“You may be interested to read about some of the security issues we faced during the last Forum in Brussels and I’ve prepared a brief report giving you an outline of known threats and our strategies to contain them.” He looked over at Parsons. “Am I correct in assuming everyone present has signed confidentiality agreements?”
Parsons looked up and caught his eye. His head tipped in answer. George took a pile of reports from his briefcase; each stapled document prominently red-stamped Highly Confidential. He passed them around the room and waited until everyone held a copy.
Systematically he dealt to each of his prompts.
* uniquely different threats
* increase border vigilance
* home-grown protest groups
* external threats
* timely sharing of security intelligence
* respect the perspicacity of the UN network
* close with memory prompt
He reached the last point, took a deep breath then slowly looked around the room. He could see that he still had their attention. He smiled slightly.
“One last thing before I sit down. If you remember nothing else from this morning remember this. ‘Expect the unexpected’. It will be your best strategy.” He glanced at the clock high on the wall. “Thank you for your attention. I look forward to getting to know you all much better over the next four years and,” he grinned at Pania, “I’m sure you’ll rise to the challenges.”
Again laughter rippled around the room. Parsons stood up.
“Thanks George. We can see that you are … er … passionate about fighting terrorism and we in New Zealand share these values. We’re a peace loving society but I am sure we have much to learn and your report promises to … er … help us understand the menacing threat of global terrorism. We are unlikely to experience these threats here but I see no harm in keeping ourselves informed and up-to-date. I can assure you that all of us here in this room and those we represent are working off the same page and that we’ll all pool resources and ensure that this Forum will be safe and successful.”
As attention moved away from him, George again became unremarkable.
“Now it’s time for a lunch break. Gentlemen, ladies, please move to the reception area where lunch will be served. We meet again in an hour.”
People stood up and stretched. Murmurs of conversation followed them as they wandered into the reception room. George admired the table laden with food, his mouth watering at the sight. Before them lay a palette of rich colours; crisp white rolls; creamy yellow cheeses; green salad leaves; moist red salmon; ham on the bone; large oval olives in dark purple and pale green and pickles. Tiny drops of water sparkled on the plump red and orange tomatoes. As his eyes toured the table he could imagine the flavours. There was so much to choose from and in the centre of the table rose a mountain of éclairs.
Little groups formed here and there as delegates clustered, juggling their plates and cups as they chatted.
“If you’ve had enough to eat, we could go for a walk,” Pania suggested. “Get some fresh air?”
George looked at his watch.
“Do you think we have enough time before the next session?”
“We do. We can wander up Queen Street to the town hall and back again. It’s not that far and we can pick up a coffee on the way back. Real coffee not this stewed stuff. You like coffee don’t you?”
If sounded good to George. He felt a bit thickheaded, jetlagged. A walk would do him good and a coffee would keep him awake. He nodded and placed his empty plate on the table.
“Sure I like coffee, especially if it’s full of caffeine. Lead the way.”
They headed up Queen Street walking as far as Aotea Square before turning and retracing their steps. George appreciated the break and the exercise. Already he was forming an impression of the country and its people. So many ordinary things seemed subtly different. It felt strange walking beside Pania on the wrong side of the sidewalk. The breeze carried the salt air ahead of them and the palm leaves whispered overhead. Pania set a purposeful pace and pointed out local landmarks. The sunlight seemed more intense and it bounced off the tarmac in warm waves.
They returned to the conference room carrying steaming cups of aromatic coffee and they were not alone. Several others had also used the extra time to nip out. The afternoon passed quickly and by four o’clock he could hardly keep his eyes open. It was time to call it quits. Pania escorted him to the hotel. It was not far and as they walked, they discussed the day’s sessions.
George reflected on his impressions of Parsons. Choosing his words carefully he ventured.
“I’m struggling to read Parsons. He’s a bit … reserved? Perhaps he thinks I’d been reading too many thrillers and doesn’t take me seriously?”
Pania shook her head firmly.
“Yes - no. Well ... I know that we can be a bit complacent but probably not everything you said is relevant down under. That’s Parsons view. I’m sure he’ll come round. He’s okay … can be a bit parochial. You know … doesn’t like outside interference. According to him, terrorist attacks just don’t, won’t happen in New Zealand. To tell the truth, most of us struggle to visualise such events. You’re in safe, conservative Middle Earth.” She saw his eyebrow twitch. “Sorry I’m a Tolkien fan.”
“Hey that’s great. I’m with you all the way when it comes to Tolkien. I’m a big fan. You know, I hope to have a chance to visit WETA Workshops when we have our meeting in Wellington. It’s one of my dreams, visiting in Middle Earth.” He looked at her hopefully.
“I’d be delighted to take you.” She beamed at him. “I’ll make a note in my diary and pencil in a free half day for you. If it can be fitted in, it will be! I’ll check with Te Papa to see if their LOTR exhibition is still on. Anyway, what was I saying before I got sidetracked? Oh yes. Don’t worry about terrorism threats down under. We’ll all make sure they never happen here … You know ... we have a small population and we’re pretty much isolated from the rest of the world. Our troubles are so much more manageable, containable, controllable … You’ll see.”
George was pleased. He had WETA to look forward to but he wasn’t sure he agreed with her point-of-view. Time would tell if she was right. They reached the hotel. Pania shook his hand.
“I’ll call in at eight thirty tomorrow to pick you up. Does that suit?” He nodded and thanked her.
She watched him as he registered, picked up his key from reception and turned to go towards the lifts. Tiredness washed his pale complexion of colour and he looked so ordinary, a man of little significance. She wondered if he had a wife or girlfriend; his limp suit suggested otherwise. She’d met other men in nondescript suits. They were always looking for someone to look after them. She shook her head. She had no intention of becoming a caregiver. She was looking for an independent man, a soul mate.
Still, George intrigued her. Despite his accent, he was unlike any American she’d met. As soon as he’d stood to address them she’d seen him change. Not loud or overbearing, he spoke with firm authority, the facts at his fingertips, his conclusions balanced and astute. He did not tell them what to think. Instead he had clearly presented the facts and left it to them to draw their own conclusions.
As the lift doors closed Pania turned and left the hotel. She was looking forward to spending the next two evenings with her cousin Cheryl, who had an apartment in town and a comfortable spare bed. Cheryl felt more like a younger sister than a second cousin and Pania could not remember a time they hadn’t been friends.
Two days later she dropped George back at the airport. She’d developed an instinctive liking for this quiet, reserved American and looked forward to their next meeting. He seemed to see life in a suspiciously mistrustful light. Perhaps given the intelligence which passed his desk it was not surprising. He was, she decided, a keeper of dark secrets.
CHAPTER 15
Two days after George left Auckland, Brady arrived. He hadn’t told George the full truth. He w
as going fishing but not the sort of fishing George had imagined and he was well prepared. He had the facts filed away in his mind; the unemployment and crime statistics; those half hidden hints of controversy or discord and he understood about gangs and turf wars and who was who.
His reputation preceded him and his money opened doors. Brady was encouraged by the welcome he received. As he approached key individuals and groups, his open wallet quickly persuaded them that they would benefit from his friendship. It was a good start and Brady considered the cost reasonable. There was one final undertaking he needed to complete and it concerned Ms Kristine Baildon LLB, a young lawyer from one of Auckland’s most prestigious legal firms. The minute Brady met Ms Baildon he knew he’d made the right choice. He’d asked for a junior solicitor and chosen her. Her evident inexperience was perfect for his purposes. He set out to impress her. He required her, he explained, to complete all necessary documentation to ensure that his new venture, ‘Change Makers’, was correctly established as a charitable trust and obtained a not-for-profit status. It was crucial, he explained, for future supporters to qualify for tax rebates on their donations. Ms Baildon was impressed by her new client’s knowledge of the legal issues and his suave presentation. He was, she had quickly judged, a very, very attractive man.
He was extremely well organised. All the paperwork need to register the new organisation; a trust deed, constitution, business plan, and mission statement was at hand. Brady authorised her to open a trust account and invited her to become their legal advisor and representative and in this capacity she should apply for all charitable grants and community funding for which they might qualify.
“Every dollar we get helps the underprivileged,” said Brady earnestly.
Brady’s aspirations and the wonderful benefits he promised to bring to New Zealand made a huge impression on the young lawyer. She was so caught up in the vision he painted that before she knew it she was hooked. His enthusiasm and charm inspired her to offer her services at no cost.
“We often do pro bono work and this is such a good cause,” she enthused to him. “Please accept Mr Ambler. Besides it’ll free more funds for your work.”
Brady sat back and looked at her with apparent surprise and frank appreciation. She’d coloured under his gaze suddenly embarrassed by the emotion that his attention stirred.
He was silent for a moment, as if deciding whether to accept her offer.
“Thank you ... call me Brady. I’d really appreciate that. I’ve been deeply touched by the fantastic Kiwi generosity I’ve experienced. I’ll never forget your kindness, Ms Baildon, Kristine.”
His deep warm drawl caressed her name. They moved on to the business of signing the legal papers and their agreement. Kristine was mortified when her biro suddenly ran dry.
“Here, borrow my writing instrument.”
She’d almost laughed aloud when Brady had said ‘writing instrument’ but the pen felt wonderfully sensuous in her hand; just the right weight and the ink flowed smoothly onto the paper. She promised herself that she’d get one like it one day.
With the dealing done and all the papers signed, Brady slipped his Montblanc into his leather wallet and stood up. He kept his eyes on her as they shook hands, then she escorted him to the lift and they waited for the doors to open. His closeness and his attention flustered her and she didn’t know what to say. He seemed reluctant to go. The lift tinged and its doors opened. He deliberately hesitated for a moment before smiling regretfully at her and tilting his head slightly in the direction of the waiting lift. With a deep sigh he turned and stepped inside just as the doors closed.
Later she struggled to explain to herself what had made her volunteer to make him a pro bono client but Brady’s gratitude warmed her long after he had left and she looked forward to their next meeting.
“Launch of Minginui Pilot.
Rotorua News August 2011
Minginui has been chosen as one of the pilot projects for Change Makers. This Charitable Trust is new to New Zealand and has been looking to establish several projects. After careful consideration Minginui has been chosen. Organisers believe it is an area full of potential and that their involvement will make a positive difference to the district. There are currently few opportunities available to the young people of the area and the community has pledged its support, something which Change Makers believes is essential for its programs to work.
To quote Rawiri Kairangi, the Director of Ngati Whare Schools, ‘The new organisation promises to make a difference to the behaviour and aspirations of our young people. I believe that it will be a force for good and am pleased to see the level of parental support that this project has attracted. I look forward to developing close links with Change Makers and to seeing positive outcomes resulting from their work in our school community. We are proud that Minginui has been selected for this pilot project.’
The Change Makers model is inclusive. Membership is free and open to all between 7 and 21 years of age, regardless of race, gender or creed. The majority of the leaders are local volunteers and funding comes from New Zealand and overseas sources….”
CHAPTER 16
Ms Kristine Baildon, LLB, had performed her pro bono work efficiently establishing Change Makers as a bona fide new charitable trust. Brady’s fresh venture was recognised under law and compliant with government regulations. Most importantly it was an approved charity and donors qualified for tax rebates. Brady considered this an admirable state of affairs and one he intended to use to full advantage.
Every year she completed applications for funding and as the organisation’s name became known they attracted more significant grants. Brady opened her eyes to the poverty hidden from middle New Zealand. She was at first indignant when he referred to city slums. Slums were found overseas not in her country but he quoted government facts and graphically proved his points with photos of dirty, snotty, barefoot kids. It had shocked her deeply and she was glad that she was making a difference. Her growing admiration for Brady stopped her asking questions.
Brady travelled extensively meeting with church workers and Mãori elders, with Pacific Island leaders and sports administrators. Everywhere he went he offered funding and hope to community leaders. At the same time he was probing society’s underbelly, looking for disaffected youth. They were not hard to find. He recognised the signs, the local grievances and simmering tensions. These hotspots were selected for his pilots. He identified potential leaders and established training camps often in a blaze of publicity.
Not everything Brady did was public knowledge. Behind closed doors he formed strategic alliances and money talked. He made agreements, signed contracts and earmarked secret funds. Certain key groups and individuals were given specific tasks. He hired middlemen, people with links to the criminal community, who were ignorant of his agenda or his connection to Change Makers. They certainly had no loyalty to his cause. They would do anything if the pay was good enough so they were hired, bribed and occasionally blackmailed.
Yet despite appearances Brady did not have access to unlimited resources and he needed to find generous openhanded patrons and committed supporters. Good works relied on cash flowing in. It depended on frequent, prominent and carefully scripted coverage to keep its donors from asking questions. Tales of heartbreak and calamity were popular media fodder and Brady’s marketing department ensured they had a steady stream of lead stories, cleverly worded so that many who read their articles felt needlessly guilt-ridden. Mining this reaction, Change Makers offered readers a ready-made solution.
Brady was a dexterous pickpocket who had perfected the art of extracting money from wallets. He had retold his life story many times and over the years he’d learned which parts to embellish and which to leave out. Word spread that he was an entertaining speaker with a fine cause. Those who heard his story were touched and inspired and as he finished they often rose to their feet in enthusiastic applause. This was the moment Brady looked forward to, the moment when he wo
uld deftly begin to take advantage of their instinctive emotions.
“My life is dedicated to helping young people overcome poverty and tragedy but I’m not superman, I can’t do this alone. I need your generous support so that we can offer programs, provide counselling and other opportunities wherever there is a need. In particular we are looking for regular sponsors who are willing to partner us on an ongoing basis. Together we can be makers of change, change right here in your own communities, funded by locals, run by locals, for locals.
“I know New Zealanders are real generous. Everywhere I go I am overwhelmed by your kindness. You can be proud that your support is making a difference, and it is making a difference right here in your own communities, but with more funds we can do so much more.”
His audience emptied their wallets into the collection plates and completed pledge cards. Most left the meetings filled with a sense of togetherness, warmed by their contribution to a better world and happy to trust the outworking of this to Brady. Few people ever saw past the Brady pinup. They were like Ms Baildon. They saw what they wanted to see and most wanted to see Brady as a white knight.
CHAPTER 17
Brady’s tanned complexion deepened and his eyes narrowed as he reread the report. One of the ogdoad had broken the rules. The damming evidence lay before him and he needed to limit the danger. He didn’t hesitate. He couldn’t. Too much was at stake and without compunction, he selected a cell phone from the top drawer of his desk and keyed in a new message. He checked the text and then pressed ‘send’. The clock was now ticking.
He leaned back and reviewed the circumstances. At least his careful procedures had enabled him to detect the threat and eliminate it. For three years it had seemed like an expensive and unnecessary exercise. Replacing each laptop was costly. Year after year his IT department checked each returned machine for clues of unexpected activity.
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