Deputy Prime Minister David Hicks had a well-tuned political nose. When the Cabinet meeting ended, after only thirty-three minutes, the nose was wrinkling. Cabinet usually found enough business to last at least two and a half hours – long enough for someone to suggest a late-afternoon scotch would be appropriate.
But PM Gary Stone had hurried through the agenda, forestalling debate, sidelining thorny issues. The PM seemed distracted. And he forswore a scotch. He rushed off with his chief of staff, John Able, in tow. There was something up. Maybe it was personal. His wife, Elaine, or another family member, could be ill. He would put some feelers out, Hicks decided.
Stone had led the government to a small, increased majority in the general election after steering the nation through a couple of economic crises with the Chinese. His popularity in the polls was at a career high. Hicks was beginning to worry whether he would ever get a run at the premiership. At fifty-eight he was ten years younger than Stone, but the old rugby league war horse seemed indefatigable.
Hicks had been a major when he retired from the Australian Army nine years ago for a safe seat in the Federal Parliament.
He returned to his Defence Minister’s office. Its reception was festooned with war memorabilia and models of destroyers, tanks and vintage faded battalion flags.
Also, unexpectedly, in the reception was Ms Audrey Tibble, arms and legs crossed impatiently. The chief investigator for the Commonwealth Ombudsman had no appointment he knew of. His political antenna went up.
The go-anywhere, investigate-everything Ombudsman’s independent office was a natural enemy of every minister, civil servant and corporate CEO. Ms Tibble had taken more than her share of scalps from among the corrupt and unethical.
Employing more than a hundred thousand people, the Defence Department always had some sort of complaint being lodged against it. Nearly all were thrown out.
‘Audrey, what an unexpected surprise.’ Hicks offered his hand and the pair shook after Tibble had unfolded all her limbs and got to her feet. The hair tied behind her head gave her a stern, school-mam look. There was never a skerrick of makeup. She smiled a greeting. It instantly unsettled Hicks.
‘I think we may have a little spot of trouble on our hands,’ she said. ‘Can we talk confidentially? It involves your Border Force portfolio.’
People smuggling, drug cartels or someone’s wife running an import sideline with little bags of blood diamonds, thought Hicks.
‘You’re lucky to get me this afternoon. Cabinet meetings usually take a lot longer,’ he said, leading the way to his office.
‘I had a suspicion that meeting wouldn’t take long today. The big boys have other things on their mind at the moment.’
Hicks swung around to face Tibble: ‘What? What’s going on?’
‘In your office, if you don’t mind, Minister.’
They sat at the small conference table in Hick’s office. ‘This doesn’t involve me, personally, does it?’
Ms Tibble gave a knowing smile and shook her head: ‘No, not you personally, but as the deputy PM, I thought I should brief you first. Do you remember the old line about the tiniest nick in a nylon leading to the whole stocking unwinding?’
‘Christ, Audrey, what the hell is going on?’
‘It appears that a tiny malcontent at the bottom of the Border Force ranks has potentially enough dirt on the Prime Minister’s Office to end Gary Stone’s career.’
Hicks forced himself not to smile. I bloody knew something was up, he thought. My wait for the Big Job may be shorter than I dared hope.
‘It must be explosive stuff to cause a ruction big enough to topple Gary.’
Ms Tibble opened a file: ‘See what you think. My investigation so far has led down some dark and murky paths.’
The investigation had uncovered an alleged conspiracy at the top levels of the federal government to facilitate the smuggling of top-secret material from a US germ-warfare plant. This had involved the prime minister and his chief of staff and had allowed entrepreneur Michael Kough, an alcoholic, gambling addict and bankrupt, to steal the miracle Safevac vaccine. And, then, to exploit it to rob hundreds of millions of dollars from the Chinese government before licensing them a second time to produce it.
The smuggling was facilitated by a senior Border Control officer. He had overruled the whistle-blower, overseen the arrival of the PM’s COS and allowed the contraband through Customs unchecked. The PM’s official limousine festooned with his official flags had been waiting outside the airport to spirit the COS and Kough from the airport.
The limousine and its passengers were caught on Border Force’s security cameras. The PM’s Office had then temporarily stored the vaccine data in the government’s super-secure database. It was later removed and transferred to Kough.
Kough had a liaison with a Hong Kong Chinese woman suspected of being a Chinese spy, who had been hired by the chief of staff, who had also carried on an affair with her. She had left him and Kough was now married to her.
‘Holy shit, forgive my French, that’s quite a saga. And all from a low-level passport stamper,’ Hicks said. ‘Do you think it, or any of it, is true? What’s the whistle-blower’s gripe?’
Ms Tibble pushed up her pencil-thin eyebrows: ‘Ask your department. The whistle-blower got a written apology from his supervisor after an alleged bullying incident a couple of weeks ago.’
Hicks grunted: ‘Discovered the power of the pen, has he?’
‘I think the bullying incident was the last straw. The guy’s never complained about anything before and he’s been at the passport desk for eight years without ever being promoted.’
Hicks said: ‘The last straw turned out to be the nick in the nylon?’
Ms Tibble nodded.
Hicks said: ‘Okay, what now? What’s the next step? Do you want me to go and see Gary and get him to fall on his sword?’
Ms Tibble looked surprised: ‘Oh, no. Nothing like that, at this stage. My investigation hasn’t finished. Kough is one of the key figures and I haven’t been able to interview him. He’s been in a famous coma until yesterday.’
‘With half the world’s population praying for his recovery,’ said Hicks.
‘And all of the Chinese government praying he will recover enough to give them the full formula for Safevac,’ said Ms Tibble.
She said as the investigation widened, the chances of the accusations leaking grew exponentially. She was concerned at the stability of the government if the Opposition party began asking questions. Hicks said he would be more concerned with the Americans and the CIA asking questions.
‘So, you want to keep these matters under wraps until your inquiries are complete?’ he said.
Ms Tibble said: ‘I am not suggesting a cover-up.’
‘No, no. I wasn’t suggesting that. Absolutely not. There has to be a clean-out at the top of our political ranks. I meant, once you are satisfied your conspiracy pact is true, how do we handle it?’
‘That’s maybe when you go and see the PM. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I just wanted to brief you, so this will not be a huge shock and arrangements for the continuance of smooth government are in hand when the matter becomes public.’
‘Audrey, that is most appreciated. You wouldn’t like a scotch, would you?’
‘Good heavens, no. I have to drive home. And, frankly, I don’t believe in office drinking practices. It’s been the cause of a lot of problems in our government departments and the big corporations’ boardrooms.’ Ms Tibble placed the file back in her briefcase and stood: ‘Minister, thank you for your time. I’ll let you know when I’ve interviewed Michael Kough. In the meantime, I needn’t tell the Minister of Defence. Loose lips sink ships.’ She blessed him with one of her smiles and left.
Hicks had not been so excited since his horse ran second in the Melbourne Cup. He bounced around in small circles. He was bursting to tell someone the news. He picked up his phone. Put it down. Picked it up again. Put it down again. The early end to the Cabinet meeting had left a hole in his day. He decided he would go to the city and buy a new dark suit. One befitting a prime minister. After all, he had been briefed to be ready.
The prime minister’s wife, Elaine, was a study of concentration as she read the Commonwealth Ombudsman’s preliminary report. She had been at Gary Stone’s side during every political crisis and triumph. The pair had met as law students at Sydney University and her mother had regarded him with a faint distaste. He was a big, barbarian sort who relished his bruising rugby league games each Saturday. She was won over when she saw how much in love he was with her daughter.
They both left university after only two years because Gary’s father died suddenly and he was needed to run the family’s transport business in Lismore. Their two sons began to run the company after their father was elected to Parliament ten years ago. His success meant Elaine had to uproot herself and move to Canberra, a city she regarded as an artificial island of red tape and warring ambitions.
She had made the effort to fit in and was there to celebrate Gary’s sudden, and unexpected, election to party leadership and then prime minister.
He had faced several critical challenges over the years, from foreign powers and political rivals. She detested the patronising description of her being the ‘power behind the throne’, but the pair did trust each other’s judgement.
This political threat from Horatio Hadley’s complaint to the Ombudsman’s Office was like nothing they had confronted before. As she read it, she started to shake her head slowly. The report read like a script for a political horror show.
She finally finished the last page, alleging illegal and serious ‘disclosable conduct’ by the prime minister and John Able.
She put the papers down quietly. She squared them neatly on the coffee table. She removed her reading glasses and looked at the two men facing her: ‘You’ve both been incredibly stupid. And naive. Theft, fraud, conspiracy to smuggle an ally’s secrets into the country. You’ve been seduced by this Michael Kough character – and Gazza, all your work and success would be hanging on a thread if this ever gets out, whether it’s true or not.’
Gary Stone glared at her under his hedgerow eyebrows but said nothing. He knew she was right. John Able sat next to him on the couch in The Lodge’s formal lounge like a nervous sixth former being reprimanded by the headmaster for bad behaviour.
‘What on earth were you both thinking?’
Stone cleared his throat and began to say something, but Elaine held up a hand: ‘The solution, the way out of this hideous mess, is simple: Michael Kough must be sent to the sin bin once and for all. He has had his run and needs to be taken off the field, eliminated, once and for all.’
Eliminated? To save the government? What the hell did she mean? thought Able.
‘Kough has held everyone to ransom, including you two. This nonsense about keeping the Safevac formula as an encrypted secret, that has to be renewed every thirty days, has to stop. It will immediately eliminate his power to control things. If his memory doesn’t come back, problem solved. If it does come back, you two need to persuade him to give you the full formula pronto,’ she said.
Stone found his voice: ‘Darling, thank you for your full and frank appraisal, but if he doesn’t play ball, what do we do? Shoot him?’
‘No, Gazza. I have a much better idea,’ she said. They sat silently as she explained her plan. Able was appalled. Stone sat glumly looking at his shoes.
Watching their reactions, she said: ‘Before either of you start to protest, remember you both brought this on yourselves and, now, our whole government.’
Elaine pointed a finger at her husband: ‘I don’t need to remind you, Gazza, you said yourself you believed the US would have a strong claim on the vaccine because it was obviously discovered by Kough when he worked in their Colorado lab.’
Stone sighed: ‘Well, even if I was right, we can hardly give it back to them this late in the game. We’ve been denying their claim for years and they haven’t been able to turn up any evidence it was developed there.’
‘No, they haven’t, Gazza, because Kough is too clever to leave them any. He took his mega salary, exploited their facilities, wiped all his research files, stole his sample vaccines and smuggled them back here with the help of his best mate, right John?’
Able shrugged.
‘Right, John?’ Elaine repeated.
‘I had no idea he was smuggling anything. I just went to the airport as a very old friend to pick him up. Next thing this officer takes me into their inner sanctum, saying Boffy wouldn’t allow his briefcase to be searched because its contents were a matter of national security,’ said Able.
Elaine shook her head: ‘There you are, by your own admission, you could have stopped the whole business right there and then: told the officer there was no national security reason you knew about.’
‘That would have dropped Boffy right in it,’ said Able.
‘Exactly. And none of this mess with … what’s his name…? Horatio someone, would ever have been an issue.’
Stone squirmed on the sofa: ‘Sorry, darling, I’m not sure, in similar circumstances, I would have dropped one of my mates in it either.’
‘Well, that proves the leadership ethics you impart to your staff are partly responsible for this mess.’
She picked up her glasses and stood. ‘All right. You know what I think. I can’t see any other solution to this. Can either of you?’
The men said nothing.
Elaine nodded: ‘All right. I’ll leave you to it. I’ve got a reception to organise; the King of Norway is coming to dinner tonight. Is your black tie and suit all drycleaned for it, Gazza? David Hicks told me he went out and bought one especially to wear, as The Lodge is the venue.’
Stone sat up: ‘Hicks? Why’s he invited?’
‘He happens to be the deputy prime minister, my dear. And that’s the position you’d like him to stay in, isn’t it?’
She strode out. Stone turned to Able: ‘Bloody women. We should never have given them the vote. Look at us, like chastened schoolboys. And Hicks never wants to attend state banquets. What’s that about? Do you think he may have heard a whisper about our little friend Horatio and has thoughts above his station?’
Able said: ‘I don’t know, sir, but your lady wife never mixes words, does she? As one chastened schoolboy to another, I think I need to get on my bike and go and see my very best friend in his hospital bed.’
Stone stayed seated, rubbing a large hand down his cheeks: ‘Naive and stupid? Dunno what’s she complaining about. I’ve always been bloody naive and stupid. Anyway, yes, yes, John, get on your bike. Be careful. Kough’s going to get the shock of his life.’
Able flew to Sydney. He worried that the run of political luck he and Stone had enjoyed for so many years was running out. The Ombudsman’s Office received more than twenty-four thousand complaints every year. Most never saw the light of day.
There were six hundred serious complaints each year. That was twelve every week. What were the chances that Horatio Hadley’s complaint would rise to the surface?
The gravest complaints were referred to as allegations of ‘serious disclosable conduct’. Many of those were also discarded because they were not sufficiently serious. ‘Serious disclosable conduct’ was the category he and Stone faced. But Horatio’s complaint had made it to the surface on very sensational but slim hearsay evidence and rumour. The Ombudsman’s Office was clearly flexing its politically independent muscles and looking forward to some righteous virtue signalling.
It was early evening when Able reached the intensive care ward. Visiting hours were over but no one was objecting to the PM’s chief of staff paying an unscheduled visit. He arrived flanked by two large men in dark suits with obvious wriggly cords sneaking from their earplugs.
Kough’s eyes were closed when the trio was ushered in to the ward. It was strewn with flowers and cards, as the entrance and footpaths downstairs had been.
‘Evening, Boffy. How are you feeling?’
Kough blinked both eyes open and grinned: ‘Johnny boy. How the hell are you?’
‘I see your memory is still working, then.’
Kough said: ‘Yes, Johnny boy, it’s working, getting a bit better each day. I was hoping you’d come, and peace might break out between us. Who are the heavies?’
Able nodded: ‘I’m sorry, it’s an official visit with an official purpose.’
Kough took a deep breath: ‘Official? Official purpose? What’s going on?’
‘Your wife is being arrested and deported on suspicion of spying for China.’
Kough said nothing as he struggled to understand. Then he sat slightly forward: ‘You fucking prick. You’re deporting Charlotte? The woman who dumped you because you’re a loser, a nobody public service pen pusher?’
Able nodded: ‘Yeah, that’s pretty much it.’ He made a fuss about looking at his watch. ‘Yeah, right about now she’ll be getting a knock on the door of your waterfront penthouse.’
‘You’ll pay for this, you prick. You’ll never get away with it. You know she hates the Chinese government. She’d never be a spy for them.’
‘That’s not what ASIO thinks, Boffy. They’ve got phone taps of her being urged to use her connections in the PM’s office to spy for them.’
‘What about our son?’
‘If she doesn’t make any fuss, we’ll let her take him with her.’
‘To where, for Christ’s sake?’
‘Back to her home – in Hong Kong, I suppose.’
Spittle flew from Kough’s mouth and a bedside monitor began emitting soft bleeping noises: ‘Hong Kong? Christ, and what do you think the bloody commie cops will do with her?’
Able leaned against the bed tray: ‘No idea, Boffy. Give her a medal? Throw her in prison? I’d say prison, if you don’t remember the encrypted Safevac number for your prostitute’s cellphone, the one that was robbed by an American gangster. I know you provided last month’s supply from the info in your head, but that runs out every thirty days. Since your full memory has evidently not returned, all production will come to a standstill again.’
There was a long period of silence. The beeping continued. A nurse arrived and took Kough’s pulse and looked at the monitoring equipment. ‘You’re fine, Dr Kough. I think you just got a bit overexcited seeing your visitors.’ She smiled and left.
Kough said: ‘You’re mad, you and Stone. I’ll be out of here soon and you won’t know what’s struck you if you try to take my wife and son away. You’ll be dog tucker.’
Able stood and moved casually to lean on the shelf holding the flashing monitors: ‘Oh, that’s the other thing: you won’t be getting out.’
A look of fear twisted Kough’s face.
‘Your condition requires complete and total rest while you recover from your brain damage.’
‘What the hell are you talking about? My memory is recovering very well. The doctors have been very pleased with my progress,’ Kough said.
‘Oh, it won’t matter what they say. You are being transferred tomorrow to a government sanitorium in the Blue Mountains, to maximise your prospects of getting back to full health. Just country air, no stressful cellphones, computers or visitors from the outside world to disturb your progress.’
Able pulled up the visitor’s chair and moved closer to Kough’s face, where he whispered: ‘But while your memory will recover quickly to allow a change in the encrypted vaccine code, it will not fully recover.’
‘Why the hell not? Are you bastards going to poison me? Send me to some lunatic asylum?’
‘Best you keep your voice down, Boffy. The reason you will not fully recover from your amnesia is because the government does not want you to give evidence to an inquiry.’
‘What inquiry? What the hell are you talking about now?’
The volume on the beeping monitor changed up a gear.
‘Please, Boffy, keep your voice down. Lie back and take some deep breaths.’
‘Fuck you, Johnny boy. Just what the hell is all this about? What’s really going on?’
Able smiled: ‘Not much, just trying to save the government.’
Kough looked confused.
Able said: ‘I’ll explain the whole thing if you keep calm. The government is in the shit up to its eyeballs and the whole mess has been of your making: starting with all the vaccine smuggling nonsense at the airport, you tangled Gary Stone and me up with that little escapade.’
The nurse came back in. Kough brusquely waved her away. But she ignored him, took some notes from the monitors and left. Able told his two ASIO agents to find the hospital canteen and have a coffee. They were reluctant, but Able assured them he would take responsibility for their leaving temporarily.
Alone with his former best friend, Able explained the saga, beginning with Kough’s arrogant behaviour at passport control towards a certain Horatio Hadley. When he had finished, Kough was shaking his bandaged head and muttering under his breath.
Able stood up and stared at the flashing monitors: ‘You want your wife and son back, don’t you?’
Kough said nothing.
‘You can get them back if you provide the full Safevac code to the Australian government. Then allow our doctors to find your brain has a permanent impairment, preventing any likelihood of you giving evidence in an Ombudsman’s inquiry.
‘Charlotte and Michael Chen will be free to live at Woolloomooloo until you leave the Blue Mountains sanitorium in twelve months.
‘Then all three of you can leave the country, migrate to anywhere you choose and live happily ever after – or for as long as your gambling addiction can be contained.’
Kough gave a big sigh: ‘You righteous government goons … you make me sick. Stone and you had no moral or ethical difficulty letting that gay Chinese diplomat die of Covid even though I had the cure. Stone, your hero, said his death would be a small price in the big scheme of things.
‘I only bullshitted the Chinese into believing they would get the full formula because I wanted their permission to save that guy’s life. Which I bloody did.
‘And you make accusations that I was unscrupulous after discovering Safevac. You conveniently forget I was working to enhance killer viruses, to make them even more deadly to kill off human enemies. When I came across a method of neutralising viruses, the lab bosses made fun of me. So, what was I to do? Dump my breakthrough discovery? Is that what you and Stone are saying I should have done?
‘There was no bloody way I was ever going to do that. So, I memorised the formula and deleted my research files. Then I took some phials of the completed vaccine and brought them back here. Where’s the ethical dilemma there?
‘And you high-and-mighty rulers wouldn’t even be aware I’m giving millions of vaccine doses to Third World countries at cost. I’m saving lives everywhere. A lot of them.’
Kough sat up and fumed: ‘And for all my efforts, I’m going to be the one locked away in a sanitorium, away from my wife and son, and forced to reveal my vaccine formula, all because you losers can’t control one petty, wimp whistle-blower, who you know, dare I say it, would be a small price if he died from a bullet in the head.’
Kough sat back exhausted.
Able nodded his head: ‘I think your brain’s performance is definitely impaired. You’re sounding deranged and dangerous, wanting to kill some innocent whistle-blower who’s sticking up for his rights.’
Kough laughed: ‘Can’t win with you buggers.’
‘You’re dead right. So long as you understand that, you’ll be fine.’
Kough snorted: ‘By the way, whose idea was this little plan to kidnap me, ransom me for my family? Stone’s? Yours?’
Able smiled: ‘I can’t tell you who it came from, but I can say the person is one of our toughest political operators.’
He saw the two heavies coming back through the nurses’ station: ‘My idea would be to turn you over to the CIA. They would leap at the chance to extradite you if they ever heard poor little Horatio’s version of your smuggling modus operandi.
‘You could kiss goodbye to ever seeing Char and your son again for thirty years if the CIA gets involved. They reckon they could get you immediately on attempted theft of government property. Remember the contaminated laboratory clothing you stuffed into your briefcase and tried to nick?’
The nurse hovered in the doorway looking at her watch. Able said he was just leaving. The two security men, however, would stay to safeguard the patient.
Kough cried out: ‘Wait on, you prick. How do I know you’ll keep your side of the bargain? What’s happening with Charlotte?’
‘Just relax and do what we’ve asked you to do and Charlotte will be fine, and in a year you’ll be free to live happily ever after. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Boffy.’
Kough nodded slowly. ‘And when do you want the full formula?’
‘We’re over all your formula con tricks. So it has to be sooner rather than later.’
Kough looked bitter and angry but nodded his head.
‘Well, that’s it then,’ said Able, ‘your government thanks you for your cooperation in this matter of national security.’
Charlotte Kough was told she was subject to an espionage inquiry. She had to surrender her passport. She was allowed to live with her son at Woolloomooloo. She was left a little puzzled. She wanted to discuss the unexpected development with her husband, but the next day when she visited St Vincent’s Hospital he was gone. The head sister gave her an address at a facility in the Blue Mountains National Park, an hour-long trip from Sydney. Visitors were allowed once a week on Fridays. They had to call first for permission.