Cradle Mountain National Park). It was the perfect place to be if you wanted solace and a thinking ambiance, as well as the sort of hideaway a wounded fox might willingly crawl into.
In spite of the rampant tourism of late, Tasmania was still one of natures few pristine haunts, Jenkins loved the sunsets the evening stenches and the primordial cacophony generated by unspoiled rain forest.
Chapter Fifty-three
It was one of the oldest public libraries in Sydney and specialised in back copies of obscure magazines, comics and daily Sydney newspapers. Housed in a derelict factory which had been repeatedly refurbished and refitted with metal shelving and storage cabinets. Multiple layers of paint showed their way through the walls as coarse textures which seemed to be virtually holding up the building.
Most people saw the library as an old fashioned world, cocooned in the present, with modernity desperately trying to find its way in. It boasted that most of its literary acquisitions went right back to the very first issues and all the way up to the present day. One could spend a quiet hour going back in time for a modest fee in complete privacy.
Rosey Chester was one patron the library could depend on, and she would often scroll through back copies of several different Sydney newspapers and magazines for her Ladies Club historical assignments.
Browsing the back issues of the newspapers was such a nostalgic delight and she used it as a fix for her sagging mental state. She often drank a coffee from a paper cup purchased at a Macdonalds cafe from across the road and dipped her arrowroot biscuits in the hot liquid. There were no restrictions on drinking and eating in the library just as long as any messes were cleaned up. It was so different from the stuffiness of the major literary institutions where any display of human propensity drew instant condemnation from staff and patrons alike.
She would often browse without reference to the year of publication of the newspaper. It wasn’t so much the dates that interested her, but the actual content which stimulated her memory banks, sending her off into paroxysms of long lost reverie.
She suddenly stopped at the middle page of one of the papers -- then went back two pages -- the hair on her neck began to stand on end and her pulse quickened.
There was a grainy black and white photograph showing a newly appointed vice president Jenkins dinning in a famous American restaurant with the Australian Police Commissioner Clement Chester, sitting next to him. She looked up the date at the top of newspaper -- it was exactly four years ago -- in fact, just about the time Chester went to the USA on a FBI training course for senior police officers.
The two must have met up in the States during Clement’s FBI course...clearly he knew the man quite well. Clement often talked about police business and frequently raked over ‘under-the-carpet’ issues, as well as high security political matters, most of which was classified material. She had often berated him for telling her secret tid bits, but Clement dismissed it, telling her he just had to tell someone to get it off his chest.
She stared long and hard at the image of Jenkins; it was a good photo and a good likeness. He was confident with the poise of a man of power who knew exactly what he wanted, and where he was going in life. This contrasted with Clement who looked tired and twisted; like a man tainted with a thousand shabby deals. She quickly returned her attention to Jenkins, who was so much easier on the eyes.
It was common knowledge in Australian political circles that Jenkins was a Machiavellian basket case and would stop at nothing to further his grip on power. This was amply demonstrated by his antics during the presidential abduction.
She carefully folded the newspaper, went to the counter, paid her fee, smiled and thanked the attendant.
Chapter Fifty-four
Standing on the pavement outside the library Rosey Chester watched the traffic go by and studied the shoppers in singles and clusters fussing around the shops, and wished she were one of them. Anyone would...that is, anyone who had a normal life. She craved banal normality, that precious commodity that everyone took for granted, until their world was turned upside-down.
She walked further down the street and stopped at ‘Nostalgia Incorporated’ an old fashioned cinema which specialised in screening old golden movies from the Hollywood era. It was run by the same people who ran the Library.
Cary Grant and Gary Cooper films were being shown alternatively all day long. She ran her eyes down the program listing which was fixed behind glass to the outside wall.
The following week it was a trio movie event with Dan Daily, Richard Windmark and Glen Ford screened alternately all day for a week. It was a fascinating line up but she still felt terribly unsettled. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d sat through an old movie with unseeing eyes, while her mind went through more pressing scenarios in her head.
The trouble with a movie was that it demanded one’s attention or the plot would be irretrievable lost. But everybody had a secret internal life that went on relentlessly unobserved. It was like being at the bottom of the sea where strange creatures lurked with hidden life cycles taking part in inexplicable events amongst alien environments. Maybe it was time we went back to the sea from whence we came before our earthly atmosphere died of asphyxia.
Taking took another look at the long list of nostalgic films it became apparent that she was in for some internal journeys of her own. Nostalgia Incorporated was the wrong place at the wrong time.
She drove home, took her coat off, made a cup of tea, and sat next to Clements laptop computer on his private desk. She clicked on Clements private e-mail button and a swag of unread mails filled the screen. Some of them were obscene, others were in a coded language. The whole sordid build up of evidence now had her seething. Out of disgust she highlighted the whole page and deleted the lot. Making herself a second cup of tea, she laced it with brandy, and slowly sipped the alcoholic beverage, taking in the intoxicating vapour.
The wall phone buzzed and she lifted the receiver.
‘Hello Chester residence...’
‘Hello Mrs Chester...let me offer you my sincere condolences on the untimely death of your husband,’ the polite male voice had a distinct American accent.
‘Thank you sir...may I ask who is speaking?’ There was a pronounced delay, and the man continued.
‘It’s vice president Jenkins marm speaking from Tasmania. I’m enjoying a lazy day beside the pool in your great country as part of my annual vacation down under,’ Rosey almost dropped the phone.
‘I’m awfully sorry to impose on you at this time, but I wondered if I might be allowed to attend your husbands funeral. I would be absolutely delighted...if perhaps, I could be one of the coffin bearers. It would be entirely unofficial and my identity would not be released to the media. I would be traveling incommunicado with a handful of security agents at a distance -- the whole thing would be entirely low key of course,’ in spite of Jenkin’s unsavory reputation Rosey was swept off her feet by his charming rhetoric.
Here was a man of great status who knew how to treat a woman -- expensive flowers, perfume, jewelry, diamonds, magical outings, all flashed through her mind as Jenkin’s voice bathed her auditory senses.
For the first time in several days she smiled longingly to herself. Where there was contact, there was hope, and a possible association with such a powerful man was worth cultivating. Rosey had gotten used to being carried around by a man of some standing -- she loved the perks and the luxurious living that usually came with it, and had learned the lesson -- that being hard on a man, simply resulted in
him being hard on her -- it sometimes paid to be a soft touch.
‘Of course you can be a coffin bearer Mr. Vice president, I’m sure Clement would be delighted if he were still around,’ she soothed in her most compliant voice
‘Call me Frederick its less formal.’
‘All right Frederick it is...if I can be of any further assistance please feel free, all you have to do is ask,’ Jenkins lingered a little on her last words, and continued with his customary charm.
‘There is one little thing Rosey, which I would like to convey to you in the utmost confidence, your husband and I were very close buddies. He also had many sincere acquaintances in the American security services, unfortunately this was in contrast to the Australian police service. There were a number of people in the Australian sphere who were hell bent on removing him from the top position for purely selfish reasons,’ Rosey smiled at the thoughts passing through her mind, Frederick didn’t know the half of it, several pathetic assassination attempts had been made on him during his long career -- Clement had made a point of hushing them up.
‘I hope you don’t mind Rosey, but for this reason I took it upon myself to find out who had been allocated coffin bearer duties at Clement’s funeral. I was told six of the forces ablest policemen were arbitrarily assigned to this most important duty. Is this true?’
‘Yes, it is Frederick...you see, I didn’t know a lot of Clement’s friends, he was a bit of a secretive man, and I was at a loss as to who might take on these duties, so the police minister simply assigned suitable policeman from the officer pool. I must admit, it was a blessing at the time. I was too emotional, and it relieved me of making decisions I simply couldn’t make.’
‘I understand perfectly Rosey having been in similar positions during my tenure as vice president. May I make another suggestion?’
‘By all means Frederick, please do.’
‘Would it be too much of a travesty if I suggested that these anonymous police officers, who would probably have no inkling of how great a man Clement was in life, be replaced by my own security men -- who new Clement for the man he really was,’ Rosey thought about it for a while and tears began welling in her eyes, it was a drastic request, but undoubtedly Clement would probably have wanted it.
She’d had a good marriage over the last forty five years and Clement was basically a good man to her, but a great deal of what Frederick had said was true. Clement did not have many real friends in the Australian police force. In fact he had more enemies than friends and Frederick’s kind offer seemed all the more humanitarian under the circumstances. Finally after another quite weep, more out of self pity than sorrow, she conceded.
‘Yes Frederick...I don’t see any great objection to that. I’ll speak to the police minister...after all, the final word regarding the funeral details is mine.’
‘Thank you Rosey...you’re a darling,’ Jenkins terminated the call, replaced the receiver, and poured himself a double Scotch from a complementary bottle provided by the Tasmanian hotel.
He had chosen a plush hotel on the outskirts of Launceston, because it was in his opinion, the best hotel in Tasmania. An added attraction to the luxury was the high degree of discretion exercised by the staff. It was possible for most celebrities to visit Australia largest and most intriguing island state, without the media knowing anything about it. It acted as a sort of back door to the great outback and coastal cities This is why he had made six previous holiday visits to the Island State, staying at the same hotel in complete anonymity. Australia was a mere nights sailing away in a luxurious suite with views which faced outward to the Great Australian Bight. Flying was quicker but it lacked the romantic sentiments of a night at sea on a modern sailing ship.
He booted up his laptop and then keyed a two digit number on his mobile.
‘Hello Eric...get in here will you,’ the security agent on duty in the hotel lounge made it to Jenkin’s room in seconds.
‘I‘m pleased to say Eric, that we have gained access to the depositary, I’m putting you and the other agents on coffin bearer’s duties, complete the airline booking to Sydney. Let the others know, will you,’ Eric dutifully left the room. Jenkins made a few notes on his lap top then finished his Scotch.
Tomorrow would be a special day when friends would get together for the last time, dead or otherwise, precious acquaintances and resources would be renewed, and unfinished business completed with vigour.
Chapter Fifty-five
Jansen sat in the Canberra office of Jansen Associates, Private Investigators, working over the typed sheet the ASIO director had given him. Whether he liked it or not he was now working for the government once again on another case with intractable possibilities. Irksome though it was, it did have its benefits, (in spite of government standard fees which were inviolable) by way of regular guaranteed account payments. Although private clients paid higher fees they were often unreliable in paying them.
Jeff Dutton, his second in command, rapped on the door and walked in carrying to two steaming coffees, placing one directly under Jansen’s nose.
‘Thought you might like a break sir,’ Jansen took in the coffee aroma.
‘Excellent, you have great predictive capabilities Jeff,’ he took a short sip of coffee and gazed thoughtfully out of the window.
‘Did you ever meet Clement Chester, the police commissioner, Jeff?’
‘Only once sir...I was on traffic duty at the time and his wife was parked in ridiculous spot just outside the Clarion Point hotel in a no parking zone. I asked her to move the vehicle just as Chester came out of the hotel.
He put his hand on my arm, and said I’ll take it from here constable, then simply drove off. He always struck me as a cantankerous overbearing sort of man.
‘Yes, that’s the impression he gave me, except he was also a very secretive man, kept things to himself for future use,’ Jansen finished his coffee and stuck his finger on the typed sheet.
‘This government case is going to be complicated, I can sense it -- get your coat Jeff, we’re off to the national library to join up few dots.’ Fifteen minutes later the two men were deeply embroiled in text books and maps of the Sydney tunnel network. Jansen tutted to himself as he started to peruse the tenth map of the tunnels under the city. Not one of them showed a tunnel directly under St. Peters bank, in fact, the nearest was several hundred metres away. Jansen looked inquisitively at Dutton.
‘This is what I mean about Chester, no bloody public information on the hidden tunnel system beneath Sydney. The man was supposedly an expert and a commissioner of police, but he never revealed any of this to the community at large. Every piece of information was a prisoner once it passed his gaze. No doubt, he learned earlier on in his career, that knowledge is power. What he didn’t learn was that a lot of knowledge can sometimes be fatal. The man was a law unto himself -- I wonder what other secrets he was privy to.’
‘After forty years as a police commissioner it could well be highly significant sir.’
‘Lets find out a few more secrets shall we?’ Jansen accessed the library computer and looked up the major national newspapers for the period of the presidential tunnel abduction.
Several papers reported the St. Peters Bank robbery but only one gave a short report of the mechanics of the actual robbery. Apparently no entry tunnel from the out side of the vault was ever found, and the large safe was blown by the expert placement of semtex gel, placed in a ribbon around the locking mechanism. Whoever did it knew exactly what they were doing. ‘We need more information on the Sydney tunnels sir.
‘There’s only one thing for it Jeff we’ll have pay Mrs. Chester a call...I didn’t want do it at this early stage...one should never interview a grieving woman just after her husband’s death,’ Jansen keyed in Mrs Chester’s number on his mobile.
‘Hello Mrs Chester...sorry to bother you, but we’ve been assigned to the cross city tunnel presidential abduction case. Yes, it’s commander Jansen speaking and we would like to ask yo
u a few relevant questions. I see...nothing over the phone...right we’ll be there then,’ Jansen clicked off his mobile and squinted at Dutton.
‘She won’t speak over the phone, but she’ll see us at home this afternoon, so you’d better get your overnight bag packed Jeff, we’re off to Sydney for a few days.’
Chapter Fifty-six
The two private investigators sat on the sumptuous sofa while Rosey Chester made a pot of tea. The Chester’s best room was homely and very clean with bountiful brick a brack adorning the walls and furniture. It seemed that Mrs Chester was an avid collector of fine bone china -- it was everywhere, with royal pieces taking pride of place.
Rosey finely came in from the kitchen smiling from ear to ear carrying a full tray of cups and saucers with a teapot in the middle. This immediately shocked Jansen...it was almost as if she was rejoicing the demise of her husband, or she was bravely hiding her tortured emotions behind a beguiling smile. Jansen decided to test his assumptions.
‘I understand your husband was an expert on the Sydney tunnels ...particularly the less well know ones,’ she relaxed her smile a little.
‘Yes, Clement was an expert on many things...it was one of his hobbies, he had what you might call a lust for knowledge. He used to say he was filling his cup before he passed on...making sure he got his moneys worth at the final hour.’
‘You don’t happen to have any information on these hidden tunnels; we’ve scanned a couple of libraries for more data on this; all we could find were maps of existing tunnels.’
‘No commander, you won’t find any...Clement was very protective of his discoveries, they were secret treasures to him -- like something you keep to yourself and admire in private,’ She rummaged in a set of draws and produced a pile of yellowing A4 pages. She dropped them on the coffee table.
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