Kompromat

Jackson pointed to the nearest machine. ‘This one’s yours,’ he said. ‘Jack Varese flew it when he was here. The left skid’s a bit bent. He was using the skids to herd the cattle. But it’s quite safe.’

Popov gazed admiringly at the little R22 helicopter. ‘I’ve herded reindeer in Siberia with one of these,’ he said. ‘Piece of cake.’

The mustering went well. Popov had seldom enjoyed himself more. He nipped in and out of the trees, turning the cattle this way and that, until he had massed a bunch and they really started to move, throwing up clouds of dust.

‘This is the life,’ Popov thought. If he took up Selkirk’s offer of the top job at Selkirk Global, maybe he’d move the headquarters back to Australia from New York. That would be one in the eye for the Yanks. And the Aussies would love it.

They brought upwards of a thousand head to the holding area, and were going back for more, when Jim Jackson received a message on the RT.

‘The old man has slipped on some rocks five miles up the gorge,’ he told Popov. ‘Hurt his leg. He can’t walk. We’ll have to pick him up. Could be tricky. The gorge is steep and narrow and there can be a hell of a wind. Depends where he is, but in some places you’ve only got a few feet clearance on either side, so you’ve got to keep dead centre otherwise you’re done for.’

They took off together, flying about 1000 feet above ground level. Below them they could see the gorge and the foaming river.

‘There they are!’ Jackson caught sight of Selkirk’s party far below, waving hats and handkerchiefs.

‘Why don’t you hover here?’ Jackson said. ‘Call into base and tell them what’s happening. I’ll go down. Looks pretty tight but I think I’ll make it.’

‘No, I’ll go,’ Popov said.

Before Jackson could countermand him, Popov dropped into the sheer chasm. Jackson was bloody right, he thought. There were, literally, only inches to spare at either side and the wind was totally unpredictable. Blowing a blast one minute, and then dropping completely. If the rotor blade clipped the rocks, that would be it. Kaput. Finito. Game over.

Sweating with concentration, Popov landed by a rock pool. He left the rotors turning.

‘Room for one,’ he shouted. ‘The rest will have to hike back.’

Mickey Selkirk tried to put some weight on his leg, but couldn’t manage it, so they manhandled him on board.

‘Thanks, Igor!’ he shouted above the noise of the engine. ‘You’ve saved my bacon.’

Getting out of the gorge was as hard as getting in. Popov gritted his teeth, hand on the joy-stick, eyes gauging the distance between the heli’s blades and the jagged rock face.

‘Great piece of flying,’ Jackson congratulated him over the RT as Popov’s little heli finally emerged from the deep chasm, like Venus rising from the waves.

That evening they switched to Margaret River wines. ‘Western Australia’s finest,’ Selkirk assured his guests.

Melanie Selkirk tactfully took Galina for a post prandial coffee by the pool.

‘Can’t tell you how grateful I am, old boy,’ Selkirk said, when the two men were alone.

He kneaded his bandaged knee. ‘I’m not sure how I would have got out of there. That’s a rugged climb at the best of times, even with two sound legs to walk on. How you managed not to smash into the sides of that gorge, I will never know.’

Selkirk paused. He thought about his father, that great man – yes, that great Australian – who had first sown the seeds of the Selkirk empire. Of course he could pass the whole thing on to his own kids, but did they really have what it took? Selkirk Global had the chance to make a quantum leap into the future. Igor Popov was the man to make that future happen.

‘Did you think about what I said last night?’ Selkirk asked.

Popov took his time. Historians would later describe the moment as one of the most important moments in his life. The moment of decision. So much would turn on it.

‘It’s a very interesting proposition, Mickey,’ he said. ‘Very interesting indeed. And very timely too.’

He pointed to the big TV screen above the bar.

‘Look at that!’ he exclaimed. ‘I do believe the British prime minister is about to call a general election in the UK, three years ahead of time.’

‘Good heavens!’ Selkirk exclaimed. ‘Hasn’t she already got a mandate?’

‘Hardly a working majority,’ Popov said. ‘Just listen to her speech.’

‘You’ve seen it already? You know what she’s going to say?’

Popov laughed. ‘Come on, Mickey! What kind of a show do you think I’m running?’

The two men took their drinks inside to watch the British prime minister, standing on the pavement outside Number 10 Downing Street, at that very moment about to make the most important announcement of her career.

There was obviously a bit of a wind in London that morning. The prime minister’s hair from time to time blew across her forehead but she brushed it back.