Broken Flags

Broken Flags A FAST-PACED GOVERNMENT CONSPIRACY THRILLER SET IN COMMUNIST CHINA James Sunday Content Hub Prologue IT WAS DIRTY money. Sure, it felt clean; the notes crisp and creaseless and the smell pungently sterile as if each hundred-dollar bill had been scrubbed the same way a surgeon would disinfect his instruments. But Andy may as well have been holding oil rags. The invisible muck this money put on his sweaty hands was enough to make him ill. Taking the cash felt as sickening as a hangover and as dizzying as standing on the rooftop of the bank’s fifty-two-story building. Andy put the brick of cash back inside the yellow envelope and nervously tugged at his tie. Five sets of eyes stared at him, and the boardroom walls felt as if they were closing in. “You know what this means, right?” Taylor asked, reclining in the leather chair. “I won’t put it any other way, champ. This is hush money. You take it, you don’t say a word.” Andy didn’t acknowledge Taylor. He was frozen, feeling as if he were on that rooftop and nudging the tips of his polished Oxford loafers over the edge. His tie flapping in the cold evening breeze, slapping his face. If only he were on the roof. Jumping could be a treat compared to this. He was accustomed to being in this room at night. Last minute meetings with high-touch clients. Strategy sessions with the Federation Bank’s execs, whose salaries were triple the size of Andy’s. He’d then depart for a ten-p.m. meal in his apartment. Takeout. Reheated. Usually eaten while half-watching Seinfeld reruns. But not tonight. He couldn’t even think of eating. Everything had changed. Even the boardroom felt different, as if the mood had shifted. There was a sinister quality to it, and Andy wanted to run as far away as he could. “But take that money and say as much as a fuckin’ peep…” Taylor placed his bread-stick fingers on the boardroom table and leaned forward. “Well, matey. Our little operation has helped some nasty boys who specialise in making life difficult for difficult people. And their families. That widowed mum of yours. That tight little princess you’re dating. We’ll make sure everything around you, everyone around you, turns to shit.” At the end of the long table, Tom Major – respected credit manager with a dedicated twenty-five years at the bank – shifted his seat in Andy’s direction. Alongside him were three of the bank’s senior relationship managers, looking on sternly. Taylor continued, “We’ve been very generous tonight. Haven’t we, gents?” Andy heard four separate mumbles of agreement. “So, I suggest you take that mighty big bonus and enjoy a little career break. On us.” Andy’s so-called bonus was big. And heavy. The weight and shape of two bricks. He was well-acquainted with seeing dollar amounts of this size, but only on a computer screen. Rarely in the flesh. A six-figure sum was usually just a number, points in a game he only spectated over, played by men much more well-off and powerful than he. He’d only ever seen this much physical cash as a bank teller in his university years, working part-time at the bottom of the bank’s food chain. He’d made progress since then, earning the title of Relationship Manager. But in this room, he felt as inferior as phytoplankton on a dark seabed. He looked again at the yellow A4 envelope containing his bribe. His hush money. This was a deposit on a house. A duplex around the corner from Kirribilli or maybe a character home on Sydney’s south coast. Not even his dad had owned real estate at the age of thirty. Andy returned Taylor’s cold stare with a nervy one of his own. He wanted to swallow, but his throat was desert dry. “Okay…” “Didn’t quite catch that, mate–” “Okay. Yes. I get it… Don’t worry, alright? I’ve already forgotten what I found.” He felt a cancer in his stomach as he finished the sentence. Blood drained from his body, substituted with poison. Andy had so easily submitted to this tyrant, and yet he wasn’t ashamed. Just relieved. “That’s good, matey. Very smart.” Taylor leaned forward again, closer this time, as if wanting to share another, even more damning secret than the one Andy had discovered that afternoon. His breath reeked of alcohol. “Me and the boys want you to take a long vacation somewhere, champ. Somewhere that puts an ocean between us. That clear? And if I catch wind you’re back here too soon? Then, my goal, my north fuckin’ star, will be ensuring this entire thing falls on your head.” Andy’s vision narrowed, and his heart seemed loud enough for all to hear. “What? How?” “Those files have your fingerprints on them. Your name is signed right next to Tom Major’s on every loan application.” “No, it’s not. You can’t do that–” “Bullshit, I can’t! You haven’t done a deal on your own in three months. Three months! That’s why I let you have a couple of my own, as long as you inputted them yourself. And we even have the bank’s most senior credit manager, Mr. Tom Major, to testify that that’s exactly what you did. Then skimmed a few bucks for yourself.’ Taylor turned to Major. ‘You remember signing off on those loans for the dishonest Mr. Nixon here, don’t you, Tom?” “Sure do, Cam,” the overweight man said to Taylor. “Latest one was at my desk this afternoon. Think the whole department saw the kid come to my office.” Andy couldn’t believe he’d trusted and respected Tom Major only hours ago. “Yeah, I’ll get slapped on the wrist for letting a subordinate conduct my deals and use my passwords,” Taylor said, “but that’ll be like a pinch in the bum compared to the ass jockeying you’ll get from the AFP, from ASIC… from the media.” The half-drunk terrestrial predator stared him down. Andy’s reptilian brain could no longer discern a tiger