Floodtide

by Judy Nunn

  'Come on,' he said, 'let's go and grab your gear, then we'll figure out a plan. Nobody's going to jail if I can help it.'

  Ian felt a whole lot better as they drove into the city. Spud'd get them out of this mess, he thought. Spud always did.

  But later that afternoon, as they sat in Spud's study with the pot of coffee Cora had made them, Ian was astounded by Spud's apparent reluctance to take the course of action which he himself considered their only escape route.

  'I was rather hoping to leave Mike out of things altogether,' Spud said.

  'You what?'

  'Well, he hasn't been a part of it, has he?'

  'Of course he has. Maybe not by act, but by omission he's as guilty as we are.'

  'Yeah, yeah, rightio.'

  'And he owes us more than a few favours – he must know that.'

  'I'm sure he does. Of course he does. But I was hoping the Institute wouldn't come under investigation. It might not, you know,' he added hopefully, 'it's a very creditable organisation.'

  'Are you insane, Spud?' Ian looked at him as if he were. 'Are you completely out of your mind? The Institute's our biggest danger. We cooked the fucking books! If it doesn't come under investigation, then fine, but what if it does? We can try to talk our way around the million dollars we donated to the Labor Party – hell, we weren't alone there. We can even try to talk our way around some of the kick-backs we scored in exchange, although it's bound to lead to conspiracy claims. But if the Institute comes under the microscope – and why the hell wouldn't it, given the amount of funding that's been shovelled its way – then we're really in the shit.'

  'Yeah, yeah,' Spud said, 'take it easy.' Pembo was getting the jitters again, but he was nonetheless correct. 'You're right, I know.'

  Spud was thankful that Pembo had regained his senses, but at the same time regretful Mike was being drawn into the whole thing. Sorry, Mikey, he thought, I tried to save you, mate.

  'You're dead bloody right, Pembo,' he said. 'We need Mike on side.'

  'He's our only chance, for Christ's sake.'

  'I know, I know. We'll go down and see him first thing tomorrow.'

  'Spud . . . Pembo . . .' Mike greeted them warmly when they arrived at the Institute shortly after nine the following morning. They'd reported straight to his office and he was pleased to see them, albeit a little puzzled. Board meetings were held at two in the afternoon, and there wasn't one planned for another three weeks anyway.

  'What a pleasant surprise,' he said. 'Do you want a coffee?'

  'Yeah, coffee'd be good, thanks.' Spud glanced at Mike's secretary who was sitting in the glass-windowed reception area, its open door too close for comfort. 'Can we have it on the balcony? I want a cigar.'

  'You want a cigar at nine o'clock in the morning?'

  'Don't preach.'

  'Right.' Mike led the way, nodding to his secretary as they passed. 'Coffee, thanks, Bev. We'll be outside.

  'To what do I owe the honour?' he asked as they seated themselves around the table on the balcony overlooking the marina and the whole of Cockburn Sound. The two of them seemed edgy, he thought. Customary for Pembo, of course, but even Spud appeared a little uptight, which was unusual.

  'We need to have a chat, Mikey,' Spud said, lighting up his cigar. 'Things are not looking too good and we think you can help us.'

  'Yes, I've heard you're in trouble.' In trouble, Mike thought, the Farrell Corporation was going bankrupt – it was in all the papers. But how on earth could he help?

  'It's to do with the Royal Commission. We've been called to give evidence.'

  'I see.' Mike still didn't compute. Of what possible help could he be?

  'We need you to stand by us,' Ian said bluntly.

  'Ah. Well, yes, of course, I'd be happy to act as a character witness. The work you've done for us is bound to go in your favour – you've been the mainstays of the Institute. I'm sure the chancellor and the commodore would vouch for that too, and the other board members –'

  'Bugger the board members,' Ian interjected. 'We need more than character witnesses, we need your total backup.'

  Not the way to go about things, Spud thought.

  'Don't take any notice of Pembo, Mikey, he's just a bit jumpy. Although in essence he's right: we do need your support.' He took a hefty drag on the cigar, smoke billowing into the clear morning air. 'It would be a big help to us if the commission was assured that all government funding to the Institute was put to good use, and that we had your full permission as chairman of the board to handle the finances as we saw fit.'

  'But the funding was put to good use and you did have my permission.' Mike was more confused than ever. 'You had the permission of the whole board.' He grinned. 'Good God, imagine the mess we'd be in if we'd left the financial administration in the hands of the commodore or the chancellor, or for that matter the rest of us academics.'

  'Oh, for Christ's sake, Spud,' Ian burst out, frustrated. 'Will you just get to the bloody point!'

  'All right, Pembo, all right!' Spud issued Ian a warning glare. Mike needed to be handled with kid gloves. A few home truths were bound to come as a shock, they had to tread carefully.

  Ian got the message. He would far rather have spat it all out and had it over and done with quickly – Mike would agree, he'd have no option – but Spud's methods invariably paid off, so he sat back and bit his tongue.

  'Get to what bloody point?' Mike asked.

  'Well, all this for starters.' Spud held his arms out in an expansive gesture that embraced the whole of the Institute. 'And that, of course,' he added, waving his cigar in the direction of Carina which sat in the farthest pen of the jetty below. 'You've got to admit, Mikey, you've had it good.'

  'In what way?'

  'Government funding, of course. You've had some pretty big handouts.'

  'Yes, I agree,' Mike said carefully. 'The government's been very generous over the years.' Just what was Spud hinting at?

  'And which particular government got everything up and going? Burke's Labor government, right?'

  'Right.'

  'So you've really been in on things all along, haven't you?' Spud leaned back complacently, dragging on his cigar. 'I mean, face it, you've had your kickbacks like the rest of us.'

  'What exactly are you inferring?'

  'Oh come on, Mikey, don't play the total innocent, it makes you look dumb,' Spud retaliated with a sudden flash of exasperation. 'How the hell do you think you scored your bloody great ship? Do you know any other research centre with a state-of-the-art thing like that?'

  Mike was silent. He could think of nothing by way of reply.

  'Private enterprise and government, mate. Kickbacks all along the way – everyone had a finger in the pie back then. Pembo and I donated hundreds of thousands to Burke's Labor Party, close to a million all up. You must have known the government funding was a return of favours.'

  But he hadn't, Mike thought. The notion had never once crossed his mind.

  Spud took his silence as acquiescence.

  'Of course you did,' he laughed indulgently. 'Christ, Mikey, you know the way I play the game, you of all people – you always have . . .'

  Spud's a crook, he always has been. That was what Jools had said, Mike remembered. He also remembered how fiercely he'd sprung to Spud's defence.

  'And you played the game yourself – you finally took a leaf out of my book. And why shouldn't you? Hell, when it comes to an enterprise like the Institute, all ends justify the means, don't they?'

  Mike remained utterly speechless.

  'Jesus, mate, you're preserving the environment! You're serving humanity! We're proud to have been a part of it, aren't we, Pembo?'

  'We sure are,' Ian agreed.

  Christ, Spud was clever, he thought, a bloody genius when it came to manipulation. Mike was cornered. He had guilt written all over him.

  'So you see, we need you to testify to the commission that applications for government funding came directly from you. They
mustn't know that the money was a payout for party donations. We've got hold of some original application forms. You can sign them and we'll back-date them – easy as pie. Burke's going along with it, naturally – it's to his advantage.'

  'But it would be a lie.' Mike finally found his voice, although he remained in a state of shock. This couldn't be happening.

  'A white lie, Mikey – for the good of the Institute.'

  There was a tap at the balcony door and Spud rose to open it for Bev, who'd arrived with the coffee. She put the tray down on the table and picked up the coffee pot.

  'Do you want me to –'

  'No,' Mike said. 'We'll serve ourselves.'

  'Sure.' Bev left, closing the door behind her. It wasn't like him to be brusque, she thought.

  'I'll play mother, shall I?' Spud said as he sat. Someone had to. Mike hadn't moved a muscle. Cigar clenched between his teeth, he poured the coffee, then sat back, mug in hand.

  'However, there's one aspect to this whole business which you don't know about, Mikey, and for which I really do feel the need to apologise. We both do, don't we, Pembo?'

  Ian nodded. No word from him was necessary. Spud was going great guns.

  'I won't cut any corners, you need to know the truth. We've been using the Institute's funding for our own purposes.'

  It was true, they'd been rorting the McAllister Institute for years. They'd invested the healthy government grants they'd scored from Brian Burke, then returned the cash and doctored the books accordingly, pocketing the profits themselves.

  'I'm not proud of the fact,' Spud said, which was a bald-faced lie; he'd been supremely proud of the whole operation, it had been as smooth as silk. The dills on the board had had no idea – they were children when it came to financial management. 'But what's done is done, I'm afraid. Burke was throwing money around like a man with no arms in those days. The problem is, we now have to cover up the fact – for the good of the Institute, of course,' he added. 'That's why we need you to sign and back-date those funding application forms.'

  Mike sat frozen, his mind numbed by the revelations that were unfolding.

  Spud ground his half-finished cigar into the ashtray and continued, relieved that Mike appeared to have accepted the inevitability of the case at hand.

  'The money has to be seen to have come through legitimate channels upon your request. Otherwise the Royal Commission might want to examine the books, and believe me,' he said warningly, 'that's the last thing any of us need.'

  He sipped at his coffee, awaiting Mike's reaction.

  'Did you really think that I'd go along with this?' Mike hardly trusted himself to speak.

  'Why not?' Spud put down the coffee mug and looked him directly in the eye. 'You owe us, Mikey. You owe us big time.'

  'How could you expect, for one minute, that I'd be a part of what you've done?'

  'You already are, mate. You're up to your neck in it. Christ alive, we're only asking for a few back-dated signatures. Do you realise how many other forms you've signed over the years? Do you have any idea what they were for? You gave us carte blanche to play around with Institute money! Where does that place you? Where does that place the Institute? If we go to jail, mate, then so do you. And your precious Institute might well go down the gurgler – you've got to bear that in mind too.'

  Spud could see by Mike's shocked reaction that the full impact of the truth had finally registered.

  'But if you sign the papers, Mikey, none of that'll happen,' he said reassuringly. 'We'll get away with it, don't you worry. We'll get away with it on the strength of your good name.'

  Mike stood and looked from one to the other, his life-long friends, Spud and Pembo. They'd betrayed him. He felt sick with anger.

  'You've used my life's work as a front for your criminal activities,' he said, his voice shaking with barely controlled rage, 'and you expect to get away with it on the strength of my good name? Well, I won't lie for you, Spud. If I have to go to jail, then so be it. You can rot in hell for all I care. I hope you do. I hope you both do.'

  Spud was suddenly deflated. He'd thought he'd been so close. For a moment there, he'd got quite carried away. But how the hell could he have kidded himself? How could he have expected Mike McAllister, of all people, to lie? Mike never lied.

  Ian knew in that split-second that Spud had given up the argument, and he stared at the two of them in disbelief. He'd assumed that much as Mike may have found the task odious, he'd help them – through a sense of obligation if nothing else. Now he felt the knot of fear gnawing once more.

  'You mean you'd just stand by and let us go to jail?'

  'Why would I do otherwise? You betrayed me and now you expect me to lie for you? You're scum, Pembo. Jail's where you belong.'

  Ian Pemberton's future flashed before him and he sprang to his feet.

  'You've been living a lie for years, you sanctimonious bastard! You've been as crooked as us and you bloody well know it. We made you! You and your bloody fancy Institute. How dare you turn your back on us now!'

  Spud stood, prepared to intervene. Pembo was hysterical.

  'And as for your good fucking name, well, I'll tell you something else,' Ian trumpeted, holding back nothing in his attack. 'Where will your good fucking name be when the world finds out about Mayjay – ever thought of that?'

  The words hung there. Then Ian hissed his threat in manic earnest. 'Because that's what I'll do, Mike, I'm warning you. I'll tell the press, I'll tell everyone. I'm not going down on my own, I can promise you that. If I go, I'll take you with me. Mike McAllister, Beach Girl Beauty Killer – that'd look good on the front page, wouldn't it? Mayjay, the face of WA, dead at the hands of Mike-God-Almighty-McAllister! Try dining out on your good fucking name when that gets around –'

  'Okay, Pembo, enough.' Spud stepped forward and grabbed Ian by the arm. 'You've said your piece.'

  But Ian shook his arm free. 'Your whole life's been one fucking lie from the start,' he snarled, spittle flying from his mouth. He was demented in his fear. 'You're a fraud, mate! You're a fucking fraud!'

  Spud dragged him aside and slammed him against the heavy glass doors of the balcony.

  'I said, that's enough!'

  Ian regained his balance and cowered before them, glaring like a caged wild animal. But his hysterical tirade was over.

  'Go and wait in the car,' Spud ordered.

  He remained for a second or so, the hint of rebellion in his eyes, then he turned and left.

  Alone on the balcony, Spud and Mike faced each other in silence.

  'He'll do it, you know.' Spud was the first to speak. The insanity of Ian's outburst had astonished him, but he decided to make one last-ditch stand on the strength of it.

  'Pembo's going over the edge, as you can see. He'll dredge up the past – either to take you down with him, as he says, or to undermine your credibility and make you appear a part of the whole Institute rort. Which, let's face it, Mikey, you were – whether you knew it or not.'

  Even as he asked, with the last vestige of hope, Spud knew what the answer would be. 'I don't suppose Pembo's threat makes you want to rethink things?'