To Touch the Clouds : The Frontier Series 5 (42 page)

‘Do you know,’ Alex said, staring at the map spread out in his lap, ‘if we can get to this ridge here, overlooking Rabaul, we would be in an important position to observe troop movement in the town.’

Matthew glanced at the location Alex indicated. ‘The Germans hardly have a force worth observing,’ he said. ‘I have no doubt that our troops will roll them up in a day.’

Alex looked up at his cousin. ‘We have to do something,’ he said. ‘We just can’t sit around here. I promised that I would not agitate for an armed resistance, but I did not promise the priest I would not be active in our war against the Germans.’

Matthew sighed. It was growing obvious that Alex would go insane just simply waiting for the troops to arrive and liberate them. ‘I will go along with your idea, but how in hell are you going to be able to pass on any information we glean from our observation post?’

Alex carefully folded the map. ‘I have an idea. We collate what we have and if one of our ships is sighted then we send a native boy out in a canoe to pass on our intelligence in a written note.’

‘You realise, of course,’ Matthew responded, ‘that if we spot one of our ships it will probably be on its way to invade. I doubt that a small canoe will be heeded by one of our battle cruisers steaming at full speed.’

Alex leaped to his feet and stared angrily at his cousin. ‘So we just sit around here all day and ignore our duty to the Empire?’

‘Okay, okay,’ Matthew said, holding up his hands in surrender. ‘I will go along with your idea. It will take some planning for us to get from here to that ridge and we will need a reliable supply of food and water – not to forget convincing Joshua to support us.’

‘I have already spoken with Joshua,’ Alex said. ‘He has
agreed that one of his boys will paddle out when the time comes.’

Matthew did not reply immediately. His cousin had everything in hand and he knew that he could not let him down. ‘When do we start?’ he asked.

‘Tomorrow morning,’ Alex said, the tension of his angry outburst easing away.

Matthew rose to his feet, noticing Joshua hurrying towards them with a frown on his face.

‘German man has Tolai people who help them look for you,’ he said when he was close to the two Australians. ‘Father send message that German man pay any Tolai who capture or kill you.’

‘What does that mean?’ Alex asked.

‘That mean we must be very careful,’ Joshua replied. ‘Many Tolai man know that you are here. Maybe they raid my village looking for you. I think they will just kill you and take your heads to the German man for money.’

‘Good idea of yours to get out of here,’ Matthew reluctantly conceded to Alex. ‘I don’t want to see Joshua’s people caught up in the middle of our war.’

‘We will go this afternoon to that place that you and I discussed,’ Alex said to Joshua. ‘You can spread the word among the Tolai that we are no longer here and that they are welcome to see that for themselves.’

Joshua nodded. His prime responsibility was to his villagers and he would be glad to see the last of the two Australian guests. He turned and walked away to arrange an escort for them to the ridge overlooking Rabaul.

It took little time to gather together a few baskets of food and gourds of water for the journey. Joshua organised for two young men to accompany him and his guests to the ridge and the small party set off.

Within hours they were swallowed by the jungle along an almost hidden hunting trail in the direction of Rabaul. Joshua and his two warriors were armed with spears, slings and clubs while Matthew and Alex carried their firearms. Near sunset the party stopped to make camp and the leading young warrior spoke softly to Joshua. Alex could see Joshua tense up as they conversed.

‘What is it?’ Alex asked.

‘We travel in another clan lands,’ Joshua replied. ‘My man think we are being watched.’

Nervously, Alex glanced around at the rapidly darkening forest. Before he could reply the ominous silence was shattered by a hair-raising yell he immediately thought was a war cry.

A spear hissed through the air between Joshua and him, narrowly missing them. Alex brought up his rifle in time to see a small party of warriors clambering through the undergrowth only feet away. He fired at point blank range at one warrior wielding a vicious-looking club and the man threw up his arms before falling to the ground. Alex was vaguely aware of Matthew firing his rifle and, when he had run out of ammunition, switching to the pistol for defence.

As suddenly as it had exploded on them the attack fell away. The rifles and pistol had killed at least three of the attackers. But Alex realised that he had also emptied his meagre supply of ammunition at the attacking rival clan and of the three Tolai men only Joshua still stood. His two warriors lay dead from fatal wounds inflicted by spear, axe and club.

‘Matthew,’ he yelled.

‘I’m here,’ came the reassuring reply as Matthew stepped from the cover of the scrub, holding the pistol.

Alex was relieved to see that he did not appear to be
injured. The attack had been swift and short and when Matthew saw the battered and slashed bodies of their two escorts he groaned, squatting down beside the lead boy. ‘I only have two rounds left for the pistol,’ he said. ‘If they mount another attack, we are goners for sure.’

Alex realised that the rifle in his hands was now useless, except to be wielded as a club. ‘Maybe they do not know that,’ he said. ‘I think that we should push on through the night to get out of this area.’ He turned to Joshua and explained his idea. Joshua agreed, although he was reluctant to leave the bodies of his two men in the forest. But he was also pragmatic about the chances to recover them deep in rival tribal territory. The warriors would be mourned when he returned to his village.

By midnight they had agreed that they were far enough away from the scene of the bloody clash. The three men made camp and slept until the dawn.

George Macintosh was extremely annoyed that the plain clothes policeman standing in his office should insist that he speak with him. He had a full schedule of work for the day and now this uncouth detective, whose reputation he already knew about from the city’s lurid crime columns, had interrupted his day.

‘What can I do for you, Sergeant?’ George asked coldly. ‘You must realise that I am a busy man, with the war and all calling on the services of our companies.’

‘Does that time also include meeting suspected German agents, Mr Macintosh?’ Firth countered, and was pleased to see the colour drain from the arrogant man sitting smugly behind his desk.

‘I do not have a clue what you are talking about and I
must warn you that your insinuation smacks of accusing me of treason. I am sure you are aware of my standing in the community.’

‘You were observed, and the meeting in company with Herr Maynard Bosch near Elizabeth Street noted, by one of my men yesterday, Mr Macintosh. You accepted a small brown paper parcel from the aforesaid person.’

‘Oh, you mean the assistant German consul,’ George countered quickly, realising that his best course of action was to lessen the known facts. ‘I had almost forgotten about that. He owed me a sum of money from before the declaration of war and I agreed to meet with him and receive back what he owed in a way that did not appear we had any contact with our current enemy. I suspect that you might do the same had you been in my position.’

Firth was taken aback by Macintosh’s explanation and grudgingly conceded the man was smart. This was not going to be easy. ‘That may be so,’ he replied. ‘But I will still have to pass the report upstairs and let my superiors make a decision on how they want to proceed in the matter.’

George rose from behind his desk. His frosty tone appeared to have evaporated towards the policeman. ‘I am sorry that I may have appeared somewhat antagonistic towards you, Sergeant Firth, but I have been under a lot of stress lately. I would consider it a favour if what has been observed and mistakenly interpreted could be kept with you and go no further. Possibly I could donate a little towards a police charity.’ George opened a drawer in his desk where a pile of fresh bank notes lay in neat bundles. It had been the money passed to him the day before and he had counted two thousand pounds. Quickly peeling off a wad of three hundred pounds he passed it to the policeman. ‘I am sure that the amount will satisfy any charity you should think of.’

Firth stared at the wad of notes. It was a substantial amount – more than his pay for a year. ‘I will need more,’ he said quietly.

George turned to reluctantly retrieve another bundle of notes but was stopped by Firth. ‘The money is sufficient but I want information regarding the Wilkes murder, Mr Macintosh.’ Firth took the wad of bank notes from George, pocketed them and stood back waiting for a response.

‘Do I have your assurance that the matter of me meeting with Herr Bosch will be, should we say, lost?’ George countered.

‘I can promise you that, Mr Macintosh,’ the policeman answered. ‘But I must also have information on the Wilkes murder if we are to seal the bargain of your donation.’

‘What do you want from me?’

‘For now I want very little – except any information as to the whereabouts of your sister.’

‘That, I am afraid, I cannot tell you as I do not know myself,’ George said. ‘All I can tell you is that she is most probably in America, and possibly in the Los Angeles area. My father had a man assigned to track her down and it seems from what I have been told by our Pearl Harbour agency that he was arrested by the police there on an old charge and is currently doing hard labour on the island.’

‘If I find out that you are lying to me, Mr Macintosh, be assured all bets are off and the report of your meeting with a suspected enemy agent will be passed up to higher circles,’ Firth said slowly so that his words would sink in. ‘We will let the matter drop for now but I will be keeping a very close eye on you. Since there is nothing else – and you are a busy man – I will leave you. Good day, Mr Macintosh.’

As George watched the detective leave his office he realised that he had been sweating. At least he had survived the
close call of being reported for treasonous activities and the investigating officer seemed more obsessed with bringing someone to justice over the murder of the popular film actor than counterespionage work. George knew that despite the way the war had changed roles for many people Detective Sergeant Jack Firth was at heart a true policeman, and not so much interested in the politics of war. It had been a damned close run thing, George thought, echoing the words of the Duke of Wellington after the battle of Waterloo.

27

A
rthur Thorncroft was tortured by the dilemma. After a silence of ten weeks the letter from Fenella had arrived on his desk, and with trembling hands he had opened it to read the words from the other side of the Pacific Ocean. Fenella had expressed how well her life was progressing and that she missed him and all her family in Sydney. However, she had reminded him of his oath not to divulge her whereabouts to anyone until she felt that she was ready to return and face her father.

Arthur placed the letter on his desk and stared at a metal container in the corner of his office. Inside it was the completed film that Fenella and Guy had finished just before his death and Fenella’s flight from Australia. Arthur was a showman and knew just how valuable the film was. It would attract a huge audience intrigued by the mysterious circumstances surrounding the leading man’s death and the
disappearance of his leading lady. Sex and violence were a powerful combination and although such things were not spoken of openly in polite society the film was guaranteed to draw in the crowds. But both Patrick and George had concurred that the film should not be released until Fenella was located and the matter of Wilkes’ death settled – one way or another.

Arthur sighed in his frustration at the ban on its release. He was a man who believed that the show must go on but was also dependent on the Macintosh family for finance. His studio was temporarily closed and most of his young male staff had left to enlist for military service while the rest sought employment with rival film companies. But each day Arthur would journey to his empty studio and go through the routine of administering what was now the ghost of a thriving film production enterprise. As it was, the Australian market was being flooded with popular American movies, highlighting the talents of their own stars, and the Australian product was under threat.

One matter in Fenella’s letter particularly disturbed Arthur. She had asked about Randolph Gates, and requested that Arthur pass on to him the message that he was constantly in her thoughts. It was strange, Arthur mused, that Fenella had not made contact with Randolph who he trusted was astute enough to be able to track her down with the information he had provided. As it was, from what he had been able to glean from Patrick and George, no one had heard from Randolph in a long time. George had even implied that the American had disappeared with a good amount of the money set aside to find Fenella. Arthur had trouble believing that Randolph would do such a thing as he was an honourable man and very much in love with Fenella.

Arthur pulled a page from a writing pad and scribbled a
message addressed to the Macintosh agency in Pearl Harbour. Maybe they could throw some light on the whereabouts of Randolph Gates. He would telegraph Pearl Harbour and inquire as to what they may know of his whereabouts.

The afternoon for George’s afternoon tea party was perfect – a sunny, unseasonal balmy day. The manicured gardens were filled with marquees manned by white- jacketed stewards hired for the big event. Ladies were wearing their finest fashions for the up-and-coming spring season in Sydney and the gentlemen had donned formal suits. The guests mingled on the lawns and under the canopies of the marquees for the grand occasion. George had ensured that he be surrounded by the city’s most influential voices in politics and society, without any concern for the extravagant cost of the party.

Patrick attended wearing his colourful dress uniform as given his current duties he was rarely out of it. He was accompanied by Colonel John Hughes, also in uniform, and Gladys Hughes in her best dress. George greeted them and gestured to a waiter hovering nearby to supply his guests with a flute of champagne.