The Day of the Gecko (22 page)

‘I imagine you would, Major,' said Les.

‘Anyway, the Vietnam War's raging, Holt's doing his best to get it together, and on January 20, 1966, Menzies throws the towel in and Harold Holt becomes Prime Minister of Australia. Holt's a bit spun out, but it's congratulations all round and the Chinese decide to
do the right thing and tell Holt about Collins. They do it through a Russian agent, Oleg Vatutin. Holt wasn't to know they knew. Vatutin was friends with Holt. They both liked a drink and a laugh. Played poker. Holt nicknamed Oleg, Ollie, and considered Vatutin a bit of a joker. They used to go skindiving and spearfishing together. So Vatutin, as a friend, told Holt about Collins. There was nothing he could do. Don't mention he'd told him. On top of just becoming Prime Minister this was the ultimate pressure Holt didn't need.'

‘I'm surprised at the balls he had to get this far.'

‘About now Collins decides to strike. Cut the new Prime Minister right off at the knees. He arranges for a private meeting in his office with Holt and tells the PM he knows what's going on. Holt says he knows what's going on too. How were your days at Cambridge? Here's a photo of you and your school chums. So it's a kind of stalemate. Though Collins did have one advantage. If Holt called first. Collins could defect to Russia. There was nowhere for Holt to go if he had to face the music. Only gaol.'

‘So Harold's got troubles.'

‘Right. The shit's finally hit the fan. Plus, after thirty years of spying and the pressure involved, his verandah's starting to get a few loose floorboards. So he thinks it over and decides to bail out. He tells Collins he's won. But he won't blow Collins' cover and Collins can stay in Australia with ASIO if he'll ensure that Holt gets out of the country safely and secretively. Collins agrees. So Holt, with the help of the Chinese, Oleg Vatutin and ASIO, arrange a plan. The Prime Minister would disappear while skindiving. A Chinese
Whiskey-class submarine, with divers on board, would pick the Prime Minister up, then take him to a remote island off the south of China where Harold would spend the rest of his days amongst the people he liked most, skindiving and porking young Chinese babes with no shortage of money in the bank. Not a bad idea and much better than the alternative. They set it all up, including a contingency plan, and the whole lot stuffed up completely.'

‘What happened?'

‘They arranged for the submarine to pick Holt up off Cheviot Beach. Holt had a weekender near the water and used to spend a lot of time diving and entertaining there. You have to remember, Les, this was Australia in 1967. Cheviot Beach was, like, out in the bush, people had their minds on the Vietnam War and the protests and half our naval patrol boats were either over there or on manoeuvres. There was no satellite surveillance or navigation like today and you could pull something like that off then. Collins arranged for all Holt's usual security staff to have the day off. Vatutin would be in a Holden panel van up above the cliffs with another KGB operative, Vasily Khludov. Sitting further along the cliffs in another car, was another Russian agent, Pavel Yusupov. He was a lot younger and fitter than Holt, had the same build, the same clothes on, with a thick, grey wig in the car, and he was to double for Holt or distract people's attention if something went wrong. Harold arranged for a small party of friends to be there for a day's snorkelling. Holt would drive himself to the cliffs on top of the beach, leave his car, then walk down with his diving gear and join his friends.
Then he'd jump in the water, the Chinese divers would be waiting with an aqua-lung for him and they'd swim him out to the submarine, and that should have been that. Exit the prime minister, stage left.'

‘So what went wrong?'

‘First, the seas came up. There'd been a bad swell running, but on that particular Sunday, it was huge. It would be hard enough for the experienced Chinese divers with scuba gear to get in. For a man in his sixties, who wasn't as fit as he used to be, to jump into those seas, he'd risk drowning. On top of that, Sir Alec Rose, the round-the-world yachtsman, arrived in his boat
The Lively Lady
. This was a big event and thousands of people converged on Portsea that day, along with the Water Police and units of the Australian Navy. Naturally all boats were equipped with the latest radar. The submarine couldn't risk being detected so, it was mission aborted. Go to plan two. The submarine would head for Port Stephens near Newcastle and pick the Prime Minister up there, but Holt still has to go through with all the subterfuge. So he joins his friends walking across the beach, then halfway across, excuses himself for a minute while he runs over behind some rocks near an old upturned fishing boat to change into his Speedos. Prior's even mentioned how one woman in Holt's party remarked at the inquest on the Prime Minister's sudden touch of modesty. Usually he'd just drop his daks on the spot. And, apart from them, there was hardly anyone else around. It just seemed a little unusual at the time. So Holt runs over behind the rocks where Yusupov is waiting with the wig on. The Russian takes Holt's snorkelling gear, then runs back
down to Holt's friends, keeps away from them a bit, then, with a bit of the old “last one in's a rotten egg” sort of thing, runs down to the water, jumps in and swims out. Holt puts on a dark cap Yusupov has left him, waits a few minutes till everyone's down by the water's edge, then runs up the hill to where Oleg and Vasily are parked next to an old gun turret. Holt gets in the back of the panel van and they head for Port Stephens to wait for the submarine. Yusupov swims around for a while, then takes the grey wig off, swims back in and hides in the rocks for a little while longer. Later, in all the confusion, he walks calmly up to his car and drives off. And that, too, should have been that, except they got sprung.'

‘They got sprung? Who by?'

‘A bloke having a root under the old, upturned fishing boat.'

‘You're kidding?'

‘Just above Cheviot Beach is an Officer Cadet Training School. A young Lieutenant there, Kenneth Trenowden, was having an affair with the Commanding Officer's wife, while he was posted to Vietnam. The old fishing boat was their Sunday rendezvous point where they used to do their bonking in private. Trenowden was giving her one under the boat when, first he heard noises, then a familiar voice. He kept the CO's wife quiet while he had a look out through a hole in the clinkers and saw the whole thing. Holt actually caught his eye for an instant before he ran up the hill. Naturally, the young lieutenant was blown out by what he just saw, but he can't tell anybody or it would be the end of his career, amongst other things. So he kept the
whole thing to himself. However, he did write a letter, a sort of “in the event of my death” thing, and left it with his sister, Beverley. Two weeks later, Trenowden got a posting to Vietnam where he was shot by a sniper at My Phuoc Tuy. Very coincidental. His sister forgot about the letter and ended up moving to Geelong when her husband retired. He later electrocuted himself trying to fix a power point. When she was going through her private papers after it was all over, she found the letter from her dead brother, read it and gave it to Prior. He was her nephew and she knew he was a journalist. He's read it, got a bit suss about this uncle getting knocked off in Vietnam so early when he shouldn't really have got the posting. He revved up his modem, jumped on the internet, and zoomed off gathering information from all over the world on the superhighway, whereas, unfortunately, Les, you're in an old Holden sitting on blocks with no wheels.'

‘Okay, I'm a loo-light or a loo-dite. Or whatever you call them. But you still haven't told me what happened to the Prime Minister's body?'

‘Okay, sit back, Br'er Rabbit, and oF Uncle Remus'll finish this off for you. Phase Two. The panel van heads for Port Stephens. They hide Holt in a caravan near Shoal Bay, but Williamtown Air Force Base is just up the road and the SAS are having parachute exercise droppings into Port Stephens. The Australian Navy's doing mine sweeping operations along with two American destroyers prior to leaving for Vietnam, plus the Air Force is doing low-level bombing exercises and submarine detection. So it's mission aborted again. Plan Three. Sydney Heads. But by now the light's
stopped coming on in Harold's fridge. He's starting to crack. Oleg does his best to boost the PM's morale and crack gags and joke around. But Harold's losing it. They move into a flat in Rose Bay. Oleg organises a drink and a game of poker to keep Holt's mind off things. He gets drunk and sees himself on TV. The whole country's still looking for him. Then it flashes to his family all crying and praying, and Harold goes all lachrymose and decides to give himself up. He'll cop the rap. Holt's good Russian mate, Vatutin, rings Collins and asks what to do? And Collins said to shoot the Prime Minister. So Vatutin did, just like that.' The Gecko snapped his fingers twice and looked at Les.

‘His Russian mate shot him?'

‘Yep, twice in the back of the neck — SS style.'

‘So where's the body?'

‘Well, Les, that's where the story ends. Or splits into two. The Chinese said they picked up the body, took it to China and buried it. But another report said the submarine got caught in fishing nets off North Head, burnt a motor out getting away from them, and headed out to sea for repairs, then back to China. Vatutin said they disposed of the body in his report. Khludov said there was a mishap with the body, but they disposed of it. That's all. Prior's got some longitude and latitude references there. I haven't got the gizmo with me, but by memory they seem to be around Brisbane Water.'

‘Up the Central Coast.'

‘Possibly. And that's where Prior is at the moment. He might be onto something.'

‘Funny if he was under the Florida Hotel,' laughed Norton.

‘I think that's gone now, Les. It's Crown Plaza, or something.'

‘Is it? It's a while since I been up there.'

The Gecko eased back in his seat and gave Norton a slow smile. ‘Well, come on, Les. What are your thoughts on Prior's theory? You must have formed some sort of an opinion.'

‘Yeah, not bad,' nodded Les. ‘But there are just a couple of things.'

‘Like what, lad?'

‘Well, why would Holt keep going? Once he got into parliament, he didn't need the money, especially when he made Prime Minister.'

‘Holt still needed money. As well as poker and a punt, he liked the high life in general. And he was Prime Minister for barely a year. But when you're in there, you don't think of the circumstances. It's the buzz. I was in Army Intelligence. I've worked with spies. They're ice-cold adrenalin junkies getting high on controlled schizophrenia. Plus Holt believed in what he was doing. In his heart and soul, he honestly believed he was doing the right thing. The way things are coming out now with generals and ministers spilling their guts, possibly he was.'

‘Okay,' nodded Les, ‘that makes sense. But how did Prior get onto all this in the first place? I know he's a journalist, and he can use a computer . . .'

‘Like I said, Les. On the internet. It's all out there now. Since the break-up of Russia, the wall coming down and the end of the Cold War, there's records turning up everywhere. Vatutin ended up a colonel in the Stasi, the East German Secret Police, along with
Khludov's son, Lieutenant Nevsky Khludov. Vasily died flying a plane during the start of the war in Afghanistan. Chu Yu-lan is now number three in the Chinese Politburo. Prior's been researching this for almost four years and knows what he's doing. He's done six trips overseas, including Moscow and Beijing.' The Gecko patted the ten pages. ‘It's all there, mate. Have a look for yourself.'

‘No, that's okay. I'll take your word for it.' With all the techno-jargon in it, Norton may as well have tried to read a Chinese newspaper. ‘But it's not as good as the theory I heard. From very reliable sources, too, I might add.'

‘What theory was that, Les?'

‘Harold Holt and Elvis Presley are running a fish and chip shop with Spike Milligan at Woy Woy.'

The Gecko was about to say something when the intercom buzzed. ‘Shit! That'll be Eddie. Don't say anything about this.' He gathered the papers up. ‘I'll go through it with him some other time.' The major hit the intercom, put the papers in his room and was at the front door in time to open it for Eddie, who was wearing jeans, dark blue T-shirt, cap and sunglasses.

Eddie smiled when he walked into the kitchen. ‘So, how's it goin', big fellah? You ready for all the festivities tonight?'

‘Ready as I'll ever fuckin' be, Eddie, I suppose. What about you?'

Eddie made an expression with his hands. ‘What's gotta be done's gotta be done.'

‘Yeah, I s'pose you're right. You want a cup of coffee or something?'

‘Yeah, all right. Thanks, mate.' Eddie looked across at the major. ‘So what's been happening, Garrick? Everything sweet?'

The Gecko made the same expression with his hands that Eddie had. ‘What could go wrong?'

‘Listen,' said Les, ‘if you two want to go in the lounge. I'll make this and bring it in.'

‘That would be excellent, Les. There are things I have to discuss. Thank you.'

Well, here I am, the little au-pair girl again. And once again I've learnt something from the major. I've learnt that I know absolutely fuck-all about computers and he's a whiz. I don't know about Prior, or whatever he calls himself's, story. But the major's a genius — how he got onto it and figured it all out. So Harold's buried somewhere near Brisbane Water, eh, and there was a mishap with the body. A sobering thought suddenly hit Norton in the pit of his stomach. Just as long as there's no bloody mishap with two certain bodies tonight. Les stared out the kitchen window into space. I honestly wish I didn't have to do this. For some reason I'm starting to get a bad feeling. Oh well, too bloody late now. He had all the stuff together on the tray and was just about to pick up the plunger from near the kitchen sink when Boris and Igor came out the front door and walked down the path towards the front of the flats. Off for another day's fishing, are we, boys? Les let his eyes follow them for a moment, then he took the tray into the lounge, placed it all in front of Eddie, then walked out onto the sundeck and made out he was looking for something. The two Russians had gone past the front of the flats and were almost at
Glenayr Avenue when two fresh-faced, fit-looking young blokes came out of the flats opposite where Les had seen the outline of the telephoto lens. One had bright red hair, the other black, and both were wearing Hawaiian shirts, board shorts and sunglasses, and were carrying boogie-boards under their arms. Something about their outfits told you they were anything but surfers. Les pottered around watching them for a while, then went back inside.