The story is unique because it presents the scenario of Australia’s first political assassination, nuclear war, terrorist attacks on Australian soil and treachery involving leading figures from the government of the day, the Australian Security Intelligence Agency (ASIO) unions and the Big Business.
Who would think that Australia would ever face the assassination of its prime minister? However, times have changed and the world is on a seemingly unstoppable path to a climatic apocalypse. Fed up with a long line of dysfunctional governments and a string of catastrophic climatic events, the country's citizens want action . However, the new PM McCarthy faces stiff opposition from desperate individuals who will stop at nothing to maintain the status-quo. He finds himself dealing with assassination attempts, nuclear war, terrorist attacks and treachery from within his own ranks. Unable to trust the head of the Australian Security Intelligence Agency (ASIO) unions or Big Business McCarthy has his work cut out and must convince other nations to follow Australia's lead. The characters come to life in this well-researched, modern and extremely topical, real-life drama rich in political intrigue, historical events, mystery and romance.http://
Excerpt
CHAPTER ONE: AUSTRALIA’S SADDEST DAY
Bespectacled, with iron-grey, straight hair hanging limply over youthful, bookish features, the politician’s baby-blue eyes stared roundly into the camera lens. Connor Bowker didn’t like close-up shots. He’d once overheard a political opponent say that when magnified by the Coke-bottle lenses of his glasses his almost colourless eyes resembled raw oysters.
Bowker cleared his throat nervously. His well-manicured hands gripped either side of the podium. The conservative nature of his well-cut grey suit was contradicted by the pillar-box red tie that betrayed his ambitious nature. “Power-dressing”, his critics said, but Bowker had more pressing issues on his mind than the jealousy of his enemies and political opponents.
Before the prime minister’s lectern, Greenpeace, Get Up and a plethora of lesser known environmental groups had coalesced, rallying in support of his new government’s proposed environmental initiatives. Mostly sceptical and afraid Labor’s election promises would be watered down now they were in office, the growing eclectic band of citizens feared the increasingly-likely spectre of catastrophic climatic change and were eager to demonstrate solidarity for Bowker’s environmental reforms.
Foreseeing the heavy impact of alternative energy sources on the profits of fossil-fuel based corporations, powerful industry groups and unions had wasted no time in lobbying Connor Bowker and his cohorts, expressing their anger through thinly veiled threats to engineer Labor’s downfall.
Bowker began his speech hesitantly at first, to buy thinking time. Fortunately, Bowker’s election-weary fans were prepared to tolerate his dreary style of “poly-speak” which journalists loved to refer to as “Bowkerism.”
That would no doubt change if he looked like reneging on his promises.
‘It is heartening to see so many of you here in support of my government. Firstly, let me say the previous liberal-coalition under Brian Caldwell refused to accept the hard reality of climate change, burying their heads in the sand like global-warming wombats. In fact, Caldwell demonstrated shocking ignorance and criminal stupidity by disregarding the overwhelming evidence and referring to climate change as crap.
‘They have wasted fifteen years or more of valuable time when they could, and should, have acted to address what has become the most pressing issue facing mankind.
‘The previous government’s intransigence means we now must expend greater efforts and dip more heavily into the public purse to mitigate the effects of climate change. Instead of working to sway world opinion Mr Caldwell chose to take the easy option rather than incur the displeasure of big business. His short-sightedness and the short-sightedness of other world leaders will result in unnecessary deaths, suffering and hardship.
‘Make no mistake, we are here for the long haul and we will make the tough decisions necessary. We know there are many who oppose us but Australia must lead the way in the hope that the rest of the world will come to its senses and follow our example. Although we are only a small nation and our contribution to carbon emissions is less than two percent of the total greenhouse gas emitted by all countries, per capita we are the world’s heaviest polluter!
‘How can we say to America, China and India, “clean up your act,” unless we sort out the mess in our own backyard?’
Bowker paused, looking intently through the forest of placards and banners proffered by the pro-green crowd assembled in Sydney’s famous Martin Place. The ever-present drone of traffic and the rumble of a low-flying Qantas jet went unnoticed, overwhelmed instead by the palpable emotion of what was to become a truly historical occasion
Unfortunately history would record the occasion for all the wrong reasons.
Bowker’s peripheral vision detected a faint movement near the faux-sandstone pillars lining the entrance of a nearby office building. Alarm bells sounded briefly in his head.
Why was someone lurking in the recesses of a shadow-darkened doorway? Why weren’t they amongst the enthusiastic and vociferous crowd craning their necks to getter a better look at the face of their country’s newest leader on this clear, bright autumn Tuesday morning?
Dismissing the sudden movement as unimportant, his voice grew stronger and his manner more resolute.
‘Those opposed to our intention to lead the world in the development of environmentally sustainable technologies must accept that we have a mandate from the people of Australia to create a cleaner, healthier and safer world.
‘We cannot continue plundering this planet’s natural resources at a speed far greater than Mother Nature can replenish them. Can they not see that, at the rate we are consuming natural resources; within twenty years we will need two planets to sustain our existence? Unfortunately, we cannot shift half our peoples to another world. We must sort out the problems on this one.
‘Common sense dictates that we must rein in our greed and plan for the future of our children.
‘We cannot continue belching greenhouse gases into the atmosphere from our factories, coal-fired power stations and diesel powered trucks and road trains .....Aaah!’
Bowker gasped as an invisible, astonishingly violent force doubled him over and thrust him backward across the stage. It was as if he had been punched in the stomach by a massive invisible steel fist. He lurched, knees collapsing, face contorted in agony, sprawling like a broken marionette across the laps of dignitaries seated on the podium behind him. The front of his expensively-cut suit changed rapidly from light grey to crimson.
Slack-jawed and grey-faced, those on the platform took several seconds to comprehend what had just happened. There had been no gunshot, merely a muffled “pop” from somewhere behind the massed humanity.
Momentarily, a stunned silence fell across the crowded square. Heads began swivelling in all directions, unsuccessfully seeking the origin of the unprecedented political violence that most Australians prayed would never reach their shores.
The only ones to act immediately were Bowker’s bodyguards. Spaced at strategic intervals around the raised platform, six plain clothes members of the Australian Federal Police Close Personal Protection Unit almost simultaneously drew their fully-automatic Glock pistols, pointing the muzzles skyward.
Seemingly emotionless and with poker-faced intensity they began scanning the crowd, trying to pinpoint the unseen shooter’s location. At the same time, two other expensively-suited officers leapt onto the stage, clutching at shoulder holsters concealed beneath their jackets, preparing to return fire in defence of the VIPs.
Their attention never leaving the crowd, one took control and began ushering the bewildered politicians and guests to the safety of the nearby chauffeured government limousines while simultaneously shouting a SITREP and plea for support into his lapel microphone. The second federal agent knelt over the spreadeagled, still twitching body of the prime minister, fingers searching in vain for the victim’s carotid pulse. White-faced and screaming incoherently, Bowker’s plump, matronly wife scurried on hands and knees across the stage toward her husband. “Connor! Connor! Oh my god!”
The AFP officer began CPR. He didn’t need to be a doctor to know Bowker’s injuries were fatal but he’d be in hot water later if he didn’t try his damndest.
Pandemonium erupted.
Like an invisible wave, panicked insanity swept the street. Shrill screams emanated from the confused, terrified melee. Pushing and shouting angrily, concerned only for their individual safety, young and old scattered. Some unfortunate souls found themselves knocked to the ground and trampled, as in the background, sirens wailed. Becoming rapidly louder and more intense, the electronic cacophony heralded the rush of paramedics and police reinforcements to one of Sydney’s most famous streets.
Although mere seconds had passed since the country’s first political assassination, there was no trace of the killer. It was almost as if the perpetrator had vanished within a millisecond of the muffled shot. Because all eyes had been on the prime minister, no one in the crowd knew the killer’s gender or whether he or she had fled, or was simply blending into the chaos.
Within minutes, the crowd of over ten thousand had dissolved into the city’s adjacent labyrinth of streets and alleyways, leaving a mere hundred or so inquisitive souls to gawp at the overturned seating and the Christmas tree-like spectacle of red and blue flashing lights rebounding off surrounding buildings. Making their way to Sydney’s nearby underground railway stations, most could not believe the bloody carnage they had witnessed.
Among the departing throng, a stooped, bearded figure limped along muttering angrily, a filthy bedroll slung over one shoulder and dirty sandshoes scuffing faintly against George Street’s time-worn, chewing gum-stained bitumen. With a small marijuana-leaf earring in one ear, dark sunglasses and faded, dirty blue jeans, the man’s age could have been anywhere between thirty and fifty.
It was unlikely that anyone would remember this seventies-looking hippy figure later, and if they did, they would no doubt give a generic description, redolent of Sydney’s ever-growing army of homeless souls. It is a strange quirk of human nature that the anonymity and invisibility of the homeless is almost guaranteed. Although psychologists might argue over human motives behind the apparent blindness to the plight of one’s fellow, few people relish becoming the target of abuse, or want to risk the obnoxious experience of being in proximity to one with such a dirty, smelly and unkempt appearance. Similarly, who among us wants to deal with anti-social and unpredictable behaviour, or fend off the ranting of some poor, deluded or possibly psychotic societal outcast? Most, therefore, averted their eyes and gave the limping vagrant a wide birth.
This was just what he wanted.
Nearing the steps to Wynyard Station, the hippy stepped sideways into a narrow laneway. He hurried a hundred metres along the garbage-bin-lined path until enveloped by the shadows of the looming skyscrapers. There he grinned smugly at his successful escape and then glanced behind him to make sure no one had followed him into the filthy, urine-smelling throughway. Satisfied, he leant against the graffiti strewn brickwork. Pulling a half-smoked, hand-rolled, fag end from behind one hair-covered ear, he stuck the dog-end into the thin slash of lips concealed beneath nicotine-stained whiskers.
After drawing deeply on the pungent tobacco, he surveyed his surroundings, carefully filtering the sounds of the city until sure he had the alley to himself. He shrugged off the bedroll, then drew out the disassembled components of a high-powered and easily collapsible rifle. He walked rapidly along the dim alley, stuffing each part beneath rubbish-filled skip bins and an assortment of refuse containers until he had disposed of the assassination weapon.
Having invested many hours in assembling and disassembling the rifle and sighting it in, he had perfected the art of concealing it within seconds of hitting his chosen target. He therefore felt a strange regret for discarding such a magnificent tool that his profession demanded. Mentally shrugging off his sentimentality, he took comfort from the knowledge that he would be recompensed well by his employers.
The man’s limp vanished as he bustled among the back alley detritus of the city’s shops and restaurants, peeling away his dishevelled beard and the filthy, matted wig to reveal a youthful, almost babyish face and short, neatly groomed blond hair.
Reaching behind one of the graffiti-daubed bins, the assassin withdrew a concealed pilot’s bag from which he removed a clean, neatly folded grey business suit, shirt, conservative tie and polished black lace-up shoes. He stripped off his rags quickly before throwing the final elements of his disguise into yet another rubbish receptacle.
Like a chameleon, he was ready to blend into a new background as a now-young, blond-haired yuppie, indistinguishable from the thousands of office workers who scurried between the glass phallic-like symbols of Sydney’s office towers. Striding confidently from the alleyway swinging the pilot’s bag, he hurried down a set of concrete steps into the subway. Blending into the bustling throng of the city’s workers he vanished among the city’s three million residents.
Federal Police Commissioner, Harold “Stormy” Knight answered the encrypted telephone on his desk and reeled back in his leather recliner chair. His squarish, smooth-shaven features paled and he ran his fingers through his greying buzz-cut. Stunned, he at first thought the caller was playing some cruel prank.
‘Shit!’
The expletive was unusual for the veteran policeman. He rarely swore but under the circumstances, a little profanity was understandable.
‘I knew there would be hell to pay if this new government pushed ahead with that bloody Zero Carbon Energy Bill. They’re bloody babes in the woods when it comes to the forces that are at play here but I never thought some bastard would dare to assassinate the country’s leader!’
Struggling to grasp the dreadful news, Stormy gasped into the phone’s mouthpiece, ‘Colin, have you rolled out the relevant contingency plans?’ Somewhere in his brain Knight registered the white bow wave of a distant Jet Ski slashing across the placid waters of Lake Burley Griffin. From the busy street below, a crow cawed as it scattered takeaway food scraps from a council litter bin onto the kerbside. Stormy immediately regretted asking the question as the volume level of his subordinate’s retort forced him to hold the handset at arm’s length.
‘We’ve discussed this eventuality many times. You know better than to ask me that!’ Chief Superintendent Colin Burrows, the commander of Sydney’s FEDPOL operation, admonished his boss. ‘The entire CBD is now a major crime scene. We’ve got the best forensic officers from Canberra and the state police going over every square millimetre. We’ve issued nationwide appeals for anyone with information to come forward and the acting PM has authorised a $5,000,000 reward. That should overcome any reluctance for involvement, wouldn’t you say?’
Stormy could picture the other man counting off the points on his fingers.
‘ASIO is compiling a short list of possible suspects and checking on their whereabouts and movements at the time Bowker was shot. We’ve stepped up round-the-clock surveillance on major crime figures and set up telephone intercepts of any likely suspects. Every agent and operative within all law enforcement agencies, both state and federal, has been asked to tap their informants for even the slightest hint of who’s behind this.
‘We’ve asked Interpol, the FBI and MI5 for input and help in tracking down likely terrorists or international criminal syndicates with a motive for killing Bowker.
‘The Defence Signals Directorate is filtering all telephone and internet communications for likely key-words in case there’s any traffic linked to the killing.
‘We’ve heightened the national level of alert and beefed up protection for all members of Bowker’s cabinet, as well as the leader of the opposition, just in case it’s not a party-specific killing.
‘All the usual loony-tunes and ratbags have already started to come out of the woodwork to claim responsibility. These dickheads are wasting valuable time and resources,’ Burrows lamented. ‘We have to check every nutter that rings in just in case. It will only get worse. False confessions from nutcases looking for notoriety will go off the Richter scale, as will the calls from bloody so-called psychics claiming they know who’s responsible.
‘We’re establishing a joint task force with the New South Wales, Victorian and Queensland police, who’ve all offered their best detectives. The South Australian and WA coppers have been alerted to watch airports, shipping, and traffic across the Nullarbor for anyone remotely suspicious, but it’s like looking for one particular worm after a spaghetti throwing competition until we get some sort of lead.
‘Nevertheless, nothing is being spared to solve this one. I think I’ve covered all bases at this point, given this happened less than thirty minutes ago.’
‘Okay, Col. I am sorry. It’s just that I’m absolutely stunned. I opened my mouth before putting the grey matter in gear. I know you’re as on top of things as anyone could be,’ the Commissioner apologised. ‘I’ll give the deputy, or should I now say, acting PM, a call. He’ll want to convene an emergency meeting of SAC-PAV and we’ll want you on security encrypted phone hook-up to update them on your investigation.
‘Let me know if anything or anyone is getting in your way, or, if I can do anything to help. I’ll be on the first available flight to Sydney as the media will expect to see me fully involved, even though I’ve got the utmost confidence in you and your team.’
‘A few hundred more coppers to track down all the bloody tree huggers and do-gooders who attended the rally would help, but we know that’s not going to happen,’ Burrows replied sardonically. ‘Fortunately, for once the state plods have put aside their petty rivalries, although they’d obviously love to be the ones to yank Bugsy out of the proverbial hat by his long fuzzy ears.’
Stormy Knight drew a deep breath. ‘Colin, I don’t care who succeeds, or who gets the kudos. We have to bring these bastards to justice and quickly. This nation has been changed forever by what is clearly a politically motivated murder. We can no longer boast about being one of the most stable democracies in the world if we don’t sort this out a.s.a.p.
‘On that subject Col, do you have any ideas at all who might be behind this?’
‘I’m just stabbing in the dark, but I reckon there’s some pretty fired-up union heavies who think Bowker’s betrayed them and their members. Some of the bastards can get pretty bloody feral. Remember the Painters and Dockers fiasco?’
‘Takes a pretty psychotic type to go to these lengths, and one individual acting alone would be unlikely to go undetected for long. Whoever did this planned ahead and must have had considerable resources,’ Stormy observed. ‘The fact the offender got away points to it being an organised and well thought-out hit.
‘Anyway, we need to examine what we have; when we work out what that is, rather than jump to conclusions. We both know better than trying to make the evidence fit a theory and I should know not to ask you such a stupid question so early in the case, it’s just that I am still reeling from the implications.’
Stormy paused and drew a deep breath before continuing. ‘I’m wasting your time, mate. I’ll let you get on with it. Keep me posted twenty-four-seven. Use my private mobile number if I am not in the office.’
Commissioner Knight dropped the receiver into its cradle. After a brief pause he reached for the handset of the oddly shaped device which sat somewhat incongruously on a small table to one side of his enormous but tidy mahogany desk. His index finger stabbed the speed-dialled number connecting him to the deputy prime minister’s office. He was immediately engaged in an animated conversation with Australia’s newest and highest political executive.
The Star Seekers is a humorous, fast-paced adventure and a heartwarming story for anyone who has ever looked at the stars and wanted to venture out there.
The Commander and the Chief take on the rogue Deep State: the Gunfight at the UK Corral, missing Redcoats in the Nevada Triangle, and nuclear blackmail!
