by Philip Bond
“How convenient.” This is too good to be true.
“Very.”
The waiter interrupts the conversation to clear the table.
She fires… “I asked at the reception why a senior public servant would be scared of Sanders. You said before, physical harm may have already occurred. What did you mean?”
“Some time ago,” Alexander hesitates… “Someone in the department fed information to the opposition immigration spokesperson. A week later, he died in a road accident. It’s alleged, he’s run off the road. The other vehicle hasn’t been found. Similar circumstances to yours.”
“What did the opposition do with the information?”
“Nothing!” He is still scared… “They didn’t ask any questions, more importantly, the minister never asks for any question time briefing papers.”
“What’s the significance of that?”
“When there’s the remotest possibility of something coming up in question time about a subject, the relevant minister asks for departmental briefing papers, to cover all possible aspects of the topic. It’s the Boy Scout principle.”
“A serious question, Alexander,” How far up does this go… “Given Pullman’s involvement, is the PM also involved?”
“No, I don’t believe the PM’s involved.”
“I hope not.”
During this part of the conversation, Harry recognises a face sitting on the same level, nearer the window.
Across the room, a waiter hovering over the recognised face and his companion asks… “Mister Tomsetti, would you like your usual pre-dinner drinks?”
“You bet, two vodkas with apple juice thanks.”
He, too, looks across the room seeing Harry and Alexander. Holding for a moment before turning to his companion… “Hillary, isn’t that the television reporter Harry Reisner over there? I know the guy she is with; he’s from immigration, Alexander something.”
“Should you tell Sanders?” offers the companion.
“Don’t know why Sanders has the hots for this woman and frankly, don’t care. Anyway, Sanders’s a creep.”
Although agreeing in silence, Hillary recalls… “Karen Wysemen said something about Sanders, his last posting being Israel; yes, that is it. The Israeli minister for Internal Security demands personally to the Secretary of State to have him kicked out. Do you know why?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Sanders became entrepreneurial, drugs, you know. It’s the old dog, new tricks thing.”
“But Venito, CIA culture has changed, surely he can’t be dealing here in Australia?”
“Maybe the CIA has.”
*
The restaurant is crowding. Alexander notices the same familiar faces across the room… “I’m going to leave, can I drop you somewhere?”
“It’s a warm night and I’m staying close by; I’ll walk, thanks.”
Without further concern for Harry, Alexander leaves.
Venito seizes the moment… “Maybe there’s an opportunity. Hillary wait here, I’ll be back.”
He crosses the restaurant… “Harry Reisner?”
“Yes,” expectation mounts… “Sorry, you are?”
“Venito Tomsetti, my apologies for interrupting you.”
Interrupting, hell no Harry’s ecstatic… “That’s okay, Venito. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I won’t keep you and I’m not trying to pick you up.” Grabbing the vacated seat… “May I sit?”
“Please. You’re American?”
“Miss Reisner,”
“Harry, call me Harry. You’re American?” She repeats.
“Yes. Harry look, firstly this is off the record. There must be no record or reference to us talking, agreed?” Except by almost everyone in the restaurant.
What a wonderful town; Harry’s impressed everyone seems to want to talk… “Why Venito, agreed if that’s what to want. I’m intrigued, please continue.”
“Obviously, I’ve seen your report on drugs in Newcastle, felt you could use a little background information. My name I told you; I’m with the American embassy.”
She’s not sure how this will play deciding to limit responses to see where it leads… “Always welcome a helping hand, Venito.”
“I don’t know how far your investigations have taken you or if, of course, you’re still pursuing the story. Some of us have concern with certain illegal activities and while what I’m about to tell you can put me in a US federal penitentiary, I’m compelled to offer guidance.”
Maybe by clearing the pathway, he gets to the crux… “I’m guessing, Venito, you are leading up to telling me someone within your embassy is involved in the sale of illegal drugs in Australia? Someone important?”
“You are perceptive, Harry.” He’s expressionless… “Yes, you’re correct.”
Maybe, he needs just a little coaching… “I’m guessing it’s not the ambassador, I’m guessing it’s someone not in the public view, could it be a military posting?”
“No, not exactly military, those guys are well vetted.”
A little prod here, a little prod there… “Venito, do we play charades, who is it?”
“One person in the embassy with an entrepreneurial history in Somalia.”
“Let me guess, an agent from the CIA?”
“Again, you are perceptive.”
“Why doesn’t the ambassador sack him, get him replaced?”
“Ahh, it’s not as easy as that. The current ambassador is appointed by the previous president and won’t rock the boat.”
“Interesting, so it’s all right to stick your head in the sand while Australian kids die on the end of a needle.”
“Unfair, Harry, I’m sitting in front of you to correct the situation.”
“Sorry, Venito, didn’t mean you personally.”
“I understand, Harry. I can’t speak for anyone else, but this is the first opportunity I’ve had to do something about it.”
“Okay, you’ve passed me a name which I cannot use without attribution. Any suggestions?”
“Harry, as I said at the start, background information. I’m only the harbour pilot, you’re the ship’s captain.”
It would be too Machiavellian for him to provide Sanders’s name and be an accomplice. She decides to up the ante… “Thanks Venito, I greatly appreciate the information, however, I’m ahead in the game. Tell me about the relationship between Sanders and Duffield.”
The look on his face confirms, smoke leads to the fire… “Ahh, look Harry, I’m sorry for treating you lightly. You’re obviously better at your job than I give you credit for. Can I suggest you check your army records? Pay particular attention to the Somalian period.”
“I appreciate your assistance Venito, but one last question. Why did you come over and volunteer information when it places you at serious risk?”
“America is the country that everyone loves to hate.” Turning first surveying the room, Venito returns to Harry… “My country is the first to be asked for money, military assistance or to intervene in domestic conflicts. There are many like me who worry at the excess of the few and like me, they also balance the ledger when possible. This is one of those occasions. Now, you have to excuse me, I’ve neglected my companion too long.”
He stands and offers his hand… “Stay well, stay safe.”
Harry accepts… “Thanks Venito, you too.”
*
After turning on the apartment lights, closing and latching the door, Harry grabs the phone.
“Brookes.”
He sounds tired; bad luck… “Phillip,” she bubbles with excitement… “Have I something for you!”
That picked him up… “What’s happening?”
“I was given an invitation to a Parliament House reception, Phillip, it was terrific. People come up to me volunteering information off the record but none the less, the town leaks like a sieve. First, I met an army colonel, Andrew Horne. He gave me his card and wanted me to call for an off-the-record briefing an
d Phillip, he wants to talk about smuggling into and out of Australia; did you know that the whole of northern Australia is peppered with old wartime airstrips? Anyhow, he melts back into the crowd then up pops Alexander Sutcliffe, a senior in the immigration department, it’s almost like they’re lining up for speed dating.”
Waiting in turn, Phillip can’t resist… “Yeah, I can relate to that.”
She’s on fire, leaving the comment to the keeper… “Phillip, he’s desperate to talk so we go to a little restaurant not far from Parliament House. Phillip, he opens linking Duffield and Neate. Neate is a union delegate at several program meetings. Pullman overturns his own departmental selection process, allowing people with criminal history to immigrate into Australia under the program. Phillip, best of all, Sanders’s embassy title is immigration attaché. Don’t you love it? This town is great. People love to talk.”
“Sounds like you’re enjoying yourself?”
“That’s not the half of Phillip, Sutcliffe leaves the restaurant first and, as I’m about to leave, a guy sits down at my table. I know who he is; I’ll explain that another time. The guy is from the American embassy and also wants to talk off the record.”
“About what?”
“Phillip, he opens saying someone in the embassy involved in illegal activities here in Australia.”
“Let me guess, Lloyd Sanders?”
“Correct, but at first he’s vague, so I move the game along narrowing it down to Sanders. Phillip, he spent time in Somalia. It’s there he became entrepreneurial, dealing drugs.”
“Whoa!”
“But hold on Phillip, I put him on the spot asking him about the relationship between Sanders and Duffield.”
“Christ, Harry, is that wise? Now he knows how far along the story line you are.”
“Phillip, it’s okay. This guy isn’t a Sanders booster, in fact, he goes to pains in explaining his concern at what he calls, the excesses of the few.”
“Okay. So piece it together for me.”
“Take Sanders’s entrepreneurial nature with solid links to Pullman and Duffield, bundle that with an existing illicit drug distribution network, then on top, lay the airport customs officer and Phillip, the art exhibition is coming in by airfreight.”
Phillip interjects completing the supposition… “We have a conspiracy to import drugs. Start putting a seven-minute special together. I’ll line up the legal people for vetting and we will program the thing into next Monday’s current affairs program. Let’s put this into the public domain and see where it runs.”
“Great. Thanks Phillip, see you soon.”
*
Harry no sooner logs into the local area network than the receptionist telephones… “To see me? Now? Okay, on my way.”
She diverts pass Wellington’s office announcing… “Wellington, there are two feds here to see me.”
“Now,” she nods… “Bring them here, to my office.”
She heads off to reception. Standing in the small foyer are two men dressed as they might be about to walk onto a golf course. The younger and cutest leads… “Harry Reisner, I’m Colin Freeman and this,” gesturing to the other… “is Wes Ryan; we’re with the Australian Federal Police.” Neither man produces a badge or identification.
“So what can I do for you?”
The older insists… “Can we go to your office or conference room, talk in private?”
“Sure, follow me.” Harry leads the way the short distance to Wellington’s office stopping to rap on the door… “In here, gentlemen.”
Wellington stands as they enter… “Ahh, gentlemen come in. Please sit.”
The visitors are surprised seeing the very familiar face… “Mister Fairchild, we are here to talk with Harry Reisner.”
“I would be right suggesting you are here regarding her excellent journalistic endeavours, therefore, you will not object if we make this a foursome.”
“Now gentlemen,” Wellington sits, inviting both to also… “Please identify yourselves.”
The older of the visitors leads… “Wellington, we know each other only too well. This is intended to be low key, so let’s dispense with custom.” Turning to Harry… “What evidence do you have to support your allegation of illegal drugs headed for Australia?”
“If you want a smoking gun then sorry, I don’t have one.” Harry also sits… “What I can do is link certain people from drug distribution in Newcastle through to political manipulation of an immigration program here in Canberra, including an airport customs official along the way.”
“Okay, to cut to the chase, I’m thinking it’s only a hunch?” His tone indicates the value he gives to Harry’s suggestion.
Wellington joins in to focus his thinking… “Wes, we both know the AFP has allocated resources on much less.”
“Okay then,” Wes concedes round one to Wellington on points… “Tell me what you know.”
It’s Show Time, Folks
The KLM 747 freighter touches down at 6:07 am. Eagerly waiting is Isadora Wetherill with two other gallery employees, two people from the custom agents, five she hired from a private security company, three representatives from the European company packaging the exhibition and, Isadora’s secretary. She waits until seeing the plane taxing towards the freight terminal before turning to Muriel… “Phone Daryle, tell him it’s here.”
With her eyes fixed upon the 747 as it noisily eases towards the freight terminal. The supervisor from the transport company walks over to Isadora.
“I’ve taken care of everything; as soon as the customs clear the exhibits, we’ll load and move them to your warehouse.”
*
One by one, the containers are placed on trolleys under the watchful eye of the customs supervisor Malcolm Lieu.
Once unloading’s complete, the trolleys are joined together for a tractor to snake them into the bonded holding area. Malcolm takes command and inspecting the cargo manifest. Two additional people enter the bond area and introduce themselves to Isadora.
“Mister Wetherill, my name’s Jefferies and this is Rod De Marco. We’re from the insurance company. We had some people inspect the warehouse, and we’re just overseeing the arrival process.”
Isadora looks inquisitively at the pair… “I don’t remember either of you at the meetings with your managing director?”
“Well no, we’re from the Singapore office. We might promote more of these types of policies and we’re just getting a first-hand view of the process.”
The American accent raises Isadora’s suspicions… “I wasn’t informed of this. I think both of you might wait outside until I have this check with your managing director.”
As Isadora walks towards Muriel to retrieve his cellphone, Jefferies put his hand on Isadora’s arm… “Tallboy provides our authority.”
Not something Isadora wishes to hear… “Well then, I suppose if you’re here to observe, then observe you must.”
*
It’s close to noon as customs complete all checks. Now, the transporters take charge for the journey to the warehouse for cleaning and cataloguing.
Only Isadora, the two gallery assistants, her secretary Muriel and the ‘insurance men’ watch as the last crate is unloaded. Isadora issues further instructions to the gallery people to tidy up, then to the ‘insurance men’… “You two will stand out like sore thumbs. I suggest your job is complete. I will be in touch with Tallboy later, when appropriate, for the collection of the packing material.”
“Have to admit,” De Marco answers… “Customs went like a breeze. You handled things well. I’m satisfied with your security people although, is two enough?”
“Two is all you see now.”
De Marco questions his companion… “I don’t have a problem with that. Do you?”
“No.”
Both men leave the warehouse.
Things Turn Nasty
Again, Neate looks to his watch as a train rumbles into Town Hall station. The opening doors dis
gorge only a small crowd of people onto the platform. In the midst is Sanders. Their acknowledgement indicates all clear. Sanders moves up beside Neate as if waiting for train.
“The television reporter is too close.”
Another train arrives expelling its antlike occupants. Vacating passengers leave the men alone.
“Had a call from Lieu.” Neate continues… “He sees her at the airport. There’s a heated discussion between her and some guy, who’d said she’s in Canberra. Now, she has a problem with the guy in charge down there. Do you think she’s still nosing around, following the story she did in Newcastle?”
“Why else would she go to Canberra unless she’s onto a smell of something?”
“Is there a problem there?”
“I haven’t heard but she’s a nuisance. You missed once before, now I’ll have to take care of things.”
“Shouldn’t we find out what she knows and then take the appropriate action?”
Sanders is surprised, such a sensible suggestion… “That’s the interim step before removing the problem.”
“How will you handle it?”
Another train arrives noisily; only a few people disembark. Sanders offers chillingly… “That’s a need to know only and you don’t. Have you heard anything regarding the shipment?”
“No, have you?”
“I know it’s here. Those two better keep to schedule. You still programmed to collect the goods?”
“Yes, I’ll get confirmation tonight when they phone.”
A train rumbles into the other platform, Sanders surveys the passengers… “That’s my ride.”
Neate waits for two more trains to come and go, taking the third to central station.
*
It’s 6:17 pm when Daryle arrives at the warehouse. Isadora is with Muriel, her assistants and the security people. She warmly greets her friend, turning to Muriel… “Sweetie, you have been here all day; why don’t you go home now?”
Muriel dutifully obliges.
Isadora turns to the security guards… “You men should get your dinner now. I’ve arranged with the restaurant on the corner for a hamper. Bring it back and you can have your dinner in the kitchen here.”