the difficulties. That’s why we’re more than happy to contribute to your campaign.’ She knew that voice. Nicholas Lawson. Heat washed through her cheeks.
She could hear the murmured response from the mayor, but the words were indistinguishable.
‘Absolutely, guaranteed,’ the first voice replied. ‘We look forward to working with you once the development’s underway.’
Pay-off from the developer. To be expected, of course. Money greased wheels the world over. She hesitated, wanting to hear more.
Footsteps echoed around the corner. She grasped her bag tighter and kept walking. Eavesdropping might be one of the original forms of espionage, but it was also one of the riskiest. Now was not the time to make such a basic mistake as to show her hand early.
The council chamber was empty and she resisted the urge to reminisce. Logistics was what she was interested in. The renovations had extended to this room. There were power points and cable connections in central points beneath the tables. She got down on her hands and knees to check what adaptors she needed and had to wiggle right under, cursing that she hadn’t thought to turn more lights on.
Just as she went to back out from under a table, she heard the main doors open with a swish, and lights blazed.
‘The chamber’s empty. We can talk here.’
‘Sure we wouldn’t be better off-site altogether?’ Lawson again with the Lord Mayor.
Ellie froze, her breath locked in her chest, her ribs tightening in shock. Shit , she said to herself. My bag . . . She could see the dark brown leather on a chair a couple of metres away.
‘No. I don’t want to be seen in public with you. Hard enough as it is.’ O’Sullivan waddled closer.
All she could see of the two men were shoes, O’Sullivan’s shiny, out-dated and about a size eight. Nicholas Lawson’s were elegant boots, expensive-looking, and at least size elevens. She could see he was leaning back against the table, in command.
‘So you’re sure that the shipment will be delivered next week?’ Lawson asked.
Ellie clamped her teeth tight, her breathing light and shallow. This was what a journalist lived for. The truth. It wasn’t altogether unexpected, but still it was shocking to hear it discussed in such a matter-of-fact manner. She could feel her blood pounding.
‘The ship’s coming past the Prom now.’
The Prom? Ellie racked her brain. Wilsons Promontory in Victoria?
‘So that’s four days’ steaming to here?’ Lawson again.
‘About that. They’ll adjust the time to suit, but the money needs to be transferred first.’
‘A ten per cent deposit, that’s as good as it gets. The rest is cash on delivery.’ The younger man’s voice had a hard edge to it. Ellie couldn’t quite pick the underlying sentiment but her anger was steadily rising. Nicholas Lawson was right at the heart of this. It proved that appearances don’t matter a damn.
‘We’ve always done it on good faith before. Legitimate electronic transfers for work done for the council. Easy to sweep under the counter, produce invoices.’ O’Sullivan was wheedling.
‘And the stakes have never been this high. We can arrange an escort on the trawler to take the remainder out to them in cash on the day.’
‘Jesus Christ, there’s that much paper money available?’ Ellie watched O’Sullivan’s feet do a little tap dance.
‘That’s the way to wash it, mate.’ Irony there , thought Ellie, as she tried to ease the cramp tugging at her left calf. Laundering, washing, smurfing . . . Turning illegal money into something else was a difficult business and in those circumstances cash was king. It’s why the Asian casinos did it so well. But a sleepy council on the east coast of Australia? It seemed far-fetched.
‘Yeah, right.’ O’Sullivan’s shoes did another side step. ‘I’ll have to get back to you. The boys have never had anyone on board. Tongues would wag if they took a freeloader on a fishing trip. And
She could hear the murmured response from the mayor, but the words were indistinguishable.
‘Absolutely, guaranteed,’ the first voice replied. ‘We look forward to working with you once the development’s underway.’
Pay-off from the developer. To be expected, of course. Money greased wheels the world over. She hesitated, wanting to hear more.
Footsteps echoed around the corner. She grasped her bag tighter and kept walking. Eavesdropping might be one of the original forms of espionage, but it was also one of the riskiest. Now was not the time to make such a basic mistake as to show her hand early.
The council chamber was empty and she resisted the urge to reminisce. Logistics was what she was interested in. The renovations had extended to this room. There were power points and cable connections in central points beneath the tables. She got down on her hands and knees to check what adaptors she needed and had to wiggle right under, cursing that she hadn’t thought to turn more lights on.
Just as she went to back out from under a table, she heard the main doors open with a swish, and lights blazed.
‘The chamber’s empty. We can talk here.’
‘Sure we wouldn’t be better off-site altogether?’ Lawson again with the Lord Mayor.
Ellie froze, her breath locked in her chest, her ribs tightening in shock. Shit , she said to herself. My bag . . . She could see the dark brown leather on a chair a couple of metres away.
‘No. I don’t want to be seen in public with you. Hard enough as it is.’ O’Sullivan waddled closer.
All she could see of the two men were shoes, O’Sullivan’s shiny, out-dated and about a size eight. Nicholas Lawson’s were elegant boots, expensive-looking, and at least size elevens. She could see he was leaning back against the table, in command.
‘So you’re sure that the shipment will be delivered next week?’ Lawson asked.
Ellie clamped her teeth tight, her breathing light and shallow. This was what a journalist lived for. The truth. It wasn’t altogether unexpected, but still it was shocking to hear it discussed in such a matter-of-fact manner. She could feel her blood pounding.
‘The ship’s coming past the Prom now.’
The Prom? Ellie racked her brain. Wilsons Promontory in Victoria?
‘So that’s four days’ steaming to here?’ Lawson again.
‘About that. They’ll adjust the time to suit, but the money needs to be transferred first.’
‘A ten per cent deposit, that’s as good as it gets. The rest is cash on delivery.’ The younger man’s voice had a hard edge to it. Ellie couldn’t quite pick the underlying sentiment but her anger was steadily rising. Nicholas Lawson was right at the heart of this. It proved that appearances don’t matter a damn.
‘We’ve always done it on good faith before. Legitimate electronic transfers for work done for the council. Easy to sweep under the counter, produce invoices.’ O’Sullivan was wheedling.
‘And the stakes have never been this high. We can arrange an escort on the trawler to take the remainder out to them in cash on the day.’
‘Jesus Christ, there’s that much paper money available?’ Ellie watched O’Sullivan’s feet do a little tap dance.
‘That’s the way to wash it, mate.’ Irony there , thought Ellie, as she tried to ease the cramp tugging at her left calf. Laundering, washing, smurfing . . . Turning illegal money into something else was a difficult business and in those circumstances cash was king. It’s why the Asian casinos did it so well. But a sleepy council on the east coast of Australia? It seemed far-fetched.
‘Yeah, right.’ O’Sullivan’s shoes did another side step. ‘I’ll have to get back to you. The boys have never had anyone on board. Tongues would wag if they took a freeloader on a fishing trip. And
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