‘Can I see you and Graeme for a minute, Spike?’ asked Mortimer as Ferallo, Meyer, Mahisa and the US Army colonel all bundled up their notes and walked briskly from the room, each taking a sealed folder marked ‘First Level Secret’ and containing Kadar Al-Jahani’s interrogation transcripts.
‘Sure,’ said the defence forces chief. Thought so.
‘What’s up, mate?’ said Griffin, changing chairs for one closer to the DIO man.
‘Do you mind if I eat? Didn’t go home this morning, missed breakfast and I’m starving bloody hungry.’
‘Me too,’ said Griffin. ‘Might join you.’
Mortimer opened a briefcase and took out a wrinkled brown paper bag with oil stains on it. He removed two slices of stale, buttered bread and sprinkled potato crisps on them, emptied a sachet of tomato sauce onto one slice of bread, and then brought the two slices together.
‘On second thoughts…’ said Griffin.
‘Don’t expect too much from the Americans,’ Mortimer said with a mouth full of chips, butter, tomato sauce and stale bread, ignoring the look of horror on Griffin’s face.
‘I must say, Felix, you’ve been full of good cheer today,’ said Griffin, raising an eyebrow at Niven. Mortimer was known to be a bit of an eccentric. He was forty-seven and apparently still lived with his mum, who, if his lunch was anything to go by, had no positive influence over his diet.
‘Why not?’ asked Niven, not wanting to waste time. ‘What’s on your mind?’
‘They’ve got the world’s biggest Muslim nation under threat at the same time as one of its staunchest allies — us. The United States won’t be going eenie, meanie, miney, mo, wondering which country they’ll pitch in to help. It’ll be Indonesia first, Australia a distant second.’
‘Bullshit,’ Niven barked. ‘We’ve just supported America in Afghanistan, Iraq and West Africa. There has to be some quid pro quo in the relationship.’
‘Don’t count on it,’ Mortimer said.
‘And why not?’ Niven folded his arms tightly across his chest.
‘I think I know where you’re going with this, Felix,’ Griffin said.
‘Well then, can you please let me in on it?’ said Niven.
‘Look, I don’t want to be right about this, Air Marshal, but…we’ve just had two wars within a relatively short period of time perceived by many in the Islamic world to have been religious wars — crusades,’ said Mortimer. ‘All the while, America has been trying to get the message across that it is not anti-Muslim. This little situation of ours will give the US a tailor-made opportunity to make that point. You said it yourself, sir. We’re America’s staunchest ally. If they’re seen to put Indonesia’s welfare above ours, what message will that send to the Islamic world?’
Niven didn’t have to think about it too long. Mortimer was right. Bloody politics.
‘We shouldn’t count on too many NBC suits finding their way here either. And any protection they offer us will be token. The carrier battle group that just happens to be in Port Darwin at the moment? It’ll be gone tomorrow, steaming full speed towards Jakarta.’
‘What do you think the Americans would do if we invoked our treaty with them — ANZUS?’ Griffin asked.
‘If they think their national interest lies in offering Indonesia assistance over us, they’ll invoke the Nixon Doctrine.’
Niven snorted: the Nixon Doctrine. Richard Nixon’s administration came up with it when the president was trying to extricate the troops from the war in South Vietnam, and began courting the People’s Republic of China. It was a slippery caveat the Americans could fall back on if a particular treaty didn’t suit its interests of the day. The US had a vast number of defence treaties with nations around the world. The spirit if not the words of these agreements was that America would come to the defence of its allies in time of peril. The Nixon Doctrine allowed the US to send weapons instead of soldiers. Given that an attack on a country was more likely to come from a power with superior numbers of forces the doctrine potentially made a mockery of those treaty obligations. No wonder they called the guy Tricky Dickie.
‘The Yanks will give us all kinds of excuses about why they can’t come to our aid, to save themselves face but mostly so as not to destabilise treaty relations they have with other nations. I believe they’ll pull out the battle group currently in our waters. They’ll say their aim is to stop the weapon closer to the launch site so that they can rush in and secure any remaining weapons of mass destruction — assuming there are some left over — before they can be used on other targets.’
Niven knew Mortimer was right. ‘Shit,’ he said quietly.
Tamarama, Sydney, Australia
Annabelle Gilbert stood up against the plate-glass window. The view from her rented apartment presented a northerly aspect of the beach called ‘Glamorama’ by the locals. It was easy to see why. The bodies on their designer-motif towels were all gym toned, well-defined abs and silicon implants — both the men and the women. It was an easy downhill walk to the small crescent of white sand. The sun was shining and it was a beautiful day. She should be out enjoying it, only there was an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Is this really where I should be?
The salary they paid her was embarrassing and the promises that went with it were, she had to admit, exciting. So why did she feel she’d lost something in the deal? Annabelle Gilbert knew exactly what she’d lost. Or rather, who she’d lost. She told herself repeatedly that she hadn’t given Tom away for the sake of a career move. Only, the reasons for ending her relationship now seemed unimportant. Annabelle had been prepared to live with Tom’s choices before they were engaged, so why not after it?
And then there was Saunders. She knew exactly what he wanted from her, and it had nothing whatsoever to do with her ability to read the news. Still, she’d allowed herself to be seduced by his crap — perhaps because it fed her ego. Naturally, she’d kept her real feelings about Saunders to herself because it was in her interest to do so. It was called playing the game. Annabelle Gilbert gazed out the window at all the self-absorbed people working on their tans and felt utterly alone. It occurred to her that she was fitting right in.
Richmond, Melbourne, Australia
Carrie, an accountant for a large appliance retailer, went to a bash held by their newly appointed advertising agency. There she met Simon, a photographer, who was utterly different to the men she knew, professionally and socially. He was unshaved, unruly and unbelievably sexy. There were vodka shots provided — a first for her normally stuffy employer — and she’d had a couple too many, on purpose. Simon had cocaine in his pocket and eyes that smouldered under a tangled mop of thick black hair. They’d ended up having sex in the toilets — it was a night of firsts for Carrie — his hand covering her mouth as she came, her boss in the cubicle next door.
That was a fortnight ago. She’d hoped he’d call and the previous night, he did. He explained that he was having a dinner party and apologised for the lateness of the invitation. He wanted her to bring her best-looking blonde friend. Apparently, he had a buddy going through a divorce who needed to know that there were other fish in the sea. And he liked blonde fish.
Simon flung open the door. ‘You look good enough to eat,’ he said, running his eyes down the sheath she’d sprayed on. ‘Come in and have a line, babydoll.’ She tasted the cocaine on his tongue as he kissed her. A shudder of excitement passed through her — the memory of their last meeting. He gestured towards a ceramic tile lying on a nearby side table. She touched it. The tile had been heated to keep the small pyramid of white powder heaped on it dry. A generous line had already been separated from this mother lode, and a straw was provided. ‘Now, that’s what I call a welcome,’ she said to herself, picking up the straw. She held her hair back and hoovered the line into a nostril. It tickled the back of her throat and her gums instantly went numb, a shudder running over her scalp, down her spine and into her legs. Simon handed her a flute of champagne, and went back to the kitchen. ‘Make yourself at home, babydoll. Just got a few final things to do in the kitchen. Although, God knows, the last thing we’ll feel like doing is eating,’ he said with a laugh.