Duplicity, p.16
Duplicity, page 16
‘Yes, I’m very lucky,’ laughed Barton. ‘I suspect she is trying to impress you though, softening you up a little – she has questions.’
‘Oh, has she?’ Hamilton cheekily said. ‘What about?’
‘The Mercantile group,’ Barton responded.
‘The Mercs?’ laughed Hamilton. ‘We called ourselves that silly name and some of us even drove a Mercedes Benz. Young and stupid we were.’
‘You were a member of the Mercantiles?’
‘Yes, for around twenty years, maybe thirty,’ Hamilton said. ‘I forget these days. I was invited in and then years later they kicked me out.’
‘Why did you get kicked out?’ asked Barton, surprised by the admission.
‘My tax receipts fell below their acceptable benchmarks for membership so I was politely asked to leave.’
‘Did your tax receipts ever go back up?’ Barton asked, a little puzzled.
‘Yes, but once you’re rejected from the Mercs, you never get a second chance.’
‘How many were in the group?’ Anita asked, stirring the tea for Hamilton before passing it over to him.
‘Twelve, only ever twelve,’ said Hamilton, nibbling at a slice of fruit cake. ‘Sometimes they’re active and highly influential on government policy and at other times they’re unobtrusive. When I was with the group, they were fairly quiet on government policy but still actively supporting various politicians. Their idea is to identify a potential minister and connect with them early in their career so when they are promoted, the Mercs have an easier route of influence.’
‘How come they haven’t come to see me?’
‘Maybe they don’t see you as influential,’ Hamilton tenderly smiled. ‘Although, I would have thought you could expect to hear from them very soon given your recent promotion to deputy leader. We would get government ministers in and have a chat about issues important to us, but we never exceeded our welcome. That all changed when Gerrard became prime minister, but I was long gone by then.
‘How did you get invited to join?’ Anita asked.
‘Well, as I said, it had to do with tax receipts. They wanted the collective of the Mercantiles to be paying around twenty-five per cent of government revenue, which you could imagine is a huge contribution from such a small group.’
‘Tax on profit?’ asked Barton, surprised.
‘No, it was total tax, which also included employee taxes and other levies such as sales tax – and now the GST – we were required to pay or collect,’ replied Hamilton. ‘We had influence because we were the twelve highest tax-paying private family companies. Politicians tend to listen to folks with a cheque book.’
‘And did you influence any policy?’ asked Anita.
‘Oh yes, we achieved great things for this country. Mind you, we wouldn’t have done it unless it favoured us – why else would you want to influence government policy?’
‘How long has this group been operating?’ asked a perplexed Barton, slightly shaking his head.
‘Not sure, I think around mid-eighteen hundred,’ said Hamilton. ‘Its membership doesn’t change much, and you’re only invited in if there is a vacancy. I came in with Kerry Jameson, although technically he wasn’t invited, he was just replacing his father. He must have been around twenty-five then.’
‘What industry were you in?’
‘Recycling and paper. They try to have one representative from each industry sector, but as I said, it depended on how much tax you paid.’
‘So why did you get kicked out?’ asked Anita.
‘The market collapsed and we needed to retool. Our revenues were hit hard and expenses went through the roof. After three years of poor returns, they let me go.’
Anita stretched for the last curried-egg sandwich. ‘Do you think they still have an impact on policy?’
‘They run the joint.’
Barton snorted, cynically. ‘They don’t run the country.’
‘I keep telling you to open your eyes and see what’s around you,’ Hamilton said, giving a half smile. ‘Most folks think the government runs the place, but that’s not my experience. Most of the innovative things they do can be linked to the Mercs, especially economic and trade policy.’
‘That’s rubbish,’ Barton rejected the claim, crossing his legs and arms.
‘Trade policy?’ Anita was surprised.
‘Oh yes, the group is affiliated in other countries and they have a strong interest internationally. For instance, you don’t think Trump’s idea to erect a wall with Mexico was his idea, do you?’
Barton asked. ‘Why would the Mercantiles want a wall?’
‘It’s not the wall, it was the symbolism.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Anita. ‘I thought it was to control their southern border.’
‘The Mercs want a better deal for all private companies, not just theirs,’ Hamilton sipped his freshly poured tea. ‘What they got with Trump was a presidential focus on the American economy for the first time in decades, probably since Reagan, actually. They needed him to win but giving a tax cut to the wealthy wasn’t going to get him the support of the working class. So Trump starts talking about immigration and suddenly mentions a wall – changes the entire election campaign. The rest is history.’
‘His policies killed foreign investment over the years,’ Barton replied. ‘So they lose.’
‘How have the Mercantiles faired?’ chuckled Hamilton. ‘Not only the affiliate in the States, which I think is called the Union, but also their members here?’
‘Well, if I knew who they were, I could tell you,’ Anita said.
‘Let me tell you this. Most of the Australian members have assets here, but all of them trade with foreign countries,’ claimed Hamilton. ‘It’s in their interests to have governments working for them favorably in other countries.’
‘So they influence elections?’ asked Anita, somewhat bewildered by what she was hearing.
‘I thought you were smart?’ smiled Hamilton. ‘Of course, they do. Not only here, but internationally. They are into everything, let me assure you.’
‘So, you think they’re influencing this election?’ asked Anita, captivated by the disclosures.
‘Of course they are. Ask yourself this – which party will give them what they want? Gerrard has in the past, but I’d wager they’re shifting to Barton’s mob because Gerrard has got too arrogant and probably tells them to get fucked. Excuse me.’ Hamilton brought his hand to his mouth, then glanced at Barton. ‘Take it from me, Bart, they’re already running your campaign.’
‘Yeah, but according to you we’re losing, so they can’t be too much of an influence.’
‘Do you know the name, Sinclair-Brown?’ Anita asked as Barton shifted slightly in his chair.
‘No, I don’t. Why?’
‘He is a new campaign operative for the opposition, using techniques Harding used in a recent election in the US,’ Anita responded.
‘Well, if that’s the case, then by all accounts he needs to work a lot harder in this campaign,’ laughed Hamilton. ‘Who’s funding him?’
‘We don’t know,’ said Anita.
‘A printing company from western Sydney,’ offered Barton.
‘A company no doubt owned by a Merc,’ smiled Hamilton. ‘Check it out, I’m sure you’ll find a link to either Jameson, Buckley or Connell.’
Anita wished she had brought her notebook to scribble notes and worked over the information silently as Barton and Hamilton talked further about the campaign. Her suspicions about the loose pieces of information had come together: Sinclair-Brown was probably a Mercantile operative.
‘Can I ask just one last question?’ Anita had waited for a break in the conversation.
‘Just one?’ joked Hamilton. ‘No, ask as many as you want.’
‘Is Tony Hancock a member of the Mercantiles?’
Hamilton guffawed, ‘Is the Pope a catholic?’ He coughed from his laughter. ‘Well, let me qualify that. His grandfather was the chairman when I first came in, then his son was invited when the old man died. I assume since he is now dead Tony would have taken over, but don’t quote me. In fact, if you don’t mind, never quote me. I haven’t got many years left and I don’t want to threaten whatever time I have.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked a perplexed Barton.
‘They have been known to take the law into their own hands in the past, if you know what I mean.’ Hamilton softly said, tapping the end of his nose with a finger.
The mood dampened abruptly as the three looked at each other wondering how to respond. Nothing needed to be said, but Anita doubted the businessmen were as vindictive as Hamilton was suggesting. Surely they wouldn’t influence their power position by initiating violent political outcomes, not in Australia? She was confused with the news about Hancock yet seeing him with the Hyphen now made sense – and could explain why her columns weren’t being published.
When she returned to her hotel, Anita tapped all the information she could remember from the conversation with Hamilton into her files. Barton was just as confused and insisted he didn’t know them as a collective but guessed he must have listened to them as individual business owners and they may have been to various fundraising events.
Anita accepted she had more research to do on the Mercantiles. If she could link Sinclair-Brown to the group, it could feasibly uncover another political exposé and lead to a possible journalist award – not that she considered awards important. She smiled at the thought. Of course she did.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
DAY NINETEEN – MONDAY
Meredith Bruce, the elegant government Education Minister and – if things went to plan after the election – the next deputy prime minister, slowly stalked the foyer waiting to meet with Kerry Jameson. She hadn’t made an appointment and hoped an audience would be granted spontaneously, although it had been a while since the receptionist had left her. She ignored the Whiteley again as she circled the room.
‘Minister, Mr Jameson will see you now.’ The tall woman had returned and was holding the door for her to enter. Bruce walked through to be greeted by Jameson, standing shakily by a leather lounge setting.
‘Meredith, what a surprise. So nice to see you again.’ Jameson ushered her to a lounge chair. She sank into the soft leather while he struggled to sit in a rigid wooden chair opposite. ‘I didn’t think I would see you again after last week’s meeting with your boss. How can I help you?’
‘Mr Jameson, I have a proposition for you.’
Jameson didn’t answer, instead considering her for some time. Bruce shifted in her chair as if she might have said something wrong. ‘I’m intrigued,’ he smiled thinly. ‘I’m always interested in political propositions. Please, go ahead.’
‘I want you to get the outcome you want, as we discussed last week,’ said Bruce, looking straight into his eyes. ‘And in return, I want you to give me what I want.’
‘Still intrigued, what is it you think I want?’
‘You want influence, and you want a responsive government,’ Bruce replied. ‘You also want to get a number of your projects up, and you’re concerned the prime minister will not support you.’
‘Go on.’ Jameson relaxed back into his chair, crossing his legs, his lean arms draped along the wooden chair arms, his hands drooped at the wrist, one bouncing his cane.
‘I can give you both.’
‘How would you manage to do that young lady when Gerrard has already clearly indicated he does not share our views?’
‘We win government.’ Bruce smiled as if about to tell a secret. ‘There are two possible options – one is that Gerrard is no longer prime minister.’
Jameson didn’t respond immediately, tapping the silver knob handle of his cane against his chair as he looked at Bruce. ‘This is an interesting idea, but your party colleagues will endorse him as prime minister after the election, will they not?’
‘They can’t elect him leader if he is no longer a member of parliament.’ Bruce was almost smug with her reply, crossing her legs and relaxing a little.
Jameson slowly got up and hobbled as if in pain to the window. He looked out onto the city as Bruce waited patiently for his response. ‘So how does this very unlikely plan get me what I want?’ he finally said, eyes fixed firmly out of the window.
‘That’s the second option, and it doesn’t need the first option to succeed. With your influence, I stand as deputy leader. I win the ballot and you get your confidante back into the leadership group.’
‘This sounds very enticing Meredith, but it is only the dream of a political lightweight,’ Jameson turned to look at Bruce. ‘You offer me nothing I don’t already have. You have no influence, you have no political aggression, and in the past, you just say and do what you’re told. You talk a big game, but you are not in the big league.’
Bruce was slightly unsettled by the analysis. ‘That’s a little unfair, I’ve achieved a lot since coming into the ministry.’
‘No, you haven’t. There are others more qualified than you. You are only there because you’re a favourite of the prime minister, a pet if you like. Let’s not overstate your worth.’
Taken aback by Jameson’s comments, Bruce retorted. ‘That’s a little sexist, don’t you think?’
‘I think not, we know all about you.’
Bruce was unsettled and pulled herself forward in the chair. ‘Why do you think we are having a general election right now?’
‘The parliament was prorogued, something to do with the speaker not allowing questions. The prime minister didn’t act fast enough to stop the clerk from shutting the parliament down.’
‘Why was that, do you think?’
‘Gerrard was full of himself as usual and missed what was going on.’
‘I’m the manager of government business, you’d think I should have known what the clerk was doing.’ Bruce gazed at Jameson, who felt a little uncomfortable and pushed off the windowsill.
‘And did you?’
‘Yes.’
‘You knew the parliament would be sent to an election?’ Jameson resisted the idea, thinking it couldn’t be that simple. ‘So why didn’t you stop it or inform Gerrard?’
‘It’s in my best interests to have an election right now.’
‘Interesting.’ Jameson turned and shuffled back to his chair. ‘So you consider your ambitions will be enhanced by an election?’
‘We win and then all positions in the government are up for negotiation. But if Gerrard is elected as prime minister then it’s the same misogynistic rubbish it has been for years. More importantly, your grip on government influence is lessened even further.’
‘You knowingly sent the government to a general election? I find that hard to believe.’
‘Let’s just say I facilitated it.’ Bruce waited for a response but received none other than a withering stare from the old man. ‘So, you see, perhaps the opinion you have of me is a little skewed by the veneer of my long legs and pretty frock.’
Jameson gently rubbed the silver knob of his cane against his cheek. ‘Gerrard has let you down, hasn’t he?’ he eventually said. ‘After fucking you senseless for a few months, and you getting nothing from him, you’ve decided he’s not going to satisfy your ambitions and give you what you want so now you seek your retribution, is that it?’
‘This has nothing to do with Gerrard’s alleged relationship with me.’
‘Bullshit lady!’ barked Jameson provoking a cough. He then took a few moments to calm his breathing and softly added. ‘If we are to be friends, Meredith, you must always speak the truth.’
Bruce flicked her eyes about and considered a response. ‘Okay, if we are to be open and honest – we may have had a relationship, but that is now over. Yes, he may have promised me a promotion and now he says nothing about my future,’ Bruce seethed through gritted teeth. ‘I can’t trust the bastard and it seems neither can you – so let’s get rid of him. We’re a good government, so let’s win the election and get rid of him at the same time.’
‘How would we do that?’
‘Defeat him in his seat,’ Bruce said. ‘We politicians must win a seat to retain our position in the parliament, after all. If Gerrard loses, you have nothing more to worry about.’
‘He has a large majority in his electorate. This is a silly idea. I would have expected better from you.’
‘He has won elections in the past because no-one of consequence stands against him. Curiously though, the informal vote is around twenty per cent, almost three times as much as any other seat.’
Jameson narrowed his eyes. ‘What does that tell you?’
‘People would rather vote for an empty chair than vote for Gerrard.’
The old man smiled at Bruce’s analogy. ‘So you think he can be beaten in Melbourne?’
‘If there is a credible independent candidate against him, then yes. I think we can mount a good campaign and he can lose. If the independent can get second on the primaries and Gerrard’s vote is taken to preferences, then he most certainly could lose.’
‘I like your optimism, Meredith.’ Jameson smiled. ‘So how can you help me?’
‘With Gerrard out of the way, I stand for deputy leader and be your eyes and ears in government,’ Bruce responded. ‘You must recognise if Stanley gets elected it’ll be bad for the economy. We would be at another election sooner rather than later.’
‘It may be time to give the opposition an opportunity,’ Jameson suggested.
‘You have to admit, it’s only time for Stanley’s mob if the prospect of Gerrard as prime minister is real.’ Bruce pulled herself further forward in her chair. ‘I need your help to get rid of him and I know you have the resources to make it happen.’
‘I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.’
‘You know and I know the influence you wield. If you make it happen, the country will be a better place, you must know that.’
‘It’s an idea worthy of further consideration, I grant you that, but I’m unsure if I can do anything. Let me think about it and I’ll call you in a few days.’
‘Mr Jameson, I can promise you this—’ Bruce stood, making ready to go. ‘I will do whatever it takes to ensure Gerrard is not elected.’
