by Ann Massey
I sighed as I searched for something to say. There was a time when Karim and I could talk about anything at all. Like how he hadn’t wanted to follow his father into the family business. Like how much I wanted to make a difference in the world. We’d told one another about our first loves. In fact we’d shared everything from the day I’d started working at Hagadery. Well almost. I hadn’t been guilty of breaking the Official Secrets Act.
“So have you had a busy day?” I said as if I was making casual small talk with an acquaintance rather than the love of my life.
“I spent most of the morning going through the security arrangements for the opening of the RTU.”
“I’m pleased to know the authorities are taking proper precautions ... although I think it’s unlikely there’ll be an incident. To a bushie like me, Perth is a vibrant city, but internationally it’s a bit of a backwater.”
“The government doesn’t share your view, Beth. Police are crawling all over the hospital. I guess it’s on account of the number of foreign leaders attending the ceremony.”
My jaw dropped. It had never crossed my mind that the hospital could be a terrorist target. “Has there been a threat?”
“Not that I’m aware of. Security is always tight at these affairs. But at the end of the day ...” His voice trailed away and a look of stunned comprehension swept over his face. “Oh I’d forgotten your sister is attending. Are you worried about her safety?”
“I wasn’t before, but I am now.”
“I think you’re overreacting. If the police thought there was any danger they’d call off the ceremony.”
“I suppose so, but I’m going to worry until the darn things over.”
“In that case don’t let her go.”
I shook my head. “Annie would never forgive me. She’s been selected to present the bouquet to the prince’s wife.”
He gaped. “She has? You never said.”
“It was all very last minute. I only found out today. Annie’s a ring-in ... the girl who was originally chosen has broken her leg.”
“Does that mean you’ll be going along too?”
“No such luck. Attendance is by invitation only. Bonnie Stevens is the only member of staff attending.”
“You’re well out of it.” He pulled a face. “Huh ... all those long-winded speeches.” His drawn-out sigh sounded heartfelt.
Just then the oven timer buzzed. I said, “Are you ready to eat?”
He bared his perfect teeth, “I’m so hungry I could eat you up.”
My wicked, wayward heart wished he would.
* * *
“Was everything all right? The curry wasn’t too hot?”
“It was exactly as I like it, in fact the whole evening’s been perfect. “He leaned forward to top up my glass and then poured the last of the juice into his own. “But for your invitation, I’d have been in for a dull evening, with just myself for company and a takeaway from the hospital canteen.”
“Poor you ... you’ve three years of the same to get through before Panya’s of age. I smiled innocently. “Are you sure I can’t tempt you ...” I paused deliberately.
Karim flicked his tongue nervously over his lips. He opened his mouth and then closed it again. I took pity on him.
“I was hoping you’d relent and have an after-dinner coffee ... I’m having one.”
“Yes ... yes, I don’t suppose it’ll hurt,” he said, embarrassment flooding out of every pore.
He’d moved to the sofa when I returned five minutes later. I slipped into the seat next to him and handed him his mug. My hand grazed his. It shook so much it was a miracle he didn’t spill his coffee.
I said, “I thought all surgeons had steady hands.”
He laughed, awkwardly, put the mug on the coffee table and inched closer to me.
I grinned inwardly. I’d never realized seducing a guy would be this easy.
I raised my face to his. My budding confidence drained away when instead of the kiss I’d worked my butt off for, he said, “Are you sure you can’t help out at the Detention Centre on Saturday?”
I pulled a face. “Sorry, Karim, I can’t ... my sister’s vulnerable right now, I don’t want to disappoint her.”
“I guess this is goodbye then.”
“Goodbye?”
“I’m afraid so, Beth ... I’m leaving Perth immediately after the opening ceremony.”
“Why?”
“I’ve resigned as director of Refugee Services. Dr. Randall is taking over from me. He’s been shadowing me all week.”
I stared at him in dismay. “You never said ... this is all very sudden!”
He shrugged. “Not really. I gave the hospital three months’ notice. I knew from the first that this wasn’t the job for me. The hospital has found a well-qualified physician to take my place, in Randall. Unfortunately, that’s not the case where I’m going. It’s nigh on impossible to get trained medical staff to go to remote areas. That’s the reason I have to go back”
I shivered. “You’re going back to Suruç?”
He nodded.
I was horrified. “But you can’t ... look what happened to you last time.”
His eyes bore into me. “That’s the last thing I expected to hear from you. You used to say you’d go wherever you were needed no matter what the personal cost.”
“I can’t,” I said, squirming under his contempt.
“What’s stopping you?”
“I promised my mother I’d look after Annie when she was gone.”
The light went out of his eyes. “We were never meant to be together,” he said with a defeated shrug.
* * *
Bone tired, it was an effort to undress. But instead of falling into an exhausted sleep the moment my head hit the pillow, I tossed and turned. My cell’s ring tone came as a welcome diversion from squirrel thoughts. Unknown caller was displaying on the screen. I tapped accept.
“I hope I didn’t wake you?”
There was no way I’d admit I was wide awake. I faked wake-up grumpiness. “You most certainly did ... this better be important, Karim.”
“Sorry ... I should have waited until the morning to ask you ...”
“Ask me what?”
“Er ... I wondered if your sister would like to look around the Detention Centre on Saturday.”
“Annie is far too young to visit what is essentially a maximum security prison. I don’t think a trip to Yongah Hill is age appropriate, Karim.”
“Well how do you and Annie feel like dropping by RTU instead?”
“Thank you for the invitation, Karim, but I’m afraid I’ve made other plans.”
There was an extended moment of silence, and then Karim said, “What plans?” He sounded distinctly skeptical.
“We’re getting out nails done. Afterwards, I’m taking Annie to MacDonald’s and then onto the cinema.”
“You can do that any time. I’m offering your sister an opportunity to meet some of the refugee kids on the ward ... to gain an understanding of the emotional turmoil they’ve been through. As a teacher, you’d have to agree that the experience would make attending the opening ceremony much more meaningful for her.”
Put like that I could hardly refuse. “I can see why that would be worthwhile but...”
“You don’t have to worry about Annie being bored,” he said coaxingly, “the clown doctors drop in around three on Saturday afternoons. They have the kids in stitches with their tricks and silly pranks ... there’s one that shows the kids how to make animals from balloons.”
“It sounds like lots of fun but...”
“The kids enjoy it. Later, we could pick up some takeaway and a bottle of wine and relax at my place while she watches the kid’s channel.”
My jaw dropped. Drinking was contrary to the dictates of the Islamic faith. Karim’s feelings for me must be strong if he was prepared to abandon his scruples to see me one last time. I didn’t swallow all that guff about wanting to provide Annie with a meani
ngful experience.
I accepted. My reason had nothing whatsoever to do with giving Annie an educational experience.
Twenty-one
I phoned the general from my hotel room on his restricted line. He answered immediately. I told him we were wrong about Beth and that in fact she was researching a novel.
If anything he was more worried. “Has it got anything to do with the International Space Station?”
“No, Sir ... it isn’t even set in Australia,” and I proceeded to recount as much as I could remember of the plot.”
“And you’re certain she isn’t a security risk?”
“Completely.”
“No reservations?”
“None at all.”
“That’s a relief. I hold Elizabeth Godson in high regard.
“I fingered the pouch of Devil’s Breath in my pocket. You hypocrite, I muttered under my breath. “I assume you will remove her from the Watch-list, Sir?”
“No we’ll continue monitoring her.”
His refusal came as no surprise. It’s harder to get off a surveillance list than to get on one. “Will you arrange my flight back?”
“No! I want you to stay right where you are for the present. I’ll phone the Chief of Joint Operations at SOCOMD and arrange your deployment to the surveillance team. You’ll be my eyes and ears.”
As head of ASP, I’d had dealings with Special Operations, the section of the defence force responsible for domestic counter-terrorism in Australia. “Is SOCOMD in charge of G20 security?”
“Presently, it’s the responsibility of the Australian Federal Police. However, Special Ops personnel have been deployed to staff the hotel where the delegates will stay for the summit’s duration. From now on they’ll report directly to you.”
I was thrilled to be given the assignment. “Should I wear uniform or civvies?”
“Uniform ... you represent SOCOMD.”
Phew! I’d prayed he’d say the former ... my civilian wardrobe of jeans and a hoody was hardly suitable for hobnobbing with top brass. On the other hand, I’d stick out like a sore thumb among the derros at the Exchange in the uniform of an air force officer.
I said, “The reason I asked Sir, is because I’m staying at a flea pit for down-and-outs so as not to blow my cover. The staff will think it strange if they see me in uniform.”
“In that case move to the Galaxy. That’s the hotel hosting the summit.”
“Yes, Sir. Will it be okay to use my credit card? I paid cash at the Exchange but I’m certain a five-star hotel won’t accept a reservation without one?
“Otis will book you in.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Have you got a notepad?”
“Yes.”
“Write down your instructions.”
For the next hour I wrote furiously, as the general went over every conceivable problem that might arise. And then some!
* * *
Once I’d settled up at the Exchange, I purchased a decent suitcase and headed over to the Rest Centre at the city railway station. Tony, the friendly barman had told me about its scrupulously clean toilets and shower facilities and I didn’t feel up to braving those of the Exchange. After dressing, I stepped back into the shower. I turned the hot tap on full and let it run and build up steam for five minutes after first angling the showerhead away from me — a tip I’d learnt from an RAAF steward. When I emerged from the shower stall I was smartly dressed in a wrinkle-free uniform.
It was a short walk from the railway station to the Galaxy but I thought it would be more appropriate to arrive by taxi. “Good morning, Sir,” said a doorman in a knee-length olive green jacket worn over white trousers with gold ribbon down the sides, as he opened the taxi’s rear door. “I’m delighted to welcome you to the Galaxy.
As we ascended the hotel’s red-carpeted steps, he asked me if I was attending the G20 Conference. I’d nodded. “In that case you won’t need to stand in line.” He guided me to the end of the red carpet, steering me past the well-dressed throng queued up at the reservation counter some chatting excitedly, others checking their cells, and ushered me through a barrier to a small, but well-appointed room at the end of the lobby.
“Flight Lieutenant Jones,” I said to a stunning dark-haired dish and flashed my ID.
“We’ve been expecting you, Sir. You are in room thirty ... on the twenty-first floor.” She reached under the counter and placed a key card and a large reinforced brown envelope on its marble top. “You use the key card to access the lift, the security door into the hallway and your room.” She batted incredible eye lashes. “Please take a seat and I’ll call a porter to take your bag.”
While I was waiting, I admired the artwork on the walls. I was examining the signature to make sure it really was by Andy Warhol when the porter arrived. He snapped to attention.
“Ex RAAF?”
“Serving, Sir,” he replied crisply.
“SOCOMD?”
“Yes, Sir. I’m Warrant Officer Peters. All personnel servicing the secure floors are serving members of the Air Force.”
That made sense. RAAF-trained chefs, stewards, and cleaners are second to none. Those in the army and navy don’t even come close. I smiled. “The delegates are in for a memorable experience.”
He raised a bushy eyebrow as he picked up my case. “I trust it won’t be too memorable, Sir.”
* * *
The vast suite I’d been assigned was decked out with designer furniture, the like of which I’d never seen before. Peters guided me to a large comfortable chair. A couple of minutes later he handed me coffee in a Wedgewood cup and saucer. By the time I placed the empty cup in its saucer, he’d unpacked my suitcase and everything was stowed away. He placed a hotel gown on the coffee table. “I’ve taken the liberty of drawing you a bath, Sir.”
“Thank you Peters ... but I don’t require the services of a butler.”
“My CO will have my balls for lunch, if I send you off to meet his oppo in the Feds looking like a ragbag,” he said unhooking an ironing board from the inside of the wardrobe door. Obviously my genius hack for getting wrinkles out of clothes wasn’t up to his fastidious standards.
“You do realise, Sir,” he said as I handed him my jacket, “that you’re only meant to wear this uniform in summer.”
“Of course I do,” I said, a tad crossly. “But I’ve come from Baltimore where it’s summer.”
“Leave it to me, Sir,” said Peters, jotting down my size on a hotel notepad. “I’ll phone the base. We’ll have you kitted out appropriately by lunchtime.”
“Fantastic,” I said and slipped out of my trousers.
Twenty-two
Once Peters had made himself scarce, I opened the bulky envelope the receptionist had handed me. It contained the summit’s calendar, security measures and a list of invitees. I reckoned the presence of the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge at the opening of the G20’s only social event was an unwarranted complication. Why had they been invited? Wasn’t the UK monarchy meant to keep their blueblood noses out of politics?
Several pages in, I found the answer. The young couple’s visit to Western Australia was to support a business venture of a friend of William’s from Eton. The opening of his pal’s hotel at Margaret River, in the state’s South West and the refugee trauma facility were only a day apart. Like his, mother, Princess Diana, William used his celebrity to raise awareness of humanitarian causes. He’d jumped at the chance to attend the official opening. From a security perspective, we could have done without the headache.
Nevertheless, His Royal Highness was the only guy on the invitation list with whom I’d like to share a beer.
I’m not the world’s fastest reader, and so it was close to lunch-time when I asked the operator to put me through to Chief Superintendent Leeke.
“Whom shall I say is calling?”
“Flight Lieutenant Jones.”
The next voice that came on the line said, “Good afternoon. If you’ve set
tled in, I’d like to drop by and meet you ... if that would not be inconvenient?”
The slight emphasis was justifiable as he was doubtless aware I’d arrived well over an hour ago
“Come on over now, Chief Superintendent. I’m just about up to speed on security for the summit.”
“Happy to answer any question,” he said and the line went dead.
A few minutes later there was a sharp rap on the door. I opened it immediately. The public face of counter-terrorism wore a black suit, white shirt and red tie. His choice of dress was tactically smart because he could pass as a middle-management businessman.
His jaw dropped when he got a gander at me decked out formally in dress uniform with gold braid on the lower sleeves to indicate my rank. I remained impassive under his scrutiny, but I felt like a douche bag. “I’ve been expecting you,” he said after we had shaken hands. He paused before adding, “SOCOMD hasn’t briefed me about the particulars of your role. But it’s my understanding that security for the summit remains my responsibility.”
I repeated the general’s reply when I’d asked him about my duties. “As SOCOMD’s representative, I decide if a situation is beyond the capability of the State and Federal police tactical groups. In that event Special Forces will render support.”
The expression on the Chief’s face left me in no doubt what he thought. But as counter-terrorism was the joint responsibility of the police and defence forces he was in a difficult position. He was still attempting to formulate a politically correct reply when in the best traditions of military leadership I struck first. “If it isn’t inconvenient, I’d like to inspect the security measures you’ve put in place ... both here and at the hospital.”
“No worries.” His knitted brow belied his answer.
* * *
The tour of the hotel commenced in a private section of the underground car park. Hidden from public view behind a false wall, it was accessed via a swipe-card operated door at the rear of the building. The Summit had taken over the hotel’s upper three floors.
We took the elevator to the top floor. From the conference room on the twenty-third floor, I gazed through bombproof windows at workmen installing netting to shield delegates from the paparazzi. Overkill in my book, but as my guide kept repeating you couldn’t be too careful.
