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Contents

Foreword

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Chapter 78

Chapter 79

Chapter 80

Chapter 81

Chapter 82

Chapter 83

Chapter 84

Chapter 85

Chapter 86

Chapter 87

Chapter 88

Chapter 89

Chapter 90

Chapter 91

Chapter 92

Chapter 93

Chapter 94

Chapter 95

Chapter 96

Chapter 97

Chapter 98

Chapter 99

Chapter 100

Chapter 101

Chapter 102

Chapter 103

Chapter 104

Chapter 105

Chapter 106

Chapter 107

Chapter 108

Chapter 109

Chapter 110

Chapter 111

Chapter 112

Chapter 113

Chapter 114

Chapter 115

Chapter 116

Chapter 117

Chapter 118

Chapter 119

Chapter 120

Chapter 121

Chapter 122

Chapter 123

Chapter 124

Chapter 125

Chapter 126

Chapter 127

Foreword

Earlier in the night, he’d watched his beloved Carlton Football team, the Blues, defeat their arch rival Essendon by three goals at the Melbourne Cricket Ground. He’d watched the game from his private box with a few close friends, or people who pretended to be at least. ‘Parasites’ he thought to himself.

Peering down on the game from his high vantage point, puffing on a fine Cuban cigar despite the ‘no smoking’ signs, the irony wasn’t lost on him as a typical Melbourne rain squall spread across the ground during the tense final quarter, and the patrons in the cheap seats either ran for cover, popped their umbrellas or donned plastic rain ponchos. If he had his way these days would soon be gone and they’d all be viewing the game in an enclosed, temperature-controlled stadium to rival any on the planet.

After the game, his lady friend had dropped round to help him ‘celebrate’ and was now curled up snoring quietly in the king-sized bed in the room next door. The huge television on the wall of his palatial penthouse suite was on—with the sound turned down—as he kept an eye on Wall Street and other world events. He occasionally glanced at his watch; it was coming up to three in the morning. He wasn’t concerned or anxious—more excited about what was about to happen. There were risks, but the rewards would be worth it.

The television caught his eye—breaking news. He turned the sound up.

‘Fire has broken out in inner Melbourne, somewhere down near the docks at Coode Island,’ said the news anchor, obviously relishing some excitement during his midnight to dawn shift. ‘We’re awaiting confirmation of where exactly the fire started, but Police and fire crews had been dispatched from across the city. We’ll bring you more information as it comes to hand.’

The man stood and moved calmly across the suite, opened the sliding glass door and walked out onto the balcony. Yes, he thought he could smell smoke and the sound of sirens resonated through the chilly night air, growing louder and louder with each passing second.

He stood there mesmerised, watching the glow from the fire a few kilometres away grow and the smoke plume begin to spiral skywards—illuminated by the flames and the pulsating lights from the emergency service vehicles. He smiled, swirled his glass tumbler of Glen Fiddich and took a slow, mouth warming sip. The ice cubes tinkled quietly—what a wonderful sound he mused. There was no turning back now.

Striding back inside he quickly sent a text message to his PA, Matthew, instructing him to have the company jet ready for departure at noon—it was time to make himself scarce. He then disrobed and clambered into bed beside his friend who stirred, rolled over and began to nibble his ear gently. Life didn’t get much better than this he reflected as he felt his desire begin to ignite, again.

- 1 -

Pip and Jack lounged back at the sidewalk restaurant table and soaked up the bustling early evening atmosphere of Melbourne’s Lygon Street—Australia’s restaurant capital if you believed the somewhat parochial folk of Melbourne. The stream of people was growing, and the blackboards displaying the ‘Specials of the Day’ at each restaurant were gaining more and more attention, encouraged by the smiling mâitre d’--come ‘meet and greet’ person on the sidewalk outside each establishment spruiking their fine food and great service.

‘So here we are,’ said Jack gazing around, ‘back in the big smoke. It’s not quite the same as Ming’s Chinese restaurant in downtown Dawson, is it?’ he chuckled.

Pip smiled, her green eyes glistening in the table-top candles as she sipped her cocktail, ‘No, it certainly isn’t, and I much prefer Italian food anyway.’

They were both momentarily distracted by a gleaming black stretch limousine that cruised past, the tinted windows preventing all those who had turned to watch it the opportunity to spy whoever was hiding inside, no doubt soon to be disgorged at some high-class eatery or cocktail party. Juxtaposed with this was a bag lady, hunched over as she pushed her rusty old shopping trolley festooned with collectables she’d acquired. As the limo cruised by, she thrust her middle finger skywards and yelled something at it that got lost in the hub-bub of the city. Jack and Pip exchanged glances, smiling.

‘I like the energy of the city,’ said Pip, with irony, ‘but only for a few days. Give me the wide open plains any day.’

Dawson, a farming community in the far west of New South Wales was about 700 kilometres north-west of where they were sitting—as the crow flies. It had been the scene of their recent and now famous stoush with big business, political forces and the bureaucracy, over water thefts during the seemingly endless drought. Jack and his old friend Sharon Davis had received the highest accolade for journalism—Walkley awards—for their exposé on this corruption and it had focussed the microscope on water management in rural Australia like never before.

The waiter came and lingered near their table. Feeling a little intimidated they ordered even though they would’ve been happy to sit and soak up the atmosphere for a little longer. Being from the country they were eating early, and assumed the waiter was keen to get them fed and moved on in time for the later, no doubt bigger tipping crowd.

‘When do we go to see Jen?’ asked Pip, referring to Jack’s eight-year-old daughter from his now ended marriage.

‘Ange said it would suit them better if we dropped by in the morning, so we’ve got tonight to look around and explore a bit if you want,’ replied Jack.

‘Or we could go back to the hotel and be decadent—share a hot spa with some champagne—and see what happens,’ said Pip teasing.

Jack had met Pip during their escapade at Dawson—she saved his life in fact—and they were now living together. Pip ran a commercial helicopter business, specialising in mustering stock and feral animal shoots mostly, and Jack helped Sharon run the Dawson Times. This trip to see Jack’s daughter—who lived only a few blocks from Lygon Street—was one he’d promised to make after all they’d gone through in that crazy couple of weeks. Jen had been kidnapped and after she was returned her mother and step-father had been forced to go into hiding for a short period.

As Jack was gazing around, he caught the eye of someone sitting a few tables away—dishevelled appearance, oily, unwashed hair. This was no accidental clash of glances though—the man had been watching Jack, he was sure of it. No, stop it. You’re being paranoid, Jack reassured himself. All that Dawson stuff has made me jumpy. He looked again—there, he caught him watching them a second time. I’m not imaging this, thought Jack.

Their entrée arrived—a wonderful looking seafood basket to share which they had both wanted to savour. Fresh seafood was but a dream in outback Dawson. Jack momentarily refocussed on Pip, looking across at her, marvelling at how lucky he was and how stunning she looked tonight. The amazing eyes, short blond hair and a few freckles across the bridge of her nose highlighting the tanned face. Yes, the spa bath did sound enticing!

During the Dawson saga, which had been labelled Operation Volturnus by the anti-corruption commission, Jack had been staying at Pip’s place recuperating from the staged car accident that almost killed him. After the ‘bad guys’ had been caught, she’d invited him to stay. It was working—much better than his ill-fated marriage—and now the question was what to do next. Jack, formerly a jaded Sydney-based journalist, had his thirst for serious journalism rekindled by the water theft story and was getting itchy feet to go chasing bigger stories than Dawson could deliver. Pip knew as much and feared he would move on to pursue the holy grail of journalism—like the water theft story had been. She also knew that if he left, he’d probably not come back. After all he’d have no trouble finding another ‘friend’ she mused, looking as good as he did; tall, dark and handsome!

Jack’s mobile phone beeped telling him he had a message. He glanced at it, knowing that at any second now Pip would say it was rude to do so at the table. It read, ‘Jack, I need to speak to you, it’s urgent. Not here. Too dangerous. You know who.’ He re-read it, and then glanced around to see the scruffy looking man staring right at him. The man gave the slightest nod as they made eye contact again.

Jack was surprised, wondering how this person had his mobile phone number for one thing, and also how did he know who he was. Pip detected that Jack was now distracted. ‘Who was that from mister important?’ she queried with more than a hint of sarcasm.

‘I’m not sure. Don’t make it obvious—there’s someone who looks like a homeless guy sitting over at the corner table, and he’s been catching my eye since we arrived. I think the text was from him, and it says he needs to speak to me urgently, but not here, as it’s too dangerous.’

‘Jack, you’re not messing with my mind here are you?’ asked Pip. ‘That sounds a bit far-fetched.’

‘I’ve never been more serious, and it’s got me a bit nervous I have to confess. I’m not sure what to do—ignore it or respond?’

‘How could that person—and you’re right he does look like he’s in need of a bath and a hairdresser—know who you are?’ replied Pip, having now discretely taken a glance.

‘I’m asking myself the same question. Although I suppose the Dawson story and the follow-ups we did on morning TV and 60 Minutes did put Sharon and my faces out in the public domain. Still, I don’t know how he would know I’d be here—that’s a bit creepy,’ said Jack.

‘Sure is. What are you going to do?’

‘I have to admit to being a little intrigued, although not sure I’m ready for more cloak and dagger stuff just yet,’ said Jack.

‘That’s not true, and you know it,’ fired back Pip.

He gave her a loving smile. ‘Alright so I’m starting to get a bit of cabin fever in Dawson, but I’m not sure getting caught up in something down here is wise.’

‘For God’s sake Jack stop trying to talk yourself out of it and arrange to meet the guy—how can it hurt? If it’s some loony thing you can tell him to take a hike,’ said Pip.

He nodded. ‘Ok, if you’re happy with me letting this possibly interfere with the spa?’ he teased her back.

She smirked across at him. ‘Just do it Jacky boy. The night’s still young.’

Jack crafted a text reply. “Where and when?”

The reply came within seconds. “Thnks Outside Imax thtre Melb Museum, Carlton Gdns @ 10pm b sure u’re not followed.”

Jack raised his eyebrows, and Pip asked. ‘Does that mean what I think it means?’

‘Our friend is either very paranoid, or we’re walking back into something scary. You still want to do this?’

‘Let’s talk about that after dinner. I came here to enjoy myself, no thanks to your unwashed mate over there, who incidentally has just left,’ said Pip.

- 2 -

Back at the hotel, Pip and Jack discussed the curious fellow at the restaurant and whether to ignore him and simply walk away. As they were tossing the pros and cons back and forth, a breaking news story came on the television which they both stopped to watch.

The anchorman said, ‘Earlier today Police arrested three protestors at the site of the proposed relocation of the Coode Island hazardous chemicals facility, which as viewers would recall, burst into flames back in August almost shrouding parts of inner Melbourne’s CBD with a toxic plume. We cross live now to the scene of the protest and our reporter on the spot Kelly Smithers. Kelly what’s the latest down there?’

Kelly’s face appeared against a backdrop of protesters brandishing placards that read, “Save our salt marsh and its parrots”, “Keep your chemicals in Melb,” “Toxic plume-age” and some that were more personal about the state Premier’s anatomy and where he could put the facility.

‘Well Brian, as you just said Police took three protestors into custody today for obstructing access to this site. The protesters say they are angry that the proposed site for the replacement facility, here at Point Lillias near Geelong, is one of the few remaining intact habitats of a critically endangered species, the Orange-bellied Parrot. I spoke to one of the protestors here earlier today.’

The face that appeared was none other than their ‘friend’ from the restaurant. Pip and Jack looked at one another in shock. The name shown in a caption underneath his very earnest face was Joel Matterson.

The protestor said, ‘The people of Victoria, and Australia, should be outraged by what’s going on here. There are less than 100 of these parrots left, and we don’t believe the governments—state or federal—are trying hard enough to find an alternative location for this facility. There are rumours that the site of the old hazardous chemicals facility is being eyed off for a new football stadium. That would be great wouldn’t it—we kill off an endangered species to make way for a yet another football ground. Come on Victoria demand an independent review—say this isn’t good enough.’

Kelly’s face reappeared. ‘That’s it from here for now Brian. Suffice it to say this could go on for a long time as the government says it has yet to make a final decision on where the new facility will go.’

Jack used the remote control to turn the volume down. ‘At least we know what he wants to talk to us about. I’m not sure I see the reason for all the secrecy and hide and seek stuff though.’

‘Unless there’s some more sinister edge to the story,’ observed Pip.

‘Hmmm, I suppose there must be,’ said Jack. ‘What do we do now?’

‘I think we go and see him. Let’s at least find out what’s on his mind. That can’t hurt can it?’ said Pip, hoping these wouldn’t turn out to be words she would regret.

‘Let’s hope not. I recall you saying something similar before all hell broke loose last time.’

- 3 -

Just after nine-thirty, Pip and Jack set out to walk the two blocks to Carlton Gardens and the Imax Theatre. It was a mild night, with typical autumn weather, although knowing Melbourne a shower could happen at any moment thought Pip. She was originally from Sydney and like many Sydneysiders loved to criticise Melbourne’s changeable weather.

As they turned into busy Rathdowne Street, Jack began checking over his shoulder, taking Joel’s advice seriously about not being followed. It seemed all clear to him—although I’m not an expert in these things—reflected Jack.

They saw the huge lettering advising them they were approaching the Melbourne Museum and Imax Theatre. Nearby sat the illuminated heritage style Royal Exhibition Building, towering into the night sky with ghostly white shadows. The open concourse between the two buildings was surprisingly busy, with lots of people chatting in groups, bike riders whizzing past, someone busking badly and some skateboarders trying out their latest tricks. Jack and Pip mingled among the crowd—mostly moviegoers Jack, assumed there for the late night feature. As they walked through the crowd, it began to thin out as the queue started moving into the theatre.

At about ten past ten they were starting to check their watches wondering if Joel would show. They took a seat on one of the large concrete blocks down toward Nicholson Street, with its trams rattling along now and then—at least it was something to watch as they waited.

A little on edge they both jumped as Jack’s mobile received a text message. “Take path 2 yr right. It will take u 2 behind the Ex Bldg”.

‘Come on, this way,’ said Jack, his voice starting to show some exasperation. ‘I’m starting to feel like Jason Statham.’

‘I wish,’ was Pip’s cheeky reply.

Jack grimaced, but then smiled, took Pip’s hand and squeezed it.

‘You’re in trouble when we finally get into that spa later,’ he whispered.

‘I can hardly wait,’ said Pip

About a hundred metres along the path, the bushes rustled, and Joel appeared from the shadows.

‘You in training to be the next 007?’ asked Jack, a little startled by Joel’s entrance.

Without smiling, Joel replied, ‘This is not an exaggeration mister Miller. I have some serious enemies who don’t want me talking to you or any other members of the press for that matter.’

‘Ok, I’ll believe you, Joel. Call me Jack, and this is my friend Pip,’ said Jack extending his hand to shake Joel’s.

‘Nice to meet you both—how do you know my name?’ queried Joel.

‘We just saw you on a news flash, so we know a bit about what you’re caught up in,’ said Jack.

‘Good, so I don’t have to start from scratch. That will save some time,’ said Joel, obviously anxious.

Noting his discomfort, Jack responded, ‘Yep, you can cut to the chase, I think we’ve got the general idea.’

Joel nodded as he started to talk. ‘This relocation of the Coode Island facility has got some very nasty goings-on behind the scene. There are powerful forces at play here using the fire of a few months ago as a smoke screen, if you’ll excuse the pun. The Aussie Rules football people have wanted another site for a new mega-stadium, a headquarters for the game, in effect, for decades. This needs to be somewhere close to the heart of the CBD for transport, restaurants, etc. Coode Island is perfect. Melbourne City Council, the mayor, is on their side for obvious reasons. Since it happened there have been rumours that the fire was deliberately lit so they could make a case for moving the hazard chemicals facility off the site to build their fucking stadium. Good for footy, good for inner Melbourne and all that.’ Joel hesitated to let this sink in. ‘This fire is being labelled an accident. Through a friend I know a security guard from the site and he says otherwise, although he’s not willing to be a whistle blower at this stage.’

‘I thought they said it was started by a lightning strike and didn’t the fumes from the fire threaten several inner city suburbs? I heard it was a miracle no-one was killed,’ said Pip.

‘The official inquiry is still underway, but the lightning strike thing is rubbish. And yes, if the wind hadn’t been so strong, and in a slightly different direction, the whole CBD would have been enveloped,’ replied Joel.

‘Ok, so why are you scared out of your mind?’ asked Jack.

‘They don’t like me talking about a hidden agenda, and, I’ve also hinted at a sweetheart deal on this involving the State member for Geelong. His electorate has one of the highest unemployment rates in the country, and he needs this plant moved down his way. The jobs it will bring should save his political skin,’ said Joel.

‘Alright, now I see why they want to shut you up,’ said Jack.

‘Oh, there’s more yet,’ said Joel, again glancing over his shoulder nervously. ‘This facility is pivotal to secondary processing industries. They need the chemicals it handles, brought in on ships, for things like plastics production etcetera. So if it were moved down the highway, it would need a transport hub. You’ll have no doubt heard of Campbell Transport—one of our biggest transport companies? Well about 10 kilometres from where they want to put the new facility—on our best and almost final bit of Orange-bellied Parrot habitat—is Avalon Airport. This is currently a small rural airport, but they have plans to upgrade it to the tune of a $300 million investment to make Melbourne’s second airport—a manufacturing epicentre with cargo planes operating 24-7. Very big business.’

Jack whistled, starting to sense another major story.

‘I’m still not sure why we’re skulking around here in a park at this time of night?’ said Pip.

‘I’ve been using Facebook and Twitter to start sowing the seeds of a collusion on this thing—trying to get the media interested—but they’re captured by Aussie Rules football interests and the major political parties, both of whom seem to want this to happen. There are just too many coincidences. Then last night my car was torched, and at about two this morning I got a call telling me to back off or suffer the consequences. I haven’t been home since,’ said Joel.

There was a short silence before Jack asked. ‘How did you know where to find me?’

‘After what you did on that water theft thing up in New South Wales my colleagues in the green movement have you on their list of journos with integrity—that’s a short list,’ Joel chuckled and smiled for the first time. ‘As it turned out, someone from the Greens in Sydney was on your flight down today. They let us know you were in town and also gave me your mobile number. I figured that before I called you out of the blue, I’d trawl down Lygon Street and see if you were dining out—which every visitor to this city does—and sure enough there you were. I’m sorry if I spoiled your meal,’ he said, directed more at Pip.

‘That’s Ok, although I don’t know how the Greens got my mobile number and I’m not sure what you want from me. I’m no white knight you have to realise,’ said Jack.

‘I’ve run into a wall of silence on this issue. As I said, the mainstream media in this city are either in bed with one political party or the other. Or, they wouldn’t dare go near something that might be seen to cast doubts over the integrity of those who run our beloved Aussie Rules—this city lives and breathes footy,’ stressed Joel.

Jack looked across at Pip and said hesitantly. ‘I suppose I could make a few calls and see what that reveals—no promises though.’

Pip nodded discretely, which gave Jack great relief. ‘Where would you suggest I start?’ Jack continued.

Joel, continuing to look around nervously said, ‘They’ve set up a so-called independent Task Force—which it isn’t—to recommend where to relocate the Coode Island facility. That would be a possible starting point. Then there are the environment bureaucrats both here in Victoria and the Feds in Canberra. Because the preferred relocation site down at Point Lillias is part of an internationally listed Ramsar wetland, the Feds have to agree. It’s also in their domain because of the Orange-bellied Parrots—OBPs most people call them—they’re listed as critically endangered under national legislation. There’s a Recovery Team in place to try to save the species. I have a contact on it. And, I suppose you could chat to the Member from Geelong, although I suspect that’ll be a short conversation. I’ll text you through the contacts I have.’

‘They sound like good ideas,’ replied Jack. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

With that they moved off, in opposite directions—Joel insisted!

Walking back to the hotel arm in arm, neither Jack nor Pip noticed a shiny dark maroon BMW shadowing them. The driver, a massive Tongan, glanced across at his passenger.

‘So who is this guy?’ said Manu, the driver.

‘Jack Miller, a journo, and his delectable lady friend is Pip Sanford. They were the ones who helped break that story last year about theft and corruption in the water industry—took some very big scalps they did. You just need to have your boys keep an eye on them. We’ve got the local media captured, one way or another, but Miller’s got a nose for a story and being from country NSW doesn’t give a shit about Aussie Rules. Can’t see him as a closet Sydney Swans follower somehow,’ the passenger chuckled.

‘You just want us to shadow them and let you know what they get up to?’ queried Manu.

‘Yeh, we need to make sure they don’t take anything our tree hugger friend just told them too seriously. There’s a lot at stake here.’

Back in their hotel room Pip asked, ‘Do you have a cunning plan for chasing this thing Joel’s involved in, or will you just wing it with a few phone calls first?’

‘I might give Sharon a call. See if she’s got any contacts down here. After what Joel’s told us I’m amazed the local journos aren’t all over this. It seems very odd to me.’

‘You don’t buy what he said about them being captured or sympathetic to the new footy stadium idea?’ responded Pip.

‘It seems hard to believe, don’t you think—even if only part of what Joel told us is true, there’s enough to get most journos I know interested. Let’s worry about it tomorrow. Is that spa offer still an option?’ asked Jack.

‘I thought you’d never ask. Care to help me light the candles?’ said Pip with a mischievous grin.

- 4 -

The next morning Pip and Jack enjoyed a leisurely breakfast. The restaurant at the hotel had a glassed-in area with a fern garden, so they sat and enjoyed the morning sun before heading out to Ange’s place. Jack had called and left a message for Sharon at the Dawson Times, and she called back as they were leaving the restaurant.

‘Hey Jacky boy, bet you and Pip shagged yourselves silly last night eh? It’s time you gave that gorgeous woman a baby belly mate,’ said Sharon in her typically way.

Jack, while always amused by Sharon’s bawdy directness, chose to ignore the comment this time. Plus, he was a little tense and excited about what Joel had told them. ‘Yeh, we’re good Sharon. How are things in quiet old Dawson?’

‘Not much to report. One break and enter, a couple of DUI’s and poor old Mayor Johnson passed away in his sleep. Otherwise it’s plain sailing. Anything of interest happening there?’ asked Sharon.

‘Yep, we’ve stumbled into some local issue related to the big fire they had down here a few months back—you probably read about the toxic cloud that almost wafted in over the inner city?

“Yeh, I do remember reading about that, it could have been a real mess,’ replied Sharon.

‘Well, some green activist bloke approached us last night and told us all sorts of conspiracy theory stuff and how it wasn’t an accident. He reckons there’s some major players pulling the strings. Curiously it’s not on the radar of any local journo it seems, which I find puzzling. You got any local contacts here?’

‘I sure do. A bloke I used to party hard with during my cadetship, his name’s Arthur, Artie, Dimitriadus—good Greek boy. He works for the Melbourne Argus, a top bloke. Used to love a beer and that bloody Aussie Rules footy was like a religion to him—and most of that city come to think of it. Mention the fucking Collingwood Footy Club, and you’re a friend for life. I’ll text you through his mobile number shortly. You take care, Jack. Watch your back. If you need backup just let me know,’ said Sharon laughing as her young baby could be heard crying in the background.

A few minutes later the text arrived, and Jack called Artie immediately. He was keen to know more.

‘This is Artie,’ came the succinct reply.

‘G’day Artie, my names Jack Miller, a friend of Sharon …..’

Artie interrupted, ‘Yeh, yeh I know who you are, and great job on that water corruption thing mate. How’s my mate Shazza?’

‘Unchanged,’ replied Jack, ‘still swearing constantly and offending people, even with the arrival of little Emma a few months ago.’

‘Hey, I didn’t know about that, must give her a call and catch up. But Jack, what can I do for you mate?’

‘I’m here in Melbourne with a friend for some personal things and last night we were approached by a guy called Joel Matterson; you probably know the name?’

‘Sure do,’ replied Artie. ‘He’s been all over the place trying to stir up some conspiracy angle on the Coode Island fire—no-one’s listening though.’

‘Yeh, that’s what he said. He has some interesting views on what might have really happened with that fire. I take it you don’t think there’s anything in it?’ asked Jack.

‘Jack, I reckon you, and I might need to grab a coffee or lunch—you need to know how this city works and very importantly how the media operates. Matterson may have something worth pursuing, but none of the mainstream media in this town will touch it—not if they want to survive.’

‘How about lunch then?’ asked Jack, now even more intrigued.

‘Sure, where are you staying?’

‘The City Gardens Hotel off Lygon Street,’ replied Jack.

‘How about the Botanic Gardens Cafe. It’s a short taxi ride from where you are? Can’t miss it. I’ll see you there at 12.30.’

- 5 -

At nine-thirty that morning, in a high rise office building on Nicholson Street in East Melbourne, a meeting was taking place at the Department of Sustainability. A large boardroom was occupied by nearly twenty bureaucrats, chatting quietly among themselves. This was a meeting of the Coode Island Task Force—created by the Victorian government to review options for where to relocate the now problematic hazardous chemicals handling facility.

Sitting at the head of the table chairing the meeting was Meredith Fitzsimmons. Meredith was late thirties; tall, long dark brown hair pulled into a tight ponytail, designer glasses and always wearing executive ‘power’ clothing. She was viewed as a star on the rise in the public service and had been advised a few years earlier that if she aspired to be a Departmental Head one day she had to diversify her CV with a stint in ‘sustainability’. Meredith had been hand-picked by the Premier to chair the Task Force.

Sitting around the table were representatives of several state government departments plus four Federal Environment Department bureaucrats who had flown in from Canberra that morning. Heading that team was Tim Weatherly, Assistant Secretary, and a thirty-year Fed who’d seen it all before. Dealing with knee-jerk reactions from politicians was business as usual for Tim. Beside him were two young and enthusiastic officers, Jill Blasco and Dean Prentice, both fresh graduates in science and still with that “we’re here to make a difference” look in their eyes. Beside them, and also from Canberra, was Andrew Edwards, from the Attorney-General’s Department—only a few years out of law school.

Meredith called the meeting to order. ‘I think we have most people here,’ she said gazing around the table, ‘so we might make a start.’ After a short hesitation to check her agenda, ‘Welcome everyone to this our fourth meeting. Nice to see you all again. Can I say I think we’re making good progress, despite having some difficult issues before us. As you know, we have had consultants working on several aspects of this site selection process to help us come forward with a recommendation for the best option for the new facility.’

Meredith hesitated, adjusted her facial expression to a more serious one and gazed around the table again. ‘However, before proceeding to consider that, some of you may have seen media coverage overnight claiming that a decision has already been made for the facility to go to Point Lillias near Geelong. Of course, we all know that’s not the case. Regrettably, that story got it’s oxygen from some indiscrete words during a visit to the site yesterday by the Member for Geelong who is, not surprisingly, keen for Point Lillias to be the chosen site. I think this shows that there are some strong views out there in the community and we need to be very professional in how we go about our business,’ concluded Meredith.

Sitting opposite was Tim Weatherly, his weary-looking face giving nothing away. He was thinking to himself, Meredith, you and I both know that ultimately this decision will have very little to do with what this Task Force recommends; politics will rule the day, as usual.

Meredith continued. ‘As you will remember, at our last meeting we narrowed the list of possible sites for the relocation to three. Our view is that we can now further reduce that to two. The site on Western Port Bay has proven too environmentally sensitive. The experts tell us that if there should happen to be a repeat of the Coode Island events at this site the lack of tidal exchange in Western Port Bay may mean the problematic residues wouldn’t flush out of the system for several years.’

Tim caught Meredith’s attention. ‘Meredith, while I don’t disagree with your summation regarding Western Port Bay, there is also the matter that it has a major oil handling facility there already. I assume this was another factor your people took into account? I can’t imagine it’s good risk management to have these two types of industries co-located.’

‘Of course Tim, that is correct. Officially though, we’re discarding it as an option on environmental grounds. Western Port is an important migratory shorebird site and is also listed under the Ramsar Convention as a Wetland of International Importance, as you know,’ responded Meredith.

There were nods all round. Tim realised this was the spin to be used when announcing that Western Port Bay was no longer being considered as a viable option. This was designed to pander to the green voters and soften them up for the inevitable announcement of Point Lillias as the preferred option—another Ramsar-listed site and also a vital habitat area for the migratory and critically endangered Orange-bellied Parrot.

Continuing, and right on cue, Meredith said, ‘Of the two remaining sites then, our cost-benefit analysis is now leaning more and more toward Point Lillias.’ No-one was surprised—they all knew this was coming.

‘One minute Meredith,’ said a clearly agitated Barry Johannsen from the Parks and Wildlife Service. ‘As we’ve stated previously we are strongly opposed to that option. You can’t sit there and say Western Port Bay is not suitable on environmental grounds when Point Lillias is of critical importance to OBPs. I want to see your cost-benefit analysis to see how much weighting that gained.’

‘Barry, Barry, relax,’ said Meredith trying not to be patronising but failing badly. ‘We’ll be handing out the cost-benefit report shortly, and your agency will have a week to comment on it along with everyone else.’

Tim felt it was time the Federal Government flexed its muscles. ‘Meredith, if I may. We have some sympathy for the views of Barry here. As you know, OBPs are listed under our Environment Protection and Biodiversity Conservation Act, and this means that our Minister will have the final say. And, let’s not forget that the site at Point Lillias is also Ramsar-listed, another trigger under that Act. This makes our legislative interests even more profound. Correct me if I’m wrong here Andrew,’ said Tim turning to his Federal colleague from Attorney-General’s. ‘My understanding is that for the facility to be placed at Point Lillias we would have to make a case to the Ramsar Convention that we were sacrificing part of an internationally recognised area in a case of “urgent national interest.”’

‘Yes, that’s correct,’ said Andrew. ‘To excise an area from a Ramsar site the Federal government would have to be prepared to make a case, on behalf of the Victorian government in this instance, of this being a situation of “urgent national interest”. To date, this has occurred only twice previously on the World stage—and currently, we’re not sure this situation would constitute a case of urgent national interest.’

Meredith had been expecting this and continued unfazed. ‘Gentlemen, as you both know our job as the Task Force is not to find reasons why not, but to put forward a recommendation for where best to place the new facility. Ministers—State and Federal—will then sort out the details. I understand the reservations about the Point Lillias site, but we have to remember that a few months ago a potentially deadly toxic plume almost enveloped several inner city suburbs. If the wind had been just a few degrees more to the north, the entire CBD would have been threatened. So, please let’s keep this in perspective. If we have to inconvenience a few parrots, I for one, won’t hesitate to make that recommendation.’

Barry erupted. ‘Inconvenience…..inconvenience.’ He was so angry words failed him momentarily. ‘Meredith we’re talking about more than “inconveniencing” the parrots, as you so casually put it. We’re talking about potentially wiping out a species. Do you want that on your CV or conscience? And, while I have the floor let me just ask—is there any truth in the rumours that the AFL is eyeing off the Coode Island site for its new enclosed football stadium and headquarters?’

Meredith, ever cool, met Barry’s angry glare across the table and replied. ‘That is complete and utter nonsense Barry. Our primary concern here is human safety. We have to find a solution that reduces the risk to our community, and that doesn’t compromise economic development or the environment. Those are our Terms of Reference might I just remind us all.’

Tim, the practised meeting operator, took his opportunity. ‘Meredith, I do understand your ToRs,’ he said stressing the word “your”. ‘However, what we need to be certain of is that the balance between human safety, development and the environment is not skewed too heavily in any particular direction. I need to put it on the table very clearly here that we haven’t abandoned the option of leaving this facility where it is and just upgrading it to World’s best practice standards for handling hazardous chemicals. Just because your government has an immediate political imperative to see the facility moved doesn’t mean the Federal government will just roll over and ignore it’s legislative or international responsibilities for protecting endangered species or internationally recognised places.’

Meredith gazed back at Tim again. ‘As I said before Tim, ultimately I will advise my Minister, and you will advise yours. We can then let them resolve any differences that persist up to that point. We invited the Federal government to sit in as observers to this Task Force in the hope that we could go to our Ministers with a common view. If that’s not possible, then so be it.’

Shortly afterwards Meredith decided to end the meeting, perhaps a little prematurely. The copies of the cost-benefit and options analyses were distributed with Meredith stressing that this was strictly confidential material.

- 6 -

Pip and Jack spent the morning at Jen and Ange’s place. Ange’s new husband Richard was away with work—running his own PR and advertising firm meant he travelled a lot. Jen, fast approaching nine, was always excited to see her dad and after spending some time up at Dawson last summer idolised Pip because she’d taken her on several helicopter rides.

As they arrived, on foot, having agreed that a walk from the hotel would do them both good, Jack could tell Pip was a little tense—not her usual happy-go-lucky self. As they walked up the driveway, Jack had a flashback to the last time he was there—when Jen had been kidnapped to try to get him to back off on chasing the water theft story. Fortunately, that had ended happily, but Jack knew he probably shouldn’t mention Joel and his conspiracy theory to Ange—she’d go ballistic if she thought he was, to quote her, ‘on another fricking crusade.’

As they approached Anges’ place neither Jack nor Pip noticed Manu—in a commonplace white delivery van. He had followed them from the hotel and was now parked a few hundred metres down the street.

The door to Ange’s place flew open, and Jen came running out to greet them, jumping into Jack’s arms, screaming ‘daddy’. After Jack released her, she immediately gave Pip a long hug too, took their hands and led them both to the front door where Ange stood smiling.

‘G’day Jack, how are you?’ she asked, giving him a quick peck on the cheek.

‘Better than the last time I saw you, Ange,’ he said. ‘How are things here?’

‘We’re good, although I wish Richard didn’t have to travel so much—we both miss him, don’t we Jen?’

Jen smiled and nodded, and then introduced Pip. ‘Mummy, this is Jack’s friend Pip. She flies a helicopter.’

They all laughed, and Pip and Ange shook hands. ‘Pleased to me you Pip,’ said Ange. ‘I’ve heard all about you from Jen.’

‘She’s a great co-pilot,’ replied Pip, laughing and looking at Jen whose face beamed a huge smile.

This was the first time Pip and Ange—the old and the new loves of his life—had met. Jack had to admit there were some similarities, physically, at least. Both had blonde hair, although Pip wore hers shorter than Ange, both had a few freckles, and both had great bums. Ange had blue eyes and Pip emerald green. Jack reflected on how different his life was now—he was much older and wiser and knew how to co-exist with a partner—he hoped. He and Ange had married for lust and weren’t ready for the hard slog of marriage, especially when Jen arrived. After the acrimony of the divorce, they were now more comfortable with each other, and the fact that Jack got along with her new husband helped too.

They spent a couple of hours at Ange’s place, and there were no signs of tension between Ange and Pip, much to Jack’s relief. It was agreed that they’d come back for dinner that night. Checking the time, Jack asked, ‘How far is it to the Botanic Gardens from here Ange?’

‘About a 15 or so minute taxi ride depending on traffic, why?’ queried Ange.

‘Oh, we’re meeting someone there. He’s a friend of a friend that’s all,’ replied Jack cryptically. Pip gave him a quick sideways glance.

‘I’d take you myself, but I have to get Jen to a birthday party and then pick up something for our big holiday, don’t I, Jen,’ said Ange.

‘Oooh, yes,’ replied Jen. ‘We’re off to Fiji on Friday,’ responded Jen.

‘That’ll be great. Wish we could come with you,’ said Pip. ‘How long are you going for?’

‘We’re away for ten days in total. I’m so looking forward to getting Richard away from his ever demanding clients,’ said Ange.

‘Have fun, and bring us back a coconut Jen,’ said Jack teasing her.

‘Oh, we got distracted. Do you want me to call a taxi?’ queried Ange.

‘Thanks, that’d be great,’ said Jack.

A few minutes later they heard a taxi toot in the driveway and said their goodbyes until later that day.

Climbing into the taxi, Jack told the driver where they wanted to go and then noted his identification card on the dashboard—Rajiq, and his second name defied pronunciation. Striking up a conversation, Jack asked, ‘Where you from mate?

‘I came here from Iraq sir,’ replied the driver very politely. Their taxi driver from the airport to the hotel had also been from the middle east and Jack had noticed how many others were of similar origins as they had moved around the city the previous day.

‘How long have you been here?’ asked Jack, genuinely interested.

‘I arrived by boat three years ago—I think they call me a queue jumper, sir,’ he smiled. ‘I had fifteen months in detention on Nauru before your government would let me stay. Not a very nice place Nauru, although even it was better than home, much safer, sir.’

‘I see lots of taxi drivers who appear to have similar backgrounds to you,’ noted Jack, trying to be diplomatic.

‘Oh yes, if you’ll excuse me saying it sir, we do the work you Australians won’t do,’ he laughed.

Pip, who had been listening with interest asked, ‘Where’s your family Rajiq.’

‘Please, call me Wembley,’ he replied, and then laughed again.

‘Wembley? How come,’ asked Pip, showing her surprise.