The Day of the Gecko

by Robert G. Barrett

  ‘Yeah, I heard you get up earlier, but I thought, “bugger it”, so I went back to sleep.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ The major put the container back in the fridge and sat down facing Les with his glass of water.

  ‘So where have you been?’ asked Les. ‘Round the lovely Doreen’s having breakfast and a morning glory?’

  ‘No,’ smiled The Gecko. ‘I woke up a little after six, fart-arsed around doing something for a while, then went for a bit of a stroll.’

  ‘Down the baths?’

  The major shook his head. ‘No, but I did go past your favourite drinking hole.’

  ‘Was it open?’

  The major nodded. ‘And doing a roaring trade.’ Garrick opened the paper to page five and pointed to a small paragraph at the bottom. ‘Read that,’ he said.

  Les looked at where the major was pointing. All it said was, ‘Patrons were startled when a man discharged a starting pistol at a Bondi restaurant late last night. There were no injuries. Police are still investigating.’

  ‘Don’t try and tell me your Jewish mates at your club down the road haven’t got some tug round here. You saw what happened last night.’

  ‘Saw what happened? A bloody bullet missed my head about two bloody inches.’

  ‘Exactly. So Yom Kippur, Les.’ The Gecko smiled and raised his glass of water.

  ‘Yeah. Shalom,’ replied Norton, half raising his cup of coffee.

  The Gecko sipped his glass of water and looked directly at Les. Norton avoided his gaze. He wasn’t all that keen to talk about the previous evening’s events. Apart from the band, it was one of the lousiest nights Norton had ever spent. Les was half looking at something in the paper about Christopher Skase when The Gecko folded the paper back up and placed it at the edge of the table. Not that Les gave a stuff. It was the major’s paper and he could do what he liked with it. He still kept staring at Les as if something was burning his arse. Les looked at him, then looked away again. Finally the major spoke.

  ‘Les, what are you doing right now?’

  Norton shrugged. ‘Nothing much. Just sitting around like a stale bottle of piss. I might go for a run or something later, unless you’ve got something else planned for us.’

  ‘Stay there for a minute, lad. I want to show you something.’ The major went to his room, then came back with a book and several sheets of foolscap paper. He placed the sheets of paper on the kitchen table with the book on top, then sat down and resumed staring at Les. ‘During the festivities in my room last night, when I was bedding the fair maiden, Doreen, this, along with just about everything else in the room, fell down on the floor.’ The major handed the book to Les. ‘Open it at page 196.’

  The book was a cheap, second-hand paperback — The Changing Society Of China by Ch’u Chai and Winberg Chai. Page 196 opened at ‘Kang Yu-Wei And The Reform Movement’. Underneath that it said, ‘Kang’s Political Views and Activities’. Beneath that, however, a square space had been cut out of the pages and sitting snugly in the space was a programme data disk. Norton picked it carefully from inside the book and turned it over in his hand.

  ‘Do you know what that it, Les?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s a floppy disk for a computer. But, hey, Garrick, as far as computers go, I know what one looks like and that’s about it.’

  ‘All right. Fair enough,’ nodded the major. ‘Anyway, Les, I found this on the floor this morning, so I put it through Ackerley’s computer and I got those ten pages of print sitting on the table.’

  ‘And just what did you find out, Major?’

  ‘Well, for starters, I found out the truth about Ackerley.’

  ‘Susie said he was a student or something. Writing a book.’

  The major shook his head. ‘He’s a young journalist. His name’s Mark Prior and he comes from Geelong in Victoria.’

  ‘Fair dinkum?’

  The Gecko looked at Les for a moment. ‘This friend of yours — Susie — has she got a real lot of brains?’

  Norton shrugged. ‘She’s got her street smarts, but she’s no rocket scientist.’

  The Gecko nodded. ‘Yeah, this bloke’s probably lobbed here because it’s handy for his research, plus he needed a place where he could come and go or piss off if he wanted to. And I’d say Susie needed the money to help pay the rent.’

  ‘Yeah, that’d be about right,’ agreed Les. ‘So what’s this Prior bloke up to? He hasn’t been murdered or something, has he?’

  The Gecko gave a quick shake of his head. ‘No. He’s out gathering more research. That’s why he took his small radio and left his computer. I think he’s up on the Central Coast.’

  ‘All right. So what’s he up to, Major? What have you got there?’

  The major picked up the sheets of paper. ‘What I’ve got here, Les, is a data printout. Now, it’s full of techno-jargon and transformed code lines and references to other text files and data merges. And there’s another programme data disk somewhere with all Prior’s information or story on it. But basically, Les, to put it in layman’s terms, this is a synopsis or hypothesis of his theory.’

  Norton was lost already. ‘Sir Noposis? Wasn’t he a knight of the round table?’

  ‘Very funny, Les. All right, I’ll make it simpler again. In a nutshell — this is a nutshell of what he is working on.’

  ‘And what was he working on, Major?’

  The Gecko looked evenly at Les. ‘Prior was onto a conspiracy behind the death of Harold Holt.’

  ‘Harold Holt?’ Norton’s eyebrows knitted. ‘The Australian Prime Minister who drowned in . . .’

  ‘December 1967, Les. Disappeared, presumed drowned, off Cheviot Beach in Victoria. I remember it well.’ The Gecko tapped the ten pages of print. ‘I’ve gone through this three times, Les. Prior hasn’t quite found the body — yet. But it all makes sense and this young journo’s sources of information and his contacts are spot on. Spot . . . on.’

  ‘All right, Major,’ nodded Les, ‘so in a nutshell, what’s this conspiracy about Harold doing a “Harold” in 1967?’

  ‘In a nutshell, Les,’ The Gecko looked at the papers then back to Les, ‘according to Prior, Harold Holt was a Chinese spy and the KGB shot him under orders from ASIO.’

  Norton gave a double blink. ‘Shit! That’s pretty heavy stuff, Major.’

  The Gecko tapped the pages again. ‘This is a pretty heavy story, Les.’

  ‘Fuckin’ hell!’

  ‘You want to hear it?’

  ‘Yeah, all right. What happened?’

  ‘Okay. Now we all know Harold Holt was bom in Sydney on 5 August, 1905 . . .’ While the major spoke, he’d refer to the papers occasionally, but mostly he talked as if he were relating the story from memory. He spoke slowly and carefully, however, and somehow Les was able to get the picture. ‘His first school was Abbotsholme College in Killara, then Wesley College in Victoria, and Queens College in Melbourne where he studied for his law degree. But we won’t dwell on all that. We’ll fast forward to 1929 to the William Quick Club at Queens College where young Harold earned a reputation as a debater and an orator. In fact, he won the Oratory Medal in 1929 and was the Queens champion in the debating field. But for some reason, Holt had this mad affection for China and the Chinese people.’

  ‘He did?’

  ‘Yeah. He even wrote this paper called “Hands Off China” and delivered it at the William Quick Club, where it caused a bit of a sensation. Not only for the fervour with which he delivered it, but because it was considered to be very left-wing at the time. The government and mood of the day was very conservative, the White Australia policy was firmly in place and the Chinese were aligned more with Russia — the dreaded Soviet Union. But the paper tore strips off the British and the United States. A Chinese delegate in the audience, Chu Yu-lan, liked it so much, he invited Holt round to the Consulate-General in William Street for tea, where they bought the paper off him for thirty guineas, which was a fair bit of money in those days.’

  ‘It is no
w,’ said Les.

  ‘True enough, lad. Anyway, the inscrutable orientals asked Holt if he had any more complimentary things he wanted to say about China or articles he wanted to write and Holt couldn’t deliver them fast enough. So, through Chu Yu-lan, they bought them off him, paying him generously in cash, steadily roping him in, and by keeping an inscrutable eye on him, Chu also found the Chinese had another thing going for them. As well as a good debate, young law student Harold liked a game of cards — mainly poker — at a place in Melbourne called the Green Room, where young Harold, like his inscrutable Chinese friends, had a reputation for bluff and a perfect poker face. You know what I mean by that, Les?’

  ‘Hey, Garrick, you’re talking to a bloke that works in a casino.’

  ‘Of course, Les. I forgot. So everybody was happy. The Chinese knew Holt was a young man going places and they had him right in, along with his articles. Holt was rapt about being on such good terms with his favourite people and he had plenty of money left over to play poker with.’ The major ran his finger down one of the pages. ‘Prior’s got all the dates down here. The amounts of money. Other names — Liao-Chi, Sheng Nung. There’s even a reference to Harold’s favourite uncle, F. W. Eggleston, who was the Victorian Attorney-General in the 1920s and finished up being Australia’s first diplomatic minister in China.’

  ‘Was he a spy too?’ asked Les.

  ‘No, only Harold, who’s now in fairly deep with the Kuomintang government in Nanking under Chiang Kai-shek, up to the Japanese invasion of Manchuria in 1931, Mao Tse-tung’s start of the Long March in 1934 and the full-scale Japanese invasion in 1937, the start of the Second World War and so on. But, even though Holt was still only in his early thirties and still considered a sleeper as much as a spy, it’ll tell you how much the Chinese valued him. We’ll fast forward again to 1941. Holt’s the Member for Fawkner and a back-bencher in parliament, and not all that happy being a backbencher. He has a fight with Prime Minister Menzies and quits parliament to join the AIF as a gunner. Rather than risk him being killed in the war, the Chinese get one of their agents, Chou Fung-yi, to plant a bomb on a plane in Canberra that crashes, killing three government ministers, including Jeffrey Street, the Minister for Defence. So Menzies has to slide Holt straight back into the cabinet as Minister for Labour and National Service.’

  ‘Shit!’

  ‘So now the Chinese have got a full-blown spy right in the middle of the Australian government. And it all started with a young student delivering a paper on China at a university debate.’ The Gecko deflected to the papers for a moment. ‘But, by now, Harold’s starting to come under a bit of pressure. With the war raging against Japan, all Asians in Australia are under suspicion, so it’s not so easy for Holt to be seen in the company of too many Chinese. Plus there was a bit of smut and innuendo being bantered around parliament by the Labor Party. One particularly fierce exchange between Holt and the Labor Party is recorded in Hansard. Then on top of that, Mao Tse-tung’s communists kicked Chiang Kai-shek’s Nationalists out of China onto Taiwan. However, Chu Yu-lan defected to the communists and was able to slot Holt in easily enough, so it was business as usual. But, shit, you can imagine the pressure he was under. A member of a right-wing government spying for the communists and all this other business going on around him.’ Norton nodded. ‘Anyway, we’ll brush all that and fast forward it again to June 1950 and the Korean War, where Holt really came into his own as a spy. In fact Holt’s spying for the Chinese was that good. He inadvertently helped bring the Korean War to an early end.’

  ‘Hawkeye Pearce and Major Winchester would have loved him.’

  ‘Yeah, right. Anyway, according to Prior, along with everything else he was telling the Chinese, Holt mentioned he heard that a bunch of red-neck Republicans were lobbying in Congress to bomb the shit right out of China if the armistice negotiations failed, starting with their bases on the Korean border, then right up to Peking. And if that didn’t work, they’d nuke them. So the Chinese eased up. Even if the war did drag on as a police action till 1953.’

  ‘Giving us another 500 episodes of “M.A.S.H.”.’

  ‘True, Les. But Holt did get a concession from the Chinese. Go easy on the Australian troops in Korea. And the Chinese agreed to do their best. Australian casualties were considered light in Korea. There’s more here about the Malaysia Campaign. Suez Canal. Even the Mau Mau in Africa. Harold earned his money. But what about this, Les? Since 1945, the Russians knew what Holt was up to. The Chinese knew the Russians knew, but didn’t tell Holt.’

  ‘How did the Russians find out?’

  ‘Early up, Australia didn’t have a CIA or MI5 — a Secret Service. So ASIO was set up during the war years. But unbeknown to the government, one member of British Intelligence it brought out to help get ASIO going — Roderick Collins — was a KGB agent. He went to Cambridge with Philby, Burgess and McLean. The Russians had turned him and he never got caught from day one. He knew Holt was a spy from one of his contacts in the Kuomintang, Wu Tao-pang, and Collins didn’t particularly like Holt over an incident at a British Embassy dinner. Holt punched him.’

  ‘The PM put one on the pommy mug. Unreal! What for?’

  ‘Over a Chinese waitress at the party. Evidently Harold didn’t mind a bit of Asian snatch on the side, too, if he could get it. So Holt goes spying along not knowing he’s got an enemy in the camp, biding his time. Anyway, Les, we’ll fast forward again into the Vietnam War. Holt’s high up in Cabinet giving the Chinese the times when the B52 strikes would come over. American troop movements. Armaments. But once again he got a concession to go easy on the Australian soldiers. The VC wouldn’t agree to this at first, but eventually figured the Australians weren’t Americans and were that much trouble anyway, they engaged them as little as possible.’ The Gecko smiled at Les. ‘We used to give ’em shit, if they wanted to come looking for it.’

  ‘I imagine you would, Major,’ said Les.

  ‘Anyway, the Vietnam War’s raging, Holt’s doing his best to get it together, and on January 20, 1966, Menzies throws the towel in and Harold Holt becomes Prime Minister of Australia. Holt’s a bit spun out, but it’s congratulations all round and the Chinese decide to do the right thing and tell Holt about Collins. They do it through a Russian agent, Oleg Vatutin. Holt wasn’t to know they knew. Vatutin was friends with Holt. They both liked a drink and a laugh. Played poker. Holt nicknamed Oleg, Ollie, and considered Vatutin a bit of a joker. They used to go skindiving and spearfishing together. So Vatutin, as a friend, told Holt about Collins. There was nothing he could do. Don’t mention he’d told him. On top of just becoming Prime Minister this was the ultimate pressure Holt didn’t need.’

  ‘I’m surprised at the balls he had to get this far.’

  ‘About now Collins decides to strike. Cut the new Prime Minister right off at the knees. He arranges for a private meeting in his office with Holt and tells the PM he knows what’s going on. Holt says he knows what’s going on too. How were your days at Cambridge? Here’s a photo of you and your school chums. So it’s a kind of stalemate. Though Collins did have one advantage. If Holt called first. Collins could defect to Russia. There was nowhere for Holt to go if he had to face the music. Only gaol.’

  ‘So Harold’s got troubles.’

  ‘Right. The shit’s finally hit the fan. Plus, after thirty years of spying and the pressure involved, his verandah’s starting to get a few loose floorboards. So he thinks it over and decides to bail out. He tells Collins he’s won. But he won’t blow Collins’ cover and Collins can stay in Australia with ASIO if he’ll ensure that Holt gets out of the country safely and secretively. Collins agrees. So Holt, with the help of the Chinese, Oleg Vatutin and ASIO, arrange a plan. The Prime Minister would disappear while skindiving. A Chinese Whiskey-class submarine, with divers on board, would pick the Prime Minister up, then take him to a remote island off the south of China where Harold would spend the rest of his days amongst the people he liked most, skindiving and porking youn
g Chinese babes with no shortage of money in the bank. Not a bad idea and much better than the alternative. They set it all up, including a contingency plan, and the whole lot stuffed up completely.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘They arranged for the submarine to pick Holt up off Cheviot Beach. Holt had a weekender near the water and used to spend a lot of time diving and entertaining there. You have to remember, Les, this was Australia in 1967. Cheviot Beach was, like, out in the bush, people had their minds on the Vietnam War and the protests and half our naval patrol boats were either over there or on manoeuvres. There was no satellite surveillance or navigation like today and you could pull something like that off then. Collins arranged for all Holt’s usual security staff to have the day off. Vatutin would be in a Holden panel van up above the cliffs with another KGB operative, Vasily Khludov. Sitting further along the cliffs in another car, was another Russian agent, Pavel Yusupov. He was a lot younger and fitter than Holt, had the same build, the same clothes on, with a thick, grey wig in the car, and he was to double for Holt or distract people’s attention if something went wrong. Harold arranged for a small party of friends to be there for a day’s snorkelling. Holt would drive himself to the cliffs on top of the beach, leave his car, then walk down with his diving gear and join his friends. Then he’d jump in the water, the Chinese divers would be waiting with an aqua-lung for him and they’d swim him out to the submarine, and that should have been that. Exit the prime minister, stage left.’

  ‘So what went wrong?’

  ‘First, the seas came up. There’d been a bad swell running, but on that particular Sunday, it was huge. It would be hard enough for the experienced Chinese divers with scuba gear to get in. For a man in his sixties, who wasn’t as fit as he used to be, to jump into those seas, he’d risk drowning. On top of that, Sir Alec Rose, the round-the-world yachtsman, arrived in his boat The Lively Lady. This was a big event and thousands of people converged on Portsea that day, along with the Water Police and units of the Australian Navy. Naturally all boats were equipped with the latest radar. The submarine couldn’t risk being detected so, it was mission aborted. Go to plan two. The submarine would head for Port Stephens near Newcastle and pick the Prime Minister up there, but Holt still has to go through with all the subterfuge. So he joins his friends walking across the beach, then halfway across, excuses himself for a minute while he runs over behind some rocks near an old upturned fishing boat to change into his Speedos. Prior’s even mentioned how one woman in Holt’s party remarked at the inquest on the Prime Minister’s sudden touch of modesty. Usually he’d just drop his daks on the spot. And, apart from them, there was hardly anyone else around. It just seemed a little unusual at the time. So Holt runs over behind the rocks where Yusupov is waiting with the wig on. The Russian takes Holt’s snorkelling gear, then runs back down to Holt’s friends, keeps away from them a bit, then, with a bit of the old “last one in’s a rotten egg” sort of thing, runs down to the water, jumps in and swims out. Holt puts on a dark cap Yusupov has left him, waits a few minutes till everyone’s down by the water’s edge, then runs up the hill to where Oleg and Vasily are parked next to an old gun turret. Holt gets in the back of the panel van and they head for Port Stephens to wait for the submarine. Yusupov swims around for a while, then takes the grey wig off, swims back in and hides in the rocks for a little while longer. Later, in all the confusion, he walks calmly up to his car and drives off. And that, too, should have been that, except they got sprung.’