The Shadow Game (35 page)

It would be celebrated as one of Australia's most memorable tabloid headlines.

BUNGA BUNGA AT BURRA BURRA

Sydney's
Daily Telegraph
had whipped itself into a frenzy over the sordid escapades of Jack Webster and his harem of nubile accomplices.

The sub-head left nothing to the imagination.

Big brass caught with pants down

Without crediting Dunkley, the paper had reprinted the photo of a handcuffed Webster being dragged into a black van. It had conveniently got its tabloid paws on a high-definition video of a
sex romp, recorded by the secret cameras Webster had installed inside his fortress.

The footage of Emily Brooks, starring in all the wrong ways, had gone viral.

While the Sydney tabloid was predictably lurid,
The Australian
cleared five pages to dissect the fall of Australia's military boss at a time of global crisis. The broadsheet was torn on whether to lead with the arrest of Webster or the exchange of fire between America and China.

In the end it married the two in a headline blasted across the entire eight columns of its front page.

WEBSTER FALLS AS WORLD REELS FROM MAY DAY WAR

But they were all playing catch-up to Dunkley who had documentary proof to back every explosive claim – and an apparent hotline to impeccable contacts.

As the morning papers were being opened, the
Canberra Times
' ace correspondent was on the move again, filing an online story with the smoking revelation that one of Webster's high-priced escorts was just sixteen.

Dunkley also reported that Brooks had been questioned by police, but released without charge.

Dunkley had largely left the sex romp to the tabloids and focused instead on the political charges the Liberal powerbroker had to answer. He quoted high-level sources claiming there was a secret plot by Brooks to recruit Webster to parliament to topple the prime minister.

Dunkley wrote that Brooks and Webster had been conspiring to release ‘concocted information' suggesting that Scott had commissioned the infamous Brooks sex tape.

ASIO had examined material purporting to show the PM's involvement, but declared it fake, he reported.

‘There is no gutter too low for Brooks and Webster,' the source told the
Canberra Times.

The Glock was reassuring, its familiar weight nestled into the left side of his chest, the holster strapped around his shoulder, pulled in tight.

He looked up at the sky. The morning was sombre and grey, threatening rain. Above the parliament, the Australian flag rustled in a slight breeze.

The forecourt was alive, ready to formally welcome the Japanese prime minister. It was 0955 and the official party had assembled in front of the main doors. The former prime minister Martin Toohey was a special guest.

The warrior scanned the crowd. The head of the AFP's Close Personal Protection Unit – a friend – had been thorough. Uniformed and plain clothes agents mingled with the onlookers and he mentally mapped their positions.

He'd called last night and his friend had welcomed the offer: it would be good to have one more set of eyes.

Across the forecourt, five cannons stood poised to fire a 19-gun salute for the Japanese leader. The Federation Guard was assembled in neat ranks, awaiting inspection. He knew there was not a single round in any of the gleaming chrome-plated magazines on their L1A1 Self-Loading Rifles.

Two Australian Federal Police officers stood at a distance of twenty metres either side of the official party, armed with Heckler & Koch G36 NATO battle rifles. And these ones were loaded.

He blended with a cluster of staffers and media standing just behind the official party. He glanced at his watch. Precisely 1000. The bollards at the right corner of the courtyard lowered, allowing Shinzo Abe and his entourage to drive the short distance to the waiting dignitaries.

Dressed in a dark suit, the beaming Japanese leader emerged to be greeted by Elizabeth Scott in a flattering blue dress. She introduced him to the official party before the acting Chief of the Defence Force guided him through the ranks of the Federation Guard.

As the Japanese anthem began, the warrior drifted closer. When the first strains of ‘Advance Australia Fair' sounded, he placed his hand over his heart, his fingers resting on the gun beneath his jacket.

There was a command from the edge of the forecourt. The first of the cannons roared.

He saw the blaze from the muzzle and the puff of smoke as the second boom sounded.

Shot number 3. Without fuss, he moved a few paces nearer.

The target was in sight. Shot number 4.

He reached into his jacket and gripped the Glock's handle, pushing open the release on his Kydex holster as the fifth shot fired.

It was time. As the sixth shot roared he pulled the Glock from the holster, stepped in front of the dignitaries and fired.

As the second bullet ripped through the target's skull, his ribs were crunched. He hit the gravel hard, but rolled to his feet, gun in hand. Screams rang out as someone yelled ‘Everybody down'. To his right, a rifle cracked twice.

Charles Dancer had always wondered what death would feel like.

‘It is my sombre duty to announce that the Leader of the Federal Opposition was pronounced dead at Canberra Hospital a short time ago.'

Elizabeth Scott bore the evidence of Australia's first federal political assassination. Her dress was torn and smeared with blood and a bandaged elbow showed where she'd struck the ground.

‘Many things divide us in politics. Most are trivial. Australia is a great nation because we settle our disputes with arguments, not weapons.

‘That changed today. We are the poorer for it, but great nations are not dictated to by events. They meet challenges and overcome them.

‘Whatever our differences, Catriona Bailey was a great Australian and a visionary leader of her party. She will be accorded every honour.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, this was the act of a lone madman. Charles Dancer had served as an Australian diplomat. At this stage we have no idea what his motivation was and I will not speculate.

‘Prime Minister Abe is safe, and after discussion he has agreed that his trip will proceed as planned.'

As Scott turned to leave the press conference, a reporter yelled out, ‘Prime Minister, you tackled the gunman. Are you a hero?'

She stopped for a moment.

‘This isn't about me.'

PORTRAIT OF A KILLER

The page-one profile of Charles Dancer spilled to page five, and ran to nearly three thousand five hundred words.

Among a host of explosive claims, Dunkley reported that Dancer was an active Australian agent who'd answered directly to the disgraced former defence chief, Jack Webster.

Recruited straight from university to the Australian Secret Intelligence Service, Dancer had caught the attention of the up-and-coming air force officer in the late 1990s.

In 2000, Webster had penned a secret report, arguing that the emerging threat to the West was Islamic terror and it demanded a
unique response. He recommended the establishment of a cross-discipline unit drawn from the Special Air Service Regiment, Special Forces and intelligence agencies.

They would be the nation's licensed assassins.

Soon after 9/11, the plan was ticked off by the defence minister without reference to the prime minister. Dunkley explained that this was unusual, but not exceptional: it gave the leader deniability. The only people in the know were the minister and his four defence chiefs.

The ultra-secret Reconnaissance Liaison Branch was born and Dancer was one of its first recruits.

Quoting ‘Air Chief Marshal Jack Webster's personal files', Dunkley detailed Dancer's many missions and his unique qualities.

The agent's psychological assessment showed he was a patriot with exceptional intelligence. It cautioned that he was ‘driven by rage', but that neatly fitted with the purposes of the unit, because ‘he will carry out any order'.

At the end of the long feature, Dunkley had insisted on a special and unusual tagline:
Research by Trevor Harris. May he now rest in peace.

‘Yes mate, yes mate – might be getting ahead of ourselves, though. Are the unions on board?'

The powerbroker's animated conversation reached Harry Dunkley's ears as he opened the Labor MP's office door.

Brendan Ryan motioned for Dunkley to enter, then signalled he needed a little more time.

‘Well, check it out. We'll need 'em before we get serious.'

The MP dropped his phone on the desk and clapped his hands.

‘Ding dong, the wicked witch is dead. Now maybe we'll get a decent leader.' He winked. ‘Bit of support coming my way.'

Dunkley placed his iPad on the coffee table as he took a seat.

‘Glad to see you're not overcome by grief, Brendan.'

Ryan laughed, shuffled out from behind his desk and slumped onto a leather lounge.

‘Come on, Harry, everyone hated Bailey. The game is wide open now and the comrades are talking about generational change.'

The journalist laughed. ‘Downer was generational change. People in here are always talking up generational change. But nothing really changes.'

Ryan was insistent. ‘You know me. I could make a difference.'

Dunkley met his eye. ‘You're right. I do know you.'

He opened his iPad and handed it to Ryan.

‘I was wondering if you could have a read of a story I'm working on.'

‘Sure.'

The story chronicled the exploits of a Labor leadership aspirant who was part of a secretive shadow government called the Alliance. The cabal comprised senior defence, intelligence and political figures. For years it had been manipulating Australian governments to march in lockstep with the Stars and Stripes. Its mastermind was Jack Webster, who'd orchestrated a series of cyber attacks on Australian government agencies that had been attributed to the Chinese and had contributed to the fall of the Labor prime minister Martin Toohey.

An ashen-faced Ryan put down the device.

‘I'm thinking of going to print tomorrow. What do you reckon, Brendan?'

Ryan lumbered to his feet. ‘I helped you nail Jack Webster—'

‘Only because you thought Webster was going to kill you,' Dunkley responded. ‘Nothing before that bothered you.'

‘Webster was a demagogue who used the Alliance for his own ends,' Ryan shouted. ‘And don't pretend this nation doesn't face real threats and needs a powerful friend.'

‘You know, Brendan, I don't doubt that. But I prefer to leave our foreign policy to the democratic roll of the dice.'

Dunkley picked up the iPad.

‘So do I press send or delete?'

Ryan's face hardened as he spat out his words.

‘What do you want?'

‘Genuine change. It's time for you to spend more time with your family.'

The Labor hard man's bravado evaporated as he collapsed back onto the lounge.

Dunkley stood to leave. ‘You once told me that defending the nation was your most important job, and that you took it seriously. Well, Brendan, so do I.'