'A man contacted me today and told me that he has a videotape of you caught in the act of doing something I would be very unhappy about, something with serious consequences for you, for us, for the company. Can you think of what that might be?'

Damien felt the blood drain from his face. So this was why his father had insisted so strongly that he come to see him immediately.

The girl from the party. Oh no...

He withdrew his hands from his pockets and sat on them, feeling suddenly like a small boy. He tried not to appear panicked as his mind raced over the possible proof that may exist of his activities, how things might look. There was a lot that he kept from his father.

But Simon would have told me if there was a serious problem, he thought. Simon would know. Simon had said it would be taken care of. He said he'd make it go away.

He wanted to call Simon right away to find out what was going on.

'Dad,' Damien said, motioning to get up. 'I need to make a quick phone call-'

'No you don't.' The tone in his father's booming voice made Damien sit right back down in the chair.

'I just need to call Simon,' he said weakly.

'You are not calling that man. Now level with me, son. What happened? What is this all about?'

Damien felt anxious and claustrophobic. He wanted so badly to call Simon, but his father motioned him to put the BlackBerry down. He turned it off and put it in his pocket, feeling lost without it, and lost without the counsel of his friend.

'It wasn't a bluff, was it,' his father stated more than asked. Damien could see that he was angry and very concerned. 'What have you done? What is this video?'

'No, Dad. Well, I...'

What if he knows? What if it's a real threat? What if...?

Damien crumpled. The hollow confidence he wore like armour leaked out of him at the first sign of his father's outrage, leaving him vulnerable and afraid. He wished Simon was there; Simon always seemed to know what to do. Damien balled himself up in the chair, picking at his hands nervously. It was as if he was twelve again and he had crashed Dad's Mercedes into the gate down the drive. He'd messed up. He thought of that girl thrashing around on the bed, and growing still and cold, and his stomach began twisting in knots. It had been a horrible sight. He had never seen anyone die before, not even Grandpa when he went. It had been awful. He hadn't liked it at all.

But Simon told me it would be okay. He told me he would have everything under control. He said it would be fine!

'Whatever you do, don't lie to me, son,' Jack said. 'Just tell me exactly what happened. I need to know the truth. I need to know what we are up against.'

Damien felt flustered, his careful cool shattered. He unsuccessfully urged himself to stay calm. It was humiliating for his father to see him like this. He would have to think hard about what to say. If he said the wrong thing it would only make things worse.

'Dad, I just want you to know that it isn't what you think...' he started, not even sure what his father thought 'it' was. 'It's just...'

Jack sat in place, patient but uncharacteristically grim, leaning forwards on his massive mahogany desk on both elbows, waiting for Damien to explain.

Damien's mouth only opened and closed with the beginnings of possible responses. Nothing complete came out. He didn't know which lie he should tell.

'Have you been doing drugs, son?'

'Well, yeah, but...' Damien admitted, ashamed.

But what? But that isn't the worst of it?

Jack shook his head. 'I knew it. We spoke about that. You have to be careful, son. You are not like everyone else. You have to be above them. You have more to lose.' He paused. 'Tell me the rest.'

He seemed to know more. How much did he know?

Jack took a deep, disappointed breath. 'You know, son, we are close to sealing this tender for the transport contract. It will be one of the biggest deals made in this country. This is important. I am out there trying to make history for us while you piss away everything I've made over a lifetime of work with your...your parties...your fun? I can't let you do that. A scandal now could ruin all we've done. We have to have higher standards, son. We have to keep our noses clean. Always.'

Damien thought about the drugs that had been lying around at the party. Could anyone actually prove that they had been his or that he knew they were there? But of course that wouldn't be the worst of it. If there really was a video with his recognisable face...There was the girl...the stupid girl. Lee had been a witness, too.

'Well, speak to me!' Jack's fist slammed on the desk, rattling his son. He didn't often raise his voice to Damien, but now he was positively exploding. 'Speak to me now!'

'At the party there was some stuff,' Damien blurted. He opened his mouth to continue but stopped. Grim recognition spread across his father's face, as if he had already feared that his son's parties had got out of control. The Cavanagh household was a huge sprawling home, a show house. Damien's parents went to their more modest Palm Beach house on the weekends, and sometimes during the week-as they had done on Wednesday-and it was then that there were the parties. Jack knew very little about what happened in the family home when he was away, and that was how Damien had hoped it would stay.

'A few things were happening...just a bit of fun. Simon caught some girl taping stuff, that's all, but he said he would take care of it.'

Damien worried that things had been screwed up. Was this the same video taken by the girl Simon had told him about? What about that girl? What had Simon done to shut her up? He didn't know. Simon had said it would all be fine, it would all be taken care of. But what if this was the video? What if it wasn't a bluff? He wasn't even sure what was on it. How much was on tape?

Jack picked up the phone and dialled. In a few moments he said into the phone, 'Yes, I will need you...Five more minutes?...Good.' He hung up.

'Who was that?' Damien asked, bewildered.

'That was Bob.'

'Bob? The American?' Damien asked. He swallowed nervously.

Everyone in the family and in the inner sanctum of the company knew about 'The American', though few had exchanged words with him or even laid eyes on him. Damien had met him on two occasions and still knew little about the man except that he had at one point been the head of FBI headquarters in California, and since retiring had started his own small security services company in the private sector. Six years previously, when Cavanagh Incorporated had been threatened by the kidnapping of a top-level executive in the Middle East, Jack had brought The American on board, and he had been a distant but constant presence since. No one except Jack seemed to know exactly what The American did, but there had been no serious security problems since his tenure had begun.

'Hey,' Jack said to his son to get his attention-Damien had been staring out the window. 'Simon said he would "take care of it"? Tell me what specifically, and how exactly did Simon take care of it? Tell me, son,' he urged.

But Damien wasn't sure how to answer. He knew very little about the specifics, and he hadn't wanted to know, either. Simon had said it was best that way-best that he didn't know. He'd said he needed $15 000 to make the problem go away. He'd needed more than that after, another thirty-five, but that should have been it. He said it wouldn't be a problem. Simon had said that everything would be fine.

'Why now?' Jack was clearly upset. 'Why now, son? Do you recognise the importance of the transport contract? Do you? And you choose now-just as we are on the verge of winning the tender, just months before you are due to be married-to take part in something so...something so sordid?'

'Father, I know, but...'

'No. I don't think you do know.' Jack shook his head with disappointment. 'An underaged girl? Why?'

Damien was stunned. How did his dad know about his proclivity for young girls?

'This man who threatened me is someone your friend Simon Aston got involved, isn't he?'

Damien shrugged sheepishly. 'I don't know. It sounds like it. I mean, he could be.' He wanted to sink right into the chair and disappear, like he had never even existed. Oh, how he would have loved to be somewhere else-anywhere but in his father's office.

'Right. Simon is involved, then. He will be the one to deliver the money to Mr Hand personally.'

'What? Who is Mr Hand?'

But his father was no longer listening to him. He was staring gravely at the embossed writing tray on his desk. 'I will not allow this family to be blackmailed by a lowlife scumbag. Do you hear me?' he said. 'I will not let your life be ruined. This has to be taken care of properly, professionally. If this video is embarrassing or incriminating and it gets out, your life as you know it will be over and our family's reputation will be ruined. I won't let that happen to you, son. I won't let that happen to us.'

Damien swallowed nervously.

There was a knock on the door, and he jumped.

'Ah, Bob has arrived. Let him in, son.'

The American. Damien felt weak. His thoughts were jumbled up into an incoherent mess. He couldn't talk his way out of this one, he realised. This was serious. This was real. Damien moved across the room in stunned silence. He opened the door to find The American waiting patiently outside, hands held behind his back like a general. Bob White. The American walked in, unassuming as ever, closed the door behind him and waited for Damien to be seated before asking gently if he could sit beside the younger Cavanagh.

Damien nodded a nervous yes.

The American sat with erect posture, one leg crossed over the other. He was a fit man with grey hair worn short around the ears and collar. He was of average build and appearance, only neater, more precise. The funny thing about The American was that, no matter how many times you met him, you still didn't know anything about him that was not on his business card. And the only thing distinguishing about him was his American accent-hence his nickname. Of course, he was also distinguished by reputation and rumour, mysterious though it was, but the stories could never be verified.

The American spoke to Damien. 'I understand we have a situation.'

'Well, I uh...I don't know if-' Damien began, his face feeling so hot he thought it must be swollen to twice its size.

Jack stopped him with a raised hand.

'Bob, thanks for joining us here. It looks as if Simon Aston...You remember Damien's friend Simon Aston?'

The American nodded.

'Well, it would seem that Damien has got himself into some trouble, and his friend Simon Aston hired someone to sort it out for him, and managed to make the situation worse. I am fairly certain this is the same man who has threatened to blackmail us.'

Sickening. Sickening.

Sick.

Damien felt desperately ill, being in the presence of The American, and in the presence of his own father talking of blackmail and problems that needed to be fixed. What about Simon? Where was his trusted friend Simon in all this?

'The wheels are already in motion,' The American told Jack. 'With your confirmation, Mr Hand will be on a plane tomorrow. He comes highly recommended.'

Who is this Mr Hand?

Jack took a deep, contemplative breath. 'Son, I will organise to dock your personal account by one million dollars.'

'One million!' Damien protested. 'But...'

But Simon had only needed an extra $35 000 to tie up the loose ends. What would they need one million dollars for?

Jack leaned forwards again, getting Damien's undivided attention. 'The price to clean up your mess is two-and-a-half million dollars, son. I am taking one million from your account because you need to learn that money is not free. I will have to cover the rest. We cannot afford any mistakes. Not now. And I don't want to hear a word from you about it-ever. Not to your mother and not to anyone else.

'I want your friend Simon here in one hour,' Jack continued. 'No excuses. You can call him now to tell him to come here, and that is all you will say to him.'

Jack stood up.

'Now you and Bob will have a chat about a few things. Answer all of his questions, son-everything,' he said with a pointed finger. 'I don't need to know the details. I don't want to know. I'll be back in fifteen minutes. After you have told Bob everything you know, you will not think about all this again, and you certainly will not discuss it with anyone, ever. Not even your friend Simon. He will have his own problems.'

Jack shut the door behind him, leaving Damien alone with The American.

CHAPTER 12.

It was five-thirty on Friday afternoon, and Mak was just thinking about finishing up at her computer and making her first house visit for Groobelaar's investigation.

The home phone rang, and she sprang up to grab it, hoping it was Andy calling with their dinner arrangements.

He'll be gone tomorrow. Gone for three months.

'Hello?'

'Hello, Mak.' It was her father, Les.

'Dad! How are you? I've been thinking about you a lot today. I miss you.'

There were very few people who rang the house line except Andy and her dad. Mak savoured her father's voice. She smiled, cradling the phone between her shoulder and ear. Her laptop was glowing beyond the doorway in the dining room, where she had spent half an hour searching online newspaper archives and other websites for the subjects of her investigation.

'It's great to hear from you. It must be late?'

From her position in the hall Mak looked back towards her father's photo on the living room table.

'Mak, there is an opportunity I want you to know about. It's something I really think you should consider.'

'Um, okay.' Mak knew that her father kept tabs on her life in Australia, even though she asked him repeatedly not to snoop around in it. He had local contacts, as it turned out, and he seemed to get the inside scoop on everything Andy was doing before Mak even knew a thing about it. 'What is it? What kind of opportunity?'

'The Justice Department here has an opening for a forensic psychologist. They've seen your application and they are very interested.'

'My application?' Mak was furious. How could her father apply for a job on her behalf without even asking her-a job on the other side of the world for goodness' sake?

'I'm sure the job will be yours,' he said. 'It would be great for you.'

Mak closed her eyes. 'But, Dad, I can't work in Canada. I am living in Australia. This is where I live,' she said, exasperated.

'You can't stay there for ever.'

Mak put her hand to her forehead. 'Yes I can, Dad.'

Or can I?

He paused.

'Mak, you aren't working. You need a job.'

'I am working,' she explained. 'I am just about to head out the door to interview someone for an investigation. Soon I will have saved up enough money and then I will be able to get my practice started.'

He didn't respond to her explanations.