Scrublands(98)

‘The Defence liaison officer? Could it have been him?’

‘Her. That’d be my guess.’

‘Hang on. Jack, where was Harley Snouch?’ asks Martin.

‘Snouch? Outside the meeting, in case we needed him.’

‘Well, don’t you see? It was Snouch who called Foster. ASIO didn’t leak. Snouch rang Foster and then Foster called Swift back. Remember Swift’s dying words to Robbie Haus-Jones: “Harley Snouch knows everything.” It must have been him; you’re in the clear.’

But there’s no relief on the face of Jack Goffing. He’s shaking his head, a portrait of dismay. ‘Fuck. You could be right. That’s even worse.’

‘Worse? How?’

‘Don’t you see? If you’re right, he played me. He played ASIO. He didn’t come to Canberra to provide information—he came to gather it. He came because he knew we could identify Flynt for him. The identity of SAS soldiers, past and present, is classified. You’re a journo; you must know that. He never intended to help us.’ Goffing has his head in his hands, shoulders slumped. ‘Fuck, Martin. This is career-ending.’

‘Maybe. But we’re not dead yet.’

‘Easy for you to say. It’s not your career on the line.’

‘No, mine’s already fucked, thanks very much.’

This time Goffing has no comeback.

‘Good. So let’s think it through. Why would Snouch call Foster and why would it have any impact? Foster already knew Swift was really Flynt; Snouch wasn’t telling him anything new.’

Goffing grimaces, re-engaging. ‘I see where you’re coming from. Snouch was exerting some sort of leverage. He says, “I know Swift is Flynt; I know he’s a fugitive and a war criminal. Do what I want or I expose him.” No, that’s no good; he’d already exposed him.’

Martin nods. ‘Maybe he’s been telling us the truth. Maybe he just wanted to get Swift out of town, away from Mandy. So he rings Foster and says, “Get him out of town.” Maybe he was doing Foster a favour, keeping him out of the firing line.’

Goffing is frowning. ‘But Swift was already leaving, wasn’t he?’

‘Yes. But Snouch didn’t know that. He’d been in Canberra the whole time and missed Walker launching his child abuse probe.’

‘That’s ironic. Swift was going anyway.’ Another grimace. ‘Doesn’t help me, though.’

‘And it doesn’t explain why Swift opened fire, either.’

‘Jesus Christ. Every time I think we’re getting somewhere, it slips through our fingers. You get that feeling?’

‘I do,’ says Martin. ‘But listen. How does this play? Snouch rings Foster, tells him ASIO is onto Swift, that he has to go. But Snouch says he can keep Foster’s name out of it.’

‘Blackmail?’

‘Blackmail. Snouch tried something similar with me.’

‘What was that?’

‘He’s threatening to sue me for defamation unless I help him reconcile with Mandy.’

Goffing takes his time before responding. ‘He played me, he’s blackmailing you, he coerced Avery Foster. The guy’s a ratfucker.’

‘And a good one. Foster’s name was kept out of it. Until last night, I’d never connected him to Swift. Had you?’

‘No. So he acceded to Snouch’s demands? But what was Snouch demanding?’

‘Money. Rolls of hundred-dollar bills would be my guess.’

‘Snouch never struck me as someone with money,’ Goffing objects. ‘More like a derro.’

‘He was restoring the old family homestead. He was getting money from somewhere. My guess is from Foster.’

‘But what money? Where could Foster find money in this shithole?’ Goffing stands, gestures around him, emphasising the absurdity of hidden wealth in Riversend.

‘Listen, Jack, I’ve lost my job, you’re about to lose yours. Let’s say we put it all on the table. No secrets. We’ve got nothing to lose.’

Goffing looks at him: assessing, calculating, deciding. He shrugs. ‘Okay. What do you want to know?’

‘What you’re doing here. Why you came down with the cops, even before the bodies in the dam were identified.’

Goffing shrugs again. ‘Sure. It’s not such a big deal.’ He sits back down, reaches for another cigarette, thinks better of it. ‘A lot of what we do nowadays is terrorism-related. Back in the day, during the Cold War, it was all counterespionage and keeping an eye on the commies. We still do the anti-spy stuff, lots of cybersecurity and so forth, but terrorism is the growth area. My unit is involved with monitoring communications between Australian extremists and jihadis in the Middle East, in particular the movement of foreign fighters and Australian money. In the months before St James, we picked up a trail of money being sent from Australia to Dubai and then disappearing. We suspected it was being funnelled to Islamic State or the Taliban or any one of a number of other extremist groups. There were a couple of key words picked out of the ether: Swift was one, Riversend was another. I mentioned this before; it’s why, when Snouch turned up, I gave him the time of day.’

‘I see,’ says Martin. ‘Except instead of going to Muslim extremists, the money was probably going to a Christian orphanage.’