But you are now running the media for the policing and investigation side, okay?’
Simon sat forward, a little stunned. ‘Sure, that’s great.’
‘And you,’ said Mac, looking at Julie, ‘the last thing you need is another luncher trying to put his oar in, right?’
‘Well,’ she said, embarrassed, ‘I wouldn’t put it exactly like that.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Mac. ‘I deal with that every day. It never goes away, believe me.’
‘What about Chester?’ asked Julie, looking at the table but addressing Mac.
It was a fair question. Julie had a career to think of, and Chester was still technically her boss.
‘Don’t worry about Chester. Chester is my headache,’ replied Mac, suddenly feeling very hungry. ‘For now, here’s the deal: the two of you are co-directing the public affairs side of Operation Alliance. Simon’s doing the police side, Julie’s doing the rest. My one stipulation is that there be no open-mic interviews with the cops. And I mean any cops.
A reporter or producer wants answers, they put the questions through you and you write the responses with attribution, okay? – If Mick Keelty turns up and wants to do a touchy-feely session with some journos, we say no. If he wants to walk amongst his people, do the loaves and fi shes, the answer is no.’
The two media operatives laughed at that.
‘I’m serious, guys – that staged media shit feels good for a few hours but it puts too much pressure on the cops who are here day-in, day-out. They need to be working on the op, not doing security detail for the commissioner.’
Julie and Simon looked at each other and nodded.
‘I want all the cops and forensics types in a bubble,’ said Mac.
‘I want these people totally able to get on with it. They’re already feeling the weight of expectation, they don’t need the media pouncing on the smallest mis-speak and holding them to it. You guys can create the space they need. Fair enough?’
Two women with clipboards came into the garden and did a sotto voce conference, obviously strategising how to get around a dickhead with power.
Mac turned back to his new crew, signed his printed page and handed it to Julie. As she read, Mac said, ‘Have a look at point number fi ve and memorise it. These people are going to bust a gut out there and they have every right to relax on their day off, and if they want to sit around the pool and drink, that’s their good luck. So let’s get it in our heads: No Media and No Cameras Inside the Pool Area. That’s a media-free zone – got it?’
They nodded again.
‘You’re a couple of young smarties – so get out there and prove it,’ said Mac, raising his bottle at them before heading off.
CHAPTER 11
An orange glow soaked through Mac’s eyelids, jerking him awake from deep REM sleep. He gasped a little at the pain in his sternum and, shaking his head, wondered where he was in the darkness. Chester must be a curtain- closer, thought Mac, looking over at his slumbering room-mate.
Mac’s Nokia glowed bright orange in the pitch black of the room.
Reaching over he looked at the screen. Scare Me.
‘Hey, champ,’ he croaked into the old Service Nokia.
‘Mac,’ came Joe Imbruglia’s voice. ‘Sorry about the time but something’s come up.’
‘Yep?’ said Mac, reaching for his G-Shock on the bedside table. It was 1.58 am.
‘The Indons want an extension on the Handmaiden project. Seems it’s not yet completed.’
‘ What?’ exclaimed Mac. ‘Fuck’s sakes, Joe!’
In the other bed, Chester mumbled to himself, out to it.
‘Not my fi rst choice either, mate,’ said Joe. ‘But there you have it.’
‘I thought Canberra wanted me in Kuta for the investigation?’ said Mac, trying for a whisper but too peeved to manage it.
Joe chuckled. ‘Well you did yourself out of that, didn’t you?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Delegated it to those youngsters. Chester’s been hitting the bloody roof.’
Mac moved to the bathroom, shut the door quietly and sat on the closed toilet seat in the dark, his heart thumping in his temples. ‘How do you know about that?’
‘Chester called me, about eleven o’clock. Said you’d taken his best girl and then reassigned her to a joint public affairs effort with the AFP without consulting him. He’s ropeable.’
‘Mate, I just put the best team in there. They still answer to me, unless you want me riding a keyboard all day.’
‘I told him yours was always meant to be an oversight role, that you were never going to actually write the cops’ press releases for them.’
‘Am I in the shit?’
‘Nah,’ said Joe. ‘It’s just Chester going off. I mean, you ever heard him swear?’
‘No. Why?’
‘I asked him if he’d taken his complaints up with you yet, and he said, “No, Joe.” And when I asked him why not, he said, “Because he’s lying on his back snoring like a fucking bear!”’
Mac laughed weakly and rubbed his face, trying to wake up. His brain buzzed with fatigue. ‘Okay, mate, so Handmaiden, what’s the drum?’
‘Same secondment to the Indons, through BAIS. Same op.’
Mac felt the UN dream receding. ‘New York’s not going to happen, is it, Joe? I mean, Handmaiden is one of those things that could drag on for years.’
‘So get out there, mate, do your thing,’ said Joe, sounding genuinely conciliatory. ‘If anyone can bring in that little Akbar weasel, it’s you.’
Mac sulked in the back seat of the black LandCruiser, mulling over his career as they sped for the military air base behind Bali International.
Freddi and his driver, Purni, were silent in front and were probably knackered too.
Mac felt like writing a memo to someone saying it wasn’t fair, that he’d already planned Operation Handmaiden and successfully executed the fi rst and most diffi cult stage: acquiring Ahmed al Akbar without signs of a struggle and exfi ltrating him covertly. That was the Australian end, a daring and dangerous snatch that had been carried out almost perfectly by Team 4 and ASIS. It wasn’t right that the Indons had lost the bloke and were now calling him back to fi nd him again. Mac would love to see how Maddo and his boys at Team 4 would react if they were copied in on this latest development. Mac was also annoyed with himself that he hadn’t followed up on the face he’d seen in the pantry when he was doing the snatch. It now looked as though the person had been Samir. And if Samir was working with Hassan, it would explain why Akbar had been sprung so fast.
Freddi turned in his seat. ‘Okay for food, McQueen? Water?’
Mac shrugged, petulant. Couldn’t help it.
‘If I was you, McQueen, I’d be annoyed too.’
‘Oh yeah?’ said Mac.
‘Yeah. I’d be thinking that I went out, caught that little bomber, now the army gone and lost him.’ Freddi shook his head, like it was the most serious thing in the world.
‘Freddi, I’m here so I’m already enlisted, okay?’ said Mac, annoyed.
‘You can stop with the charm offensive.’
Freddi turned back to the windscreen. ‘Breakfast at the base, then we’ll move. Gonna be a long day, okay?’
Mac rubbed his hands down the legs of his overalls, turning it into a stretch. ‘Sure, Freddi – let’s roll.’
They pulled in behind the commercial airport buildings six minutes later, drove down a cleared driveway lined with weeds, and slowed for the base police checkpoint. Purni snapped something at Freddi while looking in his side
