To Touch the Clouds : The Frontier Series 5 (41 page)

‘I understand, Father,’ Matthew replied. ‘We do not want to put you in any danger of arrest for aiding and abetting us. We were hoping to just hide out until Australia sends a force to seize the island.’

‘Do you think that will happen?’ the priest asked.

‘I am sure of it,’ Matthew said. ‘It is vital to Australia’s security that the Imperial German Navy be neutralised in the Pacific.’

‘My only suggestion is that you continue to avail yourselves of Joshua’s hospitality until that time comes,’ Father Umberto said. ‘I will let it slip to the sister in question that I have heard you both have trekked to the eastern side of the island to acquire a boat to sail back to Port Moresby. That might take a bit of pressure off you when she passes on the information – as I know she will do – to the Germans.’

‘That would be a help,’ Alex replied. ‘I am sure that we will be able to compensate Joshua and his people when we are rescued by our forces.’

‘One thing, Captain Duffy,’ the priest said. ‘I would drop any ideas of attempting to wage war against the Germans here. It could mean terrible reprisals against Joshua and the Tolai. I have seen in the past what the Germans are capable of when it comes to putting down native insurrection.’

‘How did you know?’ Alex asked in a surprised voice.

‘I just guessed that a man like you could not be comfortable just simply sitting out in the jungle doing nothing until your comrades came,’ Father Umberto replied with a slight smile. ‘I would expect your word on that matter before I provided any further help.’

‘As one of the Chosen Faith,’ Matthew answered in lieu of Alex, ‘I can give you our word on that matter.’

‘You are a practising Catholic?’ Father Umberto asked.

‘Well, I was baptised a Catholic and did a stint as an altar boy,’ Matthew replied with a wry grin. ‘That must count for something when it comes to giving your word to a priest.’

The priest nodded and swallowed the last of his Scotch. ‘I accept your word, Mr Duffy,’ he replied. ‘Now, I would suggest that you make your way back to Joshua’s village with him. The last I heard from the German patrol commander was that they were more urgently needed back in Rabaul. They, too, expect your comrades to arrive in force very soon. I will send messages to you of any developments we hear up here. Go in peace and with God.’

Matthew, Alex and Joshua left the house under cover of the night and crept out of the mission station compound to make their way back to the village. During a quick rest en route, Alex turned to Matthew.

‘My father was once a Roman Catholic,’ he said. ‘He promised to renounce Papist ways so that we could inherit the Macintosh family assets, but I sometimes wonder if my father still harbours Papist sympathies.’

Matthew smiled in the dark. ‘I guess by now you are starting to understand my so-called religious beliefs.’

‘I think that I have more in common with the beliefs of old Wallarie and his ancestor spirits than I do with Christianity. Maybe it is that we aviators tend to be a fairly superstitious lot.’

Hoisting themselves to their feet the three men continued to plod through the night towards the sanctuary of Joshua’s village. Alex had tacitly agreed to the Italian priest’s request not to wage armed resistance, but he had not promised not to continue his intelligence war. After breakfast the next day he would put to his cousin another idea of how they could fight the Germans until their rescue by invading forces. Needless to say it would be risky.

26

G
eorge did not want to be in the park. Now that war had been declared against Germany, he was extremely nervous meeting the assistant consul, Maynard Bosch, but he also realised that the German diplomat had enough knowledge to blackmail him.

George stood at the edge of Hyde Park facing a busy road. Bosch had delivered a written message that they were to meet at this location and George was to appear to be reading a newspaper.

‘Thank you for coming,’ Bosch said, slipping in beside George without appearing to be talking to him.

‘You realise that it is dangerous making contact with me,’ George growled. ‘What if we are seen together?’

‘That is a possibility,’ Bosch conceded. ‘But I doubt we’ll be seen. Your government is preoccupied with other matters for the moment. We have been forced to
register with the police but at this stage nothing more has happened.’

‘What do you want of me?’ George asked, pretending to peruse the newspaper he held up before him.

‘I suspect that very soon your police will round us up and send us to internment camps,’ Bosch replied. ‘I will need someone on the outside in a position of power to carry out certain tasks from time to time.’

‘That is impossible,’ George replied. ‘That would be an act of treason.’

Bosch restrained himself from laughing. ‘What do you think you have been doing since we first met?’

‘I have never intended to act against the Empire’s interests,’ George retorted, indignant at the inference.

‘Well, consider your help to me as a way of protecting your investment in our chemical industries,’ Bosch replied. ‘That way you may sleep better at nights.’

‘What do you want of me for now?’ George asked, glancing fearfully at the people on the footpath on the opposite side of the road and those occupied with horse-drawn wagons and noisy automobiles. A uniformed policeman stood at an intersection directing traffic.

‘We would like you to accept this,’ Bosch said, slipping a small, thick, brown paper package into George’s coat pocket. ‘Just say it is both a token of our gratitude and expenses in advance for tasks you may undertake for the Fatherland.’

George was startled by the gesture but remained calm. He already suspected the package contained a lot of cash. ‘When we are victorious,’ Bosch continued, ‘you will be suitably recognised by the Kaiser for your contribution to our war effort. Now, I must leave you but remember, you are in our pay whether you like it or not.’

George did not respond, nor look to see where the
German agent was heading. He folded his paper and walked towards his office north of the great spread of parkland, unaware that he was being followed.

The plain clothes constable drew his small, stiff police-issue notebook from his coat pocket and flipped open to the page covering entries for the day. Standing before the newly posted detective sergeant he began to read out what he had observed, having been assigned to covertly track the German diplomat.

‘At approximately eleven o’clock this morning I followed Mr Bosch from the consulate to Elizabeth Street, where he stopped by an unknown male person and on careful observation it appeared that he was speaking to the unknown person, whom I have now identified as a Mr George Macintosh. I cannot confirm it, but I thought I saw Bosch discreetly place a small package into the pocket of Mr Macintosh, who did not appear to acknowledge receipt of the article in question.’ The constable paused, flicking through his notes.

‘Go on, Constable,’ Detective Sergeant Jack Firth prompted from behind his desk. ‘Did this Mr George Macintosh happen to have any link with the Macintosh Companies in Kent Street?’

‘He did, Sarge,’ the constable answered, glancing up from his notebook and seeing an expression of extreme interest in the face of his supervisor in the enemy aliens department of the police force. Jack Firth had fought against being taken off his investigations of criminal matters in Sydney but was convinced by his superiors that this was his significant contribution to the war effort against the enemies of the British Empire. He had been flattered with the idea that only the
best men had been chosen for such sensitive duties and settled into his new role, but the Macintosh name was still fresh in his memory regarding the slaying of Guy Wilkes.

And now this suspicious incident had cropped up linking the Macintosh name to possible cooperation with a known enemy agent. The British Secret Intelligence Service had cabled a list of suspects operating in Australia to the government and Firth had been assigned the task of putting Herr Maynard Bosch under close surveillance until the time he was to be interned. Firth had felt it was a good idea to allow the man the opportunity to lead them to any other possible enemy agents and now the mention of one George Macintosh had stunned him. He already knew of the Macintosh name around Sydney. The highly influential family had as its patriarch Colonel Patrick Duffy who was considered above reproach for his services to the British Empire and the Australian government. However, his eldest son was known as a man of expensive tastes and strange behaviour. Rumours picked up from prostitutes on the city streets claimed that he had peculiar sexual tastes.

‘Constable,’ Firth said, ‘I want you to continue your surveillance of Bosch and report immediately if you see him in the company of Mr Macintosh.’

‘Right, Sarge,’ the constable said, placing the notebook back in his coat pocket.

Alone, behind his desk Sergeant Jack Firth pondered the meaning of what his man on surveillance duties had observed. To all intents and purposes it appeared that Mr George Macintosh was in cohorts with an enemy agent. Firth was astute enough to know that any investigation of a member of the Macintosh family would have to be carried out with great delicacy and discretion. He would pay George Macintosh a visit at his office and maybe, if
he played his cards right, get a break in the Wilkes case. Chasing enemy aliens might be an important duty in these troubled times but he was still a copper who knew more about criminals. Jack Firth was not a man who liked to leave loose ends.

Patrick Duffy stood in the foyer of the hotel feeling just a little self-conscious.

‘A message has been sent up to Miss Schumann’s room,’ the concierge said politely, deferring to the tall, distinguished officer. The colourful ribands on his chest denoted his considerable campaign service to the Empire in three wars.

Within minutes, Giselle appeared in company with a striking older woman whose beauty had been inherited by the daughter.

‘Colonel Duffy, may I introduce my mother, Karolina,’ Giselle said with a sweet smile. ‘Mother, this is Colonel Duffy, Alexander’s father.’

Patrick felt uneasy at the frosty expression on Karolina Schumann’s face. She was polite in extending her hand but behind the eyes Patrick could see animosity.

‘My pleasure, Colonel,’ she said, her gloved hand briefly in Patrick’s. He did not believe she was telling the truth.

‘I must apologise for the unexpected visit but I was in the neighbourhood and thought that you may accept an invitation to attend my eldest son George’s residence this Saturday for afternoon tea,’ Patrick said, clearing his throat. ‘My son has an important announcement to make about his future intentions with Miss Louise Gyles.’

‘Louise!’ Giselle exclaimed. ‘Louise and I were at school together. How exciting! I have not seen Louise in ages.’

‘It is a small world,’ Patrick said, suddenly remembering that the German girl had spent more time among Australians than her own people in Germany. ‘I am sure that she will be pleased to see you again.’

‘Mother, we must accept Colonel Duffy’s invitation,’ Giselle said, turning to Karolina. ‘Sir Keith Gyles and Isabel will be pleased to see you again.’

‘We are German,’ Karolina said. ‘Do not be so sure, Giselle. Times have changed.’

‘Countries may wage war against each other but friends remain for life,’ Patrick said lamely, receiving an angry look from Karolina Schumann. ‘You will find that you will receive the hospitality you have known in the past from all at my son’s residence. I give you my word.’

‘Your son’s word was not to be trusted, Colonel Duffy,’ Karolina retorted, anger flashing in her eyes.

‘Mother!’ Giselle remonstrated. ‘Alexander had his reasons.’

‘What did my son do, Mrs Schumann, that no good German officer in his shoes would not have done?’ Patrick asked, controlling his anger at the slur on his son.

‘Your son lied to my husband and all of us about the cargo he left in our safekeeping. And he promised not to attempt to escape the lawful custody of my government and then proceeded to break his parole. I am sorry, Colonel, but the word of your family is accepted with some reservation.’

‘My son is an officer in our country’s army and I am sure that he acted at the time in the interests of this nation’s security,’ Patrick countered. ‘However, I would like to put all that aside for the moment to reiterate my invitation to you both. I think that you will see we are not all anti-Teutonic in this country. I have left the invitations at the desk with the concierge and pray that I may see you both at my son’s
house on Saturday. I must excuse myself for now and return to my duties.’

Patrick turned on his heel and departed the luxurious hotel foyer to step back onto the bustling street. He was still smarting from Karolina Schumann’s bitter words regarding the honour of his family. As he strode along the crowded street his mind was with his youngest son. Where was he and was he even still alive? Patrick felt helpless. Not just one child had been lost to him but two.

Three weeks had passed since Matthew and Alex had escaped German custody. In that time they had lived among Joshua’s people and from time to time had received messages from Father Umberto’s mission station keeping them in touch with what was happening in Rabaul.

Alex had acquired a map of the island from the priest and this he saw as being worth its weight in gold. He would pore over it with great interest, identifying locations he felt would make ideal observation posts.

Matthew had returned with Joshua from a hunting trip during which he had used one of his precious rifle rounds to bring down a large feral pig. Joshua was pleased with the meat to be shared with the villagers and Matthew’s status in the village was raised. He was no longer just a guest but also a contributor.

Matthew flopped down beside Alex who was sitting crosslegged in the dirt in front of the hut they slept in at night with the single men of the community. Hens strutted around pecking at the insect life they found and a couple of contented, mangy dogs lay in the sun a few feet away, scratching at fleas. Around them they could hear children at play and the laughter of women gossiping as they went about their duties.