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The day after the Lees first mission, Rowland called McKeon before breakfast.
'Robin, it's Bruce here. Sorry to have to bring you bad news so early in the morning mate,' he said.
'What news... what is it?' McKeon asked. He was sitting up in bed, reading official dispatches and sipping coffee.
'It's on the TV news, in all the papers.'
'Shit.... what is it?"
'It's Jarra Mariba, his security men have ejected CRP miners from the Djamich homelands. They say they were trespassing, had no permission from their Council to be there.... and they had every right to escort them off their property.'
McKeon was stunned.
'Fuck! ....... '
'Do you want me to come over? I can be there in fifteen minutes.'
'Yeah, yeah, come over.'
McKeon was furious.
'Fuck! ....... ' he spat.
Rowland wasted no time in getting on the road. Workers in cars, the early starters, were on the streets in large numbers; steam came from their exhausts and from the mouths of those walking. It was cold, three degrees, and frost had again carpeted the capital. As he drove, Rowland wondered why he continued in politics. In the beginning it had been the lure of power which attracted him to Canberra; once here he actually thought he could do some good. He had a successful law practice in Sydney and while he was not independently wealthy, recently he often thought of departing, of taking his Minister's pension. This golden handshake would be worth over two million dollars, plus eighty-five thousand per year indexed to inflation and an attractive world travel allowance for his whole family for life.
Stress had taken its toll on Bruce Rowland: he had had a triple by-pass operation two years ago. Such medical procedures were now common-place in Canberra, ranking second only to hip replacements. At fifty-eight he was still considered to be in his prime, for a politician.
Robin McKeon was met by his secretary at the breakfast table as was usual. Nothing this day would go right for him. His boiled eggs were hard, his toast had too much carbon and too much butter for his new low carcinogenic, low fat diet. Now he had to wipe important meetings from his agenda to take care of the Jarra Mariba, Lees affair.
'The education contingent is a large group, Prime Minister, can we not move them to later in the day? Most of these people have come from interstate to meet with you today.'
'Yep, okay,' McKeon replied abruptly.
'The Minister for Defence heard the news and is standing by waiting to hear from you, as are the senior executive of ASIO and the Federal Police.'
'Well they'll have to wait until I speak with Rowland.'
At that precise moment Bruce Rowland walked into the glass room which was the daytime dining area of the Prime Minister's lodge.
'Did I hear my name?'
'Yes Lucifer, in you come,' McKeon rose and shook his friend's hand. 'Your hand's freezing, sit down have some coffee, or juice. Have you had breakfast?'
'No, I came straight over.'
McKeon gestured to waiting staff.
'What would you like? Coffee, eggs, toast?'
'Yes, yes and yes... thanks,' Rowland smiled as he spoke to the young domestic assistant.
'Jesus mate, what about that Mariba? He is something, isn't he?'
'He is something, we can't underestimate this bloke one bit, I'm telling you.'
'Our problem is our caucus, most of those jokers say he's just a flash in the pan, to give him time, he'll just fade away. They reckon he hasn't got the physical or intellectual stamina to take us on nationally for much longer.'
'Yeah, well I think they're wrong.'
'I'm beginning to think that way too.'
The domestic assistant was back and placing breakfast in front of Rowland as he dropped his bombshell.
'I've had enough Robin.'
'What!'
'I've just had enough, I'm getting out.'
'Jesus.... Bruce... .'
The Prime Minister went silent. He examined his friend's face and could see the unmistakable look of a defeated man.
'I'll stay until this mining mess is resolved... then I'm going.'
'Have you told anyone about this?'
'No, of course not.'
McKeon knew it was no use trying to talk him into changing his mind, and he didn't want to be responsible for how his health might stand up under all this extra work. He reached across the table and firmly grasped his friend's shoulder.
'Okay mate... whatever you say is fine by me. Now what are we going to do about these Abos?' he asked, sliding his chair back, crossing his legs.
Rowland had done some homework on the problem.
'The main problem is non-recognition by the Djamich of our mining lease with CRP.'
Both men went quiet.
'It's within the federal police jurisdiction, they should be the department to act in this case,' Rowland replied.
'I thought so too. I can just see those gung-ho military boys rushing to dismantle Aboriginal communities in the outback.... shit!'
McKeon met with the media later that afternoon to publicly announce that infringements on Aboriginal land were federal police matters and that he had already ordered an investigation into the CRP-Djamich homelands trespassing case.
Whatever the end result, Jarra's Lees security plan had worked. Even if he were forced to dismantle the security teams tomorrow, the government now understood Aboriginal people were more serious about protecting their land from trespassers, more so now than at any time in history. He made sure the international news resources were informed - the security action appeared in most major newspapers as well as television and radio broadcasts all over the world.
McKeon was not happy about any of it. He invited Jarra and a representation of Northern Territory tribal elders to meet with him in Canberra for a second time.
*
Jarra organised the same thirty representatives from the Namarrkon region who had attended the initial meeting, to once again go to Canberra. This time they caught the eleven o'clock flight from Darwin and were met in Canberra by a fleet of chauffeur driven government cars.
A mass of media people were waiting on the steps of Parliament House for the Aboriginal contingent and seeing the fleet of cars approaching they sprang into action, some were running alongside the cars and shouting questions though the closed windows. But neither Jarra nor any of the men answered any of their questions: they were under instruction from Jarra.
Throughout their meeting, the Prime Minister was more than conciliatory, he smiled, told jokes and walked around the large room seeking out each representative's thoughts. Within minutes, Jarra knew he had won this round.
'Okay Jarra, you can keep your security men,' McKeon said in conclusion.
Although he was quick to concede today after such a short exchange, Jarra still didn't trust him.
'But I want it kept quiet, no running off to the overseas media. No claiming victory on the steps of Parliament House. You let my office make the media announcements,' McKeon spoke looking directly at Jarra.
'That sounds agreeable Prime Minister.'
'We have to get along Jarra. You will come to learn I am an agreeable man.'
'Sounds good to me.... '
'When I say get along, I mean personally, you and I. We have to get along. We can do a lot of good if we work together, head in the same direction.'
For the first time Jarra searched McKeon's face for clues. Both men held their silence as they stood eye to eye.
'Here's my hand on a new peace Jarra,' McKeon spoke solemnly, holding out his hand melodramatically.
As Jarra's small committee was leaving, McKeon placed an arm on Jarra's shoulder and spoke candidly.
'It is ludicrous to even think I was faced with the dilemma of dismantling every security system in the country over this. Can I ask you a question?'
'Of course.'
'I'll put it to you bluntly. You knew I just couldn't do that, didn't you?'
Jarra stopped at the door and once again looked McKeon in the eye and smiled.
'Yes Mr McKeon, that was my guess.'