Police officers had secured the entire office building that made up the Australian Monarchist League. Staff and other personnel were told to evacuate but weren’t told that Perry Haynes had been shot to death by an unknown assassin. The federal agents stood to the side, watching forensic officers and detectives investigated the murder scene. Darrin and Nicole whispered to each other, trying to calm themselves and process such a brutal attack. Darrin’s phone rang. ‘O’Connor.’
‘What’s happening over there?’ asked Paul.
‘Perry Haynes is dead. He was shot.’
‘Bloody oath. Are you and Nicole okay?’
‘Yeah, we’re fine. Backup is here now, we’re securing the area and checking for CCTV cameras from the adjacent buildings.’ Darrin watched as Haynes’ body was sealed and moved from the scene.
‘Good. Did you get anything from Haynes before he was killed?’
‘Actually, we did get a name,’ said Darrin. ‘He mentioned someone called Arthur Williams. He may be connected to this.’
‘You think Haynes may’ve hired Williams to kill the President?’
‘Yeah, we have to find out who this guy is. Listen, you were right about there being a mole inside the agency. Whoever is behind this must have warned them about our meeting with Haynes.’
‘I agree. Only a select few knew about us going to speak with Haynes. Finish up with the particulars, then head back to HQ.’
‘Copy that, Boss.’ Darrin hung up and pocketed the phone before turning to Nicole. She looked distressed. Understandable.
‘What’s happening?’ asked Nicole.
‘The Boss wants us back at HQ. You okay?’ He knew she wasn’t, but he had to believe her.
They climbed into the car. Nicole knew something bothered Darrin. He’d been tense the whole time since the briefing.
‘What’s on your mind, Darrin?’
‘Nothing. I can’t believe what happened to Perry.’
‘It’s more than that. Something’s bothering you, what’s up?’
‘Fine. Paul demanded this information be kept confidential.’
‘Sure. What’s up?’
‘Paul warned me there’s someone inside the agency working against us.’
‘You mean, a mole?’
‘Yes. He said someone inside the agency is leaking classified intelligence. I think the mole had Perry killed because he knew about the shooter.’ The thought of one of their own working against them sickened her to the core.
‘Shit. Do you have any leads?’
‘Not yet, but the Boss said it’s someone within our unit. We can’t let anyone else know, this has to stay between us. Can I trust you?’ Darrin hoped to God that he was making the right decision.
‘Wait, you think I’m the mole?’
‘Of course not, but we have to be careful who we trust. Let’s get back to the office and act normal.’ The light changed and Darrin continued driving. Nicole looked out the window, in complete shock by what she’d learned. She didn’t know what hurt more; the fact that there’s a mole working against them, or the fact that Darrin knew about it and didn’t tell her, and he suspected her of being a traitor.
****
Arthur Williams stepped into the café; his heart rate elevated as the relentless, sticky sweat built up around his neck. His eyes darting around the café as he scanned for potential threats. He could feel his weak eardrums straining from the hustle and bustle of the patrons, and the clatter of plates and cutlery from the café staff. He’d checked out of the hotel early; traffic’s gonna be crazy today, Arthur thought as he joined the queue. Donned in his police uniform, he didn’t care that the other patrons in the café glared at him. His body trembled with nervousness, but he tried not to draw too much attention to himself. As he approached the counter to order his coffee, he spotted a group of Indigenous people walking along the street outside. They carried the new Australian flag, a design which the Australian community agreed on; it featured the Australian national colours, green and gold, with the southern cross star constellation in the centre. Arthur rolled his eyes as he saw the kids’ faces were painted the same as the flag, as well as the Indigenous colours, black, red, and yellow. He scowled and muttered under his breath, feeling a surge of anger and resentment towards them. His hatred for Indigenous Australians burned deep inside him, fuelled by years of racism and prejudice he’d seen during his time on the force. He watched as the group walked past the café and wanted nothing more than to run out to them and arrest them. Those black cunts don’t deserve to breathe the same air as I do! Arthur cursed under his breath.
But he remembered all the reasons he had convinced himself to do it. Arthur ordered his coffee, his hands trembling as he handed over the money. The staff member smiled at him, an awkward smile as she returned his change. ‘Happy Australia Day, sir,’ she said.
‘Huh, whatever, stupid woman...’ Arthur grunted under his breath, as he snatched the money back. The woman was taken aback by his attitude but brushed it off as he stormed out. He glared at the Indigenous people again, his hatred and anger returning.
They laughed and chatted to each other, completely unaware of the danger that lurked nearby. As he walked out of the café, Williams took a deep breath and steeled himself for what had to come.
He knew what he had to do, and he had prepared to do it, no matter the consequences. Arthur returned to the safety of his car. Seeing those Indigenous people walk freely along the streets of the nation’s capital added fuel to his desire to carry out the most important assignment of his lifetime. ‘I’m gonna kill that fuckin’ Abo slut!’ He downed the coffee, and his mind wandered back to the day he decided he hated the Indigenous people.
Some Time Ago
The burning sun lathed Alice Springs in its golden embrace, casting long, wavering shadows over the red earth. A whisper of a breeze stirred the eucalyptus leaves, and the Outback began to stir from its slumber. Arthur Williams, a man of lean build and salt-and-pepper hair in his early sixties, stood before the bathroom mirror, his blue eyes reflecting the seriousness of the day ahead. The Northern Territory Police Force uniform hung neatly on a hook on the bathroom door, a symbol of his life’s dedication. He reached for the uniform, fingers brushing over the embroidered patches. Each thread told a story, a tale of service and duty. The shower’s cool spray cascaded over him, washing away the remnants of sleep and the weight of yesterday’s concerns. His movements were measured, habitual. He lathered his face with shaving cream, the razor gliding smoothly across his weathered skin, tracing a familiar path. As he dressed, sliding into the navy-blue uniform with practiced ease, Arthur’s thoughts turned to the news he had glimpsed earlier. The television in the living room had been tuned to the parliamentary proceedings. He’d seen the Australian Prime Minister, a determined expression on his face, addressing his cabinet. The words ‘republic’ and ‘change’ echoed in his mind, mingling with the distant memories of a nation’s history. Arthur cradled a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. Over my dead body, he thought to himself. The aroma of the creamy coffee wafted up, a comforting ease to his nostrils. He watched the screen, the sound muted, as the Prime Minister’s voice resonated through the room. The air felt charged with uncertainty, as if a storm were gathering on the horizon. He checked his wristwatch, a relic from his early days in the force, its face scratched and worn. He was running late, and his heart quickened with a hint of anxiety. He took a final sip of his coffee, the bitter taste lingering on his tongue, before setting the cup down with a sense of determination. Outside, the sun hung low in the sky, its rays already scorching the earth. It was a typical, Wednesday morning, nothing out of the ordinary.
The heat, a constant companion.
Arthur climbed into his police-issue sedan, the leather seats warmed by the sun. The engine rumbled to life, and he began the familiar drive from his home a few kilometres outside of town. The road stretched ahead, a ribbon of asphalt surrounded by the vast expanse of the Australian Outback.
The land was ancient, its secrets buried deep beneath the red soil. For Arthur, it was a landscape he had come to love and respect over his years of service. Approaching the intersection that would take him onto the main road to town, Arthur saw a disturbance ahead. His brow furrowed, and he slowed the car. It was a child, lying motionless on the road; an Indigenous child, no older than seven or eight, with dusty feet and tangled hair. His heart pounded as he brought the car to a halt, his training kicking in. As a senior sergeant, he was obligated to ensure the safety of all citizens. He climbed out of the car, the oppressive heat hitting him like a wall. The child lay still, and Arthur approached cautiously, his footsteps crunching on the gravel. ‘Hey there, mate,’ he called softly, bending down beside the child. He reached out to shake the child’s shoulder gently. ‘Are you okay?’ There was no response, and a shiver of unease crept down Arthur’s spine. He tried again, his voice firmer. ‘Wake up, kiddo.’ The child’s eyes snapped open, wide, and filled with fear. He scrambled to his feet, stumbling backward in a panic. Before Arthur could react, the child turned and bolted, his bare feet pounding the hot asphalt. ‘Wait!’ Arthur called out, but the child disappeared behind a large, weathered rock at the roadside. He stood there for a moment, perplexed by the child’s sudden flight. Something was amiss, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. As he turned back to his car, his senses on high alert, a group of older Indigenous kids emerged from the shadows. They were teenagers, their faces etched with a mixture of defiance and anger. The leader of the group, a lanky boy with a mop of unruly hair, sneered at Arthur.
‘What do you think you’re doin’, old man?’ he spat, his words heavy with contempt. Arthur’s hand instinctively went to his hip, where his baton was holstered. He took a step back, wary of the hostile atmosphere that had descended upon the scene.
‘I’m a police officer,’ he replied, his voice steady. ‘I’m here to help.’ The teenager’s laughter was harsh and bitter.
‘Help? You ain’t helpin’ no one. This is our territory, and we don’t need no White Coppas stickin’ their noses in.’ Before Arthur could react, the group closed in on him, their numbers overwhelming. The leader lunged forward, his hand snatching at the baton hanging from Arthur’s belt. With a swift motion, the baton was in the teenager’s grip, and he swung it with a savage force.
Pain exploded through Arthur’s side as the baton struck him. He stumbled, his vision blurring for a moment. The mob descended upon him, fists raining down, and he felt himself being knocked to the ground. He struggled to defend himself, but the odds were stacked against him.
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