The Mandarin Code

by Steve Lewis

  The PM didn’t notice that his senior security man had stopped until he was right next to him. A look of urgency was furrowing the big man’s face.

  ‘Boss. We got to move. To Parliament. Just got a call from the office. We have a crisis.’

  George Papadakis put his mobile into a locker bearing his name then punched a six-digit code into the pad by the security door. It slid open revealing an airlock and another door leading to Cabinet’s hi-tech situation room.

  The Howard Government had dismissed a ‘Sit Room’ as indulgent but Catriona Bailey had embraced having her own Washington-style bunker, just metres from her office. So taxpayers had spent $35 million building her one.

  That had caused a storm at Senate hearings with one Coalition senator describing the room as an extravagance built to ‘feed the West Wing fantasies of the Labor leadership’.

  Seventy-two thousand dollars had bought two long ‘integrated’ tables that abutted each other in the centre of the room, with inbuilt computers and communications systems. Each of the thirty German-built Wilkhahn ‘FS’ armchairs, covered with specially ordered green leather, had set taxpayers back $3000.

  Huge plasma television screens covered the entire length of both of the room’s long walls. The screens were run by technicians in the nearby communications room. Mostly they were used for teleconferencing; there were secure locations in all the state capital cities where a minister or official could go to be beamed into the Sit Room. A dozen embassies and high commissions around the world were also fitted out for secure videoconferencing.

  By convention the politicians sat on one side of the table, and the defence, police and intelligence officials on the other. But only the politicians had voting rights. The officials were there to offer expert advice.

  Lining the walls behind the main table were rows of chairs for other advisers. And, just as in the Cabinet room, there was a chair in each corner for a notetaker. Every word spoken was logged; each person at the main table was fitted with a microphone.

  George Papadakis took his place just behind the PM’s chair. He loved the Security Committee meetings here because this was the real work of government and it was in this setting that Toohey shone.

  If only the public could see how he performs when it really matters.

  Toohey never wasted time, kept the meetings focused, issued orders that were clear and set realistic goals.

  Now the Prime Minister strode into the room carrying a bundle of papers, the chatter about the table dying as he sat down.

  ‘Welcome, everyone. Okay, what do we know? Eliza?’ Toohey nodded to the head of Airservices Australia.

  ‘Just before 6am this morning the entire air-traffic control system on Australia’s east coast went down. For thirteen minutes every plane in the air vanished from our sight.’

  Eliza Stubbs paused as the plasma screens lit up, displaying a map of Australia overlaid with a sketch of the air-traffic control network.

  ‘The TAAATS system controls twenty-three radar towers, mostly on the east coast. There are two centres, Brisbane and Melbourne. So the network’s split north and south, with Brisbane controlling the northern zone, Melbourne the southern.’

  The image changed to a flow chart showing Airservices’ security hierarchy.

  ‘In each centre there are forty-two consoles, divided into groups to cover different sectors. And there are multiple backups to ensure a system failure cannot shut the whole show down. When the primary system in Melbourne failed at 5.47am the duplicate system swung online automatically. It failed. So did our third layer of defence in Melbourne. We immediately moved to the contingency plan. There are ten consoles in Brisbane which are configured to take over from Melbourne in the case of catastrophic failure, and vice versa. When we switched them on, the system froze.’

  The room was silent and Stubbs continued.

  ‘Prime Minister, there is a one in ten million chance that all this could happen by accident. Chillingly, the crash occurred just before the 6am curfew in Sydney was lifted. So international and interstate flights into Sydney were starting their approaches to Kingsford Smith.

  ‘We made radio contact with every plane and told them to hold their course if they were still en route or to switch to a pre-ordained emergency holding pattern if they were preparing to land.

  ‘At exactly 6am all our systems returned.’

  Stubbs’ face was grey and there was a slight tremble in her voice as she finished.

  ‘Prime Minister, we have no idea how it happened.’

  Toohey tapped his pen on the desk as he digested the explosive news.

  ‘Ted,’ the Prime Minister turned to the ASIO Deputy Director-General who ran Intelligence Coordination, ‘what do you think?’

  ‘Well, the official line has to be we don’t know – because we don’t,’ Spencer said. ‘But I know what it looks like. This is an attack, not an accident. And because it was so contained I can only assume it’s a shot across our bow. Someone is letting us know they own us.’

  That observation resonated with the worst fears of the room.

  ‘Who?’ The Prime Minister scanned the brass, braid and suits across the table. ‘Who would do this and why?’

  Thomas Heggarty, head of the Australian Secret Intelligence Service, spoke. ‘It’s just about impossible to pin this stuff down. It could be a bored teenager in a bedroom in Tokyo. It might be a group of anarchists like Anonymous. But . . . I don’t think so.’

  Heggarty studied the layers of backup that had to be disabled to cripple Australia’s air-traffic control system.

  ‘Something this sophisticated has to be state sponsored. And the disturbing thing is that this isn’t trawling for information. This is an act of aggression. If this was happening in the real world under the old rules and someone had bombed these installations we would immediately declare it an act of war.’

  Heggarty looked down to a note from a previous security committee meeting.

  ‘We can’t be sure who did this, but Prime Minister, you will recall our discussion on the massive increase in cyber-attacks on the US since it declared China a currency manipulator. We also know that there have been several attacks on US banks where the intent was not just to steal but to bring systems down.’

  ‘Sure,’ Toohey said. ‘But we have good relations with Beijing. I have publicly called on the US to moderate its language on China. We have also, deliberately, been very guarded in taking sides on the Senkaku Islands dispute.’

  ‘That’s what we say, Prime Minister,’ Heggarty continued. ‘But yesterday the Chinese would have noted that the first rotation of US marines arrived in Darwin. Two hundred men from Lima Company, Third Battalion, Third Marine Regiment. As you know they are here to stay as part of the US pivot to Asia and their ranks will swell to 2500 over time. They were welcomed by the US Ambassador and the event knocked crocodiles off the front page of the NT News.’

  David Joyce, the Secretary of Foreign Affairs, interrupted. ‘Yesterday the Chinese Ambassador made a pointed reference to the marines’ arrival at a function I attended. He said it appeared Australia had made an interesting choice. When I pressed him to elaborate he pointed to an editorial from the arch-nationalist paper the Global Times that, intriguingly, was reprinted in the China Daily. It is in your papers.’

  Toohey flicked through his briefs. It was a front-page editorial.

  AUSTRALIA COULD BE CAUGHT IN SINO–US CROSSFIRE

  Apparently, Australia aspires to a situation where it maximises political and security benefits from its alliance with the US while gaining the greatest economic interests from China. However, Prime Minister Toohey may be ignoring something – Australia’s economic cooperation with China does not pose any threat to the US, whereas the Australia–US military alliance serves to counter China.

  Australia surely cannot play China for a fool. It is impossible for China to remain detached no matter what Australia does to undermine its security. There is real worry in Chinese society
concerning Australia’s acceptance of an increased US military presence. Such psychology will influence the long-term development of the Australia–China relationship.

  Toohey wasn’t surprised that the Global Times would take such a hard line. The paper was the Chinese equivalent of Australia’s radio shock jocks, always shaking its outraged nationalist fist at the world. But he knew enough about China’s leadership to know Beijing was sending a serious message when this red-ragging rhetoric was reprinted as an editorial on the front page of the leading English-language daily.

  ‘How many of you believe that the blackout was a warning shot from China?’ he asked.

  Every official raised their hand.

  ‘Who is certain?’

  All the hands went down.

  ‘We can’t go on maybes. Ladies and gentlemen, this is now your number-one priority. Throw everything you have at it. We need to know what happened. Who did it. And how we can stop it happening again. We’ll meet this afternoon at two, sooner if there are any developments.’

  Toohey began to gather his papers.

  ‘Before you leave, Prime Minister,’ the Chief of the Defence Force, Jack Webster was speaking, ‘we haven’t addressed the serious situation in the East China Sea, which you mentioned in passing earlier.’

  Toohey could see the usually cocksure Defence chief was choosing his words diplomatically and wondered why a matter that wasn’t on the agenda was being raised. He settled back into his seat.

  ‘Yes, go on.’

  ‘I think I speak for all agencies when I say we need to stand firmly beside Japan and our ally the United States. When they act we need to act with them. Our one statement so far has simply been to call for calm. We have to speak with a stronger voice.’

  Toohey ran his eyes along the line of officials. ‘You guys been workshopping?’ His tone was sardonic.

  ‘That’s our job, sir.’ Webster met the Prime Minister’s gaze with an icy stare. ‘And to offer our professional advice. Our advice is to back our friends and the alliance that has served us so well.’

  Toohey weighed his reaction and tried to calm his rising anger.

  ‘You’re right on two counts,’ he said. ‘We, the Security Committee, do need to discuss this issue and I do need to take firm action.’

  He took a breath and took a plunge.

  ‘Your advice has been noted. But it is my decision. So I want the officials to clear the room. This is a debate for committee members only.’

  No one moved. No one could believe what was being asked. Only the Cabinet had been invited to stay. Even Papadakis looked stunned.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ the Prime Minister’s voice was cold with authority, ‘the military types among you should understand the difference between a request and an order. I said go. And I meant now.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Canberra

  ‘No queue jumpers, Dunkley.’

  The journalist turned to be greeted by the greasy smirk of John Bossini.

  It was 8am, a terrifying time for an old-school print journalist to be charging into the working day. But Harry Dunkley was on the hunt for a good yarn and his source, a chief of staff to a Cabinet minister, had suggested an early-morning ‘off-the-record’ chat.

  Dunkley hadn’t expected a coffee queue snaking around the cramped interior of Aussies Cafe and spilling outside. Fifteen minutes for a flat white and now this, stuck next to a former Liberal minister who’d been forced to walk the plank after being caught out fiddling his entitlements.

  Like many retired parliamentarians, Bossini continued to suck on the teat of public generosity, supplementing his indexed pension with work as a ‘strategic consultant’ to several of Australia’s best-known blue chips.

  The two eyed each other suspiciously.

  ‘Harry, good to see you’re still standing. By the way, I’ve told you I don’t like you calling me “the disgraced former minister” every time I’m mentioned in your columns. It’s not good for me or the Liberal Party. I’m federal vice-president now, you know.’

  Christ. It’s too early to engage with scumbags.

  ‘Ease up turbo. Tell you what, John – I’ll ask Wikipedia to change its description of you, the one that goes, “Bossini’s fall from grace came after he was forced to pay back $25,000 for wrongly claiming entitlement while taking his family on a vacation to Disneyland”.’

  ‘Oh, and this from a reporter who invents so-called Cabinet “leaks” and then has the audacity to put an exclusive tag on it. Spare me mate, spare me.’

  Dunkley sighed and turned away, sizing up the queue and calculating how many minutes of his life would be spent with this lowlife. His eyes wandered around the unique parliamentary nook.

  Aussies sat at an intersection of corridors in the secure area of Parliament. It was an epicentre of deal-making and, like a small airport lounge, a hub for people on the move.

  The cafe’s lease included a roped-off area with room for a dozen tables inside. Weighty steel-and-glass doors opened to an attractive courtyard where patrons could enjoy their coffee al fresco. Lovely at the moment, but only the bold ventured out in sub-zero winter temperatures.

  Today, with the circus in full swing, every table was occupied. Lobbyists mingled with political staffers who ogled pretty young parliamentary aides who giggled at security hulks who glanced menacingly at anyone straying into their orbit. Journalists circled like starved seagulls around any minister trying to steal a few minutes of peace.

  Aussies’ owner was Dom, a first-generation Italian–Australian who invariably sported a brightly coloured Ralph Lauren polo-shirt. Dom was Parliament’s father confessor, privy to the secrets of caffeine-needy staffers and MPs. He was as trustworthy as a vault, and the searching questions he occasionally lobbed showed a deep knowledge of politics.

  The queue had barely moved and Dunkley toyed with the unthinkable.

  The Trough?

  No, Dunkley would rather skip coffee than retreat to the staff cafe on the other side of the building. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out. There was a message full of cryptic promise.

  ‘Ten minutes. Usual place.’

  It was another source, a trusted source, who only mentioned ‘usual place’ when he had something juicy. Dunkley abandoned his miserable companion.

  ‘Well, great to see you, John. Keep up the good work for democracy.’

  Bossini scowled.

  Dunkley fended off a few barbs from his gallery colleagues as he meandered through the crowd towards the Members’ Hall, texting his coffee date. ‘Mate, your turn to stand in the queue. I’ll join you in twenty.’

  After fifty metres, the corridor Dunkley was following widened to an expanse that bridged the gap between the House and Senate chambers. At its centre was a square pool made from a single piece of South Australian black granite. High above, a skylight revealed the massive flag flying above the Parliament, its image reflected in the glossy blackness of the pool.

  Dunkley chuckled as he recalled the Parliament’s architect explaining the thinking behind the small pond.

  The sound of water trickling through the pool prevents the conversations of Members of Parliament from being overheard.

  Except it was a thoroughfare. There were better places to share secrets.

  Dunkley walked to a little-used lift, just past a glass walkway that led to the Senate chamber. The doors slid open and he hit ‘M’.

  Fifteen seconds later, a mechanical voice announced ‘Mezzanine’ and he stepped into one of Parliament’s legendary spaces.

  Few people ventured to the meditation room to meditate. Few even knew where it was. A small plaque declared the room was set aside for religious observance or quiet reflection. But most came here for illicit sex.

  Several cubicles offered a measure of privacy, and Dunkley walked towards the furthest one. He contemplated a dubious stain on the blue lounge within, wondering if a DNA swab would link it to any minister.

  A minute late
r, the lift doors opened again. He tensed then relaxed as a familiar shape emerged.

  Brendan Ryan dumped himself on the lounge beside Dunkley. Over the years he’d morphed from a source for the journalist to almost a friend. He was finally in the job he’d always craved, Minister for Defence. Time was short.

  ‘No notes, no tape. Just memorise.’

  Jesus. Who’s been fucked over now?

  ‘NSC met half an hour ago. Earlier this morning, just before curfew finished, air traffic across Australia went down. Planes were flying blind, international and domestic. It could have been a disaster but thankfully all landed safe. No one else in the media knows. It’s all yours.’

  ‘You’re kidding? How long was it . . . air traffic . . . down?’

  ‘According to Airservices, it was thirteen minutes. Exactly.’

  ‘And there was no warning?’

  ‘That’s not the way it works when you want to launch a cyber-attack.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A cyber-attack, Harry. An act of aggression. C’mon, get with the agenda. Looks like someone in Beijing has decided that hacking into the PM’s emails was just a warm-up.’

  Dunkley glanced at Ryan, noticing a steady tap of his index finger. For a seasoned political assassin, he seemed tense.

  ‘You suspect China was behind this?’ Dunkley asked. ‘What proof have you got?’

  ‘Harry, we ain’t 100 per cent, but the view around the room – in the NSC – was that China’s the most likely culprit. Oh, and Harry, because I know you are super-careful in checking detail and fact, you might like to know that Tom Heggarty, head of ASIS, reported an increase in cyber-attacks by China since the US declared it a currency manipulator.’

  Dunkley was trying to break it down into a series of mental dot points, wishing he could write down a few notes.

  ‘Brendan, this is dynamite. I’ll work on it during the day, file for tomorrow’s paper.’

  ‘Mate, this is a twenty-first-century attack; you live in the 24/7 era. No, this is for your digital readers. They’ve got to get something for paying their subscriptions to Rupert. A lot of planes were involved and you can’t be sure this story won’t break elsewhere.’