Smoking Gun (Adam Cartwright Trilogy Book 1)

by Dennis Debney

  I was in no immediate danger as I was parked on a slightly higher piece of ground fairly well protected from the wind and driving rain. Looking across towards the cutting I could not see any activity. It seemed that in spite of their heroic efforts that the miners had failed to demolish the rock barrier in the cutting.

  No recriminations would be forthcoming. It was impossible to stand or walk in the open and I was astounded that they had carried on trying for so long. As I was pondering what seemed to be the inevitable catastrophe another of the gigantic dump trucks emerged from the open cut and rumbled through the storm heading towards the cutting. It was awe inspiring to see the huge machine take what nature was throwing at it, and not be deflected from its purpose.

  The truck did not deviate when it reached the barricade defining the blasting exclusion area. It just kept on going. It was far too wide for the access point anyway. As I watched the huge truck crashing through the barricade I noticed that the steel-lined cubicle next to the access way was on its back. Its open side was facing into the wind which had probably made it less stable in the gale force winds.

  When the truck reached the cutting it turned side on to the wind and was stationary for several minutes before I heard the faint sound of a siren. It had to be the five minute pre-detonation warning. To me five minutes was too long as it looked like the sandbag barriers would be overtopped by then.

  To my surprise a second siren could be faintly heard less than a minute later. It was the blasting alert signal. At the same moment the truck started moving, turning in a wide arc to head in my direction. Moments later it pulled up alongside my vehicle. I did not need a formal invitation. I was instantly out of my vehicle and scrambling up the ladder into the cab.

  There were no greetings. I joined the group of eight very wet, tense and tired-looking men staring in the direction of the cutting. Just when I thought that some thing had gone wrong, I felt, rather than heard, an explosion. Nothing could be seen at the cutting as a gust of wind and a heavy rain squall hit just as we felt the thud of the explosion. I immediately turned to look at the floodwaters building up against the sandbags. Nothing had changed. The freeboard was now only a few centimetres and disaster seemed to be imminent.

  All of us were staring at the floodwaters about to invade the processing plant as though hypnotised. There was nothing more that could be done. We had given our all. A few minutes passed before I glanced at Jack, and noticed that he was looking at me as though he was about to say something when one of the men shouted. “It’s dropping. The bloody water level is dropping.”

  I looked back at the sandbag barrier closest to us. He was right. The freeboard that had been just a few centimetres was now at least double what it had been. Minute by minute there was a discernable drop in the floodwaters until about ten minutes later the sandbag barriers were completely above the water level and the stormwater was still retreating.

  Finally Jack spoke to the driver and the truck rumbled back towards the cutting and stopped close to the excavation where we could all get a clear view. It was awe inspiring. There was almost a metre depth of water rampaging through the cutting. It was a raging torrent. What was clear to me was that this was nowhere near the peak flow. Runoff would take another eight hours to reach this point from the farthest point in the catchment area.

  The thought that anyone could have believed that a single drainage pipe could have handled this amount of water was ludicrous. Not for the first time I wondered why Tom Barton had been so firm in his denial of the need for this cutting. Even though it looked like we had avoided a catastrophe, it had only been achieved by a superhuman effort by everyone involved. At considerable discomfort, and risk of personal injury to many, the threat had been averted.

  I would certainly bring those facts to Barton’s attention when next we met.

  ***

  Later when we were all congregated in the dining room. It seemed appropriate to say a few words to help focus everyone’s thoughts on what had been achieved, and to boost confidence that even though the storm continued we would prevail. I spoke briefly about what Jack Gilmore, the miners and the volunteer scavengers had achieved. I also mentioned Derek Crowther and his men and how they had bought Jack the necessary time to complete the cutting.

  There were no high fives or cries of exultation. The storm raging outside was a constant reminder that we could still encounter problems. We needed to remain alert, cyclone Abby might not be finished with us yet.

  ***

  Tuesday December 22

  Red Rock Project Site

  It was around ten o’clock on Tuesday morning when the helicopter landed on the marked helicopter pad near the administration building. Moments later Ewan Ryan alighted, quickly followed by Tom Barton and a couple of design engineers. It was just two days after the storm and we were just getting back into our regular workday rhythm. Tourists coming to visit the site were a diversion from work that needed to be done and were not particularly welcome.

  In addition everyone was busy trying to ensure that nothing stood in the way of the upcoming Christmas break. I had plans to fly down to Sydney in two days time on Christmas Eve and be away for ten days. I was to be Brian’s best man at his wedding in Wellington, in country New South Wales, on December 29th. I was determined that nothing was going to stop me.

  Everyone on the project site had been hunkered down riding out the storm all of Sunday after the cutting had been completed. It had been Monday morning before we could venture out and check the site. Even then there were intermittent showers but the wind had dropped markedly. By Monday afternoon the weather was quite mild and the clean-up began in earnest. There was remarkably little damage sustained. Derek Crowther’s vehicle was discovered upside down in the four metre deep pond, but mine was safe and sound, parked in the lee of the processing plant.

  The stormwater runoff flowing through the cutting had not abated. It was still running around two metres deep all day Monday and up till now on Tuesday. The wide flat valley upstream of the mine site was a network of temporary streams carrying the runoff from the rain that had continued to fall in the upper reaches of the catchment until late Monday morning.

  Ewan Ryan’s arrival on Tuesday morning was not an issue but I didn’t really see that it served any constructive purpose if he was just visiting to have a look around. He already knew the status of the project. We had talked on the telephone and he had been watching events as they unfolded on Sunday, when visibility through the storm had permitted. He was already aware that the site had been saved from a catastrophe by the cutting, and the remarkable efforts of the workforce.

  What did not sit well with me was the arrival of Ryan’s travelling companions. It was far too soon after the near disaster for me to deal politely with Tom Barton. The same went for the two engineers who had clearly demonstrated their incompetence and had courted disaster for the project.

  I greeted Ewan Ryan cheerfully enough but deliberately snubbed his travelling companions as I said, “Mister Ryan. Welcome to the Red Rock Project site. Could we please have a few words in private before we show you around the site?”

  He smiled and nodded in agreement before asking the others to wait while he talked to me in my office.

  Once we were seated I got straight to the point. “You didn’t explain your objectives for this visit. I assume that you would like to be shown around the project site first. How long do you plan to be here? I was only expecting you. The others are a bit of a surprise.”

  He looked at me in silence for a few moments before responding. I could see that he was wondering how to play this. He was smart enough to realise that I was a little miffed and wanted to get something off my chest. Would he just roll over me and ignore my point of view. Or would he take the time to listen to what I had to say. Eventually he settled on the latter. “Okay Adam. I had hoped that I could get you and Tom reconciled somehow. My initial thoughts were to have a quick visit and be back in Cairns in time for the evening flight
back to Brisbane. How does that suit you?”

  “Just a suggestion, I think it might be much better if you stayed here tonight and returned to Cairns early in the morning. You could still be back in Brisbane by lunchtime. Everyone is feeling a bit of a letdown after the big storm. You have a great opportunity to boost morale and demonstrate your appreciation to the workforce by showing a real interest in what they have achieved.”

  After a short pause he replied, “Yes. I can do that. My overnight bag is in the helicopter. What about the others?”

  “Since you ask, Tom Barton should get back on the helicopter and go home. A lot of people here know that he is responsible for the site drainage fiasco. He will not appreciate what will be said to him if he does a walk around on the site. Not just me but almost everyone will want to tell him what they think of him.”

  Ryan watched me silently for a moment apparently taking a few moments to choose his words carefully. But he was wasting his time because there were no words available in the English language that could have communicated what he wanted to say without me being angered. “Tom Barton has told me that if the project had been flooded that it would not have been a financial setback for Gibson Construction. Even if the repairs cost several millions, and the completion date was not achieved, Gibson Construction was covered by insurance.”

  I jumped to my feet and glared at Ewan Ryan. I was close to losing my temper. Stamping around the room fighting back an urge to kick something, I eventually got my emotions under control. Turning to look at Ryan I said as cool as I could manage. “Tom Barton is a damn fool. He is misleading you. There would have been no insurance payout. Gibsons would have faced a massive payout to Red Rock Mine Limited for damages. Gibson Construction would be held liable because they could not argue that the flood was beyond anyone’s ability to forecast. There is an accurate forecast of the flooding risks, and a remedy, in my proposal to excavate the cutting. The insurers would rely on that documentation to deny liability.”

  Ryan gave a noncommittal shrug and changed the subject. “What about the two engineers? Tom thought that they might be of some help here.”

  I replied in an exasperated tone. “Some help! Some hope! But they should stay for a couple of days. They need to spend time on the site talking to the guys here and listen to what the guys have to say. That way they may actually learn something and be of some use in the future.”

  Ewan Ryan did not say anything further. He just stood up and left my office. I did not know what he intended to do until he told Tom Barton that he was to go straight back to Brisbane. Without bothering to listen to what Barton had to say he then instructed the two engineers to stay on for a few days. None of them looked at all happy but they all acquiesced without demur.

  ***

  Ewan Ryan did stay until the following morning and his visit went well. He had been friendly and willing to speak to every member of the workforce and they all wanted to talk to him. Most of them had their chance to do so as he held court first in the dining room and later in the bar. He seemed to enjoy the experience and his last words before stepping into the helicopter the following morning was to thank me. He did not mention Tom Barton to me again during his visit. I think that he had realised that a reconciliation between us was not going to happen. At least not yet.

  Tom Barton’s lack of acceptance of responsibility did not sit well with me. His attempt to argue that the flooding would not have serious financial consequences for Gibson Construction had been the last straw.

  Barton’s rejection of my proposal to excavate a stormwater discharge channel could not be justified. I now realised that his decision had been the result of his antipathy towards me. My refusal to acknowledge his seniority had no doubt incensed him. But I should have recognised his insecurity and his desperation to ensure that I not receive credit for anything that might boost my status. It was a common tactic in the corporate world of dog eat dog where it seemed that most players had a self-advancement agenda. Perhaps if I had let him take the credit, and not confront him as I had, then the cutting might have got the okay and all the recent drama avoided.

  Even so his tactic of rejecting the sound engineering argument for a stormwater channel, and hoping that no storms occurred before the project was commissioned and handed over, was irrational. And irresponsible.

  Perhaps his irrationality was so extreme that he was somehow involved in the attempt on my life. But that thought was immediately rejected.

  ***

  Friday December 25

  Sydney, NSW

  It was seven o’clock in the morning on Christmas Day when I woke up in the spare room in Brian’s apartment in North Sydney. It was getting late and I had to get moving. I had slept in, possibly due to the one hour time difference between New South Wales and Queensland during the summer months. I had caught the two twenty flight from Cairns the previous afternoon and had arrived in Sydney around five o’clock.

  Things had gone well at the Red Rock construction site but I still hadn’t got away as early as I had hoped. I had missed seeing Brian and Kate, nor had I met Christine, as they had set off to drive to Wellington before I arrived.

  I was expected at my parents’ place, my childhood home, in Wellington at one o’clock for the traditional Christmas Day family lunch. It was a five hour drive and I planned to be underway by eight. In the meantime I needed to pack with greater care than usual. I needed to take the suit and other gear for me to wear at the wedding. I also had to make sure that I did not leave the Christmas presents behind.

  Brian had done a good job of making sure that my car was cleaned and serviced for me while I was away. I paid the bills but he arranged for whatever needed to be done. In exchange he received my thanks and the use of my car when he needed it. It was a ten year old Saab. Black and turbocharged it was both economical and fun to drive. It was the only car that I had driven with enough acceleration to thrust you against the back of the driver’s seat. I never cruised above the speed limit but I did make use of the Saab’s acceleration capability to overtake slower vehicles quickly and safely.

  The traffic on the Hume Highway heading west was fairly light and I made good time, arriving at my childhood home, thirty minutes before my deadline. My two sisters and their families were already there. I had two older sisters, Sue and Helen, both married with two children and husbands that I got along very well with. They all lived in Wellington, less than ten minutes drive away.

  Wellington, NSW

  As I pulled up in front of the house I was spotted and boisterously welcomed by my four nieces and nephews. Being their only uncle I usually got a lot of attention. Today was no different, within moments they had unburdened me of the presents and taken them off to be placed around the Christmas tree. It was a family tradition that the Christmas presents got opened as a group immediately after lunch.

  Sue and Helen greeted me warmly at the front door and didn’t waste time before asking why I didn’t have a lady friend with me. It had become a bit of a family joke as they were deliberately welcoming me in the same way that my mother had for the past five years. I did not mind, in fact I enjoyed the good natured joshing that I received. Moments later my mother bustled into view and greeted me by asking why I didn’t have a lady friend with me this year. My sisters and I instantly hooted with laughter before I responded with a hug and said, “Mum, you are getting way too predictable.”

  My sisters then relieved me of my bags and took them up to my old room while I continued through to the back of the house where I was welcomed warmly by my father and brothers-in-law.

  Christmas lunch was a pleasantly rowdy affair. It was as always a scene of harmony and goodwill. After lunch and the distribution of presents we all spent a couple of hours chatting, and catching up with each other’s news, before Sue and Helen and their families left to go home.

  After they had departed and the house quietened down I retired to the patio overlooking the back yard with my father. We had done our share of cleanin
g up after the meal and were taking the opportunity for a chat. My father was a land surveyor with his own business. I had worked with him on several occasions during High School and University vacation times. We got on well together and were relaxed in each other’s company. We were both nursing a glass of wine while we chatted about events and incidents at our respective jobs when he said, “I saw your mother telling you during lunch that I spent hours watching the webcam feeds from the Red Rock Project. Well it’s true. I have got into the habit of checking the webcam feeds most days after I get home from work and from time to time during the weekend. I think that it is brilliant. Much better than Foxtel or anything else on TV. I can’t thank you enough for sending us the links. During the storm on Sunday we were all here watching. Sue and Helen and their families as well.”

  As he was talking my mother walked out onto the patio and joined us. She listened for a moment before saying. “The kids really enjoyed it. They cheered when the big trucks arrived. I had told them that you were in the white 4WD and they saw you getting rescued by one of the big trucks.”

  I grinned wryly. “It did get to be a little touch and go for a while but it all worked out okay in the end. I was never in any danger but I was pleased when the truck arrived.”

  My father responded, “We could see the stormwater hurtling out from the cutting and creating a waterfall into the gulley. It was spectacular. But, how come it was not completed until the last minute?”

  I shrugged. “It’s a long story.”

  “Why don’t you tell us anyway. We have loads of time.”

  I thought for a few moments before deciding that I’d do it. Once I started the words flowed. It was at least ten minutes before I completed the saga of how I had gone out on a limb to do what I thought needed to be done.