by Jock Serong
‘Border protection isn’t a human rights issue, it’s a national security issue.’
‘Of course it is.’ His tone was pitying. ‘Very dangerous, these people. But the two issues bleed into each other anyway, don’t they? Immigration control’s supposed to be a sovereign function of the state. It’s not something you can sell like a fleet of trains.’
‘We had to create a harsh regime so that criminal gangs would stop sending people out to die at sea.’
‘So the sabotage fits in…where?’
Cassius ignored him. ‘The laws are meant to be disincentives. I’m locking you up so that someone else doesn’t send another boat. The actual use of the law is secondary. It’s about achieving another purpose.’
‘Will I find that in the Constitution? The Commonwealth may enact laws punishing one person for another person’s possible future misdeed?’
‘Don’t be stupid. Deterrence has been at the heart of our policies since Keating—detention centres are about deterrence. So are turn-backs, TPVs. And so’s this policy.’
Carmichael shrugged. ‘That’s nice. But let’s not pretend it’s not also about profit. What transparency do you have from these Resolve people?’
‘They’re subject to KPIs, they report to us monthly. They have to tick off against the various UNHCR stuff.’
‘So you know what they tell you. What do you know about what they don’t tell you?’
‘Spicer Ridgway audit them annually.’
‘The management consultants?’ Carmichael laughed. ‘You seriously think they’d risk their fees to tell you some bad news? But let’s go back to Core Resolve for a second. They’re built from the ground up to resist disclosure. They hire kids, Minister. A year or two out of uni—they’re given an operations manual and off they go. I’m sorry to get all bleedy on you, but you’re reducing human lives to semi-skilled button-pushing.’
‘You’re assuming that the people pushing the buttons have some kind of animus against asylum seekers.’
‘No, no. They’re not partisans like you and me. But here’s what you’re missing: in these situations indifference is more dangerous than malice. It’s the same sort of dead-eyed arrogance you get in the finance game; the kid in the suit with the hair who says, “I am the fucking High Court.”’
‘Bah. There’s people like that in government. There’s another whole limb to this argument anyway, and that’s resources. The reason we have a navy is to protect us from sovereign risk. We can’t have them endlessly tied up deflecting boat people.’
‘Well, in saying that, you’re basically admitting these people pose no risk. Which makes me wonder why we’re so interested in repelling them in the first place.’
‘One of them stabbed one of ours. Speaks for itself, doesn’t it?’
‘That’s a basis for action against that person. It’s not a basis for a policy on national borders.’
‘To take your line, we’re repelling them because they didn’t come here through the normal channels and the electorate quite reasonably resents that.’
‘So there it is—that’s the bottom line isn’t it? It’s electoral in the end. You’re pandering to a fear that you’re also stoking. Kero in one hand, extinguisher in the other. But see, the other thing, the other thing is…you lot think it’s about making sure the public can’t peer in. But we’re getting to the point where you’ll find you can’t peer in either. What will you do then, Cassius? How much do you actually know about these people anyway?’
‘Core Resolve? They won the competitive tender and it was assessed by…’
‘Spicer Ridgway. Duh.’
‘Yeah. They’re a multinational, listed here and in New York, market cap around four hundred million, employ something like seven hundred thousand people. Signatory to the UN Global Compact on Social Responsibility. I know that one because I insisted on it. So I’d say I know them pretty well.’
‘If you read that inquiry report I sent you, you’ll also know they had those people in the van in restraint positions. They died of asphyxiation. Slowly.’
‘That was in another jurisdiction. Completely separate management.’
‘It’s what they’re capable of. Same culture, Minister. They’re happy to see a couple of thugs go down for heavy-handed restraint if it means no one looks any further up the chain. Those bodies in the van, that’s where your department’s heading.’
‘Don’t be so melodramatic…’
‘Melodramatic? Can you look me in the eye and tell me you know how Core Resolve’s going to handle the next boatload that wanders into our waters? Of course you can’t, and you’re not supposed to. And now you’ve got yourself in a situation where the flow of donations from these cretins to your party would dry up overnight if you tried to get rid of ’em.’
‘You’re overreaching…’
‘Look out wider, Minister. Forget about the boat people for a moment. This dependence on the private sector, it’s creating cracks for things to fall into. The mark of a totalitarian state isn’t all the picaresque violence and the rallies: it’s the fact that things start to vanish.’
‘That’s all undergraduate posturing.’
‘Is it?’ His eyes climbed all over Cassius’s face. ‘You’ve got a problem out there at sea.’ He looked up from slightly below Cassius’s nose and locked onto his pupils. ‘You’re hours out from a federal election. Core Resolve’s going to fix it, but the idea kind of disconcerts you, doesn’t it, Minister? You’ve called in the cleaners, like Winston Wolf in a tux. Problem goes away, but in the process you’ve lost control.’
Cassius was silent, watching. Carmichael toyed with a fork, tapping its tines so they rang.
‘Once you know this, you can’t un-know it, you understand? Okay. First up: the photo you’ve got, the land shot?’
Cassius nodded minutely.
‘There’s two boats. I don’t know why you can’t see the other one in that pic, but there’s two. There’s Australian surfers out there at that island and they’ve blundered into these asylum seekers somehow. The photographer, they call him Fraggle, he posted a message with it explaining where they were and what the situation was. The caption got separated from the image, I don’t know how. Don’t know if it was malicious or what it was.’
Cassius desperately didn’t want to betray any reaction but his head was spinning, the pain lasering in over his brow.
‘Now there’s something else. We think we know that boat. It’s called the Takalar, and it came from Sulawesi. You know that sabotage program? Well this is one of them. They did the engine, or the steering or something. Sabotage might be cheaper than interdiction, but it depends on the damage taking effect early in the voyage. If the boat gets to open sea and it hasn’t fallen apart yet, then it’s a serious fuck-up.’
Cassius realised that much of this was merely Carmichael admiring the sound of his own bullshit. He needed to press him harder. ‘Do you have proof of any of this?’
‘The rumour’s been around for years. I don’t need proof. You do.’
‘Even if you’re right, what’s the relevance of the photo?’
‘Well, I agree, I’m joining dots. But let’s stand back and admire the worst-case scenario. The boat’s been tinkered with. It falls apart mid-ocean under a bit of pressure, gets to the island, then sinks. There’s casualties: men, women and children. These Australians have found them, and for whatever reason they haven’t been able to communicate that to anybody. Now is that because they can’t, or because it’s been suppressed at this end?’
‘That’s fanciful. That’s…that’s a conspiracy theory.’
Carmichael pushed his mouth upwards in an exaggerated arc of ambivalence. ‘It might be unlikely. But the steps are all perfectly plausible, you know it yourself.’ His eyes darted left as the restaurant door swung open.
Cassius looked the same way. A young man walked in, searching the room for a familiar face. When he saw Carmichael, he nodded and began to head for their table. Ca
rmichael leaned in and whispered.
‘Just quickly Cassius, this chap doesn’t know any of the stuff we’ve been discussing. Best keep it that way.’ He winked.
Joel Hughes took the seat next to Carmichael: opposite Cassius. He was young but weathered, stubbled and long haired. Pale eyes, green against the brown of his cheekbones. Big hands, chipped like a tradesman. His face appeared naturally inclined to friendliness, but he was clearly stressed. He muttered his greetings nervously as Cassius, normally so good with names, struggled with a maddening sense that he’d seen this particular name somewhere.
‘Have we met?’ he asked helplessly.
‘No.’ Cynicism in the younger man’s eyes. ‘I think I’d remember.’
Carmichael intervened. ‘Joel runs a business in Indonesia, Minister. A boat charter business for Australian surfers. And he uses a particular kind of boat, a timber fishing boat called a phinisi.’
‘Why don’t you let him speak?’
‘Oh, I can speak, mate, don’t worry about that.’ Joel’s voice was bitter and forceful. ‘My boat was headed to Pulau Raijua, between Sumba and Rote. Know where that is?’
Panic suddenly gripped Cassius. He was starting to understand. ‘Yes. Yes of course I do. Look if this conversation is going to relate to my portfolio, then I think…’
Carmichael cut him off. ‘Zip it, Minister. You need to hear this.’
‘My girlfriend Isi Natoli took a group out eight days ago from Benoa Harbour on Bali. I haven’t heard from her since.’ His eyes, which had roved over the surface of the table as he spoke, settled now on Cassius. ‘The photo, the aerial shot the prime minister had. That’s my boat.’
‘How can you tell? There must be thousands of timber boats out there.’
‘Three reasons. Don’t suppose you noticed the red Zodiac on the beach? That’s mine.’
He held up his phone, the screen facing Cassius. It showed a Zodiac on a crane at the back of a timber deck.
‘I’m sorry, that doesn’t prove anything.’
Joel bristled. ‘What, you fucking doubting me?’
Carmichael laid a hand over one of Joel’s clenched fists on the table. ‘Easy mate.’ Joel pressed on. ‘Second reason: four tents. Square ones with beach pegs. I shipped them from a guy who makes them custom in Marrickville. You want his number?’
Cassius didn’t reply. His mind was racing for an exit but he couldn’t concentrate.
‘Third.’ He retracted the phone, swiped across a few photos and held it up again. ‘There’s the shot the prime minister had. I took a screen grab off the net. See the green on the boat? You don’t know what that is, do you.’
‘Paint?’ Cassius snorted. ‘I assume it’s painted green.’
‘No, it’s not painted green. Isi planted herbs and salad greens in big pots all over the cabin walls. That’s what you’re seeing. I’m telling you, it’s my boat.’
Carmichael ran a finger around the rim of his glass. ‘Take one of those things, Minister, even two—coincidence. But all three?’
Joel Hughes. Joel Hughes. Where had he seen that name? ‘Let’s say you’re right: which way would the boat ordinarily be going?’
Joel started drawing a map on the table, his fingertip dragging a streak of condensation from one of the glasses. ‘They would’ve gone over from Bali, east to Raijua, then depending on the weather, around to Timor, maybe back west to Sumba on the way home. Here’s a copy of the passenger manifest: six Australian guests, Isi and two Indo crew. If you check the passports you’ll find the Australians are all listed as being in Indo right now.’
Joel pushed a piece of paper across the table to Cassius. He looked at the home-made letterhead—East Indo Surf Charters: Perfection Starts Here—and below it the list of names. Cassius had no doubt this was all genuine: there were Australians on board this boat. But now he understood Carmichael’s warning: this bloke had no idea there were two boats.
‘You know where Dana is?’ he asked.
‘Better than you do. And I can tell you for certain that’s Dana in both photographs.’
‘Would they be going north of there for any reason?’
‘Into the Savu Sea? No. There’s nothing of interest up there for surfers.’
Cassius formed, but chose not to deliver, the obvious next question: And what about going north at high speed? Instead he took a safer path.
‘So what do you want me to do?’
‘I want them rescued.’
‘Whoa. Whoa. How do you know they’re in trouble? How do you expect the government to do anything when they’re in Indonesian waters? Why are we even…Warren, why are we having this conversation?’
Carmichael lifted a placating hand.
‘Joel’s been to the federal police. He’s been to Coastwatch: he’s even tried ringing Basarnas, the Indonesian search and rescue people. No one’s touching it. It’s as though they’re all in lockstep.’ He smiled mischievously. ‘You might have some idea why.’
Cassius poked a dismissive finger in Joel’s direction. ‘He hasn’t turned up in the media.’
Another derisive laugh from Joel, and Carmichael put a hand on his shoulder, silencing him. ‘He tried, Minister. You put a gag order on him.’
Joel Hughes. That list. ‘Get him out of here.’
‘What?’
‘I can’t talk to someone I’ve taken an order against. It’s a clear contravention of the Act. Get him out.’
Christ, the pain. The stress or something had brought it on. Carmichael started laughing. ‘Oh Cassius, what were you saying about melodrama?’ He tossed a napkin across the table. ‘Your nose.’
Cassius stood up, held the white linen to his nose and saw a bright flower of blood.
‘He goes or I do.’ People were lowering their cutlery. Someone held up a phone. This meeting was being broadcast to the world. Joel stood, leaned forward with a sneer on his face. Now Carmichael was on his feet, a hand on each of their chests.
‘You know where that boat is, don’t you?’ Joel’s voice was loud enough to be overheard, tense with hate. He shot out a fist and grabbed the front of Cassius’s shirt, bunching it up under his chin. Cassius was paralysed with horror. The whole room was transfixed. He took hold of Joel’s T-shirt, twisted it into a ball and shook him hard. The table rocked. A glass fell to the floor and smashed.
‘You do. You fucking know it!’ Joel was almost shouting. He pointed a finger of his free hand at Cassius as he shrugged himself loose and edged away from the table. ‘Fuck your gag order. I’ll go to jail if I have to.’ He swept his chair away with enough force that it rocked on its legs and toppled. Before the chair had settled, Joel was across the room, diners rearing back out of his path. He slammed the door so hard the windows rattled.
Cassius frantically assessed his position: he couldn’t follow Joel out into the street, there’d be paps racing in already. As long as he stayed in here the management would protect him. He sat down, slumped with his head in his hands. His arms were shaking uncontrollably.
Carmichael watched him as he dabbed again at his nose. The blood was slowing.
‘What?’
‘Does it feel a little sharper now you know it’s Australian lives you’re fucking with?’
Greasy sweat on his back, sticking to the shirt. ‘This is all just speculation.’
Carmichael’s voice fell soft and intimate, insinuating itself like a virus in his gut. ‘It’s fact. You, my friend, could well be leaving seven Australians to die at sea so you can win an election. Is there any other way to look at this?’
Cassius thought about drinking the water in front of him. It slopped all over the place as he raised the glass.
‘You’ll slink away, take your re-election and get over it. A few dead brown people, that’s just the price of doing business. It’s the Bangladeshi ferry principle. But Australians, Cassius! Young, happy ones…if they’re in danger—oh my.’
There was a metallic taste in Cassius’s mouth; and nausea, the
ringing sound. Carmichael wasn’t done with him.
‘One day there’ll be a Royal Commission and they’ll haul you and your PM in, old pissbags in wheelchairs. I don’t recall, I don’t recall…No accountability, is there?’ He pantomimed dismay. ‘But on the other hand, no solace.’
Cassius finally felt a glimmer of defiance. ‘If you actually cared about the brown people you’d be screaming this stuff in the streets.’
‘You’re right. Yes you are. Fact is, I need to drip-feed it into the media so the rage boils at the right level. Too much and it spills over and then it’s done and people move on. Also,’ he smirked, ‘what would our institute do all day if we lifted all the lids at once?’
What stayed with Cassius, what haunted him through the long night that followed, was the sound of Carmichael’s easy laughter, fading and rebuilding. Endlessly entertained by the absurdity of it all.
FRIDAY EVENING
North of Pulau Dana
Isi opened the bunkroom and released everyone, then went straight to the wheelhouse to assess the damage.
At first she couldn’t believe the violence of Ali Hassan’s assault on the bridge: cracked panels and shattered screens, curls of electrical loom and sharp fragments from other breakages littered around her bare feet. She tried to concentrate on what she did have: he’d left the GPS, the sounder and the auto-pilot, presumably hoping they’d guide him to somewhere quiet. She lit up the screens and tried to think.
He still had them bearing north, and from what she could work out they were roughly level with the eastern tip of Sumba. There was no help of the kind they needed anywhere in the great basin of the Savu Sea. So she started the port engine again and gingerly brought the Java Ridge around to face south, then set the revs at walking pace and left the auto-pilot to guide them. Radja sat in the captain’s chair beside her, watching the sea. She had no way of knowing how the loss of Sanusi affected him. Had they been life-long friends? Were they nothing more than a couple of strangers hired by the same employer? Joel had never said. Radja smiled each time she looked at him: deflection, she thought. She left him to his vigil.