by Philip Bond
“I can think of lotsa things, babe. I have some time off.”
“Matt! That’s great, how long for?”
“Back on board at 06:00 hours Monday.”
“That’s the best news I’ve had all day. I’m off tomorrow so sergeant, how long before you can get your arse over here?”
“I’ve signed off duty and the cycle’s warm, make that eleven minutes, babe.”
“The clock is ticking, sergeant. I’ll be in the shower.”
“I’m moving.”
Collecting keys and money clip to open the door, he heads out pausing only at the duty room to sign out… “I see you’re carrying some baggage.” The new lieutenant is inquisitive… “Overnighting somewhere?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll back in time for duty at 06:00 Monday, sir.”
Arriving to the embassy posting some days ago and so far, fails to impress his fellow marines… “You’ve not registered leaving the Australian Capital Territory?”
“No, sir, I’m stayin’ in Canberra.”
“Sergeant, you’ve not stayed in Canberra before during shore leave. What’s the situation?”
“I’ve a friend and I’m stayin’ with her during the leave. It’s in the log.”
“I didn’t know there’s a black community in Canberra. If she is from another embassy, there could be complications. You’ve checked this with security?”
“Sir, she’s not from any embassy and you’re right, there ain’t any black community to speak of in Canberra.”
“You’re seeing a white woman!” The Marine embassy detail includes two African Americans, three Hispanics and one Latino, none of whom welcome the new lieutenant’s attitude towards racial harmony in the ranks.
Matt’s not about to rob this poor little fucker of his prejudice… “Sir, I’m seein’ a wonderful person who doesn’t restrict her friendship to colour, sir.”
“You are out of line, sergeant; besides, I have a number of friends who are coloured.”
“I’m sure you do, sir.”
“You better believe it, sergeant; now if you have completed the register correctly, you’re dismissed.”
“Thank you, sir.” Matt snaps to attention, completes a parade about-turn, picks up his bags to leave.
On mounting his bike, the lava dome cracks… “Goddamn mother fuckin’ son of a bitch.” Magmatic gasses escape… “Little fuckin’ pimp; just out of officer candidate school and this fuckin’ Marine Corp still allows suckers like that to command men. There ain’t no fuckin’ justice.”
With one powerful stroke, Matt kicks his bike into life revving the engine three times and takes off halting at the anti-vehicle barrier.
“Hey man,” a marine comes out smiling… “You’re going ashore and you look like you ain’t comin’ back tonight. Some poor girl’s going to be heartbroken on Monday mornin’, not mentionin’ difficulty standin’.”
Exposure to a friendly face dramatically eases the volcanic pressure… “Just have my first lesson with the new lieutenant’s brand of human relations.”
“Oh yeah,” at least one other shares Matt’s summation… “Pulled duty with him yesterday, got a look at the poor little fucker; we’ve problems. He’s lucky we’re not in a hot situation, someone would frag the mother.”
“Enough, marine, there ain’t no situation where that’s an option. Now, let me out of here so I can forget myself for a couple of days.”
“You have it.”
The vehicle barrier lowers… “Enjoy yourself.”
Matt waves, roaring the motorbike off towards Canberra Avenue.
*
The lieutenant leans back in his chair… “A nigger with a white girl.” He picks up the telephone.
*
It’s a short bike ride from the embassy, not enough to arrest anger yet, long enough for memories to resurrect; something dark and suppressed these past five months.
Walking towards the apartment building, the past whirls confusing past with present.
‘With the remainder of the team securing the perimeter and first floor. Badger, Matt’s closest friend and squad member enter the building, intelligence only have the exterior, the hostage is known only to be on the second floor, where is to be by discovery.’
Harry’s apartment is up the stairs on the second floor.
The past confuses into the present.
‘Standing at the door, an unusual noise comes from inside, is it a cry, the door is unlocked, Badger turns the handle to step back.’
‘No sound from inside elevates their senses.’
‘Badger pushes the door all the way open, Matt’s first into the room.’
‘Again, empty and he’s concerned.’
‘Back flat to the wall, he slides the door slowly open. Is it a bedroom?’
‘Lighting is dim, the day’s overcast, blinds are drawn.’
‘A sliding mirror closet door is closest, with another door beside.’
‘Sensing a bathroom and looking first at the bathroom door, Matt chooses the closet.’
‘Badger too enters the room standing alert.’
‘Matt fingers the sliding door before slamming it open.’
‘A reflection, a figure comes out of the bathroom lunging for his weapon, both grapple its control, it turns, it discharges Badger scream in agony slumping backwards to the wall.’
‘Reflected light, a knife in the figures other hand?’
‘Instinct kicks, Matt grabs the arm twisting and returning his weapon towards the figure and squeezing the trigger.’
There’s no sound just sobbing, huddling down on the floor frightened, believing Sanders’s prophecy coming true, Harry’s terrified.
Reality returns, Matt’s here and now. Realising what transpires, emotion swells, he trembles falling to his knees.
Harry’s bewildered.
Matt raises his head as gravity draws tears from his eyes… “Babe, I’m sorry. I see the door unlocked and no answer, I didn’t know what’s happenin’ I’m in another world, my trainin’ takes over. I’m sorry, babe.”
This isn’t the first occasion where reality confuses with memory—the reason for his temporary posting to Camp Lejeune.
Wet and naked, Harry reaches for his hand… “I heard the doorbell, and I called out for you to come in. When I didn’t hear a reply, I became scared and frightened; when the door opened, I didn’t know who it is. I thought I’m going to be attacked or worse.”
Matt stands returning the large towel to her shoulders. His arms envelop her to lift and lay her onto the bed.
Harry sobs… “Let’s talk, babe.”
“Matt, I realise you’re a marine, I’m frightened by what you do.”
“Babe, I can’t change what I’ve been or the past. A marine isn’t trained to direct traffic, drive cabs or sell insurance. He’s not even trained to die, only to kill. Don’t criticise me for not being in control of my circumstances.”
“Matt, I don’t. Never could, it’s what you are capable of that frightens.”
“Babe, it’s nothing you’ll ever need to be frightened off.”
Harry puts her arms around him, pulls him towards her and kisses, passionately… “I’m sorry, my darling, I have my period.”
Nothing is going to stop her from extracting sensual pleasures from the moment.
*
“And this is a xerox of the sign-out book?”
“Yes, sir! He took shore leave to stay with a Harry Reisner, sir!”
“That’ll be all, lieutenant.”
The marine lieutenant snaps to attention, does an about turn and leaves the room. Sanders grabs the telephone. It rings once… “Pullman.”
“We have to meet.” It’s that intimidating American voice.
“Ahh okay. Usual place?”
“Yes, two hours.”
“That’s a bit tight.” Pullman has election deadlines.
“Two hours!” It’s not a request.
*
Just before midday
, Matt walks back into the bedroom with a packet in hand…. “Hey, babe, I have these for you. To help identifyin’ the people.”
Producing two six-by-eight photographs attached to embassy personnel description documents.
“Matt! You’re wonderful, but don’t do it again. You could get into a lot of trouble if they find out you did this.”
“Babe, only you and I know. I sure as hell ain’t gonna to tell anyone.”
“Please Matt, do not prejudice yourself any further.”
“Babe, to them, I’m one of the good guys. The worst thing that could ever happen to me is a posting to hotspot. It’s you we have to worry about.”
Matt is special and so, too, the remainder of their day.
Jackpot
It’s a new day, enforced fire-bans warm into a hot afternoon. Prior to embarking on the assignments for the day, Harry’s telephone rings… “Yes Brian, I can do lunch. I’m already up at the house so yes, lunch in the dining room will be fine.”
*
Pullman approaches Harry’s table; pressed for time, he abandons small talk… “You and I have something in common.”
Already studied the menu, she’s drinking mineral water… “And that is?”
“Journalism,” he reeks of patronisation… “I was a BBC correspondent in Africa.”
Something clicks. Remembering the Duntroon conversation, she looks to establish a timeline… “Did you cover the 1994 South African multi-racial elections?”
“Among other things,” the condescendence continues… “I’ve had my share of interesting situations.”
“Such as?”
Pullman glances the menu… “Was almost kidnapped once, managed to convince the would-be kidnappers my worth doesn’t extend to anyone paying ransom.”
“And?”
To the hovering waiter… “I’ll have the chicken chasseur,” returning to his lunch date… “They let me go,” adding triumphantly… “Such is the power of persuasion.” Enough of his exploits, Brian has other interests… “Harry, you finished with the Newcastle story?”
The waiter looks expectantly at Harry… “The Caesar salad please,” and quickly returns to Pullman… “It’s on hold.”
He pounces… “Then the gallery’s temporary?”
“Nothing’s permanent, Brian, you know that.” Harry realigns the topic… “When did you leave Africa?”
“I left the BBC in January ’94, came to Australia the following year.”
The waiter steps up to replenish Harry’s water… “So,” she has the date, now the places… “You’ve been in Rwanda, Somalia, Ethiopia and Eritrea?”
The waiter places a carafe of white wine in the tables centre… “Yes, all of those.” Pullman picks up the carafe, offering to top up Harry.
She’s staying with the water… “So much suffering and dying must colour your perspective?”
“It’s a long way from the prime minister’s press secretary.” Again, manoeuvring to his topic… “I would be accommodating to know if there are political implications from your Newcastle story.”
“Your interest is obvious.” Harry decides to watch for effect… “Immigrant workers who come to this country under a government sponsored program coerced into selling drugs.”
“Come on Harry,” Pullman interjects… “That’s circumstantial.”
“You’re right Brian, substantiation dies with Champion’s murder in police cells of all places.”
“Suicide, I believe the finding.”
Again, she fires for effect… “Well then, Brian, you have the reason this story needs pursuing.”
“By that can I deduce, you’re here for ulterior motives?”
With à vrai dire pretence, she returns the throwaway… “I’ve no interest, Brian, trying to convince you one way or the other.”
Realising he’s not about to dupe her into the dramatic utterance, Pullman falls back to his standard line… “Harry, I can be helpful to you whilst you remain in Canberra.”
“You said that already, Brian.”
Pushing his hand forward… “I’m hoping we might be something more than colleagues.”
She’s quickest… “I think Brian,” hands don’t touch… “We’ll have a good working relationship.”
Alas, there will be no pillow talk in this relationship.
*
Günter senior first sets foot in Australia September 1953. He, along with thousands of new Australians, are the necessary labour building the much anticipated and very ambitious Snowy Mountains Scheme.
Not only is he instrumental in building Tumut 1 power station, he marries Doris; together they grow a family. Three sons and a daughter build their formative years in the multi-cultural environs of Cabramurra. Gradually, all but one of the siblings seeks new horizons. Like the Bogong Moth, bright lights lure Harry first into Canberra, then towards the ultimate decadence of Sydney.
Even in primary school, Günter junior displays technology aptitudes far beyond his years. Fertilised in Canberra’s Australian National University, achieving a Doctorate in Computer Sciences, recruited in his doctorial year, Günter junior joins the then Defence Signals Directorate. After the death of their parents, Günter inherits head of family, relishing the task… “I’m disappointed, Harrietta, you didn’t come to see me when arriving into Canberra.”
“Sorry Günter, I’m consumed with events besides, the last thing I want is to involve you in this.” Remnants of sibling rivalry remain to this day.
“I’m your brother for goodness sake. If you can’t turn to me, to whom can you turn?”
“I’m concerned by the way it might look.”
“Look, to whom?”
This isn’t the first moment of concern Harry’s journalistic exploits generate.
Eight months ago, Harry receives the wrath from a fundamentalist Christian sect. Initially, only hate mail to the network, later developing into vandalism of her car and stalking.
“I don’t know, everyone, for when I blow this wide open.”
Once Günter discovers events, he and some colleagues visit selected sect members, instantly, the mail vandalism and stalking ceases. She didn’t ask questions, and he didn’t volunteer answers.
“I’m thinking about your job.”
Keeping track of the siblings, especially Harry, is both demanding and thankless… “In future, Harrietta, let me worry about that.”
“Okay,” she could have received the ear bashing over the telephone, however, there’s an ulterior motive for the visit… “So tell me, big brother, what is it you do not want to talk about over the telephone?”
“There is a US connection.”
He has her attention… “Connection, with what, my story?”
“Well yes.” As usual with her big brother, it’s akin to pulling teeth.
Torture springs to mind… “Günter, tell me for goodness sake.”
“I’m in two minds.” Again, he’s playing games.
“Oh come on Günter,” she pushes… “You can’t tell me there’s a US connection and leave it there.”
“It gets a little murky Harrietta. Reference comes from a little spare-time freehand, completely unauthorised and very illegal.”
He doesn’t stand a chance… “Günter, we’re alone.” She’s going to get her way… “Doris is putting the kids to bed.”
“Played around on some domestic traffic coming out of the US embassy.”
He pauses, Harry pounces… “Yes?”
“Yes well, on my last visit to Pine Gap, I found some unusual references to Newcastle and your union guy.”
“Graeme Neate?”
“Not by name, but I won’t go into that.”
“What else?”
“Harrietta,” Günter inserts a note of caution… “You can’t play around with these people. This is the real thing, it’s really dangerous.”
Harry’s heard all this before… “Is there anything I can use or reference?”
“You’re not
listening, Harrietta.” Günter emphasises the point… “These people can make you disappear.”
“Or run me off the road?”
“I freaked hearing that. If I’d known you were in Newcastle doing this story, I’d got you to back-off.”
“So, I’ve to find out the hard way.”
“Harrietta you can’t use anything I tell you, otherwise you’ll have ASIO knocking on your door and your stories buried forever.” He labours the point… “Remember Harrietta, reference any of this to anyone and I’m in prison.”
“I guess I’ll have to find another way to bring out the truth.”
If the rock does not move, Harry’s going to push it.
Showdown
It’s been sometime since both have talked, not for any reason other than things have been nicely ticking over. That is until two weeks ago when Harry begins digging in Newcastle. Now, Pullman is edgy… “Maybe, we should hold off until things cool.”
“Have you spoken about this to anyone?” Sanders remains cool as always.
“No.”
“Good, keep it that way,” instructing… “Now, don’t you go cold on me, things are in transit and can’t be stopped.”
“She seems close,” he’s spooked… “Too close.”
Looking to replace apprehension with endeavour… “I have a job for you,’ Sanders announces…”Find out what she knows."
“I tried that already; she won’t open up.”
“Well then if you can’t, I’ve other options.”
“The freeway was excessive. Let’s not reprise those tactics.”
“Need I remind you that was a Newcastle decision? Regardless, overall security remains my call and as per our partnership, you’ll support whatever call I make.” Pullman’s connections remain useful… “Stay focused, we’ll keep in touch.”
*
On entering the newsroom, she drops her things at the desk, grabs the telephone and dials.
“Brian Pullman’s office, can I help you?”
“Oh hi, I’m ringing to confirm the Harry Reisner interview with the PM for tomorrow at 9 am?”
“One moment please.”
“Yes, we have that confirmed.”
“Thank you.”
Hanging up, she stands heading off to Wellington’s office, only to have him put his head out the door… “Ahh, Harrietta, there you are. Good, come into my office please.”