Australia Day
At Canberra High School, crowds had gathered outside, eagerly awaiting to see Jarrah Bradley. The atmosphere was electric as the students chattered with anticipation. For the last thirty minutes, Jarrah had been giving his speech in front of hundreds of young eyes, captivated by his words of wisdom. Jarrah emerged from the school’s assembly hall, his dark eyes warm and approachable despite the weight of his heritage. He wore dark blue blazer, over a white shirt, neatly pressed khaki slacks; simple, but professional enough for the event.
A sea of eager faces surrounded him, and he couldn’t help but smile as he engaged with the excited children, his security detail of two bodyguards on his flank. A bunch of reporters followed him, ignoring their spatial awareness, knocking past children to grab a snippet of information. But Jarrah simply ignored them. He was more focused on the kids, the ones who mattered. ‘Hey there, champ,’ Jarrah said, tousling the hair of a young boy who looked up to him with adoration. ‘You excited about today?’ The boy nodded vigorously, unable to contain his excitement. Jarrah smiled and signed the front of his school bag. The boy jumped with excitement and showed it off to his mates. Jarrah continued to make his way through the crowd, taking selfies and chatting with the teenagers who looked up to him as a role model.
After a few moments of heartfelt conversations and shared laughter, Jarrah’s security detail, two imposing figures dressed in sharp suits, ushered him back towards the waiting car. The Holden Caprice WM idled nearby, ready to transport him back to Government House. As Jarrah settled into the plush leather seat in the back of the car, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. His speech had gone well; conveying the importance of bridging the divide between Indigenous and non-Indigenous communities. His mother had always taught him the value of unity, and he was determined to carry on her legacy. The car pulled away from the school grounds, and Jarrah’s phone buzzed with an incoming call. He retrieved it from his pocket and saw his father’s name on the screen. ‘Hey, dad,’ Jarrah answered, his voice tinged with excitement.
‘Hi, son. How was the speech?’
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I think it went well. The kids were excited. I think we’re getting the message across.’
‘That’s excellent to hear, son. Your mother will be thrilled when she hears about it. Speaking of which, she’s running a bit late, but she should be home soon.’ Jarrah’s eyes brightened at the thought of spending time with his mother again.
‘I can’t wait to see her again, dad.’ Their conversation was filled with warmth and encouragement, reflecting the close-knit bond of their family.
‘You will soon, son…we’ll catch up when you get back. Love you.’
‘Love you, dad.’ He hung up. As Jarrah recalled the conversation in his mind, he couldn’t help but glance at his social media feed on his phone. Supportive messages and positive comments filled his screen, a testament to the impact of his speech. A sense of accomplishment washed over him as he realised the potential for change that lay ahead. The security guard in the front seat turned to face Jarrah.
‘We’ll be at Government House in less than five minutes, Mr. Bradley.’ Jarrah smiled, his gaze returning to the road ahead. The familiar landmarks of Canberra passed by, and the anticipation of reuniting with his mother grew. Then, without any warning, chaos erupted. A white van careened out of nowhere, smashing into the side of the Holden Caprice WM with brutal force. The car tumbled end over end, rolling several times before coming to a shuddering halt, its roof crushed. Inside the car, both bodyguards lay unconscious, bloodied, and battered. Jarrah, too, was in a daze, his world spinning. As he began to regain consciousness, he realised he was upside down, suspended by his seatbelt.
Pain coursed through his body, but he knew he had to act quickly. As he fumbled to release himself from the seatbelt, the world outside the car’s shattered windows blurred into a chaotic scene.
Smoke billowed from the wreckage. Jarrah managed to free himself, his body protesting every movement. He knew he had to get out of the car before it erupted into flames. He crawled through the shattered rear window, his limbs trembling as he crawled over the piercing, shattered glass. But before he could make sense of the pandemonium, masked men descended upon him, their faces concealed by dark balaclavas.
His instincts kicked in, and he attempted to fight them off, but the crash had drained him of his strength. With ruthless efficiency, the men subdued him, overpowering his feeble resistance. They wrapped a black bag over his head, plunging him into darkness. The world outside disappeared, and he felt himself being dragged away, his heart pounding with fear and uncertainty.
Paul Duncan found it difficult to believe that one of his own was working against them. That a mole existed shook him to the core. He tried to imagine who it could be. It wasn’t Darrin, whom he’d known for many years. He didn’t fit the profile of a traitor. But that could’ve been the objective of a traitor; get close and personal with superiors and gain their trust, then betray them at the right moment. He knocked on the glass door at the top of a flight of stairs. He stepped in and saw Anna Mackenzie. ‘Ah, Paul. Thank you for coming.’
‘You wanted to see me?’ Anna invited him to sit.
‘Yes. The Commissioner wants an update on the investigation. We have less than two hours before the President goes on-stage. What’s your progress?’
‘I spoke with O’Connor. Haynes was shot by an unknown sniper,’ said Paul.
‘You’re kidding me…Haynes was our only lead.’
‘I know, but it’s clear, someone in this agency is working against us,’ said Paul.
‘Did your team get anything from Haynes before he was killed?’
‘Yes. When I spoke with O’Connor, he said Haynes revealed a name at the last minute. Someone by the name of Arthur Williams.’
‘Never heard of him,’ said Anna.
‘Me either, but I’ve got my analysts working on it now. We should have something in the next few minutes,’ said Paul.
‘What about the mole?’ asked Anna.
‘That we’re still working on,’ said Paul. ‘If there is someone working against us, they will slip up.’
‘Good. I’ve been informed that the President is going ahead with her speech at Commonwealth Park. We need to find out who’s behind this assassination attempt,’ said Anna.
‘And we will. It’s taking longer than we originally thought,’ replied Paul.
‘That’s not good enough!’ The room was suddenly deathly quiet. Anna continued. ‘I’m sorry, that didn’t come out right. You and your team are doing a great job, Paul.’ Paul suspected Mackenzie was under immense pressure from the higher-ups.
‘Thank you, I appreciate that. I can assure you my team is doing everything possible to resolve this.’ Paul nodded, and stood. ‘I’ll advise my team immediately.’ He went to leave, but he was stopped at the last minute.
‘Paul…one more thing.’ He turned, his face skewed. ‘It’s regarding O’Connor’s behaviour at Haynes’ office.’
‘Yes, I did read that report. It seems O’Connor threatened Haynes.’
‘He threatened him with a gun, Paul. Then threatened to throw him out the window of his headquarters.’
‘I’m sure there was a perfectly logical explanation for it.’
‘Yes, there is…O’Connor is a loose cannon. I can’t afford to have loose cannons on this task force, Paul.’
In his mind, Paul sighed, frustrated by Mackenzie’s response.
‘O’Connor is grieving, Anna. He’s just lost his wife. It takes time.’
‘In case you didn’t realise, Paul, we don’t have the luxury of time…my superiors have told me that if the President dies, we will all be out of a job.’ Paul paused for a moment. ‘If O’Connor doesn’t keep himself in check, he will be dismissed.’
‘I don’t think there’s any need for that. I’ll have a chat with him.’ Paul stood and buttoned his blazer.
‘See that you do, Paul. O’Connor is treading on thin ice…’
‘I understand. Thank you, Anna.’ Paul left the office and returned to his own.
****
The lodge, a mansion holding the secrets of many prime ministers, sat at the epicentre of the nation’s capital. Its stones, each carefully laid over a century ago, echoed the silent lament of the man within. Stephen Archer, the Australian Prime Minister, dwelled within its walls, adrift in a sea of thought and memory. The grandeur of the private study was a testament to the past and present of Australia. Antique mahogany furniture complemented by a modern steel and glass desk. An oil painting of the late Queen Elizabeth II hung prominently, a symbol of a bygone era, one that Stephen clung to. Her visage, a reminder of the day she had visited, graced his mind. He was a younger man then, the excitement of that moment still vivid in his memory.
With a sigh, he pulled his gaze away from the regal figure. The nation had changed since that time, evolved into a republic. He didn’t oppose the transition but had difficulty reconciling with the new order. His gaze fell upon a blank paper sprawled on his desk, a speech waiting to be penned for the upcoming ceremony at Commonwealth Park. The door to the study creaked open, breaking the awkward pause. Alyssa Crawford, the Prime Minister’s sharp, unflinching chief-of-staff, walked in. ‘Sir, the AFP Commissioner to see you. Says it’s urgent,’ she said. Stephen gave her a wave. Following her was a towering figure, Shaun Buckley, the AFP Commissioner, a man of unquestionable grit and integrity.
‘Prime Minister, we have a situation.’ The Prime Minister’s face hardened, the weight of the news visibly weighing hard on his shoulders.
‘What’s happened?’
‘Jarrah Bradley, the President’s son, has been kidnapped,’ Shaun said, the words hanging heavy in the air.
‘Kidnapped? How?’ His voice, usually calm and measured, wavered.
‘Details are sketchy, Prime Minister. ACT Police is securing the crash site, but his whereabouts is unknown,’ said Shaun. A flurry of thoughts raced through Stephen’s mind. A kidnapping, here in Canberra? It was unthinkable. He clenched his jaw, trying to keep the shock from seeping into his voice.
‘And what are we doing to find him?’ he asked, lowering his spectacles.
‘My agency is coordinating with ACT Police, and we’re conducting an extensive search. However, witness accounts suggest the possibility of a vehicle switch,’ Shaun said, his gaze never wavering from the Prime Minister’s. Stephen took a deep breath, processing the information. This crisis demanded his firm resolve. He straightened, his resolve hardening.
‘Has the President been informed?’ he asked.
‘No, Prime Minister. We believed it would be better if it came from you.’ Stephen felt a lump forming in his throat.
‘I’ll tell her then.’ With that, he pushed back his chair and rose, his shoulders squared against the dark reality of the crisis. He grabbed his blazer and headed towards the door.
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