Smoking Gun (Adam Cartwright Trilogy Book 1) (7 page)

Suppressing a surge of elation I said in what I hoped was a cool, steady voice. “Thank you. If I could just peruse these documents for a few minutes I should be able to give you my answer then.”

The CEO smiled and replied, “Certainly. Take your time.”

It took me just a few minutes to scan the letter and job description. I was being offered an unbelievable opportunity and the salary was way beyond my expectations. If the Project Manager got paid more than me then he was very well paid indeed. I looked up and smiled. “I accept.”

The CEO then stood up and leaned across the table with an extended right hand. “Congratulations Adam. The job is yours!”

Glancing around the table, and smiling at the others, I acknowledged their confidence in me. They all continued to smile and nod in return except for the fair haired man who was noticeably stony faced. I didn’t have to be told that he had been out voted and was displeased.

***

I had known the other applicants by reputation but had never met them previously. They were all strong type A personalities who certainly got the job done. Two seemed to be basically decent guys who tended to mix socially with their subordinates.

The other two had quite different management styles. They were well known for intimidation of their subordinates and never accepting personal responsibility for their own mistakes. One of their lieutenants had once quipped to me that the only management book ever read by his boss was probably called; ‘Bullying for Dummies’.

Even so it was preposterous to think that the attack on me had been motivated by such petty resentment.

***

After the meeting the CEO had introduced me to the fair haired man. I had guessed correctly, he was the Project Manager and he had been unhappy. His name was Tom Barton. I was to learn later that he had argued strongly against the level of independence given to the Construction Manager and my appointment in particular.

Even though we did not connect on a personal level, and he still espoused the view that I was the wrong man for the job, I did not see any possible connection between him and the attempts on my life.

***

That led my thoughts to whether someone on the project site could be responsible. Perhaps there was someone sufficiently motivated by rivalry or resentment to seek my elimination.

The total workforce on site numbered just under four hundred, about three quarters of whom were under my control. The rest were either permanent employees of the Red Rock Mine, or employees of a contract mining company that had been awarded the contract to carry out the mining operation. They were all under the control of Jack Gilmore, Red Rock’s senior mining engineer. In the next couple of months Red Rock Mine would appoint an Operations Manager and other staff prior to commissioning of the Mill and processing plant.

I had little contact with the contract mining employees who had separate accommodation facilities and dining room. Where space was available, the construction workers shared accommodation and mess facilities with the permanent Red Rock employees. Tent accommodation had been provided for the overflow of construction workers with a surprising number happy to sleep in a four man military-style tent.

On my first visit to Red Rock, Jack Gilmore had shown me around the site. His job was to develop the open pit and provide ore for the testing and commissioning of the processing plant and facilities. He was supported by a couple of junior mining engineers, a geologist and some administration staff. Later they would all take up roles as full time employees at the mine after it was commissioned.

Gilmore had driven me up a roughly graded track, suitable for 4WD access only, to a vantage point on a ridge overlooking the mine site. Alongside the track there was a roughly painted sign proclaiming it to be the way to ‘Lookout Hill’. When we were parked at the top, Gilmore spread a map of the mining lease on the bonnet of the vehicle and then proceeded to point out the proposed location of the various features marked on the map. The lookout point was ideal, giving a panoramic view of the entire mine site.

Like all mining operations, pre-planning of a mine site was crucial. Jack Gilmore’s mining contractors needed to remove a substantial quantity of waste rock before reaching ore grade material. The waste rock had to be removed from the pit to a permanent storage location several kilometres distant. The layout of the mine site was designed to provide for efficient operation for the life-of-mine. An area of three kilometres by two kilometres had been reserved to suit the eventual perimeter of the open pit. Similar areas had been set aside for the permanent storage of waste rock and a tailings dam. These areas utilized several gullies leading from the main valley to the west of the mine site. The nearest point being about a kilometre from the open pit. An area of about a kilometre square had been set aside for the ore processing facilities. A slightly smaller area, to the north of the processing plant area, had been set aside for the administration and accommodation facilities.

The plan being used by Jack Gilmore had the ground level contours marked on it. The layout of the mine site had been decided prior to my involvement in the project and had looked okay the first time that I saw the planned layout on paper. However, I had not been very searching in my appraisal as it had been designed by experts and was not my responsibility.

But, later when I saw the layout drawn on a contour plan I had some misgivings. The proposed mine site was tucked against the southern edge of a wide valley as it wound around the ridge leading to Lookout Hill. The land contours indicated that the stormwater runoff from the country to the west of Lookout Hill would flow across the mine site. When I had queried that issue I was told that it would be provided for in the site drainage plan which was still to be finalised.

Today was the first time that I had seen the proposed site drainage plan and had the opportunity to assess it on the ground. I did not like what I saw. The entire stormwater flow was diverted away from the open pit mine, as it had to be, but was redirected into a single pipe running through the mine site near the processing plant.

Due to the lay of the land it was impossible to divert the stormwater flow towards the far side of the open pit, away from the processing plant. To me it was clear. The best option would be to excavate a cutting across the ridge leading to Lookout Hill and discharge the stormwater into a gully that led back to the main valley to the east of the mine site.

I had pointed out my misgivings to Jack Gilmore who expressed his support for my intention to have the drainage plan revised. However, his responsibility was to ensure that the open pit operations were at no risk of being flooded. Once that had been achieved, he had no further say in the design of the stormwater drainage plan for other sections of the mine site.

Even so he provided strong vocal and written support for my request to have the drainage plan amended. A request that was later arbitrarily refused by Tom Barton.

I had an excellent working and friendly relationship with Jack. There was no possibility that anyone connected with Jack Gilmore would have been involved in the attack on me.

That ruled out a quarter of the people on site. I now only had three hundred suspects.

As I reached that conclusion, the plane’s engines changed pitch, and the passengers were warned to put their seats in the upright position for the landing in Cairns.

***

Last night I had dropped off to sleep as soon as I stretched out in my quarter berth on board ‘Irish Mist’ and had slept as though I did not have a care in the world. I had arrived back at the marina after midnight. As I expected, there was no sign of activity on any of the jetties. It was a Sunday evening and the weekend sailors had all gone home. Those that also lived on board their boats seemed to have all gone to bed. There was certainly nobody to be seen showing interest in my arrival.

Sleeping on board a yacht moored in a marina is a pleasant experience. I never tired of it. Even on the calmest of nights there would be a slow, gentle, sleep-inducing rocking motion due to the smallest of swells. The occasional gentle tug from the mooring lines was a constant reminder that the vessel was secure. After many nights spent on board I was accustomed to sleeping without being consciously wakened by the bump and tug of the mooring lines when another boat moved through the marina.

On the other hand if anyone stepped on board, no matter how softly their tread, the motion of the yacht changed and I would instantly be awake and alert. Perhaps it was the subtle ting of a shackle against the mast, or against another shackle, that was also detected by my subconscious. The sound of a foot step or movement on the adjacent jetty would not disturb me, but a subtle change in the movement of the boat would. It was as though ‘Irish Mist’ would be warning me to be alert because someone had come on board.

In the morning, immediately I awoke I looked around the cabin. It was the first time since clambering onboard some thirty kilometers off shore, forty eight hours earlier, that I had taken the time to fully check if anything was missing. Clearly my assailants had gone to some trouble to ensure that it looked like I had been lost at sea as the result of an accident. My wallet, laptop computer and cell phone had all been placed on board ‘Irish Mist’. They were probably the key items that would be expected to be found on board. Even my provisions had been stowed in lockers and the shopping dockets left on the chart table in clear sight.

At first I decided that nothing had been taken until I recalled having had my camera with me when I had been about to board ‘Irish Mist’ on Friday evening. After searching everywhere I had to conclude that it had been taken by my assailants. The question then was whether it was just an opportunistic petty crime or a planned act. If it had been planned then I was puzzled as to the purpose of the theft.

It was annoying to have to replace the camera. It was a robust SLR digital camera that I had owned for several years. But it was easily replaced. Luckily I had lost nothing apart from the camera as I had uploaded all the photographs to the cloud on Friday afternoon. Almost exclusively the photos related to work. I shook my head in frustration. The attack on me was becoming more and more of a mystery.

Just before seven o’clock I rang the charter flight company to cancel my seat on the Monday morning fly-in fly-out workers plane to the Red Rock Project site. Instead I would catch the ‘mail run’ flight at ten.

I then rang Brian to let him know that I was back in Cairns. We talked for a while about my missing camera. Both of us suspected that it might be significant but he was as mystified as I was regarding a possible motive for the theft. We could not disregard the possibility that it had been a spur-of-the-moment act of pilfering.

Prior to driving out to the airport I called in at a downtown photographic shop to buy a replacement camera. The previous one had been satisfactory but I was now able to upgrade to a later model of the same brand. This time I selected one with a wider angle lens and better telephoto capabilities. It was my practice to take frequent photos of work in hand and it was often helpful when writing reports. On a number of occasions, photographs had also helped me to resolve site disputes. As the saying goes, a picture is worth a thousand words, especially one that is date-stamped.

The thought had occurred to me that the attack was connected to a site dispute. That being so I wanted to talk to my staff as soon as I got to the project site and check if there were any problems that I was not aware of.

I had an excellent team. If a problem cropped up they would usually attempt to resolve it themselves and involve me only if they thought it to be necessary. It was a work practice that I encouraged and they knew that I’d back them up if something didn’t work out as planned.

***

My strategy of seeing if anyone did a double-take when they saw me arrive at work safe and sound did not turn out to be the clever ploy that I had hoped. And it was my own fault. I had figured, wrongly as it turned out, that if I did not fly in to the site as was usual on the early flight it might put the miscreants at their ease. Then, thinking that I was definitely history, when I did arrive it would take them by surprise and they might give themselves away somehow.

What did happen when I turned up late for work on a Monday morning for the first time ever was that I was constantly being greeted with jocular questions about what I had been up to during the weekend. Everyone seemed to be determined to ask me about my weekend and imply that I had been misbehaving. The fact that I did not have a reputation for such behavior added to the humour of the situation as far as the others were concerned. Many of the construction workers on site also got into the joke. Wherever I went for the rest of the morning I was constantly bombarded with friendly but respectful greetings such as; “Hey Boss. How did your weekend go?”

As a strategy to gain some insight into the identity of my attackers, my game plan had been a flop. It was frustrating to think that the bad guys might even have been asking me about my weekend just to watch my reaction. The reverse of my plan. Somehow, the boot was on the other foot.

As the morning progressed I realized that I was getting distracted and appraising everyone that I met as a potential threat. Eventually though I got so immersed in dealing with project issues that by lunchtime my focus was entirely on the job in hand. The events of the previous Friday evening were now on the backburner, for the time being at least.

***

I had just walked into my office after lunch when the telephone rang. It was the site security officer manning the gate, the gate keeper. “Boss, there’s two guys here from the Mareeba Council. They say that they are here to carry out an environmental audit of the site.”

I sighed in frustration. Today of all days. “Did they ask for me in person?”

“Well, no they didn’t. In fact they suggested that you shouldn’t be bothered. They just asked for access to the site.” The gate keeper then hesitated before continuing. “Actually they demanded access to the site. They told me that it was an offence under the Environment Act to refuse them entry.”

“Have they shown you any proof that they are who they say they are?”

“I have Mareeba Council business cards from each of them. One’s a building inspector. The other’s a health inspector.”

“Are they there with you now?”

“Yes. They are right beside me.”

“Okay. Ask them to show you some sort of photo ID. A drivers licence would do.”

After a minute or so of silence other than the sound of muted voices in the background the gate keeper spoke again. “Yes. They are who they say they are. Building inspector Wilson and health inspector Watson.”

Wilson and Watson? The names sounded familiar. Then I recalled when I had heard their names before. They were troublemakers and the last people that I wanted to have wandering around the site. “Good. Tell them that they will not be permitted onto the site until after I have spoken to them. Unfortunately I will be tied up for the next twenty to thirty minutes but I will see them as soon as I can. Let them bring their vehicle through the gate and have them park it in the visitors parking area near the gate. Offer them a drink and invite them to use the waiting room.”

Dealing with Local Government officials was one of the downsides of being a construction manager. Building a new mine in a semi-remote area changes the social landscape and brings new sources of revenue to the surrounding shire council. Sometimes there is considerable interaction between the two organizations and the Council’s relationship with the mine operators is symbiotic. In the best of situations the give-and-take is reciprocal and both parties benefit. But the Red Rock Mine lay within the Mareeba Shire and the relationship with the Council was far from being the best of situations. The Mareeba Council was more akin to a parasite attempting to suck the life from a host. Persons claiming to be Council representatives were relentless in their pursuit of payment for services. Services that were often of dubious justification, the payment for which were often requested to be paid to agencies whose connection to the Council was tenuous to say the least.

My first confrontation with Mareeba Shire Council had followed my rejection of their claim for a road maintenance levy to be paid by all heavy vehicles hauling equipment to the mine site. Unfortunately the first claim had been paid by the site accountant unaware that the roads used by our trucks were State Highways which were not maintained by the Mareeba Shire Council. When I had become aware of the issue I had denied their unfounded claim and had requested repayment of the amount already paid. My actions had not endeared me to the Council’s representatives. Our ongoing relationship was permanently soured.

I smiled, thinking back to when I had told Brian Clements that the Council officers considered me to be arrogant and that I considered them to be either incompetent or dishonest. Brian had quipped that we were probably both right.

The Council also had an interest in a local gravel and concrete aggregate supplier that had expected to supply tens of thousands of tonnes of concrete aggregate during construction of the mine facilities. I had considered their price to be too high and had brought in a mobile crushing and screening plant to quarry our own aggregate from the local limestone outcrops. The Council had tried to block us but eventually had to back down when I was able to show that the mine development approval granted by the Queensland Government specifically permitted us to do so.

The continual conflict with the Mareeba Council did sometimes distract me from more important issues on occasions but I had already saved more than $300,000 by not giving in to the Council’s invalid claims. I did not intend to start doing so now.

But first I would do a little checking. Clicking the mouse to reactivate my desktop computer I did a Google search for “local government devolvement queensland environmental regulations”. Top of the responses was a pdf document entitled; ‘Environmentally Relevant Activities Devolved to Local Government’.

In less than a minute I had what I was looking for. Page one of the pdf presented a table listing all the Local Government Areas in Queensland that did not have environmental responsibilities devolved to them. In the middle of the table, among the eighteen Regional Councils and Shire Councils listed, was the Mareeba Shire Council.  It was clear. Messrs Wilson and Watson were trying to bat in the wrong league.

I decided that I would deal with Wilson and Watson and hopefully get them out of my hair for good.

***

Leaving my office I drove in my 4WD to the work site looking for Tony Payne. As expected, he was working on the concrete foundations and retaining walls for the Mill Building. Seeing me drive up and get out of my vehicle he raised a hand in greeting and walked over to where I was standing. After exchanging friendly greetings and briefly discussing the work in hand I got around to the point of my being there. “Tony, a few weeks ago you told me about two of your workers having a run-in with two Mareeba Shire building inspectors…”

Tony Payne nodded and spoke before I had finished speaking. I took no offence from his interruption as I was aware that I often gave rather long-winded preambles prior to asking a question. “Sure. Tom Beatty and Bob Thomas. Both have homes in Mareeba. Do you want to see them?”

“Yes, I’d like to talk to them. Would you bring them across to my office as soon as you can spare them for fifteen minutes or so.”

“Sure. They’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

“Excellent. Thanks. Come with them if you can make yourself free.”

“No problem.”

***

Ten minutes later the three of them walked into my office. Standing to greet them I motioned for them to be seated. “Tom, Bob. Two inspectors from the Mareeba Council waiting to see me. When I heard their names I recalled Tony telling me about your experiences with a couple of corrupt inspectors from the Mareeba Shire Council. Today’s visitors are named Wilson and Watson. Are they the two that you told Tony about?”

They both nodded vigorously and chorused, “Yes.”

I asked, “Tell me about them.”

After exchanging brief glances, Bob Thomas spoke first. “I had to wait months to get some work inspected when I was doing some renovations at home. Finally when I asked what I had to do to get the work inspected I was told to leave a hundred dollars in an envelope at the site of the work to be inspected. If the money was there the work would be approved. As if the bloody fees that I had to pay to the Council were not enough. Anyway, I did it. I left the money in an envelope and the work was finally inspected by one of the inspectors and approved. Well, inspected might be the wrong word, visited by one of the inspectors might be more accurate. I can’t imagine either of them actually doing any work.”