Papua (31 page)

‘What business is that of yours if I am?’ Jack asked defensively.

‘Just that I am your son and it’s my duty to look after you,’ Lukas said in a school master’s voice. ‘Dad, you are pretty old and you do not know about young women, like I do.’

Jack burst into a laugh that pealed through the steaming jungle. When he finished laughing he placed his hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘I suppose the next thing you are going to do is give me a lecture on the birds and bees.’

Lukas reddened and tried to maintain a stern demeanour. This was no laughing matter and he did not want his father to get hurt – or worse, make a fool of himself. ‘She is a lot younger than you, Dad,’ he said in a strained voice. ‘Modern women have different ideas to the ones you knew in the olden days.’

Jack could not help himself and commenced laughing again. ‘How old do you think I am?’ he finally asked. ‘A hundred?’

‘This is serious, Dad,’ Lukas protested. ‘I love you and don’t want you to get hurt.’

‘Or is it that you feel Victoria is more suited to you?’ his father responded light heartedly. ‘Even if she is an older woman?’

Lukas cast his father a pitying look. ‘That was never on my mind,’ he lied. ‘It’s just that she will be returning to the United States after we return to Moresby.’

The jovial expression on Jack’s face rapidly faded. ‘I know,’ he said quietly, and Lukas sensed that his father was truly aware of the impossible situation that existed in such an affair. But he also hated to acknowledge that he was also frightened that Victoria might come between them. A part of Lukas was beginning to resent the beautiful American and in his dark thoughts was the savage consolation that within a short time events would sweep her from their lives. No, his father did not know what was best for him, he thought. He would be more than happy to see the back of Miss Victoria Duvall.

Fuji stood at the wheel of the schooner and gazed up at the canvas flapping in the light breeze. The strong winds appeared to have been replaced with little more than a gentle zephyr playing in the tops of the boat’s twin masts.

‘What the bloody hell is going on?’ O’Leary yelled at him from below decks. ‘We don’t seem to be moving.’

‘Wind is down,’ Fuji yelled back. ‘We will have to go to the engine if we want to continue.’

Fuji did not like O’Leary. In fact the young Japanese sailor did not like any Europeans – or any other race for that matter. He held a grudge about the way his people had been viewed by the west as inferior because they were Oriental. And he was very aware of the way the Europeans in Papua regarded him as something from the
Mikado,
a joke. Well, the recent invasion of China by the Emperor’s armies had taken some of the mirth out of the way men like O’Leary and others viewed the Japanese nation. And had they not beaten the mighty Russian empire only thirty years earlier at Port Arthur?

O’Leary appeared on deck in a foul mood. Earlier he had been drinking with his men and had to discipline one of them for insubordination by beating the slightly built Eurasian half to death with his fists then kicking him in the face breaking his jaw. The show of brutal force had its effect and the other two hired men did not dare question the big Irishman’s authority again with their surliness. But mostly O’Leary was in a foul mood because the coded telegram from Sen that was meant to be delivered to the Thursday Island post office had not arrived. It was supposed to give the time and date when the target was to arrive at the Mann plantation so that he could do the job and claim his financial reward for services rendered to Berlin. And now they were stuck, becalmed in the Gulf of Papua en route to the Moresby district. ‘How long do you think the wind will be down?’ he growled at Fuji, who still stood behind the big spoked wheel of the schooner’s rudder.

‘Who knows,’ Fuji shrugged. ‘Only the spirits of the sea have the answer to that.’

‘You talk pretty good English for a Jap,’ O’Leary said belligerently in Fuji’s face. ‘Where did you learn to speak so good?’

‘Mission school in Papua,’ Fuji replied, not intimidated by the larger man whose breath stank of whisky. ‘What about you?’

It took a second for the Irishman to comprehend that the Japanese was insulting him but when he did he saw red. For a moment Fuji thought O’Leary might attempt to hit him, but his insolence had been a test. Fuji wanted to ascertain just how much power he had as skipper of O’Leary’s schooner. He was not afraid of the bigger man. He knew his own skill with the razor sharp knife tucked in its sheath at his hip. The Irishman glared at him with eyes reddened by drinking and unclenched his fist. He too had realised the Japanese skipper’s motives.

‘Smart arse for a Jap,’ he muttered and stormed away.

Fuji felt the sweat on his hands despite his show of bravado. It could have gone against him. But at least now he knew that for the moment he was immune from the Irishman’s unpredictable bouts of rage. He gazed up again at the sails that now lay limply against the masts and sighed. The spirits of the sea were not on their side. He wanted to get the mission over so that he could take possession of the schooner then sell it for a ticket to a country he had never visited. And when he stepped foot on the soil of his ancestors he would enlist in the Japanese navy. He did not want to miss out on the glorious future of a land he knew only from his father’s stories when he was growing up in Papua under the oppressive heel of the hated Europeans. The land of his ancestors was destined to rule Asia and one day he would return to Papua and wipe the sneering smiles from the faces of the Australians. But for now he was on a mission to kill a European and that was satisfying in itself. He knew the Mann family personally and remembered how he had lost face in front of his father that day on the beach at the plantation. When he had returned to the coastal trader his father had refused to speak to him. He had been shamed in his defeat at the hands of the barbarians and blamed his son for that. So this mission was a personal vendetta and Fuji prayed to the ancestors that Karl Mann would be on the plantation when they struck from the sea. Then he would settle his score permanently and his father would once again hold his head high.

G
erhardt felt a chill of apprehension when he returned to his hotel from a sightseeing trip around Sydney Harbour with Ilsa. The two American agents were waiting in the foyer and for a moment Gerhardt was reminded of a Hollywood film about Chicago gangsters.

‘Ilsa, go to the room,’ he said quietly to his daughter. ‘I will be up soon.’

The two men moved forward to meet him when Ilsa left.

‘Mr Stahl,’ Jacob Schmidt said in German. ‘We would like to talk to you somewhere less public.’

Gerhardt could not detect any menace in the young American’s tone and relaxed just a little. ‘Do you mean your office?’ he asked.

‘I think that you should tell your daughter that you have to go out for a short time,’ Jacob said. ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ he added when he noticed the expression of fear that flitted across Gerhardt’s face. ‘This is not Germany. It’s just that we needed time to make some inquiries about you. Our questions have been answered and we are ready to talk.’

Gerhardt glanced at the young man’s companion but could detect no malice in his demeanour. Either they were very good actors or they were genuinely friendly, he thought. Whichever way it went he knew he had little choice but to comply with their directions.

When he went to the hotel room and spoke to Ilsa, the Americans did not follow him but remained downstairs. Another good sign. If they had meant him harm then they would have not let him out of their sight. This was definitely not Germany, he reassured himself.

‘Did you get to see a kangaroo?’ Jacob asked when Gerhardt returned to the foyer. Gerhardt cast him a quizzical look until he remembered his question at their first meeting four days earlier.

‘No, I am afraid that I have not as yet,’ he replied as he walked with the two men to the street.

‘I understand that you first met Adolf Hitler just after the war,’ Jacob began when they were out of earshot of passers-by. ‘We would like to know as much about him as possible and have been led to believe that you may be the man to help us. We also understand that your wife was intimate with many high ranking Nazi officials and could also be of assistance.’

The unexpected mention of Erika sharply brought her back into Gerhardt’s life again. He had not seen or heard from her since their first day in Sydney but this did not surprise him. After all, she had lived in Sydney before and no doubt had friends. ‘I am sorry, gentlemen,’ Gerhardt apologised, ‘but I do not know where my wife is.’

Bill Havers glanced at his younger partner with an expression of surprise. ‘A bit odd that you do not know where your wife is, Mr Stahl,’ he said. ‘I thought you would be concerned for her whereabouts.’

‘We do not have a normal marriage,’ Gerhardt replied. ‘My wife does as she likes.’

Jacob frowned. The information he had received from Germany had failed to mention the estrangement and he did not like to be in the dark. ‘You mentioned in our first meeting that you had film of a file kept by the people you worked for that was of a national interest to America. Do you think that you would be prepared at this stage to share that information?’

As they strolled casually along the city street like friends involved in a conversation, stopping to cross the road as they approached Hyde Park, Gerhardt considered his words. ‘I think that the information warrants your government providing me and my daughter with sanctuary in America. With that goes a ticket for us both to sail as soon as possible for the United States.’

‘Give us a sample of what you have and we will give you an answer,’ Havers said.

‘Do you know of the physicist Albert Einstein?’ Gerhardt questioned, knowing the name would get their attention.

‘Of course,’ Jacob replied. ‘Who doesn’t?’

‘His name is on a list for assassination should he ever return to Germany. Failing that, he is to be eliminated wherever he is if Germany ever becomes involved in a war with America.’

‘You can prove this?’ Havers asked and Gerhardt nodded. ‘Jesus,’ the American breathed. ‘Einstein is planning to return to Germany this year.’

‘Better that he does not,’ Gerhardt cautioned, ‘or he will have an accident.’

‘Give us the proof and you will get your ticket to America on the first boat out of here,’ Jacob said as they entered the expansive parklands at the heart of Sydney.

‘You will have it,’ Gerhardt concluded.

He turned to walk back to his hotel. All he had was his trust in the two men. But already he was learning that there were still places outside Germany where trust was more than just a word. And after all, he had split the film so that they received negatives of only half the files – the other half was his insurance. The Americans would need the complete file to make sense of the fragment they would be given.

When Gerhardt went to his room Ilsa was not there, unusual for his normally obedient daughter. Noticing with growing alarm that all her personal possessions were missing as well, he went immediately to the foyer.

‘My daughter is not in our room,’ he said to the man at the desk. ‘Have you seen her?’

‘It’s all right, Mr Stahl,’ the man behind the desk replied. ‘Your wife came and picked her up. She left a message that she would contact you a bit later.’

Gerhardt felt his alarm turn to a sickening dread. He had not seen Erika in days and suddenly she comes to the hotel when he is occupied and takes their daughter?

‘Did she leave an address or telephone number I could contact her?’ he asked.

The man frowned. ‘Come to think of it she didn’t, sir. Just said she would contact you, that’s all.’

Gerhardt felt ill. Something was terribly wrong. But he had no one in this foreign land who he could turn to. Never before had he felt so alone. Worse still was a small fear that was growing by the moment that the dangerous tentacles of the Nazi party had already reached across the ocean to seek him out.

Quentin Arrowsmith was reluctant to get himself tangled in international politics, but the approach that came through one of his German business contacts had been persuasive. At least, his threat of discontinuing business with Quentin’s company agents in Germany had been persuasive. The new chancellor was promising a prosperous nation for the industrialists and the Arrowsmith companies had a branch office in Berlin to promote his enterprises. All he had to do to placate his persuasive visitor from the German embassy was convince Erika Stahl to have her husband continue his journey to Papua.

Gerhardt waited less than a day before Erika knocked on the door of their hotel room. She stood before him with dark shadows under her eyes. Her face reflected days of concern and nights of little sleep.

‘Where is my daughter?’ Gerhardt asked abruptly, ignoring her distress.

Erika pushed her way past him and slumped into a chair. ‘They know that you stole a very sensitive file,’ she said. ‘And they have Ilsa.’

‘Who is “they”?’ Gerhardt asked as he closed the door.

‘The Nazis have many sympathisers in this country. Your old boss Spier was able to link me with an Australian who arranged to place Ilsa in his care until you return the file that is missing.’

‘What file?’ Gerhardt bluffed.

‘The one that you are planning to give to the Americans.’

‘How do you know about the Americans?’ A pretence of ignorance was futile, he now realised.

‘I know and that’s all you have to know,’ she replied.

A naval liaison officer from the German embassy had overheard a conversation at a cocktail party about the presence of two FBI men in town. The matter was of great interest when passed on to German intelligence as they knew that the Americans were not permitted to spy on their friends across the Pacific. From then on, German counter intelligence had assigned a shadow team to the American agents. The meeting of Gerhardt and the American agents was noted, and it had not been hard for the German agents to trace Erika. At a rendezvous in a café they had easily turned her with promises of redemption. She had wanted acceptance back into the party fold and the offer to pay her as an agent in foreign lands was welcomed by her. It meant being financed to continue what she was good at – sex and intrigue. Erika was briefed on the current situation concerning her estranged husband. It was reassuring for her to be told as much. What was important, however, was that Erika convince Gerhardt that he must continue his journey to Papua. The operation to kill him had been put in motion from far off Berlin and for his death to take place far from the spotlight of the Australian newspapers would mean even less attention to the whole matter. Papua was, after all, a frontier where such things as violent death could be taken for granted.

‘Where is Ilsa?’ Gerhardt asked.

‘They will tell us when you hand over the file to a man in Papua, at my brother’s plantation there,’ Erika answered, feigning distress. ‘Then you can have Ilsa back.’

Gerhardt did not want to believe that his wife was involved in a conspiracy, but her taking of his daughter from him and something in her last words made him think that she was very much part of a plot. ‘If anything should happen to my daughter then I will come looking for you,’ he said calmly. ‘Make no mistake in thinking that I would not kill you.’

Erika stared at him with a mixture of pity and contempt. It did not matter that he believed that she was a part of Ilsa’s pseudo abduction. She knew that her daughter was staying with the Arrowsmiths and would come to no harm, but Gerhardt did not know that. It had been Quentin Arrowsmith himself who had contacted her to set up the meeting with the German agents in the café. He had done his part to retain his German industrial contacts in Berlin and the rest was up to Erika.

‘You can threaten me as much as you want,’ she retorted, ‘ but the bottom line is that the file must not go to the Americans or anyone else other than the man who is to meet you in Papua.’

It was obvious to Gerhardt that his wife did not know the file had been photographed and the original papers burned in the fireplace. What concerned him was that even Australia was not safe anymore. He doubted that the two Americans who had kept in contact with him would be interested in continuing talks if he did not have the contents of the file to corroborate his story. He had to weigh the outcomes of his decision: to continue to Papua and comply with the Nazis’ demands most probably meant he would see Ilsa again. They would not harm a child on foreign soil if they could avoid it. To deal with the Americans meant losing the only person he had grown to love.

‘I will go to Papua,’ he said after a moment of indecision. ‘But I have no proof that you and they will honour the bargain.’

‘I have no use for Ilsa,’ Erika said coldly. ‘You can have her back as soon as I receive confirmation that you have handed over the file and not made any deals with the Americans.’

‘Do you know what is in the file?’ he asked.

‘I was not told and I do not care,’ she answered. ‘I will be staying on in Australia.’

‘So you have my old job,’ Gerhardt smiled without humour. ‘Gathering intelligence against British interests in Australia.’

Erika did not react to his accusation but Gerhardt knew he was right. Somehow she must have struck a deal with the new government in Berlin to work for them in exchange for betraying him. She must be less than human to use her own daughter to achieve her own selfish means, he mused, wondering how he could have ever loved her. Worse still, he wondered at how easily she had fooled him just before they left Germany. She was far more dangerous than any man he knew.

‘You will get your way,’ he conceded quietly. ‘But I will keep my promise if anything happens to Ilsa.’

‘She is safe,’ Erika reiterated, walking to the door. ‘So long as the file is returned to Berlin.’

Gerhardt was in a terrible quandary. He had just sentenced himself to a life on the run if he could not obtain refugee status outside of the grasp of the Nazis. Maybe he could save Ilsa by going on to Papua but he also knew he might not live to see her grow to be a young woman.

He sat on the bed and stared at the walls of the hotel room. After a time he roused himself and wrote a long letter, addressing it to Erika’s brother in Papua. At least in time Ilsa would know the truth. In the letter he confessed that he was not her biological father, not that it had mattered to him. Her real father, he wrote, was a former Australian soldier called Jack Kelly, who was, he had since learned, a friend of her uncle, Paul Mann. Erika had let the relationship between the two men slip during a conversation they had on the voyage to Australia. At first the knowledge worried Gerhardt but now he wrote that if anything happened to him Ilsa was to seek out her real father through her uncle. Gerhardt hoped that at least he would have some concern for the young girl who was part of his own flesh and blood, even if her mother did not.

Gerhardt knew that his only real alternative was to once again work with the Americans. Oh yes, he would deliver the file to the contact in Papua. But first he would make a deal with the agents to seek out his daughter, using every means at their disposal. For that he would give them not only a copy of the file but also the name of an agent working in Australia. Erika was not as smart as she thought. If she had not used their daughter to achieve the aims of her masters in Berlin, then it may have been a different matter. In a way it was a satisfying and bitter revenge for the years of humiliation he had suffered at her hands. No doubt the Americans would pass on to the Australian government the information that they had an active Nazi agent in their country. And no doubt that would lead to others if they did their work properly. It was strange how circumstances had forced him into the camp of his former enemies.