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other Department’s officers displayed a coldness towards him, a coldness which was not evident in their behaviour with respect to their other fellow workers. He put it down to a personality clash or basic civil service arrogance and did not dwell on the matter until, during the course of a function at which one of these men having consumed more than was wise, made an offhanded remark that concerned Coleman. He raised the issue with Anderson when next invited to the mountain retreat which now had become a regular monthly excursion.
    Stephen was surprised to discover that John Anderson had stood as referee for him. He knew, of course, that Anderson had facilitated his entré into the Department. They agreed that the attitude some of his co-workers displayed was probably resentment at Coleman’s swift acceptance into his new position. He acceded to the older man’s advice to put what he considered only a minor annoyance out of his mind.
    Ayear passed quickly by which time he found that he was firmly ensconced in the Canberra circuit and continued to spend at least one weekend every month in the quiet of Anderson’s hideaway. He still found himself relaxed in the man’s company. Apart from the weekends away they met often, dining together and even travelling to Queenstown in New Zealand together for a weekend ski visit. He never tired of listening to John’s deep soft resonant voice advise on subjects new to Stephen or lecture him on the idiosyncrasies of bureaucracy in government. He was always attentive to the older man’s advice and out of the deep respect he had developed for him had, without hesitation, accepted his urging to transfer to the Information Bureau and broaden his horizons. Except it wasn’t really the Information Bureau!
    In years to come Coleman would reflect upon his close relationship with Anderson and silently acknowledge that he was not really conscious at the time that it was then he had been recruited, albeit surreptitiously, by the master craftsman. He had entered a new world, sinister and without shape, a world from which few had ever escaped. And now he was back in Melbourne, in literary hell, struggling to stay alive — or at least remain on the course.
    Although difficult, the study load suited Coleman’s demeanour. He was offered an intellectual challenge and was obliged to compete as an individual. Initially, during the confusing first days he had questioned his judgment in selecting this training. Critical of his own lack of patience he had, he decided, to persevere and complete the task he’d undertaken. Now, armed with weeks of confidence building results behind him, Coleman applied the necessary self-discipline required to push himself just that little harder, to achieve the level of fluency required to communicate in the alien tongue.
    As he strolled towards the soft sounds of the sea and the waves slowly encroached on the narrow strip of the dark sandy foreshore, Stephen’s thoughts continued to drift in the early morning hours. He felt tired, but at the same time he experienced a sense of exhilaration at being alive, almost as if he had finally been given some real purpose in life. Stephen found this new energy invigorating. He identified the new motivating forces and was pleased that they were not based on monetary considerations. It would have been relatively easy, he knew, to obtain employment through his parents’ connections in a far more lucrative field of endeavour.
    The cry of birds overhead interrupted his thoughts. A flock of sea-gulls passed over and Stephen instinctively raised a hand over his head. He stood for a moment observing a small fishing dinghy bobbing up and down a few hundred metres offshore. They were probably from the base, he thought, as it was some distance to a jetty not located within the military surrounds. Coleman stood for a few moments looking out to sea. A figure moved past behind him and called, “