Critical Times

How to Assassinate John Howard
BY FIONA McGREGOR
Frank and Lili were boating on the harbour. They were so close to the foreshore they could see the pattern of lichen on the rocks. Looking up at Kirribilli Point, Frank reflected, “We could probably reach him with a hand grenade from here.”
“But it’s a beautiful house and we’d ruin it. No,” said Lili. “We only want to ruin him. What about when he’s out power walking? Sniper attack through the bushes?”

“That’s a cliché. Unless we did it with a bow and arrow.”

“Maybe a spear.”

“What about poisoning? What’s the stuff they gave that Ukrainian politician?”

“It didn’t kill him.”

“It disfigured him though.”

“Howard’s ugly enough. And we’re going for gold, Frank. We could use one of those poisons that has no taste or smell. We’d have to find a cook at Parliament House.”

“Maybe we should print out all the legislation he passed last year and force feed it to him. Death by poisoning and suffocation.”

“I don’t imagine that would kill him.” Lili let a hand drift alongside the boat. She stroked the water dolefully. “In fact he’d probably swallow it whole and ask for more.”

“The next time he’s out at Lucas Heights he could be trapped inside one of the nuclear reactors. Sans protective clothing.”

“How about sewing his lips together and leaving him in Villawood? Out in the sun.”

“Starving to death takes too long. And the inmates have enough problems already. No,” said Frank. “We need instant gratification. A drowning at Hawk’s Nest.”

“They’d say it was an accident. They’d make him into a hero. And Holt’s done it already. What about a good old-fashioned defenestration?”

“Yes. From a hotel room? I’m sure he doesn’t tip porters.”

“The other advantage of that would be that it takes place in public.”

“But listen, a private assassination has the whiff of scandal, ignominy. I’m sure we could find a woman willing to do the deed. They’d be lining up … What about you, Lili?”

“Jesus, Frank. The mere thought of sex with Howard would kill me.”

“A tryst for old times sake with Pru, then. She’d like to throttle him now, don’t you think?”

“That’s quite a good idea. Then again, private deaths can be covered up. They’d say he died of natural causes or something.”

“Okay then, back to the public arena. A cricket match would be perfect. Waugh’s got a bloody good aim. And I’ve heard he hates Howard.”

“Waugh’s retired, Frank. What about a cricket bat through the eye?”

“Yes! Handle first.” Frank slotted his oar back into the rowlock.

“Somehow,” said Lili, slotting the oar in on her side, “I see him still grinning. Eyebrows intact. The bat sticking out the other side of his head.”

“It’s perfect,” said Frank. “Let’s go!”

They rowed their boat into the setting sun, lulled by the rhythm of wood through water and their fabulous idea. Kirribilli Point receded into a wobbly green line.

“Frank,” said Lili. “Who’s going to do it?”

Fiona McGregor has published three books, as well as stories, essays and reviews. Her most recent novel, Chemical Palace, was shortlisted for the NSW Premier’s awards.