The inevitable clash with political forces beyond his control had occurred. He faced what most commanders in the field face just before their imminent defeat. Too many of his men were in the wrong place at the wrong time, thousands of police scattered along the highways and byways propping up useless barriers and intimidating the public. With only a handful in the western distributor tunnel crying their eyes out and choking to death on Jihad induced smoke bombs.
It was the sacrificial lamb routine all over again, but this time it looked like they really would sacrifice him on the political alter of the damned, in order to placate the rulers of the world. It was a sad end to a gallant man who had given the Australian Police forty years of his life. His past life began to flash through his mind; the glorious events, the sordid happenings, and the down right obscene, all mashed up together in the wildest action movie that would put the best of the thriller DVD’s to shame. This little charade didn’t really matter to Chester, it was just another little speed bump along the way, no doubt there would many others before he was through. Such political rigmarole's were actually becoming a bit of a bore.
He looked around the austere room with its faded sepia photos of the early construction stages of the harbour bridge, and past governor generals, with smug expressions all framed in government regulated brown oak frames.
Well they could just stuff it all up their assess he’d had enough of there politically correct hypocrisy.
He laughed out loud at his thoughts -- they had the info on him at HQ, it was the thickest dossier of any serving commissioner on file, all of it good and righteous stuff, but they didn’t know half of it, he was a secret marijuana smoker. He rolled his own and had a hidden supply always at hand in an inner pocket.
He pulled out a thin leather wallet and extracted a perfectly rolled marijuana cigarrette and lit it. Taking a deep draw, he blew the smoke at the ‘no smoking’ sign, and laughed again.
‘To hell with the bloody lot of them,’ he knew that governments were just a farce -- a contrived template for the control of peoples lives. All governments were corrupt no matter what their political persuasion, it all boiled down to the fact that all humans were corrupt, and so their little offspring's carried the same seeds with them in whatever they did. All authoritative systems were just a matter of degree, some being worse than others, but it was control that resided at the core of all such hierarchies.
But once you had been through the system and found all the holes, it wasn’t too hard to hack into it, and carve out your own little niche.
He drew more deeply on his reefer and his craggy face congealed into a smug smile. If only they knew his real past it would put hairs on their metaphorical chests. The amount of security information accessible to a police commissioner was enormous, in fact, with a little improvisation it was virtually limitless.
Chapter Twenty-eight
In the large meeting room FBI director Harry Lincoln gestured dramatically with his open hands as if symbolically embracing all participants at the table.
‘I’m sorry about all this prime minister, but we do have the president of America locked up in that tunnel, and it is our statutory duty to protect him. We also need to enact certain things with the president which must remain confidential,’ the defense minister beamed and lent forward in his seat.
‘It looks like we might have to use the SAS on this job,’ alarm flared in Bruce Jone’s eyes
‘The SAS is the last thing we need...that would simply put the heat up several notches, what we need now is communication, not more confrontation,’ the defence minister looked down his nose.
‘They’ve got the US president for Christ sakes,’ he snorted.
‘We are all aware of that, however, since you mention the SAS, there is a former commander I remember rather well, a Roger Jansen...I think he may be able to help us,’ the NSW premier began to slowly shake his head.
‘What can one man do? Unless he is some sort of superman.’
‘Possibly a lot more than a mob of milling police officers choking their lungs out in the cross city tunnel. He runs a private investigative agency in Canberra, and has substantial live terrorist experience, ’ the premier’s face lit up.
‘It’s not Roger Jansen of Roger the dodger fame is it?’
‘That’a him premier...its the same man who single handedly purged the police force of its corrupt commissioner and police minister, then wound up the Great Swiss Bank robbery case,’ the premier’s brow creased yet again.
‘But wasn’t he also court martialed and given a stiff prison sentence for striking a superior officer in Afghanistan.'
‘Yes, premier, right again...obviously a slight misunderstanding -- anyway, he has the sort of hands on terrorist experience we desperately need at this moment. If anyone can negotiate with the Muslim extremists in the tunnel, then he’s our man,’ the premier forced a smile for the first time.
‘I hope you’re right minister because another stuff-up like this isn’t going to create an Australian hero.’
‘That may be so sir, but Jansen is still our best bet at the moment.’
‘Can we get him over here in time.’
‘Might take a couple of hours if we do it now.’
‘That’s too long...’
‘What about the Canberra International Airport, can we get him on a fast jet from there? A private or military aircraft will do, after all, it is national emergency,' the defence minister jerked out a well worn note book from an inside pocket. Looking guilty he ran off the number for the airport control offices.
‘That’s the managers number...I’m buggered if a can commit it to memory -- short term memory loss you know,’ he touched his temple suggesting a developing streak of senility.
‘About the fastest jet around at the moment would be a VIP Learjet 60, she’ll do 600mph with a push, get him on one of them, and he’ll be here in no time,’the PM frowned.
‘Isn’t there something faster than that? I believe we have several Joint Strike Fighters the Lockheed Martin F-35 comes to mind.’
‘But they are single strike fighters sir,’
‘Be that as it may...but I do believe they are adaptable twin seaters if necessary. I do recall that provision in the specifications.’
‘We’ll go for that then sir,’the PM nodded.
‘Good,’ Jones keyed in Jansen’s business number; the former commander came on line almost immediately.
‘Hello, Canberra Investigative Agency...Jansen here.’
‘Hello commander, defence minister speaking, we need your expertise immediately,’ a strained silence pervaded the line.
‘I’m sorry minister, but we only take private cases, I’m sure you could find a perfectly good government investigator, there are many highly qualified people who specialise in public service cases.’
‘It’s not your investigative prowess we want Roger...its your profound anti terrorist expertise,’ a second spell of awkward silence followed. The New South Wales premier’s face turned sour.
‘Look, we’re wasting our bloody time talking with this jumped up, quasi-legal maverick, put your best, high ranking officer in the field now,’ the PM suddenly felt the need to intervene.
‘Give me the phone...I’ll have a word with him,’ he clutched the phone authoritatively.
‘Hello Roger, it’s the PM here...we’re in desperate straights, we need a highly qualified man who can think on his feet. This is not about private, or public sectors, or egos -- it’s about your country, it’s about perceived cowardice and heroism in the face of your fellow men. As your PM, I am asking you to take on this job,’ the PM let the message sink in.
Jansen sat mortified -- it was the last thing he wanted to do -- sandwiched between the PM and the BIB it was an impossible situation and one he just couldn’t refuse.
The reply came back slowly and deliberately.
“I understand sir...you have my full attention,’the PM turned to the defence minister.
; ‘Get him here...now!’
Chapter Twenty-nine
The secretary of state tapped on the Oval office door and came barging in red faced and sweating. He stood in front of Jenkins desk puffing like a tractor engine, gathering his spent energy, and trying desperately to sharpen his wits before a planned confrontation which didn’t quite fire on time.
‘Please excuse me for disturbing you sir -- but what the hell is this new directive glibly writing off president Garner, we’re all well aware of your instant proclivity to jump into the presidents shoes...but isn’t this going a little too far.’
‘I’m sorry you find it a little disturbing Colin, but it is common ruling that the vice president becomes acting president during the president’s absences, especially when he’s abroad and at risk. I might also point out that if the president is no longer capable of carrying out his duties no matter where he is, then by the twenty-fifth amendment, the vice president takes over the president’s duties totally...and if the situation continues beyond all reasonable expectations...then the vice president is officially sworn in as president of the United States of America.’
‘Pardon my observations sir, but me thinks that perhaps you’re too good an actor.’
‘Well Mr. Secretary, you might just have to swallow your words, because the president is now in the hands of Jihad terrorists, and his chances of survival are extremely remote.
‘How very convenient Mr. Acting President.’
‘You know your trouble don’t you Colin...you are not a realist. In this job, above all else, we have to be realists, because if you have your head in the clouds, you’ll continue to crash headlong into reality. So unless you have something positive to add to the discussion I suggest you leave this office now,’ Steadman glared menacingly at Jenkins intending to fire off a list of nasty expletives, his better self changed his mind and he executed a smart about turn, sucked in a huge quantity of air, and stormed out of the office.
Chapter Thirty
White House
The coffee was still a little too hot for Jenkins taste and he set the fine porcelain mug down in the middle of the table mat. It just obscured the colourful White House logo printed in the centre of the paper mat. His phone beeped in its amplifying cradle and his female secretary’s voice came through loud and clear.
‘The national security advisor is here sir.’
‘Good, tell him to come straight through.’ A beaming security advisor strode into the oval office holding out his right hand, the president grasped it warmly but with some reservation. A smiling James Holden tended to be a worrying security advisor, simply because he had a habit of always putting a positive spin on the gravest of problems. His expression suddenly became more serious as he put his hand in his pocket and produced a security disk. He popped it into the desk recorder and pressed play.
‘I think you should here this Mr. President,’ a distorted voice crackled over the speakers
‘Do not terminate this call...I have vital information...do not interrupt, I will only say this once. Listen very carefully...the US president will leave government house on Tuesday 15th, at 2.30pm precisely and enter circular quay, from there he will go to Darling Harbour, stay for fifteen minutes, then proceed to the Western distributor cross city tunnel, then exit at the south airport turn off. He will be in right rear seat of the second car sitting next to the defence secretary...’
Jenkins sat in silence apparently pondering the gist of what he had just heard. He squinted coyly at his advisor.
‘Where did you get this recording James?’
‘It was a snag sir, the national security agency pulled it from US outgoing transmissions...it was traced back to Washington,’ Holden lowered his voice, ‘it came from the White House Mr. President,’ Jenkins noticeably stiffened.
‘I presume this is genuine material,’ Holden smiled one of his disarming smiles.
‘Would I joke about a thing like this to the president?’
‘Have you checked its credibility?’
‘It is without question sir -- in fact it came from a mobile in this very building.’
‘What mobile?’ Holden quickly turned his head, as if to check that they were alone, and began to whisper.
‘The mobile is registered with the secretary of state sir,’ Jenkins fell back in his chair seemingly shocked by the revelation.
‘Who knows about this?’
‘You, me, and few close NSA telecommunication technicians. What I don’t understand sir, is why a man in his position would make such a stupid call directly from the white house offices on his own mobile...it’s just plain crazy!’
‘Have you applied voice recognition to the message?’
‘We’re working on it, but it might be difficult to pinpoint the culprit, the wave characteristics have been suppressed to mask the voice, in any case the evidence points to the secretary of state sir...and it might still be possible to match the wave form with the secretary if we compare two similar dubbed voice recordings, Jenkins peered intently at James Holden as if he had revealed a state secret.
‘Indeed, let me ask you a simple question James, which would you consider to be the most powerful attribute of human nature...emotions, or intellect?’
‘Well, I’d go for the intellect sir.’
‘Really, well you could be wrong there, did you know that the vast majority of crimes are perpetuated on an emotional basis? All sexual type offenses are emotional -- greed is another common offence based on emotions. Put a man on drugs, and given the chance, he will blow the whole world to hell just to continue his supply.’
‘And your point sir?’
‘We need to look at the human emotive factor here, because the intellectual factor is clearly missing in this case. I suggest you recheck your info, and then we’ll put the FBI onto it, but keep this under wraps until we are sure this is a bon fida security breech.’
‘What about the Attorney General sir, shouldn’t he be aware of this sir?’
‘Not at this stage James...if the media gets hold of this we could have a political time bomb on our hands -- lets not forget the lessons of Watergate. Even a good practical joke is no longer a joke in the paranoid world we now live in.’
‘I take your point sir...we’ll sit on it for awhile, but you do realize we can’t let this get away from us?’
‘I do James...but I think we should at least let the smoke clear a little before jumping in at the deep end. After all, our quarry has given this country a very large slice of his life, and a career in tatters topped off with a hefty prison sentence could well be fatal for an older man.’
Chapter Thirty-one
Government House Sydney
The defence minister checked his watch and smiled sympathetically at an agitated prime minister. The agonising wait and the continued progression of a nasty uncontrolled situation were more that the PM could stand. He could no longer hide his anxiety and he stood and began pacing the room. For the first time in his career the defence minister felt sorry for the PM and he tried to calm his superior.
‘I’m sure we’ll get on top of it sir...Jansen should be here within the next thirty minutes,’the desk phone rang and the police minister answered.’
‘Commander Steve Denison speaking sir, the BIB have just given us an ultimatum -- we’ve got thirty minutes to completely clear the tunnel of police both ends or they’ll shoot the chief of staff. Apparently a private helicopter will land at the tunnel airport turn off; we are to give them total safe passage, or they’ll shoot the president and the security advisor as well,’ the PM took the phone again.
‘Look commander, tell them we completely agree with the their requests, but they must give us time to put them into effect,’ The FBI director wriggled uncomfortably in his chair and looked earnestly at the PM.
‘Please excuse this interruption prime minister but we have to establish a procedure before we can allow the terrorists to move the president.’
‘I see, what do you ha
ve in mind director...they are about to shoot the chief of staff and maybe the president as well.’ The FBI director shook his head in symbolic defiance.
‘We can’t let them take the president just yet...we have an alternate plan.’ Australia’s FBI boss straightened his stance and adopted a serious demeanor. He carefully outlined president Jenkin’s instructions regarding the marker bullet, and the need to embed it in president Garner. The PM smiled inwardly...this was typical US gung ho stuff, so reminiscent of CIA covert procedures.
‘Well he’s your president director, we’ll see what we can do,’ he turned toward the defence minister,
‘What do you know about Jansen’s military capabilities?’
‘Most of it sir, I have his personal file here...and yes, he is a first class marksman.’
‘Good, we’ll brief him the minute he gets here and get someone to ready the rifle and accessories, we have no time to waste.’
Cross City Tunnel Sydney
A sea of blackness with a fowl smelling, residual fog, permeated the tunnel at both ends. Trapped in between was a 60 by 39 metre area of fluorescent light, augmented by car headlights. There were now only four service agents: two in the presidential car, and two crouching behind the black Lincoln limousine.
The president and personnel entourage had armed themselves as a last resort using emergency weaponry carried in a special compartment within the presidential limousine. Garner stared bleary eyed at the latest brand new US automatic pistol which had never been used in combat before. The point had arrived whereby the secret service could longer effectively defend the president. Eight months previously Garner had personally instructed the secret service director to insert emergency weaponry within his limousine, specifically for his own personal use, should all else fail, little realising that he might now have to use it. He continued to stare at the weapon with the impulsive thought of using it on himself.
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