Smoking Gun (Adam Cartwright Trilogy Book 1) (19 page)

The thought that anyone could have believed that a single drainage pipe could have handled this amount of water was ludicrous. Not for the first time I wondered why Tom Barton had been so firm in his denial of the need for this cutting. Even though it looked like we had avoided a catastrophe, it had only been achieved by a superhuman effort by everyone involved. At considerable discomfort, and risk of personal injury to many, the threat had been averted.

I would certainly bring those facts to Barton’s attention when next we met.

***

Later when we were all congregated in the dining room. It seemed appropriate to say a few words to help focus everyone’s thoughts on what had been achieved, and to boost confidence that even though the storm continued we would prevail. I spoke briefly about what Jack Gilmore, the miners and the volunteer scavengers had achieved. I also mentioned Derek Crowther and his men and how they had bought Jack the necessary time to complete the cutting.

There were no high fives or cries of exultation. The storm raging outside was a constant reminder that we could still encounter problems. We needed to remain alert, cyclone Abby might not be finished with us yet.

***

It was around ten o’clock on Tuesday morning when the helicopter landed on the marked helicopter pad near the administration building. Moments later Ewan Ryan alighted, quickly followed by Tom Barton and a couple of design engineers. It was just two days after the storm and we were just getting back into our regular workday rhythm. Tourists coming to visit the site were a diversion from work that needed to be done and were not particularly welcome.

In addition everyone was busy trying to ensure that nothing stood in the way of the upcoming Christmas break. I had plans to fly down to Sydney in two days time on Christmas Eve and be away for ten days. I was to be Brian’s best man at his wedding in Wellington, in country New South Wales, on December 29
th
. I was determined that nothing was going to stop me.

Everyone on the project site had been hunkered down riding out the storm all of Sunday after the cutting had been completed. It had been Monday morning before we could venture out and check the site. Even then there were intermittent showers but the wind had dropped markedly. By Monday afternoon the weather was quite mild and the clean-up began in earnest. There was remarkably little damage sustained. Derek Crowther’s vehicle was discovered upside down in the four metre deep pond, but mine was safe and sound, parked in the lee of the processing plant.

The stormwater runoff flowing through the cutting had not abated. It was still running around two metres deep all day Monday and up till now on Tuesday. The wide flat valley upstream of the mine site was a network of temporary streams carrying the runoff from the rain that had continued to fall in the upper reaches of the catchment until late Monday morning.

Ewan Ryan’s arrival on Tuesday morning was not an issue but I didn’t really see that it served any constructive purpose if he was just visiting to have a look around. He already knew the status of the project. We had talked on the telephone and he had been watching events as they unfolded on Sunday, when visibility through the storm had permitted. He was already aware that the site had been saved from a catastrophe by the cutting, and the remarkable efforts of the workforce.

What did not sit well with me was the arrival of Ryan’s travelling companions. It was far too soon after the near disaster for me to deal politely with Tom Barton. The same went for the two engineers who had clearly demonstrated their incompetence and had courted disaster for the project.

I greeted Ewan Ryan cheerfully enough but deliberately snubbed his travelling companions as I said, “Mister Ryan. Welcome to the Red Rock Project site. Could we please have a few words in private before we show you around the site?”

He smiled and nodded in agreement before asking the others to wait while he talked to me in my office.

Once we were seated I got straight to the point. “You didn’t explain your objectives for this visit. I assume that you would like to be shown around the project site first. How long do you plan to be here? I was only expecting you. The others are a bit of a surprise.”

He looked at me in silence for a few moments before responding. I could see that he was wondering how to play this. He was smart enough to realise that I was a little miffed and wanted to get something off my chest. Would he just roll over me and ignore my point of view. Or would he take the time to listen to what I had to say. Eventually he settled on the latter. “Okay Adam. I had hoped that I could get you and Tom reconciled somehow. My initial thoughts were to have a quick visit and be back in Cairns in time for the evening flight back to Brisbane. How does that suit you?”

“Just a suggestion, I think it might be much better if you stayed here tonight and returned to Cairns early in the morning. You could still be back in Brisbane by lunchtime. Everyone is feeling a bit of a letdown after the big storm. You have a great opportunity to boost morale and demonstrate your appreciation to the workforce by showing a real interest in what they have achieved.”

After a short pause he replied, “Yes. I can do that. My overnight bag is in the helicopter. What about the others?”

“Since you ask, Tom Barton should get back on the helicopter and go home. A lot of people here know that he is responsible for the site drainage fiasco. He will not appreciate what will be said to him if he does a walk around on the site. Not just me but almost everyone will want to tell him what they think of him.”

Ryan watched me silently for a moment apparently taking a few moments to choose his words carefully. But he was wasting his time because there were no words available in the English language that could have communicated what he wanted to say without me being angered. “Tom Barton has told me that if the project had been flooded that it would not have been a financial setback for Gibson Construction. Even if the repairs cost several millions, and the completion date was not achieved, Gibson Construction was covered by insurance.”

I jumped to my feet and glared at Ewan Ryan. I was close to losing my temper. Stamping around the room fighting back an urge to kick something, I eventually got my emotions under control. Turning to look at Ryan I said as cool as I could manage. “Tom Barton is a damn fool. He is misleading you. There would have been no insurance payout. Gibsons would have faced a massive payout to Red Rock Mine Limited for damages. Gibson Construction would be held liable because they could not argue that the flood was beyond anyone’s ability to forecast. There is an accurate forecast of the flooding risks, and a remedy, in my proposal to excavate the cutting. The insurers would rely on that documentation to deny liability.”

Ryan gave a noncommittal shrug and changed the subject. “What about the two engineers? Tom thought that they might be of some help here.”

I replied in an exasperated tone. “Some help! Some hope! But they should stay for a couple of days. They need to spend time on the site talking to the guys here and listen to what the guys have to say. That way they may actually learn something and be of some use in the future.”

Ewan Ryan did not say anything further. He just stood up and left my office. I did not know what he intended to do until he told Tom Barton that he was to go straight back to Brisbane. Without bothering to listen to what Barton had to say he then instructed the two engineers to stay on for a few days. None of them looked at all happy but they all acquiesced without demur.

***

Ewan Ryan did stay until the following morning and his visit went well. He had been friendly and willing to speak to every member of the workforce and they all wanted to talk to him. Most of them had their chance to do so as he held court first in the dining room and later in the bar. He seemed to enjoy the experience and his last words before stepping into the helicopter the following morning was to thank me. He did not mention Tom Barton to me again during his visit. I think that he had realised that a reconciliation between us was not going to happen. At least not yet.

Tom Barton’s lack of acceptance of responsibility did not sit well with me. His attempt to argue that the flooding would not have serious financial consequences for Gibson Construction had been the last straw.

Barton’s rejection of my proposal to excavate a stormwater discharge channel could not be justified. I now realised that his decision had been the result of his antipathy towards me. My refusal to acknowledge his seniority had no doubt incensed him. But I should have recognised his insecurity and his desperation to ensure that I not receive credit for anything that might boost my status. It was a common tactic in the corporate world of dog eat dog where it seemed that most players had a self-advancement agenda. Perhaps if I had let him take the credit, and not confront him as I had, then the cutting might have got the okay and all the recent drama avoided.

Even so his tactic of rejecting the sound engineering argument for a stormwater channel, and hoping that no storms occurred before the project was commissioned and handed over, was irrational. And irresponsible.

Perhaps his irrationality was so extreme that he was somehow involved in the attempt on my life. But that thought was immediately rejected.

***

It was seven o’clock in the morning on Christmas Day when I woke up in the spare room in Brian’s apartment in North Sydney. It was getting late and I had to get moving. I had slept in, possibly due to the one hour time difference between New South Wales and Queensland during the summer months. I had caught the two twenty flight from Cairns the previous afternoon and had arrived in Sydney around five o’clock.

Things had gone well at the Red Rock construction site but I still hadn’t got away as early as I had hoped. I had missed seeing Brian and Kate, nor had I met Christine, as they had set off to drive to Wellington before I arrived.

I was expected at my parents’ place, my childhood home, in Wellington at one o’clock for the traditional Christmas Day family lunch. It was a five hour drive and I planned to be underway by eight. In the meantime I needed to pack with greater care than usual. I needed to take the suit and other gear for me to wear at the wedding. I also had to make sure that I did not leave the Christmas presents behind.

Brian had done a good job of making sure that my car was cleaned and serviced for me while I was away. I paid the bills but he arranged for whatever needed to be done. In exchange he received my thanks and the use of my car when he needed it. It was a ten year old Saab. Black and turbocharged it was both economical and fun to drive. It was the only car that I had driven with enough acceleration to thrust you against the back of the driver’s seat. I never cruised above the speed limit but I did make use of the Saab’s acceleration capability to overtake slower vehicles quickly and safely.

The traffic on the Hume Highway heading west was fairly light and I made good time, arriving at my childhood home, thirty minutes before my deadline. My two sisters and their families were already there. I had two older sisters, Sue and Helen, both married with two children and husbands that I got along very well with. They all lived in Wellington, less than ten minutes drive away.

As I pulled up in front of the house I was spotted and boisterously welcomed by my four nieces and nephews. Being their only uncle I usually got a lot of attention. Today was no different, within moments they had unburdened me of the presents and taken them off to be placed around the Christmas tree. It was a family tradition that the Christmas presents got opened as a group immediately after lunch.

Sue and Helen greeted me warmly at the front door and didn’t waste time before asking why I didn’t have a lady friend with me. It had become a bit of a family joke as they were deliberately welcoming me in the same way that my mother had for the past five years. I did not mind, in fact I enjoyed the good natured joshing that I received. Moments later my mother bustled into view and greeted me by asking why I didn’t have a lady friend with me this year. My sisters and I instantly hooted with laughter before I responded with a hug and said, “Mum, you are getting way too predictable.”

My sisters then relieved me of my bags and took them up to my old room while I continued through to the back of the house where I was welcomed warmly by my father and brothers-in-law.

Christmas lunch was a pleasantly rowdy affair. It was as always a scene of harmony and goodwill. After lunch and the distribution of presents we all spent a couple of hours chatting, and catching up with each other’s news, before Sue and Helen and their families left to go home.

After they had departed and the house quietened down I retired to the patio overlooking the back yard with my father. We had done our share of cleaning up after the meal and were taking the opportunity for a chat. My father was a land surveyor with his own business. I had worked with him on several occasions during High School and University vacation times. We got on well together and were relaxed in each other’s company. We were both nursing a glass of wine while we chatted about events and incidents at our respective jobs when he said, “I saw your mother telling you during lunch that I spent hours watching the webcam feeds from the Red Rock Project. Well it’s true. I have got into the habit of checking the webcam feeds most days after I get home from work and from time to time during the weekend. I think that it is brilliant. Much better than Foxtel or anything else on TV. I can’t thank you enough for sending us the links. During the storm on Sunday we were all here watching. Sue and Helen and their families as well.”

As he was talking my mother walked out onto the patio and joined us. She listened for a moment before saying. “The kids really enjoyed it. They cheered when the big trucks arrived. I had told them that you were in the white 4WD and they saw you getting rescued by one of the big trucks.”

I grinned wryly. “It did get to be a little touch and go for a while but it all worked out okay in the end. I was never in any danger but I was pleased when the truck arrived.”

My father responded, “We could see the stormwater hurtling out from the cutting and creating a waterfall into the gulley. It was spectacular. But, how come it was not completed until the last minute?”

I shrugged. “It’s a long story.”

“Why don’t you tell us anyway. We have loads of time.”

I thought for a few moments before deciding that I’d do it. Once I started the words flowed. It was at least ten minutes before I completed the saga of how I had gone out on a limb to do what I thought needed to be done.

When I was finished they both sat looking at me in silence for a moment before my father said, “But you’ve now been vindicated. Right?”

“Probably. But I’ve demonstrated to Gibson Construction that I’m a loose cannon who can’t be relied on to carry out orders. They will think carefully before offering me another position as Construction Manager.”

My mother leaned forward. “Is that want you want? Construction Manager on another project?”

“Actually no. This could be the last time I work as a Construction Manager. I am thinking about a job as a business analyst or even working with Brian Clements developing computer software. Preferably in Sydney. I have decided that I don’t want to be constantly on the move from project to project for the rest of my career.”

My mother beamed with pleasure. “So you are finally thinking about settling down. At last.” Before I could protest that she had overstated my intentions she added. “By the way, Brian and Kate called in this morning. Brian first introduced Kate to us a while ago. She is such a lovely person.”

I nodded. “I agree.”

My mother sensed that she had my attention and continued. “Kate’s sister…”

She hesitated and I fell into her trap and displayed an interest in the topic of the conversation. Without thinking I supplied the missing name. The name that she had pretended to stumble over. “Christine?”

She beamed at the success of her ploy. “Yes, Christine, she’s such a lovely girl too. You haven’t met her yet have you?”

“No. Not yet.”

My father was grinning and shaking his head in mock sorrow at my falling into the obvious trap. But I didn’t mind. To tell the truth I was looking forward to meeting Christine.

***

It was around three o’clock when I set off to walk the three blocks to Brian’s parents’ home. I needed the exercise and it was a route that I had walked and cycled literally a thousand times in the past. As I arrived at the front door Brian’s mother, who must have seen me walking up the path, called out for me to come in. Pausing to greet his parents and wish them a merry Christmas I walked through to the outside deck expecting to see Brian and Kate.

I did see them. They were seated at a table engaged in an animated discussion. But they were not on their own. Standing with her back towards me was a tall young woman with long reddish coloured hair. As I stepped on to the deck she turned and instantly smiled when she saw me. She was a remarkably attractive and graceful looking young woman. I was instantly smitten. I smiled and said, “Hello Christine.”

Her response was equally deadpan. She spoke as though we were old acquaintances who had just bumped into each other. “Hello Adam.”

Brian stood up and said, “Hey, wait a minute. You need to be properly introduced.” Waving a hand towards Christine and then sweeping it back towards me, he said, “Christine, I would like you to meet my best friend, Adam Cartwright.”

I smiled, bowed my head, clicked my heels and said, “This is indeed a great honour and a pleasure, Doctor Moore.”

Brian then reversed his gestures and said, “Adam, I’d like you to meet my future sister-in-law, Christine Moore.”

She smiled mischievously, gave me a gracious curtsy and responded, “Mister Cartwright, the pleasure is all mine.”

Kate was sitting back in her seat watching us both and looking like the cat that swallowed the canary.

***

Later when the four of us were seated around the table I asked Christine about her time at the Royal London Hospital where she had just completed a two-year internship.

I already knew that Kate and Christine had moved to Wellington the same year the Brian and I left for university in Sydney. Their father had just been appointed Principal of our old high school, a position that he still held. Kate had told me much of their background but I was interested to hear more.

Christine appeared to realise that my question was more than just idle chat and responded as though she welcomed the opportunity to tell me about herself. “The Royal London is an internationally renowned teaching hospital and I was very lucky to get accepted there. It’s on Whitechapel Road with good public transport access which was just as well as I worked long hours. The Royal is one of the largest children's hospitals in the UK and London's busiest paediatric Accident and Emergency Department. I learned a lot but I never intended to stay there permanently and now was an especially good time to come home.” She paused, smiled at me and explained, “Kate’s wedding. Meeting you at last.”

I blinked in surprise. “Meeting me?”

Christine laughed. “Of course, meeting you. I knew that I had to meet you soon or Kate would have scared you off with her attempts at matchmaking.”

I knew that she was teasing me so I said one word in response. “Oombarlo!”

Instantly we all burst out laughing.

When the laughter subsided Christine said, “Well, what about you? I know that you are an engineer on a construction site in the middle of nowhere. And that you live on a yacht in a marina on your days off. I have seen the YouTube clip and watched your webcam feeds. I know that you have been best friends with Brian almost since birth. Brian and Kate have spoken of you often, but I still don’t really know you.”

I smiled and shrugged. “Well there’s not much more to know. I don’t need to be surrounded by museums, art galleries and opera houses in a big city to be content. I am an engineer and I build things.”

It was as though we had known each other forever. We had immediately slipped into a comfortable, teasing relationship.

Christine smiled archly and responded, “So you admit to being just another insensitive engineer with little appreciation of art and social events without any useful purpose. Your focus is on practicality with little value, if any, placed on culture.”

I grinned. “I admit it. I do value practicality over aesthetics or other subjective requirements that reduce functionality.”

“Give me an example.” She challenged.

I replied, “Well. Just look at ballet dancers. They are all short guys that have to stand on their toes when performing.”

She grinned. I was sure that she knew where this was going but she asked anyway. “So?”

I replied, “So. Why do they have short guys standing on their toes. Why don’t they just get taller dancers.”

Christine laughed, obviously enjoying the repartee. “So practicality should be the top priority?”

“Well let me give you another example. One day a clergyman, a lawyer, a doctor and an engineer were playing a round of golf together when they were delayed by a foursome playing ahead of them. The group in front were stumbling around and taking an inordinate time to complete each hole. At that moment they met up with the green keeper who was busy doing some course maintenance work. When asked who the foursome ahead were the green keeper said that they were four fire fighters who had been badly burned and blinded when valiantly saving the golf clubhouse from a fire the previous year. In appreciation of their sacrifice the Golf Club had decided to allow the four blinded fire fighters to play a round of golf at any time for free. When hearing of the fire fighter’s misfortune the clergyman said, ‘That’s so sad. I will say some prayers for them.’ The lawyer said, ‘I’ll sue someone on their behalf.’ The doctor said, ‘Perhaps something can be done to restore their sight. I will do some medical research.’ The engineer was the only one to immediately realise the logical course of action and said, ‘If I could make a suggestion. Why don’t they just play at night?’”

The three of them laughed spontaneously. But Christine was not about to accept defeat. “So you do concede that engineers are an insensitive lot?”

I laughed. “You shouldn’t write all engineers off as insensitive barbarians whose only interaction with nature is the physical world. We can appreciate the abstract world also. Ah! The roar of the bulldozer, the sizzle of the welding rod, the smell of newly poured concrete. To you, these mean nothing but an assault on your senses. But to an engineer they are evocative of so much more. The roar of the bulldozer is man’s roar of conquest, the overcoming of obstacles and the moving of mountains to better serve mankind. The sizzle of the welding rod is like music to an engineer’s ears. It is a celebration of our ability to turn passive pieces of steel into a useful structure. The sizzle of the welding rod is the sound of progress. The achievement of a benefit to the community at large. The smell of newly poured concrete is akin to the smell of roses to a non-engineer. To an engineer it is demonstrating that we can learn from nature. We can also meld sand, clay and volcanic debris into rock. Only where nature took millions of years to do so we can do the same in a few hours. We are demonstrating that the student has exceeded the teacher in moulding of raw materials into an asset useful to humanity.”