Reciprocity

By Brian Daley

Pat O'Keefe has a less than flawless past. As he lay dying, he overhears a conspiratorial conversation which involves his grandson Jack. Doctors return Pat to health and he knows he needs to turn Jack from his planned course. As he recovers in and later out of the hospital, he attempts to reach out to his grandson in an effort to steer him towards a more moderate, rational stance. In order to reach Jack, the old man begins to reluctantly reveal his own involvement in an anti-communist organisation, the Movement, in country New South Wales during the cold war. In his attempt to sway Jack, Pat reveals the extent of his past including several violent incidents culminating in a murder for the cause. Rashid is a second generation Australian frustrated by a sense of exclusion from the only country he knows. Following a visit to his native Lebanon, he discovers his roots and decides he must formulate a plan to help his fellow believers on the other side of the world, by bringing the war to a government he holds responsible for the atrocities of the Iraq war. Within small cells, Rashid is able to organise a myriad of events culminating in an audacious attack. Jack and his longtime friend and cricket team member, Amid, form the group implementing the plan. Their commitment to each other, their fellow believers and their loved ones become a complicated tug of war as competing and conflicting events emerge.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brian Daley
• Release date: Jun 12, 2013
• ISBN: 9781386153429

Brian Daley

Brian Daley is a former chef and teacher, who is a member of a large family with links to early settlement in northern New South Wales. Educated in Sydney where he trained in cookery at the Wentworth hotel. He has an interest in history and politics, especially in the period of the ALP split of the 1950s. Though now living in Far North Queensland he has a special fondness for the towns of his heritage especially Grafton and the whole Northern Rivers area.

Book preview

Chapter 1  

Jack O’Keefe.  September 2006 Sydney

IT WAS ALMOST THREE thirty when the two friends placed the last of the bomb laden pot plants in an arc on the dais behind the seats arranged for the Prime Minister and his entourage. When the bombs were detonated, the room would cease to exist as the large mosaic-tiled pots exploded into a million glass-like shards, extracting retribution for John Howard’s invasion and war crimes in Iraq and Afghanistan. Party faithful, politicians and adoring press would bear witness to the wrath of the Almighty.

Jack and Amid stood admiring the placement and checked the layout against the document Amid had brought with him. He nodded his approval. We’re done here, I’ll leave the invoice with the storeman. Amid shouted to the function manager, who gave a curt, angry nod.

Jack pushed the trolley out of the room, into the elevator and down to the storage area.

Amid followed and joined Jack in the truck.

What now? asked Jack.

Just sit tight, we’ll get out of here and back to the pick-up point, where we’ll get the car, and I’ll drop you off. Leave your gloves and overalls on until we get into the car. I don’t want anything left in this vehicle. O.K.?

Yes, all good, I’m sweating a bit though.

Just relax, contain the sweat in those clothes, we won’t be long, fifteen minutes tops.

JACK WALKED TO HIS flat from the bus stop. During the slow deliberate walk to his front gate and down the pathway to his unit, Jack re-played the day’s events. Amid had picked him up near midday, he’d dressed in clothes which Amid had supplied, picked up the explosive devices, and placed them in the hotel’s ballroom. It felt as if his whole life had been developing towards this one event. He remembered feeling as if he was watching himself from the ceiling as he moved about the ballroom placing the pot plants, ensuring that they would achieve maximum effect.

While he was physically drained from the day, he was also elated that he had now contributed to the cause he had felt so strongly about for so long.  The Prime Minister and his co-conspirators in the war against Islam would soon feel the wrath of the Almighty. Jack had done his bit to help his brothers in Allah.  He’d experienced a feeling of helplessness for years but now he expected to feel a sense of satisfaction at having done something. Instead, he felt a mixture of emotions. The day seemed surreal in his memory. It was as if it was someone else walking in his shoes. He didn’t feel the euphoria he had expected.  Instead he felt conflicted by the push and pull of various contributing factors. He began to feel a sense of unease, it was creeping into him.  He assured himself he would feel better once he and Christi headed out for a meal and took the time to just sit and watch the moon rise over the harbour. As he let himself into the unit, he silently hoped his grandfather was not home. He realised that today was the first time since his Dar had moved in that Jack had felt that way. I just need some space he told himself.

The unit was quiet and Jack felt sudden relief. He moved into his room, assembled his toiletries and began to ready himself for the evening with Christi. As he was drying himself after his shower his phone began to ring.

Yes, Jack O’Keefe, he almost shouted into the phone.

Hey Jack, Christi. Hey, I have a bit of a problem with dinner, are you totally fixed with the when and where for dinner or are we flexible? she began.

No, nothing is fixed, what did you have in mind?

Well I’ve just got a fantastic opportunity to experience some research up close and personal, and wanted to check that you’re okay for a later dinner, maybe in the city.

Sure Jack responded, What’s this great opportunity?

Well, John Howard’s releasing his environmental policy tonight here in town and two other students from my study group have invitations for the three of us to attend. It’s a really great opportunity. I’ll be able to conduct interviews with Party members, officials, maybe even the Prime Minister...

Christi was speaking quickly. She paused and waited for Jack to respond.

Hello, Jack, she began again, Jack, are you still there?

Jack was reeling from the news and struggling to speak ... he fought to gather his thoughts.

Ah yes, Christi, I’m still here, just dropped my towel.

Oh, is there something there I should be seeing? she teased.

Jack was struggling to regain his control, What can I do? he thought. Should he just insist on dinner as arranged? No, that would look too silly ... dinner afterwards would not be an option...he couldn’t let her go to the function, but how could he stop her without seeming awkward or overbearing?

Christi interrupted his thoughts.

Hey, are you going to talk with me or what?

Jack had to have time to think, buy some time.

Hey Christi, you’ve got me at a bad time, it’s cool and I’ve just got out of the shower, give me five and I’ll ring you back, okay?

Yes, no problem, talk with you soon, Christi answered, and clicked off.

Jack sat on the side of the bathtub and felt the dread he’d experienced earlier returning. What could he do? Christi had been a good friend for a long time, and recently, with all the time he’d spent with her she had become much more than just a friend. How was he going to sort this dilemma? He began the process of revisiting the day’s events, the picking up of the devices, the transporting and placement. It had all gone so well. Almost perfectly according to the plan—and now this. Why did Christi have to attend this of all meetings? There had been a few earlier in the year surely, and with an election due in the next eighteen months there would be dozens of other opportunities for her to attend other meetings. He, on the other hand would have no other opportunities, this was a one-off. Amid had assured Jack that this was planned down to the last detail. All that was needed was a date, he’d told Jack, and once that had been confirmed the plan just rolled out. He wanted to shout. "Christi, why this one?"

He dressed and began pacing around the unit, once again pleased that the old man was not home. What would he do? He couldn’t call anyone, certainly not Amid. What could he do?  He needed air. He needed to walk.

Jack pocketed his wallet, checking he had credit cards, keys, phone and enough cash. He counted a little over two hundred dollars, enough. He slowly walked out of the unit, he needed to walk and think. He cut a forlorn figure as he strolled up his street towards the main road, hunched in his coat, hands in his pockets. What can I do? he said to himself, as he struggled into the afternoon south-easterly breeze. He would need to call Christi soon, but what could he say?  No, my love, don’t go to the hotel.  I’ve planted bombs. He couldn’t let her go, but to stop her would necessarily mean disclosure.

He was at his wits end ... It was 4.45  and he knew he should really be calling Christi. As he rounded the corner and approached the bus stop, a city bound bus pulled up, and Pat stepped off onto the footpath, right in front of Jack.

Well how about that, of all people in the street I could have bumped into. Pat said. How are you Jack? he asked, then without waiting for an answer continued, I had a good day at the races, but always good to get home.

Jack just smiled and greeted his grandfather with a polite Hello.

Are you all right mate? asked Pat as he joined Jack and walked with him.

Just a little stressed Dar, that’s all, just things getting on top of me a bit.

Pat put his hand on Jack’s shoulder and offered to help.

Can I help at all? he asked. Remember, a problem shared is a problem halved, or at least it seems like it.

Oh, thanks, Dar, I really can’t get into it at the moment. I just need time to think, walk and think.

Jack knew he needed to be left alone to decide what he needed to do. He thanked his grandfather but assured him he was all right, he just needed to have some time to himself.

Well, I’m here if you want to talk, he assured Jack, then excused himself and walked slowly back around the corner to Jack’s unit.

Jack spent thirty minutes wandering around the block seeking a solution to his dilemma. He couldn’t find one. The more he ran it around in his head, the more conflicted he became. If he just let it go, Christi would die. Could he allow that? And if he could, how would he reconcile that to himself? Knowingly allow a loved one to die in order to influence a political point? That was too big an ask for anyone. So, if not, he would have to stop her from going, but what of her friends? If he strongly objected to her going, she’d demand to know why. What could be tell her? If he somehow convinced her that it was dangerous she would scoff and suggest he was paranoid.  But then when the explosion occurred she’d know he was involved. Maybe he had to tell her? He couldn’t do that either. What other options were there?  Call it off? He wouldn’t know how to do that, if in fact it was possible. Who would he call? Amid? He decided he should call Christi and ask that she meet him in the city before her excursion, maybe he could dissuade her from going, without telling her the real reason. No, she would know from his reaction when she rang that he knew about the bomb once it was detonated, she’d replay the afternoon in her head and put it together. He just knew it. Just then his phone rang; he pulled it out of his pocket, looked at the screen, confirmed it was Christi, and pushed the button and put the phone to his ear.

G’day, I’ll bet you thought I’d forgotten. Sorry Dar just came home and... He stopped mid sentence as Christi jumped in.

No that’s okay, so what do you think? Dinner later?

Jack needed more time to seek a solution, his head felt as if it would burst.

Look, can you give me a couple of minutes?  Dar just came home and he wants to talk, I don’t know what about, but he seems very serious, but look yes, I ‘m keen for dinner later, but just give me two, okay? he hoped he’d sounded convincing.

Christi was her usual self, extroverted and motivated. Jack didn’t have to wait long for her answer.

Yes, take the time you need, it’ll be good to have your company afterwards and I’ll tell you all about the launch, I’m really excited, can you tell? Hey how about we go Thai for dinner? I’ll hear from you soon, say hi to your grandfather for me.

Thanks, yes I will thanks, talk soon, bye.

Jack clicked off and he stood thinking about Christi for a minute, typical, he thought, she asked him two questions and didn’t need one answer. He smiled, appreciating her. 

Again, he was alone, and he felt the stress. Christi was planning on meeting her friends outside the hotel before the launch.

I’m still no closer to knowing what to do, he told himself. Come on, think! There has to be a solution. As he wandered, apparently aimlessly, he found himself back at the unit. He was mentally exhausted. He went in and sat in the lounge room, still without an answer. He just sat and felt the pressure building. He began to sweat and his head felt like it would burst. Jack began to shake, holding his head in his hands.

Pat emerged from his room, walked into the lounge room and was surprised to see Jack sitting there.  He was even more shocked at Jack’s obvious agitation.

What’s up Jack? You look terrible.

Jack was overwhelmed by his situation and running out of options. He weighed up his options and finally decided that he had none, other than taking up his Dar’s offer to share.  That wasn’t a real option but there were no others he could see. Lose, lose, he thought.

I’m in the shit, Dar, that’s the short and tall of it, I have got myself involved in a situation which was my choosing but now complications have emerged that make my choices impossible.

Jack continued to skirt around the issues for more than a minute before Pat broke into the conversation.

Tell me from the start, there are always choices.  The closer one is to the situation the fewer the options appear to be, but there are always options.  Pat paused to allow Jack to respond.

Usually perhaps, but not this time there aren’t. Jack informed him.

The two men sat, talked for several minutes before the pressure finally broke Jack. He began to shake and sob uncontrollably. Initially he was irreconcilable, it took many more minutes for Pat to settle him, with repeated ‘long slow breaths’ instructions. Finally, Jack was able to hold it together enough to reluctantly tell Pat about the operation.  Pat listened without interruption. Eventually he asked, What time are they set for?

Jack didn’t know but then he remembered something Amid had said. What was it? He remembered Amid marvelling at the mobile phone and its ability to detonate from afar.

I’m guessing the intention is to set the bombs off via a radio signal, probably with a mobile phone. He said.

So what are our options? Pat finally asked, knowing there were always alternatives, albeit often some undesirable ones.

Well, Jack began, really the only decision is let it go or not.  It really is that simple. To let it go will mean almost certain death for Christi, as well as many others - collateral damage, isn’t that what the army call it?  I never counted on Christi being there. To live with the knowledge that I killed her would be bad enough but to knowingly let her go to her death when I set the devices is something again. To accept that I have to stop it, places all sort of other problems in line. Not the least of which is life imprisonment at best, my execution by my colleagues at worst, and still no wake-up call to the Australian people.

As Pat sat and listened to Jack he put aside his initial response, arguments against violent actions, as Jack ran through all the options.  Dar was being the consummate counsellor, listening, nodding with plenty of, ‘ahuh’s’. How did it ever come to this, he wondered?

Jack had been talking for about twenty minutes when Pat finally interrupted.

Where is Christi now, and what time have you arranged to meet her?

Well she’s in the city somewhere; I’ve arranged to meet her at six-thirty at Wynyard Station, George Street entrance, Jack responded.

Well its now five-fifteen so we need to get something organised, if we’re going to stop this. You ‘re not contemplating anything else are you?  Pat began.

There can be no other possibility now, Christi’s presence means I have to prevent the explosion, I can’t think of any way to prevent her attending without telling her all about the plot, and of course that isn’t an option.

Pat and Jack spent the next twenty minutes devising a plan of action as they travelled towards the city. He was relieved that his grandfather offered to drive.

As they travelled, Jack rang Christi.

Hey, Dar was okay.  Just had a big day at the races, he’s good. Can we meet somewhere in the foyer of the hotel at eight o’clock then? The show should be over by then, shouldn’t it?

Jack was keen to get the conversation over with quickly so he could work on his problem.

Christi was still bubbly, talking excitedly and confirmed she was meeting her friends at seven outside the hotel, so eight sounded fine.

If the show, as you call it goes overtime, I’ll call you and you’ll just have to wait, she said playfully. I have to run, I see a friend I’m having a coffee with before we leave for the Wentworth. See you at eight.  Christi clicked off.

Jack was relieved that the call was brief. He was focused on getting into a position to affect a cancellation of the bombing.

Consequences following the cancellation of the attack, were something Jack would deal with later, he told himself.  His friend and brother in Allah, Amid, would need to be pacified. Jack was conscious of the enormous emotional and social investment his friend had made in arguing for Jack’s involvement Jack in the plan. Again, he wondered what Amid would say when he heard, and if his friend would forgive his change of heart, his capitulation.

He thought of his friend and their shared experiences.

He’d first met Amid at high school. Amid looked like a fish out of water in his early days at the school. Jack had, as an old boy been tasked by the deputy principal to orient the new boy to the school and Australian culture. Amid was seated on a form watching other boys running around the yard, or played hand ball.

It’s not a scary as it looks.  he had said.

Amid looked up startled

No but it’s a very busy place though, and very different from my home.

It’s more ordered and less hectic down at the nets. Come I’ll give you a look at what we’re all about. The school takes its sporting programs very seriously, particularly cricket. In summer the whole country is cricket mad too, so knowledge of the game will help you with settling in.

Jack manoeuvred Amid around the administration building and onto the cricket practice nets where other boys were playing. Picking up a ball, bat and set of stumps Jack walked into a vacant net and placed the stumps in place.

Its’ a simple game, you need only defend these stumps using the bat, while I bowl the ball to you. My goal is to knock over your stumps with the ball. Hit the ball as hard as you can, the scoring we can talk about later. Do you understand?

I think so.  Amid responded hesitantly, holding the bat in a backwards position.

Is this how I hold it? he asked

No, no, here I’ll show you.

Jack laid the bat on the ground with the handle pointed towards him, blade against the ground.

To learn how to hold the bat, he started. You pick it up as if it was an axe, and that is how you hold it.  He demonstrated the hold as Amid looked on. Your dominant hand should be low on the handle, okay?

Now you have a go.

Amid played along and eventually moved into the nets while Jack rolled his arm over in a slow lolly pop delivery. Amid, played the ball straight and it rolled back to Jack. Heartened by Amid’s handling of the new skills Jack delivered a faster ball and Amid skipped down the pitch to meet the ball, planted his left foot beside the bounce, his lead elbow raised in order to avoid lifting the ball, he bought the bat through and met the ball as it began to rise catching the bat in the sweet spot. The timing was exquisite, and the ball rocketed back to Jack, almost knocking him off his feet as he scrambled to avoid being hit. He watched as the ball catapulted into the fence.  He turned back to Amid with a startled look.

Played before have you? he asked laconically.

Amid looked back at Jack and smiled.

Cricket is not just an Australian game. he began. It has been played in Pakistan for more than a century. Many of my family have played for our region, its a proud tradition in my country.

Embarrassed at having jumped to a wrong conclusion, Jack was relieved when Amid made light of the matter.

It’s an understandable mistake. He’d said. with the variety of cultures and backgrounds you have in this country I would easily make the same judgement. I probably should have hit the first ball for six, but I was enjoying your lesson too much to finish it early. He laughed

Jack smiled as he remembered how he’d felt that day. He knew the moment he’d seen that cheeky smile all those years ago, that they would be friends. He didn’t know, however, what an impact that friendship would have on his life and his belief system, or how that and subsequent days spent playing the game they both loved had changed him. He thought of the education he’d begun with Amid, the visits to the Imam and his subsequent conversion to the one true faith. He marvelled at the purity and simplicity of Islam, and the acceptance he’d experienced in his new faith. He’d abandoned the trappings of Christianity that had become fragmented through the various reform churches that each claimed was right for their own reasons. The predominance of Sunday Christians in Australian society and the pragmatic manner with which most worshipped, led Jack to question his own religious upbringing. Catholicism, as the original ...the one, holy and apostolic Church. as the apostle’s creed stated, seemed also to have splinter groups. Jack had come to believe that Catholicism was a simple convenience for many of its members. The possibilities provided by the sacrament of confession limited one’s eternal liabilities, to the duration between confessions. It was all too convenient for a cynical person. A friend had once told Jack that one of the Queen of England’s inherited titles today, Defender of the Faith, had been bestowed by the then Pope, on her ancestor King Henry the VIII, in recognition of Henry’s defence of the church following Luther’s attacks in the sixteenth century. The fact that Henry left the Roman church and established his own version soon after, confirmed the fragility, the Realpolitik of the church leadership, in Jack’s mind. He believed little had changed since then, when it came to church leadership.

He was at one with Islam. The pure devotional aspect and clarity of worship, left no room for interpretation, no room for debate, the path was clear, unequivocal.

He felt particularly privileged that he’d been accepted for the role he had played with Amid on this day. His friend must have really gone out on a limb with the planners of the attack to allow Jacks inclusion in such a vital part of the plan.

And now he must betray that trust, that commitment. What other choice do I have? he thought. And how would Amid interpret his action? Or more likely and threateningly, what would Amid’s friends think and do?

Jack was bought back to the here and now as his Dar parked the car in the city.

Amid

AMID SETTLED INTO THE couch and pressed the remote into life. He was pleased to have completed his task and to have done so without so much as a minor glitch. The truck had been where he’d been told it would be. The transfer of plants from the vehicle and their replacement with the plants containing the bombs and the trip to and from the hotel went to script. All clothing they had worn had already been destroyed in an industrial furnace. The only record of their involvement was in their memories.  They’d done well. He tried to suppress feelings of vanity, but was quietly pleased with his own and Jack’s performance. Now all he had to do was wait until news of the explosion was delivered through the news service.

He again thought of the position of the plants and the appropriateness of their placement. He smiled when he visualised the crescent shape of the bombs placed immediately behind the Prime Ministers entourage. Almost poetic he thought.

As he sat, abstractedly looking at the television, he was enveloped by a feeling of warm satisfaction. He’d felt totally helpless for as long as he’d remembered watching fellow Muslims being attacked, bombed and mutilated on the evening news whether from American so called smart bombs, or deliberate military actions of governments aligned with the Americans, in Africa, the Middle East, even in Europe itself. As he sat, almost numbed and humbled by the feeling, he silently thanked his colleagues and indeed the Almighty for the privilege which had been bestowed on him that day. His colleagues had honoured him and Jack with their trust in moving the plan into its final stage.  The feeling which engulfed him was weird, a drained physical lethargy, yet a euphoric heady lightness. They had finally done it. All the planning, the dreaming, the discussions had finally manifested itself into action.

He thought too, of his friend Jack.  They’d been friends a long time. They shared a passion for cricket and an abhorrence of injustice, a desire to achieve a shift in the political/military focus of the Australian government away from blind support for US policy in general but specifically in the Middle East. It’s funny, he thought to himself, how appropriate it was that they had met at the local school through cricket. He remembered in particular one in-depth conversation he’d had with Jack. They’d begun the discussion after training one afternoon and continued it on and off for many weeks.  He laughed when he thought of the discussion, and was reminded that it had been the first time he’d met anyone who saw things the same way as he did, though Jack took it to a new level.  Jack had become somewhat obsessive about the potential role for cricket as a means of uniting otherwise opposing forces in the cricket playing world.  "There is no other game on the planet which has, at its core, the same notion of