Midday hung heavily over the Lodge in Canberra, its piercing summer heat manifesting as a shimmering mirage over the landscaped lawns. Australia Day was in full swing, the patriotic beats of the local celebrations seeping into the Prime Ministerial residence, contrasting sharply with the taut atmosphere within its hallowed walls. Stephen Archer, the Prime Minister of Australia, had traded his youthful vigour for the mantle of leadership. The private study, heavy with mahogany furniture and the weight of history, was a sanctuary amidst the political whirlwind outside.
The door to the study creaked open, the rich scent of polished wood and aging leather books disrupted by the arrival of Alyssa Crawford. A beacon of composed efficiency, she was the lighthouse in the sea of Stephen’s political career. Close on her heels was Shaun Buckley, his stern visage synonymous with his role as the AFP Commissioner. Stephen tore his gaze from the panorama of Canberra spread out below his study window. He had been anxiously awaiting their arrival. ‘Prime Minister, Commissioner Buckley has an update,’ said Alyssa, as she closed the heavy door.
‘I’ve got five minutes before I have to leave for Commonwealth Park. Let’s hear it, Shaun.’ The Commissioner acknowledged and tucked his police cap under his arm.
‘Prime Minister. We’ve been given a tip off by an anonymous source that Jarrah Bradley is being held at a house in the northern suburbs,’ said Shaun, his voice gravelly with tension. The static-laden images he laid on the desk seemed out of place in the antiquated setting. A spark ignited in Stephen’s eyes, cutting through the fog of worry that had consumed him.
‘Do we have confirmation it’s them?’
‘No confirmation yet. But the intel is solid. We’re preparing to move in.’ Buckley’s words were no-nonsense, each syllable a step towards action. ‘Awaiting for your Go- Ahead, Prime Minister.’ The room thrummed with potential energy, a silent countdown to a decisive moment. Stephen’s wordless approval echoing in the room like a gavel strike. ‘We’ll be able to monitor the raid from here, Prime Minister.’ A blur of activity overtook the room. Screens flickered to life, bodycam feeds pooling light into the semi-darkness, revealing the AFP’s Tactical Response Team gearing up outside the potential safe house. Their grim determination stark against the unassuming suburban background, they were a hive of calculated movements and quiet murmurs. ‘Alpha Team. You have a Go to proceed. I repeat. A Go to proceed.’
‘Copy that. Alpha Team moving in on target location,’ the crackled voice of the team leader echoed over the Commissioner’s hand-held radio. Each beat of Stephen’s heart seemed to coincide with the officers’ progression. The pounding in his chest echoed the forced entry, the breach of the front door reverberating through the bodycam footage. His breath hitched as they stormed the property, his gaze locked onto the screen, his mind projecting himself into the tumult. He watched with anticipation as he saw the officers checking each room. ‘Alpha Team, status report.’ Stephen watched the Commissioner as he commanded his men like chess pieces.
‘First two rooms clear.’ The search continued. Both Stephen and Shaun kept their eye on the screen. It was a gruelling couple of minutes before the next response came through. ‘Hostage not found. It’s clear, no hostiles in sight.’ The finality of those words hung heavy in the room, their echo a bitter accompaniment to the stark emptiness of the safe house.
‘Copy that. Alpha Team, secure the property. Conduct a thorough sweep of the area, look for any clues that may help us.’
‘Affirm.’ The bodycam footage disconnected. Stephen’s fingers curled into fists, the edges of the photographs crumpling under the strain.
‘I was hoping we’d get him,’ said Stephen. He grabbed his blazer from the back of his chair and slipped it on.
‘We will continue the search, Prime Minister.’ The clock ticked on, the hour hand nudging towards their next commitment. Alyssa stepped forward.
‘Prime Minister, it’s time to depart for the ceremony.’
‘Keep me updated, Shaun,’ said the Prime Minister, his voice a low growl, his eyes holding a promise of relentless pursuit. At that, the Prime Minister made for the door, his chief-of-staff following close behind.
****
Merindah Bradley stared out of the car window, her thoughts as turbulent as the political landscape she now presided over. She was the first Indigenous President of Australia, a historic moment in the nation’s history. But today, her mind was consumed by the most primal of concerns: the safety of her son, Jarrah. In the back seat of the car, Joe sat hunched over his phone, fingers tapping with anxious urgency. The State car’s interior was steeped in a tense silence, broken only by the hum of the engine. ‘Any updates, brother?’ Merin’s voice was soft, laden with worry. Joe looked up, his expression a mix of concern and determination.
‘Not yet, sis. But the AFP is working round the clock on this. We’ll find him.’ Merin couldn’t help but clench her fists, her knuckles turning white. The images of Jarrah, her beloved boy, flashed before her eyes. A child caught in the crosshairs of political strife.
‘I can’t believe this is happening, Joe. My own son, kidnapped.’ Joe reached over and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
‘We’ll get him back, Merin. You have my word.’ The car continued its steady course towards Commonwealth Park, where Merin was scheduled to give a speech later that day. The park’s serene landscape, with its manicured lawns and peaceful lake, felt a world away from the chaos that had engulfed their lives.
Merin’s gaze remained fixed on the passing scenery, but her thoughts drifted back to the chilling phone call she had received that morning. A distorted voice on the other end, making ruthless demands: resign the presidency, or they would kill Jarrah. The weight of the presidency had never felt heavier, its responsibilities more crushing. Joe, sensing his sister’s turmoil, spoke softly, his voice a balm to her frayed nerves.
‘Do you remember why you took this job in the first place. You’re making history. You’re an inspiration to countless Indigenous Australians and to all Australians. You’ve brought a voice to the voiceless, sis…’ Merin sighed, her eyes never leaving the window.
‘I know, Joe. I wanted to make a difference, to break barriers. But at what cost?’ Her reference to ‘what cost’ couldn’t have been more apt. Her decision to accept the presidency had caused a rift within her family, especially with her husband, John. Their last argument still echoed in her ears. Joe leaned closer, his tone gentle but resolute.
****
Thousands of Aussies flooded Commonwealth Park. Many had arrived early to set up their barbeques and seating to enjoy a momentous Australia Day. The distinct smell of cooking beef sausages mixed with a hint of sizzling brown onions, and the light tang of Tomato sauce wafted in the air. Kids with painted faces ran around holding the new Aussie flag.
Local Indigenous Australians conducted a corroboree, the traditional ceremonial meeting, where people interact with the Dreamtime through music, costume, and dance. Dignitaries gathered and news cameras captured the important moments. Another group of children waved their Aussie flags in the air. A band began to play in the background, playing popular Aussie songs such as, Waltzing Matilda, or Home Among the Gum Trees. Part of the ceremony, a squad of F/A 18 Hornets from the Australian Air Force, conducted a low fly over. Each streaming green and gold colours from their tanks.
The moment arrived.
A sleek, white Holden Caprice WM, with government number plates, turned a corner and slowed to a stop at the car park. Merindah Bradley, the President of Australia, climbed out. Everyone cheered and whistled as they saw her. She smiled warmly and waved at everyone in attendance. She walked over to the large group of people and shook hands with children and other attendees.
The President’s security detail didn’t approve of the close contact, but she knew the importance of connecting with citizens. She even took selfies with some of the crowd, which would likely appear on their social media accounts later. Merin extracted herself from the well-wishes and made her way to the staging area.
****
Arthur Williams pulled his car into the main car park at Commonwealth Park and scanned the crowd. He spotted the President near the staging area, surrounded by a throng of cheering supporters. Arthur reached for the glove box and retrieved his Glock 19 pistol. He knew he couldn’t let the President go through with the speech. ‘I can’t wait to put a bullet in that bloody Abo cunt!’ He took a deep breath and loaded the Glock, feeling its reassuring weight in his hand.
He saw the President smiling and shaking hands with supporters. He stepped out of the car and made his way through the sea of supporters, keeping the Glock hidden from view. As he approached the staging area, Arthur’s nerves intensified, his heart pounding with every step. He knew any wrong move could mean disaster. But he also knew he had a duty to protect his country, even if it meant taking drastic measures. With grim determination, he kept his eyes fixed on the President, his finger hovering over the trigger. Despite the cheering around him, no one noticed Arthur as he closed in on his target.
****
Merin’s heart pounded hard in her chest. The staging area had been configured for the inaugural ceremony and for the President to deliver her speech. Stephen Archer, the Thirty-First Prime Minister of Australia, wrapped up his speech and prepared to introduce the President. The Prime Minister wore his traditional Akubra. The new President stood by the steps leading to the podiums. She turned to face Joe, who stood next to her. How are you feeling, sis?’ he asked, struggling to speak over the cheering Aussies behind him.
‘Nervous. Have you heard anything more from the AFP about Jarrah?’
‘Not yet. I’ve got my phone ready in case I get the call.’ She tried to focus on delivering a heart-felt speech, but all she could think about was her son. The fact that someone threatened to kill him, to force her to resign, sickened her to the core.
She hated knowing that John wasn’t here to celebrate this momentous occasion, but she understood his reasoning. ‘I’m proud of you, sis,’ said Joe. Merin blushed as her younger brother pecked her on the cheek. President Merindah Bradley turned as she heard the Prime Minister making the announcement.
‘...ladies and gentlemen, it is with great pleasure, as Prime Minister of Australia, to formally welcome Australia’s first head of state, Merindah Bradley.’ She smiled at Joe and stepped up onto the stage. She approached the Prime Minister. The two leaders exchanged a brief embrace, and the new President shook hands with other politicians on stage. Merin readied herself to commence a speech for the ages. Standing at the podium afforded an impressive view of the smiling faces.
‘Fellow Australians…thank you all for such a heart-warming welcome,’ the President said. ‘As a proud Arrernte Aboriginal woman, I cannot begin to express how honoured and privileged I am to be here on such a momentous occasion in Australia’s history.’ Being an Indigenous Australian, she was proud of the Australian people who showed such overwhelming support towards her. ‘Today, Australia has embarked on a new chapter and become a republic, severing its ties to the United Kingdom, and the Commonwealth of Nations...we are our own country, and I am proud to have been chosen to represent you, the people, and Australia as its president and head of state…’ Merin paused for a moment to collect herself and absorb the raucous clapping as it swept across the vast crowd.
***
Mick scanned the left side and spotted a man dressed in a policeman’s uniform, drawing a handgun. The officer cocked it and took aim at the President. ‘Oi!’ The gunman shouted above the din of the crowd and the magnified voice of the President. Time slowed as the President stopped talking and turned her attention to the source of the yell. ‘You, black bitch!’ Merin’s eyes widened at the sight of the gun pointed right at her. Mick’s instincts kicked in and dove for the President.
‘Gun!’ Darrin shouted. ‘Gun!’ A gunshot rang across the crowd. It was loud and piercing, but all Merin heard was the muffled sound of people screaming. Everyone in the crowd screamed and charged in all directions. The bullet grazed Merin’s left shoulder and she collapsed to the ground. Blood oozed from the wound and dripped onto the ground. Mick used his body to shield the President from additional shots. As more security arrived, the crowd dissipated with some having the composure to head for marked exits.
AFP security rushed to the President and took defensive positions in key locations around the platform. Additional security also arrived to rush the President to safety. Amidst the chaos, police officers tackled Arthur Williams, dropping him to the ground.
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