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There were glances and titters from the dozen or so prisoners who remained in the dining room. The officer swung around and surveyed those remaining. ‘I hope the lot of you have done your work shift for the day. If not, get hopping.’
Russell stood and sauntered out of the dining room with the newspaper tucked under his arm. He made his way to the library and chose a seat under the window to settle in and read the newspaper. It was quiet and the chair was comfortable; if he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine he was home in his apartment. When he arrived at the prison, he'd been allowed to make supervised calls to cleaning and home maintenance companies to arrange to have his apartment routinely cleaned and the outdoor garden on the balcony attended to.
Ten fucking years on non-parole. Ten years of being locked away with criminals. He was above them all, and he should not have been locked away. So far, he hadn’t encountered anyone of his intelligence. He was in the medium security section. Perhaps those in the high and maximum-security areas might hold more intelligence than the lowlife criminals he was forced to associate with. Peter Porter and Panos Sordina were dead, but they had been nothing to him, apart from a step on the way to making his fortune, and he felt nothing about their deaths. The only death he regretted, was Mick, and that bitch had been directly responsible for his death. Russell hadn’t cared if Mick’s cool disregard for human life came from his military experiences, or whether he had genuine psychopathic tendencies, but he had proved a loyal employee over several years and followed orders without asking questions.
And that poor bastard had been eaten by a crocodile. All due to Ellie Porter. And what did she get? Nothing but praise in the bloody media.
The only emotion Russell held was the rage to which he knew he was so, so entitled. If that daughter of Peter Porter hadn’t interfered, he could have made his first billion by now. He swallowed and opened his eyes as he reached for the newspaper. His hands were shaking as he sat straight and laid the NT News on the table in front of him. It was Wednesday so it was a thicker than usual version, with more classifieds that would keep him occupied. He shook his head.
What have I come to? Looking forward to reading the classifieds. Watching people shed their detritus, and looking at the positions vacant as if he’d have to look for a job when he was released. At least the investigators hadn’t unearthed his Swiss bank account, and Russell had volunteered nothing.
Despite the boredom of the local paper, he kept up with the markets and territory politics because Russell fully intended to go back to his old life when he was released. Dean had spoken to him once about trying to escape when a few of the inmates had formulated a plan to overpower the correctional officers, but Russell had told him that was foolish; he wanted to leave with a clean reputation and not be on the run.
He had many to seek revenge on, and the hours passed as he lay on the hard bed at night planning retribution.
The first article that sent his blood pressure skyrocketing was about the McLaren Mango Farm.
He had to take a deep breath and calm himself, his fingers on the pulse point on his wrist before he allowed himself to read the whole article.
International award-winning researcher comes to the Territory.
As many of our local mango farmers will tell you, breeding mangoes is a long-term endeavour, typically taking up to twenty years to produce a new breed. Upcoming local farmer, Kane McLaren, who has developed his farm to become a leader in the hybrid field since purchasing the property seven years ago, has had outstanding success in shortening the breeding time frame.
He applied for and was successful in having a horticulture research officer allocated to work with him on his breeding program.
International award-winning researcher, Tarni Morgan arrives in the Territory this week to commence work on improving the efficiency of the successful hybrid that Kane has developed. The new variety has been named Susan Goldie. The hybrid variety can range in colour from pink to yellow and is round or oblong in shape. The flavour is sweet and sour with tropical fruit notes and the first crop available for market will be released later this year.
Kane McClaren said that Ms Morgan’s knowledge will be a huge addition to their research program, and he and his wife, Ellie, who is a daughter of the original property owners, are looking forward to hosting her on their property.
He informed us that the main area of Ms Morgan’s research will be the investigation into the new hybrid’s susceptibility to the disease anthracnose. This is currently managed with an integrated approach: orchard hygiene, fungicides and nutrients. Ms Morgan’s work in genetic tolerance will be highly beneficial to the McLaren program.
The McLarens are also working with the Mexican Mango Growers’ Association whose program to develop and evaluate breeding systems and technologies that improve the efficiency of mango breeding has seen them take the position of second highest exporter worldwide.
Russell slowly folded the newspaper and left it neatly on the table. He stood, picked up his chair and threw it at the wall.
Luckily, the security guard was in the other room, and by the time he came into the reading room to see what the noise was, Russell had collected the chair and was standing by the table.
‘What was that?’ he demanded.
Russell frowned innocently. ‘What was what?’
‘That bang.’
‘I didn’t hear anything.’
The guard stared at him for a moment and then went back to the other room.
Russell calmed his breathing and focused on what was ahead. It appeared that Dean was ready to carry out his instructions. His mouth was dry and he craved a Glenfiddich in one of his crystal glasses. With a frustrated sigh, he headed for the communal area where he could make himself a cup of tea.
A smile finally lifted his lips as he told himself over and over, the day he read of Ellie Porter’s death in the NT News would be the day his life began again.
Chapter 3
McLaren Mango Farm – early May
Cy
Cy Prescott drove in through the gates of the McLaren’s property, and when he reached the house, he drove over to the shed about a hundred metres further on. As close as he’d been to the Porter family before he’d moved away, Cy had never been to the mango farm. He’d been closer to Ryan until Joe—he couldn’t think of him as Dad after what he’d done to Ryan and Dee—had tried to burn down the donga he’d thought Dee was in, and then had shot at them from a cliff high up in Hidden Valley. Joe had been charged with a number of offences, both current and historic, and had been sentenced to twenty years in prison.
