Girl Underground Page 7
‘Menzies,’ I say, ‘when your mum said your dad was going back to the house tonight, did she mean your other house?’
‘No,’ mutters Menzies. ‘Our other house is hundreds of kilometres away. She meant parliament house.’
‘So everyone’s still at parliament house,’ I say. ‘Working all night.’
Menzies nods.
‘Good,’ I say.
‘No it’s not,’ he says. ‘I don’t want my father to be in politics any more. Next time there’s an election, I want him to lose.’
Suddenly Menzies sits up and grabs my shoulders. Little reflections of the bedside lamp make his eyes even brighter than usual.
‘Your family can help,’ he says. ‘Your family can send thugs to every voting booth to threaten to bash people if they vote for my father. Your family can kidnap my father’s campaign manager. And burn down the place that prints his how-to-vote cards. And then…’
‘Menzies,’ I say sharply. ‘My family don’t do that sort of crime.’
Menzies sinks back onto his pillow.
‘But,’ I say, ‘we can still help Jamal and Bibi.’
‘How?’ says Menzies gloomily.
‘By asking the right person,’ I say.
Menzies looks at me. I can see he doesn’t get it.
‘Just now we asked the wrong person,’ I say.
‘I know,’ says Menzies, even more gloomily.
‘Your dad reckons he’s just a member of a team,’ I say. ‘The government team.’
Menzies looks at me again. He still doesn’t get it. Anger does that to your brain. Turns it into Turkmenistan border mud.
‘Who’s the boss of the government?’ I ask.
Menzies’ eyes widen. Now he gets it.
‘The Prime Minister,’ he says.
‘Exactly,’ I say. ‘That’s who we have to go and see.’
So far so good.
Creeping out of Menzies’ place was pretty easy. The guests had all gone and his mother was asleep and Dave didn’t leap out of a cupboard and arrest us. Menzies reminded me that when Dave’s in Canberra he goes and stays with his mum in Belconnen and she makes him go to bed early.
Finding parliament house was pretty easy too. It’s only about three streets away from Menzies’ place, and it’s got a huge hill on top of it so it’s pretty easy to spot, even in the dark.
Getting to it isn’t quite so easy. There are big roads running around the place in circles. Plus there are still quite a few cars even though it’s after midnight. Canberra must have lots of nightclubs.
‘Watch out,’ I yell at Menzies.
I grab him and pull him out of the way of a speeding ute.
‘Thanks,’ he pants. ‘My glasses have fogged up.’
I wait for him to wipe them on his shirt, then we run across the last road and onto the big lawn sloping up to the parliament house entrance.
Suddenly I’m feeling a bit nervous.
On this huge lawn I can’t see a single kangaroo. Perhaps the people in parliament house aren’t as kind as the other people in Canberra.
‘Menzies,’ I say. ‘Does the Prime Minister have bodyguards? Ones that shoot on sight if he’s approached by a kangaroo or people without an appointment?’
‘Don’t think so,’ says Menzies. ‘He has bodyguards, but only when he’s out in public or having the US president round for a barbie. Come on, we can get in this way.’
Menzies heads down a slope at the side of the building and I follow.
I realise what he’s doing. We’re going to break in round the back where we won’t be noticed.
Suddenly I’m feeling very nervous. The night air is warm, but there’s a cold dampness coming up off the grass and it’s making me shiver.
When I was little, Dad used to tell me a story about a gang of evil robbers who had a huge fortress under a hill where they kept all their gold and jewels and frequent flyer points. It was so heavily guarded it was impossible to break into unless you had a magic horse with wings and a diesel excavator.
The closer we get, the more parliament house is reminding me of that place. Trouble is, me and Menzies don’t have any heavy earth-moving equipment. And I’ve left the master key Uncle Ollie gave me in my locker at school.
I take some deep breaths to steady my nerves.
I think of Jamal and Bibi, trapped in a different sort of evil fortress, desperate for our help.
My heart starts to beat faster. Not just with fear. With determination as well.
Don’t be scared, I tell myself. If it was easy to drop in for a chat with the Prime Minister, everyone would be doing it.
‘This way,’ says Menzies.
His voice doesn’t sound scared, and it makes me feel brave too.
We hurry along a concrete tunnel.
Suddenly I’m ready to do anything. Climb high walls. Crawl through sewers. Duck under security beams and hide in prickly foliage. Anything that doesn’t involve snakes.
Or security guards.
I grab Menzies. At the end of the tunnel is a security checkpoint. Two guards are watching us approach.
‘It’s OK,’ says Menzies.
He just keeps walking towards them. I follow because there’s nothing else to do. I can’t run and leave him to face them alone.
I’m just starting to wonder if me being shot in an underground entrance to parliament house will cause Mum and Dad to be investigated, when one of the guards speaks.
‘G’day, Menzies,’ he says. ‘Your dad working tonight?’
Menzies nods.
My mouth falls open. I close it in case leaving it hanging open makes me look guilty.
‘You’re having a late one too, eh Menzies?’ says the guard. ‘Best not run around outside when your dad brings you here. Some of my colleagues might not recognise you. And they might think your friend’s a terrorist.’
The other security guard gives me a grin.
My legs are trembling harder than an Armenian sandwich-toaster struggling bravely to toast a sandwich.
The first security guard signals for us to step through the metal detector.
I have a horrible thought.
What if I’ve got any illegal items on me? Mum and Dad could end up the victims of a major crime investigation even without me being shot.
I pat my pockets, thinking fast. My Bulgarian gameboy is back at school. My Latvian walkman is with one of my cousins after her Japanese one broke. I’m not wearing a fake Lord of the Rings t-shirt.
Phew, all clear.
I step through the metal detector. Menzies does too.
The alarm doesn’t go off.
‘House will be sitting for hours yet,’ says the first guard. ‘Pop into the visitors’ gallery and give your dad a wave.’
‘Thanks, Dennis,’ says Menzies.
Weak with relief, I give Dennis and the other guard my friendliest smile and check that I haven’t wet myself.
Then me and Menzies walk into parliament house.
The time is approximately 12.23 a.m. and we’re proceeding along a corridor in the actual genuine parliament house of Australia.
I’m not sure what direction we’re going. Towards the Prime Minister I hope.
‘Do you know where to find him?’ I ask.
‘I think so,’ says Menzies. ‘Dad used to bring me here when I was little. Before he got too busy. I think the Prime Minister’s office is round this corner.’
I stop at the corner and peek into the next corridor.
All clear.
Except for the security cameras everywhere. The people who run our school should see this. Give them some clues about protecting their vases.
I have a scary thought.
What if we’re being video taped? What if there’s a government department that checks the family background of every visitor to parliament house for security reasons?
As I follow Menzies down the corridor I make my cheeks bulge out so the government won’t recognise me if they’ve got copies
of my old school photos. Uncle Grub does the same thing when he drives past speed cameras.
‘Here it is,’ says Menzies. ‘The Prime Minister’s office.’ He squints at me. ‘Are you OK?’
I nod and let my cheeks go back to normal.
The security guard sitting behind a desk outside the Prime Minister’s office is giving me a strange look too.
Menzies pulls a plastic ID card from his pocket and shows it to the guard.
‘We’d like a quick word with the Prime Minister, please,’ he says.
This security guard doesn’t look as friendly as Dennis. He shakes his head.
‘I’m not at liberty to divulge the PM’s whereabouts,’ he says.
Menzies’ face falls. He whispers in my ear. ‘He’s saying he can’t tell us where the Prime Minister is.’
I look at the office door behind the guard. It’s shut and no light is coming through the crack at the bottom. Either the Prime Minister is in there playing his gameboy in the dark or he’s somewhere else.
‘Does the Prime Minister have a gameboy?’ I ask the guard.
The guard looks at me steadily.
‘I’m not at liberty to divulge any information about the PM,’ he says.
Is that a hint of a smile on his face? Or indigestion?
‘Thanks, anyway,’ I say.
I turn to Menzies.
‘I don’t think the Prime Minister’s in there,’ I say.
As we head back the way we came I try to think what to do next.
‘Have you got the Prime Minister’s number?’ I say to Menzies. ‘We could ring him on your mobile.’
Menzies shakes his head. ‘He’s unlisted. But he’s the boss of this place, so he must be around here somewhere.’
In the distance I can hear the humming of machinery. I hope it’s not a senator using a Turkish electric shaver Dad sent here without telling me.
We hurry down the corridor and round another corner.
I see what’s making the noise. A man in overalls operating a floor polisher.
‘Excuse me,’ says Menzies to the cleaner. ‘Do you know where the Prime Minister is?’
The cleaner doesn’t say anything or switch his machine off. He just points to a big door further down the corridor.
‘Thanks,’ says Menzies.
He sprints towards the door. I follow. For a second I’m not sure why we’re running. Then I realise. This is all taking too long. If Menzies’ mum wakes up and finds us gone, she’ll ring Dave and we could be sprung at any moment.
Menzies reaches the door and raises his hand to knock.
‘No time for that,’ I say.
I give the door a big heave and we both go in.
My first thought is that we’ve walked into a courtroom. There’s an important-looking bloke sitting up one end just like when Gavin was in court. And a long table with people standing at it.
But this place is much bigger than Gavin’s courtroom. And all the seats are green. There are loads of them sloping up on both sides. And there are loads of people sitting in them.
‘Oh, poop,’ breathes Menzies next to me.
I know what he means.
I’ve seen this on TV.
This is the actual genuine parliament of Australia.
My guts turn to Albanian powdered mashed potato. I want to run. But I don’t. I think of Jamal and Bibi.
There’s a big Australian coat of arms on the wall just like in Gavin’s courtroom. This isn’t a court but it looks like a place of justice and that’s what Jamal and Bibi need.
I go over to the table and peer up at all the faces. They’re all looking at me now. One of them must be the Prime Minister but my blood’s beating so hard in my eyeballs I can’t recognise him.
If I speak to them all he’ll be included.
‘Your honours and worships,’ I say as loud as I can.
I don’t know if that’s right but I hope it is.
‘Jamal and Bibi didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not fair to lock them up. They’re not criminals, they’re just kids.’
All the members of parliament are staring at me. They look shocked. Perhaps they thought Jamal and Bibi were drunk drivers or something.
The bloke up the end stands up. I can see he’s not the Prime Minister, but he looks like he fancies himself.
‘Security,’ he yells. ‘Remove these children from the house.’
Oh, no. They’re going to chuck us out. They don’t care about Jamal and Bibi.
‘Wait,’ roars a voice next to me. ‘Listen.’
It’s Menzies. I can’t believe it. I’ve never heard him yell so loud.
‘I know you’re not really cruel and mean,’ says Menzies, blinking up at the rows of politicians. ‘You’re just scared cause there’s so many millions of refugees in the world. You’re scared that if you’re kind to the few that are here, all the others will want to come. Well it’s OK, they can come.’
The members of parliament are all staring at Menzies now, a bit stunned.
‘Look at America,’ continues Menzies. ‘They’ve got nearly three hundred million people. Australia’s almost as big as America and we’ve only got twenty million people. So we’ve got heaps of room for refugees. They’ll build new cities for us. New industries. Make us successful at soccer. My dad will arrange it. He’s Minister for National Development.’
Menzies stops, out of breath.
I want to hug him.
‘Here, here,’ I yell.
But none of the members of parliament yell it. They’ve all stopped staring at Menzies and now they’re looking at someone sitting in a front seat near the table.
Menzies’ father.
Everyone starts laughing. The whole place rocks with roars and howls of laughter.
Then I see some people aren’t laughing.
The official bloke up the end of the table isn’t.
Nor is Menzies’ father. He’s glaring at Menzies in a fury.
Menzies isn’t laughing either. He looks like he’s only just realising what he’s done.
The other people not laughing are the two security guards, neither of them Dennis, who are lunging towards us.
I grab Menzies and drag him towards the door.
Members of parliament jump to their feet to get a better look at us. Some of them, because they’re very important and like to be at the front, get in the way of the security guards.
I heave the door open, haul Menzies out and look frantically for an escape route.
There isn’t one.
The corridor is full of people running towards us from both directions.
Not security guards.
Journalists.
They surround us, yelling questions and taking pictures.
‘What’s your name?’
‘How old are you?’
‘Who made you do this?’
The journalists are packed in so tight the security guards can’t reach us. But I don’t feel relieved because I’ve just seen something even scarier than security guards.
On my wrist.
My watch.
It’s a Cartier ladies watch. Cartier is a top-notch company in France and their watches cost thousands. Trouble is, mine was made in Taiwan. I forgot about it when we went through the metal detector. Luckily it didn’t set the alarm off, probably because it hasn’t got much real metal in it. Dad’s got heaps of them in his warehouse. If anyone from Cartier finds out, Dad’s in big trouble.
I’ve got to throw these journalists off the scent.
I start by putting my hand behind my back.
‘Come on, sweetie,’ yells a reporter waving a voice recorder. ‘What’s your name?’
I assume he’s talking to me because Menzies just told the whole of parliament who his family is.
‘Britney Spears,’ I say. It’s the first name that comes into my head. I hope she doesn’t mind.
‘Where do you live,’ shouts another reporter.
‘Turkmenistan,’ I say.
‘What are you trying to achieve?’ says a lady journalist who looks as if she’s already decided we’re totally mad and has already written that in her notebook.
‘We’re trying to see the Prime Minister,’ I say. ‘We’re trying to ask him to stop locking kids up.’
‘Well, young lady,’ says an angry voice. ‘You’re going to get your wish because the Prime Minister wants to see you right now.’
It’s Menzies’ father, forcing himself through the circle of journalists.
He grabs me and Menzies.
‘Give them a break,’ he snaps at the journalists. ‘They’re just kids.’
From the grim look on his face, I can see he still feels pretty upset about everyone laughing at him. As he drags us both down the corridor, I hope the Prime Minister’s in a better mood.
The Prime Minister is in a much better mood.
He invites me and Menzies to sit down in his office and gives us a drink from his fridge, which is pretty good of him because as a rule he probably has servants to do that sort of thing.
So far he hasn’t stopped smiling.
‘I know you of course, Menzies,’ he says. He turns to me. ‘And you’re… ?’
‘Bridget,’ I say.
No point in lying. The Prime Minister probably knows Britney Spears personally.
‘Bridget White,’ says Menzies’ father, who’s standing next to us looking pretty sour. After what he’s just been through in parliament, I think he deserves a drink too.
‘Well, Bridget and Menzies,’ says the Prime Minister. ‘You’ve had quite a night.’
Menzies, who’s looking a bit pale and ill, doesn’t say anything. Neither do I. For now I’m concentrating on trying to sit naturally with my watch wrist behind my back.
‘I want to thank you both,’ says the Prime Minister. ‘For alerting me to a couple of weaknesses in our security. As a result of your escapade tonight, two members of the parliamentary security service will be suspended and retrained. Also, until further notice, I am forbidding members of parliament or parliamentary staff to have any family visitors here. Which means this year’s Christmas party for the children of parliamentarians will be cancelled.’