‘Why Sydney?’
‘It’s the my preferred point of entry. We have to go by way of Sydney or Melbourne.’
Nick sat back with a sigh, the jump seat was getting uncomfortable.
‘You can stretch you legs out in first class if you like,’ Graham offered.
Nick ignored him although the thought was tempting. ‘Were you able to get us an appointment with the Prime Minister?’
‘I spoke to one of my buddies this morning, he’s trying to arrange it, but because it’s the weekend he’s not sure if he’ll be available.’
‘Did you tell him it was urgent?’
‘I told him to tell the staff it was you coming in. The Prime Minister will know about you so I don’t see a problem.’
‘Good. I don’t want to be held up there. How soon can you get me to the Gold Coast?’
‘Don’t worry about that. I fly you myself if I have to.’
Nick had no intention of being put off by anybody, time was running out. He just hoped the Government would let him have some say in things. He decided to stretch out in first class after all, hoping to catch up on some sleep that he’d missed in Oahu while organising provisions for the Platypus. His lowered his aching joints into the soft contours of the reclining seat and with the help of a couple of stiff Johnny Walker’s eventually drifted off into a fitful sleep.
Chapter Nineteen
Graham’s prediction on Sydney proved correct, the air traffic was slightly less congested than usual yet they were still forced to circle right out over Bathurst, the other side of the Blue Mountains, 160 kilometres west of the city. Nick didn’t mind, it gave him a chance to enjoy the landscape unfolding. He always experienced a feeling of contentment when approaching Sydney from the air; its picturesque harbour decked by the old ‘Coat Hanger’ as the locals nicknamed the Sydney Harbour Bridge. Beside the bridge the soaring white sails of the Sydney Opera House gleamed against the blue water of the harbour winking their welcome.
The scene was surreal, the Opera House’s beauty marred by the ugly concrete wall enclosing it and the city into a basin, isolated from the harbour that beat at it in a never ending frenzy. The wall snaked all the way along the harbour front as far as the Gap, the entrance from the ocean, and as far as Parramatta twenty-three kilometres to the West. The other side of the harbour rose naturally above the harbour, so no wall were visible here. The bridge that had spanned this harbour for over one hundred years seemed to squat low above the surface of the water, waiting to be swallowed. Beside the bridge Nick could see staircases leading up to Ferry terminals that had been constructed on top of the wall. He guessed that their destination to Manly and other areas north had changed location considerably. Manly beach had always been a popular place for day trippers from the city wishing to laze on it’s pristine white beaches and swim in the safe surf.
Their stopover lasted three hours and between phone calls to friends, Nick hurried around the duty free shops to pick up some gifts for Brian and Karen. Brian was an avid collector of fancy liquor bottles, so each time he came home he always brought some exotic container that delighted his fancy, and of course there was the obligatory bottle of Channel for Karen. After he had done so, he slapped his head and thoughtI must be going crazy. What am I doing buying bloody gifts! Time dragged and he checked his watch constantly. Graham was off doing his thing, so Nick tried to calm his nerves with coffee, which just gave him a dry taste in his mouth. He jumped to attention when they announced his flight for Canberra.
Leaving Sydney over Botany Bay presented more disheartening scenes, all he could see were ugly dykes wrapping around the airport and the beautiful beaches to the South had disappeared.
They approached the Capital, a short thirty minute hop from Sydney at exactly 1725. At this time in early June it was quite dark, nearing the shortest day of the year in Australia. As Graham lined up the 797 for the runway he could see the lights twinkling on the Black Mountain Tower rising 195 metres above the summit into the sky.
Located about 160 kilometres inland in New South Wales, and approximately 750 metres above sea level, this place would remain far away from the holocaust coming. Life would go on here uninterrupted, although the population was going to expand rapidly. There would be plenty of fuel together with all the resources this marvellous place had to offer. As they flew over the city their eyes peered at the thousands of pinpointed lights illuminating the perfectly planned, symmetrical circles that radiated out from the centre of Capitol Hill crossing Lake Burley Griffin.
Nick preferred the coastal cities but he appreciated Canberra’s sophistication and flair. Still, he wouldn’t be hanging around here, just long enough to give them all the information needed. The Queensland Gold Coast was tugging at his heart and he couldn’t wait to be reunited with Brian and Karen.
They arrived without incident, the frantic landing routine again amazing Nick with its complexities. Graham had always said that landing an aircraft was the most dangerous part of flying. They collected Graham’s car and sped off to his home to face the horrible task of informing his mother of the chaos to come.
Saturday, June 3
After a great deal of persuasion Graham’s buddy had arranged for them to meet the Prime Minister at his home the next morning. The green wrought iron gates at The Lodge presented a formidable barrier to any uninvited visitors or intruders, protected as it was by a sombre guard dressed in a dark khaki army uniform who glared at them from beneath his Akubra slouch hat. He stood at attention just inside the grill, rigidly holding a military standard issue laser rifle menacingly against his chest, the chin-strap of his hat firmly locked in place. Canberra had not escaped the crime in the coastal cities that had raged over the past fifteen years, and the World Government had failed to curtail terrorism, which had escalated and spread to Australia, so security had become a prime concern and their leaders were heavily guarded in their homes and abroad. Nick was thankfully reminded of his life onboard Platypus.
The guard came alive as they approached. ‘State your name and business!’ he snapped.
‘I’m Captain Bronson, this’s Nick Torrens. We’ve got an appointment with the Prime Minister.’ They fumbled for their identity cards and pushed them through the gate where they fell to the ground.
The guard took a step back. It was not normal for the Minister to see people at his home, especially on Saturday. Swiftly raising the rifle to shoulder height he pointed the laser directly at them. ‘I don’t care who you are get your hands off that gate or I’ll shoot!’
‘I told you, we’ve got an appointment!’ Nick said.
‘Stand back from the gate!’ The guard snapped. Lowering the rifle carefully he pulled a radio off his hip. ‘There’s two blokes at the gate. Reckon they’ve got an appointment with the Minister.’
The radio crackled back ‘What’s their names?’
The guard reached down stiffly and picked up their identity cards. ‘Bronson & Torrens.’
‘It’s okay. Let them in.’
The guard opened the gate, shrugged his shoulders and walked back to a small guard house beside the gate to record their visit.
A dog barked and Graham and Nick looked up to see a tall man approaching along the gravel driveway leading to the house, with a large black Doberman straining at the leash in his hand. He introduced himself as George, the Prime Minister’s butler.
‘Come this way.’ He sniffed, turning without looking at Nick and Graham.
They hurried along behind the brusque well-dressed figure through an avenue of tall ornamental trees and perfectly tended garden beds bordered by a neatly trimmed Golden Cyprus hedge. Another man in a crisp suit waited under the arches of the 1927 Georgian stone mansion and politely led them into the house to an office beside the foyer. The entire place had been renovated in 2026 at enormous cost to the taxpayers, only the exterior shell remained as a testament to the stone mason’s skills, from an era when life was simple. They were shown into a small room not unlike the US President’s office, only one quarter the size.