Webs of Deception

Chapter 1

Bullock came once again at Ulrich. This time his eyes were glazed with unconcealed hatred for his adversary and his bloody face was contorted with rage. A guttural, animal-like roar emitted from deep down in his belly as he charged, his fists flailing like windmills. Ulrich threw his battered body to the side as Bullock came rushing past like an out-of-control steam-train, crashing heavily against the trunk of one of the massive rainforest trees. Ulrich’s energy was spent and he could feel the pangs of exhaustion quickly overtaking him. Surely this would be the end of it, he thought. Bullock could not possibly recover from this, as he had done so many times throughout this vicious brawl.

But he was wrong. Bullock somehow dragged his bloodied, battle-weary body off the floor of the rainforest and, drawing energy from some deep hidden source, prepared to charge once again.

‘This is enough, Bullock!’ shouted Ulrich pleadingly. ‘Please don’t make me hit you again. Let’s just call it quits, eh?’

Bullock in his maniacal malice appeared to be even further infuriated by Ulrich’s words; they seemed to give him another charge of energy as he threw himself at Ulrich once again. This time Ulrich was too slow – his survival instincts too dulled by exhaustion to step aside quickly enough – and Bullock’s fist caught him fair and square on the temple, knocking the sense out of him momentarily and sending him sprawling to the ground. Immediately Bullock was on top of him, his muscle-toned body much larger and heavier than Ulrich’s. He pinned Ulrich to the ground and began beating him repeatedly in the face with his closed fists, screaming like a madman.

Ulrich, now realizing that Bullock was intent on killing him, drew on some hidden reserve of determination and strength from some adrenaline- powered resource deep within him. He reached up and scratched blindly at Bullock’s broken face with every ounce of strength he could muster, digging his fingernails deep into his friend’s eye-sockets, causing him to bellow out in pain like a wounded animal. As Bullock released his grip on Ulrich’s shoulders, Ulrich seized the small window of opportunity and dragged his body out from under Bullock, who was still clutching painfully at his bleeding eyes.

Bullock, with a super-human adrenalin rush, charged at Ulrich once again, knocking him to the rainforest floor, and pinning him to the ground, shocking his friend with his viciousness and murderous intent. Realizing in alarm that Bullock had completely lost his mind, Ulrich steeled himself for his attacker to draw his arm back in preparation for the profligate punch to the face that would put him out of his misery. But his survival instinct came into play at precisely the right moment. At the precise instant of thrust, Ulrich pushed with every ounce of strength he possessed, forcing Bullock up and backwards onto the ground.

Ulrich jumped quickly to his feet to regain his authority. But Bullock recovered instantly and came at him once again, obviously intent on killing or seriously maiming his friend, the sheer viciousness of his assault both shocking and disorienting for Ulrich, who couldn’t understand why William, his best friend, had turned on him like this.

It had started out as a schoolyard fight between two schoolmates. But somehow it had escalated into a vicious, animal-like brawl, a fight to the death. Ulrich had beaten Bullock fairly and squarely with his fists in a conventional schoolboy fight. In normal circumstances, that would’ve been the end of it. Ulrich had been in a few similar schoolyard fights in his time, and he had usually won, being very athletic and very handy with his fists.

But this time, something had gone terribly wrong. Bullock had not accepted defeat. He had seemingly become enraged by his ignominious beating at the hands of Ulrich and had resorted to every means available to destroy him.

Ulrich struggled to his feet, intending to run away. He had had enough of this. The fight, for all intents and purposes was over, as far as he was concerned. All he wanted to do now was to get away from a situation that had gotten well out of hand.

But as he turned to escape, he was knocked to the ground by yet another cruel blow to the back of his head, sending him sprawling onto the forest floor once again. This time he managed to pick himself up before the screaming Bullock could descend upon him. And this time he was waiting for him. He closed his fist and hit the charging Bullock square in the face with every ounce of energy his ravaged body possessed, much harder than he had ever hit him before, sending a spray of blood and saliva shooting through the cold air like a geyser, and reversing Bullock’s forward progress instantaneously. Bullock’s body suddenly somersaulted backwards under the force of the blow, and the back of his head landed heavily with a sickening crack against the trunk of the large forest grey gum immediately behind him.

His body was immediately and ominously still and silent as Ulrich stood over him, watching for any sign of consciousness. The blood flowed freely from Bullock’s shattered nose, and his body twitched involuntarily as if in an epileptic spasm. Ulrich leaned over Bullock’s body in an effort to ascertain how badly he was injured. He took a rapid, horrified intake of breath as Bullock’s eyes suddenly opened. But this time there was no crazy, maniacal glare; his eyes were the glazed, non-seeing, non-feeling eyes of a dead schoolboy. Ulrich instinctively went for Bullock’s pulse.

Nothing.

There was no doubt in his mind that his friend was dead. Ulrich looked quickly around him in fear and confusion, the realization of what he had just done, suddenly registering: He had just killed his best friend!

What was he to do? He would be charged with murder, he had no doubt – he was forced to make a decision that was to stay with him and haunt him for the rest of his life.

Chapter 2

Doctor Jarod Ulrich was in an expansive, happy mood. He had finally made the decision after months of turmoil. He would be resigning at the end of the year as Headmaster of Sydney Boys’ Christian College. He was too young to retire, he knew that, but he didn’t intend to actually retire. He had always wanted to be a writer and had never been able to find the time as a teacher, then a Deputy and finally a Headmaster. At forty-five, he was still at the peak of his intellectual powers and productivity, but over the past year he had felt drained of energy and continually stressed by the constant battle that all private school headmasters fight every day of their lives with members of the school board, representatives from state and federal funding authorities, parents, staff and recalcitrant students.

A few years ago he had met these confrontations with relish, rising every day to the excitement of yet another challenge to sharpen his intellect, his resourcefulness and his staying power. But over the past year he had somehow lost the will to fight and he was now finding every confrontation, rather than a challenge, an intrusion, an inconvenience. He had found, to his dismay, that he had simply lost patience with the dozens of stakeholders whom he confronted every week, each one of them pushing their own barrow for their own their own particular needs, and expecting him to bow to their wishes, as if he was in charge of some kind of charity organization. But a private boys’ college was not a charity, far from it; it was a multi-million dollar business organization, run on strict business lines with a ten million dollar-a-year budget, a staff of over one hundred and a massive debt to service every year. The assumption that people in the community made was that, because the College was linked with the Uniting Church, it could distribute its wealth amongst the community it served. How wrong these people were; St Andrews was about as close to a charity as the Federal Taxation Department.

Yes, it was time to go. Time for someone younger, more motivated, more dynamic, more approachable, more committed to the Christian ethos of a church-run school. Someone like Ulrich himself had been ten years ago. Ulrich’s entire career had been as an educator and he had dedicated his life to Sydney Boys’ College. He’d been fortunate enough to attend St Andrews as a student right from kindergarten. His parents had been wealthy lawyers who had chosen SBCC for their only son because it was the most prestigious and most expensive private school in Sydney. There was great status for any parent who could afford to send their child to SBCC – some of Australia’s great historical figures had attended in the past. The hallowed walls were lined with photographs of prime ministers, famous actors, Governors General and high court judges who had attended the school over the ninety-eight years it had been in existence.

As a student, Ulrich had fitted into the ethos of a private church school like a hand in a glove. He was an intelligent boy and he soon distinguished himself as an outstanding academic, and a sportsman of prodigious ability. He was popular with the masters and the other boys and right from the outset it was clear that he would be a great success as a student in one of the most prestigious boys’ colleges in Australia. His high flying parents had enrolled him as a boarder the moment he reached Third Grade, the first year that boarders were accepted. At nine years old he suffered terrible homesickness at first, being away from home at such an early age, but he soon acclimatized to the regimental regime of a boys’ boarding school. He saw his parents every weekend at first, but soon the demands of an intense sporting calendar took priority and by the time he reached Fourth Grade he was used to seeing his parents only during school holidays.

The school had become his home by the time he was ten years old and his mother and father, both of whom had always been too preoccupied with their legal practices to be really interested in bringing up their only child, had retreated into the background. Of course they turned up for Speech Night to watch proudly as their son was decorated with academic and sporting awards, and they even managed to attend one or two of his Rugby matches when he made the A grade teams and eventually captain of the First Fifteen. Jarod had been captain of every Rugby team he played in and also captain of every cricket team. His parents had never seen him play cricket however, as it usually involved a full Saturday and that quantity of time in one hit was impossible, considering their heavy business agenda.

But, despite his lack of family closeness, Jarod had been a happy boy, content with his lot. He watched as his mates’ parents came regularly to visit and showered their sons with love and affection. But he wasn’t envious of them. His parents had never given him this sort of affection, so he didn’t miss it. He even felt a little embarrassed for his mates as they grimly accepted the kisses and hugs from their parents in front of their chums.

Jarod was happy to have a lot of friends, and one particularly good friend in William Bullock. The two of them had been the best of mates right from Third Grade. The two boys had had a great deal in common; both of them had been boarders and both of them had wealthy, successful parents who didn’t spend a lot of time with them. They were both good students and accomplished athletes, although Ulrich had always been the better at both. But nevertheless they had stuck together throughout the years until Sixth Form, when on that fateful day something had gone terribly, terribly wrong with William’s state of mind.

Ulrich thumped himself on the temple as he did so every time the memories of that day came flooding back, attempting unsuccessfully to force himself to put them out of his mind once again. The memories had haunted him all his life and he still suffered from recurring nightmares, even twenty-eight years after that horrific day when his best friend had died, a victim of Ulrich’s own fists. The blood had stayed on his hands for twenty-eight years and there were no signs of it ever disappearing.

He had met his wife June, at University when they were both First Year students. Ulrich was studying for a maths-science degree and June had enrolled in an arts degree. Ulrich had been immediately drawn to her unusual but fascinating looks. Her eyes had been a little too wide and her lips a little too full for his usual liking in women, but there was something about the overall affect that was mesmerizing and she had a delightful, non-self-conscious laugh that had drawn her to Ulrich immediately; he’d been smitten. They began dating and before long they were an item. Ulrich dated no other girls throughout his four years at university and the moment they both graduated, they were married. Theirs had been a good marriage, which had withstood the test of time; they had now been together for twenty-three years and he still loved June just as much as he did the first day he met her.

The one regret they both had was that their marriage had been childless; June had been unable to conceive because of a twisted fallopian tube that could not be corrected with surgery. They had considered adopting a child, but in the end had decided to devote their lives to other peoples’ children, both of them choosing careers in the teaching profession. Jarod had dearly wanted a child of his own, but he was also fiercely ambitious, and June realized that a crying baby in the house, who needed to be regularly fed, changed, bathed and given undivided attention, would distract Jarod from his ambition of becoming the youngest Headmaster of SBCC in the entire history if the College. And they were both aware of the inherent risks in adopting a child. So they had opted in the end for a childless, but nevertheless, happy and enduring marriage.

Ulrich had kept no secrets from his wife…except one. He had never told a single soul about the death of his best friend all those years ago. He often wished he could unburden himself and talk about that terrible day to his wife, but he had made a pact with himself, that no-one, except he and his God, would ever know what happened to William Bullock on that day twenty-eight years ago.

Ulrich forced himself back to the present as he had done countless times before. There was a great deal for him to think about. Today he had a meeting scheduled with the College Board, when he intended to drop his bombshell. His decision to resign would not go down well, particularly since the board had recently granted him a large salary increase, and he had given them his commitment that he would take charge of the College’s Centenary celebrations in two years’ time.

This was to be a major public relations event, designed to attract some more wealthy clients and supporters of the College Building Fund which was currently two million dollars in the red after the completion of the new chapel last year, a project that Ulrich himself had promoted relentlessly over the years, finally getting his way after convincing the Board to go into debt to the tune of two point five million dollars. The new chapel was indeed a magnificent building, but so far it had not had the anticipated effect of attracting more wealthy clients; this was something Ulrich had promised would in fact happen.

When it had not, Ulrich had committed himself to throwing his energies and his profound fund-raising and marketing skills behind the Centennial celebrations in order to attract the wealthy clients, whom he knew were out there, but just needed some incentive to bring them in. Ulrich had promised the Board a nationwide television coverage of the event, which would last for a full month and would involve keynote addresses by famous old boys, a Gala Foundation Day Centenary Ball for which tickets would be on sale for five hundred dollars a head, International Rugby matches against the famous English colleges, Eton and Harrow, as well as a massive rowing regatta on the Hawkesbury river, with invitations extended to all the great rowing schools in Great Britain.

Yet, despite all these promises, Ulrich was about to inform the Board that he was resigning at the end of the year. He just didn’t have the energy or the enthusiasm to go through with it all. He was a practising and committed Christian and he had attended chapel every Sunday of his life since commencing primary school. He prayed every day and had developed a routine of managed solitude every morning when he arose, when he would spend thirty minutes in silent prayer and meditation. He had developed a habit over the years of asking God for guidance in matters that were unclear, and God had always provided the answer; not always the answer he was seeking, but the right answer in the end. He was constantly amazed that God, in His infinite wisdom, was always able to provide the answers to his problems. The secret, he had learned over the years, was to be patient, and in the words of his two favourite song-writers, Lennon and McCartney, to ‘Let it be… God will find the answer.’ He had used that simple maxim for many years now and it had built up his faith in God to a level that, as a younger person, he could never have imagined himself to possess. He had also prayed to God relentlessly over the years, pleading for His forgiveness for the terrible act he had committed in killing his best friend. He felt convinced that God had forgiven him long ago.

But still the agony lingered.

Ulrich had also asked God many, many times for guidance with this latest dilemma and he was totally convinced that the answer God had given him was to resign now, or pay the consequences of a heart attack or a mental breakdown if he stayed. He had also discussed his dilemma many times with his wife June, and as always, she had supported him fully in his decision, expressing her concern for his health and emotional wellbeing. They were both looking forward with great enthusiasm to the day when Ulrich didn’t have to face the daily treadmill of problems and crises as a College Headmaster, but could stay at home with his wife and spend his time writing the novel that had been germinating in the back of his mind now for a decade or more. It was indeed, a very attractive proposition. So, his mind was made up. He silently steeled himself for the confrontation he knew would come.

Resigning as Headmaster however, was not nearly as simple as it would appear. Jarod was accountable to the College Board of SBCC, which comprised seven highly distinguished members of the local and wider community, most of whom did not see eye-to-eye with Jarod on most issues. Always having been a Boys’ College, SBCC had traditionally never had a single woman on its Board. It had a proud history of chauvinism that permeated the College in many ways. For example, there was only one female teacher on the entire teaching staff of seventy-two; she had been introduced as necessary evil when the Prep Year had been introduced a few years ago, and it had been necessary to employ a teacher with Early Childhood qualifications. The College had advertised, and no males had applied, so they were stuck with a woman, much to the chagrin of a number of the Board Members who had been unable to remember a woman darkening the academic corridors of the College since its inauguration.

It was this type of ingrained chauvinism and conservatism that Ulrich was forced to deal with every time the Board met, which was once a month, or more often if necessary. Jarod was not a chauvinist and he was quite ‘liberal’ in his views both educationally and spiritually. For example, even though he was a devoted Christian who read his Bible regularly, he had insisted in the College teaching Darwin’s Theory of Evolution, rather than the biblical version of the creation of the world. This had brought him into serious conflict with the Board, but after much public and private debate, he had got his way. Having a Doctorate of Philosophy in Science, he was able to use his considerable knowledge of Darwinian Theory to convince the Board that Darwin’s view of the evolution of the world was the only realistic and feasible one available, and must be taught to the students.

When asked by the Chairman how he could accommodate Darwin’s ‘heresy’ with his own deep Christianity, Ulrich had a ready answer. He informed the Chairman that he read his Bible as a source of inspiration, not as a science text book, and if he wanted reliable explanations of his world he would get them from the great scientific minds of people like Charles Darwin, not the minds of the well-meaning, but sadly misinformed, non-scientific scholars who had contributed to the canons of the bible thousands of years ago, when scientific knowledge did not even exist.

Ulrich’s ‘radical’ views had created a considerable stir amongst members of the SBCC Board. But in the end he had gained the support of the Board of Secondary School Studies, who had confirmed that the Darwinian view of Creation would be the official Education Department viewpoint that would be taught to all public and private school Year Twelve students in future.

So the SBCC Board members had had to grin and bear it, and Jarod had had a major, albeit unpopular victory. But the seeds of wrath had been sewn. And now he was preparing to face their wrath once again.

Chapter 3

‘Good morning Jarod, how are we today?’ the Chairman, Professor Donald Jacobson, uttered in his customary, lugubrious manner. Ulrich didn’t particularly like the pompous old academic, and he had had many arguments with him over the years. But he nevertheless respected him for his profound intellect and his incisive was of ‘cutting through the crap’ and getting to the point. He hated the way the old professor used the plural term when greeting him; it was a condescending act which he felt was designed to make him feel inferior, but he put up with it, feeling that to say something would sound pedantic. He shook the old professor’s hand, and made some perfunctory noises of greeting as the other board members shuffled in.

Ulrich looked around him, and realized why he was getting out. This group of pompous bigheads had been the bane of his life for fifteen years, most of them believing they were superior in some way to Ulrich. This current group of Board members had been together now for ten years and they were all prominent members of the community. In addition to the old professor, the board comprised a Federal Government Senator, a Uniting Church minister, two university deans, a prominent lawyer, and a well-known surgeon; they were indeed a formidable group of people. Ulrich shuddered inwardly as he braced himself for the speech of his life.

After everyone was settled into their plush, padded Victorian period chairs, the Chairman stood to commence proceedings with the customary prayer. Today his prayer was short and sweet, in contrast to his usual ramblings. ‘Dear God, please give us the wisdom and forbearance to make decisions of which we can all be proud today. Amen.’ The echo, ‘Amen’ resounded around the hallowed, wood-paneled walls.

‘Gentleman, Doctor Ulrich has requested this extraordinary meeting of the Board today, because he has something to tell us. I’m sure it will be exciting news.’ As he sat down he glared expectantly at Ulrich, who stood nervously to face the fray.

‘Good morning,’ Ulrich began, forcing himself to sound more confident than he felt. ‘After agonizing over this for many months, I have decided, because of my failing health, to resign from the position of Headmaster at the end of this year.’

The silence was deafening. He looked around at the shocked, uncomprehending faces of the Board members, many of whom whose mouths had dropped open in utter disbelief at what they had just heard.

Professor Jacobson lumbered to his feet. ‘Jarod, the Board was never informed that you were unwell. You haven’t had a day’s sickness in five years. What’s this all about? You can’t resign now – we have the Centenary celebrations to prepare – and we’ve just granted you a substantial salary increase. I’m afraid a better explanation is required.’ Ulrich could see the others all nodding their heads vigorously as the professor seated himself once again.

Ulrich stood once again. ‘I have not had a day off in five years, that’s true,’ he uttered carefully. ‘And that’s possibly the reason I am burnt out. I am exhausted and I can’t do this job any more. I’m sorry if you haven’t seen the signs; I’ve done a pretty good job of covering them up. The College needs someone young and vibrant, with new ideas and with drive and vigour, something that I once had but which I have now lost. I’m sorry, but my mind is made up. There are still nearly six months before the end of the school year; this will give you plenty of time to advertise for a new Headmaster, and I will assist in the interviewing process… if that’s what you would like.’

Another one of the Board members stood – Senator George Raymond. There were two Board members whom Ulrich had had running battles with throughout his time as Headmaster: Professor Jacobson and Senator Raymond. These two men had made his life hell over the years, deliberately obstructing and criticizing his ideas and suggestions, as though the two of them had a God-given right to prevent Ulrich from ever enjoying his role as Headmaster. Ulrich disliked the old Senator intensely, even more than he disliked the Chairman. And he hated the way the pompous old prick always referred to him by his Christian name.

‘Ulrich, you have a responsibility and a commitment as Headmaster to remain at the helm for the Centenary celebrations. A great deal needs to be done over the next two years to put our College on the world map and to improve our financial position. I, for one, will not be accepting your resignation and I urge the other Board members to do likewise.’ He sat down heavily, glaring obstinately at Ulrich.

The next Board member to raise his hand was Ulrich’s only friend and confidante on the Board, Dr Brian Gillard, a highly respected surgeon, who had been a close friend of Jarod and his wife for a number of years. He rose to speak.

‘Jarod, the Board members obviously have not kept their eyes and ears open to your failing health and I apologize on behalf of them for this. But we all greatly value your service to the College and none of us wants to see you resign. Why don’t you consider taking some long-service leave? Take the rest of the term off and come back rejuvenated at the beginning of next year.’

Ulrich stood once again. ‘I have considered that option Brian, believe me I have. And I have talked it over at length with my wife. And I thank you for your consideration. But three months break will just not be enough to recover from the condition from which I am suffering. I am physically, mentally and emotionally drained; I am depleted of any energy or enthusiasm to go through with the massive task of the Centenary celebrations. Believe me, I have not taken this decision lightly. I have agonized over it for months and talked it over innumerable time with my wife.

‘I have also prayed relentlessly about it, asking God for the wisdom to make the correct decision. I believe he has now shown me the way. I must resign. I would let you down badly if I were to stay on as Headmaster any longer than the end of this year. You must find some new blood to take you through the next two years and the next decade. I’m sorry, my decision is final. By making my intention known to you now, I am able to give you another five months in which to advertise and find a new Headmaster. There are a lot of upwardly mobile, ambitious, young educational administrators out there, who would relish the challenge of taking over the helm of SBCC and bringing it into the Twenty-First Century. Our College is steeped in tradition gentlemen, and there is nothing wrong with that, per se.

‘But change is a necessary part of growth, and SBCC is going to have to change quite radically in many ways in the next few years, to keep from stagnating and dying. It will need to