It's Personal

by Philip Bond

  “From the quantity of drugs they import, indicated the group are about to dramatically expand their area of activities and well protected by the political heavyweight.”

  “It’s coming up to midnight. We’ll formally charge Wetherill and Watford; they taste prison in the holding cells for the night.”

  “We have enough to gain convictions against all of them; it’s still circumstantial against Samuel Duffield. Do we still go to the director of Public Prosecutions tomorrow?”

  “Have to, her reputation and political support is vital to us now. Getting a conviction against the Australians will be easy compared with just getting Sanders to stand trial in Australia.”

  “Let’s pick him up tomorrow.”

  “If he was at the shoot-out in Blacktown, it’s my guess he’s gone, left the country already. Let’s be very careful and mindful of our safety. It’s normal CIA practise to institute a damage control procedure. Let’s watch our backs.”

  “Harry Reisner, what’s happening with her? You still have her in protective custody?”

  “Yes, but I’m releasing her tomorrow.”

  “Is that wise, given what you just said?”

  “I haven’t the budget to keep her any longer. I have something very interesting coming up shortly and I’ll need all the remaining allocation in the budget for that project alone.”

  “It’s late and I’m tired.”

  Legal Advice

  Both policemen gaze out the window towards the harbour. Richard and Wes sit quietly, waiting for the Director of Public Prosecutions.

  Door to the reception area opens… “Gentlemen, follow me please.”

  They follow the voice into a meeting room.

  “I’m Kate Fitzgerald, which of you is Wes Ryan?”

  “I am, Ms Fitzgerald.” Offering his hand.

  “Hi Wes and its Kate.” Shaking firmly… “You’re obviously Richard Westway; please sit down where you feel comfortable. Now, you said you have a solid case for conviction against someone important, who?”

  Wes speaks first… “It involves a number of people. The notable is Samuel Duffield, the prime minister’s press secretary and lastly the head of the CIA in Australia.”

  “Okay, gentlemen, now that you have my attention,” she relaxes into her chair… “Again, you said you have a solid case for conviction against someone important, who?”

  Richard offers endorsement… “That’s it, Ms Fitzgerald. We’re not joking. It’s documented in this brief, and the prosecution will be successful.”

  “You spoke with anyone about this?”

  “No, Ms Fitzgerald.”

  “Chapter and verse, please gentlemen, from the very beginning and please and call me Kate.”

  Sometime later, Wes finishes… “And the evidence strongly points to complicity by the head of the Central Intelligence Agency in Australia.”

  “This Lloyd Sanders, you interviewed him yet?”

  “Not yet. That’s where you come in. We need help in dealing with these heavyweights.”

  “You sure do. Just interviewing them will be interesting, let alone prosecuting. I can’t give you an answer right now. I’ll have to read the evidentiary material and come to my own conclusions. Judging from the quantity of documents that you’ve provided, I’ll need some time to go through it all before we can get together again.”

  The meeting finishes, Wes and Richard leave Kate and head for the elevator… “Richard, I have an operation coming up shortly and would like time to prepare. I’ll grab a plane back to Canberra. We can stay in contact over the phone till she’s ready.”

  *

  Later in the evening, the lights come up, signalling intermission.

  Kate and her fiancée stand to go outside for a coffee and stretch their legs. While Kate occupies a sort after position next to the expansive Theatre Bar windows, the fiancée scrimmages towards the servery for coffees.

  On returning… “Leon,” grabbing one with enthusiasm and sips… “I have a problem, and ultimately, it will become yours.”

  “Kate, I’m here to share.” He too sips.

  “Well, I know we agreed not to bring our work home, but this is different.” Manoeuvring for sensitivities… “The reason why I’m late is a brief I’m reading. Oh, and I’ll be into work about five tomorrow morning to continue the reading.”

  “Good build up so far.” His interest’s alerted… “Now the tag, what’s it about?”

  “Drugs, the killing of three police officers, corruption and plain old greed.”

  “Something to do with that disastrous drug bust Monday?”

  “That and more. It involves that Harry Reisner and the road trauma on the Newcastle freeway, her recent abduction and the subsequent shooting of the highway patrol officer in Canberra.”

  “You mean,” he’s astonished… “They’re connected?”

  “You better believe it and what’s more, it involves the importation of some hundred kilograms or so of high-grade heroin courtesy of that art exhibition.”

  Not really wanting to know, yet compelled to ask… “So, how will this ultimately become a problem of mine?”

  “It implicates Samuel Duffield and Brian Pullman, with others, for the importation of illegal drugs and complicity in the killing of five police officers. There’ll be a number of other charges, some major, but mostly minor.”

  “With charges like those, the minor seem overkill. Who else is involved?”

  “An executive manager from some plant in Newcastle and a director of a private gallery here in Sydney. You might know of her, Isadora Wetherill.”

  “Yes, I can see why it’ll ultimately involve me. The party will have to mount damage control. And if you’re successful in prosecution, we’ll have to find a new attorney general, a press secretary for the prime minister also and a refund on the tickets to that art exhibition. So, what’s your problem?”

  “It’s who I am to prosecute. There is another, and American, the head of the CIA in Australia. He has been identified as an accomplice, possibly the mastermind. I need to know, firstly, how to get him in for questioning, then secondly, to stand trial?”

  “Have a look at cases involving Russian, Croatian and other eastern European diplomats. There might be something during the Vietnam period also.”

  Just as he finishes talking, both hear the chimes heralding commencement of the second act. Kate’s satisfied with the advice and both finish their coffee, heading back into the theatre.

  *

  It’s an early start tomorrow morning, giving Leon the chance to initiate damage control.

  On closing the door, dropping his keys on the table, he grabs the telephone to dial.

  It rings at the other end, seemingly endlessly… “Pullman!”

  “It’s Leon.”

  “Christ Neumann, it’s late. What time is it?”

  “Time to go into damage control, you greedy fuckwit. Why’re you involved in this drug smuggling thing?”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  “Very original answer, you fuckwit. For someone like you in your position to be involved in drugs, for Christ sake, this thing last Monday is going to wreck the party. I have to speak to both you and Samuel Duffield, tomorrow! I’m catching a plane to Canberra in the morning; organise a meeting for the three of us. Somewhere very private, where no one will see us enter or leave. Get it?”

  “Where do you get off giving me orders? Go take a jump. You’re too full of your own importance.”

  “You don’t have any choice, either follow instructions or go to gaol for twenty years.”

  Attitudes immediately change… “Let’s meet at the head office. No one will think twice if we are all in the building at the same time. What time will you arrive?”

  “Anything after ten in the morning.”

  Sudden Impact

  Phillip stirs at the insistence of the alarm; it’s 6 am.

  On the farm, morning’s fresh and clean with Harry w
aking also. The police officer sees her walk into the kitchen… “Your driver will be here just after lunch to take you into Canberra.”

  “Great!”

  Richard is at work by twenty to seven.

  Leon has showered and on his way to the airport.

  *

  The door opens to the party head office as Leon purposefully strides towards the president’s office. He finds Brian Pullman… “Is this wise, Leon, being here in the president’s office?”

  “He’s overseas; his secretary is on leave. Where’s Duffield?”

  “He’ll be here shortly, so what is the agenda?”

  “We’ll wait quietly until Duffield graces us with his presence.”

  The door opens and in pokes a face… “Ahh, sorry I’m late, had a number of issues to finish. G’day Leon, nice to see you again.”

  “Cut the bullshit, Sam, there’s a problem.”

  Nonplussed, he questions… “What kind of problem, Leon?”

  “Unless we can fix the situation, your electoral committee will need to find a new candidate for your seat and the PM a new AG and press secretary.”

  Pullman turns pale, but Duffield retains his composure… “How much do you know about the events?”

  “The DPP’s considering bring charges against both of you. Importation of illegal drugs and complicity in the killing of three policemen.”

  The press secretary goes to pieces… “Oh my god! It’s supposed to be clean, quick and problem free. Ever since that television reporter became involved, there’s been nothing but trouble. They could’ve fixed the whole thing on the Newcastle freeway, but oh no, the dickheads fucked up. Now I’m also fucked.”

  Duffield’s the clear thinker… “Settle down Brian, read the newspapers. It’s my guess, if the DPP has a brief already, then the case hinges on one witness, Harry Reisner. You of all people know our friend doesn’t leave loose ends.”

  “What’re you saying, Sam?”

  “I am saying, Leon, any further involvement by you will be restricted to providing us with prosecution details. Leave the cleaning up to others. You will not talk to anyone about this! To anyone, get it! Now, there will be no further talk about electoral committees or finding a new press secretary. Leon, thank you for bringing this to our attention, now you can return to Sydney and your beautiful companion.”

  Duffield places his hand on Leon’s shoulder and grips… “Remember Leon, the purpose of party is to support the parliamentary team. Leon, you are a team player. Why don’t you go back and care for that wonderful lady friend of yours, but remember, I need information very quickly, understand?”

  *

  Late in the afternoon, a car drives into the farm.

  Jumping in the back seat saying the officer on closing the door… “You’re right, the only way I could have kept my cool while staying here is to think of it as a holiday, it works. You’ve been considerate and I’m grateful for your protection, you will understand when I say, I’m not sad to say goodbye. Thank you once again.” She hasn’t spoken much about her disturbed sleep, preferring to keep that to herself.

  “Now, these officers will take you to the airport.”

  Stoically, she announces… “Look out, bad guys, I’m back, armed and dangerous.” And in no mood to rest… “Can I go to the television station in Fyshwick first, please?”

  Arriving at the station just before sundown, hurrying into the station’s reception to the cheers by all she meets. Work is her adrenaline.

  Wellington’s in his office and, upon seeing her enter, quickly shuffles around to the front of his desk to engulf her with both arms.

  “Hello, Harrietta, I am so glad you are back safe and sound; you scared the tripe out of me.”

  “Hi Wellington, tell me everything that’s happened since last Friday.”

  “I am sure you only want to hear about the drug business. You would have heard some of what happened while you were in protective custody, but I will tell you again.”

  “Last Monday, the NCA down in Sydney were alerted to a big shipment of drugs that had just come into the country.”

  “That’ll be the drugs from the exhibition.”

  “Yes, my sources tell me, it’s a call the NCA receives, telling them exactly where to find the shipment. Anyway, they stake out the location and soon enough, someone turns up. You probably know the toll to the police in the ensuing firefight but needless to say, there is uproar down in Sydney among the politicians all wanting to appear like long-time friends of the police force. I understand your Lloyd Sanders is identified driving a car in which Graeme Neate is a passenger. You know Neate dies in the gunfight, but Sanders escapes. He is no longer in Canberra and no one at the embassy is talking. Again, my sources tell me the NCA are questioning Wetherill and Watford.”

  “Have they questioned Duffield or Pullman?”

  “Not yet. I understand that they are preparing a case to put before the Director of Public Prosecutions.”

  There’s no way to ease the impact… “Now the bad news,” Wellington leads… “The network lawyers also canned your story, fearing it prejudices a fair trial. They believe we would be left wide open for a libel suite without the law leading. There is more, you might not know. Your Matt Leveaux is posted out on the day of your abduction.”

  Tears swell in her eyes… “I wasn’t allowed to contact him.” Looking hopefully to the old journalist… “Do you know where he has gone?”

  “I have spoken with him and have a contact number.” The emotion is too much as tears roll. Wellington leans over, placing a piece of paper before her… “Ring him. Ring him now.”

  Harry straightens grabbing a tissue from her bag… “Yes.”

  Wellington picked up the phone and dials for her.

  It rings several times before… “Leveaux,” his voice bleeds expectation.

  Wellington watches her expression change… “G’day, sergeant.”

  “Babe,” Matt shows emotion to an empty room… “How good to hear your voice. Goddamn, I’ve been so worried. Wellington tells me you’ve had trouble. Hell babe, you’re running into credit on luck.”

  She doesn’t need to hear his words; the betraying voice tells all… “I’m taking charge, Matt. That all changes now. I’m leaving Australia.”

  “Come to Berlin. I’ll look after you.”

  She mirrors his emotions… “Günter wants me to go to Austria; I need to be with you. I’ll change at Heathrow and meet you in Berlin, maybe in forty-eight hours.” There’s no hesitation in this; she knows this is where she needs to be and with whom.

  There’s definite relief but still a slight quiver… “That’s an agonising forty-eight hours, babe.”

  “You’ll handle it, sergeant, I guarantee it’ll be worth it.”

  His voice regains authority… “You called it, so you have to deliver.”

  “I love you, Matt.”

  “Babe,” the quiver returns… “It’s agonising being away from you. This never happened before, I’m just eating inside knowing you’re seventeen-thousand clicks distant.”

  “Not for long, sergeant, not for long.”

  “Babe,” that cheeky voice returns… “I’m counting the minutes, come and get me.”

  “Keep an eye on the street out front, sergeant.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you.”

  The receptionist cuts in… “Harry, I have Phillip on the line for you?”

  “What line?”

  “Eight.”

  Harry punches the button… “Phillip, hi.”

  “Harry, I think we can recover something from all this, I’ve just been told by an old journo buddy. Sanders was Duffield’s CIA controller in Somalia. His code name is Tallboy and there is more; Sanders transfers out after the US accidentally bomb a militia unit. The unofficial story is, the militia commander tried to steal a Sanders’s Khat shipment. Harry, the militia commander now lives in Melbourne. I want you to fly down to Melbourne, get this guy’s
version on tape, then I will go to the feds demanding we be allowed to air an edited special. What do you think?”

  Freedom, the bad guys are dead or vanished… “Phillip,” the journalist hears the heavenly music… “My story’s the AFP’s case against these guys. The AFP and our lawyers won’t let us air anything that prejudices the prosecution until all the trials are over. All we can do is claim credit for busting it wide open. At best, that is a fifteen to twenty second read with some file footage. No Phillip, my involvement has finished. I’ll be back in your office tomorrow morning.”

  “Bye, Harry,” remorse hits… “I’m pleased you’re safe.”

  *

  Returning to Sydney is happily uneventful. Given the events of the previous weeks, Harry’s holding up surprisingly well. The thing most worrying her is the distance from Matt. Not since high school has she felt this way about someone and her heart positively aches at his absences.

  She plans to bring him back into her life, very soon.

  Sleep becomes a welcome visitor in the night. It is as if the weight of the world’s woes lifts.

  *

  Although she did not set the morning alarm, her body clock signals 7 am, she decides to start the next phase of her life without delay.

  Having emptied the apartment of fresh food prior to heading off to Canberra, Harry decides to breakfast in her favourite early morning café and maybe, Phillip might join her?

  He says yes, downing tools immediately for the journey to Crows Nest.

  Sitting alfresco, she’s reading the news item about a shooting of an unnamed police officer in Canberra.

  The day’s warm already and most probably hot later.

  Crows Nest is busying up as time edges towards 9 am. Traffic builds with pedestrians scurrying about their day. Two more people occupy the outdoor tables as Harry’s double shot black coffee arrives. She sips from the cup just as braking tyres screech, followed by an almost inaudible bump. Pedestrians and patrons turn their eyes up the street seeing the driver of the car at the corner open the door and alight. The driver of the second does not, instead revs the engine overtaking the stationary vehicle, forcing its way onto Willoughby Road, towards the café.