Direct Action. J D Svenson
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Название: Direct Action
Автор: J D Svenson
Издательство: Ingram
Жанр: Политические детективы
isbn: 9781922198396
isbn:
‘Ah …’ she said. ‘Look, how about I get home as soon as I can and drive over. Only, well, it’s total gridlock here. How’s the street outside the hospital?’
‘I wouldn’t know, Cressida, I’m in the car park underneath.’ The irritation in his voice went up a notch. ‘Where the taxi rank is. Oh—’ There were muffled words on the end of the phone again. ‘It’s alright, all is well, Peter can give me a lift. See you. No need to drop over. I’ll see you in the morning.’
‘Oh. But …’ she began, and the phone went dead. She looked down at it and swallowed. It was okay, it was a long way from the hospital to here. What did she expect him to do – come all the way down and pick her up? The two bars of chocolate in her bag were glinting at her again, and before she knew it she had ripped the wrapping off the Jelly Popping Candy Beanies and devoured half of it, falling into its consuming decadence as the rain coursed over her umbrella. Hadn’t that whole chocolate/Porsche plan turned out well, she thought, watching water stream into the drain in the gutter beside her. She looked down at her shoes. They were soaked, and the bottom half of her skirt was drenched from the angle of the downpour. Then a pool of light flooded the street ahead and she looked up to see a helicopter bank above the buildings, its searchlight backlighting the shards of rain. At least it warded off the dark. She squeezed the water out of her skirt and began to walk.
On Elizabeth Street the restaurants and nightclubs were like toys run out of batteries, the bar owners standing and looking forlornly out into the street, while next to them disgorged patrons leant against walls finishing clear-glass beers. Police were everywhere, doling out witches hats along the edge of the roadway to keep the crowd on the footpath. It took her forty minutes to make it along Oxford Street to Bondi Junction, but at the bus terminus she squeezed onto a bus full of wet office workers and exhausted-looking European backpackers, and stood for the journey up the hill to North Bondi. On the kerb at the corner of Military Road the bus let her out and she stood to watch it go, a box of golden-lit noise, red tail-lights and steam winding its way up the hill. The street was slick with rain and as the bus receded, like a tide the silence settled in, broken only by a deep, bouncy ping that echoed from the golf course on the other side of the road – frogs? Distantly she could hear the roar of the sea from the foot of the cliffs, and then a night bird called, far off. She felt caught like a fly in amber in the strangeness of it, between the heavy sky and the wet ground, listening as nature extended its fingers into the gaps left by the stillness. And there was that alone feeling she’d had in the boardroom, again, after everyone had left. As if the frogs and the birds were the only other things living. Quickly she shook off the feeling and started for home.
At her apartment building all she wanted was to get inside, heeling off her wet shoes and shucking her skirt in the hallway. As she fell against the wall she flicked the light out of habit, too tired to find the torch on her phone in the dark. By feel she identified a juice left over from that morning in the fridge, the sediment that had floated to the top meeting her tongue. Blecch. Spinach, kale and beetroot would never have flirted in the kitchen at a party. The expensive cold-press juicer made a dark shape on the counter. Hopefully the five kilos of veggies in the crisper would keep. She fell on her bed and coaxed open a window, noticing again the silence thick on the hot night air. But then, some flats away, there was laughter, and she felt herself relax. Someone was having a blackout party. The human race did still exist. She fell onto the pillow, fast asleep.
5
Eighteen months as Premier, four years in senior ministry, and nearly twenty years as a member of parliament, and the whole time this place had been in the bowels of the building and Robert had had no idea. He always felt like he was the last to know things, but from the protestations and questioning of the other Cabinet members ahead of them, it seemed like for once he wasn’t the only one. He had peeled off his jacket twenty minutes ago, and stopped to loosen his tie on the last landing – buggered if he was going to take it off; there were still standards to maintain – and by the fourth floor down, his shirt was soaked. They had already descended eight levels of stairs, and Parliament House only had seven storeys. The security guards would only say that all would be explained when they got to something called ‘cog’, as they called it. It wasn’t really very satisfactory. He was the Premier of New South Wales for goodness sake, supposed to be security briefed at the highest levels, but it seemed like even this was something he wasn’t fully informed about. He would take it up with the relevant people after this was over.
Meanwhile, how on earth was he going to explain Colin? A few steps ahead of him, his lover’s low jeans and canvas shoulder bag with its raggedy Greenpeace iron-on on the flap clearly marked him as non-staff, his dayglo-yellow No Sweat ethical hitops cringingly flashy; the Minister for Energy and his own irritating deputy, fresh as a daisy in her navy suit despite the heat, were only metres in front. For three years they had managed to keep their relationship secret, no small feat given Colin’s passion for getting physical outside the bedroom. Robert reached out and gave his hand an unobtrusive squeeze – reassuring to himself or Colin, he wasn’t sure, but it made him feel better. They would just explain it somehow. The most important thing was that Colin was safe.
Robert’s legs were shaking by the time they finally arrived. At the foot of the stairs four security guards waited next to a metal detector and the standard conveyor belt x-ray machine arrangement. What, more security? But anyone here had done all that to get into Parliament House to begin with. Maybe these people weren’t all from Parliament House though. Looking at them he would have no idea. There were more than two thousand workers in the building, and he only really knew members of his own Cabinet and, maybe, one or two of their longer serving staffers. Could never be too careful, he supposed. A security detail in a dark suit stepped forward.
‘Honourable Members …’
People raised their hands and called for quiet and he began again.
‘Honourable Members, you are about to enter Unit COG – Continuation of Government. Once you have cleared security please file in in an orderly fashion and help yourselves to refreshments. A security briefing is due at twenty hundred hours. We hope to have as much information for you as possible then.’
Robert’s stomach lurched. Continuation of government? What the hell was going on?
‘Damo,’ someone called out. ‘Come on, it’s just a blackout for fuck’s sake – is all this really necessary?’
‘I’m sorry, madam,’ Damo replied, ‘it is.’
Colin turned to look at Robert. His face was calm but there was concern in his eyes. Robert swallowed, dredging up presidential as well as he could.
‘Go on.’
Belts and shoes and jackets were shucked, phones and laptops deposited in trays and passed through the x-ray, MPs patted down and caressed with the explosives tester wand. Robert sighed and pushed his hand through his hair. This was really going to ruin his weekend, he thought, irrationally. He had been intending to surprise Colin with lunch at Wild Duck. It had been so long since they’d been there, and the weather was flawless.
Damo was standing in front of him. He was indicating a corridor off to the right Robert hadn’t noticed before.
‘This way, Mr Premier.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Necessary to segregate you, Mr Premier. Extra precaution.’
‘Oh,’ Robert said, grinning tightly. He craned to see past Damo to the crowd behind. ‘Colin.’
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