An Impossible Dream

Guys, let me ask you one thing; have you ever met a woman who was so far out of your reach that you made no attempt to reach her? If you have you will understand exactly how I felt not fifteen minutes ago. She was several rungs higher up the corporate ladder than I, even more rungs up the social ladder than I, and light years higher up the ladder of personal wealth than I. She had a style that I could never achieve, a presence that I envied. She was Ariadne d'Arbanville, and I was smitten, not that it was ever going to do me any good, I was so far down the queue of smitten men that she needed binoculars just to see me, that's if she even bothered to look. I had just had to resign myself to the fact that she and I would never exist on the same planet.

This was my first day at Broadstock Corporation's London office. Broadstock was a multi-national corporate megalith, a company so large, so important, that mere minions such as myself were made to feel honoured just to be breathing the same air as them. The Broadstock empire consisted mostly of a media conglomerate that large that it influenced the way that the population of several countries voted. Governments owed their very existence to Roland Broadstock, and he made certain that they were aware of that titbit of information. When Roland wanted something done, it was done. His power was immeasurable, and he and they knew it.

I wasn't new to this corporation, this was my fifth year, having begun life as a newly graduated journalist doing the usual hack work in the lowest level of his empire, a regional throw away paper that few read, covering store openings, Council meetings and police rounds. My job was to cover a set route each day taking notes of the committee meetings of various interest groups, as well as council planning decisions, and the goings on at the local Magistrates Court. It was a shit job but you have to start somewhere. The whole time that I spent in this stultifying boredom, I dreamed of the one big story that would make my name and cement my career as an Investigative Journalist.

My big break arrived in my second year when I got wind of rumours that Barry Coleman, a member of parliament, was taking back-handers from a company Director, Robert Simpson, who needed a planning decision overturned so that they could set up a processing plant on land that had been zoned as residential. I didn't tell my Editor about the story until I had the proof that would stand up and not result in a successful libel suit.

I had completed my rounds report and dropped it into the Sub-editor's in tray, along with my report of the investigation, and was going through my schedule for the next day, when the typed pages were dropped on my desk in front of me. "What's this?" He didn't sound happy.

"Oh just something that I got wind of and decided to follow up."

"You are sure of your facts then?"

"I wouldn't have submitted it if I wasn't. I can prove everything that is in that report, dates, times, places and even amounts. There were that many paper bags being shifted around, it was almost like that party game pass the parcel. Simpson sent one of his minions to his Lawyer with a bag of money. His Lawyer sent one of his minions to Jamieson, the Lobbyist with a paper bag with money, slightly less than he received. He in turn sent a messenger to the Minister's office with a paper bag with slightly less than he, the Lobbyist, had received. There were cut-outs all along the food chain and they all had their snouts in the trough. I don't know how much the intermediaries each took as their cut, but I know how much was in the bag that Simpson handed over, and how much was in it when Coleman opened it. My information is that Coleman is having dinner at his club tonight, and his guest is none other than the Chairman of the council zoning committee, and I can guess that some of the money that he got will find its way into the pocket of a certain Chairman. Council are due to discuss the planning proposal at the regular meeting tomorrow, if this hits the fan in tomorrow's paper we might be able to influence the decision and prevent the overturning of the residential zoning."

"You do realise that we will have several Lawyers calling us tomorrow with veiled, and not so veiled, threats of legal action. You have to be one hundred percent sure of your story or your career here will be short-lived. If it turns out that you are right, and can prove it, you can kiss good-bye to your current job and move to more exciting reporting."

"I'll look forward to the new experience." That was all that I said, I needed to say no more. I knew that my facts were not only correct, but provable.

At 10:00 the next morning I was at the Council offices for the Planning Meeting. I had a copy of this morning's paper under my arm. The front page was going into the scrap book that I was about to start. My first by-line. The Headline Writer had come up with 'Council Under Pressure' which I thought was somehow a tad lacking, but it did have an economy of words that I had yet to embrace. I sat, one of two people, in the public gallery waiting for the meeting to begin. Someone tapped me on my shoulder. "A word if you will." It was the CEO. I followed him to his office to find Coleman already there in a not happy mood. "What is this?" He asked, pointing to his copy of the article.

"That is a story that I wrote about you attempting to influence the proper working of this council at the behest of your good mate Robert Simpson."

"I don't know where you got this tissue of lies from, but, let me warn you, you have not heard the end of this."

"And what are you going to do about it?"

"My Lawyers are at this very moment filing an affidavit, suing you and this rag for libel and defamation. Let's see how you and your sleazy rag feel about that."

"Oooh, I'm so afraid." I said sarcastically. "Our legal department has gone over the information and the proof that I provided, and they say, 'go your hardest'. They would not have printed this if they were not sure that the information would hold up in any libel case. You cannot be found guilty of libel if you are telling the truth. I have told the truth. And before you ask, I am not going to reveal my sources, even in the face of a contempt of court charge."

"We'll see about that." I thought that he was going to say more, but, if he did I didn't hear it because he was on his way out of the room.

I returned to the public gallery in time for the start of the hearing on the application for the change of the zoning regulations. The Chairman was the first to speak. "We have before us an application to change the zoning of a parcel of land situated on the main highway, some seven kilometres to the north of this town. Now, as I understand it, this land was rezoned as residential some twenty years ago when a property developer had bought up this parcel with the view to creating a new suburb. Unfortunately for him, the property market suffered a slump and he was unable to proceed with his plans, and by the time that the property market improved, he had unfortunately run out of money. No further interest has been forthcoming for this land until now. We have a proposal from Simpson Oil Seeds to buy this land in order to build a seed oil extraction plant. This plant will employ at least two hundred workers in its construction phase and at least a hundred operational staff. There is a need for enterprises such as this, as a source of employment at a time of high unemployment. This committee has looked at this proposal in detail and are ready to hear any submissions as to why we should not change the zoning from residential to industrial. Are there any here who would oppose these plans?" He looked around the chamber, hoping that there would be no dissenting voices. His gavel was raised and just about to be lowered, sealing the deal, when a clerk entered the room and whispered in his ear. The gavel was lowered, slowly, not in a final gesture, but in shock as he saw his share of the bribe being withheld.

"Are you sure?" He whispered to the clerk.

"Yes. James (the CEO) has just got off the phone to our legal team. They have confirmed that this is sub-judice, we cannot move on this proposal until the legal case has been heard."

"Fuck." While those in the chamber could not hear his exclamation, it didn't take a professional lip-reader to understand it. He looked at those few in the chamber who were largely made up of those who had to be there, few outside the council were even interested in the meeting. "I have just been informed that there are legal proceedings around this meeting and the decision making process. We are unfortunately unable to vote on this proposal at this time." The gavel was raised and lowered in a gesture of angry finality. "This meeting is closed." He stormed from the chamber. "What the fuck is going on?" He yelled at the clerk scurrying along beside him.

"How should I know, I was just following instructions."

He saw me strolling down the corridor. "You! You're to blame for this. This so-called article in this mornings paper is a pack of lies. I am off to see my Lawyer. You had better make plans to leave this town and your job, because mate, you will not be welcome in either after I'm through with you!"

"We shall see what we shall see." I smiled brightly at him as I headed for the front door, whistling a happy tune as I went. I didn't know the name of the tune, or even if it officially existed as a tune, it was happy and it was tuneful, and a reflection of how I felt about now.

People to whom I had meant little before today, gazed at me in what I hoped was respect as I walked towards my desk. A reception committee awaited my return. "James, We have had three, possibly four lawyers offices ring us about this article. They have all been told the same thing, that we stand behind you and this article, and we have the necessary proof to successfully fight any law suit that they care to bring against us. Now Rodney (the Sub-Editor) here tells me that Legal has gone over it with a fine toothed comb and found it to be sound, and a fine piece of investigative journalism. Congratulations my boy. Now for the good news, How do you feel about working in the main office?"

"You mean the Standard?"

"Yes, the Standard."

"When do I start?"

"You already have. Bryce, who is a man of some importance, here has come all the way out here to meet you, and to formalise your transfer into town. I'll leave the two of you to nut out the finer points of your transfer."

"Wow! I don't believe this could be happening to me. Thank you Sir." I said to his retreating back.

"How long will it take you to pack up your things?" Bryce asked me.

"About a minute, once I find a suitable box to put my stuff in. There's not a lot here."

"Good, enough time for a coffee, lead me to the lunch room."

My how things change when you're famous. A steady stream of people that didn't know that I existed before today, came into the lunch room to pat me on the back and tell me that they knew that I had it in me. Coffee never tasted this good.

Half an hour later I was in Bryce's car, my box of stuff in the boot, heading for my new life. Wait until I tell Mum and Dad that the cost of my education had not been wasted. Speaking of which. I took my mobile from my pocket and called home. "Mum, it's James." Before I could utter another word she asked me what was wrong. "Nothing's wrong Mum, in fact everything's right, couldn't be better in fact. I have got a promotion to the Standard, I'm on my way to Sydney as we speak to take up my new job."

"How come, how has this happened?" She sounded shocked.

"You obviously haven't read this weeks paper. Read it before you wrap garbage in it and you'll understand. Your little boy is famous. I'll tell you all about it when I get home tonight."

"You still live at home then." Bryce had been listening, he was a Journalist after all.

"Yeah, I can't afford a place of my own on the money that I get from working at the weekly throw away. That brings me to something that we haven't actually discussed, how much will I be getting now?"

The figure mentioned brought a whistle from my lips. "That hasn't been finalised yet, but that's the base rate, the least that you can expect."

"Phew! That much."

"Yes, that much. But you'll have to earn every cent of that. If you can't come up with the goods you'll be back in your old job that fast that your head will spin."

"So, I'm under no pressure then?"

"There is one thing that you'll learn very quickly, and that is that Roland expects results for the dollars he pays us. If circulation drops, or ratings fall, there has to be a very good reason for that or heads will roll. It's not good enough for us to tell him that no-one buys newspapers any more, he expects us to encourage the public to keep buying them. If circulation falls then advertising revenue falls, and that cuts into his profit margin, and that is not allowed to happen. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly. I suppose that he expects that I will hit the ground running, and not take time to assimilate into my new surroundings."

"I knew that you were a fast learner the moment I met you." I didn't know whether he was genuine or being sarcastic.

The introductions to other Journalists was a very brief affair, it happened on the run, such was the life of this place, as I would come to realise very quickly. A desk was found for me and I dumped my box of stuff. "You have a direct line as well as an extension number. All calls will come through the switch unless you give out your direct line, that way you can keep calls confidential if you're speaking with an informant. Personal calls should come through the switch."

"So that you can monitor them to check if I'm bludging, is that it?"

"Did I say that?"

"No, I don't know what gave you the idea that we'd spy on our staff." He glanced at the woman seated in the next desk. "Sonia here will show you where the essentials are. I'll leave you in her capable hands."

"Hi, I'm James, and as you might have guessed, I'm new here."

"Hi, I'm not much older than you, in terms of how long I've been here. This is my second month."

"Boy, they must have a high turn-over of Journos around here."

"They come, they go. The good ones are moved to either London or New York, the not so good tend to stick around a little longer, while those less good get sent to the regionals, or are sacked."

"I hope that I'm not one of those."

"I don't think you will be, there's a buzz about you already, being groomed for stardom they tell me. It must have been some story that you came up with to warrant this treatment."

"I caused a stir, yes. A certain polly (Politician) is likely to find himself under investigation by ICAC because of an article that I wrote."

"Obviously a government member."

"What makes you say that?" I asked her.

"Because Roland has it in for the government and will use any method to discredit them."

"Oh, I suppose then that I will be given the task of following up on this story and hounding Coleman until he resigns, or is pushed."

"I don't think so. I heard some talk this morning, it seems that Roland thinks that Coleman is more useful, in the bigger picture, to be kept in his current job. He will probably go after him with a vengeance closer to the next election. Go for him now and the voters will forget come election time."

"Our boss is a devious bastard, isn't he? Remind me not to get on his wrong side."

"I'll watch your back if you promise to watch mine." She smiled at me. I hadn't noticed how good she looked until she smiled, it capped off a really nice face.

"What are you working on at the moment?"

"This is a biggy. There has been a rumour going around about a huge cover up of a ring of paedophile priests in the Catholic Church, and that the church hierarchy has tried to cover it up. I have been sniffing around the edges, but can't seem to penetrate the wall that has been built around it. Any suggestions?"

"I think that I should ask to work on this with you."

"Why? It's my story."

"Because the priesthood is a male preserve, and a woman will never be able to break down the male network. The only way that we can bring them to account is to brand all priests as paedophiles, that way they will be forced to defend themselves. If you attack the individual they'll just be moved around, keeping one step ahead of investigators."

"You seem to know something about this subject."

"I am a Catholic, and yes, I was an altar boy. You know that joke about the young priest filling in for the older one who is off somewhere. He has been giving instructions as to the penalties for various offences that he will hear during confession. One young man confessed to engaging in oral sex with another young man. The young priest hadn't been told about that one, so he asked one of the altar boys, 'what does Father Murphy give for a blow job?' to which the boy replies, 'A can of Coke and a Mars bar.' In the light of what has been rumoured, and exposed, this is not a joke/"

"So how are we going to break down the barriers?"

"I might just have to go to confession, I haven't been for a while."

"And what do you have to confess?"

"I might just mention that I have discovered that a priest has been playing around with young boys and confess that I have not gone to the police about it, and ask what he would do under the circumstances. If he tells me to go to the police, I'll casually mention that he was the subject of the rumour. Then let's see what he will do. If he denies it I'll still investigate, if he demands to know who told me so that he can sue for defamation, then I'll have to tell him that I cannot reveal my source, just as he can't reveal what he hears in the confessional. If he is suddenly moved to a new Diocese we'll know that this is possibly the tip of a very large and messy iceberg, of institutional malfeasance. If he tells me to go to the police, then I know that he's not the one and hope that he takes the matter further."

"You're a devious one, aren't you? Is that how you got that story on Coleman?"

"Yes and no. Most of it I got from a whistle blower within his electoral office, the rest was my deviousness."

"I think that I'm going to enjoy working with you. I'll put in a request to have you assigned to this story."

"Thank you, I'd like that, and not because of the story, I'd enjoy working with you on any story."

"Aren't you sweet. I must warn you that my boyfriend might not like it."

"I suppose that he's one of these hulking football players who could rip my head of with a single punch."

"No. If the truth be known, I don't have a boyfriend."

"Next question. Where is the watering hole of choice, I think that I owe you a drink."

"I suppose that now you are thinking that you can get me drunk and have your wicked way with me, you cad."

"No. If I were to make love to you, I would want you to be perfectly sober so that you fully enjoy the experience."

"Put it away stud. Let's just see what eventuates, shall we?"

"Sure, I wouldn't want to rush you, tomorrow will be soon enough." I smiled at her to let her know that I was joking, which was part of my strategy to get into her pants. If she felt comfortable in the knowledge that I was joking, I could sneak up on her and take her by surprise.

"How far have you got with your investigation?" I asked her.

"So far I have interviewed a dozen or so concerned parents, all of who have told me that they are concerned about their children and the church. They have all told of behavioural changes, of their sons suddenly not wanting to go to church, of them becoming withdrawn around the family, of having few friends, and of their school grades dropping dramatically and of bad behaviour towards their teachers."