Deceit

by Richard Evans

  ‘It’s working in the members dining room. I pick up all sorts of things.’

  ‘The fact is, no-one actually knows what’s going on with legislation, so the money gets lost in translation.’

  ‘How much are we talking?’

  ‘Four billion.’

  ‘Four billion bucks, for what?’

  ‘Indonesian immigration detention centres. They were approved in the budget and were to be paid over the four years of the project. Now they want all the money up-front.’

  ‘You know something? I could believe that. Do you remember that cute little Balinese fellow at the club? He’s always asking me for money.’

  Gordon ignored the interjection. ‘So why is the government trying to do something shifty?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, Gordon. Go and get the other bottle will you, and make sure it’s not muscat,’ Jon said as he emptied his bottle into the two glasses, overfilling both.

  ‘It’s chardonnay, you know that’s all I drink.’

  ‘Even when you go fishing?’

  ‘Even then.’

  ‘So when do you think you’ll be out casting a rod again? I have a week off after the parliament closes, so perhaps we can go camping.’

  ‘That’d be great, maybe next weekend,’ said Gordon, returning from the kitchen with a freshly opened bottle in his hand. ‘This is a nice Western Australian number from a small winery near Pemberton – I bought a case.’

  ‘Of course you did, dear, nothing else to spend your money on, so you may as well.’ Jon joked. ‘So is the moron going to get the deal done, or will he have to do what Gordon tells him?’

  ‘Well, if he puts it with the Christmas stimulus package he’ll be in trouble because the opposition have said they’ll reject it.’ Gordon fetched fresh glasses from the sideboard. ‘So, I’m not sure what Gerrard will do; that’s what worries me.’

  ‘What, that useless Harper said no? Good on him.’

  ‘No, it was Messenger.’

  ‘I quite fancy him, you know – such a handsome fellow.’

  ‘I haven’t noticed.’

  ‘Rubbish!’

  Their raucous laughter was interrupted by Gordon’s mobile phone buzzing. ‘Gordon O’Brien.’

  ‘Mr O’Brien, it’s George here, just letting you know she has redirected a car to take her to the parliament.’

  ‘Thanks, George, good man. Keep me advised.’ Gordon pushed the end call button and slipped it into his trouser pocket.

  ‘Who was that?’

  ‘George from security. He’s keeping tabs on a few people for me.’

  ‘You sneaky so-and-so.’

  ‘Maybe so, but I need to make sure nothing is happening that I’m not aware of.’

  ‘Well, nothing is happening here, so let’s go eat somewhere.’

  ‘I have a casserole in the fridge.’

  ‘You’re kidding me. Thursdays are your casserole night, and it’s usually a beef curry, am I right?’ Jon rushed to the fridge to check. ‘Thought so. I’m not eating three-day-old curry. Let’s go to the club.’

  ‘Okay, but I’ll drive. I want to get home early – I have a big week ahead.’

  ‘Stuff that, we’ll take a cab and be home by nine, I’m not having you not drinking.’

  ‘Jon, seriously, I need rest. I haven’t had much sleep over the last week.’

  ‘You’ll be in bed by 10.30, I promise. Now drink up, pour me another, and I’ll call a cab.’

  The flight back from Cairns to Canberra seemed to be longer than usual, touching down at 6.30 pm after travelling via Brisbane. As the plane taxied to the terminal, Zara received a text message.

  URGENT U CUM ASAP

  Zara recognised it was from the prime minister’s personal phone, the one he kept for their private communication. Although she didn’t want to have a late night, she directed her driver to the parliament, and asked her to wait for her in the basement carpark. She promised she wouldn’t be terribly long.

  Zara entered the house through the representatives’ entrance, passed security and walked to her office. She waited anxiously for five minutes, just in case any interested person wondered what she was doing in the house so late on a Sunday. It was not unusual for politicians to labour hard in their offices late into the night, returning early the next morning.

  When Zara considered she had waited long enough, she slipped out of her office and silently moved through the darkened corridors to the prime minister’s suite. The office had been converted to two levels from the original plans, forcing the ministerial suites above the prime minister’s office to be relocated. This increased floor space for staffing, and provided a private suite for the prime minister on the first floor. The internal stairwell was added at great cost, and its grand sweeping staircase added pomp to the entrance from the prime minister’s courtyard. Upstairs was the prime minister’s private office, meeting rooms, staff offices, a lounge, dining room and personal suite.

  Zara had been given a key to a fire door on the first floor. She checked the dimly lit corridors for movement, and seeing no-one she entered quietly, closing the heavy door softly behind her, entering the personal suite of the prime minister. She never heard the click of a camera shutter.

  Gerrard sat on a soft leather lounge watching a sports program with the ubiquitous cigar in one hand and brandy balloon in the other.

  ‘Zara, there you are. Come in and put your feet up, you must have had a long day.’

  ‘I have a car waiting.’ She wanted to get home and not linger.

  ‘Never mind that, do you want a drink?’

  ‘Andrew, I need to get home. Can we get this done? Why do you want to see me at this time of night?’

  ‘I want to discuss the legislation I’m tabling tomorrow.’

  ‘Can’t we do that in the morning.’

  ‘No, we can’t.’

  ‘Come on then, let’s get to it.’

  ‘So, do you want a drink?’

  ‘Champagne, please.’ Zara relented slightly, knowing when to ease up. Andrew Gerrard may have been her occasional lover, but he was also the prime minister. ‘What do you want to talk about?’

  Gerrard had opened a bottle of Dom Perignon in anticipation of Zara joining him and poured a chilled glass, handing it to her and moving to a leather chair, leaving the lounge for her. ‘Take a seat, this won’t take long.’ Suddenly serious he added, ‘I took a call from the clerk this afternoon.’

  ‘Oh yes, what did he want?’ Zara sat opposite on another chair, avoiding the lounge.

  ‘I can’t believe that guy has only five fucking days left and he still thinks he is the keeper of the flame.’

  ‘What did he say?’ The champagne was chilled perfectly and the bubbles were working their magic.

  ‘He thinks we should defer the Appropriation Bill, or at the very least drop the immigration centres’ funding.’

  ‘I spoke to him on Friday and told him what was happening. What’s got into him?’

  ‘Fucking treasury. They told him they haven’t reviewed it. Mind you the treasurer has said it’s all right, but because some bureaucratic wanker in treasury said he hadn’t seen it, O’Brien wants to stop it.’

  ‘So what’s the problem? Get the money for the punters through and defer the Indonesians until next year.’

  ‘Nope. No good.’ Gerrard sucked on his cigar and blew the smoke toward her.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘They’re beginning site works as we speak.’

  ‘On a Sunday?’

  ‘The Muslims don’t rest on Sundays, Zara. It’s only lazy Christians who do that.’

  ‘That’s a potential problem,’ Zara said.

  ‘I knew you’d understand.’

  Zara understood all right, something dodgy was going on with Gerrard, hence the late meeting. She swigged some champagne and looked at Gerrard, searching for something to help her.

  ‘There are two things I want you to do.’ Gerrard ashed his cigar then took a large draug
ht of brandy. ‘The first is, we must ensure the stimulus and the Indonesian legislation gets tabled in the parliament tomorrow, and we have to get it out into the senate by Wednesday morning at the very latest.’

  ‘We can’t afford to have a call for a division on it. Given the numbers, you will lose government if we do. How is Harper holding up to his agreement?’ Zara asked.

  ‘I’m not so worried about him, it’s O’Brien I’m concerned about. It wouldn’t take much effort on his part to get the drafting office to delay it on a technicality, then we’re all stuffed.’

  ‘I know you’ve had your problems in the past with him, but he doesn’t call for a division, the opposition does.’

  ‘O’Brien can lean on Harper if he thinks the bill is suspicious.’ Gerrard drained his glass.

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘No, of course not.’ Gerrard stood and moved to his liquor sideboard to refill his glass. ‘The fucking Indonesians have changed their minds at the very last moment, asking for the entire amount allocated in the budget, so I’m trying to facilitate that when we don’t have the damn numbers.’

  ‘So why not wait?’

  ‘The Indonesians have told me in no uncertain terms that if the money is not released to them before Christmas, the deal is off. I can’t afford to look as if I can’t control those rat fuckers. Plus, they’ll now go ahead with the executions if we don’t do as they ask.’

  ‘But Andy, it’s only a couple of months.’ Zara pointed at her glass and Gerrard took the champagne from the ice bucket. ‘Surely they can wait?’

  ‘It needs to be done and dusted this week without any delay. That’s what I want to happen and that’s what I want you to make sure happens.’

  ‘We need to lock Harper away first, before we worry about what the clerk may do.’

  ‘Do you have a suggestion as to how that might happen?’ Gerrard asked as he slowly poured the champagne.

  ‘Invite him to your office tomorrow morning for a joint press conference. You and he can announce the formal signing of an agreement between the government and the opposition that is effective for one week only, where no divisions will be called for on the floor of the house. Sweeten the deal by saying to him he can call a formal vote on any money bill, which means he won’t suspect anything.’ Gerrard replaced the bottle in the bucket and sprawled in his chair. ‘This then allows Harper to feel as if he is in control and not giving too much away with the agreement, which of course he isn’t.’

  ‘I’m listening.’ Gerrard blew smoke high into the fug above his head.

  ‘You then table your stimulus package legislation for the first and second readings tomorrow morning, after prayers. And here is the most important point,’ Zara sat forward, looking at Gerrard to ensure he was paying attention to what she was about to say ‘the legislation does not include the funding for Indonesia.’

  ‘How is that any good?’ Gerrard straightened up. ‘That’s crap, I just told you we need to get the fucking money through this week.’

  ‘Wait.’

  ‘For what? That is a ridiculous plan. If we can’t get it into this new Appropriation Bill then how are we to get it through the fucking house this week?’

  ‘It gets the legislation through the house without controversy and up into the senate without having to take a formal vote. Then it is amended by the senate to add the funding for Indonesia.’

  ‘You of all people should know the senate can’t initiate money bills. For fuck’s sake,’ Gerrard sneered.

  ‘True, not unless it then comes back to the house for approval.’

  Gerrard stopped his carping and looked at Zara. ‘You’re suggesting we send the stimulus package to the senate without the immigration centre money.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘We then amend it in the senate to add the four billion.’

  ‘Now you’re getting it.’

  ‘I see, so we get it through the house without controversy from the opposition or the media, and then bring it back amended, which we then approve.’

  ‘This allows you to sweet-talk the media before it comes back to the house, highlighting the pressure from the Indonesians, blah blah blah. You’ve already had Harper agree not to take any formal votes, and his mob has already approved the stimulus package. When the legislation comes back amended, he can’t then vote against it. He would look like a goose denying the punters their Christmas treat, and during the process we can sideline O’Brien.’ Zara took a generous mouthful of champagne, and sat back in her chair.

  ‘That could work.’

  ‘The most important part, Andrew, is Harper. You have to blindside him tomorrow morning before prayers with some sort of signing of a formal agreement.’

  ‘I get it. I can get the governor-general along and maybe one or two others to witness it, then we announce it on morning television.’ Gerrard smiled slowly. ‘This will shut down any debate, and finally O’Brien will be out of my hair. I like it.’

  ‘You like it?’

  ‘You bet, but what happens if the opposition gets restless in the chamber?’

  ‘That’s when I will shut them down. They would have agreed not to take a division in a formal agreement. If they try anything or even get close to calling a division, I will just leave the chamber, automatically closing proceedings.’

  ‘Harper retains the authority to reject money bills, but by the time it comes back from the senate, he’ll have already approved it once, and won’t reject it again – brilliant.’

  ‘As I suggested, he would lose too much credibility with the punters if he stopped their payments after already voting for the stimulus package.’

  ‘This is fantastic. Is this your own work or did dear old Dad have a say in it?’

  ‘He says hello.’

  ‘Okay, so I get Harper on side. We table the legislation and we wait for it to come back amended from the senate. By the end of the week the punters will have their money, and the Indonesians their cash, O’Brien retires, and we all go off for a very merry Christmas. Brilliant.’

  ‘You just need to get the legislation redrafted quickly, which shouldn’t be a problem.’

  ‘I’ll make a few calls tonight and get some lazy fucking bureaucrats out of bed.’ Gerrard smiled widely.

  ‘What’s the second thing you want done?’

  ‘What? What do you mean?’ Gerrard tossed his cigar into the ashtray.

  ‘You said you wanted me to do two things?’

  ‘Oh yes. One was to ensure the money got through,’ Gerrard began to unbutton his shirt, pulling it from his trousers and dropping to his knees before her, tenderly placing his clammy hands on her knees and gently easing them apart. ‘The other thing I wanted done, is you.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  MONDAY 8.45 AM

  Gordon O’Brien had been waiting almost an hour for his allotted meeting with the speaker. It was nearing 9.00 am, he was yet to hear from her, and he had other urgent duties to attend to – the parliament was reopening and there were instructions to be given to managers and staff. No-one in her office knew her whereabouts and she was yet to come in for the day. He sat patiently in the lobby of the speaker’s suite, knowing he had plenty to do elsewhere, but his meeting with the speaker was the most important.

  ‘Mr O’Brien? Speaker Bagshaw will see you now.’ A personal assistant appeared from the speaker’s office and seemed apologetic, although offered no actual apology.

  Gordon followed the staffer into the speaker’s office, where she sat behind an enormous desk covered with files and papers in no discernible order. The full-length windows overlooking a grotto of ferns and water features did not allow in much light until the sun rose higher, and a desk lamp shone brightly as the speaker worked on her notes.

  ‘Ah, Gordon, nice to see you, good morning. Did you have a good weekend?

  ‘Yes, Speaker.’ Gordon had risen early, with a slight headache and dry mouth, unable to remember much from his previous evening with Jon.


  ‘Please sit down. You wanted to see me?’ No apology was forthcoming and Gordon sat, placing his files on his knees.

  ‘Yes, I thought we had confirmed eight o’clock, but it seems I must have got the time wrong.’

  ‘No issue, Gordon, what is the problem? I have important work to attend to.’

  Bagshaw did not make it easy for him. ‘This appropriation legislation the government wants to enact this week – I have issues with it.’

  ‘Namely?’

  ‘Well, there are a number. It is too rushed. It hasn’t been vetted by treasury. It does not have the endorsement of the opposition. The parliament has skewed numbers and …’

  ‘There’s more?’

  ‘I believe there may be some unethical activity associated with it.’

  ‘You had better explain yourself.’ The speaker stopped doodling and looked at Gordon. ‘Who do you think is responsible for this unethical activity?

  ‘I’m not sure, Speaker. I’m not even sure what it is.’

  She raised an eyebrow quizzically.

  ‘Speaker, you are going to have to trust me on this, but no-one at treasury has approved the draft.’

  ‘That’s an alarming allegation to make, Gordon.’ Bagshaw sat back in her chair seemingly surprised by O’Brien’s take on the legislation. ‘Who do you think is doing this con job you are suggesting, and why?’

  ‘I have a suspicion the government is attempting to release taxpayers’ funds without the authority of treasury. I am unclear as to the government’s reason for this unseemly rush to get the stimulus package and the immigration detention centres’ appropriation through the parliament this week.’

  ‘The prime minister has now publicly explained why he needs the funds passed this week.’ Bagshaw looked down to refer to her notes. ‘He believes the tragedy last week will impede the economy, and he wants a cash stimulus for all Australians to ensure the Christmas trading period has the best chance of meeting forecasts.’

  ‘I get that, Speaker, and while I don’t agree with it, I understand the prime minister’s need to pander to the electorate.’

  ‘Nice word, pander, but entirely inappropriate here.’ Bagshaw referred to her notes again. ‘The prime minister is concerned about the economy and its impact on retail sales during December. Given the uncertainty of a virtual caretaker government until the February by-elections, the prime minister wants to ensure economic stability during this period. No pandering.’