The Beijing conspiracy

CHAPTER 64

D eputy Harbour Master Murray Black drove along Hickson Road in the pre-dawn darkness, past the stone convict buildings and on towards Dock No. 5 and the main entrance to the container docks that lined the west side of the central business district of Sydney. The headlights of Murray’s battered Saab probed through the rain that was falling in silvery sheets. It was going to be one of those foul weather days that made control of the busy harbour even more difficult, but not even the rain or the 45-knot westerly that was blowing could diminish Murray’s good spirits. Today marked his tenth year as a deputy harbour master. After a stint in the Australian military Murray had finally agreed with his wife that a young family shouldn’t be pushed from pillar to post, and he’d joined the Sydney Ports Authority. It had been a wrench to leave the Army but his experience as an operations officer had been a good match for Sydney Ports, who needed men and women trained to be calm in a crisis and make instant, common sense decisions.

The entrances to Sydney Harbour and the nearby Port Botany were strictly controlled to the extent that ships’ masters often complained about excessive red tape, but Murray knew that it was one of the safest maritime environments in the world and he intended to do everything he could to keep it that way. Fit, wiry and not overly tall, Murray Black had a rugged face and light blue eyes. His blond hair was kept short in a regulation military haircut; some habits died hard.

Today was his daughter Louise’s eighth birthday. As Murray approached the security gates and the guardhouse that marked the entrance to the container dock and the port control tower he smiled to himself, recalling his daughter’s pleas the night before as he was watching television after the family had been out late-night shopping.

‘Can we go to Luna Park for my birthday, Daddy? Please, please, pleeeeease. Can we?’

‘We’ll see, little one. Daddy has to work tomorrow so we wouldn’t get there until after lunch.’

Louise crawled onto his lap, put her arms around his neck, rested her blonde head on his shoulder and whispered, ‘I love you Daddy, can we go please?’

Murray glanced out towards the kitchen where his wife Anthea was preparing dinner. Anthea rolled her eyes and raised her eyebrows, as if to say ‘Daddy’s girl has you wrapped around her little finger. How are you going to get out of this one?’

‘ Please, Daddy, please, pleeeeease?’

‘Okay. If that’s where you want to go, little one, that’s where we’ll go. Mummy can bring you and the boys in on the train in the morning and I’ll meet you there after I finish my shift,’ Murray said, giving his daughter a kiss and again looking across to Anthea.

She shook her head and smiled warmly.

Murray pulled up behind a semi-trailer in the waiting bay in the middle of Hickson Road, the traffic sloshing past intermittently on either side. It had been over thirty years since he’d been to the fun park in the shadows of the northern pylons of the bridge. It was a toss-up as to who was more excited – Louise or the six-year-old twins, Jonathon and Matthew – and although Anthea wasn’t letting on, Murray knew that she was pleased too. It was about creating family memories. As they’d made love together that night, Anthea had whispered, ‘We’re so lucky, Murray. I love you.’

‘I love you, too,’ he’d replied.