more politically correct tone than I expected. As I glanced around, I couldn’t see anyone who seemed too put out or upset with the topics being discussed. I was the only one not staring at the man on the stage.
Tuso was compelling, a skilled and charismatic orator that had a personal style that was warm, welcoming. ‘You, my friend,’ he called out, and it was a moment before I realised he was talking to me, my survey of the group halted by the large number of heads that turned to look at me. My blood ran cold.
‘Come on up,’ he beckoned with a beaming smile.
I stood slowly, uncomfortable with the attention that had shifted to me. I moved down the aisle towards the stage, climbing a few steps until I stood alongside him. He was taller than me by a few inches, his face animated.
‘Tell us your story!’ He handed me a small mic. I repeated almost word for word what I had said to Amy, adding emotion and feeling to my cause, particularly when talking about comrades dying.
‘My friends, let us welcome Valen! This man has endured the horrors of his friends being killed by Muslims, the worst of those who threaten our very existence. Thank you for sharing your story.’ He embraced me though I had stiffened somewhat – I hadn’t told him my name. ‘Come and see me in the break,’ he murmured mid-hug.
I nodded with an appropriately awed smile, descending the steps and moving back to my seat to thunderous applause and plenty of pats on the back. One face snarled at me on the way past and I almost laughed. Morgan, the ASIO kid, was in the crowd pretending to be a would-be member. He was doing a poor job at blending in, wearing a suit and tie. Some habits were hard to break, I guess.
The morning progressed into a slideshow of what the group had accomplished around the world – protests, petitions, large group numbers and claimed policy change were all mentioned. There was no hint or suggestion of violence or underhanded tactics.
Soon enough, it was the morning break and, as requested, I headed towards the stage and the waiting Tuso. Morgan attempted to intercept me but got cut off by a gaggle of excited attendees. It was just as well as I wanted nothing to do with him. It wasn’t to do with my distaste for the kid but more for operational security reasons. I didn’t know how he had registered, with which name or whether he had somehow compromised his identity as an ASIO officer, so I didn’t want to be associated with him. It avoided the risk of his potential compromise becoming mine.
Tuso removed his earpiece and microphone and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, leading me past the stage curtain to the preparation area. It was a lot more sophisticated than I’d imagined, with monitors displaying footage from an enormous array of cameras around the auditorium. A group of WOLF members were repeating what some of those on the floor were doing in person – monitoring the crowd for which cause appealed to which person.
‘Impressive, isn’t it?’ Tuso gestured to the technical set-up. I nodded and met his intense gaze. ‘But why?’ I asked.
‘Why indeed,’ he replied, walking me further out the back. ‘We are agents of change, Valen. Not everyone supports that change and not everyone is willing to go to the extent required to make change, true change, happen. In fact, some want to fight against our change. This is important to help us know who believes in our cause – truly believes – and who are the tourists looking for a hobby.’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘A hobby? Bored people looking for something to fill their time?’
‘Exactly and it happens more than you’d think. People say the words of commitment and resolve and then want to check out when the going gets tough. Add to that,’ he dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, ‘we are monitored by those fearful of the change we represent.’
I frowned. ‘The government?’
He nodded sagely, stepping in front of a bank of monitors and pointing out an individual. ‘Do you know him?’ I leaned closer, taking a moment to look at the image on the screen. It was Morgan.
‘Not really,’ I replied, ‘though he works for the government.’
Tuso seemed surprised, his tanned features turning to look at me. ‘How do you know?’ Some instinct triggered in me, long-held skills in reading people. He knew something about Morgan. I found it interesting that in true HUMINT style, he was asking questions that he seemed to know the answer to, something Helen had failed to do. The WOLF member in front of the monitor was reviewing footage from the entire morning that focused on Morgan, watching his every move including the expression on his face as he looked at me after my descent from the stage.
‘He approached me yesterday, warned me away from the conference. He said it was a national security thing and that I shouldn’t get involved.’
‘And yet, here you are,’ Tuso noted with a small grin.
I nodded. ‘No one in government is going to tell me what I can and can’t do ever again.’ There was passion in my reply mostly because it was true.
He clapped me on the back and beamed his 300-watt smile. ‘He’s a spy,’ Tuso noted as if in passing. ‘He paid for the conference using a government credit card registered to a building that doesn’t exist.’ I wouldn’t have expected Tuso to have financial connections, but was beginning to appreciate the level of sophistication of the group far exceeded what I would traditionally expect from a right-wing organisation.
‘The conference is for lay people,’ he was saying, ‘the hobbyists. People trying to find a cause, themselves, whatever. To be a WOLF means to be committed to action, to be an agent for change and to take charge of making that change happen. Usually we find only one or two of them at these events. Importantly, we are looking for those who truly understand what WOLF stands for. We are not the World Liberation Front, we are the White Liberation Front’.
He watched me intently when he said it, measuring my reactions with an obvious skill that made me feel uncomfortable, even though I was confident with my body language control.
‘Like, no other races allowed?’ I asked, meeting his gaze.
‘Exactly!’ Tuso was animated. ‘None of the lesser races that steal, cheat and rape, destroying our communities and taking our jobs. Only those who are pure of blood and heart, who understand that it is not wrong for us to protect and value our heritage as ethnic minorities have for generations.’
I nodded as he kept talking, though gave away just enough uncertainty that Tuso relaxed and clapped me on the shoulders. ‘Valen, I want you to come to a retreat, let me show you what we fight against and why. Are you interested?’
‘Yes,’ I replied simply.
He clapped me on the back again. ‘Join me for dinner tonight. Upstairs at the bar, 7 o’clock.’ I smiled and did my best to look suitably impressed. I got the distinct impression that he was measuring me as much as I was measuring him, and his relaxed façade was just that, a mask he wore to hide his true feelings, motivations and intent.
‘Thank you so much, Mr Tuso,’ I managed.
‘Eran,’ he said. ‘You can call me Eran.’ I took another glance around the video surveillance area, memorising the faces of the WOLF members who operated the cameras as they were more likely to be trusted insiders. I saw no one who went even close to fitting the description of Edward or Jessica.
As I headed back out into the auditorium, I looked around for Morgan and couldn’t see him. I felt no loyalty to him and
