Negative Return

By John Adeane

Australasians continue to let themselves down badly with their trans-Tasman ethos of “she’ll be right.”

When a flurry of incidents occur underground across the two nations—shocking events that are inconceivable to the minds and hearts of Christians—people are slow to make connections.

Way, way too slow . . .

In a blend of frighteningly feasible political possibilities, we face in Negative Return the fact that as judiciousness is subsumed by raw emotion, nothing seems impossible.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: May 7, 2019
• ISBN: 9781796002072

Book preview

PROLOGUE

It’s a small world is a mantra of our age – and, by logical extension, we hear increasingly, It’s a shrinking world.

For all intents and purposes, this celestial orb is shrinking at an exponentially rapid rate, under the pressure of burgeoning demand from snowballing population for habitable and arable land.

Under the stabilizing influence of First World countries’ experts, the distribution of aid can run smoothly and beneficially, while, on a larger scale, land reclamation, prudent deforestation and mineral resource development combine to boost economies in every imaginable corner of the planet.

But for some nations, nothing is ever enough. As families in New Delhi, Singapore, Hong Kong and Tokyo stared bleakly out the grimy windows of their 66th-floor, two-bedroom flats; as the mostly unemployed of Rio de Janeiro, Cairo and Mexico City stared forlornly out around the shanties of their fellow slum dwellers; and while the indigenes of Bali, Mali and Bullamakanka watched uncomprehendingly as the civilized world passed them by, there was one nation – just the one – whose leaders were resolved to complete an ages-old campaign of colonial expansion, one that would achieve the overthrow of Australia and all her offshore islands from New Guinea to New Zealand.

This would be managed by force if necessary, but the alien government had very deliberately worked diligently over many decades to oil the machinery of its machinations, using tact, diplomacy and a credible measure of servility. From trade delegations making offers seemingly too good to be true to cultural, military and sports training exchange programmes.

The most remarkable aspect of this nation’s subterfuge was its nefarious acquisition of myriad tunnels – mostly disused or abandoned mining and railway facilities. In this extraordinary operation both sides of the Tasman, tunnels of all heights, widths and lengths were appropriated and, wherever necessary, refurbished. In addition, the majority of these subterranean ways were extended to connect with others, the end result being a comprehensive network criss-crossing Australasia.

Thus was paved the way for what was hoped would be a bloodless coup. But if, mind, the takeover had to be messy – so what? shrugged its protagonist. There were, realistically, going to be some inconveniences. The beauty of the plan, however, lay in its concealment of an essential enforcement arm. The subterranean component was not only completely hidden, widely deployed and very mobile – it was also one hundred per cent military; thousands of highly trained men ready to be scrambled at a moment’s notice, wherever the locals might burr up in a spontaneous rebellion, or if even the Australian army should attempt a counter-coup.

On the surface, then, all was peaceful.

Out of sight simmered a spirit of fanatical determination, reinforced by pure and unadulterated evil – which, in turn, was born of a festering historical resentment.

So, men at work? Indeed. But who can they be now?

When raw emotion overrules judiciousness, nothing seems impossible.

PART ONE

AUSTRALIA

CHAPTER ONE

North Queensland

H igh above the warm tropical waters and golden sands of Nellie Bay, on the shores of the Coral Sea, sit the forts.

These days they’re a popular tourist attraction for the fit and adventurously inclined; offering magnificent views, these long-abandoned gun emplacements on Magnetic Island, 20 minutes out from Townsville, were crucial to Australia’s wartime coastal defence network; the forts, as they’re now popularly known, encompassed a complex command centre incorporating two lookout posts, with heavy guns housed in huge concrete bunkers linked by a maze of inter-connecting subterranean passages.

The surface structures are still accessible, sadly littered and vandalised, but they’re there.

The bunker entrances are firmly locked, and the tunnel entrances are not even to be found. Not, at least, by tourists or the island’s residents.

But they are known … and they are being used.

The big 70-foot tourist cat had reversed out from the wharf at Picnic Bay and now she swung around strongly, diesels growling. She made a grand sight as, engines rising to a thunderous roar, her twin bows lifted and she forged proudly out across the sun-dappled waters of Cleveland Bay on her run back to the mainland. Her passengers, largely foreign tourists with the usual sprinkling of day-trippers from Townsville, made a gay and colourful gathering aboard.

Maggie was dwindling rapidly astern, her palm-fringed shores nestling serenely in the lee of the central massif. Another languid summer’s day was drawing to a close for visitors and islanders alike.

No-one on the boat looked long or hard at the fading island skyline. Even if he had, and used binoculars, he’d still never have seen deeply enough into the thick bush blanketing those towering peaks to be able to trade stares with the evil and unblinking eyes that followed the boat’s progress.

Canberra, A.C.T.

Public attention of the day was focused on the posturing of the prime minister. He was a working class intellectual, a pro-republic product of a red-brick university, dedicated to the new direction in cultural and trading links. He was enormously proud of his achievements in this policy implementation to date. He’d been feting numerous Asian, African, European and Middle Eastern trade delegations; marvellous chaps, he reflected as the latest contingent departed. So much money to invest, so keen to make that investment here in my country, and they’re so polite and obliging.

He had, for example, an EU Delegation in Canberra last week comprising the areas of Politics, Public Diplomacy, Press and Information, Trade and Economics, Climate and Environment and Administration.

You know, he assured a number of colleagues who really didn’t need assuring, we’ve ratified a number of resolutions that will only enhance our nation’s international profile, there’s no doubt about it. The fact that he’d been subtly bullied into those ratifications would never have occurred to him.

Women’s affairs, too, received the full benefit of prescribed politically correct attention and support.

Particularly, he purred condescendingly, in aid and advice for the Third World. Pacific island jurisdictions have had various options that they’ve taken to increase the numbers of women in parliaments and representative bodies.

Such progress was the topic of discussion at the Annual Women’s Assertiveness Conference. Australasian advisors noted that each Pacific country had resolved to approach this issue in its own way, but that they were all, as the P.M. blustered like an over-fed and watered Colonel Blimp, hopeful that this conference would allow different countries to learn from each other, in order to ensure that women increasingly take their rightful places in Pacific parliaments.

He’d been battered unrelentingly by the femocrat media Mafia of recent weeks into taking some sweeping initiatives. A female federal Member from a Far North Queensland electorate had led the assault, having a field day on one particular afternoon.

It’s true, is it not, Prime Minister, that Pacific Island legislatures have some of the world’s lowest ratios of women to men among their elected representatives?

Ahh, yeess –

Ah, yes, sir, it is true. Moreover, as of July last year, women legislators across the Pacific accounted for less than 6 per cent of all parliamentarians. You agree with that?

Well –

Well, that’s good, then, because it’s true – as it is also true that women entering politics face local cultural obstacles and gender bias, including opposition from men in parliament.

To the cheers of her Amazon Army, the Member barrelled on: "Yes, Prime Minister, it’s a fact that although women are increasingly accepted in general decision-making roles across the Pacific, they remain poorly represented in elected office. That smacks of orchestrated injustice. The United Nations Development Programme, in partnership with the Pacific Islands Forum Secretariat, the Australian Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade, and UN Women, is hosting an upcoming conference, examining the use of temporary special measures to increase the number of women in Pacific parliaments. You’re familiar with the schedule for this seminar, Prime Minister?"

Yes! Oh, of course –

Good! Good – and you’ll be making time to attend as many sessions as possible?

Naturally! Er, may I pick up on your mention of ‘temporary’ measures?

"The conference, sir, is aimed at asking:

How could temporary special measures increase women’s representation in parliaments? Which countries have introduced legally binding temporary special measures and what are the different models used? What were the steps taken by case study countries that followed a process from agreeing that temporary special measures were needed through to implementing them?

The feminists’ response was long and convoluted, enabling them to bury the P.M. in a storm of clichés and platitudes. Not that he could see the femocrat claptrap for what it was.

Ah! Well! By Golly, that is really worthwhile! The man was glad to sit down.

The F.N.Q. member went on to explain that in 2012, the Pacific Island Forum Leaders had endorsed and committed to the Gender Equality Declaration 2012, which included temporary special measures – such as legislation to establish reserved seats for women and political party reforms – to accelerate women’s full and equal participation in governance reform at all levels and women’s leadership in all decision making.

The Australian Prime Minister had boasted at the time, I was particularly proud of my government’s contribution through advice, moral support and, even, financial aid where necessary.

Later, when the F.N.Q., had to surface for breath, the Right Hon was able to slip a word in. My government gladly takes a lesson from our neighbours across the Tasman, where there are more Maoris and more women than ever before in that country’s Parliament and local government, in senior advisory positions and in the armed forces. The Kiwis are setting a salutary example - male and female Governors General, a Maori chief of the armed forces, Maori women in the House and on the Bench."

An example to whom that mattered in the world he did not specify, and neither did he acknowledge the New Zealand was battling its way through more socio-political and economic ructions than at any period in its short life as a nation to date. Through to the late 1960s there was no racism; European and Maori boys played rugger side-by-side at school, civil servants enjoyed the same equanimity across the work force and there was no us-and-them attitude; that crept in during the latter 20th century, and the apartheid situation was stirred not by Maori men but by the women. Now the nation sings two versions of its national anthem, and even has the native tongue enshrined as one of New Zealand’s official languages. In practical terms, it’s useless – a dead language that can never be used in day-to-day political, commercial or educational intercourse – but what certain agitators among the indigenes want they get.

Three months earlier, in June, the Palestinian Ambassador Izzat Abdulhadi had visited the newly established Adelaide-based Palestinian Centre for Peace. It contains Palestinian embroideries, handcrafts and other Palestinian heritage items, as well as valuable documents and books of the Palestinian history and culture. The Prime Minister was pleased to be able to welcome the Palestinian delegation; the Centre is managed by the Australian Friends of Palestine Association.

The Prime Minister accompanied the Palestinian Ambassador as he met the president and executive board of AFOPA and briefed them on the latest developments of Israel Palestine conflict and, before presenting the current Palestinian vision and strategy.

I am pleased to take this opportunity to thank the AFOPA for its impressive work in Palestine’s interests, and its commitment to the rights of the Palestinian people. The Al Aqsa Society in Sydney has organized the Iftar Charity for the families in Gaza. That event was attended, I’m delighted to say, by the Palestinian Ambassador, Izzat Abdulhadi, along with Palestinian community leaders and families from the Palestinian community in Sydney. To the Prime Minister’s great relief, the event went without incident. The president of the Al Aqsa School welcomed the Ambassador’s participation in the event; he explained the suffering of the people in Gaza, and their urgent needs for political and humanitarian assistance. Ambassador Abdulhadi , in his speech, said, "I encourage people to donate money to Gaza and I praise the resilience of Gaza families against the continuous Israeli assaults. I, also, urge the International community and the Australian government to put pressure on Israel to lift the unfair blockade and siege of Gaza Strip and to end the brutal Israeli occupation."

Later, in mid-July, the Egyptian Embassy organized a cultural night in Canberra, and it was attended by representatives from the International and Arab Diplomatic Corps, Australian officials, civil society organizations, Egyptian and Arab communities in addition to a wider Australian audience. This was a function that the Prime Minister particularly enjoyed. It included scintillatingly mesmeric Egyptian folklore dancing performed by the Egyptian National Dancing Troupe. The dancing represented the different aspects of the life of the Egyptians and provided a positive image of Middle Easterners.

Then a fortnight ago, in Canberra, the Prime Minister, along with Philippines embassy representatives had hosted a luncheon for the Australian Political Exchange Council’s Eighth Delegation. As the P.M. explained proudly to the press, This has been a seven-day visit to New South Wales, Canberra and Sydney to learn about Australia and its political system and to build enduring networks among young political leaders, hosted by the Australian Political Exchange Council. The Prime Minister milked this exchange for all it was worth, and then some.

The church got to benefit from the Prime Minister’s earnestness. The Australian Religious Responses to Climate Change, the ARRCC, enjoyed various meetings with government officials at influential level (whatever that amounted to), meetings that received significant news coverage, and now the ARRCC had a bone to pick with the media. While the ARRCC welcomed the media coverage and the opportunity to demonstrate that people of faith care about climate change and want our political representatives to take action, unfortunately some media reports of ARRCC’s views and the views of the gathered leaders have been over-simplified and, in some cases, are inaccurate.

It has to be acknowledged, too, that the group’s leaders were less than impressed with the way the media, having started out vocalizing their acronym as ‘arksy,’ were now calling it simply ‘arsey.’

To clarify the gripe, the delegates present in Canberra were members and non-members of ARRCC, all supportive of strong action on climate change. The ARRCC, to quote again, "was glad to have been able to facilitate the participation of a diversity of people, and to have enabled them to express their views to our elected leaders and to the media.

As detailed in our official policy positions paper, ARRCC promotes a range of policies, including a reassessment of national measures of prosperity, a transition away from fossil fuels (coal, oil, gas), public investment in renewable energy, Australia massively increasing its contribution to adaptation financing for developing countries, stopping the logging of old growth forests, stricter mandatory energy efficiency standards, and more. We support a well-designed carbon tax, but not an emissions trading scheme as (once) envisaged by the Gillard Labour Government.

Given the current focus of debate in Australia, the religious leaders gathering in Canberra promoted certain principles on which carbon pricing should be based, such as no free permits for polluters, minimal compensation to so-called trade-exposed industries and flexibility such that Australia could rapidly go well beyond the current low targets for emissions reductions. None of these is part of the Government’s position. The ARRCC claimed to be non-partisan, and supportive of elements of the policies of each of the major political parties. Yeah. Right. The Prime Minister debated with himself the thought that the church, which rumour had it was separate from government in Australasia, was actively entrenching itself in national politics – with a clear left wing bent, at that! He didn’t mind listening to them. They couldn’t do any harm.

He beamed and strode briskly from his office. He’d enjoyed a splendidly profitable day, a late dinner awaited him and he was happily content.

The trade, cultural and religious representatives filed out from the latest gabfest. They were happy, too. One of the diplomatic delegations seemed to smile just so much more than any other.

Townsville

On a balmy evening in the warm tropical north, the moon cast its rippling yellow ladder out across the dark waters of Cleveland Bay.

The gentile set of Townsville admired this view from the ambience of Cassie’s cocktail lounge on the fourteenth floor of the Ambassador. Further along the Strand, the city’s rowdies caroused among the palm trees in the garden bar at the Seaview, while a mile away in the other direction families sat in quiet groups, making small talk around their barbecues out along the foreshore reserve at Pallarenda.

The low hills inland from the reserve was lush, and just elevated enough to afford beautiful views across Cleveland Bay. That land, along with the likes of Castle Hill, would be sub-dividable for prestige properties. Not under Australian local authority mandate; it was not Antipodean minds that were evaluating this real estate potential. Neither was the intention to aim land sales and development at the top end of the market; the envisaged beneficiaries were resident abroad, simple working and middle class people, presently crowded into high-rise flats with no gardens to tend, no lawns for their children to play and for whom a trip to the beach was maybe an annual treat.

So, as certain evil, resentful eyes glowered from afar, happy-go-lucky Townsvillians ambled through each day. The beer was cold, the barra and mangoes abounded.

All was tranquil and the spirit was the classically Aussie one of no worries. There was always tomorrow. Even in strained economic times, there were never any doubts of a return to prosperity.

But a shrewd observer might have asked: prosperity for whom?

Five miles off-shore, Magnetic Island loomed, a dark shadow, seeming deceptively close, looking eerily like a huge hound a-slumber.

Port Hedland, the Pilbara

Not now, Mike.

The chief inspector’s tone was brusque. He didn’t even bother to look up from his desk. The contents of his IN tray outweighed those of his OUT tray by about 15 to one, and his Pending tray he was trying desperately to ignore. The ground floor air conditioning was on the blink, he had three minutes before he was due on-air for his weekly radio talk-back chat, and he couldn’t muster a lot of enthusiasm for the facs sheet that Detective Sergeant Mike Frayne was waving around.

Reckon y’oughta see it, Vic, drawled the bronzed and lanky sleuth. Commonwealth police Canberra – personal, confidential, urgent and for your eyes only – sounds pretty heavy duty stuff to me, he said, letting the flimsy loose with a flick. It waffled a moment in the still air, then settled on the senior man’s heavily doodled blotter.

The inspector’s Christian name was not really Victor. It was not Vic-anything. It was Charles. But with the surname Parsons he hadn’t long been on the staff when some wag dubbed him the Vicar; the sobriquet stuck, and he’d been plain Vic ever since. He stood six-four and was built like the business end of a front-end loader. It was rumoured that in some dark corner of Australian sporting annals there was a record of his having played one game at prop for the Wallabies.

He glared at Mick Frayne’s retreating back, bestowed no less a benevolent scowl on the facs message and clenched both his hairy hams as the phone rang.

It was mid-summer, damnably hot out here on the coastal edge of the desert. It was that silly season when the village layabouts turned from shiftlessness to mischief and worse. It was becoming increasingly difficult to placate the outraged community on his staff’s abysmal record in the apprehension and successful prosecution of the ungodly.

With a heavy sigh he reached for the receiver. His host for the half-hour talk show was the elderly and very conservative local radio station manager. He was a chap who liked to be friends with everyone – business proprietors, police, shire council, firies and ambos, churchmen, you name it – which was well and good, mandatory to boot, in terms of safeguarding the advertising dollar. It was hopeless, though, in terms of effective and entertaining talk-back. Vic Parson’s knew he could be sure of one thing, and that was that old Pat Rick O’Shay would never play the devil’s advocate. He was as likely to ask a confrontational question as the Pope was to bust a few moves in a red-light district disco.

Chief Inspector Parsons’s patch could have been worse, mind. Port Hedland wasn’t such a bad place – a coastal mining centre of 15,000 but, with 14 percent of that number being of indigenous extraction, it was a town with a high crime rate. It was mostly minor stuff: assault, theft, break-and-entry, vandalism, rape and drunkenness, to which there might be added the occasional cannabis-related arrest. Policing in the town had its lighter side, too, as any cop would relate: the commonest offender was the elusive hoomie; when the only person for hundreds of yards around was a youthful specimen of our nomadic denizens of the north climbing into a yard that was not his to climb into, and a cop called, Hoy, hold it right there! the invariable reaction would be, Who? Meee?

Chief Inspector Parsons banged the receiver down from his talk-back call and made to resume his interrupted work. His eye caught the facs sheet. He hesitated, then snatched it up and glanced at the intro.

What he saw in the opening words of the coded despatch made him sit suddenly still. He steadied his breathing and read more slowly … on through the next paragraph … and the next … and the rest right to the end … then he re-read the whole thing.

No! This has got to be a flamin’ wind-up … surely! He breathed the ejaculation in a whisper of disbelief.

The inspector looked briefly at his In-tray. It wasn’t really there, he told himself, and if it was it could bloody well wait. He picked up the phone extension.

Mike? Switch your brain into fantasy mode and get yourself in here right away.

Lake Moondarra, Mt. Isa

Lunch here by the lake? Or over at the park, Angie? Your choice, asked Timothy Dooley of his wife.

Lake Moondarra was man-made, the result of Mt. Isa Mines’ damming the Leichhardt River to supply water for both the city and the company’s giant copper mine. The Isa is a company town lock-stock-and-barrel, and exists purely because of M.I.M. There’s no other reason to want to live somewhere so remote and dreary; by the same token, the disposable income of the town’s families is among the highest in Australia, as the 5000-odd men who work the mining operation – surface workings, underground and administration – gross some of the biggest wages in the nation. Sadly, the only places to spend money are half a dozen very average pubs, an underground disco club and equally unimaginative restaurants.

The lake, on the other hand, is a magical spot. It’s 20 minutes out of town at the end of a secondary road that turns off the highway near the airport and adjacent Kalkadoon Park – venue for the world’s third biggest rodeo, as the locals are quick to tell you (well, there’s not a lot to boast about in Mt. Isa). It’s a poorly sealed, narrow and tortuous road that winds through low hills of brown and russet rock and twisted spinifex – home to snakes, lizards and some of the most colourful parrots in the world – before it debouches into the relatively verdant sward of the lake’s shallowly sloped banks. A few hundred yards beyond the lake is the cool and shady glen embraced by Warrina Park’s ghost gums. Needless to say, the recreational area’s a magnet for families every weekend.

We’ll have it in the park, love. These bull ants are – oww! – winning the battle here! she called back over her shoulder. Can you get the children out of the water and dried off while I rearrange some of this stuff on the back seat?

No problem. There was a pause, before a couple of ers and ums, then, "Actually, there is a problem."

What?

No children. Like, not in the water, anyway.

Now don’t try to frighten me, Timothy – not like that, anyway, she chided him, joining her husband on the bank.

"Can you see them?" he retorted.

Hi, Dad! Hello, Mother! chorused a