Draw the Brisbane Line
Page 37
‘You sell something,’ Jenny muttered from behind the curtain of her slumber.
‘That’s right beautiful,’ Tom said. ‘You sell something.’
The words circled Dave’s mind like sharks waiting to strike. You sell something. Coal and iron ore was a shrinking industry, barely able to support its own existence. The residential property market, the other big industry, was going to be about as helpful as a glass of water in a bush fire.
So what else was there?
‘We’re almost there,’ Tom said. He unlatched his seat belt and moved towards the cockpit.
‘I thought the routine, when about to land, was to take your seats and fasten your belts,’ Jenny said. ‘Not the opposite.’
Dave just smiled and said, ‘Because Tom.’
Jenny smiled back and said, ‘Ah. Of course.’
She traced her fingers across Dave’s palm and he squeezed them, warm and dry little things.
The plane began to tilt to the left and downward ever so slightly, and after a couple of minutes of that it swung back the other way. Dave felt his insides shift from left to right like a slow and fleshy pendulum. Tom came climbing back out of the cabin and up the narrow aisle, reaching out for balance on the seat backs. Pia slapped him on the rear as he passed her. A quick grin flashed across his face.
‘We’re here,’ Tom said to Jenny and Dave. ‘Dave, out your window mate.’
Jenny unbuckled her belt and slid over onto Dave’s lap. His hands circled her waist, and the motion felt so natural, so right. That tight groove between her hip and her thigh, it softly cupped his forearm, two pieces of the same warm puzzle. It seemed inconceivable to him that he could have come so close to losing her.
To throwing it away.
They shared a viewing space, cheek-to-cheek before the viewing window as they looked down on something that snatched Dave’s breath and replaced it with a cold ball of shock.
‘Where is this?’ Dave said to his brother, unable to peel his eyes from the scene.
‘Weipa,’ Tom said.
Weipa? That didn’t make sense. Dave had a better than average knowledge of Australian geography — he’d crossed much of it during his career, and touched down in most places the flying kangaroo could take him — and while he’d never been to Weipa, he knew it was a virtual postage stamp of a town, little more than ten square kilometres and a few thousand souls who sweltered in the heat and hoped for a resurgence in the industry which gave the town life: mining. Bauxite, in Weipa’s case, long red cliffs of the stuff. It was the largest town along the Gulf of Carpentaria, but even that generous statistic didn’t tally with the crowded and swarming activity across the landscape below.
Hundreds. Had to be hundreds of them, perhaps thousands. Boats and ships, from kayaks to hulking cargo vessels, crowded the coastline like ants on a honey spill. If the Cape York Peninsula was a tooth, then Weipa was its cavity, and the seaborne craft attacking its bays and rivers were swarming clouds of bacteria. Five grey warships, two of them aircraft carriers, formed a loose barrier for the activity out in the deeper water, and Dave could see clear lanes set up for two of them, bright red buoys creating a path from ship to shore.
The activity wasn’t limited to the water, it spilled onto the land, cars and trucks and tiny person-bugs scurrying about a landscape covered in far more grey and black than Dave would have expected to see in such a remote township. The distinctive yellow of earthmoving equipment was visible everywhere. Three huge rectangular blocks of buildings-in-progress stood out near the coastline. Further inland, between the water and the busy airport, there were lower-profile developments, smaller structures built along roads both new and unformed, occasionally curling into a cul de sac.
Dave had seen enough of these kinds of developments to recognise them. They were suburban neighbourhoods, freshly moulded out of the dirt.
Dave was already high above the ground, but he felt that he was at an impossible altitude and drifting further, beyond the reach of gravity. This couldn’t be real.
‘What is this, Tom?’ Dave said. His voice sounded flat in his ears. ‘What is this all for?’
‘Where did all the boats come from?’ Jenny said.
Tom leaned in close to the window. ’The big one on the left? That’s RSS Persistence, Singaporean. Then, moving right, it’s USS Antietem, HMAS Sirius, USS Pioneer, USS Michael Murphy. The two frigates floating around just beyond the main harbour are Indonesian.’
‘Harbour?’ Dave said.
‘Well, maybe not yet,’ Tom said. ‘But it will be.’
‘This isn’t about joint military exercises, is it?’
‘Joint, yes. Exercises, no.’
‘So what are all the little boats?’ Jenny said.
‘A mix of commercial and civilian craft. Fishing boats, ferries, passenger ships.’
‘Where are they from?’ Jenny said.
‘Oh, all over. But many of them have come through Indonesia. In the past, they would have been called boat people.’
‘What past are you referring to?’ Dave said, looking at his brother with a quizzical frown.
Tom shrugged. ‘Yesterday, I suppose.’
‘And today?’
‘Today,’ Tom said, and took a deep breath, ‘they are provisional citizens of the Northern Australia Special Administrative Region.’
‘The what?’ Dave said.
‘NASAR. It’s a ninety-nine year lease.’
‘To the US,’ Dave said.
‘Yeah. We were thinking of selling it outright, but we decided a long lease would be an easier sell.’
‘We,’ Dave said. ‘Who is we, exactly.’
‘Why, We the People,’ Tom said, hands held out to indicate: everyone. ‘Represented by a desperate government, backed into a corner and no longer concerned with popular policy, but policy which works.’
‘And you think this,’ Dave said, pointing at the bustling coastline, ‘will work?’
‘It will work, for what it’s intended,’ Tom said. ‘Billions of times over.’
‘Why the hell do the Yanks want it?’ Dave said. ‘It’s an outdoor oven in the middle of nothing.’
‘That ain’t hot,’ Bryk rumbled from the front. ‘It’s warm. And at least there’s water to cool off in.’
‘Yeah,’ Dave said. ‘But crocodiles?’
‘We’ll take care of them,’ Bryk said, and his face cracked into a rough smile.
‘The military is used to worse,’ Tom said. ‘And this provides them with a strategically powerful position to support the war in the Middle East.’
‘So what about all the fishing boats?’ Jenny said to Tom. ‘What’s with the refugees.’
‘I think I can answer that,’ Dave said. ‘It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement, isn’t it? You love those. The refugees get a green and gold card, and in return, they supply a workforce to America’s development of the area. How close is that?’
‘Green and gold card,’ Tom said, nodding. ‘I like that. So yes, the refugees are given safe passage, with the help of our Indonesian neighbours, and they become free settlers of the NASAR.’
‘How big is the NASAR?’ Jenny said.
Tom smiled. ‘Oh, just the tip.’
Tom delved into intricate detail of the plan for the development of NASAR as the plane commenced its landing approach. The initial influx of refugees, originating from the Middle East, Africa and Asia — but funnelled through Indonesia — would number between ten and fifteen thousand. There were two thousand US soldiers on the ground to manage the region. As infrastructure developed, those numbers would rise to fifty thousand refugees and five thousand troops in the space of two years. Mixed into that would be civilians from the US and Australia. Rio Tinto still had significant holdings in the area, bauxite mines currently on care-and-maintenance, and the US government had been able to reach favourable terms on the purchase of those assets. A number involving the word billions was mentioned, but such figures were beyond Dave’s comprehen
sion.
Crucially, the Australian public had not yet been informed of the deal.
‘Jesus Christ,’ Dave said. ‘You’re selling part of the country—’
‘Leasing,’ Tom interrupted.
‘Fine, leasing part of the country to the United States, and the electorate hasn’t been informed?’
‘This is a trial lease. The deal will be ratified in parliament.’
‘You seriously think it will get through? The Coalition might push it, but there’s no way you’ll get Labor on board. Or the Greens.’
‘It’s already done,’ Tom said quietly. ‘They know it’s their only shot. Of course, there will be dissent. Anger. The QTA, for example, will not be crazy about the plan.’
‘Do they already know?’ Jenny said.
‘They suspect,’ Tom said. ’They know a bit, but they’re apt to fill the unknown spaces with fear and bullshit. But when it all comes out, yeah … they’ll be pissed.’
Jenny found Dave’s fingers and squeezed. Her hands were damp while his were dry.
‘Your hands are sweaty,’ Dave said. ’Your hands are never sweaty.’
‘Must be the pregnancy,’ she said. ’What does this mean, Dave? I can’t … I can’t get my head around this.’
Dave looked over at Tom, now seated and belted in. ‘We’re in danger, aren’t we? We’re targets.’
Tom gave Dave his apologetic, shit-eating smile. ‘Sorry. You will be targets. Even though you’re not involved, because of me … painted with the same brush, you know? And the business with James Cain. Even though it’s not connected, and technically neither is any of the other nasty business which followed … the media won’t care. The opponents won’t care, nor the radicals or the habitual haters. You will be re-branded, both of you, with the NASAR stamp.’
‘Well,’ Jenny said, ‘that’s just fucking great, isn’t it?’
‘So what are you suggesting?’ Dave said. ‘We live up here? Become citizens of NASAR? Do you want us to promote the place?’
‘Oh, fuck no,’ Tom said, his politician’s mask unable to hide just how appalled he was by that suggestion. ‘I want you two to get out of here, out of the country. There’s a jet down there fuelled up and ready to take you straight to LA, if you want to.’
Jenny and Dave looked at each other. Jenny smiled, flipped a shrug and raised an eyebrow. ‘You know where I stand on this. What say you?’
‘They’ll love you,’ Tom said to Dave. ‘They’ll forgive the Cain jump because of what you did in Byron, fighting on despite your injuries. They eat that shit up! There are all kinds of opportunities for you over there, brother. All kinds.’
Dave didn’t care so much about the opportunities. He cared about this beautiful woman next to him, and the life she carried. He made up his mind between Sydney and Byron that he’d go wherever Jenny wanted to — if she’d have him.
‘You don’t need to sell it to me, Tom,’ Dave said. ‘Jenny already did that.’
Jenny looked like she was trying to hold back tears as she squeezed his hand hard enough to pop his knuckles, and when he leaned across to hug her he felt her let go. So they would go to America, pick up their life over there. Did he care that he would disappoint so many Australians who looked to him for inspiration, who saw him as a role model, who invested energy and sometimes money in him, in his image? How would they cope when he just walked away from it all?
He found that he didn’t care, not even enough to upset his warm steady heartbeat as he held his love, the future mother of his child, his life. His heart didn’t falter, not even a flutter.
Thank you for reading. Really.
If you’d like to leave a review, there should be a prompt on the next page turn or two. All reviews are gratefully received. I can also be found at www.infinitemonkeyrumble.com, or on Twitter (p_fenton).
P.A. Fenton, August 2015.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
# Twitter Board
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
#Twitter Board
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
#Twitter Board
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
#Twitter Board
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
#Twitter Board
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
#Twitter Board
Chapter 33
#Twitter Board
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
#Twitter Board
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
#Twitter Board
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61