To Touch the Clouds : The Frontier Series 5 (23 page)

When the ship passed out of sight behind a small headland, Patrick turned to Randolph. ‘We have our work cut out for us,’ he said in a tired voice, ‘if we are to find my daughter.’

Randolph nodded. Where did they start? He knew they were in a race with police investigators to get to her first.

Even as he pondered the search for the woman he loved
more than his own life, an innocuous-looking man stood some distance away watching the Macintosh ship depart. He was the assistant to the German consul in Sydney and the information he had been passed proved to be correct. Something had happened and the American had been replaced by one of Mr Arthur Thorncroft’s cameramen, Bob Houston. The fact that the replacement was a highly experienced photographer appeared to support the theory that the men were on a mission to film German territory in the Pacific, and that their destination was the waters around Rabaul. This at least pinned them down in time and place.

Herr Bosch walked away to make his report destined for the Imperial German Navy. Somehow they would disrupt the British operation and, if needs be, kill those involved. He shook his head sadly with a touch of sympathy for the three young men. Their mission was already doomed.

Even as the
Osprey II
ploughed through the heavy seas east of the harbour, a young woman leaned on the rail of the English-registered liner ploughing into the heavy seas of the Tasman. The salty air whipped at her hair and caused her long dress to cling to her legs. The sky was overcast and she experienced the misery of sea sickness. Her face was unduly pale but she had succeeded in fighting her nausea.

‘I say,’ a male voice said behind her. ‘Aren’t you Miss Fenella Macintosh?’

Fenella half turned to see a rather good-looking young man in his late twenties wearing a well-fitted suit and straw boater hat which he held with one hand to avoid having it blown over the side.

‘Many people mistake me for her,’ Fenella replied. ‘I only wish I were she.’

‘I don’t think you would want that right now,’ the young man said. ‘Not if one is to believe what one has read in yesterday’s papers before we left. It appears that the police would like to speak to her about the death of that actor, Guy Wilkes.’

Fenella was glad that she had been able to change her name for the sea voyage. She had done so to avoid her father locating her. She was leaving her country of birth to avoid bringing shame on her father’s name with her addiction and unwed status with the baby she carried inside her. The only person she trusted to keep her secret was Arthur Thorncroft who was not only a close friend but almost an uncle to her. He had informed her of Guy’s death and that the police were wishing to speak with her. Fenella had already made her plans – and had the financial means to carry them out – before the sudden and terrible incident. Although she had stopped loving the actor she still sobbed in Arthur’s arms over his tragic death. He was, after all, the father of the child inside her. Arthur had pleaded with her to stay and allow her father to help, but Fenella was the daughter of the esteemed soldier and well-known philanthropist Colonel Patrick Duffy. She knew that she was innocent of any crime but also realised that if she stayed to confront the police she would be the target of malicious gossip that would hurt her father and family. Better that she disappear to prevent any chance of the tabloids smearing the family name. She had, however, promised Arthur that she would keep in constant contact with him and he had further helped by providing her with references for her future.

‘I say, are you travelling alone?’ the young man asked eagerly, changing the subject.

Fenella raised the faintest of smiles. ‘That is a very forward question from a man who has not been introduced to me.’

‘Oh, I am sorry,’ the young man apologised. ‘My name is Sean Duffy. I am a solicitor with my uncle’s firm in Sydney, currently travelling to America to represent our firm on legal matters. I hate dining alone and noticed that you also were dining alone this morning when we departed Sydney.’

‘Mr Duffy, it is a pleasure to meet you,’ Fenella answered. ‘I am Fiona Owens from Melbourne. I am a teacher of music.’

‘It is an honour to meet you, Miss Owens,’ Sean said, extending his hand. ‘I would be grateful if you would meet with me tonight at the captain’s table for dinner.’

‘I think that would be nice, Mr Duffy,’ she replied. ‘But for now I would like to be alone if you do not mind.’

‘I will leave you, Miss Owens, with the pleasure of knowing that we will break bread together tonight.’ Sean lifted his hat and made his way down the virtually deserted deck.

Fenella was still feeling ill and did not want to show so to the charming young man who she guessed to be in his late twenties, and whose face was not unlike those of her father and brothers. She had been clever in concealing her shock at meeting Sean Duffy. After all, she was an actress. She knew of the law firm and her father’s relationship with his Irish-born cousin Daniel Duffy, son of a partner of that legal enterprise. Of all the places to bump into someone related to her, albeit distantly, she reflected. She even felt a little paranoid at having accepted the invitation to share a meal at the captain’s table. But it did not hurt her cover to be seen in the company of a handsome young man when she was travelling by herself.

Then Fenella felt the tears rolling down her face. She really was alone, leaving all she knew. She desperately missed her father and Alexander and, above all, Randolph.
The tears turned to soft sobbing but no one heard or saw her other than a couple of seagulls drifting on the wind off the ship’s railing. She prayed that the sea voyage that divorced her from a supply of heroin might help stave off her addiction to the drug. After all, she was now responsible for the life growing inside her and suspected that the narcotic might be injurious to her baby’s health. Even now, the terrible desire to use the drug haunted her and only her seasickness took her mind off her craving for its euphoric daze.

Colonel John Hughes read the de-coded cable from England’s Secret Service chief. He rubbed his forehead. The pain in his face was evident. According to the message intelligence sources in England had stumbled on information that the covert operation in the Pacific had been compromised. The three men steaming for German Pacific territory were probably journeying into a trap.

He stood and paced his office, arms clasped behind his back. How in hell could the mission be compromised when the only persons who knew of its existence were just the five conspirators?

For a moment Hughes suspected Randolph Gates. He was, after all, an American and pro-German feeling was strong in his native land. He had pulled out at the last moment although that was understandable considering the Yank’s infatuation with Patrick’s daughter. The English soldier had been some years in the world of espionage so for him anything could have a sinister meaning. Did Gates arrange to have Fenella Macintosh abducted to give him a reason not to join the mission north? He shook his head. There had to be easier ways to excuse himself from the operation. He only had to feign illness. If the American had
not betrayed them, who had? He instantly dismissed suspicion of either Matthew Duffy or Alexander Macintosh. Both men were soldiers at heart and prepared to die for their country. Matthew had proved that in South Africa and it was unimaginable that Alex would bring any shame on the family name and as for Colonel Duffy, his friend and colleague – impossible.

But then there was George Macintosh, Hughes thought. Not a likely suspect as he too would not do anything to jeopardise his standing in society – let alone want to be acccused of treason. However, he did have access to Patrick’s work. And even for a moment Hughes thought about Fenella but dismissed her as a suspect despite her mysterious disappearance. She did not really have access to what they were doing, just as George Macintosh had not been involved in any of their planning – as far as he knew. However, George Macintosh might have the means to monitor matters . . .

John Hughes returned to his desk and folded the cable for destruction at a later date. He could only think of one other man he could confer with about the contents of the coded cable.

‘Major Oaks,’ he bellowed from his office to his aide. ‘Fetch the car.’

Angus MacDonald greeted Colonel Hughes at the front door and immediately invited him to enter. The former Scottish soldier had served under John Hughes when they were younger and he respected the man for his close friendship with Patrick Duffy.

‘I suppose you heard the news, Colonel,’ Angus said, taking the officer’s cane and coat. ‘It’s in all the papers, sir,’ Angus said, holding up a copy he had kept in the foyer.
‘The mad Serbians have killed the Austrian archduke and his wife. Do you think it will mean war in Europe?’

John Hughes accepted the paper from the valet and carefully read the account of the assassination of the heir to the throne of the Austro–Hungarian Empire. It appeared that a plot by Serbian nationalists had been carried out in the Bosnian city of Sarajevo. The English officer’s quick mind took in the ramifications of what this spark may have set off. There had always been bad blood between the Balkan Serbians and the occupying Austrians. So long as the old Emperor of Austria did not seek revenge against the Serbians they might avoid a war in that part of Europe. But another small voice told him that the religious and cultural relationship between the Russian empire and the Serbian Orthodox church might be a dangerous factor in mobilising the Tsar’s armed forces to immediately provide the Serbians with moral support. Sabre rattling was not uncommon in these times.

‘All going well, Sergeant Major MacDonald,’ Hughes finally commented, ‘I think cooler heads will prevail and a Balkans war will be avoided.’

‘I dinna know, Colonel,’ Angus mumbled. ‘There is a lot in Europe spoiling for a war. I will announce to Colonel Duffy that you have arrived.’

With that, Angus escorted the British colonel to Patrick’s library where he knocked, opened the door and ushered him inside.

The two soldiers greeted each other warmly.

‘I suppose you have heard by now,’ Patrick said. ‘About events in the Balkans.’

‘I only just read it in the paper Mac showed me,’ John Hughes answered, taking a comfortable leather chair by the fire. ‘It seems that we in the army are always the last
to know. No doubt a paper will be on my desk when I return to the barracks. How is the search for Nellie going, old chap?’

Patrick walked across to his liquor cabinet to retrieve a bottle of whisky and two glasses. ‘Mr Gates is making inquiries with all Nellie’s friends and acquaintances. I have provided him with a list,’ Patrick said, pouring two generous glasses. ‘He keeps me up to date on his progress which has been very little as yet, I regret to say. But he is a good man with a clear head on his shoulders.’

‘I wish you well and am sure that Nellie has her reasons for taking some time away to avoid the public scrutiny that dreadful Wilkes thing has caused,’ Hughes said, accepting a glass from Patrick who now sat opposite his friend. Both men raised their glasses in a silent toast to what they thought most appropriate.

‘You said on the telephone to Mac that you have a very important matter to discuss with me,’ Patrick started, taking a swig from his glass.

Hughes moved uncomfortably in his chair before answering. ‘I have just received news from England that they believe our operation is compromised and that the Germans are well and truly aware of our plans,’ he replied.

Patrick looked sharply at his friend. ‘Are you saying that the boys are in danger of betrayal?’

‘I’m afraid so,’ Hughes replied. ‘We have to make a decision today as to whether we abort the operation or chance that they will be able to carry it off without incident. That is one of the reasons I am here today.’

‘What is the other reason?’ Patrick asked.

‘To discuss with you the matter of a security breach – possibly from someone close to us.’

The pained expression on Patrick’s face told his friend a
story. ‘I think that we should consider your first matter,’ he replied, ‘before exploring the second issue.’

‘Do we abort?’ Hughes asked bluntly.

Patrick put down his glass and stood to pace his library, rubbing his face in his anguish. So many months of hard work had gone in to coordinating the vital mission. But what about the fate of his beloved youngest son? He was forced to choose between being a concerned father and a professional soldier. ‘How reliable is your information?’ Patrick asked.

‘It is from the highest sources in London,’ Hughes answered. ‘There was a note of urgency in the cable. I don’t think the people in Westminster want us to embarrass them before the Germans. We might be disowned as renegade military men and that would be disastrous for both our careers.’

‘I am more concerned about the fate of three very brave young men,’ Patrick said, slumping into his armchair. ‘But if we had even a fifty per cent chance of pulling off the mission we would have in our hands vital intelligence that could change the course of history in this part of the world. I have to consider that my son is also an officer of the King and has a duty to risk his life – if necessary.’

John Hughes waited patiently, sensing that Patrick was mulling over all the alternatives. ‘There is an option,’ John Hughes offered. ‘That we alert Alex to the intelligence we have and he can then consider another approach to the situation. Maybe he can find an alternative way of completing the mission. He is a very astute young man.’

‘Maybe,’ Patrick mused. ‘They should be docking in Port Moresby very soon. We could cable them with what we know and ask Alex whether he wishes to continue with a new course of action.’

Hughes nodded. It was not as if Patrick was avoiding the decision but rather trusting his son to consider the outcomes. Still, Hughes felt sure that the young army captain would reply that he could continue under another plan. Such was the sometimes reckless nature of men with blood like Patrick’s.

‘That decided, it will be done,’ Hughes said. ‘I will send off a cable today. Now, the second issue is equally as serious. I strongly believe that there is a security leak close to us.’