CHAPTER FOURTEEN

DAY EIGHTEEN – SUNDAY

The warmth on her face disturbed Anita, waking her. Rolling back into the crisp sheets away from the sun streaming across the bed, she looked up to see if Bart was still sleeping or working his phone. He was neither, so she leaned on an elbow and looked about the room. ‘Bart? Are you here?’

There was no answer, and she flopped back into the pillows disappointed. Turning her head to where she had last seen him, she saw a slip of paper on the bedside table and leaned over to snatch it.

Good morning, gorgeous. Anita smiled and rolled over to the edge of the bed to read the note. I have two church services to get to this morning. Sorry, didn’t want to wake you. I’ll be back for a lazy late lunch if you’re available, I have the afternoon off. Call me. B

Anita fondly placed the note back on the bedside table and walked to the windows to see what the day was offering. She pulled the remainder of the curtains back and looked out on to the western suburbs of Melbourne, following the coastline she found Williamstown, where no doubt Barton was singing the praises of the Lord. She smirked at the thought then checked out the city far below. Not much traffic on a Sunday morning and the late spring November sun was filtering through the tall buildings casting appealing light on the street cafes and their late breakfast guests.

She took a step back from the window and looked about the room for the morning papers. Seeing none, she went to the door and carefully opened it, peering outside to see if they were delivered. The three Sunday editions would be challenging to pick up without opening the door fully, their multiple magazines and lifestyle supplements adding to the awkwardness, but she decided to risk it.

She tossed the papers on the bed, fired up her computer, grabbed a juice from the fridge and settled in for the remainder of the morning. She quickly flicked through the Hancock newspaper and was pleased her piece on Professor Rukhmani had been given a prominent page so close to the front. A breakout box quoted Prime Minister Gerrard welcoming the challenge of the first opposition candidate in many years. The accompanying photograph of Gerrard was recent, and she recognised it as Admiralty House with the Opera House in the background.

Anita wondered if Gerrard ever bothered coming back to Melbourne, speculating if he even had an address in his electorate. She quickly logged in to the Hancock server and tapped her password to expose meticulous files on her every thought, report and facts about the politicians she dealt with.

She entered Gerrard’s file and clicked on pecuniary interests, bringing up the most recent report. Anita confirmed what she had assumed. Gerrard had no property registered. How does a politician represent a Melbourne electorate and have no property in that city? She pulled her notebook and pen from her leather bag on the floor, taking a note for a future column: why doesn’t the prime minister live in his electorate; does he even visit the place?

She then flicked through the competition’s Sunday editions trying to get a flavour for what their editors thought were important election campaign issues. Health, education and immigration seemed to be the constant themes and one respected columnist had gone early, calling a Gerrard government win. ‘Brave decision,’ muttered Anita as she tossed the supplements and magazines to the floor, pulling her computer back onto her lap.

She remembered Bart’s advice and after another log-in process, clicked into the Parliamentary Library and began searching various articles concerning business policy. Anita wanted to research any patterns from various government policy announcements. She recalled her university studies highlighted the 1980s as a period of radical change to the economy and searched documents from this era. She found details of an economic summit in 1983 and a tax summit in 1985.

She even found the origins of the Australian Business Council, which was founded in 1983 at the urging of the then prime minister. What struck her as interesting was the invitees to the economic summit included various business groups, respected business executives and unions. From this summit it was agreed that a prices and incomes accord between the government and unions would give economic and investment certainty for business – an idea initially floated by the Mercantile group.

Anita then searched for listings of the Mercantile group within the library’s resources and was astounded to find more than five hundred entries identified. Though there were many listings from formal parliamentary inquiries, the apparently covert organisation seemed to shun the media.

The very first reference to the group was during the Henry Parkes’ self-government campaigns during the 1850s, when the issue of the transportation of convicts to the New South Wales colony and universal suffrage was a provocative issue for the fast-growing British colony. The Mercantiles supported a move toward self-government to reduce taxes being paid back to England and demanded citizens should have the right to self-determination including the democratic right to vote.

Decades later, they fought the federal government’s protectionist policies and considered instituting a basic wage for workers an economic disaster. This lead their chairman, an armaments manufacturer William Thackeray, to write:

I do not agree with the concept of this basic wage. In my view, it is each man according to his ability and capacity, not every man the same. God did not make men equal – we should not make laws as though He did, or to pay people according to their needs instead of according to their services they bring —

They lost the argument, but it did not stop them from submitting a declaration against the concept in every arbitrated wage case until the prices and incomes accord.

The most recent entry for the group was their objection to the amendments of the Native Title Act that transformed the entire compensation program for Indigenous peoples. The Mercantiles argued miners should cease negotiating individual agreements and enjoy unfettered rights to mine.

In return for these rights, they recommended all Australian ratable land be taxed with an Indigenous reparation levy allocated to the United Indigenous Congress, which would allow Indigenous peoples greater economic self-determination and distribution of funds. It was a stroke of policy genius to shift the responsibility of funding Indigenous services from the farmers and miners to every Australian property owner. Indigenous groups supported the successful parliamentary passage of the policy, allowing greater funds to flow to the first nations.

Anita researched for the next few hours, taking plenty of notes, learning more about the shadowy business group until the echoing shriek of her phone recharging in the bathroom startled her. She dashed to answer, pushing her computer aside, slipping on the strewn papers on the floor and scrambling to answer before it was sent to message bank. The screen displayed a smiling Barton and she was happy to speak with him. ‘Have you found Jesus yet?’

‘Just finished with the happy clappers. They were really charged today.’

‘Are we catching up?’ Anita asked looking at herself in the mirror and fidgeting with her hair.

‘Sure, let me shower and change at home and I’ll come in, what do you want to do?’

‘I don’t mind, so long as we get out of here. I’ve been researching all morning and I’m feeling a little soggy.’

‘What have you been working on?’

‘Have you ever heard of the Mercantile Group?’

‘Sure. My mother’s father was once a member.’

‘That would be your grandfather, darling,’ Anita laughed.

‘I suppose technically he is. He divorced my grandmother when mum was three and Gran quickly remarried. Mum considered her stepfather to be her dad and had little to do with her actual father.’

‘So how do you know him?’

‘He made contact with me when mum died, and we catch up every now and then. He lives in the mountains. Say, here’s a thought—’ Barton paused for a moment. ‘I’ve been meaning to get up there to see him, do you want to drive up this afternoon? It’s a beautiful day and we can take the roof off. It would be nice to catch up with him before Christmas. You can ask him about your research.’

‘I’d only do that if you want to, I don’t want to intrude. I don’t need to talk to him, and anyway, I’d rather spend time with you.’

‘I’m not sure I’ll see him before Christmas and no doubt he’ll want to give me a few views about the campaign. He usually has an opinion on most things and would probably like to meet you. It’ll be a pleasant drive. I’ll give him a call? I’ll pick you up in about an hour. Let’s have afternoon tea with the old bloke and we can have an early dinner afterwards. Have you eaten?’

‘No, I’m fine,’ Anita said softly. ‘Call me as you approach, I’ll meet you in the concourse.’

Two hours later, Barton’s blue Mercedes sports car crunched the pebbles as they approached Arthur Hamilton’s rambling home. As the couple climbed the wide sandstone steps to the house, Hamilton shuffled to the edge of the broad wooden veranda to meet them, leaning heavily on a brass-handled wooden cane.

‘I saw you coming up the road, my timing is impeccable as always.’

‘Arthur, this is Anita. She’s down from Canberra for a few days,’ said Barton, hugging Hamilton.

‘Miss Devlin, I follow your columns assiduously. I must say you’re a little bit of a troublemaker,’ chuckled Hamilton, as he held out his hand in welcome.

‘From what Barton has said about you on the way up,’ she said good naturedly. ‘I suspect you’re the troublemaker here!’

‘Only believe half of what a politician says to you, and then question that half,’ laughed Hamilton. ‘Please join me and help yourself to some nibbles, you must be hungry.’

They settled into the heavily cushioned cane lounges, pouring tea and enjoying a quartered sandwich and slice of cake. Chat included the weather, aged care, immigration and taxes, with Arthur providing valid arguments as to why all of Barton’s party’s policies were wrong for the country.

‘How do you think we are doing in the campaign?’ Barton tried switching away from the policy ear-bashing he was getting.

‘I think you’ll lose,’ said Hamilton, as he settled further back into his large wicker chair, propped comfortably by large colourful cushions.

‘That’s a little provocative. We’re working hard to get our message out,’ said Barton, slightly regretting talking politics in front of Anita.

‘From what I can see, Gerrard is working harder than you lot. Stanley is unknown and a total loser with the way he is campaigning. Coming from Western Australia, what would you expect? No-one really knows what the heck they do over there. I’ve only been there a few times myself, could never see the point really.’

‘You have a lovely place here, Mr Hamilton,’ said Anita, catching on to Barton’s discomfort.

‘Yes, I bought the bush block almost fifty years ago and established the gardens. The house has been added on to over the years, it truly is the grand mansion I envisioned when I first purchased the land. But it’s too big for me now. Can you see my road where it meets the highway at the bottom of the mountain, over there to the left? It always gives me a good view when folks are coming up. I saw you two coming, so I got this spread out for you. My carer arranged it for me earlier. She did a great job, didn’t she?’

‘Let me pour another for you, how do you have it?’ Anita asked.

‘Thank you so much, milk with one,’ Hamilton said smiling at her then glancing at Barton. ‘You’ve got yourself six numbers and the supplementary there, Bart.’

‘Yes, I’m very lucky,’ laughed Barton. ‘I suspect she is trying to impress you though, softening you up a little – she has questions.’

‘Oh, has she?’ Hamilton cheekily said. ‘What about?’

‘The Mercantile group,’ Barton responded.

‘The Mercs?’ laughed Hamilton. ‘We called ourselves that silly name and some of us even drove a Mercedes Benz. Young and stupid we were.’

‘You were a member of the Mercantiles?’

‘Yes, for around twenty years, maybe thirty,’ Hamilton said. ‘I forget these days. I was invited in and then years later they kicked me out.’

‘Why did you get kicked out?’ asked Barton, surprised by the admission.

‘My tax receipts fell below their acceptable benchmarks for membership so I was politely asked to leave.’

‘Did your tax receipts ever go back up?’ Barton asked, a little puzzled.

‘Yes, but once you’re rejected from the Mercs, you never get a second chance.’

‘How many were in the group?’ Anita asked, stirring the tea for Hamilton before passing it over to him.

‘Twelve, only ever twelve,’ said Hamilton, nibbling at a slice of fruit cake. ‘Sometimes they’re active and highly influential on government policy and at other times they’re unobtrusive. When I was with the group, they were fairly quiet on government policy but still actively supporting various politicians. Their idea is to identify a potential minister and connect with them early in their career so when they are promoted, the Mercs have an easier route of influence.’

‘How come they haven’t come to see me?’

‘Maybe they don’t see you as influential,’ Hamilton tenderly smiled. ‘Although, I would have thought you could expect to hear from them very soon given your recent promotion to deputy leader. We would get government ministers in and have a chat about issues important to us, but we never exceeded our welcome. That all changed when Gerrard became prime minister, but I was long gone by then.

‘How did you get invited to join?’ Anita asked.

‘Well, as I said, it had to do with tax receipts. They wanted the collective of the Mercantiles to be paying around twenty-five per cent of government revenue, which you could imagine is a huge contribution from such a small group.’

‘Tax on profit?’ asked Barton, surprised.

‘No, it was total tax, which also included employee taxes and other levies such as sales tax – and now the GST – we were required to pay or collect,’ replied Hamilton. ‘We had influence because we were the twelve highest tax-paying private family companies. Politicians tend to listen to folks with a cheque book.’

‘And did you influence any policy?’ asked Anita.

‘Oh yes, we achieved great things for this country. Mind you, we wouldn’t have done it unless it favoured us – why else would you want to influence government policy?’

‘How long has this group been operating?’ asked a perplexed Barton, slightly shaking his head.

‘Not sure, I think around mid-eighteen hundred,’ said Hamilton. ‘Its membership doesn’t change much, and you’re only invited in if there is a vacancy. I came in with Kerry Jameson, although technically he wasn’t invited, he was just replacing his father. He must have been around twenty-five then.’

‘What industry were you in?’

‘Recycling and paper. They try to have one representative from each industry sector, but as I said, it depended on how much tax you paid.’

‘So why did you get kicked out?’ asked Anita.

‘The market collapsed and we needed to retool. Our revenues were hit hard and expenses went through the roof. After three years of poor returns, they let me go.’

Anita stretched for the last curried-egg sandwich. ‘Do you think they still have an impact on policy?’

‘They run the joint.’

Barton snorted, cynically. ‘They don’t run the country.’

‘I keep telling you to open your eyes and see what’s around you,’ Hamilton said, giving a half smile. ‘Most folks think the government runs the place, but that’s not my experience. Most of the innovative things they do can be linked to the Mercs, especially economic and trade policy.’

‘That’s rubbish,’ Barton rejected the claim, crossing his legs and arms.

‘Trade policy?’ Anita was surprised.

‘Oh yes, the group is affiliated in other countries and they have a strong interest internationally. For instance, you don’t think Trump’s idea to erect a wall with Mexico was his idea, do you?’

Barton asked. ‘Why would the Mercantiles want a wall?’

‘It’s not the wall, it was the symbolism.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Anita. ‘I thought it was to control their southern border.’

‘The Mercs want a better deal for all private companies, not just theirs,’ Hamilton sipped his freshly poured tea. ‘What they got with Trump was a presidential focus on the American economy for the first time in decades, probably since Reagan, actually. They needed him to win but giving a tax cut to the wealthy wasn’t going to get him the support of the working class. So Trump starts talking about immigration and suddenly mentions a wall – changes the entire election campaign. The rest is history.’

‘His policies killed foreign investment over the years,’ Barton replied. ‘So they lose.’

‘How have the Mercantiles faired?’ chuckled Hamilton. ‘Not only the affiliate in the States, which I think is called the Union, but also their members here?’

‘Well, if I knew who they were, I could tell you,’ Anita said.

‘Let me tell you this. Most of the Australian members have assets here, but all of them trade with foreign countries,’ claimed Hamilton. ‘It’s in their interests to have governments working for them favorably in other countries.’

‘So they influence elections?’ asked Anita, somewhat bewildered by what she was hearing.

‘I thought you were smart?’ smiled Hamilton. ‘Of course, they do. Not only here, but internationally. They are into everything, let me assure you.’

‘So, you think they’re influencing this election?’ asked Anita, captivated by the disclosures.

‘Of course they are. Ask yourself this – which party will give them what they want? Gerrard has in the past, but I’d wager they’re shifting to Barton’s mob because Gerrard has got too arrogant and probably tells them to get fucked. Excuse me.’ Hamilton brought his hand to his mouth, then glanced at Barton. ‘Take it from me, Bart, they’re already running your campaign.’

‘Yeah, but according to you we’re losing, so they can’t be too much of an influence.’

‘Do you know the name, Sinclair-Brown?’ Anita asked as Barton shifted slightly in his chair.

‘No, I don’t. Why?’

‘He is a new campaign operative for the opposition, using techniques Harding used in a recent election in the US,’ Anita responded.

‘Well, if that’s the case, then by all accounts he needs to work a lot harder in this campaign,’ laughed Hamilton. ‘Who’s funding him?’

‘We don’t know,’ said Anita.

‘A printing company from western Sydney,’ offered Barton.

‘A company no doubt owned by a Merc,’ smiled Hamilton. ‘Check it out, I’m sure you’ll find a link to either Jameson, Buckley or Connell.’

Anita wished she had brought her notebook to scribble notes and worked over the information silently as Barton and Hamilton talked further about the campaign. Her suspicions about the loose pieces of information had come together: Sinclair-Brown was probably a Mercantile operative.

‘Can I ask just one last question?’ Anita had waited for a break in the conversation.

‘Just one?’ joked Hamilton. ‘No, ask as many as you want.’

‘Is Tony Hancock a member of the Mercantiles?’

Hamilton guffawed, ‘Is the Pope a catholic?’ He coughed from his laughter. ‘Well, let me qualify that. His grandfather was the chairman when I first came in, then his son was invited when the old man died. I assume since he is now dead Tony would have taken over, but don’t quote me. In fact, if you don’t mind, never quote me. I haven’t got many years left and I don’t want to threaten whatever time I have.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked a perplexed Barton.

‘They have been known to take the law into their own hands in the past, if you know what I mean.’ Hamilton softly said, tapping the end of his nose with a finger.

The mood dampened abruptly as the three looked at each other wondering how to respond. Nothing needed to be said, but Anita doubted the businessmen were as vindictive as Hamilton was suggesting. Surely they wouldn’t influence their power position by initiating violent political outcomes, not in Australia? She was confused with the news about Hancock yet seeing him with the Hyphen now made sense – and could explain why her columns weren’t being published.

When she returned to her hotel, Anita tapped all the information she could remember from the conversation with Hamilton into her files. Barton was just as confused and insisted he didn’t know them as a collective but guessed he must have listened to them as individual business owners and they may have been to various fundraising events.

Anita accepted she had more research to do on the Mercantiles. If she could link Sinclair-Brown to the group, it could feasibly uncover another political exposé and lead to a possible journalist award – not that she considered awards important. She smiled at the thought. Of course she did.