The Mandarin Code (31 page)

Canberra

Line after line of meaningless code. A jumble of computer-generated hieroglyphics, inverted numerals, symbols and squiggles. None of it, not a single word, made any sense.

Kimberley, give us a fucking break.

Harry Dunkley's eyes ached as he tried to digest the mystifying mess. He felt like he was in a maze, with all the fun squeezed out.

‘So, what do you make of this?'

He looked forlornly at Mathieson, hoping that her IT expertise would allow them to crack the next nut. She whistled and was wide-eyed in her appreciation.

‘Harry, your friend didn't want to make it easy.'

‘Yeah. Kimberley never liked to do things by halves. The question is, can you make sense of it?'

‘I can do anything with the right level of persuasion.' She nudged him light-heartedly. ‘But seriously, Harry, I don't know. This is a big job and decryption is not my speciality.'

Celia took a sip of Diet Coke. She had a newfound respect for Kimberley, who was clearly more than just a pretty – albeit dead – face.

‘This is going to take serious time, Harry, just to get to first base. Obviously she wanted this stuff deep in the ether.'

Canberra

The long table was set just for two. Hewn from a single ancient teak tree, it was made for formal functions, to impress large groups of dignitaries with the size and strength of the new China.

Tonight's intimate setting only magnified Weng Meihui's sense of isolation. The Ambassador had insisted on dressing formally for this full moon dinner in a dark suit and tie, a spit of grease in his hair. Weng had thought about wearing a casual outfit but had reconsidered. The consequences of offending him were too great.

She'd spent weeks in this strange country, trying to adapt to its quirky customs and habits. It was hard, dry, confronting, beautiful. She knew she could learn to love this land of open spaces.

But something she could never enjoy were the dinners alone with her ‘husband'. He had demanded they maintain their marital facade, warning her that prying eyes were everywhere.

She was practised in the art of small talk, usually able to beguile even the most boring of men. But Tian was her greatest challenge – tedious, narrow-minded, controlling.

Recently a darker edge had invaded their dinners. He desired her, and that made their relationship increasingly awkward.

His first advances had been amusing as he fumbled to find the words he hoped would entice her to his bed. But his veneer of charm had evaporated when she'd resisted. Privately, he became aggressive and occasionally crude. He could remove all pretence of being the dutiful husband in a moment. And that scared her.

Tonight she would be her charming self. She was troubled by her visit to the compound. Troubled and frightened.

No one could shed light on the fate of Lin An's room-mates. She'd discreetly sounded out a secretary who made travel arrangements for the workers from China. ‘I know nothing, Madam Weng,' was the curt reply.

A curtain of silence had fallen. The State was capable of much. She suspected the men had been brutalised, but why?

Had they, too, sought to escape the compound? Were they even now hiding in this bland city?

‘Good evening, Mei.' His sudden appearance startled her. He reached for her hand and gently squeezed it.

‘Good evening, Qichen. It's nice to see you. How was your day?'

‘Productive, my dear. Productive and satisfying. We are making good progress on the latest trade talks despite some difficulties over Australia's defence ties.'

He motioned to the butler. ‘A whisky, neat, and wine for Ms Weng. Now.'

Weng had not planned to drink alcohol, but did not contradict the Ambassador. She was after answers. Wine would at least help lubricate the conversation.

‘And you, my dear, what have you been doing with your time today?' Tian asked the question with a slight smile.

How much has he been told?

‘I had a good day. The plans for the exhibition are progressing well and I had coffee with several other partners. Miss Lindwall from Britain, and Mrs Toffey from Canada. Nice women and, like me, fairly new to this city.'

‘Ah, that is good, that is good. Yes, the diplomatic community likes to look after their own. We are all strangers together, I guess.'

Tian contemplated his whisky. He looked back at Weng, took a step toward her. ‘And you paid a visit to the compound, I hear.'

‘Yes. The architecture is very nice.'

‘The architecture? I had no idea of your interest in building design . . .'

‘It is something I have been intrigued by . . . for some time. . .' Weng was stumbling. He was toying with her. She felt herself blushing.

He motioned to the table. ‘Shall we?'

Weng took her place, the butler pulling her chair out from the table.

‘Thank you.' Her smile masked an inner trembling.

Tian lifted his chopsticks and sampled an appetiser of salmon and rice. He ignored the offer of wine and fixed his gaze on Weng.

‘Mr Zheng tells me you have an interest in Mr Xiu and his whereabouts.'

‘He lent me a book. I was returning it. An Australian book,
Cloudstreet
.' Weng tried to sound calm and conversational.

Tian dragged a thin bone from his mouth, placed it on the side of his plate.

‘I sent a cable to the Office today about your visit to the compound. The Commander will ring tomorrow on the secure phone.'

Where is this heading?

She nodded as she gripped her wine glass. A clatter from the kitchen startled her. A slight sweat stained her neck.

‘You know . . .' Tian considered his words. ‘There is a good opportunity for us to make something of the next few years, together here in Canberra. The task is to follow the instructions we have been given. I don't recall you being asked to become an inquisitor, my dear.'

She tensed as he leaned towards her.

‘I could make life here very difficult for you, Mei. Or very good. It is your choice, my beloved wife.'

She had known too many men like Tian. When they couldn't get what they wanted through charm, they used blackmail. Or violence. They deluded themselves that this was power, when their desperation for sex made them weak.

Weng had spent her life gathering loose words from these men and knew her power over them. They swelled with pride after a conquest and paraded like pumped-up peacocks. And they talked.

White light from the full moon washed through the room. Tian lit a cigarette and blew smoke across the bed. He looked satisfied with himself. Smug and pompous.

‘My dear, would you care for a drink?'

‘Yes, a cognac would be nice.'

‘Of course.'

Weng smiled at his absurd nakedness as he strutted across the room and poured two drinks from a shell-shaped bottle. His weak chest, pot belly and reed-thin arms and legs were obscene in the moonlight.

No doubt you think you're handsome, pig.

The brown liquid jiggled in the glasses as he returned to bed.

She leaned on his arm. ‘I was just returning a book, you know. My curiosity got the better of me.'

Tian gazed out the window at the moon. ‘It is best not to ask questions about things of which you know little.'

‘Of course. I was just concerned.'

Weng knew she was on very dangerous ground. Tian's desire was tinged with contempt and when, inevitably, his lust was sated her life would be expendable. Those who sell their souls have always looked down on those who sell their bodies. She hoped her meek response would invite an answer that his arrogance could not resist.

‘Those men failed in their duty. Lin An escaped and threatened the entire operation. An operation vital to our state. Known only to a trusted few.'

Her fingertips traced a line down his face.

‘You must be one of the trusted few to be in charge of this very important mission.'

He snorted proudly. He was content.

She pushed a bit harder. ‘And those men? What happened to them?'

‘They are gone.'

‘Home?'

‘No, just gone. Anyone who fails in this mission will meet the same fate.'

Tian turned to face her.

‘And that includes you and me. Our leaders were displeased by the attack on the compound. We considered aborting the project but there is no sign our enemies know what we are doing. The rewards will be great.'

‘What rewards?'

The Ambassador gently ran the back of his hand over her breasts, sweeping upwards. His fingers rested on her neck. And tightened.

‘You understand so little. You steal small secrets one at a time from feeble men. My mission is to know everything. That building will be our gateway to the West, to everything that they know. And Mei, we are already in.'

Canberra

The voice was steeped in '60s soul and drove through the earbuds. She loved Adele, this British chanteuse who sang of fickle hearts and fractured relationships.

Celia Mathieson turned up the volume and bounced into stride. She'd shared a drink with a friend at Old Parliament House, and now faced a short walk up the hill. It was closing on 7pm. She'd arranged to meet Harry in his office and was tingling with excitement.

It had taken her a whole day to untangle just one of the documents in Kimberley's cloud, translating a mountain of IT mumbo-jumbo. There were still dozens of documents to unlock. She had a couple of pages of text and little idea what it meant.

Still, it was exhilarating to be working on a cloak-and-dagger project. She'd dashed off an email to Dunkley and couldn't wait to see his reaction when she unveiled it.

Harry,

Eureka! I've cracked the code on Kimberley's cloud! Am having a drink with Annie and will bring up the booty tonight.

See you soon

Cel

PS. What is the Alliance?

The sun was low and the evening chatter of birds was rising as Mathieson walked towards Parliament. Both houses were in session and there was a big story brewing about health reform. As if she cared.

Politics meant little to her, particularly after the government – this ‘caring' Labor Government – fed Julian Assange to the lions.

Harry had ridiculed her description of the WikiLeaks' founder as a ‘freedom fighter'.

‘Supreme narcissist, more like it,' he'd fired back.

Oh Harry
. . .

A band of exercisers was jogging up a grass-covered slope and a few tourists were still wandering around the forecourt fountain as she crunched across red gravel to the building's front doors. Mathieson ignored the main entrance and skipped down a set of stairs on the left. At the bottom she pushed her way through a stainless-steel door to the security station known as Point One. Only pass-holders could enter this checkpoint, the only one staffed 24/7.

Mathieson scratched around for her pass as a bored security attendant watched
Sky
. Her bag and phone passed through the security X-ray. She followed, walking up a set of stairs to a pair of concertina doors that folded open as she approached. Beyond, a passageway opened to a vast tunnel system: a labyrinth of concrete and cables.

Mathieson loved the underground network of roads, one of the building's many secrets. During the day it bustled with a small army of technicians, chefs, labourers and tradies who kept the Parliament functioning. But it emptied at night.

It was so easy to get lost down here that there were two lines painted on the floor, marking the way to the nearest lifts. A green line hooked left to the House of Representatives while red ran to the Senate.

Mathieson knew there was a longer path to a lift that emerged outside the News Corp bureau on the second floor. But it wasn't marked and she'd lost her way once before. Tonight she would follow Harry's advice. ‘Stick to the red line'.

Her footsteps echoed along a concrete roadway as she passed locked storerooms, pallets of goods, parked electric cars and mysterious passageways.