The Atlantis Stone

by Nick Hawkes

  Benjamin felt very content in Felicity’s company as he drove from the outskirts of Warrnambool toward the coast. He followed the Marri River until he arrived at a small tourist car park that had been carved into the low-lying scrub. It was late in the afternoon, and he relished being alone with Felicity after having worked all day at her house with a gang of workmen.

  Felicity got out of the ute, took Benjamin’s arm, and tugged him along the path that led down to the beach. The wind took her hair and whipped it across his face. It stung deliciously. “I hope you realize that the sightings of the mahogany ship were all in this area,” she said, giving his arm a shake.

  “Hmm.” Benjamin breathed in the sea air and the smell of the scrub. “That ship has been responsible for quite a lot, recently.” He smiled. “It brought us together.”

  Felicity came to a halt. “I suppose it has.” She let go of his arm and yelled into the wind, “THANK YOU, MAHOGANY SHIP!”

  Benjamin laughed, reclaimed Felicity’s arm, and led her down to the track.

  They could hear the roar of the surf well before they saw the long curving beach. The sea, when it came into view, presented an impressive spectacle. Serried ranks of waves were marching toward the shore—the place of their destruction. Benjamin shivered. It was a savage place—a place where ships could die.

  Benjamin watched as a wave heaved itself up from the ocean, growing in grandeur and menace—higher and higher, rising and curling forward. Light shone through its turquoise back, spume flew off its crown until the wave tripped over its arrogance and fell with terrible force. The pounding seemed to shake the very ground on which they stood. All that remained was the mist of a thousand mysteries—and the hint of a rainbow.

  A rainbow.

  Yes, Benjamin reflected, the time is right.

  He dug into his coat pocket and pulled out a package wrapped in a piece of wood shaving. “For you,” he said, handing it to Felicity. “You burned my intended wedding gift to you. This is its replacement.”

  Felicity opened her mouth in surprise, took the parcel and, without a word, unfolded it.

  Inside was a wooden pendant. A dark, curving shell cupped a white wooden pearl.

  “You made this?” she asked, lifting it out.

  Benjamin nodded. “I heard a parable once of a man finding a pearl so beautiful that he sacrificed everything to obtain it.” He shrugged. “It made me think of you.”

  Nestled in the strip of shaving under the pendant was a twist of brown paper. Felicity unwrapped it, and extracted a white gold ring crowned with a princess-cut solitaire diamond.

  “I didn’t make that,” Benjamin confessed.

  Felicity took him by the hands and stood on her toes to give him a lingering kiss. “That,” she said, “was in case my answer to you earlier wasn’t clear enough.”

  “Hmm…message gratefully received.”

  They walked along the white sands, arm in arm.

  “Tell me everything that happened to you yesterday,” said Felicity. “I’ve been dying to ask you, and you haven’t said a word about it. Was it…okay? How are you feeling about it?”

  Benjamin furrowed his brow. How could he explain what had happened yesterday? The feelings he had experienced were beyond words. He drew a breath. “Well, as you know, I went to visit Peter Jarijari, an elder of the Gunditjmara—my mob.” How strange it was to say that. My mob. Benjamin laughed. “He was only twenty minutes drive away. That’s local, isn’t it? I mean…” He trailed off. Benjamin had been so close to his roots all this time and not known it. Strange.

  He continued. “I found the address and when I stood in front of the house, I could smell the sweet fragrance of wood-smoke. I didn’t even think to knock on the front door. I just followed the smell and walked down the side of the house to a big open area out the back. Five blokes were there sitting around a fire.” He shook his head, almost in disbelief. “I walked up to them and said, ‘My name is Benjamin Bidjara. I’m Jimmy Bidjara’s son.’ Which was all wrong because our lot are not too keen on mentioning the name of those who are dead.”

  The surf pounded the beach as the sun edged closer to the horizon.

  “What happened next?” Felicity jerked Benjamin’s arm, jolting him out of his reverie.

  “Well…no one said anything for a while, then a bloke, who I later found out was Peter, said, ‘You been gone a long time.’” He turned to Felicity. “Can you imagine that?” He tried to laugh, but it was more like a sob. “I…I was thinking, ‘Yeah, a lifetime,’ but I kept quiet. Well, anyway…this bloke, Peter, pointed to a space by the fire and said, ‘Sit down.’ It was as simple as that.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Felicity.

  “I was home.” He paused. “Peter introduced me to two of my uncles and an auntie who was in the house. It turns out that Peter is also some sort of pastor to the community.

  Felicity nodded.

  They were both quiet for a long time as they watched the sun sink to the horizon and throw a shimmering path across the sea to where they stood.

  Benjamin felt that it would be safer emotionally to turn the conversation to things more immediate and practical.

  “We need to get back. Gabs is coming around tonight with a bottle of homemade wine after dinner.” He shook his head. “Goodness knows how she and Archie are going to get on when they meet each other.”

  Felicity smiled. “Who knows?”

  “Who knows, indeed?” They turned and made their way back along the beach.

  He squeezed her arm. “How’s the budget for the rebuild going?”

  “Disastrous, thanks to you.”

  Benjamin raised an eyebrow.

  Felicity shook his arm. “Don’t pretend innocence. You’ve been crazy this last month. Totally irresponsible, actually.”

  “Oh?”

  “You know full well. You’ve insisted on double glazing; insisted on insulating behind the weatherboarding; insisted on putting insulation film over the panes of glass in the old shop window.” She waved a hand. “You’ve persuaded me to opt for an expensive kitchen, and to use bathroom tiles that are beautiful but hideously expensive. I don’t know what’s got into your head.”

  “You, actually,” Benjamin said, drawing her close.

  “Well, the reality is, I can’t afford both you and the house. I can’t see any option but to sell it so I can pay off the debts.”

  Benjamin started to laugh.

  Felicity pummeled his chest crossly. “Seriously.”

  “Would it sell easily?”

  “A three bedroom house with a study in a desirable location, and an upstairs view to die for—I should say so.”

  “Then you’re happy that you haven’t over-capitalized?”

  “No,” Felicity admitted. “I’ll walk away from it with a handsome profit.” She lowered her head. “But I had so wished that…” She corrected herself. “…we could have lived there.”

  “If someone offered you the right price, you’d sell it?”

  “Yes, I suppose so. I’d be silly not to.”

  “Then I’ll buy it.”

  “What?” Felicity swung around and stood in front of Benjamin, blocking his path. “Just what are you saying, Benjamin Bidjara?”

  Gee, she looks good when she’s mad. “Ah, well…it appears that Marjorie’s house in Kew, conservatively valued at two point four million dollars, is up for sale. That, coupled with her other assets, brings her estate to almost three million dollars.” He shrugged. “It seems I’m the sole beneficiary. I’ve been trying to find a good time to tell you.”

  Felicity stood with her mouth open. “Then, then, “ she stammered, “you could…”

  “Yes,” interrupted Benjamin, “we can finish our house.” Benjamin began to smile—but a distant cloud of emotions caused him to drop his head.

  Felicity reached out, lifted his head, and searched his face. “What’s the matter?”

  Benjamin tried to laugh but failed, then looked at her wi
th desperation. “Felicity, I’m not a millionaire type of bloke. What on earth am I going to do with this responsibility?”

  Behind them, the surf continued to boom and pound, causing mist to drift across the beach like smoke from a battlefield. Benjamin looked for the rainbow but couldn’t find it.

  “What’s your passion in life, Benjamin? What really matters to you?”

  “Besides you, you mean?”

  “Seriously.”

  Benjamin rubbed his forehead and tried to identify the feelings that were swirling within him.

  A wave crashed on the beach with a boom and a shudder.

  “I’m angry at the lack of hope for Aboriginal kids,” he said at length.

  “What do you think would help them the most?”

  “Meaningful jobs. Jobs they can relate to.”

  Felicity nodded. “Have you considered funding a scholarship program for apprentices?” She smiled. “I’ve seen you teaching Archie. You could even take on an apprentice yourself. You’re a natural teacher.”

  Benjamin enfolded Felicity in his arms and buried his face in her hair. “Will you help me, Mrs. Bidjara?”

  Felicity lifted her head. “Mrs. Bidjara. Hmm, I like that.”

  “We’ll get married the moment your decree nisi comes through.” Benjamin spoke through the muffle of her hair. “Peter has agreed to conduct the wedding.”

  Chapter 30

  Benjamin wasn’t used to flying, far less being greeted at the airport by someone holding a card with his name on it. Felicity and Archie walked with him across the arrivals hall to meet the man holding the card. None of them had to wait to collect luggage, as this was only a day trip to Canberra.

  Their driver whisked them along dual carriageways toward the city center. At one point, they were able to see up the avenue to Australia’s war memorial, held to be sacred by so many, and across Lake Burley Griffin to Parliament House, held to be rather less sacred.

  They arrived at a driveway next to a multi-storied building. The driver showed his pass to an armed guard who opened the electronic gate for them. A few minutes later, all three of them were escorted inside to a small conference room.

  Benjamin nodded his thanks as a secretary handed him his coffee. As she left, a slim man in a light gray suit came into the room and introduced himself as Mr. Johnson. He didn’t give a first name. Johnson pushed his spectacles up his nose and sat himself down. “Thank you all for coming this morning. I realize that it has meant an early start for you.” His gray eyes flicked over them.

  Benjamin had the impression that it didn’t take very long for Mr. Johnson to appraise anyone.

  “I’ve called you together in the hope of bringing to rest the issue lying behind the Doran Khayef affair. I refer to the issue of the sixteenth century treaty signed between Henry VII of England and John II of Portugal.”

  Benjamin interrupted. “With respect, Mr. Johnson, the Khayef thing was a little more than an affair. It involved murder and kidnap. My interest in agreeing to your request to come here this morning was to get some assurance that Felicity, indeed all of us, are now quite safe.”

  Mr. Johnson looked at Benjamin without expression. “Perhaps we should begin there.” He leaned back in his chair. “Mr. Khayef is currently remanded in custody. His lawyers have been playing merry hell and are trying every trick in the book to get him out. But, because of the attack on you by his late bodyguard, there is no chance of him being granted bail.”

  Felicity was chewing her lip. “Is the case against him likely to stand up in court?” she asked.

  “His lawyers will try to distance him from the actions of his bodyguard, but it isn’t a convincing argument.” Johnson shrugged. “Nothing is certain. Big business, politics, and the judicial system can be…well, they can look after each other’s interests. Let’s just leave it at that.”

  Benjamin didn’t want to leave it at that. “That doesn’t give us much assurance.”

  “I wish I could give you more. What I can say is that Khayef is ruined financially. His creditors have foreclosed on him, and he is about to be declared bankrupt. He’s in a great deal of debt—a fact that probably motivated him to take some, er…saleable assets from the Saracens.”

  Archie was chewing on his matchstick. “I’m guessing you mean drugs.”

  Johnson didn’t answer. Archie continued. “How certain are you that he was behind the theft of Saracen assets?”

  “The case for that is fairly compelling. We have fingerprints and CCTV.” He held up three fingers and said, “He had the means, the motive and the opportunity.” Johnson folded down his fingers sequentially as he spoke.

  Archie nodded. “So, our Mr. Khayef is not going to have a very comfortable time on a number of legal fronts.”

  Johnson nodded. “Correct. He is being seen to be what he is—an unprincipled megalomaniac. Very few will want to associate themselves with him now.” He compressed his lips into a thin line. “What will happen to him will depend on what sort of hold he has over people in high places. Everyone is keeping their heads down at the moment because they know we’re watching to see who comes into play.”

  Benjamin had the impression that with people like Mr. Johnson around, people were wise to do so.

  “Would Khayef’s plan to claim tax free status for his gold mining activities really have succeeded?” asked Felicity. “It sounds pretty fanciful to base a claim on a sixteenth century treaty.”

  Johnson turned his attention to Felicity. It was like seeing the barrels of a gun swivel. Ready…aim…talk. “Khayef had rather more faith in his claim than our lawyers do. Nonetheless, his claim was not without merit.” Johnson drummed his fingers. “It’s a legal gray area. The danger to Australian taxation laws comes from the fact that the treaty was signed by an English monarch.” He smiled. “Things would be a whole lot easier if Australia was a republic. As it is, we are still legally headed by the British monarchy—and this treaty has never been revoked.”

  “Then why have you asked us to bring…” Benjamin almost said ‘the Atlantis stone.’ “…the Portuguese stone with us?”

  Johnson manufactured a half-smile. “Because we like to be sure.”

  Felicity responded immediately. “If I give it to you, it will mean that you could destroy it if it was in Australia’s interests.” Benjamin could hear her resentment. She hadn’t allowed anyone other than herself to carry the stone on their journey to Canberra. Even now, she was hugging the shoulder bag that contained it to herself.

  Johnson said nothing.

  Benjamin cleared his throat. “Mr. Johnson, not only have our lives been put at risk, but we have also needed to fund the costs of finding the Sardinian copy of the treaty and mounting a rescue operation to free Felicity. These costs have been borne by Archie and the late Miss Eddington.”

  Archie interrupted. “Actually, it was all funded by Marjorie.” He shrugged. “She thought that funding it through conventional ASIO channels might be too unwieldy.”

  Johnson began drumming his fingers. “Do you have the receipts, Mr. Hammond?”

  “Yeah.”

  “If you give them to me, I’ll credit the expenses to Miss Eddington’s estate.”

  Benjamin suddenly realized that he would be the beneficiary of this, which wasn’t what he had intended at all.

  Felicity broke in. “There remains the small issue of you wanting me to meekly hand over the greatest historical find I’m ever likely to make in my life…one that is important to all Australians.”

  The drumming fingers stopped. “I am aware that I’m asking a great deal of you, Miss Anderson. But, you will not find us unappreciative.”

  “What exactly does that mean?”

  Mr. Johnson pushed his glasses up his nose and stared at her, taking aim. “I understand that you are an historian who has ambitions to be a writer. Is that so?”

  Felicity nodded.

  “Are you a good writer?”

  She stammered, “I…I think so.”<
br />
  “Then it might interest you to know that the Australian Government is commissioning a book series on the history of Australia. If you had that commission, how do you think you would go about writing it?”

  Felicity’s mouth dropped open. She paused, evidently struggling to pull herself together. Eventually, she said, “I’d want to write the facts in everyday prose…and make it read like an adventure. Three volumes should do it, and none of them should be too big.”

  Bravo, thought Benjamin.

  Mr. Johnson stared at her without blinking. “If you make application to write this series, I can assure you it will be viewed very sympathetically.”

  Felicity nodded her understanding. She then shocked Benjamin by saying. “I accept, provided my fiancée writes the series with me. That way, you’ll be sure to get an indigenous Australian perspective.” She lifted her chin. “Presumably, you have the treaty close to hand, perhaps even in this building. You also have the Portuguese stone. And you have Benjamin.” Felicity pulled the Atlantis stone out from her shoulder bag, unwrapped the bubble plastic around it, and pushed it across the table to Mr. Johnson. “You do realize that when all three of these things come together, Benjamin could make a claim on all the gold mined in Victoria.”

  There was silence for a long while.

  “You are a writer, Mr. Bidjara?”

  “He is,” answered Felicity on Benjamin’s behalf.

  Mr. Johnson sighed and pushed himself back from the table. “Then we’ll see what we can do.”

  Archie elected to stay on in Canberra to sort out some affairs with ASIO. Benjamin suspected that he might finally be retiring from their service. Who knew where the future would take him? Benjamin very much hoped that he would keep in touch.

  He leaned over to Felicity in the aircraft seat beside him. “You have some explaining to do, young lady.”

  “What do you mean?” she protested.