CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

DAY THIRTY-SIX – THURSDAY

Over the years, opposition leaders have asked for more than one opportunity to debate the economy and policy differences between the parties. Gerrard always refused, but as an alternative, he offered up his ministers to debate their opposition shadows at various venues around the country and never cared if they were televised. Right now was Gerrard’s big orchestrated moment of the campaign, and in the past, achieved a huge viewing audience just a few days before the election.

‘Punters never start paying attention to the election until the last few days so that’s when I want to speak to them,’ Gerrard often boasted to interested staff.

The National Press Club stage was dressed like a television studio set with subtle lighting and national symbols across the back wall. A centre podium reserved for the adjudicator was flanked by matching lecterns on either side of the stage for the leaders. Gerrard’s media adviser always brought a rubber mat for him to stand on. Gerrard said the soft pad helped relieve his ageing legs, but covertly increased his height by three centimetres, ensuring a towering leadership figure compared to his opposition.

The leaders relaxed in separate rooms for final preparation, fidgeting with tie knots and pacing the floor. Gerrard was familiar with the pressure of these events and warmed his voice with vocal exercises given to him years before by his wife, Margaret. Opposition leaders came to the debates ambitious and confident, but always left with greater self-doubt after Gerrard’s commanding performance. It was their time to shine, yet more often than not their reputation was trashed by Gerrard’s razor wit and thorough understanding of all government policy in every ministerial portfolio.

Peter Stanley nervously flicked his shoulders of unseen fluff. He checked his image in the mirror again, straightening his tie then pacing the floor again.

‘Do you have your key economic points to deliver?’ Messenger asked him.

Stanley held up his leather binder. ‘Yes, I do. Are you sure these are the points I need to be talking about? They seem silly to me.’

‘Sinclair-Browne sent them through this morning; they’re matched to the overnight polling from the focus group.’

‘Where is he?’

‘He’s in Melbourne finalising election day strategy and later today he’ll be video-conferencing all campaign managers, polling day booth captains and community organisers,’ Messenger said as they stood facing each other. ‘He’ll watch it live and text through any suggestions as we move through it. If I need to, I will slip you notes during the breaks so keep an eye out for me.’

‘I must say I’m a little nervous,’ confessed Stanley. ‘I’ve never been any good against Gerrard in the parliament.’

‘Just don’t get sucked in by his provocative rhetoric. He’ll bait you, so don’t respond and always keep on message. Just take a few deep breaths.’

‘Do you have any questions for me?’

‘What is the price of a litre of milk?’

‘Good question, depends where you buy it. Supermarkets offer a different pricing structure but at the local convenience store it’s two dollars.’

‘That’s a good answer, but if it’s asked, I would prefer you say the price first. Like, two dollars but cheaper in the supermarkets. It shows you are strong and unequivocal and have a good understanding of day-to-day costs for working Australians.’

‘Okay,’ Stanley nodded thinking through the advice, swaying from foot to foot. ‘What else should I know?’

‘The marginal rates on tax might be a good idea.’

‘What are they again?’

‘Gerrard changed them five years ago to twenty thousand before the punters start paying tax at a flat rate of twenty per cent, and fifty thousand for the next level, which bumps it up to thirty per cent. Eighty per cent of taxpayers fall within those two rates. Then at two hundred thousand, the rate is forty-seven per cent.’

‘Perhaps I should take a note.’

‘Pete, you’re about to be elected prime minister. This stuff is basic – you should know it.’

‘I do, but not off the top of my head,’ said Stanley, writing a prompt in his notes. ‘What do we do if we do win?’

‘Let’s just get past this debate first. We can worry about what we do in government if and when we get there.’

Jameson took the call as he was sitting before a massive television screen waiting for the debate. ‘Is Stanley ready?

‘As best as he will ever be,’ Wolff replied. ‘It would take years to get him to Gerrard’s level.’

‘Will he win?’

‘The debate doesn’t really matter. It’ll be close on election day.’ ‘National polls don’t support your view.’

‘My campaign teams say to ignore the national figures as they don’t reflect the electorate’s sentiment on the ground.’

‘So, the national polls are wrong?’

‘Let me say this,’ Wolff tightened his tone. ‘It’s too close to call the national result but let me reassure you that Gerrard will not be prime minister.’

Jameson didn’t respond and shrugged his shoulders of a sudden chill. This was the time to make the decision he’d hoped he would not have to make, so he carefully considered his response. ‘How will you do it?’

‘I have my methods. I can absolutely assure you if the prime minister wins government, and wins his seat, he will not be up and about on Sunday to enjoy it. I suspect witnesses will report Gerrard celebrated long into the night – perhaps a little too much – and unfortunately, he will not recover from his over indulgence that led to and perhaps caused a brain aneurysm from a fall. It is arranged for the early hours on Sunday at Admiralty House.’

‘No more,’ insisted Jameson. ‘Your money will be transferred if the result is as we want it.’

‘As I said, I can categorically guarantee you Andrew Gerrard will not be prime minister on Sunday, so please do not defer any payments.’

Jameson paused for a moment, the menace in Wolff’s tone creating anxiety and making him a feel little uncomfortable.

‘Do you want your usual link to the debate?’ asked Wolff when no further comment was forthcoming.

‘If I need to ask a question, I will call you.’

Wolff ended the call, slipping his phone into his jacket pocket before stepping back into the cafe to finish his lunch. He could do no more on the campaign. Everything was in place and with just one last national briefing to provide his key electorate teams the election day strategy, he just hoped the electorate would respond to his tactics and change their vote – and not compel him to act on his assurance to end Gerrard’s term as prime minister.

As he looked out onto the street to nothing in particular, he felt a shroud of tiredness envelop him but shrugged it away. He thought about all the things he’d been required to do in the past, the dangerous things that brought no satisfaction to his life. His influence in covert political campaigns meant he was well rewarded, and his accumulated assets were significant enough for him to call time. This campaign might be the occasion to draw an end to the transient lifestyle.

Conspiracy and intrigue can seem glamorous and addictive when mixed with political power, but there were only a certain amount of dills, flakes and morons he could deal with. Stanley was probably his greatest challenge and added to the appeal of retirement he was playing with.

He popped open his notebook computer and connected to a news feed to watch the leaders’ opening statements as the time for the debate ticked over. He connected his earphones and settled in with a bottle of water to watch the entertainment.

He laughed at the awkwardness of the coin toss to determine who was to speak first. Gerrard called heads and with his usual strong and confident statesman speaking craft, he opened the debate by castigating the opposition for being without policy ideas for the future and no effective policy to drive the country toward continued economic growth. He assertively stated the opposition’s incompetence would send the country into a depression, and it would be many years before the country would recover. ‘Why take the risk? Who do you trust to continue to deliver jobs and growth?’

When he had his opportunity, Stanley jumped right into his monologue, closely following the directions set out by Wolff. Gerrard stood opposite him, smirking like the kid who had stolen lollies from his best friend. This made him a little anxious about what he was saying. Thinking perhaps he was stepping into the prime minister’s established game, he stopped mid-sentence.

‘The prime minister asks who you can trust. Well, would you ever trust him again with his open borders policy? A policy that will allow our northern neighbours to have open access to our country? I ask why – why has the prime minister allegedly promised this deal with the Indonesian president? Has it anything to do with the allegations of corruption levelled at the prime minister and the very reason why we are now at an election? The prime minister asks who you can trust – trust no politician who asks that question.’

Gerrard bristled with anger as he waited his turn to respond.

‘Ya wanna ’nother cup of tea, love?’ She was around thirty, the gold-tipped big hair a little wild, and her tattooed arm intrigued him, as did the too short skirt. ‘Go on, you’re obviously working, you can claim it as a tax deduction.’

‘Yes, please.’ Wolff smiled as he watched her leave to fetch his tea.

The first question from the moderator had Gerrard speaking about his achievements as prime minister and the many benefits his leadership had brought to the Australian people, challenging Stanley to explain what leadership roles he may have done.

‘Whatcha watchin’?’ She placed the peppermint tea before him, with a tea bag still dangling its tab over the side.

Wolff pulled an earphone from his ear before replying, ‘The leaders’ debate.’

‘Boring.’ She waltzed off, giving Wolff a chance to watch her again as he replaced the earphone.

Stanley’s responses to questions were on message. Wolff smirked when he interjected and nailed a question about the price of milk when Gerrard floundered, looking through his notes.

Perfect.

The phone buzzed and Wolff quickly answered. ‘Mr Jameson?’

‘Get him to ask a question on fracking.’

After ending the call, Wolff texted:

Ask Gerrard the fracking question.

The moderator waited for Gerrard’s response about inner city living to finish before calling Stanley to respond to the same question. He then looked down to read a silent text message on his phone. Stanley finished his answer by promising more money to be spent by his government on public transport infrastructure.

The moderator turned to the prime minister. ‘Mr Gerrard, coal seam gas is becoming an important component of our energy mix. Do you support increasing fracking extraction licences?’

‘Jameson asks and moments later it’s on air. Geez, I’m good,’ Wolff muttered to himself.

‘My government supports energy security—’ Gerrard stumbled a little as he searched his papers for an answer. When he found his note, he continued assertively. ‘On-land gas exploration and extraction are part of my government’s policy platform that will provide jobs and growth. We support further development and reject the notion it is dangerous to the water supply or impacts farming. Jobs and growth are what my government has always been about, and gas exploration is no different.’

‘Mr Stanley?’

‘This is typical of the prime minister, no answers on immigration, and no answer for hard-working farmers whose land is at threat by the exploration for coal seam gas. Mr Gerrard would rather have open borders then sell all our resources to overseas interests.’

‘That’s a lie,’ Gerrard barked.

The corners of Stanley’s mouth turned up. ‘Mr Gerrard is no friend of hard-working Australians who, from the sweat of their brow, have created the wealth of our nation. We must protect their farming interests. He pontificates about local jobs while standing there in his finest Italian handmade suit and talks about selling our resources overseas as if they are his to do with as he pleases before he unconvincingly tries to explain that he is tough on crime when he is about to open our borders.’

Wolff chortled. It was a miracle. Five speaking points reinforced in one answer – there may be hope for Stanley yet.

The debate was nearing the end of its televised time and the moderator brought the leaders to a conclusion, inviting Stanley to provide his closing remarks.

‘This afternoon we’ve heard much about Mr Gerrard’s approach to the future, but we know that it’s not your future he is worried about – it’s his own. Mr Gerrard will jump about and get excited about the things he may have done in the past. But the more the prime minister talks about the past, the more he proclaims his embarrassment about the present, and confirms he has nothing to say about the future.’

Wolff smiled. He loved that line and had used it to great effect with other clients in the past, even in Australia.

‘The prime minister is fond of talking about history so let us remind ourselves about some important aspects of recent history for which he is responsible. He speaks of jobs, but we have an unemployment rate of eight per cent – even higher in the under thirty-year-old category. Mr Gerrard has presided over the worst economic downturn we have had in forty years. He has given us the highest current account deficit since the turn of the century, and he wants to initiate an open borders policy with a country with a vastly different culture and religious customs to our own. This man has no love for this country. Remember he has stated in the past that he wishes to relocate to Europe whenever he deigns it time to retire, which at this stage, could be in just a few years.

‘He has trashed the institution of parliament and the many rules and protocols we hold dear in our democracy – just look at his disdain and treatment of the governor-general. If it wasn’t for the recent courage of parliamentary officers, he would have forced through parliament a money bill that is alleged to provide a secret commission deal with Indonesia, providing him with corrupt and fraudulent funds. An allegation he is yet to deny or even explain to the adequate satisfaction of the parliament, the media or the people of Australia.

‘When this man talks of jobs, he only has one job in mind: his own.

‘He has no compassion for those languishing in the mire of unemployment. He doesn’t care about mums and dads struggling to put food on the table; he ignores the breakdown of our health system; and has no respect for working families. So, it is incumbent upon the people of Australia to let him know on Saturday in no uncertain terms that they are tired of his arrogance, tired of his disdain for them, and tired of his cheap money offers to keep them happy.

‘This Saturday, make your vote count. Send a message to the prime minister and tell him it’s time for him to go. Tell him we don’t like what he has done to the country. Tell him his style of government is wrong for this nation and tell him to pack his bags and go.’ Stanley paused and looked at Gerrard before saying, ‘Just go.’

Just as rehearsed.

Stanley then looked back to the camera, as he had been instructed to do for his final comment. ‘The decision you make on election day will determine if you reward this man or give your country a chance to grow. My fellow Australians, will you join with me to provide a future for our children? Will you join with me to set ourselves free of the limitations of political correctness and free speech? Will you join with me to provide a new direction of which we can all be proud? Will you join with me to rid ourselves of the culture of the elite? Will you join with me to make Australia great again?’

Wolff smiled as Stanley finished his address, pleased he had so convincingly stuck to script. Although the process had been painstakingly slow, he thought Stanley had nailed it, just as he wanted.

The moderator called upon Gerrard to respond.

‘It will take more than a decade of old rhetoric to win the election on Saturday. Old words, from an old script, delivered by an old grey head with no plans for the future. The opposition has been talking about the apparent parlous state of Australia for over ten years, and they have just proven they have nothing further to say for the future.

‘It was not by accident that the conservatives passed over this man when they elected James Harper as their leader a few years back. Mr Stanley has been in the parliament for decades yet remains unknown to the Australian people. During his rather long political career he has had few policy ideas, little understanding of how to grow an economy, and since he started his moribund career – and I have been there every day to witness it – he has done nothing, said nothing, to add his name to the list of builders and dreamers of this great country. He was never considered a future leader, yet by some miracles he is now the accidental leader of the opposition – and still unable to talk about the future.

‘He strides into this debate and claims he has the answers, criticising Australia and its achievements over the last two decades. He is wrong – wrong when he claims Australia is in some sort of parlous economic state and wrong when he claims he has the answers.

‘This man arrogantly believes he is the only one qualified to speak for families. He says he believes in families, yet he doesn’t believe in family support and voted against it when my government increased the base rate ten years ago.

‘The opposition talk about policy changes and the urgent needs of the community, but it is very easy to promise something in opposition and then never have to deliver it in government. I have served in opposition and I have had the privilege of serving in government as prime minister, and I can tell you none of the opposition’s grand plans will ever come to fruition in the unlikely event of them being elected on Saturday.

‘If Peter Stanley ends up as prime minister, God help us. He is an intellectual nobody. He’s our yesterday man. His history in the parliament has been known for its universal lack of policy insight and I can’t recall him ever presenting a speech that called for any new initiative. I always regarded him as the resident nutter.’

Gerrard was just warming up to the personality attack he was renowned for in the parliament. ‘Where is the thought-out policy position? This man is all tip and no iceberg; he has no ideas, no plans and no future. Unless he is scripted, he is utterly useless.’

Wolff screwed up his face and begrudgingly nodded agreement with Gerrard but had had enough so snapped closed his computer. Final preparations and directions for the team needed attending to in the campaign head office before his video-conference so he shoved his materials into his knapsack. The waitress gazed at him, then cocked an eyebrow.