Chapter 69
At the lawyers’ high-rise office, Hogmyre ignored the river view and instead closely examined an oil canvas on a wall. He paid particular attention to the glassy ocean in the Cape Naturaliste painting. “This crowd hold serious intel on me, Nick.”
“What sort of intel?”
“Parts of it you wouldn’t want to know.”
“If your lawyer doesn’t want to know, sure as shit the public won’t.”
Hogmyre turned round. Nick’s tastes had matured over the years. Probably the most expensive item was a Brett Whiteley Sydney Harbour hanging on the opposite wall. The most beautiful, an antique sheoak desk that the lawyer was sitting at. The only bad taste in the room came in the form of boot polish, a smell so close to off-putting it wasn’t. The tang originated from a wooden shoeshine stand in the corner, a stand reputed to have polished many a shoe on Wall Street just before the great depression. Francis hated it. He never knew if it involved innuendo—he’d never shine anybody’s shoes no matter how low he fell. He also hated Nick. But Nick was a wannabe, and wannabes were useful.
“Whatever way you look at it, Nick, I’m guessing this so-called agency are public servants. But the thing is, public servants aren’t that proficient. No matter what country they work for.”
“Times have changed. Computers make servants smarter. Communication these days is electronic. All the ground operatives in Australia are nowhere near as efficient as computers eavesdropping on one wayward phone call. The skies are full of miniature drones, the streets full of cameras. Human privacy disappeared the minute email was invented.”
“And my basic human right to privacy?”
“Has turned into a bargaining chip. They say you close shop on several activities, and they leave you alone.”
“For how long?”
“They’re not the mafia.”
“They’ve learnt from the same handbook. Photos. Blackmail.”
“Now, as I recall, didn’t you obtain photos of a particular politician—”
“It’s not the same.”
“It is.”
“So what you’re saying is, I should do what they say?”
“You’ll have to. It sounds to me as if they are giving you a get out of jail card. Speaking of which, you pulled the Somersday takeover. You had that old fart’s skinny arse securely nailed to the negotiation table and you do a one eighty and let him hang onto his family business. You’re now a part owner in a shipbuilding company instead of constructing waterfront apartments. The newspaper photo, you and old Benson the ship builder, well, you looked happier than a pig in the proverbial. You’re not sick, are you?”
“I can turn his company around!” yelled Hogmyre. “You advise me on legal, not bloody logistics!”
Hands shot up in surrender.
Hogmyre knew Nick had expressed real surprise. Surprise so congruent to his own it forced the businessman to evaluate his feelings. Below anger lives shame and a host of other emotions, emotions that he normally had no problem keeping in check. Until now. Like in his own office a while ago, why had he lost control? And these incidents weren’t isolated…lately he’d become increasingly irritated and somewhat tired because he couldn’t understand why these emotions, these frustrations, had started to free-float away from set routines and ideals, and why he’d started to live two separate lives. But he should understand; he was a bloody psychologist. Upon realising his position, stuck in thought and fully exposed as a man without a plan, a concept he found alien, even frightening, he pointed at his lawyer, his finger a rudder seeking control. “Anyway, Nick, do not deviate from the topic. Who gave me the get out of jail card? The government?”
“I’d say so. Who else can amass such privileged information? Think about it. The government doesn’t want the embarrassment. They also want what you’re doing stopped.”
“And blackmail?”
“Goes together like prostitution and politicians.”
“But the information they have on me…it’s nearly as if it’s coming from my own family…a daughter, a son…” Hogmyre walked out, and didn’t close the door.
“Francis.”
*
In the underground car park, Hogmyre jumped into the Mercedes. His driver tucked his crossword above the visor.
“Dirk…” Francis scanned the roof lining, the door trim. “Not here. Outside. Leave your phone.”
He directed his bodyguard ten steps from the car and whispered, “With the boys and Zeya, did they notice anything unusual? The house? Other people interacting with Zeya? They watched him for months.”
“I’ll ask.”
“Did you notice anything different about him?”
“…angry all the time.”
“And anger’s an indicator.” Francis gestured towards the car but only took two steps. “Don’t discuss anything sensitive while in a vehicle, in the office or on the phone. Nothing. Not on email, anything.”
After Dirk dropped Francis off at the office, he visited the guys who did Zeya. Within an hour, he returned to his boss.
Renault clipped his oversized briefcase shut as the bodyguard walked in. “This room is clean, Francis. If listening devices are here, they come from the future. But the moment you step out of this office, if the government wants to eavesdrop on you, it will find a way. Anything that uses the internet can be used against you. It’s a surveillance state. Freedom, I’m afraid, now belongs in history books.” He shrugged. “And don’t worry about how the government eavesdrops, because, as your corporation knows, by the time you’ve started to worry, thinking that a new way to eavesdrop may be possible, someone has already invented it.” The kid showed his palm to Dirk. “I’ll sweep your car.”
Dirk tossed him the keys.
Francis waited for Renault to close the door before he whispered in close, “Watch what you say. These walls may still have ears.”
“The boys didn’t notice anything suspicious. No one hanging around Zeya’s place. No late night meetings. On the night, the Porsche wasn’t in the garage, though.”
“When I visited the house after the accident the Porsche was in the garage.” Hogmyre pinched his bottom lip. Let it go.
“A friend?” offered Dirk. “And…”
“Something else?”
“They said he looked a touch…unhealthy.”
“How?”
“Thinner. Drawn. They thought stress had gotten to him.”
Francis took a moment. “When I did the ID for the police, I assumed the blood loss had drained him in some way. That and death itself…” He reflected again. “His face was pretty messed up…but no…now that the initial brutality is over and I can see a bit clearer, there is a chance I missed something.” He started for the door. “Drive me to the boys.”