Tehran Decree (32 page)

‘The Power Play Club?’

‘Yes, it’s an exclusive private club in New York,
only men of real power may become members, they all share their
power play secrets. Most of the US presidents were members and
quite a few other well known dignitaries.'

‘I see...and Jenkins is on a private visit to attend
the funeral then?’

'That's right commander, and he wishes to remain
anonymous, along with his secret service entourage; please don’t
mention his visit to anyone.’

‘No I won’t -- I trust they’ll all be at the funeral
then Mrs. Chester.’

‘Yes...but I won’t be there...funerals always upset
me terribly. I will say my good-byes to Clement before they take
the coffin away,’ her voice wavered and she sobbed.

‘Thank god for those boys,’ she said endearingly.

‘What boys?’

‘The lads of the US secret service, they have
volunteered to take Clement’s body away,’ more sobs filled the
earpiece.

‘They kindly offered to be coffin bearers, and I
thanked them with all my heart,’ she broke down completely and
pressed the ‘end-call’ button.

Jensen thought about Mrs. Chester’s revealations for
a while, then keyed in Duttons number.

‘Hello Jeff, can you get to the Sydney Town Hall
pronto -- we’re going to a funeral,’ Jansen closed his mobile,
watched the rain spatter on his windscreen, then unfolded his
mobile and keyed in the police minister’s number.

‘Hello sir...commander Jansen here, I understand the
American secret service are filling in as coffin bearers for
Clement’s funeral.’

‘That’s right commander, it wasn’t my idea, Mrs.
Chester insisted they take over. I would have preferred our own
chosen officers, after all they’re the men who served under
commissioner Chester -- but she insisted.’

‘Where are these men now sir.’

‘Well they’ve been reassigned to other duties of
course.’

‘Could you get then back together at the funeral sir
discreetly armed with Glock pistols.’

‘Now look commander, we’re supposed to be having a
very civil ceremony known as a state funeral, it is a national
ceremony of some importance. I don’t want armed police intimidating
or harassing any of the mourners especially the VIP’s’

‘That’s all right sir, the men would be discreetly
parked outside the cathedral.’

‘They had better be...I presume you have a very good
reason for this gung-ho display commander...because if you haven’t,
you’ll be off the case quicker then you can say kiss my arse.’

‘I understand sir, but I have a terrible gut feeling
about this funeral. I believe it to be a set up.’

‘A set up for what?’

‘I don’t know yet, I only have a part of the puzzle,
and there are some little pieces missing.’

‘All right commander, I’ll have them deployed around
the cathedral, but don’t forget, this is a national occasion and it
will be televised live all over Australia, as well as possible
global coverage.’

Chapter Sixty-four

Mrs. Chester had resigned herself to spending the day
in the best room, sitting comfortably on her leather suite and
occasionally praying for Clement’s soul in front of a small
crucifix on the sideboard. She needed a little coaxing to bring
herself into the right mood to grieve her husband of forty years --
it was a long time, and she had often wondered if it had been worth
it. Still, she had made her bed, and she now had to lie in it, as
usual.

Her senses were sluggish and somehow she couldn’t
bring herself to feel bereaved, even after four decades with the
man she was supposed to have loved. She seemed to need a kick
start...something that evoked her feelings. Incense seemed to be
appropriate, it played directly on the olfactory senses, and smell
was one of her preferred brain stimulating organs. She just loved
perfume and had a huge collection of all the prominent perfumery
products.

She lit several sticks of incense pushing them into a
holder, then put the box back into the top drawer of the
cabinet.

It was then she noticed the large envelope on the
cabinet, it had been delivered the previous day but she hadn’t had
time to open it. She ripped the top off and pulled out the contents
-- it was Clement’s police association tie and badge rolled up in a
set of white handkerchiefs accompanied by a scribbled not from the
funeral parlor.

To Mrs. Chester

Sorry to worry you with small details, but you left
these things in the office. I’m sure they would be of sentimental
value to you at this time.

Kind Regards

Staff

Thorpe and Wardle

It had been Clement’s express wish that he be buried
with in his best suit and police association badge and tie. She
threw her hands in the air, looked in the mirror, and mouthed a few
words at the reflection.

‘My god, you stupid buggers, Clement isn’t wearing
his official Police Association badge and tie,’ She had left
express instructions to enclose the items in the coffin next to
Chester’s heart. Some silly assistant had forgot to pass on the
instructions.

She looked at her watch trying to work out where
Clement would be at this particular moment -- her subconscious
provided a double pronged answer -- he would be locked in the
coffin at the cathedral in the middle of his funeral service,
or...he might still be at the funeral parlour awaiting shipment.
She shoved the tie and badge in her hand bag, dashed down to the
garage, jumped in the SUV, revved up the engine, and pulled out
into the traffic.

Chapter Sixty-five

The prestigeous funeral directors of Thorpe and
Wardle had been through a busy week, with several well healed
cadavers to deal with. The senior director, Arnold Benton, had just
put the phone down after yet another elaborate funeral arrangement
for the following week.

It was an apprehensive time and he felt obliged to
pour himself a double Scotch from his office drinks cabinet. The
internal intercom buzzed and the receptionist passed on a
message.

‘There’s a Mrs. Chester here to see you sir
urgently.’

‘Thank you Susan, tell her to come straight in will
you.’

Mrs. Chester came bounding in and stood bolt upright
in front of him.

‘I’m sick to the back teeth of telling other people
how to do their fucking jobs Mr. Benton. I clearly informed the
staff here to dress Clement in his best suit and police association
tie, and to fix his association badge on his left lapel next to his
heart. Non of this had been done -- are all your staff bloody
stupid or something?’ Benton tried to smile sympathetically and
reached for the internal phone

‘Before you issue any more pointless orders...is my
husband Chester still here?’ Benton stared open mouthed at the
woman he had done business with over the last two weeks. A distinct
character change had occurred. Instead of the polite intellectual
female he’d gotten used to, he was now confronted by a glaring,
overbearing, foul mouthed woman. He forced himself to reply in his
usual funeral directors dignified voice.

‘I’m sure there’s a perfectly rational explanation
Mrs. Chester -- your husband’s body left here over half and hour
ago -- as you can see, his coffin is resting in the nave of St.
Mary’s cathedral,’ he pointed to the large panel LCD TV monitor
situated on the wall some three metres above Benton’s desk, which
was tuned into the state funeral service.

Mrs. Chester stood transfixed, her eyes glued to the
TV panel. It was a service she never wanted to see, but her trained
mind completely overruled any squeamishness she might have had. She
had been trained by her mother to abhor improper dress in anyone,
especially her own husband, who had specifically requested his best
suit, tie and badge, to be worn at his own funeral.

She turned and scowled at Benton, then took off,
slamming the door behind her. In seconds she was on the freeway
pumping the accelerator, and shouting obscenities at any vehicle
that got in her way. St. Mary’s was still some distance away and
Sydney’s notorious traffic build up had already begun.

Chapter Sixty-six

The sky was diffuse grey and a fine drizzle settled
in on Sydney’s business centre, wetting the pavements into slippery
sheets, the city hummed with activity. Strangely, inclement weather
was welcome by many people, since it set the stage for a sad, but
memorable funeral. How many people actually remembered a grand
funeral on a hot summers day -- it was the wet foggy days that
stuck in ones memory. Funerals had that tinge of horror about them,
it symbolised death -- the last act of nature against the arrogance
of mankind. It demonstrated who ultimately ruled the roost. It was
so decisive, so final, so unalterable. Nature went on her
irrevocable course regardless of what men did; mankind was a
temporary phenomena, but nature was as permanent as you could get
in this physical world.

St. Mary’s cathedral symbolised all of this with her
twin, two toned spires, glistened above the melee of people who
continued to arrive for the state funeral of Sydney’s most well
known lawman. To the people in the street, Commissioner Clement
Chester was a saint, and woe betide anyone who spoke differently,
but the police and government had a different story to tell -- but
it didn’t matter. In the long run public sentiment said it all and
the man who had sold his soul to cannabis and the BIB, would now
dominate the nations media and their conscience.

It didn’t end there, for even in death, and given the
right circumstances, he could bring down the government and destroy
Sydney’s police force from the top down or the bottom up. And the
irony of it all was that he would now be afforded the grand state
funeral of a super hero. Political expediency could collectively
change the morals of a nation or turn a monumental falsehood into
an inviolable truth.

At Sydney airport the drizzle had increased to a
steady downpour and some flights had been delayed due to the rough
weather -- only designated VIP flights had priority.

Vice President Jenkins and his entourage had pulled a
few sensitive strings and his flight from Tasmania was one of the
last to be allowed to land.

Jenkins declined both an official and a full media
reception and landed some distance from the airport buildings.
Three hired limousines met the 747C and whisked the entourage away
to a private customs screening, and one of Sydney’s five star
hotels within cruising distance of St. Mary’s Cathedral.

The funeral service had just commenced as Jenkin’s
and his security detail quietly made their way into the lofty
cathedral. The police minister had discreetly briefed the officers
on duty to allow the Americans free access within reason. Duty
security clearance officers were bombarded with US photo ID’s as
the Americans solemnly walked in and lined up at the back of the
cathedral.

The holy edifice was crammed with police officials
and political luminaries. Celebrities abounded and it was amazing
how many well heeled high flyers Chester just happened to know
during his life time.

The Archbishop of Sydney gave a short introductory
eulogy, allowing more time for the many tributes, and personal
dedications, by a host of well wishes still to come.

The strained notes of Chester’s favourite hymn
reverberated around the huge nave and the congregation
spontaneously burst into song.

Abide with me fast falls the evening tide

The darkness deepens Lord with me abide...

Many eyes and faces in the congregation began to
sparkle as light caught the myriad flow of tears. The hymn itself
evoked deep emotions particularly in the elderly members of the
parish. Perhaps it was because most seniors began to realise their
days on earth were numbered after all, and their demise was now
rapidly approaching -- it was something to cry about -- since death
didn’t happen everyday...but it would surely happen to them in the
near future.

Even the police minister shed a few genuine tears --
not because he cared for the plight of Clement Chester, but because
he wanted an excuse to cry and let out his own pent-up
emotions.

It was Beatle, Ringo Starr, who said he felt that
fans used the Beatles as an excuse to go mad, and release their
inhibited emotions, rather than pay homage to their music. Many
people did exactly the same thing that day and used the occasion to
relieve themselves of their emotional baggage. If one person openly
shed tears then it was okay for the next person to do so, and this
had the usual human knock on effect all the way down the line --
until, as they say, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.

It was during this poignant moment that Mrs. Chester
chose to enter the cathedral armed with Clement’s police
association tie and lapel badge. Without these adornments Chester
was improperly dressed in a public place and this was the ultimate
faux pas in her eyes. She stopped in her tracks; the coffin lid was
well and truly screwed down with a peripheral row of high quality
brass screws, which skirted the edge of the coffin lid. She
rummaged in her hand bag, producing an over size nail file, and
continued on her relentless march towards Clement’s coffin.

‘By hook or by crook he’ll be properly dressed,’ she
mouthed to herself as she reached the coffin. Gaining a foot hold
on the bier, with supreme effort, she levered herself on top of the
coffin, and began to unscrew the brass screws with her nail file
one by one.

Jenkins stared at her in horror along with the whole
congregation. He looked sharply at his secret service agents, and
flicked his head towards the coffin, indicating Mrs. Chester’s
prompt removal. Several of the agents converged on the coffin
trying desperately to grab her -- she lashed out with the nail file
drawing blood from two of the men.

Jenkins had developed his own simple body language
with his closet minders and he eyeballed his agents again flicking
his head towards the large doors, indicating complete removal of
the coffin to the hearse outside. The agents formed up three on
each side of the coffin and lifted it and Mrs. Chester off the
bier, then began an unsteady march toward the great doors, with
Mrs. Chester kicking her legs and squealing as she held on to the
coffin lid.