Direct Action. J D Svenson
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I can just plant evidence or something. Or have someone else do it. Mind you I would have thought that was their department on a Commonwealth crime. Anyway. What’s up?’
‘It’s fantastic though, isn’t it! You must be so excited now that this has happened.’
‘Sorry, what?’
‘Well – I mean, come on, you were telling me about how the fossil fuel mob is such a pain in the arse, always wanting something from you. Now’s your chance!’
‘Um …’
‘Well three of their power plants have been blown up, right? So …’
‘So?’
‘Renewable energy!’
‘Sorry – what?’
‘Oh my darlin’ – finally, you guys can actually lead the world! The technology’s ready, you know it is! You guys have the most amazing solar access on the planet! You could start now – wall to wall solar plants. Oh Robert – I’m going to be so proud of you!’
Robert closed his eyes and exhaled. He loved Colin dearly, but his lover really did know how to get caught up in things.
‘Colin …’
‘Yes? What?’ he said, with an expectant pause.
‘It’s not … it’s not like that. It can’t be.’
‘What? Why not?’ Now there was an edge to his voice. Robert leant back against the wall, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. Their views on politics – or the way the world is, as Colin preferred to describe it – were wildly divergent and they had come to unspoken agreement years ago to discuss it as little as possible.
‘Because …’ He didn’t even know where to start. He remembered the image of the four of them sitting out there on the phone to the Federal Ministers, Michaela in her crisp blue suit, and nearly laughed. Solar power. They’d laugh in his face.
‘Because what?’
‘Because it’s never going to happen, that’s why!’
There was a silence, and it was almost as if Colin was there in the room with him, glaring at him.
‘Not without leadership from people in power, no.’
In power, Robert thought. In power.
‘If you’ll excuse the pun, Colin,’ he said, keeping his voice gentle, ‘there’s nothing “in power” about me. And any mention of renewables right now is going to blow up any chance I have of any, just as much as those loonies did. I’m sorry. I can’t.’ For a moment all he could hear was the sound of his own breathing against the receiver, and the sound of muffled voices outside in the kitchen. ‘Colin? Are you still there?’
‘Yeah,’ he said.
‘I’m really sorry. Look, can we talk about something else now? How’s the food there?’
‘The food?’
‘Yeah. Are they ordering in pizza for you? Any alcohol?’
‘Oh. No. No, they’re not. Wow, Robert, I’m sorry. Look, I have to go. They’re … well actually, it’s just that, you know, I was so excited about talking to you about this and now … well now I just feel like shite. Sorry. Not your fault. We’ll talk later, okay?’
Robert sighed.
‘Okay, darling. Look, I’m sorry, okay? Being Premier is really fuckin’ hard sometimes.’
‘Yeah sure, I understand,’ said Colin. He wouldn’t, though. None of them did. ‘I guess that’s why they got you to do it.’
10
On Monday morning Brian Prendergast’s ground floor looked to Cressida more like a hipster open-plan cafe than the back entrance to a Woollahra town house. Gigantic hardwood doors opened onto a blue-tiled plunge pool, itself ringed by wooden benches that backed onto a commercial kitchen and bar where, it was rumoured, cocktails had once been mixed for Emilio Dolce. In her opinion the head Partner of Mergers and Acquisitions was more Maldives than Byron Bay, but a hippie streak in corporate design was big at the moment and God knew he could afford to get an interior designer in every two years to tell him that. The most glamorous thing Cressida had actually been there for before were client cocktail parties where male reps made a fool of themselves in the pool and female solicitors tried to avoid getting thrown in with them; it was somewhat of a relief to be there in the daytime.
When it became clear that the blackout would not be sorted by the following week, the place had become a satellite office of Hannes Swartling M&A. When Cressida arrived at 7am, via her flat for something to wear, bacon and eggs brought by Tesla steamed in a row of bain maries on the breakfast bar, next to three types of cereal, a large bowl of yoghurt, and the glossy moons of several poached fruits. Outside the pool was one long, inviting slice of blue water reflecting back the sky. Misting pedestal fans circulated cool air across the room and black thickets of phone and laptop cords feasted like leeches on power boards against the wall. But aside from a waiter setting out cutlery, the place was empty.
From behind a sliding door at the back of the room came the sound of splashing water. Adjacent was a stack of bathsheets on a chair, next to a pile of bound documents. Oh, a shower. And a blowdry! Yes please. She snagged one of the towels and selected a licorice tea bag from the rosewood box on the counter while she waited, thinking back to the emergency centre they had visited the previous day; the hordes of overexcited children, feet bopping on the waxed gymnasium floors as they ran circuits of the basketball court, through the rows of camp beds and piled belongings, their dishevelled parents queuing for hot water and nappies. If only the perpetrators had given some warning, she thought, filling the cup and setting it down on a platform between two benches. But then, that probably wasn’t the point, was it.
There was one spot left on one of the overborne power boards and she plugged her laptop into it, flooded with a renewed sense of ease when it winked into life. Stage one of reconnection to the world, she thought, sipping her tea. Her plan was first to do some background reading on InterConnex, then start getting the legal team together and make contact with the project managers in each state to get in the loop on the stakeholder meetings. There were concept plans and options to review, geotech reports and environmental assessments to read, approval application documents to prepare, all towards the finalisation of the T & C document in time for the launch in May. If it was anything like the other State motorways, she thought, watching the light dance on the pool, the tendering alone would be a nightmare. One day, she reflected with an odd detachment as the printer doled out the finance documents Richard had emailed her, she and Felipe would be able to afford a place like this. He was already on four hundred k, and once she was a Partner, her income would be almost the same. It was a vertiginous feeling, to have everything she had worked for be so close. It was hers, hers. As long as nothing went wrong.
The water stopped and the door to the ensuite opened. Richard emerged with a towel around his waist. As he reached into the gym bag on the carpet he noticed Cressida.
‘Oh Cress, hi,’ he said. ‘Nice to see you. Brought you some light reading.’ He pointed at the foot-high pile of bound documents on a chair. ‘Road documents,’ he said with a grin. ‘Have you seen Michael yet? He really wanted to see you.’
‘Um, no?’ she said, glancing at the pile. ‘Is he around?’
‘Upstairs,’ said Richard, giving a can of aerosol deodorant a vigorous shake. ‘I’d take a coffee. He looked serious.’
‘Right …’ Cressida said. A meeting, upstairs, instead of down here where the business happened? Odd. ‘Thanks.’ It must be something to do with the partnership vote, she decided as she climbed the stairs with her tea. Telling her about when it was rescheduled for. Nothing worse than that, no doubt. Hopefully whatever it was would be quick