The Mandarin Code (20 page)

Andrew Probyn, the
West Australian's
feisty political correspondent, was on his feet.

‘PM, the Foreign Minister has just tweeted congratulating you on picking up one of the ideas that came up at her 2020 forum. Is that true?'

You little Pommy prick!

‘Andrew, more funding for mental health was a recommendation from the forum but I think you'll find that the detail of this plan is far wider in scope than anything that has come before. And, if I might take some credit for this, there is a big difference between having an idea and sealing a deal.'

The next three questions were all about Bailey, the gallery ignoring the detail of Toohey's tour de force.

Finally, Laura Tingle, the political editor from the
Australian Financial Review
, got the call and Toohey knew she hated Bailey at least as much as he did. She was also a serious economic journalist.

‘PM, you've skated over an important element in funding this plan. The briefing notes suggest that by 2025 your funding model will be $1 billion a year short of paying for itself. And you plan to lift the Medicare levy to fund the shortfall.'

We hoped that would be a footnote, not a focus.

‘You're right, Laura. The difference will be funded by lifting the Medicare levy by a modest 0.25 per cent. But that will not happen until 2020 and, even then, it will only add a few dollars a month to the costs of an average family. Again, I stress that cost will not come for seven years. I think you will agree, Laura, that is a modest charge for a safety net that will give everyone peace of mind.'

Phones were starting to light up again on the working press tables.

The final question was from Paul Bongiorno, Ten's veteran political correspondent.

‘PM. Bruce Paxton has just put out a press release saying he is quitting the Labor Party to sit on the crossbenches. Will that jeopardise the passage of your bill?'

Fuck me drunk, can't I have a second of clear air?

‘Well, Paul, that is a surprise. But Bruce Paxton has spent his life trying to improve the lot of working men and women and I would be staggered if he did not see the merit in this plan. I will be seeking a meeting with him and briefing the other crossbench MPs soon.'

And with that the Prime Minister stepped down from the podium, ignoring the gift of a Mont Blanc pen and honorary Press Club membership.

A day that promised triumph and glory had turned to shit. Again.

Canberra

It's dubbed the 6pm index, a few minutes of primetime torture that can test the bravest.

Every night the Prime Minister and his inner sanctum would gather around a bank of television screens to see how they'd fared on the commercial networks.

Tonight was a disaster.

The Seven network led with ‘exclusive' footage of Foreign Minister Catriona Bailey sitting serenely in a wheelchair, flanked by a deeply tanned neurosurgeon from Brisbane.

The network had a special relationship with the former prime minister, forged over her years of appearances on its breakfast program,
Morning Glory
.

‘This is close to miraculous. I've never had a patient show such steely determination to recover,' the neurosurgeon said. ‘And, let me emphasise this, very few people suffering from Ms Bailey's condition ever get off life support. We hope that soon the Foreign Minister will be able to talk.'

On Nine, Laurie Oakes had scored an interview with Bruce Paxton, who was declaring his intention to be yet another thorn in the side of the Toohey Government.

‘I will treat every bill on a case by case basis,' Paxton advised. ‘This government had better not take me for granted.'

Ten lacked the other networks' audience clout so its bulletin, an hour earlier than the big two, had no exclusive, but Hugh Riminton reported that the Prime Minister's speech had been ‘overshadowed' by the breaking news on Bailey and Paxton.

At 7pm, the ABC led with the ‘serious reservations' being expressed by the Queensland and Western Australian governments about the gas hub plan. Both feared the Commonwealth's intervention would jeopardise projects planned for their states. And both were making noises about a vague constitutional problem that neither would elaborate on.

‘What crap!' spat Papadakis. ‘We have all the legal power we need to proceed in the Territory.'

‘Mate,' Toohey sighed with the resignation of a man with low expectations.

‘The longer I'm in this job, the more I wonder whether I have any power at all.'

Melbourne

The Toorak tram rumbled by as Matthew Sloan hustled along the footpath with the frantic resolve of a man who was late.

‘Fuck those professional bores.' Sloan swore under his breath as he wove between footpath saunterers conspiring to add more delay to his journey.

He had hated every minute of the Multicultural Communities Council meeting he'd just endured. Typically, minutes had piled into wasted hours in the drone of self-important speeches. The conclave of complaint was supposed to be done by six, leaving him ample time for the 7.30 dinner rendezvous. It was now 7.50.

If only the public could gaze inside a Member of Parliament's life.

While the perception was of a life of privilege and taxpayer-funded travel, in truth the diary of an MP was larded with tedious speech nights and vapid community events. And meetings. Constituents, complainers, urgers and spivs all demanding time to whine. Meetings with hopelessly divided groups, like the Multicultural Communities Council, to which the application of liberal amounts of precious time usually failed to resolve even the most trivial of issues.

But then there were the moments he lived for, the hidden pearls that made his job worthwhile.

As chair of the Parliamentary Joint Committee on Intelligence and Security, Sloan had access to some of the nation's deepest and most sensitive secrets.

It also meant he was feted by every embassy and enjoyed junkets across the world to meet with counterparts in exotic lands. He'd just returned from the US, where he'd been given a personal tour of Langley by the new head of the CIA. A framed photograph of Sloan arm in arm with the Director now graced his office wall.

He was now within smelling distance of Bacash, one of Melbourne's best eateries and Sloan's favourite restaurant. He loved the slate-grey interior, the crisp white tablecloths, the dutiful, uniformed staff, and the exquisite menu. He could already taste the char-grilled calamari with chorizo.

Waiting for him at a corner table was Blake Cornwall, the political counsel at the United States embassy in Canberra. Dressed in a sharp dark-blue suit, Cornwall could have been a top-flight banker or lawyer waiting for a client. Instead he was effectively America's number-one operative in Australia, the CIA's eyes and ears who could even pull rank on the Ambassador when it came to the big calls.

He rose to meet Sloan with an exaggerated handshake.

‘Sorry, sorry, I'm late. Held up at the last event by a group of blowhards,' the MP apologised.

‘Don't worry about it, Matthew.' Cornwall spoke in polished Bostonian tones. ‘I've already ordered some entrees, the one you like, and a decent bottle of white. It's really great to see you. How's Mary?'

‘Really well. And she wanted me to pass on how touched she was when the Ambassador wrote to her after her mother died.'

‘He was deeply saddened to hear about it, Matthew, deeply. As he often says, the bonds between our nations are so deep that we are essentially family.'

‘Very true, Blake, very true. And you know there is no stronger friend of the US than Australia.'

‘Is that so?' Cornwall's smile vanished, his face turned to stone and his voice dropped.

‘Then what the fuck are you pissants playing at in this gas deal with China?'

Sloan was stunned. He struggled to compose himself.

‘Blake, err . . . it's an economic compact, it's . . .'

‘It's a sell-out. Yet another sign from your government that the old alliances are fading. You have forgotten who your friends are. Do you really believe that this region would be peaceful if we hadn't done the hard defensive yards? I went to the trouble of getting you a briefing from the head of the NSA. Do you know how rare that is? Are you so stupid you missed the key message? Make no mistake on how this is being viewed in DC. By everyone. Hell, even the State Department and Pentagon agree: you're giving us the bird and we aren't about to sit quietly while you guys rat on us.'

‘What do you mean, Blake . . . ending security agreements?'

‘Use your imagination. And enjoy your dinner. Alone. I've ordered and paid. You guys should be used to that.'

Cornwall threw his napkin on the table as he rose and left.

Sloan sat crumpled, unable to eat. He fumbled for his mobile and hit the speed dial number for the PM's chief of staff.

‘George, we are in serious strife.'

Canberra

CABINET SPLIT ON CHINA DEAL

The Australian'
s splash was designed to erect a tombstone on the policy Martin Toohey and George Papadakis had meticulously crafted over the previous three months. A report on the mental health package was relegated to a pointer off the front to page 5. Predictably, the national broadsheet had instead seized on political divisions within the government over the gas mega-deal.

A ‘senior source' claimed most of Cabinet had been kept in the dark on the details of the package. There was deep disquiet about ‘selling off the farm' to the Chinese and serious concern about how the proposed deal would be received by Australia's neighbours and its ally-in-chief, the United States.

The chief of staff had barely slept. Papadakis had left the office after watching a
Lateline
interview with West Australia's Colin Barnett, who was in meltdown. The Premier of the resource-rich state had accused the Commonwealth of stealing potential Chinese investment money and issued threats of a Constitutional challenge.

Throughout the long evening, Papadakis had been peppered with disturbing calls.

In Melbourne, his close friend Matthew Sloan had been monstered by the CIA's chief spook. The Secretary of the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade had been shirt-fronted by what he described as a ‘hysterical' Japanese Ambassador at a charity ball in Parliament's Great Hall. The South Korean consul had ear-bashed the Minister for Trade and suggested that Labor had placed Australia on a perilous course, one that could jeopardise a planned free-trade agreement. Even the Israelis had briefly lifted their eyes from the Middle East to give their American friends a diplomatic hand. This time, it had been delivered with their usual shovel-to-the-head bluntness to a hapless Parliamentary Secretary.

Toohey stuck his head around Papadakis's door, holding his iPad.

‘You know, I miss the old paper version of this rag because right now I'm off to the bathroom.'

‘What the fuck do we do now?' Papadakis asked in despair.

‘We stick to our guns, mate. This is a good program. You and I know that. We can't be knocked off course. So, what are your plans?'

‘Well, maybe I'll tune into Alan Jones and get his calm, considered view on the foreign investment side of this. Just so my spirits can soar with the eagles.'