4. Admin Support Officer
The bureaucrat was on board, fully committed, au fait, up to speed and well-versed. He knew his onions. In due course and the fullness of time, he could expect to see his name in The Canberra Times one Queens Birthday, a satisfied member of the Commonwealth Club.
His name was Kim, which was a good name for a man in his occupation.
If a government bureau could be considered to be a desk with an in tray and an out tray, Kim’s organisation would have an overflowing in tray, and if anything ever appeared in the out tray, it meant something had gone wrong.
Kim’s job involved making sure that whatever did manage to find its way into the out tray was harmless before it left the building, and for this, he was an Administrative Support Officer of a reasonably secure level.
Work began at seven-thirty here. At least it did for a keen young ASO. That was the best time for work, before workmates stuck their heads in the door or dropped files on his desk or made random comments about sporting teams. Half the day’s work could be done in the first hour, Cafe del Mar edging his mind along.
His partner Lee considered his grey cement workplace a prison, letting him out on day release at night. He’d fall into bed exhausted and be off again at sparrowdawn the next day to clock in. At least they had weekends together. Sometimes.
He began his day with a crucial email, followed it up with unrelated reports, and then summarised the common ground. That kept him going until his dawn cuppa was a misty memory.
He was thinking warmly about refreshing the memory when his phone rang.
“Kim, sweetie! Stace. The boss has got me making coffee, and he wants you up here to have it with his wife’s special biscuits. Better take the stairs – they are about ninety percent chocolate. See you in two.”
The phone clicked off before he could make an appropriate comment. Something about climbing mountains or crawling over broken glass to see Stace.
He took a moment to splash on some fresh Zegna before leaving the office. Stace would notice.
The stairs were a pain. Putting combination locks on the inside doors and changing the codes weekly meant that only the keenest Administrative Support Officers used them. Kim took them two at a time.
Stace handed him a plate of homemade biscuits as he came in, taking the tray with coffeepot and cups himself. Three cups, Kim noticed.
Chief Administrative Support was waiting for him, along with Head Policy Liaison. Admin Support might run the bureau on paper, but Policy Liaison was where the real weight lay.
Stace poured, adding milk and sugar according to preference – Stace was reputed to know every taste of every officer – setting out a biscuit each for HPL and Kim, but avoiding CAS.
He shut the door behind him as he left.
“Right. Thanks for coming, Kim. We’ve got a job for you.”
HPL dunked his biscuit into the coffee before beginning. CAS glared but said nothing.
“ASIO, as you probably know, begin work on their new headquarters today. Site clearing to start with, but for the first time it’s work that isn’t hidden away in planning and procedures. People will notice trees coming down, fences going up and so on.
“In hindsight, it was an amazingly bold decision on site selection, and five years ago it seemed a brilliant use of resources. But now, maybe not so flash. You know how things go.”
“They should have put it out of sight at Campbell Park,” CAS sighed.
“It would have solved the parking problem,” HPL agreed, licking his fingers. “Irregardless, the decision was made, it can’t be reversed, and the government’s desire now is to keep it from becoming an issue in the media.”
“ASIO’s desire. Which is where you come in,” CAS said, examining Kim over the rim of his coffee cup.
“Media relations will put the right spin on it,” Kim responded. “National good, centralised location, sensitive planning, environmental efficiency. There are a lot of pluses.”
“Yes,” CAS agreed. “But the bottom line is that it’s a whacking great fortress of a building dominating the lake view, out of keeping with the planned boulevard atmosphere of Constitution Avenue. The local residents will hate it.”
“Even as their property values shoot through the roof,” said HPL. “You live in Campbell with a bit of a view. What do you think of it?”
“What’s good for the nation is good for me.”
“Poppycock. You’ll hate it. Your mission is to organise a local protest group. Here’s a list of names. Colonel Kern is your obvious figurehead. There’s also a few notions we’ve used before. Go for it.”
Kim took the file.
“I can’t guarantee that it will be a particularly effective protest group, Sir.”
CAS and HPL chuckled in unison.
“Good man!” CAS said. “And Kim? If this becomes a stuff-up, and I’m reading it in The Canberra Times, heads will be rolling down the corridors here. Yours will be the first one to bounce.”
“It won’t come to that, Sir.”
“See to it.”
“Sir.”
Stace winked at him as he came out. He winked back.
Kim walked back to his cramped little office. Thoughtfully, waiting for the lift.
Phone message from Lee:
Oh, Kim. The babysitter’s coming at seven, and the restaurant is booked for seven thirty. I’ve got a taxi ordered for seven fifteen. You might like to pick out a special bottle on the way home. See you tonight. Love you!
Email from Zoe:
Kim? You didn’t need to ask. The answer is YES! It always has been. Love Zoe
Kim sighed. Work was complex enough without life intruding. If only he could compartmentalise and suppress his relationships in the same way. Keep them close but quiet. Stop them from speaking to each other. He had a partner, two children and now a girlfriend. And the girlfriend was his partner’s best friend.
Who the bloody hell was responsible for this stuff-up? Heads would roll.
Copyright © 2009 Peter Mackay