Tehran Decree (27 page)

Dropped the sacking back over the money she closed
the lid, locked the shed door, and went back into the kitchen.

Squeezing another coffee out of the coffee making
machine, she sat at the kitchen table, her head in her hands. This
was all too much, a long thinking session was needed before any
further action could be taken. Her emotions were in tatters and
deep thinking was out of the question, she resolved to take several
codeine tablets with a glass of hot milk before retiring.

It wasn’t everyday that a long standing police
commissioner, sacked for incompetence, ended up robbing a bank and
then committed suicide.

She considered the newspaper article which reported
the bank robbery and how it was over shadowed by the presidential
abduction. Normally such an event would have commanded the front
page of most of the national newspapers.

Booting up Clement’s computer she went to the news
pages looking for past articles on the robbery. Several small
articles appeared in the middle pages of most papers, with one
large article in a Sydney tabloid.

She quickly read it through...apparently fifty
million dollars had just disappeared from one of the underground
security vaults. A mishmash of extraneous thoughts invaded her head
all clamoring for attention. Her prime urges prompted her to take
the money and run, it would give her a new life, and save her from
a grieving nightmare for the rest of her life. She wasn’t a young
woman anymore, and who the hell wanted a broken down sixty year
old, ex-police commissioner's wife anyway.

She could fade away from the scene and go abroad
unnoticed. Visit the capitals of the world in her own time, maybe
take a world cruise in the Queen Elizabeth 2 or perhaps the newer
Victoria Cunard liner. Romance floated through her mind, but she
gently moved it aside...another long term relationship with a man
like Clement was not on the cards. It would have to be a simple
liaison with no strings attached just to allay her loneliness. The
warm thoughts were exhilarating for a short while, but her
conscience soon came charging in. They would trace the money back
to her and she would be arrested and spend the rest of her life in
prison.

She scrolled back to the beginning of the article and
squinted at the amount that had been stolen...50 million dollars,
and yet there was only ten million in the tool chest -- for the
second time the question came surging back -- where was the
rest?

The mystery was just one of dozens of nagging
questions with no answers in sight. Perhaps the answers to all here
problems were in Clement’s unabridged biography? She quickly waded
through the heavy book once again, stopping at what she thought
might be an interesting relevant chapter to her unanswered
questions -- there was nothing specific -- most of it was exposes
of political malpractice -- with a bevy of names she was unfamiliar
with. Occasionally a well known name would crop up which shocked
her. She turned to the back page and noticed a large asterisk
followed by a short note in Clement’s hand writing; it said that
the Valley of the Kings in Egypt was like a modest rabbit warren
when compared to the rampant totality of the Sydney tunnel network.
The book clearly demanded a dedicated read to get the big
picture.

She breathed a heavy sigh
,
it was time to make
a hot cup of milk, and take her codeine. Then hopefully, fall
asleep reading Clement’s candid life story -- it had been one hell
of a day, and now it would be one hell of a night.

Chapter Fifty-one

A week had passed since the MOAB bombing incident and
Jansen and his team had returned with the bodies of the BIB top
brass and their personal details. Hopefully they had managed to pip
the Americans at the post.

The debriefing preliminaries to be held at government
house were underway when Jansen arrived. He was thirty minutes late
due to a Sydney traffic grid lock; such things had become a daily
occurrence, and were in fact a handy excuse for lateness. He
apologised profusely to the row of stern countenances which greeted
him in the main conference room. They really were taking this
little nondescript skirmish a little too seriously, he thought. A
short informal heart to heart chat with the defence minister was
all that was needed. Although he had to admit that personally he
preferred to rigorously question his own clients, but could not
stand being roasted himself.

A second confusing issue was how they managed to
start a debriefing session without himself (the star player) being
present. In spite of all the inconsistencies, they all sat together
stiff upper lip fashion, shuffling papers between each other; all
avoided eye contact with him as he entered the room.

He recognised most of the luminaries: there was the
director of ASIO, Steve Deakin, sitting at the far end of the
table, then the governor general, next came the prime minister, and
then the defence minister. The paper shuffling suddenly ceased as
if on some predefined cue, and the room went deathly quiet. The
quiet continued for several moments, until the defence minister
looked down at his notes, then pursed his lips.

‘We are all in awe of what you have done commander;
you have successfully completed an extremely difficult operation
with a minimum of casualties and the loss of only one life on our
side, please accept our sincere thanks and congratulations for a
job well done.

However, the operation is still ongoing, there are a
number of other issues which have eventuated since you’ve been
abroad commander.

I’m sure you are aware of the fact that you and your
crew came very close to being annihilated by the release of a MOAB
aerial bomb from a USAF bomber. This was released in spite of
information relayed to the American defence department that we had
a SWAT team in direct contact with the BIB terrorists. In spite of
that, president Jenkins ordered the MOAB to be dropped immediately,
stating that collateral casualties were inevitable during times of
war regardless of who the victims were.

As a third generation Australian, I find this
behaviour totally unacceptable, even if the man is the acting
president of United States,’ Jansen smiled inwardly...these were
strong words indeed coming from a federal minister.

‘I see sir, a case of no confidence in the Australian
forces then?’

‘I think it goes a little deeper than that
commander...lets just say that one man on the ground needed to be
eradicated at all costs,’ Jansen’s ears pricked up.

‘Really, I won’t embarrass you by asking who that
individual is sir,’ a repressed smile flashed across the defence
minister’s face.’

‘Thank you commander...over to you prime minister,’
the PM peered at his notes and cleared his throat.

‘We might have rid the world of eight terrorists and
created the biggest bomb crater in Muscat, but we also seem to have
opened a can of worms in the process.

Apparently eighteen terrorists entered the cross city
tunnel, but only nine came out according to the police inquiry over
the tunnel siege. To all intents and purposes these men just
vanished. Also, another interesting event occurred just after the
presidential abduction. The St. Peters Bank on Elizabeth Street was
robbed of fifty million dollars from an underground vault,’ the PM
glanced at the ASIO director at the top of the table.

‘I think the director would now like a word with you
in private commander about the situation,’ the ASIO director stood
and gestured towards a side door.

They entered a small drawing room specially reserved
for secure discussions. Jansen was pleasantly surprised by the
plush interior and quality furnishings. It seemed that if you were
going to have a secure covert little chat then you might as well
have it in comfort.

Jansen eyed the well upholstered divan with view to
occupying it, unfortunately the director pulled out a chair at a
central table and beckoned him towards it. He then strode to the
drinks cabinet.

‘What are you having commander...whiskey,
port...sherry?’

‘Just a small whiskey for me sir...with a splash of
soda,’ the director took his time getting the drinks then sauntered
over placing them gently on the table.

The two men sat facing each other while the director
placed a folder of notes on the table. Jansen patiently nursed his
whiskey taking the odd sip and growing increasingly suspicious of
the whole proceedings.

Deakin did the usual paper shuffling between gulps of
whiskey -- as if he were playing for time in order to pick up
enough courage to say something unpleasant. Finally

he fixed Jansen with a serious grimace.

‘It seems we have a number of seemingly unrelated
pieces of information commander. St. Peters Bank on Elizabeth
Street was robbed of fifty million dollars during the cross city
tunnel siege and our former police commissioner, Clement Chester,
was a closet expert on Sydney’s warren of underground tunnels. He
was a man in a privileged position with too many crooked secrets.
As if that wasn’t interesting enough, as the PM pointed out,
eighteen of the BIB terrorists entered the tunnel, but only nine
came out.

We have all made up some pretty clever scenarios out
of all this commander, as you might well imagine...all of them
pretty hairy.’

‘I see sir, so you now want my version?’

‘Sort of, except we want you to make a extensive
private investigation of the whole matter and report back to us. I
must stress the necessity of absolute security during, and after
the investigation, as well as the need for expediency in delivering
results.’ Jansen had a sudden violent rush of déjà vu. The last
thing he wanted was yet another government posting designed to pull
their nuts out of the fire.

‘So what you really want sir, is an official
printable version, suitable for consumption by the press and
public’

‘That’s right, but do remember commander, these
things have a habit of throwing up embarrassing situations. The
political tight rope is always dangerously unpredictable -- we have
these little secrets in order to protect, not only ourselves, but
also the public at large. How would you like the press to print the
fact that your great grandmother was a lesbian and fraternised with
Lord Nelson?’

‘Point taken sir, but lets just leave out rampant
cover ups can we?’

‘Well we can try commander, but you know human
nature...it’s very over rated,’ Jansen found himself unconsciously
nodding in agreement.

‘There are no hard and fast rules in true politics
commander; the good politician will go down to the wire without
breaking the law and then some, in order to achieve the required
results.’

The director placed a typed sheet on the table and
pushed it towards him.

‘That commander, is all the facts we have so far on
the case,’ Jansen peered quizzically at the flimsy information.

'I'm sorry we can’t give you any more, but as I’m
sure you are aware, we have been hard pressed on all fronts with
this case -- what with Chester resigning leaving a rudderless
police force, and the incessant demands of the Americans for
security compliance in with their own protocol, and our own
struggle to protect Australian sovereignty. We simply haven’t had
the skilled staff to cope with it all.’ Jansen took a second look
at the typed sheet it listed the three major anomalies: Chester’s
Sydney tunnel expertise, the disappearance of nine BIB members in
the tunnel and the fifty million dollar bank robbery. At least it
spelled out the main problems and tentatively pointed towards the
possible course of action one should take to solve them. The ASIO
director took another sip of whiskey and pointed his glass towards
the info sheet.

‘We owe some sort of resolution to the
Americans...the operation you have just carried out didn’t bring us
a lot of glory. It was the least we can do; after all Australia was
well placed to carry out such an operation without raising the
suspicions and dire of the rest of the world,’ Jansen cast a
curious glance at the Deakin..

‘You Know...I don’t know who is the more corrupt, us
or the fucking Yanks -- this is not really about Australia and
glory, or the rest of the world, is it sir?’

‘Of course it is commander,’ Deakin hastily added
with a twisted smile, that made his laugh lines stand out, and
forced the wrinkles on his forehead to compete. Jansen was more
than familiar with the type of perfunctory grimace
--
most
politicians seemed to have it in abundance.

Deakin looked up from his notes the strain on his
face was beginning to show
.

‘I think that will do for today Commander...just keep
in touch with your usual report.’ Jansen took his leave silently
exiting the building deep in thought. Deakin watched him go
wondering if they had chosen the right man for the job
afterall.

Abruptly one of the side doors opened and a
parliamentary secretary walk in with a clutch of typed papers
placing them in front of the ASIO director.

‘Sorry to bother you sir, but two of the national
dailies are running a story saying that we have messed up and
brought back the wrong man.’

‘I presume they are referring to the US president who
we now know was a US security agent vapourised in the MOAB
blast.’

‘Couldn’t we put a ‘D’ notice on this sort of
speculation or something sir?’

‘You mean invoke a dusty old UK caveat from the spy
era. I think not, the Australian D notice system organisation
hasn’t had a meeting since 1982, better to let the tabloids stew in
their own juices. After all, speculation is what the world and
democracy is all about , and in any case theoretically, we didn’t
bring back the wrong guy, we brought back who we wanted to bring
back.

‘And who would that be sir?’ Deakin touched his nose
and smiled.