‘If what you said is true all international flights will cease about 48 hours from now. The only planes flying will be taking people to higher ground. They’ll have enough time to take off but where they land is another thing. The airports inland only have a certain capacity for landing aircraft. Air-traffic control will be out of action. There’ll be planes ditching everywhere! I wouldn’t like to be flying one of them.’
Nick ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Strewth what a mess! It gets worse by the minute! How long before we reach Canberra?’
‘We’ll be approaching Sydney airport in three hours. We’re ahead of time, but we’ll probably be in a holding pattern at Sydney. That airport’s always jammed. We’re due to land in Canberra at 1830.’
‘Why Sydney?’
‘It’s the my preferred point of entry. We have to go by way of Sydney or Melbourne.’
Nick sat back with a sigh, the jump seat was getting uncomfortable.
‘You can stretch you legs out in first class if you like,’ Graham offered.
Nick ignored him although the thought was tempting. ‘Were you able to get us an appointment with the Prime Minister?’
‘I spoke to one of my buddies this morning, he’s trying to arrange it, but because it’s the weekend he’s not sure if he’ll be available.’
‘Did you tell him it was urgent?’
‘I told him to tell the staff it was you coming in. The Prime Minister will know about you so I don’t see a problem.’
‘Good. I don’t want to be held up there. How soon can you get me to the Gold Coast?’
‘Don’t worry about that. I fly you myself if I have to.’
Nick had no intention of being put off by anybody, time was running out. He just hoped the Government would let him have some say in things. He decided to stretch out in first class after all, hoping to catch up on some sleep that he’d missed in Oahu while organising provisions for the Platypus. His lowered his aching joints into the soft contours of the reclining seat and with the help of a couple of stiff Johnny Walker’s eventually drifted off into a fitful sleep.
Chapter Nineteen
Graham’s prediction on Sydney proved correct, the air traffic was slightly less congested than usual yet they were still forced to circle right out over Bathurst, the other side of the Blue Mountains, 160 kilometres west of the city. Nick didn’t mind, it gave him a chance to enjoy the landscape unfolding. He always experienced a feeling of contentment when approaching Sydney from the air; its picturesque harbour decked by the old ‘Coat Hanger’ as the locals nicknamed the Sydney Harbour Bridge. Beside the bridge the soaring white sails of the Sydney Opera House gleamed against the blue water of the harbour winking their welcome.
The scene was surreal, the Opera House’s beauty marred by the ugly concrete wall enclosing it and the city into a basin, isolated from the harbour that beat at it in a never ending frenzy. The wall snaked all the way along the harbour front as far as the Gap, the entrance from the ocean, and as far as Parramatta twenty-three kilometres to the West. The other side of the harbour rose naturally above the harbour, so no wall were visible here. The bridge that had spanned this harbour for over one hundred years seemed to squat low above the surface of the water, waiting to be swallowed. Beside the bridge Nick could see staircases leading up to Ferry terminals that had been constructed on top of the wall. He guessed that their destination to Manly and other areas north had changed location considerably. Manly beach had always been a popular place for day trippers from the city wishing to laze on it’s pristine white beaches and swim in the safe surf.
Their stopover lasted three hours and between phone calls to friends, Nick hurried around the duty free shops to pick up some gifts for Brian and Karen. Brian was an avid collector of fancy liquor bottles, so each time he came home he always brought some exotic container that delighted his fancy, and of course there was the obligatory bottle of Channel for Karen. After he had done so, he slapped his head and thoughtI must be going crazy. What am I doing buying bloody gifts! Time dragged and he checked his watch constantly. Graham was off doing his thing, so Nick tried to calm his nerves with coffee, which just gave him a dry taste in his mouth. He jumped to attention when they announced his flight for Canberra.
Leaving Sydney over Botany Bay presented more disheartening scenes, all he could see were ugly dykes wrapping around the airport and the beautiful beaches to the South had disappeared.
They approached the Capital, a short thirty minute hop from Sydney at exactly 1725. At this time in early June it was quite dark, nearing the shortest day of the year in Australia. As Graham lined up the 797 for the runway he could see the lights twinkling on the Black Mountain Tower rising 195 metres above the summit into the sky.
Located about 160 kilometres inland in New South Wales, and approximately 750 metres above sea level, this place would remain far away from the holocaust coming. Life would go on here uninterrupted, although the population was going to expand rapidly. There would be plenty of fuel together with all the resources this marvellous place had to offer. As they flew over the city their eyes peered at the thousands of pinpointed lights illuminating the perfectly planned, symmetrical circles that radiated out from the centre of Capitol Hill crossing Lake Burley Griffin.
Nick preferred the coastal cities but he appreciated Canberra’s sophistication and flair. Still, he wouldn’t be hanging around here, just long enough to give them all the information needed. The Queensland Gold Coast was tugging at his heart and he couldn’t wait to be reunited with Brian and Karen.
They arrived without incident, the frantic landing routine again amazing Nick with its complexities. Graham had always said that landing an aircraft was the most dangerous part of flying. They collected Graham’s car and sped off to his home to face the horrible task of informing his mother of the chaos to come.
***
Saturday, June 3
After a great deal of persuasion Graham’s buddy had arranged for them to meet the Prime Minister at his home the next morning. The green wrought iron gates at The Lodge presented a formidable barrier to any uninvited visitors or intruders, protected as it was by a sombre guard dressed in a dark khaki army uniform who glared at them from beneath his Akubra slouch hat. He stood at attention just inside the grill, rigidly holding a military standard issue laser rifle menacingly against his chest, the chin-strap of his hat firmly locked in place. Canberra had not escaped the crime in the coastal cities that had raged over the past fifteen years, and the World Government had failed to curtail terrorism, which had escalated and spread to Australia, so security had become a prime concern and their leaders were heavily guarded in their homes and abroad. Nick was thankfully reminded of his life onboard Platypus.
The guard came alive as they approached. ‘State your name and business!’ he snapped.
‘I’m Captain Bronson, this’s Nick Torrens. We’ve got an appointment with the Prime Minister.’ They fumbled for their identity cards and pushed them through the gate where they fell to the ground.
The guard took a step back. It was not normal for the Minister to see people at his home, especially on Saturday. Swiftly raising the rifle to shoulder height he pointed the laser directly at them. ‘I don’t care who you are get your hands off that gate or I’ll shoot!’
‘I told you, we’ve got an appointment!’ Nick said.
‘Stand back from the gate!’ The guard snapped. Lowering the rifle carefully he pulled a radio off his hip. ‘There’s two blokes at the gate. Reckon they’ve got an appointment with the Minister.’
The radio crackled back ‘What’s their names?’
The guard reached down stiffly and picked up their identity cards. ‘Bronson & Torrens.’
‘It’s okay. Let them in.’
The guard opened the gate, shrugged his shoulders and walked back to a small guard house beside the gate to record their visit.
A dog barked and Graham and Nick looked up to see a tall man approaching along the grave
l driveway leading to the house, with a large black Doberman straining at the leash in his hand. He introduced himself as George, the Prime Minister’s butler.
‘Come this way.’ He sniffed, turning without looking at Nick and Graham.
They hurried along behind the brusque well-dressed figure through an avenue of tall ornamental trees and perfectly tended garden beds bordered by a neatly trimmed Golden Cyprus hedge. Another man in a crisp suit waited under the arches of the 1927 Georgian stone mansion and politely led them into the house to an office beside the foyer. The entire place had been renovated in 2026 at enormous cost to the taxpayers, only the exterior shell remained as a testament to the stone mason’s skills, from an era when life was simple. They were shown into a small room not unlike the US President’s office, only one quarter the size.
‘Why is it that these people always have an office lined with books? I thought the only books left were in public libraries.’ Graham whispered from the side of his mouth. ‘When do they get time to read them anyway?’
A large open window allowed a cool June breeze to wisp in with traces of the sweet perfume of the Camellias in the garden. They made themselves comfortable in the plump armchairs and waited silently, enjoying the musky leather smell.
The door squeaked open and they jumped to their feet to greet a haggard Prime Minister.
‘Morning gentlemen. Thanks for coming, I’m eager to hear any information you can give me.’
‘Sorry to disturb you at home Sir,’ Nick said.
‘Nonsense, I appreciate your coming. Sit, sit. Every minute counts. I’ve hardly slept since the World Government Conference. I’m still having trouble accepting this. What more can you tell me?’
Nick waited for the minister to sit and began to update the story, foregoing the technical terms just as he had done in America. When Nick had finished the Prime Minister stared out the window. A grandfather clock ticked loudly in the background while they waited for his response. Finally, he stood from his chair. ‘I have to make a phone call. Would you both wait here?’
Nick looked at the phone on the desk and wondered why the minister found it necessary to make a private call. ‘A bit rude isn’t he?’ Nick said as the minister silently closed the door behind him.
Graham’s knee bobbed up and down while Nick paced back and forth, stopping now and then to examine the spine of a book with interest. Graham checked his watch several times as the minutes ticked by. ‘What do you s’pose he’s up to? Graham said at last.
‘Probably calling the police to have us locked up, at least until the press conference.’ Nick returned to his seat.
‘Shit, I hope not. That’d stuff up everything.’
A slender middle-aged woman entered the room quietly and asked them politely if they would like some coffee.
‘Where’s the Prime Minister gone?’ Nick asked.
She ignored the question and left to get their drinks. Nick felt his clothes sticking to him and he squirmed in his seat, loosening the tie Graham insisted he wore to the meeting. He sat back and folded his arms. ‘Well, if he doesn’t come back soon we’re leaving!’ He said petulantly.
The woman returned and placed a tray containing coffee, sugar, milk and some kind of cookies before them and announced the Prime Minister would be returning momentarily, a phrase they were sure she uttered on many occasions. Moments later they heard voices and the minister returned with two other men whom he introduced as the Minister for Defence, and his personal Press Secretary.
Nick paled. ‘Press Secretary?’
‘It’s okay.’ The minister said holding up his hand, sensing Nick’s concern. ‘He’s not the press. He needs to know what’s going on so he can judge just how much we feed the press and when, he’s here to observe.
I hope you don’t mind waiting a bit longer. I’ve called two other members of my cabinet over. James Hansen, the minister for Foreign Affairs and the minister for Emergency Services, Dave Parker. We have a lot to discuss but we should wait until they get here. They won’t be long.’
He ordered more coffee, which arrived just as the two ministers bustled into the room and introduced themselves. Nick prepared for a repeat of the scene in the US President’s office, predicting the same reactions, with probably the same results.
He explained what he knew of the United States operation Star Flight, grateful this time that Graham was there for support, when he helped make Nick’s task a little easier by outlining the plan he’d put into action in Hawaii. The press secretary made no comment and Nick realised he would have made it his business to have all the facts before this meeting.
The minister for defence examined his fingernails as he spoke calmly. ‘I’ve spoken in length with General Cooper in the US, he mentioned your name Nick, said he was impressed with your knowledge. Star Flight’s a good plan. We’re doing the same here. All military personnel are on alert.’
Nick wriggled in his chair. ‘You mean you have a Mt Rockwell here too?’
‘Hardly. Canberra’s on high ground a long way from the sea, but all our capital cities are on sea level. We’ll need to set up survival centres around them all.’
‘How d’you go about such a massive task?’ Graham asked.
‘We’ve had a plan in place for this type of disaster scenario for years. Our combined forces are ready and we’re pulling in our army reserves.’
‘What about equipment? We don’t have the resources the yanks have.’ The foreign Minister said.
‘No, but we’re a pretty resourceful lot. We’ll just have to do our best.’ Dave Parker replied.
The Prime Minister smiled. ‘Good man Parker, that’s just why cabinet made you Minister for Emergency Services. You’re the man for this tremendous challenge.’ He said.
Parker blushed, and before he could thank the Prime Minister, the Foreign Minister interjected excitedly. ‘How did the Americans react to this? Do they know you’ve left them to it?’
‘They asked me to stay, but I took off.’ Nick said. ‘They tried to stop me leaving Washington, they’re paranoid about anyone outside their inner circle finding out before it’s announced. I made the mistake of telling my fiance, who’s a senator, and they arrested her in case she told anyone. I doubt whether I would’ve got out of there without Graham’s help. I’m willing to bet they still don’t even know I’ve left the country.’
‘I can understand that. Well-meaning people often don’t think of the consequences of their erratic actions.’ The Foreign Minister said. ‘I know the international community has accepted this without hesitation and so have we, but I’m still a little sceptical?’
Nick’s face turned dark. ‘If you think I’m stupid enough to risk everything I’ve worked for with a story like this, you’re bloody mad!’
The Prime Minister raised his hand. ‘Gentlemen! Let’s not argue about this.’ He said. He narrowed his eyes. ‘We’re all on edge. Hell, I’m finding it hard to get my head around this too. There’s so much to process, so much to do.
The joint forces are in emergency meeting as we speak putting evacuation plans into place. It’s going to be a massive job. Dave, how’s your team going?’
David Parker, who until now had remained mostly supportive during the discussion slouched, crumpled in his chair, his big body complaining of it’s fifty-five years, and he squirmed to find a better way to place his long awkward legs. Sharp blue eyes winked in his lightly tanned face, their corners crimped by many smile lines, and his thick yellow hair wrapped his head in a wheat-like haze. Two years ago he had resigned as Chief of Police after rising up through the ranks from a young ambitious constable, to enter politics. He had enjoyed his career, making many friends along the way, and most thought him to be the best chief the force had had for many years and agreed he would make a formidable Minister for Emergency Services.
‘We’re ready for most emergencies but we hadn’t expected one of this scale.’ He drummed his fingers on the tables edge as he spoke. ‘We’ve had to deal
with cyclones and bush fires in the northern states and plenty of flooding inland, but we’ve never had a tsunami here. We don’t really know what to expect.’
The Prime Minister turned to Nick. ‘How will our large cities, like Sydney for instance be affected?’
‘Each city will be affected differently, depending on their exposure. I’m afraid Sydney will be in for major damage, despite their dykes that circle the harbour.’
‘Won’t the high cliffs of the Gap at the entrance to the harbour protect the city? They must be over ninety metres high.’
‘No. That’ll make it worse. You see there’s such a thing known as tidal suck-out. When the wave approaches the Continental Shelf and starts to rise, it will suck all the water from the shore, draining the harbours and bays and increasing it’s height even further.
As it forces its way through the narrow harbour entrance at the Gap it will form into a bloody huge raging tower the entire width of the entrance, God knows how high. Any ships lying in the harbour will bottom-out and be crushed, and no amount of dykes will stop it. You see it won’t just wash in like a normal wave, it will dump from above crashing down onto everything, and as I said before there’ll be more than one wave.’
An uncomfortable silence filled the room. The Prime Minister had taken up Parker’s habit of drumming on the table edge. ‘Your knowledge of the sea and its idiosyncrasies is priceless Nick, are you willing to advise Dave?’ He asked.
‘I’ve spent plenty of time in Queensland, partly in Brisbane and partly on the Gold Coast where I have my land base. My brother and his wife live in the hinterland there, that’s why I came back, I intend to go home to help them. Helping Dave won’t interfere with that will it?’
‘No. We only need your advice now and then, you’ll be free to do whatever you want, but you must liaise with Dave. He’ll keep you in the loop, and he’ll be more effective, knowing what to expect. I know after your experience in America you’ll be careful. I don’t think you should discuss this with anyone whom Dave hasn’t cleared, even your brother and his wife. Is that understood?’
2042: The Great Cataclysm Page 13