The Price of Life

by Nigel Brennan

  In the early hours I hear the neg change over but feign sleep. Later on I get up and discover it’s Ben (a different one) who’s been rostered on. I’m fine about taking a call with Ben. He’s a giant – you could use his thongs for skis – and sweet, very quiet and a bit of an intellectual. I wouldn’t blame him if he felt the same way about me as I feel about Pamela. The poor bugger spent the end of December in Bundaberg Hospital with appendicitis, so his Christmas must have been as crap as ours. But I guess he’s put his hand up for this gig.

  The call doesn’t come in on Sunday night either. By 8 a.m. Monday when the other Ben from the AFP arrives, I can hardly function I am so tired. My brain is cotton wool, my mouth birdcage dry. What joy, all the symptoms of a hangover without any of the benefits of alcohol. Ben sits next to me on the couch and cups his hand over my knee in a conciliatory gesture. ‘It’s all fucked.’

  Huh? I swing my head towards him. Everything is in slow motion, something is very wrong. Ben doesn’t swear; I’m the one who can make sailors (and I suspect the odd cop) blush with my language. Ben never curses, not in front of me anyway.

  He bounces off the couch again. ‘The strategy has fallen over.’

  ‘What?’ I ask, trying to push through the fog in my head. I’m not sounding like much of an intellectual giant here.

  ‘C’mon, let’s go and have a coffee and talk this through.’

  I’m pretty keen to get some answers now but we do a quick bolt across the cold Canberra wind-tunnel street and settle down in a coffee shop.

  ‘Okay, Ben. What’s the story?’

  The kidnappers didn’t give TPI 14’s source a proof of life. He was the intermediary who thought he could get to someone in the group. The fact that he didn’t get a POL indicates to the Feds that he can’t get access to the kidnappers, so he loses his credibility. Obviously, the same rules don’t apply to the Feds, I think, they have been unable to get a POL for quite some time now, but I bite my tongue.

  The strategy was a one-off; if it didn’t work, it wasn’t going to be repeated. Ben gives me the reason he thinks it failed. We, the Australian family, have made too much ‘noise’: the kidnappers aren’t prepared to negotiate for a smaller amount of money, as they think there are others out there willing to pay more for Nigel and Amanda. This doesn’t sound believable to me but it’s still a blow.

  Later on Ben and James will elaborate. TPI 14’s source required a POL to be seen as credible. The POL didn’t come through and he lost face (such a bizarre concept to me as someone who’s grown up in Australia). It seems that the loss of face was so great that he couldn’t go back in to make contact with the HTs.

  I head back to Newcastle the same way I came. This time I’m too weary to fume. I am so, so tired. I nap in the airports and on the planes. I don’t move from the boarding gates for fear of falling asleep and missing my flight.

  Matt picks me up from Newcastle airport.

  ‘Okay, Nic, so Australian Story are going to be there when we arrive – we have to call them before we get to the house so they can film you arriving back from Canberra.’

  Great, this is the last thing I need. I’m tired – no, exhausted – and on an emotional tightrope as it is. I’m apprehensive about the whole Australian Story thing. Ham and Mum are pushing hard for it; Ham thinks it’s the best way to make a public plea. I’ve got the Feds, and DFAT’s warning about media coverage ringing in my ears, but they have not offered a reasonable alternative. All of us are Australian Story watchers; we like their approach. I’m rooted to the spot with indecision. I have to face my family some time so it might as well be with the cameras rolling – it’ll stop me from losing it.

  Ham gives me a big hug as I walk into the kitchen, ‘G’day, Alley cat.’ So like him to get that on national telly. I want to cry: Kel has cooked for us and the TV crew. They are really concerned about how we are coping. It’s pretty easy to see I’m a mess and that something has gone terribly wrong, but it is no biggie having them here. We grew up with large numbers of people around the dining table, especially at harvest time. If we weren’t so bloody Irish, we would make great Italians; we’re all about big canny families and comfort food.

  I just can’t do an interview today, though; it’s all too close to the bone. I’ll just unravel, and if I fall apart in front of everyone, I’m not sure I will be able to get myself together again.

  My brother really, really may never come home. Is this the future for our family gatherings? Nige never physically here but his presence always felt? I scuttle around the house, hoping desperately I won’t be the first one singled out. We do a couple of group shots, watching footage of Nige, and of Stephen Smith being interviewed about the case.

  Ham is up first. He settles into a chair. Kel and I sneak down the hallway to watch. Kris is sitting opposite him. There’s a big furry mike that looks like a dead brushtail possum being held over his head, out of the line of the camera.

  ‘So, tell me about your brother Nigel,’ says Kris. With that, Ham opens his mouth and dissolves into tears. It’s as shocking as seeing Bruce Willis cry. He gets shot up, falls out of buildings and loses the girl, but he doesn’t cry. Thank god, I’m not doing my interview till next week.

  Nigel

  The Beach House

  Sunday, 31 May

  With the move south it seems we have lost our cook. It is Jamal who’s stepped up to prepare food for everyone. Portions have become smaller, fruit has disappeared from the menu and the monotony of the meals destroys my appetite. It’s always a small bowl of dull dishwater-like broth and three small cubes of camel or goat meat with bread or rice.

  But on the last day of May the smell of cooked meat wafts through the house; the boys seem to be cooking up a feast. I sit there salivating, knowing it’s unlikely I will get a taste of what’s on their menu. Shortly after midday Jamal whips into my room to grab my plate. I’m sure it’s for them to use but I’m astounded when Young Yahya comes back not long after and slides the plate across the floor.

  There in front of me is a plate of grilled goat meat, the fat glistening and the smell overpowering. I vacuum up every skerrick and its mouth-wateringly tasty. Sitting back and sucking every last morsel from the bones and my fingers, I feel uncomfortable for having eaten so quickly, but satisfied for the first time in months.

  JUNE 2009

  Limbo

  Kellie

  Newcastle

  Early June

  The Australian Story journalists are like flies on shit. Kristine is calling me every week with updates about what they are doing and who they are interviewing. I have done my interview. I looked terrible – it was filmed straight after the film festival and I hadn’t slept properly for four days. Kristine kept asking if my mascara had run because of the dark shadows under my eyes.

  I discover why gorgeous Anthony is here. You’re forced to look at the camera because he is standing right behind it. Kristine and I build a good rapport. I really like her and I suspect she thinks our family is a bit of fun, despite the venom we sometimes spit out about dealing with bureaucracy.

  I am gobsmacked at how disparaging the government is about the media. To date we really haven’t had anything but positive experiences with them. Take Glenda Kwek, for example. She spoke freely to Heather and me about Nigel on the day he was taken; she had a huge story about how she, not DFAT, informed the family, yet she chose not to run it. Glenda and I speak on occasion; she calls to see if there are any developments and I am comfortable that if I ask her not to print something, she won’t.

  Kristine is cut from the same cloth. She’s researching who insures the ABC journos in the event of a kidnapping, as she thinks it could help us.

  We are currently at a standstill with the government. The AFP and DFAT have spoken sternly to Nic and Ham about how dangerous it would be to task Mick F. And according to the security guy who helped rescue Colin Freeman, the Sunday Telegraph journalist, Mogadishu is too dangerous to even enter.

  So wh
ere do we stand? I know where we are: we are in limbo. We are in such uncharted territory that none of us knows what to do next.

  Nigel

  The Beach House

  Saturday, 6 June

  Romeo spends hours in Amanda’s room. I can make out the sound of an Arabic voice playing on a mobile phone, stopping and starting, and then Romeo verbally annotating. I’m slightly jealous that the more senior guards spend more time explaining things to Amanda.

  It isn’t long though till I find out exactly what the topic of conversation is. Romeo walks in with his exercise book and explains that he’s written down a message that Osama bin Laden has sent to the Somali Mujaheddin, the Islamic guerrillas. Bin Laden says it is a Muslim’s duty to perform Jihad and that we must rid the world of infidels. Romeo then asks, ‘Forebeer, will you fight Jihad?’

  I mutter something vague, hoping to appease him. To kill someone because they do not share your beliefs sounds more like some twisted cult than a religion to me. Reading the words on the page just makes me realise how indoctrinated these guys are.

  When Romeo finally goes, he leaves the exercise book, telling me to read Osama’s message many times. Instead I take the chance to steal a few sheets of paper.

  Thursday, 18 June

  Romeo bursts into the room, mobile phone in hand, screaming ‘Allah akbar’ (Allah is the greater) and pumping his fist in the air. Before I get the chance to ask what’s going on, the other boys swamp the room, all of them chanting, ‘Allah akbar’, while hugging and high-fiving each other.

  Finally I get Ahmed’s attention to ask him, ‘Is it finished? Have they paid the money?’ He shakes his head.

  ‘The security minister in the government has just been assassinated, along with several of his guards, who were Ethiopian.’ I have never witnessed such celebration here – and it’s at the death of other human beings. It is the ugliest thing I have seen yet.

  As they file out, I ask Ahmed, ‘Is this not against Islam to kill another Muslim? ‘A smile spreads across his face.

  ‘This man kills many Somalis; he uses Christians to protect him and doesn’t follow the true religion of Islam, like many in the government, including Sheikh Sharif.’

  ‘But Sharif is part of the Mujaheddin, no?’ I retort.

  ‘He used to be but now he and his government work with America, so we wait and soon we will kill him too,’ he replies, running his finger across his throat.

  As time has gone on, especially since we moved to Kismayo, I have been able to watch the instruction of the younger boys. Now every morning for what seems like an hour and a half they listen to propaganda inciting violence and hatred. The boys are isolated from their families for months at a time, and any sign of individuality is stamped out. Poverty and a lack of education are the tools used to manipulate their minds. They are in prison just like us, only their prison has more people.

  Nicky

  Bundaberg

  June

  We are in limbo, seeking out the floating log that is bobbing in the ever-rising flood waters. But what is the future of the unwilling travellers on their precarious raft? Our government has no life rafts for us so we widen the search for other forms of help.

  Simon has resumed communication with David, the K&R guy for the Sunday Telegraph. Dad is trying to get assistance from the Jordanians. We had been given the name of a private company in the UK by a friend of Nigel’s, which appears to be very corporate-orientated and dauntingly expensive (they were estimating a starting price of $1.5 million! We might as well have gone with the kidnappers’ first offer) and Ham is still pushing for Mick.

  Time is passing, the government is doing nothing: we can’t negotiate separately from Jon and Lorinda, and they don’t want to move away from their government. It’s as if Nige is being left to rot. I wake every morning and fall asleep every night keenly aware of the procrastination and the numbing effect it has on everything else in my life.

  Friday, 19 June

  Ham and Mick F instigate a meeting in Brisbane with DFAT and the AFP. Mick is attending to try to get the Australian government to assist us and him in getting Nigel and Amanda out. Lorinda and Jon are on the line to hear the entire thing.

  It’s a meeting the government doesn’t want to have. They’ve already made up their minds about outside assistance and I’m sure they’re lamenting the fact they can’t seem to get this through our thick skulls.

  Hamilton and Ben face off, two pitbulls straining at their leashes to tear each other to pieces. Ben’s face shows poorly concealed distaste for Hamilton. Hamilton doesn’t even attempt to hide his contempt. The government has made its stance clear and no amount of coercion, bullying or questioning will alter it; and they don’t have to justify their actions. After all, they are the ones running the show.

  Unless, of course, we want to bust out on our own. In which case Ben and James state, they can continue monitoring proceedings and offering consular support. Which is, as far as Ham is concerned, a great big spoonful of fuck-all.

  What the government can’t do is negotiate with – or support anyone who is negotiating with – a sum greater than $250 000. This is really interesting news to me. For the first time we have a straight-out acknowledgment of this restriction.

  Regardless of DFAT and the AFP’s response to Mick, we know the Canadian family will not go for him, and this is a signal we should look for more palatable options. We need to persuade them that it’s up to us to get Nigel and Amanda home.

  As we can see the door to Mick being closed, Simon calls David. The aim is to get a little advice from him and suss out if he would work for us. Si and I have always been keen on employing this guy. He has runs on the board.

  Si asks David what he thinks about fundraising, as we would have to find extra money to employ him on top of the ransom, whatever that ends up costing. Si tells him that, throughout this entire saga, the Australian government has maintained that going public with our cause would raise the kidnappers’ expectations of us paying the ransom.

  David’s response to Si differs considerably from the government’s stance. He thinks fundraising activities are appropriate and in no way raise expectations, as they are for the most part invisible to the kidnappers. And, as for expectations being raised, the mere fact that the Australian and Canadian governments are involved has done that already. His belief is if it had only been the families in contact with the kidnappers, expectations would have been low from the outset.

  David indicates the situation in Mogadishu currently is such that, even with both families in agreement, he wouldn’t take us on. His visit earlier this month to Mogadishu showed him the situation on the ground is the worst it’s been in the past four years. He would very much like to assist under the right circumstances, but those do not currently exist, either in-country or among the parties involved.

  At least he’s able to give us an estimate of costs. David’s opin-ion is that the ransom for Amanda and Nigel will settle between US$500 and US$700K, perhaps a bit less. The average ransom runs between US$250K and US$400K per person, with the upper range being the expectation when governments are involved. This explains the HTs’ outright rejection of US$250K. If nothing else, we finally have a figure to work towards.

  David’s suggestion is that we continue to raise funds and attempt to ‘educate’ Amanda’s family on the realities of Somalia.

  Not getting him on board is a blow. And the body hits keep on coming.

  Mid-June

  We finally have something in writing from Minister Smith and it’s an absolute pearler. He states that ‘the strategies implemented by negotiators in Nairobi have primarily been based on wearing down the kidnappers. It is of course clear that our efforts have not been successful to date.’

  If it had been explicitly stated to us that this was their main strategy, we would have pulled the plug on DFAT months ago. The emotions of family members range from despair to fury. It’s soul-destroying for Dad; he has always been political by nat
ure and believed in the process. He’s been completely let down by the government and its inability to help Nigel. It’s the hardest thing to watch, seeing a person lose their faith.

  The letter is initially cloying and conciliatory – our family has been courageous and determined in dealing with this extremely difficult and stressful situation. No shit, Sherlock.

  Minister Smith realises that the decision to look for help outside the government to offer a ransom payment is one the family has made after much deliberation – at the risk of repeating myself, Watson – but he has grave concerns about our particular choice.

  The AFP and DFAT made it clear they don’t think Mick has the depth of knowledge or expertise needed in a hostage situation. But ultimately, James admitted they will not consider the use of Contractors full stop, ‘as they may be considered mercenaries’. Carrying a weapon even for protective purposes may be categorised as mercenary behaviour. It appears the government is concerned about charges arising from retrospective cases, not even ones related to us or our country. We are playing by the rules when Somalia burnt the rule book on a pyre sixteen-odd years ago.

  After reading Stephen Smith’s letter, Ham moves into full-on research mode, trying to find other options. He gets in touch with Reporters Without Borders (RWB). This lot have reasonable contact with NUSOJ, the National Union of Somali Journalists.

  RWB then puts Ham in touch with someone who used to live in Mogadishu and lectured at one of the universities there. He now lives in Nairobi and has had some involvement in piracy cases in Somalia. Hamilton gets in touch with the Professor and explains what has happened to date. Ham’s view of events at this stage is very dark and he finds an ally in this man.

  The Professor is able to get an ‘in’ with the kidnappers; one of his past students has found a spokesperson, and it turns out to be Adan.