The Mandarin Code (19 page)

Just a second's hesitation and his fingers drew lower. He circled and teased until she could bear it no longer, then he slowly took her.

They made love in a languid embrace, lacking the urgent heat of the last time they had met in Beijing. But it was somehow more intense, more connected; they built carefully and inevitably to her climax and, soon after, his own sweet release.

Her fingers traced circles in his chest hair while she rested her head on his arm. The last vestiges of the day had disappeared, and her stomach purred with a mild hunger.

For the first time, she noticed a few sun spots on his neck.

‘You need to take care of yourself,' she said, triggering a grunted response.

‘Why darling? Who's coming after me now?'

‘No Bruce. I mean your skin.' She dabbed a small red blotch under his chin. ‘There.'

‘Oh that. Too many years in the outfield, waiting for some bastard to hit the ball my way.'

Weng looked perplexed.

‘Cricket, my love. Only game in the world that can last five days without a friggin' result.' He laughed at the sheer bloody idiocy of it.

Weng eased her body up on a pillow. ‘Sounds like a meeting of the People's Congress. It can last five days, sometimes six, and all they do is rubber stamp what has already been decided. The current Standing Committee is the worst we've ever had.'

Paxton had never heard Weng speak this way; normally she offered nothing but slavish praise for her masters.

‘You're sounding a touch bolshie, Mei. Things not going so well for you out here?'

She raised herself on both elbows, suddenly serious.

‘Bruce . . . sometimes . . .'

Her voice softened and he noticed the slender trail of a tear.

‘Mei . . . what is it, my love?'

She sighed. ‘Sometimes . . . No. Often I question what I have become. What I have done for my state. I used to believe in it and that made what I did bearable. But now I fear my country is lost. And I am lost with it.'

Paxton leaned over and smoothed a lock of hair from her face.

‘Well, you're not lost, you're with me. And I know what you are, Mei. I have always known. I didn't delude myself that you were attracted by my charms. But I've never told you anything that would compromise my country.'

‘I know. Maybe that is why I love you.'

Paxton held her close as she continued.

‘If I had my way, I'd replace all the generals and apparatchiks with the smartest graduates from the universities. Then I'd allow them to open China to the outside world, to really let a thousand flowers bloom. But President Meng . . . well, he seems intent on withdrawing into some nationalist past. We are regressing.'

Paxton could empathise. For the first time in many years he was questioning his own commitment to the great cause. He had played the loyal ALP footsoldier for nearly four decades and had never recoiled from a fight.

From the time he'd signed up as a member of the Rockingham branch in Perth, his dues paid by the Building Workers' Industrial Union, he'd obediently followed every instruction. He'd never questioned orders to do over some useless prick, some political dropkick, some reprehensible turncoat. He didn't mind the battles with the corporate bloodsuckers, of course. They were fair game. Blowing the top off a big industrial stink and watching halfwit bosses fall to pieces – well, that was good sport. But it was when he was ordered to strafe his own bruvvers – another union thug or a Labor mate – well that's when he got shin-splints. Not that he'd ever asked to be substituted.

He'd copped his fair share of shit too, losing his hand in an industrial ‘accident', and then losing his family as they lost interest in a schemer who spent more hours than were healthy on the red-eye to Canberra.

All the time he was climbing the greasy pole, eyes firmly on the prize. And now? He'd been fed to the wolves a year and a half ago, and for what? He'd broken no laws. Sure, he'd built a slush fund with some Chinese cash but who in politics had clean hands when it came to that? He'd been dumped because the government was too weak and too gutless to fight.

‘I believed in a great cause, the Labor Party. Believed we could change this country for the better, follow in the footsteps of Hawke and Keating, build a stronger and fairer Australia. I believed we were united in the common good, taking on all those mugs and hillbillies who tried to shoot us down.

‘Australians used to believe in us too, that we would make a difference, that we cared about the little guy, that we were the enlargers who wouldn't leave them behind. Now? I'm not sure what we stand for anymore. We seem to spend most of our time apologising for cock-ups. And when it does get hard . . . well, we usually cut and run.'

He paused and gazed at his Chinese princess.

‘What went wrong, Mei?'

She kissed him. Gently.

‘We got older,' she said. ‘Now I have to go.'

Canberra

The three-car convoy swept into the National Press Club, the prime ministerial limousine, C1, sandwiched between a pair of gleaming white security vehicles.

Several guards jumped from the cars into action, taking up positions on either side of C1. Advisers hurriedly grabbed notepads and iPhones.

On a soft leather seat, protected by bullet-proof glass and bodyguards trained to kill, Martin Toohey wrestled with the knot of a silk tie that was refusing to behave. Finally, he slipped off his seatbelt.

‘Okay George, time to rock-and-roll.' The Prime Minister gave his chief of staff a friendly pat on the arm.

Near the entrance a gaggle of environmentalists was protesting against what they saw as a pitifully low carbon emission target. One was dressed as a polar bear in a suit that looked as if it had been knocked up by his mum. A bedraggled koala lurked without menace. Both were suffering in the heat, and having trouble with the scansion of their chant.

‘Five . . . five . . . will not keep us alive.'

Papadakis thought they were the ones endangered by climate. Practically no one watching the evening news would have the foggiest idea what the protest was about, he mused.

‘Clowns,' yelled Maurice Reilly, the Press Club's no-nonsense CEO. Reilly, who in a previous life had helped enough wayward AFL players overcome their troubles to earn a sainthood, was taking no chances. He personally shepherded the PM and his entourage into the club's newly renovated premises.

The PM admired the two-and-a-half-million dollar overhaul of a building that had hosted every prime minister since Fraser. ‘I like these renovations, Maurice,' Toohey said. ‘But you do seem to have a thing for brown.'

The club was packed with journalists, lobbyists, bureaucrats and the Labor faithful. Toohey's office had primed the media with snippets from his speech billed as a game-changer. More than that, this was the Grand Final.

Strategically, the Chinese Ambassador was seated at the main table, causing a flurry of activity among the snappers.

‘Switch your phones to silent.' Reilly's directive reminded the room that Toohey's speech, just minutes away, was being broadcast live across the nation, on the ABC and Sky News.

In his seat, Toohey took a final gulp of water, brushed at his suit sleeve and gathered his speech notes. He walked to the podium and scanned the room as the NPC's president, Laurie Wilson, made the introductions. The applause was generous.

‘Thanks Laurie.' Toohey got straight into stride.

‘This election year is a contest for the future. A contest between the builders with the vision for a twenty-first-century nation and the wreckers who lust for power for its own sake. And who will drag us back to the past.

‘Our mission, Labor's mission, is to build a better Australia, to build the jobs of the future and to invest in a fairer country.'

Toohey's opus was laid out as a series of steps. Each would be a news story in its own right. Toohey would make some admissions of fault in an effort to consign error to the past. Then there would be a run of headline moments that culminated with the big bang announcement.

The first declaration guaranteed a headline on its own.

‘So that we are not dogged with speculation for the rest of the year, today I announce that the election will be held on Saturday, 14 September.'

There was a sharp intake of breath at the working press tables followed by frantic scribbling. Twitter went into overdrive. #EDay.

This was unheard of, a prime minister giving away the natural advantage of keeping the election date a secret up until the last moment. But it was just the start.

‘A decent nation cares for those who cannot care for themselves. No one in our community is more vulnerable than those with a mental disability.

‘Just last week in Penrith, I met Jody, a young single mother with three children. One, Michael, has a severe disability. Jody is only twenty-four and Michael's needs are so great that she has to care for him day and night. She does not have any family to offer respite.

‘She told me that she lies awake at night worrying about what will happen to her son when she can't take care of him anymore.

‘A fair Australia, a just Australia, a decent Australia, lends people like Jody and Michael a hand.

‘So today I announce the most sweeping reform to mental health care since Federation. My government will legislate this term to secure the future of Jody and Michael and the thousands who struggle each day with this silent epidemic.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, the Mental Health Justice Act will provide universal and lifetime cover for those, like Michael, who need our support.

‘It will also provide generous respite care for mothers like Jody.

‘This will not come cheap. In 2018, the first full year of the scheme, it will cost $6 billion a year . . .'

At this point, the economic writers lowered their heads and began to scribble. Toohey could see it on their faces: here we go, yet another unfunded promise by Labor.

But the PM was ready for the pointy heads.

‘. . . but it will be fully funded, through savings already booked from Defence, and by a unique agreement with the People's Republic of China.

‘This afternoon the chief executive of Sinopec and I will sign a heads of agreement concerning the Medusa gas-field off the Northern Territory coast. The Medusa is the largest known gas reserve in the world.

‘The agreement will give Sinopec a 99-year lease over the site. In addition to the usual company taxes and royalties, it has agreed to an immediate down-payment of $10 billion and yearly leaseholder payments of $1 billion every year thereafter. All of that money will be put in trust to build a war chest for the Mental Justice package.

‘So, $11 billion will flow from next financial year, after Sinopec signs the lease. We expect that to be finalised by late August.'

On the floor in front of the stage, two tables of working press sat stunned. They were used to observing the first rough draft of history – but this was epic.

Toohey was building to his punchline which was aimed straight at Labor's core supporters. As he did he noticed several of the journalists picking up their mobiles and checking messages that had flashed onto their screens.

Probably their editors gobsmacked by my plan.

‘This program is Labor to the bootstraps. It tends to the weakest by leveraging our nation's bounty. And it delivers jobs. Ten thousand jobs in the construction phase and a thousand permanent jobs thereafter. It cements our place as an energy superpower and it builds even stronger ties with our neighbours in this Asian Century.

‘Only Labor has the plan to deliver a fair go for Australia. Help for the weakest. Jobs for the rest. Prosperity for all.'

The Prime Minister finished his speech to rapturous applause. He acknowledged it with a nod and took a drink of water, readying himself for the queue of questioners.

‘Thank you, Prime Minister, for that truly important speech,' Wilson said. ‘We now turn to questions from the press gallery. The first question: Jonathan Robbie from Channel Nine.'

Robbie cradled the microphone and wore a smug smile.

‘Prime Minister, fantastic speech. But I have just received extraordinary news. Catriona Bailey has tweeted a picture of herself. She's been taken off life support. Here . . . can you see the picture? What is your response?'

That unspeakable cow.

‘Jonathan, I could not be more delighted to hear that the Foreign Minister seems to be making a miraculous recovery. I am, quite literally, speechless. I look forward to seeing her soon.'

The next question was from News Ltd's Tom Shapiro, a young gun with a high opinion of himself, training to be a head-kicker.

‘Given the Foreign Minister's close links with China, will she play a big role in helping to make sure this deal is sealed?'

‘Tom, I'm sure she will have a role to play but this deal will be sealed. By me. My office has all the necessary plans in place.'