Читать книгу Any Means Necessary - Shane Britten - Страница 9

It was already warm as I waited in a narrow hallway outside the auditorium of the Four Points Hotel. Half an hour early, I wasn’t the first to arrive and since then, a steady stream of would-be WOLF members had started to fill the waiting area. For much of the wait, I pretended to be on a phone call, cell phone held up to my ear, murmuring one-word responses to the not-present caller every now and again for appearances’ sake. It not only prevented conversation – keeping the eclectic assemblage from trying to talk to me – it also meant I could stare at the crowd absently, seemingly preoccupied with my conversation.

It was a strange group of people. Some were young men looking to find their way, talking together in small groups and looking with unveiled hostility at the others around them. This was what I expected so I wasn’t overly surprised to see them, the majority sporting the shaved heads and anti-social looks that I’d come to associate with far-right groups. Others seemed to be what I would normally expect of a left-wing organisation, with long, dread-locked hair, ill-fitting clothes and the overbearing scent of the unwashed. I didn’t see anyone I recognised which was a blessing, especially given I was registered in my real name.

Soon enough, the two sets of doors were flung open to stereo-blasted fanfare, and an excited hum started among the group. WOLF members waited with small handheld scanners to scan tickets, ensuring each attendee was registered. A few in front of me hadn’t, so were sent to the side to fill out a form. Data gathering seemed to be important to the group. I pulled up the ticket on my phone and held it out for the scanner, which didn’t work. I angled the phone so the WOLF member, a surly young man, could write down the ticket number, keeping my grip on the device when he attempted to take it away. With our initial tug of war over, he looked me up and down with a less-than-impressed expression. I flashed him a smile, wanting to seem flippant, light-hearted. Entry process complete, I tucked my phone away and followed, joining the throng about three quarters of the way towards the back.

Inside the auditorium was quite a spectacle. Banners and signs were erected along every wall and a huge WELCOME! was projected on the screen behind a podium on the stage. Individual WOLF members, clad in branded t-shirts complete with a howling wolf motif, ushered people in, their faces flushed and friendly, far from the surly man who had checked me in. Seating was arranged in rows like a flat cinema. I aimed for the centre aisle seat halfway along, ignoring the uncomfortable itch on the back of my neck at having people sit behind me. Most intelligence operators would automatically sit with their backs to a wall within eyesight of at least one exit. It was a habit I was consciously trying to break, trading that little bit of situational awareness for a better ability to blend into a crowd.

People continued to fill the room until there were at least one hundred attendees. Despite multiple rows in front and behind me being fairly free, a young couple insisted on pushing their way past to sit alongside me and I supressed an urge to glare at them, especially when they each gave me a friendly, broad smile. Any conversation was halted as the lights dimmed, the hush of expectation stretching out for almost a minute.

A short, rotund man bounded up on the stage with an energy and agility that belied his cube-like frame. ‘Welcome!’ he called out, wearing the headset mic of a fitness instructor that he definitely was not. ‘My name is Blake and I’m here to set the ground rules.’ He smiled enthusiastically. ‘Before we start today, please turn off your mobile phones and ensure you don’t need the bathroom, as we have set restroom breaks.’

Strange.

He proceeded to point out emergency exits and timings for the day. It looked like two hours of content stretched out over four.

‘Our founder and head WOLF, Eran Tuso, will be along shortly. In the meantime, turn to the would-be WOLF next to you and tell them why you’re here!’

Next to me was only the young couple who, based on both scent and appearance, seemed to me to have embraced the ‘hippie’ lifestyle. Or they didn’t own a shower. Maybe they were allergic to water. The girl was closest to me. I reflected on just how strange it was that hippie types would be here and wondered whether it was due to the vague nature of the WOLF messaging on their website and brochures. Of course, there was a good chance it was actually me in the wrong place.

The hippie girl was anxiously waiting to introduce herself. ‘I’m Amy,’ she gushed excitedly, ‘and my boyfriend, Steven, and I are here because we are sick of the way money rules our world and want to be part of the revolution’. She proceeded to tell me, without pause even for breath, how Steven had lost his job to someone who was probably an illegal immigrant and they subsequently had to move out of their house. They had been living with friends in already crowded share houses and occasionally on the streets.

I did my best to show the right emotions at the right time. It wasn’t difficult really – it was a sad story. I withheld the anger that always struck me in similar situations. I’d seen it in Africa, the Middle-East and throughout Asia, people being pushed to increasingly radical ideas due to falling on hard times. They needed faith to explain their poor situation and dream of something better, in this life or the next.

Groups like WOLF and individuals like Tuso were like vultures, preying on people while they were vulnerable, weak, looking for hope. It was how suicide bombers, generations of young soldiers and idealistic zealots were created all around the world. To see it happening in Australia so blatantly made me furious.

I realised she was waiting for my answer and smiled apologetically. ‘I was with the Army,’ I said softly, with my rehearsed cause rolling easily off my tongue. ‘Afghanistan, Iraq, both times. I felt betrayed when I saw we were fighting for money and oil, seeing my friends die for the greed of politicians and liars. I guess I’ve been searching for something meaningful ever since. All of this terrorism stuff has come about because we keep getting involved in the affairs of other countries and letting foreigners into our country. If I can be part of a group that changes that, I see it as my duty.’

Amy put a hand on my forearm and gave a reassuring smile. ‘I think we have come to the right place.’ She turned back to her boyfriend, giving me a chance to notice the WOLF members paying particularly close attention to what was being said. Two of them were paying me unusually high levels of interest, heightened after I said the word ‘army’. I smiled at them and turned to face the front, waiting for Tuso to appear and continuing to scan for any sign of Edward or Jessica. I was all set to ask the nearest WOLF member if there were any famous people that were part of the group as a pretext to try to get close to discussing either Edward or Jessica, when I was interrupted by the arrival of the head WOLF.

Tuso’s arrival was heralded with music and applause, which rapidly rose to rapturous volume as everyone stood up, cheering. I joined in, feeling the energy in the room and finding it surprising. There was very little information available about the man and he was not a publicly well-known figure, but here he was being treated like a rock star. Whistles and cheers continued as he walked back and forth across the stage, waving his arms and enjoying the fixation of the crowd.

‘Hello everyone!’ said the lean, well-dressed Tuso, singling out a few people in the crowd for eye contact, waves and thumbs up. He was quite the showman. ‘I’m a simple man with a simple dream,’ he started, pacing the stage with the confidence of a seasoned performer. The crowd was awe-struck, silent.

‘That we can build a world where we look after our neighbours, the brothers and sisters here in this room. Where our energy is devoted to saving our city, our country, our race, ensuring no one can stop us. Where companies exist only because we need them and want them, not to serve the greed of their foreign owners. Where children are taught the value of our lives is contained in the stories of our forefathers and the lessons they have shown us about the failure of multiculturalism, the way unrestrained immigration is destroying our economy and how our crime rates increase with every new immigrant allowed into the country.’

Something had caught my attention and it wasn’t Tuso’s oration. Some of the WOLF members were studying the crowd and taking detailed notes, murmuring to each other and gesturing towards some of the group members with either nods or shakes of their head. As Tuso continued, I realised what was happening. The leader was listing a range of causes while his workers were carefully taking note of which causes appealed to which attendees. They could narrow down the preferred member list based on who supported the causes true to the group and who was on the fringe of what the group stood for and expected.

The morning continued much the same way, with Tuso talking about the virtues of the world we would all create together, bringing what seemed to me to be pre-selected attendees to the stage to share their own stories. It was a masterful speech with clear racist undertones tempered by a more politically correct tone than I expected. As I glanced around, I couldn’t see anyone who seemed too put out or upset with the topics being discussed. I was the only one not staring at the man on the stage.

Tuso was compelling, a skilled and charismatic orator that had a personal style that was warm, welcoming. ‘You, my friend,’ he called out, and it was a moment before I realised he was talking to me, my survey of the group halted by the large number of heads that turned to look at me. My blood ran cold.

‘Come on up,’ he beckoned with a beaming smile.

I stood slowly, uncomfortable with the attention that had shifted to me. I moved down the aisle towards the stage, climbing a few steps until I stood alongside him. He was taller than me by a few inches, his face animated.

‘Tell us your story!’ He handed me a small mic. I repeated almost word for word what I had said to Amy, adding emotion and feeling to my cause, particularly when talking about comrades dying.

‘My friends, let us welcome Valen! This man has endured the horrors of his friends being killed by Muslims, the worst of those who threaten our very existence. Thank you for sharing your story.’ He embraced me though I had stiffened somewhat – I hadn’t told him my name. ‘Come and see me in the break,’ he murmured mid-hug.

I nodded with an appropriately awed smile, descending the steps and moving back to my seat to thunderous applause and plenty of pats on the back. One face snarled at me on the way past and I almost laughed. Morgan, the ASIO kid, was in the crowd pretending to be a would-be member. He was doing a poor job at blending in, wearing a suit and tie. Some habits were hard to break, I guess.

The morning progressed into a slideshow of what the group had accomplished around the world – protests, petitions, large group numbers and claimed policy change were all mentioned. There was no hint or suggestion of violence or underhanded tactics.

Soon enough, it was the morning break and, as requested, I headed towards the stage and the waiting Tuso. Morgan attempted to intercept me but got cut off by a gaggle of excited attendees. It was just as well as I wanted nothing to do with him. It wasn’t to do with my distaste for the kid but more for operational security reasons. I didn’t know how he had registered, with which name or whether he had somehow compromised his identity as an ASIO officer, so I didn’t want to be associated with him. It avoided the risk of his potential compromise becoming mine.

Tuso removed his earpiece and microphone and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, leading me past the stage curtain to the preparation area. It was a lot more sophisticated than I’d imagined, with monitors displaying footage from an enormous array of cameras around the auditorium. A group of WOLF members were repeating what some of those on the floor were doing in person – monitoring the crowd for which cause appealed to which person.

‘Impressive, isn’t it?’ Tuso gestured to the technical set-up. I nodded and met his intense gaze. ‘But why?’ I asked.

‘Why indeed,’ he replied, walking me further out the back. ‘We are agents of change, Valen. Not everyone supports that change and not everyone is willing to go to the extent required to make change, true change, happen. In fact, some want to fight against our change. This is important to help us know who believes in our cause – truly believes – and who are the tourists looking for a hobby.’

I raised an eyebrow. ‘A hobby? Bored people looking for something to fill their time?’

‘Exactly and it happens more than you’d think. People say the words of commitment and resolve and then want to check out when the going gets tough. Add to that,’ he dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, ‘we are monitored by those fearful of the change we represent.’

I frowned. ‘The government?’

He nodded sagely, stepping in front of a bank of monitors and pointing out an individual. ‘Do you know him?’ I leaned closer, taking a moment to look at the image on the screen. It was Morgan.

‘Not really,’ I replied, ‘though he works for the government.’

Tuso seemed surprised, his tanned features turning to look at me. ‘How do you know?’ Some instinct triggered in me, long-held skills in reading people. He knew something about Morgan. I found it interesting that in true HUMINT style, he was asking questions that he seemed to know the answer to, something Helen had failed to do. The WOLF member in front of the monitor was reviewing footage from the entire morning that focused on Morgan, watching his every move including the expression on his face as he looked at me after my descent from the stage.

‘He approached me yesterday, warned me away from the conference. He said it was a national security thing and that I shouldn’t get involved.’

‘And yet, here you are,’ Tuso noted with a small grin.

I nodded. ‘No one in government is going to tell me what I can and can’t do ever again.’ There was passion in my reply mostly because it was true.

He clapped me on the back and beamed his 300-watt smile. ‘He’s a spy,’ Tuso noted as if in passing. ‘He paid for the conference using a government credit card registered to a building that doesn’t exist.’ I wouldn’t have expected Tuso to have financial connections, but was beginning to appreciate the level of sophistication of the group far exceeded what I would traditionally expect from a right-wing organisation.

‘The conference is for lay people,’ he was saying, ‘the hobbyists. People trying to find a cause, themselves, whatever. To be a WOLF means to be committed to action, to be an agent for change and to take charge of making that change happen. Usually we find only one or two of them at these events. Importantly, we are looking for those who truly understand what WOLF stands for. We are not the World Liberation Front, we are the White Liberation Front’.

He watched me intently when he said it, measuring my reactions with an obvious skill that made me feel uncomfortable, even though I was confident with my body language control.

‘Like, no other races allowed?’ I asked, meeting his gaze.

‘Exactly!’ Tuso was animated. ‘None of the lesser races that steal, cheat and rape, destroying our communities and taking our jobs. Only those who are pure of blood and heart, who understand that it is not wrong for us to protect and value our heritage as ethnic minorities have for generations.’

I nodded as he kept talking, though gave away just enough uncertainty that Tuso relaxed and clapped me on the shoulders. ‘Valen, I want you to come to a retreat, let me show you what we fight against and why. Are you interested?’

‘Yes,’ I replied simply.

He clapped me on the back again. ‘Join me for dinner tonight. Upstairs at the bar, 7 o’clock.’ I smiled and did my best to look suitably impressed. I got the distinct impression that he was measuring me as much as I was measuring him, and his relaxed façade was just that, a mask he wore to hide his true feelings, motivations and intent.

‘Thank you so much, Mr Tuso,’ I managed.

‘Eran,’ he said. ‘You can call me Eran.’ I took another glance around the video surveillance area, memorising the faces of the WOLF members who operated the cameras as they were more likely to be trusted insiders. I saw no one who went even close to fitting the description of Edward or Jessica.

As I headed back out into the auditorium, I looked around for Morgan and couldn’t see him. I felt no loyalty to him and had no regrets on confirming that he worked for the government. It was evident Tuso already had some inside knowledge on the kid, whose poor tradecraft had put himself in the spotlight. Still, on the off chance the group posed a physical danger to him, I wanted to warn him off, if such a thing were possible. I thought it far more likely that he would attempt to arrest me or something equally foolish.

It took some time for me to get back to my seat, with attendees wanting to talk to the man who got one-on-one time with the head WOLF. I dutifully paid attention for the next couple of hours, interspersed with plenty of breaks where attendees were broken into small groups and profiled by the WOLF members. It was an incredibly professional methodology, seamless and invisible to the untrained eye. I was left with the strong impression that whoever designed the conference had a background in one of the intelligence agencies, which used a similar method for talent spotting during routine recruitment exercises. The notes being taken on each attendee were detailed and grew even more so throughout the day. I couldn’t help but be curious as to what mine would say.

There was still no sign of Morgan as the day progressed. I thought momentarily about calling Helen or even the ASIO switchboard, to give them a warning or suggestion that one of their officers may have been injured. Ultimately though, it was their responsibility and I assumed any help I attempted to offer Helen would be met with hostility. It would only be fair given how I’d treated her at our last meeting.

Content remained light-on throughout the day, with a lot of political posturing and bold claims of success but little in the way of anything but anecdotal evidence. I noticed Tuso watching me more than once. On one occasion, he was joined by a remarkably muscled, broad-shouldered woman who perfectly fitted the term hawkish, all intensity and purpose. The Hawk, as I decided to name her, looked at me with all the suspicion of a trained counter-intelligence operator, her dark eyes narrowed as she fixed me with a steady gaze. She wore a man’s suit and it fit her well, her hair cropped short in a military fashion that suited her smooth, attractive features. She had olive skin that suggested Middle Eastern origin, which I found odd given the narrative of the group. I made a note to not take her too lightly. There was something vaguely familiar about her and I held back on the temptation to snap a photo, worried at just how provocative that move would be. Every now and then the Hawk would direct one of the suited security operators in the room, distinctive due to their earpieces and matching dark suits and ties. They seemed to be mostly selected for their size rather than intelligence. Good if I was going to play chess against them, bad if it ended in a physical encounter.

Those present seemed largely on board with the event, with only a handful of the 100 or so attendees leaving before the conclusion. A lot of the final session encouraged contact with the local WOLF members, regular meetings and commitment. Forms were passed around and filled out with pledges of that commitment. I noted multiple people reaching for credit cards. Financial commitment too, then.

The day concluded much later than advertised. It was 1600hrs by the time I walked out of the auditorium and I was exhausted. Many of the attendees loitered in the auditorium, talking in small groups or waiting for one of the WOLF members to join them to talk more about the group, its plans and where to from here. I thought about staying to see if I could draw any information from the members who seemed to ignore me altogether, but ultimately decided to leave.

Movies often portrayed surveillance detection as a lot of looking over your shoulder, then breaking into a run to avoid surveillance operators. In truth, counter-surveillance was a sophisticated piece of tradecraft that was very difficult to master. The last thing I wanted to do was flag to the WOLF members that I was a trained intelligence operator.

At the second choke point in my return surveillance detection route, three individuals appeared that had been present at the first. The third choke point, a quick turn located within the Myer Centre that was central to the Queen Street Mall, confirmed I was being followed as all three followers came through. They seemed to only number three, dressed in suits with earpieces that immediately made me assume they worked for the Hawk despite the black rather than white shirts. I hadn’t seen these individuals during the day but it was an otherwise almost identical outfit and they were all burly, muscled men who looked like security guards. This was no professional team too, as no surveillance operator would wear earpieces or the same clothes as each other. They certainly didn’t all pass-through choke points, heads pivoting from side to side like carrion birds seeking their next meal.

That left me with a dilemma. Should I take them back to my hotel, showing them where I was staying? Or try to lose them, potentially showing I may be a threat, more trained and aware than they or their boss may have realised.

I passed out of the Myer Centre and was walking up the Queen Street Mall when the choice was made for me. As I passed the exit from the underground bus exchange, a huge amount of kids emerged, talking, joking and laughing. They immediately and unintentionally separated me from my pursuers and it was so fast and so natural that even the most paranoid surveillance operator wouldn’t suspect I was attempting to lose them.

I was gone before the crowd dispersed.