‘Whatever Happened to Wally Bright?’
The following story is based on a chapter that he culled from his novel, GOLD!—The Kincaid Saga, Book 1. It didn’t fit with the overall theme of the book. The characters in The Ravine are from the novel and it explains how and why Wally Bright disappeared. He resisted the urge to call it “Where’s Wally.” (Note to North American readers: Where’s Wally is the Aussie version of Where’s Waldo)
March 2000. Kincaid Mining Corporation head office—Perth, Western Australia.
THE INTERCOM ON LACHIE’S DESK BUZZED, wrenching his thoughts away from the paperwork he had been engrossed in for the past half-hour. He glanced through the window into the adjacent office. Malcolm gave a come here gesture, to which Lachie responded with a wave, mouthing ‘one minute’ to the older Kincaid while holding a finger aloft. Turning back to the forms on his desk, he pencilled a brief placeholder memo on the page, closed the folder, and hurried into Malcolm’s office.
As he pushed open the door, taking care not to leave finger marks on the shiny brass plaque that read “Malcolm Kincaid—CEO” he offered his best smile and said, ‘Sorry, Uncle Mal. Just finalising that contract. I should have it all sorted and on your desk by the end of the day.’ A stern look told him the raised finger hadn’t been well-received.
Before he could say more, however, Malcolm broke his train of thought. When you finish with that, I’ve got something else for you. Something that might test that legal brain of yours.’ He leaned back in his swivel chair, fingers clenched at the back of his neck.
‘You’ve never been up north, have you? I mean, up Port Hedland way?’
‘Ranga and I went on a dive trip to the Abrolhos Islands a couple of months ago. Other than that, I’ve never been further north than Lancelin,’ Lachie replied. ‘Why? You thinking of taking a holiday?’
Malcolm gave a derisive snort. ‘Yeah, right.
‘Actually, Thomas just got back from a lunch meeting. It involved a discussion about us taking over a mine up near Marble Bar. You know where that is?’ ‘He hears it holds the record for Australia’s highest temperature. It’s somewhere in the desert, isn’t it?’
‘Not quite, but you can see it from there.’ Malcolm chuckled, before continuing, ‘It’s a couple of hundred clicks east of Port Hedland. And around fifteen hundred from Perth.’ ‘Sounds like you’ve been reading up.’
‘Yeah, well he reckons we just might get to know the area a bit better before long. This bloke contacted him and made an offer he couldn’t resist, as they say in the movies. ‘He’s a casual acquaintance of Sam Bronson. He’s found himself in trouble with the Powers-That-Be, and Sam suggested we might be able to help him out.’
Lachie waited for the rest. He knew Malcolm wouldn’t be getting involved unless there was some sort of financial benefit for Kincaid Mining. ‘This clown’s been running a one-man gold mine up there for a couple of years. Fossicking on the surface to start with, then tunnelling. He doesn’t think he has the funds for a proper open-cut operation, so he’s probably missing most of the ore that’s in the area.’ He paused, taking a long swig from a coffee mug with “The Boss” boldly emblazoned on it before continuing.
‘Where he’s really come unstuck is the way he’s been retaining—or not retaining, he should say—his tailings. He built a dam across a creek that supplies some abo camp’s waterhole, and in the wet season, the runoff has made it down into the billabong. They reported him to the Environment Ministry and now he looks like maybe ending up in gaol. Unless we help him, that is.’
‘And we will help him because …?’ ‘Because there’s gold in tham thar hills,’ Malcolm affected his best attempt at a US drawl. ‘Gold that Kincaid Mining can extract and profit from. He can get the Government to back off long enough for us to clean things up and then we’ll take Wally Bright’s lease over completely.’
‘Did you say Wally Bright?’ Lachie chuckled at the name. Malcolm joined in. ‘Yeah, well-named, he reckons. Anyway, he’s just grateful to have someone on his side who has a bit of clout.’ ‘He needs you to draw up a preliminary contract,’ he continued. ‘One that gives us total control, and gives Wally as little as possible. Whatever he ends up with will be way better for him than the alternative. As it stands, he’s on the brink of losing the lot and spending a year or two in the Big House.’
Lachie knew the sort of deal his uncle was proposing. ‘He will start on the draft agreement tomorrow,’ he said. ‘He will outline the basics, and we can sort out the nuts and bolts together with Mr Bright at a face-to-face meeting.’
‘Just work out a rough plan,’ Malcolm said. ‘He is going to organise an exploratory team to do some drilling and get some ore sampling done. If it turns out to be as good as he thinks it might, then we’ll go ahead.’
Lachie returned to his desk, but not before detouring via the office kitchen and brewing a coffee.
This was the sort of task that made him wish he worked somewhere—anywhere—else. Malcolm would expect him to screw everything he could out of Wally Bright. The KMC bottom line was all that mattered. With the possible exception, that was, of Malcolm’s personal bottom line. It wasn’t the money, though—it was the power that came with it. Power, prestige, and the capacity to rule others’ lives. Everything else was secondary to Malcolm Kincaid.
He’d draw up the agreement. If he didn’t, Malcolm would give the job to John Lurie, of Lurie, Singh, and Partners. Lurie wouldn’t have any qualms about fleecing Wally Bright out of the mine and leaving him with nothing. At least, Lachie told himself, he could mitigate Wally’s losses. He’d just have to do it in such a way that Malcolm still felt that he was the overall winner.
Lachie finished his coffee and returned to his former task. After putting the finishing touches to the contract he had been working on, he walked next door and dropped it into Malcolm’s in-tray. He checked the clock on the wall. 3:15. Malcolm was nowhere in sight—he was probably off somewhere fraternising with any one of several business high-flyers he associated with of late. Deciding that an early minute might be just what the doctor ordered, Lachie closed his office door and left. Today’s problems were sorted. Tomorrow’s problems? Well, they could wait until tomorrow.
The Contract
It was eight days before the tests were completed. Malcolm summoned Lachie to his office mid-morning. As the younger Kincaid entered, he passed a folder across his leather-trimmed mahogany desk.
‘Check these figures, Lachie, m’boy,’ he said. ‘You’ve studied enough about gold extraction to get the gist of what these numbers represent.’ As Lachie perused the pages, Malcolm continued. ‘It’s like he thought. Wally’s been wasting his time scratching at the surface and following one vein when there was rich ore just a few metres below the surface.’ ‘Looks that way,’ Lachie agreed. ‘So we’re going ahead, then?’
‘Wally’s coming in at two o’clock. He has arranged for John Lurie to sit in. ‘Don’t worry,’ he added, seeing Lachie’s expression do a quick gear-change. ‘He knows you’ll have everything in order. John’s more experienced, that’s all.’
Lachie had everything in order, that was true. The agreement they would be signing, unless John Lurie vetoed anything, was to transfer ownership of the Skull Creek mine from Wally Bright to Skull Creek Pty Ltd. This new company, once established, would operate as a subsidiary of Kincaid Mining Corporation and have full management and responsibility for the running of the mine.
KMC would have 80% ownership, while Mr Walter Bright would retain 20%. Lachie had also included a generous salary package for Mr Bright, who would continue to operate the mine under direct oversight from Malcolm Kincaid.
Malcolm had insisted, however, that a sunset clause be buried in the fine print that meant Wally’s contract would be renegotiated annually, at KMC’s discretion. Lachie knew what that meant—Wally would be out of a job after twelve months. At least—Lachie thought—Wally was guaranteed a substantial income for the time being, and he’d keep his shareholding. He’d also stay out of gaol, Malcolm reminded him.
An additional clause—one that Lachie doubted would stand up in court if it came to it—was that Skull Creek Pty Ltd disavowed itself of any responsibilities for the actions of Walter Bright in relation to the tailings dam and subsequent exposure by the settlement residents occurring prior to the take-over of the aforesaid mine by Skull Creek Pty Ltd.
John Lurie arrived at midday, as had been arranged. After a few formalities, he read the proposal and, much to Lachie’s relief, chose not to suggest any changes. Wally Bright presented himself at 2:00 pm precisely, and by 3:00, the signing was completed and they were toasting each other with Mal’s finest 18-year-old Scotch. ‘He is grateful to you, Malcolm,’ Wally said, after draining his glass. ‘Sam said you’d get him out of the shit. And he reckons with KMC behind it, Skull Creek’s gonna become a profitable venture for us all.’
Malcolm refilled Wally’s glass and offered another toast. ‘Here’s to the future, then.’
Uncle Mal must be in a good mood, Lachie thought to himself. It’s one thing for him to open a bottle of his best Scotch—but offering a second glass?
By the end of the month, the new company was incorporated.
Malcolm arranged for a number of dongas—portable dwelling units—and a kitchen and office building to be delivered to the site. He planned on spending some time there during the change-over and was not prepared to use the rudimentary set-up Wally had been living in.
Port Hedland
On the last weekend of April, Malcolm caught a flight to Port Hedland. Before boarding, he rang Wally’s mobile. ‘G’day, Malcolm,’ Wally said. ‘You on your way, then?’ ‘Just about to board now. Can you grab a vehicle and meet me at the airport?’ ‘Will do. See you in a couple of hours.’
Despite it being mid-Autumn, the warm weather caught Malcolm off-guard. He’d boarded the plane wearing a light pullover and jacket. He quickly retreated to the restroom to change as soon as he alighted. The wet season wasn’t long finished, and the residual humidity added to his discomfort.
‘He guesses he should have warned you about the weather,’ Wally said. ‘Even the winters are fairly warm up here. Especially when you’re not used to ‘em.’ Wally was shorter than Malcolm, yet would have been a good five kilos heavier. Malcolm recalled how he had made short work of the Scotch at the time of signing the agreement. He could visualise him putting away several beers at a time and guessed he would be pretty fond of his food as well.
He helped Malcolm bundle his luggage into a Toyota Land Cruiser and they set off. ‘You need him to stop at the servo for something to eat?’ Wally asked as they neared the highway entrance. ‘How long ’til we get there?’ Mal wanted to know. ‘The Marble Bar Road’s been closed for a while. It’s open now, but still pretty rough. There were graders working when I came in. Probably be three hours or so.’
‘In that case, maybe we’d better grab something, then.’
Thirty minutes later—Malcolm having put away a toasted sandwich and a coffee, and Wally two hamburgers with the lot and a litre of choc milk—they once again fired the Cruiser into life and set off for the drive eastward.
Comentários