Deceit

by Richard Evans

  ‘Gordon, on behalf of all those colleagues who work within the parliament and beyond, we wish you well in your retirement. As a measure of our hope you do enjoy your retirement, we would like to present you with this gift.

  ‘The government would like to formally bestow upon you a more significant award in the Great Hall early next year. In the meantime, we think you will get immediate joy from our small gift.’

  Gordon stepped forward, ignoring the prime minister’s outstretched hand, taking the gift and ripping at the wrapping paper. It was a Lancaster river rod, the best fly-fishing rod on the market, a valued addition to any serious angler’s equipment: two thousand dollars of immediate pleasure, and he stood for a few moments admiring his prized gift before moving to the podium. As he did, he flicked the rod a couple of times and the loud swish satisfied him.

  ‘Madam Speaker, Prime Minister Gerrard, James Harper, colleagues, ladies and gentlemen. What can I say? I am speechless. This is the most precious gift, and I look forward to standing in the Snowy and casting for a fish or two.’ Clapping broke out from a number of colleagues, aware of Gordon’s passion for fly fishing. ‘You have been so kind with your words and your generous applause, and I feel humbled by it all. I am not entitled to feel anything other than humble, because I was only doing my job, my duty. Certainly, I am proud of the work I have done, as any who labours over their work is entitled to feel. Beyond that, I know I am no more special than the next person who works in this fine building.

  ‘We who work here are privileged to serve. We do so because we know that if we did not, anarchy is close at hand. For if the people of Australia do not have authority over their parliament, then what do they have?

  ‘So we do our job, and we do it to the best of our ability for the people of Australia. We do it not for ego, as perhaps some in this building may believe.’ Gordon allowed himself a quick glance at Gerrard. ‘We do it because we are patriots to the cause of democracy and its institutions. We do it because we need to do our duty. So thank you for your warm applause and this generous gift, I truly appreciate them both.’

  A text pinged into a smartphone.

  ‘I thank you for the friendships we have developed over the years.’

  Another ping, and then another.

  ‘I thank you for your respect and support.’

  Phones were now pinging throughout the gathering. A journalist suddenly appeared at the door to the courtyard.

  ‘And—’ Gordon paused, a little distracted by the visitor and the phone tones, clearly something was up. ‘I thank you for giving me memories that I will always cherish. I look forward to seeing you all personally before Christmas, as I intend to visit each of you. Thank you, and all the very best.’

  Distracted, muted applause broke out, as Fisher whispered into Gerrard’s ear the message he’d just received. The prime minister blanched, his mouth dropping open like a fish.

  CHAPTER THREE

  MONDAY 6.45 PM

  ‘Alittle late this afternoon, Mr Messenger?’ The barista at Aussies Cafe tamped the grounds as he prepared another coffee. ‘The usual?’

  ‘Thanks, Sam.’ Barton Messenger rejected the idea he was a coffee snob; he simply wanted to enjoy his afternoon latte. Melbourne coffee was the world’s best in his view, and he never missed an opportunity to remind his parliamentary colleagues. ‘Not so hot this time.’

  ‘Busy day?’ Sam poured milk into the steel jug and whipped it under the jet of steam.

  ‘Yes, and it doesn’t help when the government is yet to set their legislative program. What about you?’

  ‘Ah, you know, always busy, not enough time.’

  ‘You must be a millionaire by now.’

  ‘Ten years I have been working in this place and not one holiday.’

  ‘Didn’t you go home to Italy last summer?’

  ‘No holiday for me, family had me working every day.’ He slowly poured the heated milk into the glass over a shot of rich espresso coffee, delicately spooning froth to create a rich creme with his signature heart. ‘Take me here, Sammy, take me there; no time to put my feet up and enjoy the wine.’

  ‘This is the trouble when you get married, Sam. But, happy wife, happy life.’

  ‘You are so right, Mr Messenger. Enjoy your latte, try and get a little peace for a few moments.’

  ‘Your coffee is almost as good as I get in Melbourne,’ Messenger teased. ‘Thank you, Sammy.’

  ‘It’s the best, Mr Messenger, you know that.’ Sam took the offered coins, tossing them into the cash tray. Messenger smiled, collected his coffee and walked out into the hall, personal papers under his arm.

  Squeezing past the scattered tables, he settled into his favourite chair beside the huge window overlooking the garden courtyard to read a speech he had drafted earlier in the afternoon. Later that evening he was due to speak in the chamber for the opposition in response to the newly introduced Immigration Appropriation Bill. It was no noisier here than sitting in his bustling office.

  ‘Hi Barton, mind if I join you?’ Anita Devlin mumbled, pen in mouth, pad under arm, her hands occupied with coffee and a sticky tart. ‘I’m doing a story about legislation the government is proposing to bring into the house and I need to talk to you about it.’

  Messenger looked up and smiled at the journalist, turned his papers over quickly and glanced about to see who might be watching.

  ‘Sure, welcome to gossip central.’ He quickly leaned forward and moved aside a chair for her to sit on. ‘Take a seat, I’ve been meaning to give you a call.’

  ‘What did you want to talk about?’ Anita settled herself. ‘Ah, that’s better. Do you want some?’ She offered the pastry to Messenger.

  ‘No thanks, but I wanted to ask you if you’re doing a story on the appointment of the new chairman of the Future Fund.

  ‘Why? It seems uncontroversial to me.’ Anita took a bite of her tart. ‘Harper has said he’ll agree. Don’t you agree with your leader?’

  ‘I would’ve thought the process of appointment could have been better. No-one doubts Lyons is experienced, and possibly the right person, but it is the way this government goes about it. No scrutiny. No checks and balances. Gerrard just does what he wants and to hell with the process.’

  ‘I don’t see a problem, it’s uncontentious and supported by your lot.’

  ‘You don’t think a government should be accountable?’ Messenger mocked. ‘You lefties are all the same.’

  ‘Of course I do. I just don’t think these minor appointments need reporting though. It’s a simple decision, why complicate it?’

  ‘Once we stop scrutiny of government decisions, we relinquish power and the unscrupulous take over. Remember the WA Inc. scandals?’

  ‘That was decades ago, things have changed since then.’ Anita broke off a small piece of tart and put it into her mouth. ‘And FYI, I’m no lefty.’

  ‘Gerrard just does what he wants, so how do you know he isn’t doing something shonky?’

  Anita shrugged. ‘That’s why we have you and your conservative mates, Bart. You have a history of seeking out any misappropriation of funds.’

  ‘You truly are a cynic, aren’t you?’

  ‘I have much to be cynical about. You lot just keep giving me the self-interest stories. What about that flake from the senate who got caught taking his girlfriend to Broome for a few nights?’

  Messenger smiled, looked at Anita and took a small sip of his coffee, washing it back over his tongue. ‘When are we catching up for a dinner?’

  Anita paused and delicately put another small piece of tart into her mouth as she watched a woman in stilettos march past, heels clacking on the wooden floor. ‘I can never understand why my sisters see the need to wear those hideous things.’

  ‘You are tormenting me.’ Messenger smiled.

  ‘You know how I feel about all that, Bart. I think we should cool our jets a little.’ Anita waited until the woman had passed. ‘Christ, I hate those things, such a r
idiculous fashion item.’

  Messenger was not distracted by Anita’s fashion comment. ‘You’re being rather mean to me.’

  ‘Not really. You’re a big boy. You can get over things. It was a mistake, I told you that. Let’s just maintain a professional relationship.’

  ‘Ouch.’

  ‘What did you say once? Something about having a hide as thick as a rhino?’

  ‘Yes, but I meant in politics, you need it. I think you should reconsider.’

  Anita sipped her coffee. ‘Why aren’t you at Gordon O’Brien’s party?’

  ‘I don’t like him. I’m glad to see the back of him.’

  ‘Why? Is it because he gives you a hard time?’

  ‘He gives Gerrard too much latitude, and he doesn’t like me,’ Messenger said, sipping his coffee. ‘It was his fault we have five-year terms.’

  ‘That’s harsh; he tried to stop Gerrard.’

  ‘He didn’t try hard enough as far as I’m concerned. The prime minister bullied him and he weakened.’

  ‘You’re not saying this because you were tossed out of question time today, are you?’ Anita scoffed. ‘I reckon his note to the speaker may have had you ejected.’

  ‘Not really,’ replied Messenger, reluctantly. ‘I had work to do anyway.’

  ‘I would have thought the manager of opposition business would have been a little sharper on the rules.’

  ‘He doesn’t like me. I cause the speaker too much trouble.’ Messenger shifted in his seat and took another small sip.

  ‘What do you know about the funding for the immigration detention centres the government is proposing in Indonesia?’ Anita took a careful mouthful of tart, to avoid icing sugar falling on her clothes. She worked hard to look professional, but she was always anxious about her choices. It was even harder when black was the only colour she liked.

  ‘We support it.’

  ‘I hear they may be doing something tricky with the funding, bringing a first payment forward to early next year.’

  ‘They tell us nothing.’

  ‘I was told by one of your colleagues you actually do know what’s going on.’

  Messenger did his look, sip and smile routine. ‘I may have some information.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Well, it’s yet to be confirmed, but I’ve been advised they will bring it forward this evening for a vote tomorrow morning. They’re planning to release funds in four stages with the initial funds as a form of deposit in this first bill. The plan is for the first centre to begin construction in the new year.’ Messenger smiled. ‘I could disclose more over food. My tongue loosens when food bounces off it. What are you doing for dinner?’

  Anita sighed. ‘You never give up, do you.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘The government aren’t likely to bring it on tonight, given the tragedy.’ Anita switched the subject.

  ‘A plane crash is surely not tragic enough to close the parliament. It may be a disaster, but surely not a tragedy. I would have thought a respected journalist and wordsmith like you would know the difference.’

  ‘Christ, you obviously don’t know.’ ‘

  What?’

  ‘Eight MPs were on the plane.’

  ‘We’ll need to make a statement.’ Miles Fisher, standing before Gerrard’s desk, was working through crisis media management protocol. ‘Perhaps we can get a live cross on ABC News. No doubt you can appear on A Current Affair, and the Late News .’

  Gerrard didn’t respond. He drew long and hard on his cigar, wreathing his face in smoke and sucking it deep into his lungs.

  ‘Boss, we’ll need to act soon.’ Fisher was more than a little anxious about his lack of direction. ‘The nation needs to hear from you.’

  ‘Fuck it.’

  ‘It’s a sad day. We’ve already spoken to the families and arranged for you to speak to them later. Some are in Canberra. I suppose we’ll need to have a national day of mourning …’

  ‘Fuck it.’

  ‘We’ve had calls from the usual suspects, including the president.’

  ‘I lost a great friend today, Miles.’

  ‘We all did, Prime Minister.’

  ‘Fuck it.’

  Fisher stood quietly looking down at his boss, waiting for instruction, keen to get moving.

  ‘You know we’re stuffed now, don’t you?’ Gerrard finally said from behind a huge cloud of smoke.

  ‘No. I think this will go well for you in the polls. It’s our chance to show leadership.’

  ‘You don’t get it, do you?’

  ‘Get what?’ Fisher checked his list and flicked a page. ‘I think I’ve covered everything.’

  ‘The numbers change. We lose six votes in the house. That means they now have a majority of two.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We can lose government over this – tonight, tomorrow, or whenever the parliament sits again.’

  ‘Oh, shit.’

  ‘Yeah, now you get it, boofhead.’

  O’Brien was already back in his office calling department heads – grief could wait. He might only have a few days left to serve, but he was needed more now than at any other time in his career. Extremely tragic for the families and those colleagues directly involved, the accident would mean significant operational demands upon the parliament and the electoral system in the immediate future. Work needed to be done despite the dark cloud descending upon most of the parliament.

  ‘Three days I think would be appropriate.’ O’Brien was on the phone to the speaker’s office. ‘Which means suspension of the parliament for the remainder of the week, then back to work next Monday. A parliamentary memorial service can be arranged for this Friday and perhaps formal state memorials in a few weeks, but this will be up to the prime minister and his department and the leader of the opposition.’ O’Brien listened to the response, flicking lint from his trousers.

  Marjorie Earle and Paige Alexander, along with Richard Barker the deputy clerk, sat opposite awaiting instructions. ‘No, I am yet to speak to either of them.’ O’Brien swivelled in his chair and sat upright at his desk, rubbing his temple.

  ‘We should be able to issue writs for the by-elections next week. So that means we can either have the elections next month, if we have time before Christmas, or we wait until February, which is my recommendation. They’ll then be sworn in at the first sitting week in March.’ He picked up a pen and waited to write something, but nothing came. ‘Only if they both agree not to take any votes. If they don’t agree, then we could be faced with having a vote of no confidence from the opposition. If the government does not win a no-confidence vote, we can either change government on the floor of the house, or be forced immediately into a general election.’

  O’Brien listened intently.

  ‘I repeat, only if both the PM and Harper agree not to take any votes. It is only for one more week before the summer recess, so I see no reason why they wouldn’t agree. We can assume the numbers will favour the government in the house after the by-elections in March, so it would be a waste of time for the opposition to challenge the current status of the parliament. If we assume the government wins the by-elections, then it would be foolish to change government just for a few weeks.’

  O’Brien nodded.

  ‘Okay Madam Speaker, I’ll call you back when I have spoken to the leaders and organised events.’ He replaced the receiver carefully and sat stroking his chin. ‘Paige, the government wants a parliamentary memorial service this Friday in the Great Hall, which will no doubt attract a significant overseas contingent. Gerrard’s office has also floated the idea of a religious event in Sydney. I need you to organise the archbishop to make available the cathedral for Friday in, say, four weeks’ time.’

  ‘I’ll liaise with the government protocol office and ensure we accommodate those dignitaries who want to come to both. What about the funerals?’ Paige scribbled into her pad.

  ‘Let’s get someone from the PM’s office to organise thos
e.’ O’Brien suddenly stopped talking. ‘God it’s terrible, isn’t it?’

  ‘The worst, and at the worst time,’ said Marjorie, dabbing her eyes with a wad of tissue. ‘What do you want me to do about the media? I have already taken a few calls asking about parliamentary procedure.’

  ‘I’ll make a statement once I’ve spoken to the PM and Harper. Are you okay?’ O’Brien asked quietly. Marjorie nodded and tears welled again, which she quickly wiped away. ‘I see no reason why there should be a parliamentary crisis. The solemness of it all will ensure politics stays out of it.’

  ‘Well, if there was ever a time for Harper, now he has his opportunity,’ said Barker.

  ‘He won’t do it,’ O’Brien said firmly. ‘He knows what he must do.’

  ‘Did you want me to get you something to eat?’ Paige asked. ‘It’s getting late and I want to make sure you’re not neglecting yourself.’

  ‘No, I couldn’t, thanks. I’m too stressed to eat anything right now. Now, please leave me to do my job.’ O’Brien picked up the phone to call the leader of the opposition before being connected to the prime minister.

  After completing his call to James Harper, Marjorie’s voice came through the handset on his desk: ‘The prime minister, Gordon, line six.’

  ‘Good evening, Prime Minister,’ Gordon said as he stabbed a button on the phone to put the prime minister on speaker, allowing Richard Barker to quietly listen in.

  ‘Gordon, how are you holding up?’ Gerrard said. ‘Such a tragedy.’

  ‘Prime Minister, I’ve just spoken to Mr Harper and explained the possible legislative scenarios for him to consider. I put before him a recommendation.’

  ‘And that is?’ Gerrard was curious.

  ‘There are two clear scenarios. We can either issue writs for by-elections next week and the status quo remains until the end of parliamentary sittings next week, or the opposition can force the government to a vote of no confidence. If we do that, we are likely to have a change of government.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘I explained it would be likely the parliamentary numbers would revert to the status quo in March after the by-elections. Therefore, I told him there was little point in achieving a political advantage for so little return by forcing a no-confidence motion in the parliament.’