Deceit

by Richard Evans

  ‘They will be withdrawing it.’

  ‘It would have been much easier for the government to amend the Immigration Appropriation Bill, which would then separate the stimulus money into its own Appropriation Bill. It makes no sense to rush it.’

  ‘If you have already agreed on the budgeted figure of four billion, then I see you have little objection to what they want to do,’ Gordon prodded him further for a response. ‘Plus, they are already drafting a bill.’

  ‘So what?’ Messenger gazed at O’Brien for a moment, gnawing at his lip. ‘We want the two funding proposals in separate legislation, that’s what makes better sense.’

  ‘Maybe they don’t want the scrutiny of the parliament.’ Gordon tested Messenger further with a hint that the proposed funds were being transferred under some cloud of secrecy.

  ‘What, if the government consolidated it with the stimulus package, do you mean?’

  ‘Yes, it seems there is a story we are not aware of, and I agree with you that the full amount for the project should be in the Immigration Appropriation Bill that is on the notice paper.’ Gordon sat quietly studying the manager of opposition business, whose job it was to work in partnership with the clerk to reduce any controversy in the house. ‘Although, I must admit, it would be very hard for you to justify a backflip on this approval.’

  ‘Backflip or not, we will not be supporting a consolidated money bill.’ Messenger pushed himself out of his chair, ready to leave. ‘We will insist the government isolate the payments to the Indonesians. We will support the stimulus payments to the electorate but, I can absolutely assure you, we won’t be supporting any payments now, or indeed in the future, to the Indonesians, unless there is an opportunity for proper parliamentary scrutiny.’

  ‘You will have to agree, otherwise there is a chance you could bring down the government if it loses a vote.’ Gordon pushed a little harder.

  ‘So be it.’ It was time for Barton to leave – he needed to speak to his colleagues – so he walked to the door before turning to look at O’Brien. ‘We will not be agreeing to this, Gordon.’

  ‘If they consolidate it into one bill and you reject it, this could potentially harm your chances at the by-elections, as the community is expecting their money before Christmas.’ Gordon also stood and courteously followed him.

  ‘I think what the community is expecting, Mr O’Brien, is good government – not a Gerrard cash splash,’ Messenger said over his shoulder as he left. ‘We won’t support a consolidated bill.’

  Gordon watched him go, and as he heard the outer office door close he smiled. ‘Good for you, Mr Messenger, good for you.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SUNDAY

  Zara Bagshaw returned home to her country in far north Queensland over the weekend, seeking to soothe away the stress of the previous week and grieve the loss of her colleagues, especially her deputy, Catherine Kennedy. The tragedy thrust major issues before the parliament, especially now the prime minister wanted her to drive the passage of contentious legislation, and the clerk such a stickler for propriety. She needed to be home on her land, to breathe again.

  Zara spent Saturday walking through her favourite part of the rainforest, the coolness of the shade and the dampness in the air bringing her closer to her ancestors who had walked these hidden tracks. She breathed in the history of her sacred place and contemplated those who had gone before her. The lush undergrowth and tall trees filtered the sun and she began to feel cold as her damp shirt clung to her. She brushed past a small tree and a leech dropped onto her neck seeking fresh blood. She flicked it off, flipping up her collar and buttoning up her shirt to the top to protect her neck – she hadn’t brought insect repellent.

  Zara had been prowling through the forest for more than 30 minutes when she suddenly emerged at her waterhole – an oasis in the middle of nowhere with shafts of sunlight sparkling on the water like glittering diamonds. Water purled from the undergrowth, creating a small waterfall that flowed into the pool.

  Zara kicked off her boots, stripped off her clothes and tentatively entered the water. She pushed off and floated on her back for a short time, eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the crisp chill of the water. She stroked over to the small waterfall and thrust her head under it, as if she could wash away the white world she had tried so hard to join.

  Her husband had stayed in Canberra, knowing Zara needed time with her family and the spirit of her country. Their marriage was new, and they were still working out their boundaries, but John Reid had quickly learned a Kuku Yalanji woman needed time in her country. He didn’t understand it, but he wanted to support her in any way he could.

  Before Zara embarked on her long trek back to Canberra, she sought out her father for a private chat. She wanted to discuss the challenges that lay ahead for her. Her father was respected in the district, active in the land rights campaigns where he had sometimes ended up on the wrong end of a police truncheon during demonstrations in the early days. He was tireless in his attempts to explain to recalcitrant Europeans that Indigenous culture was different from their own; not inferior.

  Zara carried a tray of refreshments to the verandah where her father had perched himself in a wicker chair to escape the increasing heat of the day. She placed the iced lemonade and plates of salad and dip on the glass-topped wicker side table and slumped on the couch beside him, grabbing and dipping a carrot stick before she did. Her father had left the family home when she was very young and established another family, so relations between father and daughter were often tense. Visits had been sparse during her teen years but as she matured, she had come to realise the wisdom in his teachings.

  ‘This is nice, thank you, darling.’

  ‘It’s a pleasure, treasure.’

  Jeremy Bagshaw picked up a glass of lemonade and took a refreshing mouthful. ‘So what do you plan to do?’

  ‘I don’t have any options at all. I need to protect Gerrard.’

  ‘Surely he doesn’t need your help. He’s the prime minister.’

  ‘It’s a little tricky with the numbers in the house at the moment. Basically, after the deaths, the majority is now with the opposition. They could bring the government down by voting against any money bill.’

  ‘That sounds like bullshit to me.’

  ‘The parliament must retain confidence in the government’s ability to run the country successfully, so if it loses a confidence vote, or can’t get a money bill through, then the parliament has no option but to go to the people for an election.’

  ‘If I know Andrew Gerrard, he would never let that happen.’

  ‘Not sure he has too much choice.’ Zara leaned forward and took a few more carrot sticks and dip. ‘He hasn’t got the numbers and you can never guarantee an election result. We could lose government if the by-elections don’t go our way.’

  ‘Pass me a bit of that, will you please, darling.’ Bagshaw sat forward pointing to the dip. ‘So why are you so worried?’

  ‘Gerrard has flagged extra money to be added to the punters’ stimulus bill, which he wants passed next week, and he’s rather insistent that it goes through without any trouble.’ Zara poured her father a refill from the glass jug and settled back with her own glass. ‘Damn it.’ Condensation dropped onto her silk shirt, and she flicked her legs off the couch, sitting up to brush away the excess water.

  ‘And this is a problem? I thought I saw on the news that Harper has agreed to pass it?’

  ‘He has, but the PM wants to add more money to the bill, which the opposition has not agreed to.’

  ‘How much are we talking?’

  ‘I’m told a little over four billion.’

  Bagshaw whistled slowly and sat up straighter in his chair. ‘So, if the opposition vote against the bill, then they could bring down the government and force it to an immediate general election?’

  ‘Exactly!’

  ‘I see your problem.’

  ‘It gets worse still. Gerrard has, in no
uncertain terms, threatened me with not only losing my job, but ensuring the party immediately disendorses me.’

  ‘He can’t do that! You’re the first Indigenous politician to hold such a senior parliamentary role.’ Bagshaw almost spat the words. ‘He not only can’t do that, but I’ll make sure he doesn’t.’

  ‘Dad, he can, and he will, if I don’t help him next week.’ Zara looked out into the garden. ‘He’s even threatened to end the funding for your school.’

  The silence between them was interrupted by the screech of a pair of white cockatoos flying overhead.

  ‘This is what concerns me. Gerrard wants this money bill to pass, and I must admit, it is against parliamentary procedure. It looks dodgy, but who am I to question it when Prime Minister Gerrard wants it? If Harper changes his mind then it will apparently be my fault, thus ending my career.’

  ‘So don’t allow Harper to change his mind.’

  ‘How is that possible?’

  ‘You control the parliament. Let them play by your rules. Don’t let them call for a division.’

  ‘But they need to vote on the Appropriation Bill.’

  ‘Yes, but they don’t need to have a division to count the vote, you can pass it on voices, surely.’

  ‘That’s true, but they can call for a division.’

  ‘So don’t let them.’

  ‘Dad, of course they will call for a division. If they don’t approve the expenditure they will ask for a count, believe me, and then that will trigger an election.’

  ‘Two things to consider. Firstly, they would be mad to.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because, the population would be annoyed and never forgive them for not getting their money, especially after they were promised it for Christmas. How much is it?’

  ‘Around a thousand dollars per household.’

  ‘Significant, so if the opposition went to an election breaking their promise, they’d be smashed.’

  ‘Your second point?’

  ‘They could be bound by agreement not to force a division to count the votes.’ Bagshaw placed his glass on the tray and wiped his hand on his shorts. ‘Why don’t you get Harper to sign an agreement that he won’t challenge the numbers in the house, before he sees the bill.’

  ‘He won’t do that. He’s not stupid.’

  ‘It’s not about stupidity, it’s about protocol. James Harper is a decent man and will comply with parliamentary protocol.’

  ‘What happens if he finds out about the extra money? He’ll never agree to ten billion going through when he’s only expecting six billion.’

  ‘So don’t put it in the initial bill, get the senate to amend it.’

  ‘Constitutionally, the senate can’t initiate money bills.’

  ‘They aren’t initiating, they’re amending.’

  ‘They really can’t amend money legislation either.’

  ‘They can if it comes back to the house for approval.’

  Zara studied her father. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘You get the initial Appropriation Bill through the house, amend it in the senate and have the house approve it when it all becomes too late for the opposition to act.’

  ‘Nice one, but is it legal?’

  ‘Is the money being fraudulently taken through the parliament?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Has it been approved by the government and the opposition?’

  ‘The money has been agreed to by the opposition during the budget sessions, back in May.’

  ‘Then you have nothing to worry about.’

  ‘You are joking, aren’t you?’

  ‘Just don’t let them call a division. Everything will be fine, trust me.’ Bagshaw smiled at his daughter and chewed on a carrot stick.

  ‘Stuff Gerrard, I can’t understand why this Indonesian money is suddenly so important to him.’

  ‘The PM has his reasons; those brothers up north know how to get blood from a stone.’

  ‘Yes, but why all the pressure on me?’

  ‘Honey, the prime minister wants it done, so you are under an obligation to ensure it passes the parliament. Do it so it doesn’t create conflict in the chamber.’

  ‘So if I get Harper to agree to zero divisions to count votes, then we won’t have any disruption, and we can all go and have a happy Christmas. The parliament won’t be back until February, after the by-elections, and the status quo will prevail, fingers crossed.’

  ‘Now sweetheart, that wasn’t too hard, was it?’

  ‘I suspect it isn’t going to be as easy as that.’ Zara shifted deeper into her cushions. ‘I still have O’Brien to contend with.’

  ‘Zara, you are the Speaker of the House of Representatives of the Commonwealth Parliament, and you hold the fourth highest office in the land, so be proud of who you are and the position you hold, on behalf of your people. It is your house, so rule it and ensure they march to the beat of your drum. Even the prime minister should respect your decisions.’ Bagshaw dabbed perspiration off his face with a paper napkin. ‘How is the old bloke, still treating you well?’

  ‘He always treats me well, Daddy.’

  Zara stood and hugged her father. It was time to think about leaving for the airport. She lingered in a tight embrace, drawing as much energy from him as she could, never wanting him to know what she had been doing to maintain her authority. Gerrard had a hold on her that no other man had, and she couldn’t give it up.

  ‘Fancy a wine, Gordon?’ The next-door neighbour was at the door waving a bottle of chilled white wine. ‘You sound as if you’ve had a bad time at work.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘You always play Mozart way, way too loud when you’re stressed. So I figure it’s wine time.’

  ‘Well, since you’re here, I suppose you’d better come in.’ Gordon unsnibbed the security door and let Jon Pettifer brush past him into his lounge.

  ‘You work too hard, I’ve always said that. You need to stop occasionally.’

  Gordon went to the sideboard and withdrew two wine glasses and turned down his music. ‘How’s your day been, Jon?’

  ‘I’m a little hungover from last night. A few of us went off to a club. They missed you.’

  ‘I’m a little too old for such carry on.’

  ‘You’re never too old, Gordon, not for me at least.’ Jon cracked the seal and filled the two glasses held before him, took one from his host and sat on the couch taking a generous mouthful. ‘Ah that’s better. So, have you got much planned for your last week? A few parties?’

  ‘No, not really. They did a presentation last Monday, and then I’ve been worried about managing the place ever since.’

  ‘Such a tragedy, and I heard on the news today it didn’t have to happen; the pilot should have waited for the storm to pass, apparently.’

  ‘Yes, tragic.’

  ‘So what’s the news? Any gossip? Anything thrilling? Titillating?’

  ‘You can’t help yourself, can you?’ Gordon smiled and took another sip of his wine.

  ‘Gordon, come on, you know I live for scandal and if you don’t give it to me, I have to rely on boring Kevin on the other side, and he is useless.’

  ‘I have nothing for you.’

  ‘Then why do you look as if you’ve aged ten years since I last saw you? Come on, let yourself be free and get rid of the stress. Speak.’

  ‘You wouldn’t understand.’

  ‘Try me. Just imagine I’m your therapist and you’ve come to see me.’ Jon drained his glass, refilled his and splashed a touch into Gordon’s. ‘Mr O’Brien, thanks for coming in, now tell me what’s troubling you?’

  ‘I’m worried about some of the things happening at the parliament.’

  ‘Yes, good, go on.’

  ‘It’s nothing, really.’

  ‘Gordon O’Brien, judging by your sad little face and the enormous bags under your eyes, this thing that is worrying you is a little more than nothing. Now tell me, I’m a doctor, you can trust me.
’

  ‘There’s a lot of taxpayer dollars going through the parliament this week and I’m not sure it’s all above board.’

  ‘Now that wasn’t too hard, was it. Tell me more. Why don’t you think it’s appropriate?’

  Gordon drained his glass and flicked it at Jon to refill it. He recoiled, protecting the bottle. ‘Don’t worry, I have another in the fridge.’

  ‘Of course you do, dear, probably muscat or hock or some other old thing.’ Jon filled Gordon’s glass and splashed some into his own. ‘So you think this money shouldn’t be going through parliament, but aren’t we getting a government handout shortly?’

  ‘Yes, that’s part of it.’

  ‘So what’s wrong with that?’

  ‘Oh I don’t know, maybe I’m quibbling over nothing.’

  ‘Listen, my friend, I’ve known you since you were this high to a grasshopper,’ Jon held out his hand. ‘And if you say you are uncertain about something then more often than not there is something wrong, so what is it?’

  ‘The prime minister—’

  ‘That bastard!’ Jon shrieked.

  ‘… the prime minister wants to change legislation to get a project funded ahead of the agreed time.’

  ‘So the money is paid early, so what?’

  ‘Well, on its own absolutely nothing, but when he is doing it the way he is, then I become suspicious of his motives.’

  ‘So what should he have done?’

  ‘There is legislation already on the notice paper he could have amended.’

  ‘OK, strike one. Could amend existing legislation. What else?’

  ‘He could have drafted separate legislation.’

  ‘Perhaps there is a timing issue and he didn’t want a delay.’

  ‘Then why not amend the original legislation?’

  ‘Good point, what else?

  ‘He tries to dump it into legislation that has already passed the house.’

  ‘You’re lucky I know what you’re talking about, you know. Do you ever think of that?’

  ‘I know, and that’s a good point.’ Gordon reflected on the innocent comment.