Chapter 34

I looked at the list and wondered how many were just innocent bystanders, how many had something hanging over their heads and how many were in it because they chose to be. I thought about what my father had said about creating containment lines as he had done, and then taking out those on the periphery. I had a list but that didn’t tell me all that much. This conspiracy, for that was what I saw it as, may have gone further. A general in battle would see the innocent just as collateral damage. I wasn’t a general. I wasn’t immune to feelings of guilt. Whatever the reasons behind this interference in the normal political process, what these people were doing was criminal. They were trying to influence an outcome in an underhanded way. Lobbyists tried to influence political direction but that was theoretically out in the open. And worst of all, this was not about some farming bill before parliament; it was to do with weapons and the deployment of troops and armaments.

It took me a while to formulate a plan that had some semblance of sense and might actually work. My ability to draw was a godsend because it translated directly into my capacity to forge documents. I initially thought of sending off forged transfer papers to some on the list. Defence force personnel often received new deployments out of the blue and rarely questioned the whys and wherefores. However, if one of the recipients did, I stood the risk of being discovered as the perpetrator and the whole network Atkinson had created would have been alerted and they would have just gone to ground.

There had to be another way. My father’s advice was fine in his circumstances but I wasn’t on an island with a readily identifiable enemy. After a week and a bit of deliberation I had resolved most of the doubts on a totally different plan. I would use Atkinson’s methods against him. He was paranoid about security and his ego was huge enough to believe he would never be caught. He probably perceived these as strengths but they would be his undoing. I was already on the inside because he had vetted me and believed he had some sort of hold over me. He would regret that eventually, I hoped.

I couldn’t contact anyone on the list because all hell would break loose. But the list was important. The main danger I faced was when I met him face to face in his office. There was something I had to do to gain the upper hand and I would have to be subtle and also play a particular role. My acting skills were pretty shithouse but it all hinged on those, on those and Jenkins strange fetish for details.

I entered into Atkinson’s office early on the morning of the appointed day. He looked harried, annoyed, frustrated and was curt and rude. Only the frustrated and harried looks were different. I carried with me the latest analysis of the tapes I’d transcribed. I closed the door leaving a glowering Jenkins outside frantically writing in a folder on his desk. Atkinson took the manila folder from me and absently threw it on his desk. His eyes looked piercingly at me and he, almost questioningly, stated, “My office has been broken into and my safe has been opened. Some things have gone missing”

My response had been rehearsed thankfully but my surprise was genuine. I knew for sure that nothing was missing. He looked hard at me trying to read my body language.

“My book, my book. Has someone taken that? If that’s traceable to me then I’m up shit creek, sir, and I might as well pack my bags now.”

I could see the relief in his eyes. He had seen my genuine surprise and then my selfish response indicating that I was more worried about myself than anything else. He had me on the back foot again he thought, but deep down I was already climbing up the stairs and heading to the podium to collect my acting award. I sank down on the chair next to his desk, shoulders slumped, dispirited.

“I have had my office checked and swept for fingerprints by a security officer who is the best in the business. We will find this bastard and nail his hide to the wall. Until then please do not bring any more written documentation to me. A verbal analysis will have to do. You are dismissed Downs……. By the way if someone should contact you, threatening you over the book, you will let me know,” Atkinson added as I made my way out.

Jenkins had a puzzled look on his face as he saw my now shaken, white visage pass through his office. He started to grin but I never made eye contact with him. He abruptly went back to work when he noticed the colonel looking at him with suspicion.

I could have jumped for joy except that I was aware of the video cameras that Atkinson had installed in his office, the anteroom and the corridor. These cameras were another critical component of my plan. They were wired to videotape machines in another area of the building that strangely had no camera surveillance and wasn’t locked. It was merely a storeroom. I had found it by accident on my first day when I had got lost. Above the machines were row upon row of video tapes. These tapes were logged and appeared to be taped over once a fortnight.

Early in the morning of the previous day I had taken the previous night’s tapes and swapped them. I had also posted a letter in the mailbox of a distant Canberra suburb. The letter was the key to it all. It followed the lines of the old scare tactic where a number of people receive a letter that says “All is discovered, flee!” Mine, written using my left hand, on nondescript paper with a standard biro had the words, “I have made copies of everything in your safe. Stop what you are doing.” I had dated the letter. There were no fingerprints on the envelope or letter thanks to latex gloves.

In fact, Atkinson’s office was not broken into. His safe had not been opened, nor its contents copied. I had created the illusion that it had. He would receive the letter on the morning I would deliver my next analysis, and call in his security mate who would be flummoxed because the break in had left no trace. They would look at the video tapes of the night before the date listed on the letter and find they had been removed and replaced with some of the XXX rated movies Canberra is famous for. They would have swept Atkinson’s office for listening devices and found none. First on their list of possible suspects would be Jenkins but he was weak as piss and lacked the intelligence to carry out such a task. If he had been collateral damage I wouldn’t have minded.

With his office now once again secure, I accurately predicted Atkinson’s next move. His advice to me about informing him if anyone should contact me, would be the same advice he would pass on to his other minions. That would be his priority for the rest of the morning. He had to nip it in the bud and his mind would be on damage limitations. That was where Jenkins’ OCD would be one of my two greatest assets. Unbeknownst to the colonel all his calls would be logged and if I could get hold of Jenkins’ diary, I would match them with my list. Jenkins never listened in to the colonel’s calls as that would be improper, but this was where my second most dangerous action of the morning came into play.

When I first started listening to and deciphering the tapes I had gone without the knowledge and permission of Atkinson to the telecommunications section of the signal corps because I needed to know the range of the devices used to eavesdrop on conversations. I met a techie there who was only a sergeant but sure knew his stuff. We talked about frequencies, amplifications, band levels and white noise. He even gave me a sample of a listening transmitter device to muck around with. I was surprised at how miniscule it was. He said that the biggest part of any complete unit was the actual recording element that was where the signal was sent to. The microphone/transmitter size was limited by battery size only but the sample he gave me was still tiny. He said the battery life on that one was less than a day and the battery couldn’t be replaced so the whole device was simply discarded. I told him of my huge sound engineering console and he gave me an adaptor to pick up the signal. The signal was only strong enough for about a hundred yards but walls were no barriers. I remarked how the microphone looked remarkably like a paperclip and he said that they could be made to look like almost anything. His suggestion of me putting up a two-page paper-clipped document on the noticeboard outside the women’s toilets I chose not to follow. Instead, on the appointed day, my analysis was paper-clipped to the manila folder on Atkinson’s desk as he made his phone calls. After leaving Atkinson’s office I went down to my sound lounge booth where signals were coming in and tapes were whirring.