The Secret Agenda

by Jacquelyn Webb

  The motor thudded into life. They were leaving! She had to make a decision, right now. The sound of the motor deepened as the speed of the boat increased, and the decision was made for her. The rush of water weakened her grip and dragged her away from the ladder.

  Donna bobbed on the top of a wave, watching as the boat angled past the white water around the rock and vanished. She tried to look across to the area where the sharks had been thrashing around, but there was nothing to see. Then she was swooped down into the white water and hurtled towards the rock. She blinked the water out of her eyes. The wave lifted again. There was a narrow gap where the water sluiced through without breaking, and she stroked towards it. The water caught her, and she thrust through, past the rocks and the roar of white water, to be washed up on to a receding, stony beach. She dragged herself further out of the water.

  She was safe! She sprawled across the hot rock, too exhausted to move, as her clothes dried. Her waterproof watch reminded her it was only half-past-ten. Neither of her photographers would be aware of her absence until they tried to collect her at two o’clock. Or did one or the other know that she had almost been disposed of for snooping?

  Donna stood up and explored. The rock was almost an island, with twin peaks well out of the water. Around her was limitless ocean. She scrambled down to the other side. It was more protected and not as noisy. There were rocks and rock pools with coral and seaweed in them and even shallow caves.

  She wondered about her chances of catching fish without a line. She had read somewhere that sucking raw fish could quench thirst. She also remembered reading somewhere that the rock pools were full of poisonous corals and fish. Still, whatever happened, she told herself firmly, she had to survive.

  Chapter Sixteen

  As she gazed into a very decorative rock pool she heard the thudding.

  She looked around. Was it another boat? Was it help or enemies? A shadow passed over her. She looked up. It was a chopper! It hovered and landed on a flat piece of rock just above the water’s edge. She stepped into the water and backed into one of the shallow caves. A man jumped down from the chopper. He wore a spotless white shirt and dark tie with a pair of dark suit pants. He reached into his pants pockets and donned sunglasses. He had public servant stamped all over him.

  Donna sighed as she stepped up out of the shallow cave. “Mr. Smith,” she said in an unfriendly manner.

  “Ms. Madison,” he said. “Matt worried you could’ve ended up here.”

  “Where’s here?”

  “Billican Island,” Mr. Smith explained. “Can I offer you a lift back?”

  “How did you find me so quickly?” Donna demanded.

  “Matt put a bug in your bag,” Mr. Smith explained. “He said that your bag was a fixture, and you never went anywhere without it. He’s been frantic about your unscheduled trip on that boat of all boats.”

  “Something to do with the drop-off date was it?” Donna asked.

  “Matt will be pleased you’re okay,” Mr. Smith said, ignoring her question.

  “The boat Let’s Loaf collected something over the other side of the rock before they threw me to the sharks. I heard something clang on to the hull,” Donna explained as she climbed into the chopper with Mr. Smith.

  “Under the hull! What a smart idea,” Mr. Smith replied. “We’ll get the boat intercepted and searched before it gets anywhere.”

  He looked at the back passenger who nodded agreement and snapped orders into his mobile phone.

  “I left a note with their interesting dialogue about how they intended to stop my snooping in the keyhole of the door to the storage area,” Donna said grimly.

  “Clever girl,” Mr. Smith praised. “I don’t suppose …”

  “I am happy to stick to journalism,” Donna said frostily. “Bad enough you’ve pulled Matt into this business.”

  “Matt nearly broke cover when he realized you were involved,” Mr. Green admitted.

  “So where is he?” Donna demanded.

  “One last job under cover as a diver who isn’t too fussy about what he does as long as he gets paid,” Mr. Smith said.

  “Have you discovered who Mister Big is? Is the mayor involved?”

  “Sapphire Green owns the boat Let’s Loaf through a series of accounts and companies, and we checked up on her embarrassment of riches in the offshore accounts. The tax department isn’t the only mob suddenly interested in her and the mayor’s offshore accounts.” Mr. Smith sounded smug. “Some computer nerd alerted us to them.”

  “He is fourteen, and you should reward his initiative,” Donna suggested.

  “We don’t encourage computer hackers,” Mr. Smith snapped.

  “You won’t get too far without his help,” Donna said nicely. “Reward his initiative, or else I will remember I am a journalist with a scoop.”

  “There is such a thing as the Official Secrets Act,” Mr. Smith warned.

  “I haven’t signed it,” Donna pointed out.

  “All right,” Mr. Smith said grudgingly. “You can have your scoop within reason. Maybe we will offer your hacker a job when he is older. Matt is heading straight to Melbourne as soon as he hits land. Now we’ve got Mr. Big…”

  “Ms. Big,” Donna corrected nicely.

  “Matt has to stay well out of sight until the dust dies down, or he’s useless to us. He researched all the distribution areas down the coast. We can collect them with one nice coordinated raid.”

  “All those diving jobs with the seedy little fishing boats,” Donna snapped. “What if he had been discovered?”

  “Matt’s good,” Mr. Smith discounted. “Anyway they were only small fry, despite the payments involved. We wanted how and when the stuff got into the country.”

  “Very praiseworthy, only I don’t like my brother’s neck on the line all the time,” Donna complained.

  “Your Matt’s good,” Mr. Smith assured her. “Not that the trade will be stopped for long.” Mr. Smith sounded suddenly depressed. “It’s a hydra-headed monster that keeps bobbing up.”

  “What about Lang Torrens?” Donna was almost too scared to ask. Was he small fry, or maybe, with his luxurious house, another Mr. Big?

  “He discovered that you had checked up on his finances and seems to think you are a mercenary female out to get him,” Mr. Smith explained.

  “Is he involved in the drug trade?”

  “Only as a part-time operative of ours.”

  Donna immediately felt better despite her over-active morning. She looked at her watch. “Are you going to have me back in time for my next appointment? It is a guided tour of some pearling exhibition.”

  “No problem,” Mr. Smith said.

  Chapter Seventeen

  By the time Nick collected her from her hotel room at two o’clock, Donna was well-showered, changed, and ready for action of the journalistic type.

  “And where have you been?” she demanded. “I don’t consider you to be extremely reliable.”

  “Lang wanted to work as your photographer and bribed me to stay missing with the use of his yacht.”

  “Great!” Donna fumed. “You are completely without principle.”

  “Funny about that,” Nick said. “His sister, the countess, agrees with you.”

  “Indeed,” Donna said coldly.

  “She has at last agreed to be plain Mrs. Carrellas,” Nick said happily.

  “The Australian Pearling Exhibition,” Donna nagged. Not that she felt like nagging. She suddenly felt wonderful. “After which I have mountains of stuff to write up, and I need all the photographs organized, so don’t bother to sneak off.”

  Not that she felt like nagging. She felt contented. So Lang had the idea of bribing Nick so he could work as her photographer. It was a pest that he had decided that she was both mercenary and untrustworthy. Was he perhaps just being jealous? She tried to concentrate on the more immediate concerns of her job.

  “You’re invited to the wedding,” Nick said after a long and industrious
silence sorting up photographs.

  “I have mountains of stuff to write up, and I need all the photographs organized and emailed tonight, as I am leaving on tomorrow’s afternoon plane, so don’t bother to sneak off,” Donna said. “Send me an invitation.”

  The Pearling Exhibition was very interesting, Donna decided, and she had enough material to use on the tourist section to keep her editor happy. Afterwards she typed up and emailed the article and photographs off, then ordered a light meal to be sent to her hotel room. Finally she had another shower and changed again for the evening conference, wondering about her ability to stay awake and alert long enough to report it.

  At exactly eight o’clock, there was a knock on the door. She grabbed her battered and faded bag with its new tape recorder and opened the door.

  “Oh,” she said as she saw it was Lang who waited with his camera case slung over his shoulder.

  “I am filling in for Nick who has a previous engagement,” he said politely. His face was bland, but his eyes were watchful.

  “That’s satisfactory,” Donna said. “I have no complaints about your expertise in photography.”

  “I have the car downstairs,” he said.

  Donna waited for an apology or even a reference to their earlier fight, but she waited in vain. She wondered if Mr. Smith had told him that Matt was her brother, like he had promised to do, but she decided not to ask awkward questions. There was always the chance that Mr. High Security, close-mouthed Smith, had changed his mind about leaking that information.

  At the conference, she took notes of the speeches and collected the circulated literature and ordered photographs of the speakers. She noticed that both the mayor, George Vallison, and the greenie, Sapphire Green, were noticeable for their absence.

  Lang drove her back to the hotel afterwards in more silence. She decided that his continued polite silence was disappointing. He answered if she spoke to him, but volunteered no remarks.

  “Still an early enough night,” she mused as the BMW purred to a stop at the front of the hotel. “Most of the stuff of this report is straightforward reporting. You can email me my photographs, and I will have them sent off before midnight and leave tomorrow with a clear conscience.”

  “You leave tomorrow?” Lang asked. It was the first personal question he had asked all night.

  “My four days are over and done with,” Donna explained. “If you had a copy of the agenda you would have noticed that the conference tonight was the end.”

  “I thought you were going to do an article on the pearl industry?” Lang said.

  “I am interested, but I’m running out of time,” Donna said. “Maybe some other time.”

  “I spoke to a Melbourne public servant,” Lang said stiffly. “Also I did bribe Nick to go missing so I could move in as your official photographer.”

  “Indeed,” Donna said.

  Was this the start of a belated apology? Well, she had no intention of helping him. His arm rested casually across the back of her seat. Also, she told herself, she had no intention of getting out of the car before he apologized. Not if she had to sit here until her plane left tomorrow afternoon.

  The silence lengthened. There was an inexplicable tension building up between them. She yawned. It had been such a long day, and she was suddenly so tired. Thinking about the effort of doing the last report before sleeping was painful.

  “Rabbit recovered and was discharged,” Lang volunteered into the silence.

  “Glad to hear it,” Donna said.

  “Mr. Smith explained that it was your brother who was at Rabbit’s house and his work partner,” Lang said.

  “Did you think I had designs on Rabbit?” Donna asked.

  “I was insecure,” Lang said meekly. A hand rose to fondle her face. “I’m all for family myself. I even put up with my sister.”

  “Is that an apology?” Donna asked.

  “If that is what is required before you can return to look more closely at the pearling industry, you have it.”

  “And you are not too worried about me chasing you for your bank balance?” Donna asked.

  “I’m easy. You can have it,” Lang retorted. There was a chuckle in his voice. “Are you prepared to chase me for my bank balance?”

  “Perhaps. Or perhaps not,” Donna said primly.

  “The secrecy is because I am a pearl buyer—lucrative but not full-time,” Lang explained. “The secrecy is also is to avoid attention. Mr. Smith is very against anyone in our line of work being high profile; and it’s also to avoid fortune-hunting females. When I discovered that someone had hacked into my personal affairs I got nervous.”

  “You consider me a fortune-hunting female?” Donna asked incredulously.

  “I couldn’t care a bit if you are,” Lang murmured. “I love you.”

  “But I’m not,” Donna started before the arm around her dropped and tightened as she was dragged across the front seat and ruthlessly kissed.

  She relaxed and kissed him back. She was not tired any more. Elation and happiness felt as if they were fizzing through her veins like champagne. Life was suddenly perfect, and she was sure she could adjust to the Darwin heat.

  “Mind the gear lever,” she protested after a few minutes.

  “You are coming back?” Lang whispered. “My sister is hoping that I don’t let you escape and is looking forward to welcoming you into our family. She wants to be your bridesmaid.”

  “You haven’t asked me to marry you yet?” Donna pointed out.

  “I can’t get down on my knees in the BMW,” Lang explained. “Can you take it as granted? I desperately want to marry you.”

  “And I still have two hours work to do, and I am leaving tomorrow,” Donna said, dismayed as her wristwatch glowed the accusing time at her.

  “I’ll email your photographs as soon as I get home,” Lang said dreamily as he kissed her again. “We’re engaged! I’ll come and see you off tomorrow.”

  “That sounds satisfactory enough,” Donna agreed.

  ****

  “You’ve made the conference of the environmentalists and politicians interesting enough,” the editor agreed after she returned to Melbourne. “And that scoop unmasking the breaking of that drug ring is very good. Fancy them distributing down the coast through the fishing boats, with none of the crew aware.”

  “Not going to notice anything removed from the hull by the odd diver,” Donna explained.

  “And all this trotting backwards and forwards,” the editor grumbled a few months later. “You did a nice article on the pearl diving industry. You also acquired a nice souvenir while you were doing it,” he said admiring her ring. “Is that pearl real?”

  “You are so slow,” Donna reproved. She held her hand up to show the ring more clearly. “It is an engagement ring.”

  “Am I going to lose my best journo?” her editor asked.

  “I’m only as far away as an email,” Donna reassured him. “But I have decided I can adjust to the Darwin climate.”

  “So that is why you are returning to Darwin again next week?” her editor demanded. “The court hearings for the Ms. Big of the smuggling are not listed until next year.”

  “I will send you full reports of them when they get to court,” Donna promised. “Also, I’m looking forward to showing some friends my brother’s wedding photos and the photos of his new son,” Donna explained.

  “Email them,” her editor advised. “Just as easy.”

  “Not for these friends.” Donna explained. “After one of them has admired the photos, he is likely to be more receptive to a proposition I intend to put to him.”

  “Another scoop, I suppose,” her editor agreed in resignation.

  “Maybe,” Donna said smugly.

  About the Author

  Started my writing life as a copywriter in an advertising agency. Took to writing instead of drink when raising children. Did an Arts Degree at Monash University as a mature age student. Lurk in an underground flat in the Danden
ongs, still writing.

  Also by Jacquelyn Webb

  Chapter One

  The countryside was flat and monotonous and Jenny stifled a yawn. They had been driving since early morning and now, several silent hours later, she regretted her impulsive action in taking on the temporary live-in position of bookkeeping and light housekeeping. The arrogance of the man interviewing her had got under her skin, so she had jumped in feet first.

  “If you are sick of being cooped up after your last job, it might be a break from office work,” the girl from the Agency had suggested.

  Jenny had grinned at that. She had just got back from her first free morning at the beach when the Agency had rung to ask if she was interested in an immediate position of temporary employee at a country property.

  “A bit of paperwork and some light housekeeping, until the permanent recovers from her accident, or whatever, and he’ll want to leave six tomorrow morning. Can you make the interview by four?”

  Jenny had been offered quite a few permanent jobs but, after two years with the Agency, she wasn’t interested in a permanent position. She liked the challenge of different jobs, and prided herself on her ability to cope with whatever came up.

  She had left straight away, arriving punctually on the stroke of four at the foyer of the city hotel. However, the man who had moved forward to introduce himself as Wayne Paterson examined her doubtfully, a scowl knotting the black brows in a bar above his cool grey eyes.

  “Miss Jenny Fleming?” he asked, and from then on the interview had gone straight downhill, and ended up to be more of a headlong confrontation than an interview. “I was expecting someone older. You look too young for what is required.”

  Jenny had taken a deep breath, deciding that this job wouldn’t really suit her at all. She wasn’t into chauvinistic, patronizing employers. She plunged into battle.