Private Sydney (Private 12)

The strategy definitely worked. Mary ordered scrambled eggs on toast. I chose a zucchini, eggplant and pesto melt. We both settled on lattes.

Before we addressed the office leak, I wanted to get an update on Eric Moss and his organisation. He’d been missing for four days now.

‘Where are you up to with the Moss case?’

Mary sat forward, elbows on the table. ‘This guy could be Roy Orbison. In the few photos he appears in, he’s wearing darkened lenses. They completely hide his eyes and eyebrows. I couldn’t locate one good facial image.’

‘What about when he was younger?’

‘That’s the thing. There are no photos of him before Contigo. I checked the enrolments for schools in the area his daughter said he grew up in. Nothing. This guy had no internet presence.’

The coffees and cutlery arrived.

‘It’s like he’s hiding in plain sight. He gets national hero status, receives top business and citizenship awards, but doesn’t appear in any press. He’s the legs paddling under the water, out of sight.’

‘And Lang Gillies is the duck’s head you see on the surface.’

Our food appeared and I realised how little I’d consumed in the last two days. I ate like someone who didn’t know when their next meal might be. In many ways that was true. This was going to be another long and draining day.

Mary devoured her eggs, pausing once to wipe her mouth with a serviette.

‘I even checked for Throwback Thursday photos, brush-with-fame websites. No one’s posted anything of Moss as an adult or child. And he doesn’t appear on any politician’s websites. Seems he avoided pics with them too. The man was definitely hiding in full view.’

I began to wonder. If he had been hiding for that long, he could have had an exit strategy – in case he was ever exposed.

Chapter 53

BACK AT PRIVATE, a nervous Collette greeted us. We had a visitor who had already shown himself into my office. Two bodyguards waited in the foyer.

One scanned Mary first, with a handheld metal detector, then me.

‘Standard procedure, for people Mr Ambassador meets.’ He had a southern American twang.

Scanner man stayed guarding our entrance, while the other guard walked us to my office and waited outside with Mary.

‘Ambassador Jim Roden.’ A silver-haired man of around sixty greeted me. His suit was expensive, I guessed Italian. The tie was silk, with embossed blue flowers on a lighter background. A perfectly folded pocket handkerchief matched. An American flag badge was pinned to his lapel. We shook hands.

I asked if he would like something to drink before noticing the bottle of mineral water from my bar fridge.

‘Hope you don’t mind, I helped myself. Your receptionist said it was OK.’

I suspected Collette was intimidated by the formality and accompanying muscle.

‘What can I do for you, Mr Ambassador?’

He unbuttoned his jacket and crossed a heel over one knee. ‘I’m concerned about Eric Moss.’

I sat and leant back. ‘Are you a friend?’

‘Acquaintance. We’ve met on a couple of occasions. At a fundraiser and again at the Embassy. He was an impressive man.’

I noted the use of the word ‘was’. I wondered what he knew about the disappearance.

‘Eric Moss only resigned four days ago.’

‘So I hear. My concern is not just personal. Mr Moss has accessed a number of sensitive US facilities during his time with Contigo Valley.’

‘Are you worried he’s sharing state secrets?’