CHAPTER FIVE

DAY EIGHT – THURSDAY

So Wolff wouldn’t be exposed by a curious media tracking him to other campaigns he had managed, he always introduced himself to the strategy team by a pseudonym. This time he decided to add a touch of conservative sophistication and used the nom-de-plume Jack Sinclair-Browne. A hyphenated name would suit the class warriors of the party leadership group, no doubt.

He sat at the end of the table and poured himself a glass of water from the nearby pitcher, opened his well-worn leather folder, preparing a wad of papers. Stanley had been counselled by the party president that a campaign strategy expert would be assigned to the team, and nodded his acknowledgement to Wolff when he entered the room. The expert position was donated by an obscure printing company in Sydney’s west and no-one asked any difficult questions. Something for nothing was always welcome in politics, no questions asked.

Stanley started the meeting. ‘Right, welcome everyone, especially our new colleague, Jack,’ Stanley nodded and smiled toward the end of the table, but Wolff didn’t bother looking up. ‘We are keen to receive good campaign advice from someone with your excellent campaigning skills and experience.’

When he didn’t get a response, Stanley moved on. ‘Christopher is an apology. He has urgent business in his electorate, apparently.’ Stanley looked to his list, suggesting he was disappointed with Hughes. ‘Sussan, can you give a media briefing, please.’

‘The Hancock media are doing a great job for us with their lead political journalist, Anita Devlin, so far publishing two profile pieces, yesterday and today, highlighting the policy experience within the ministerial team. I want her to do a piece on Barton, but there has been some resistance.’

‘Why?’ Wolff asked quietly.

‘Perceived conflict of interest with the journalist, but they will get another writer to do it.’

Messenger smiled, slightly embarrassed by the revelation as Neilson continued.

‘The domestic violence policy launch yesterday went well and we made evening news broadcasts. Well done, everybody.’

Andres Jorges cleared his throat and said, ‘Approval ratings for the party went up overnight based on our announcement of increased funding for agencies directly supporting victims and their families. It was a good strategy to get it into the electorate early. We achieved a significant rise in positive female response, and in eighteen to twenty-fives, we also recorded a strong positive response.’

Wolff jotted a note.

‘That’s a terrific outcome. It was a great event,’ Stanley beamed.

‘Leader,’ Neilson hesitated. ‘I’m taking calls about a remark you may have made last night.’

‘Oh yes? What am I supposed to have said?’

‘Did you have a few drinks after a business dinner last night?’

‘Yes, I had a brandy with two donors at the Athenaeum Club. I’m staying there.’

‘Did you say the domestic violence package was labelled in certain circles as home maintenance?’

‘Say what?’ gasped Messenger, turning and staring at Stanley.

‘Well you have to take these things in context,’ protested Stanley, embarrassed by the disclosure. ‘We were having a laugh about what to call various policies and I volunteered the joke,’ Stanley laughed nervously. ‘Hilarious.’

Tightening his jaw, Wolff shook his head slightly then gazed at Stanley who responded by shifting uncomfortably.

‘Okay, it may have been an unfortunate comment by me, but it was said within a private group of three, so I’m not sure why the media would be contacting you.’

‘It hasn’t hit the media yet. These were not media calls,’ Neilson offered.

‘Loose lips sink ships,’ Messenger remarked.

‘Stop with your fucking clichés will you,’ Stanley brusquely snapped. ‘Suzie, what do we have to do to stop it getting a head of steam?’

Messenger smiled smugly at the leader’s response.

The irony of his own clichéd comment was not lost on Wolff and he sneered. ‘I would suggest you say nothing. If approached for comment, you deny it. Who were the two business people you spoke to? Let me have their details and I shall speak to them personally about maintaining confidentiality and establish if a recording exists. If there is, I shall get it.’

Wolff confidently pushed his way further into the discussion and stared directly at Stanley. ‘No matter the circumstance, no matter the location, always consider you are being watched and recorded. This was a dumb thing for you to say no matter the so-called context, as you call it. Don’t do it again.’ The words were delivered with such confidence and intimidating force that others said nothing.

Stanley dropped his head for a few moments, collecting himself before finally responding, ‘I apologise for my mistake, it won’t happen again.’

‘It better not, or I shall withdraw from the campaign.’ Wolff stared at Stanley, who again shifted nervously. ‘Can I ask a few questions?’

Messenger responded, ‘Sure, why not?’

‘Do each of your local campaigns have a thirty-day plan that can be implemented from tomorrow?’

‘Not sure. Is it important?’ Stanley replied, looking to Messenger who shrugged his shoulders in response.

Wolff jotted a note. ‘Do you have a policy and media plan?’

‘I have key dates for media releases and press conferences,’ Neilson offered.

‘Are you planning a systematic policy launch over the campaign?’

Jorges sat forward to the table. ‘We will link policies to the polling, and if we drop our numbers, our plan is to release a popular policy announcement to get the figures back in our favour.’

Stanley nodded, knowing the campaign plan was in keeping with what they had done in the past.

‘Who is running your community support programs?’

‘We don’t have one. We leave that to individual members seeking re-election using their own networks. The new candidates in the other seats have to develop their own,’ Messenger said.

‘Do you have a centralised information distribution and volunteer recruitment program?’

‘We haven’t done any of that sort of thing in the past,’ Harry Lester offered. ‘We leave that for the candidates to organise.’

Wolff dropped his pen on his pad and rocked back in the chair. ‘So, what you are telling me about your campaign plan is that you are planning to lose.’ Wolff was blunt. The tension increased around the table. ‘You will not get elected if you don’t address these issues very quickly, and I mean today.’

No-one spoke.

Lester eventually began justifying their strategy. ‘We don’t have the resources to do those things, so our strategy is to concentrate on broadcasting messages and maintaining attack pieces against the government.’

‘And you have a moron as your leader who stuffs the first policy announcement by cracking a joke about it. Some strategy.’

‘Hey, ease up, Jack,’ Stanley defended himself.

‘This is a clusterfuck.’ Wolff was not finished. ‘You are a national brand hoping to be handed the keys to the government bank accounts and you think a negative broadcast campaign will get you elected. You have got to be kidding me.’

Lester turned to speak but was cut off by Wolff with the flick of a raised finger. ‘Look, think of yourself as a franchise with one hundred and fifty-five site locations. Would you let your franchisees do whatever they wanted in the market?’

No-one responded.

Wolff continued his lecture. ‘This election campaign is the same operational model as a franchise. It’s not overly hard to implement, and if you do it correctly, you’ll be elected. Run a coordinated local campaign in every seat where everyone in Australia has the same message delivered to them every day in their community. No matter where voters go, they see your message. Go to Richmond, see a message, which is the same in Manly, or Cairns, or Perth – the same message no matter where you are, just like a franchised brand.’

‘How do we do that?’ Stanley asked.

‘By ensuring every candidate, and that means no exceptions, uses your campaign operations manual, daily speaking notes, press releases, suggested diary activities and a community meeting program.’

‘Why do safe seat members have to do this?’ Lester innocently queried. ‘We already have the vote in these electorates.’

‘As I said, clusterfuck thinking.’ Wolff slapped the table, startling the others. ‘Do you seriously think these voters who already vote for you in safe seats are not your advocates and have an important role to play in the campaign? Don’t they have friends they talk to who live in other seats? Do they not have children and grandchildren who live in marginal seats? You folks are fifty years behind in campaign strategy and the use of community organisers. No wonder this country is struggling to become competitive internationally.’

‘We are?’ Messenger said.

‘Don’t kid yourself, economic indicators and trends don’t support your view. If we don’t get a change of government right now and step away from the oligarchy we have in this country, which your poor election campaigns have created over the years, we will struggle as a nation for another fifty years.’

‘What’s that got to do with us?’ Stanley asked as he jotted a few notes.

Wolff scornfully dropped his head, shook it slightly and gently rubbed his fingers into the scar on his scalp, relieving its tension. He looked up at Stanley with a slight wry smile. ‘It is your failed election campaigns over the years that has allowed Gerrard to be in office for so long,’ he softly said. ‘It is your failed campaigns over the last twenty years, not your policies, that have allowed Gerrard to change the parliament, ignore the constitution, and do whatever he damn well pleases.’ Wolff tightened his jaw again and stared darkly at Stanley. ‘It has everything to do with you.’

There was no response as they avoided each other’s gazes. Jorges bowed his head, scribbling notes.

‘Look …’ Wolff tried another tact. ‘McDonald’s has over thirty-five thousand stores in their global network. No matter the country, they provide customers with the same food standard, the same cleanliness and the same message. You know what you are going to get every time you take the kids for a burger and fries.’

Wolff waited for a moment. ‘Their burgers taste the same no matter where you are. But what would happen to their brand if their franchisees didn’t all share the same standards?’ Wolff looked about the table not expecting an answer.

‘They would go bust. It’s the same with you folks. You have to insist every candidate uses the same message and they do everything in their local campaign in exactly the same way. If we are to create a national community movement for a change of government then we must do the same activities every day in every local campaign.’

‘What do you suggest we do?’ Lester asked.

Wolff pulled a single typed sheet from his folder and slid it across to Lester. ‘This is a schedule of activities I would like to happen over the next five days.’ He then pulled out a thicker wad of papers from his folder and slid them across. ‘This is a standard thirty-day action plan for each of your candidates with daily activities and campaign standards for them to follow. Send each of the candidates a copy. I have it on a USB for you, although I would strongly recommend you don’t send a soft copy. Instead, send it in a campaign folder so they can read it without having to use a computer.

‘You will note on the first page that every candidate has to agree to do what the campaign manual advises them to do. If they don’t endorse the program, then you’ll need to change the candidate before nominations close on the twentieth. No exceptions, whether they are sitting members or not.’

‘We can’t ask sitting members to sign something they don’t agree with,’ said Lester, snatching up the papers and flicking through them.

‘Yes, you can,’ said Wolff, announcing each word slowly and deliberately. ‘And you will. If you don’t, I can promise you, you will not win government.’

‘I can immediately think of five current members of parliament who won’t sign. What then?’ Messenger asked.

‘Disendorse them.’ Wolff stared straight at the leader. Stanley almost choked, wildly looking for support from the others as Lester guffawed. ‘Gentlemen, if you want to win government then take control of your party.’

‘You can’t be serious?’ said Stanley, uncomfortably lifting himself with his hands firmly gripping the arms of his chair and then lowering himself.

‘I am deadly serious,’ insisted Wolff. ‘To win government you need to win seats. Your new candidates will do as they are told. Why would these candidates be required to follow a campaign when sitting members do not? If these dills don’t want to toe the party line during an election campaign to win government, why are you holding on to them?’

Stanley looked at Messenger with a crazed look of despair. ‘What do you think, Bart?’

‘I think we should at least get them on to this campaign program, and if they resist, then worry about what to do.’

‘I suggest you get a local printer to produce a manual for every electorate as quickly as possible, today if you can. In the meantime, I will begin mobilising community organisers in each electorate. Once we have each candidate sign off on the operations manual, I will contract the organisers into the local campaigns to manage the candidate.’

‘How much is this going to cost?’ Lester asked.

‘These things are being paid by my employer as a donation to help you win government.’

‘Who are you, again?’ Neilson asked.

‘I’m the specialist in winning election campaigns, which seems to be the missing link here,’ Wolff retorted, shooting a fierce look at Neilson who squirmed slightly in her seat, avoiding his gaze. ‘I have probably worked on more than one hundred campaigns over the last twenty years, so I know what works and what doesn’t. I know, for instance, that releasing policy when the polls weaken will go nowhere,’ provoked Wolff, looking at Jorges.

‘I also know that unless we own the news cycle, we do not get any traction in the polls.’ Wolff got up, snapping his folder shut. ‘Folks, we have much to do and not a lot of time. Let’s meet again in Sydney on Sunday. I expect you to complete the first eight points on my list. If you don’t, frankly, it’s over.’

‘Why Sydney?’ Lester asked.

‘You have more winnable seats in New South Wales. I would have thought it was obvious that working at the campaign coalface is important.’ Wolff didn’t close the door as he left the room.

The room instantly became less hostile and relaxed. Julia Laretsky, who had been smart enough not to say anything during the discussion, moved to the coffee station to calm herself. Wolff had shaken her with his forceful language.

‘Wow, that was exciting,’ Stanley eventually said. ‘I heard he was good.’

‘Do we really want to be subjected to this type of bullying for the next thirty or so days?’ Laretsky moaned. ‘I’m very nervous about this type of operative working for the party.’

‘As far as I am concerned, we need him,’ Messenger responded. ‘He’s given us the campaign blueprint. All we have to do now is build it, then follow it.’

‘You can’t help yourself, can you?’ Stanley laughed. ‘The cliché kid is at it again. If you ever get the top job, you will be pilloried for it.’

James Harper was a despondent man. He hadn’t ventured out of his waterside home since he returned from Melbourne. His daily heavy drinking was worrying his wife who encouraged him to freshen up, have a shave, change out of the exercise clothes he had been lounging around in for days and get out into the electorate. ‘I can’t face anyone at the moment, Shirl. I’m still a little raw about it all.’

Just a week ago, he was the leader of the opposition. Now he was relegated to campaigning in his electorate of McPherson on the Gold Coast, apparently for the greater good of the party. Once a parliamentary rooster, now just a political feather duster, it hurt.

He had been brutally discarded as leader the previous week. His colleagues didn’t support him when he needed them most, and now Peter Stanley would decide his career fate if they won government. Ironically, he was considering a lesser ministerial role for Stanley in any future government he was destined to lead. Stanley and Messenger – both now leaders of the party – were great friends, but like Shakespeare’s Brutus, they were assassins who came for him with a knife to the back.

He retained many friends in the party, a few close supporters and co-conspirators within the shadow ministry and most of his former staff were still employed by Stanley, although the number of telephone calls and texted messages from them were fading. So, almost every day, he did what every savvy politician does and continued to strategically gossip with his network, trying to keep informed about the campaign and the machinations of national politics.

The shrill of his phone disturbed his afternoon snooze on the back patio. He knocked over his empty wine glass as he snatched the phone to quieten it. ‘Hello? I wasn’t expecting to hear from you – ever again. What can I do for you?’

‘Just a few delicious tidbits of information for you to do with whatever you wish.’

‘Oh yes. More fake news, no doubt.’

‘The leader cracked a joke last night with two businessmen.’ The informer laughed a little ironically. ‘The moron called his domestic violence policy home maintenance.’

‘You’re kidding me,’ Harper laughed.

‘No, I’m not,’ the caller chuckled. ‘Plus, get this – he plans to have every candidate and sitting member sign a campaign agreement insisting they do as the party directs them during the election campaign. No exceptions, including you.’

‘He can’t do that. Whose idea was that?’

‘A supposed campaign guru who has been appointed, named Sinclair-Browne. He has been engaged to manage the national campaign. Just thought you’d like to know.’

‘Can I quote you?’

‘Not likely.’ The caller clicked off.

Harper was baffled by the call. Thankful for the information, he was confused as to why the caller was giving it to him. Such a Machiavellian thing to do. Leadership ambition still coursed through Harper, and while others were sympathetic toward him, he toyed with the idea that it was a call from a friend who wanted his return to the leadership. After twenty-five years, the dark art of politics never ceased to amaze him.

Contemplating what to do with the information, he stepped back into the house and padded to the kitchen for a cooling glass of water. He pondered his media contacts as he scrolled the list. Who would love to receive this type of information? Who would do the most reputational damage to Stanley with this exclusive? Who would give him a little payback with this information leaked to them?

He looked at his list and zeroed in on two journalists who could do the job for him without having the information come back to bite him politically. One was a political lightweight, yet paradoxically an award-winning gossip columnist, the other an investigative journalist.

He called Mila Dempster first, a whippet-smart celebrity journalist who had grown to become a celebrity in her own right. She had a reputation for trashy stories and revelations penned for various publications. Now employed at the national broadsheet, she won a Walkley award for a story that no-one could ever fathom how she discovered it.

Legend has it she was given a strategic gossip piece on a celebrity who had fallen on hard times and was assigned to search for a scandal. What Mila uncovered was the plight of young male refugees in western Brisbane who had fallen foul of overenthusiastic celebrities organising drug- and alcohol-fueled sex romps. The exposé lead to arrests and further police inquiries into a predatory network of highly respected men involved in drugs, pornography and the procuring of children for salacious activities. She went looking for gossip and came out an award winner.

‘Hello James, darling. So sorry to hear the terrible news about your leadership last week.’ Mila always spoke with a high-toned aristocratic English accent, which was rather eccentric as she had not yet travelled to England. ‘It must be terribly distressing for you and your family, darling. I feel so sorry for you. Is there anything I can do?’

‘Can I give you information totally off the record that should only be considered background?’ Harper always insisted on the secrecy code when speaking to journalists.

‘Of course, darling, total anonymity, as always.’

‘Stanley released his domestic violence policy yesterday.’

‘Yes, I saw that darling. I expect to see more AVOs from my celebrity sisters in the future, and a good thing too.’

Harper ignored her commentary and got to his point. ‘Within hours he was making jokes about it.’

‘How can you make a joke about domestic violence?’

‘You can’t, unless you call it – home maintenance.’ Harper smiled as the words came out.

‘He said that?’

‘Within hours of the announcement. He was with two businessmen. Not sure where exactly, but it was in Melbourne.’

‘Are you sure, darling? It doesn’t sound like Peter?’

‘Let’s put it this way – if I’m wrong, you can expose me as your source.’

‘Courageous thing to say, darling. But because you do say it, I tend to believe you.’

‘I shall leave it with you then.’

‘Thank you, darling. Let’s catch up for drinkies when you’re next in town. Now, promise me you will?’

‘After the election, I promise. Good luck, Mila, bye.’ Harper ended the call.

One more call then his work would be done for the day. Harper scrolled through his contacts until he found Anita Devlin.

‘Hello Anita, Jim Harper here.’

‘Hi Jim, this is a nice surprise.’ Like any political journalist, Devlin enjoyed being kept in the loop, especially when politicians rang with news they thought she could use. Anita was challenged by the ethics of it all but understood that sourcing information from senior politicians was an essential part of the exotic daily dance of politics, especially when they want to undermine colleagues and weaken their party’s policy. ‘I must say, I’m sorry with what happened last week. I know no-one was expecting it, you did such a great job as leader.’

‘Your boyfriend wasn’t expecting it?’ joked Harper.

‘Well,’ she was quick to respond. ‘On the record, he isn’t my boyfriend, but off the record, I’m working on it.’ Anita smiled then disarmingly added, ‘You were never available, Jim,’ laughed Devlin.

Harper appreciated her humorous retort and chuckled. ‘Am I able to give you some information as background. Can I be confident it doesn’t get back to Messenger?’

‘You can always be assured I protect my sources.’

‘No pillow talk?’

‘We’ve only shared a Chinese dinner and pillows are yet to be seen, so no, Jim, your confidentiality will be protected.’

‘What I’m about to tell you may intrigue you, but you can’t share it as it could reveal my source. You could dig further and perhaps confirm the information yourself, if you know what I mean?’

‘I would never compromise Bart like that Jim; you must know that. If I need information, I’ll go find it elsewhere.’

‘That’s what I like about you, Anita, an ethical journalist with the desire to dig and investigate.’

‘Thank you. Now what have you got for me?’

‘What would you say if the opposition leadership team were about to embark on a new campaign strategy by managing all one hundred and fifty-five seats from head office?’

‘I would say politicians do not like to be corralled by anyone.’ Anita quickly began to take notes after stretching for her notepad.

‘I have it on very good authority that the party have appointed a campaign expert, and this is his first direction. He has insisted on them doing it, no exceptions.’

‘How good is your source?’

‘From the inner sanctum.’

‘What are they planning to do?’ Anita wrote quickly as she framed a storyline.

‘They’re planning on insisting all candidates and sitting members sign off on a strategic performance management agreement for their local campaign. This will require each of them to execute exactly the same strategy in every electorate, every day. As I said, no exceptions.’

‘Sounds a little bizarre, but on quick reflection, it probably is a good idea to get everyone on the same page. But even so, it is a little heavy-handed, don’t you think?’ Anita paused for a moment, waiting for a response. ‘When will this initiative be announced?’

‘I know no further detail other than a name of this appointed expert. I must say I know a few good ones about the place, but I’ve never heard of him.’

‘What’s his name then, I’ll do some checking.’

‘It’s a hyphen, do you have a pen?’

‘Yep, fire away.’

‘Sinclair-Browne. I suspect a hyphen name like that would be rather posh and it’ll be Brown with an e.’

‘Sounds English. You have nothing else on him?’

‘No, that’s all I have for you.’

‘Why are you doing this, Jim? This disclosure may not be good for your campaign.’

‘Let’s call it karma, Anita. See you.’

Harper tossed his phone aside, pleased with his work, and returned to the kitchen for a drink, a little stronger this time. Devlin was right, it may hurt his party, but it may just help rekindle his leadership chances.