Papua

by Peter Watt

  ‘We need to check out who you say you are, Mr Stahl,’ the younger of the men said as his partner deliberately perched himself on the edge of the desk where Gerhardt was seated. It was a form of intimidation he knew was intended to unsettle him, but he had played this game before in Germany when he was the one questioning informants.

  ‘I understand,’ Gerhardt replied with a drier mouth than he thought was possible, despite his experience.

  ‘But if you would leave us with the film you say you have,’ the younger interrogator said, ‘we would take that as an act of good faith.’

  ‘You know as well as I that this cannot happen until we come to an arrangement,’ Gerhardt said firmly. ‘Then I can promise you information that may be vital to your national interests.’

  The men glanced at each other. The one sitting at the edge of the desk shrugged. ‘Leave an address, Mr Stahl, and we will be back to you in the future. In the meantime, you know where to reach us.’

  Gerhardt was annoyed as he pushed his chair away and rose to leave. He even had a little sympathy for the people he had interrogated in a similar manner in the past.

  ‘You wouldn’t happen to know where I can see a koala and kangaroo outside a zoo by any chance?’ he asked, bringing a puzzled look to the men’s faces. ‘No matter,’ he shrugged. ‘I will find them myself.’

  Out on the Sydney streets he once again entered a pleasant world where the only worry people seemed to have was trying to make enough money to keep a roof over their heads and put food on the table. It was far from the dirty arena of international intrigue, where failure could mean the termination of a man’s life. Maybe Sydney wasn’t the safe place he thought. Australia had a substantial population of German immigrants that had come to the country over many decades. He was still not beyond the grasp of the Nazis and the idea of continuing to Papua was sounding better all the time if the Americans failed to be interested in his knowledge of the new German Reich.

  Jacob Schmidt was young to be a secret agent. He spoke fluent German, as his parents had immigrated to the United States before the GreatWar. They had opposed the militarism of the Kaiser, putting their lives at stake. Growing up, Jacob was a true patriot of American democracy and enlisted in his country’s service when he had graduated from university. Employed by J. Edgar Hoover’s United States Federal Bureau of Investigation as an agent, he had been dispatched to Australia to secretly investigate the possible link between the fascists of Europe and a shadowy organisation in Australia called the New Guard, an organisation led by a former Australian military man named Eric Campbell.

  Hoover had briefed him personally on his mission. Since the bloody riots in Washington brought on by a protest march of former soldiers from the Great War, the head of the US FBI had shown a personal interest in the rise of neofascist organisations. Not that the ‘Bonus March’, as the protest was known, had anything to do with fascism. Rather it had been a march by desperately poor men requesting a ‘soldier’s bonus’ for service to their country in war. But it had sparked the federal agency director’s concern that a body of men with formidable military experience had the potential to organise and use their martial skills against the government. The director had made it clear to Jacob that his mission to investigate and report on the Australian neofascist movement was not on record. To do so might upset the Australian government with perceptions of spying on a friendly nation. Jacob and his partner were to work from the American embassy under the guise of businessmen seeking market opportunities. When Gerhardt had made his contact with the Americans, Jacob had taken control of the interrogation.

  ‘What do you think?’ Jacob asked his partner. ‘Think he is on the level?’

  ‘If he has what he says he does then I think we need to take him seriously,’ he replied. Bill Havers had been an experienced police officer in Chicago before he resigned over his disgust at the power the bootleggers had with his department. He had served in the war in France, including military intelligence experience. It was one of his old army contacts who had wrangled him the job in the FBI. He also spoke German, but not as fluently as his younger partner. ‘I think we need to see if our friend had as much contact with the new German chancellor as he says. If he did, then I think we can parley again. In the meantime, we need to cable Washington.’

  Jacob nodded. This Adolf Hitler was a man well worth keeping an eye on. He suspected that where the Kaiser had left off in 1918 Herr Hitler was planning to take up the sword. Jacob Schmidt did not just think that war was inevitable – he knew it, with all the certainty of a man who had Jewish relations in Germany. All the reports coming out of Germany had the political indicators of a dictatorship in the making, one geared for military supremacy of Europe.

  When Caroline broached the subject of Erika over dinner Quentin grew angry.

  ‘Why does she want British citizenship?’ he demanded with a fork full of smoked salmon halfway to his mouth.

  ‘I did not ask,’ his wife replied sweetly. ‘But I would like it if I could see her after our baby is born.’

  Quentin placed the salmon back on his plate and wiped his mouth with a linen napkin. ‘You must realise that I have substantial business interests in Germany,’ he said as he toyed with the stem of his crystal goblet. ‘It appears that your little toy may be a person who has upset the new government. And if that is so then I do not want to be seen aiding her in any way. To do so might put my interests at risk.’

  Caroline could see her husband’s point of view. She was vaguely aware that Quentin had made it discreetly known to German visitors that he would support Hitler as his fellow entrepreneurs in Germany already had. Although he considered the new chancellor a raving idiot, Adolf at least advantaged the powerful industrial class of Germany with whom Arrowsmith had strong contacts. It was agreed by all that Hitler would easily be controlled by them once he was in power. He had, after all, promised to curtail the labour unions and stamp out the threat of Bolshevic interference. Arrowsmith also knew that his quietly held opinions were shared by many powerful people in England. Hitler was just what Germany and Europe needed to provide a strong bastion against Stalin’s Soviet Union.

  ‘Well,’ Caroline sighed as she sipped her wine. ‘I will tell my little pet that you cannot help her. A pity,’ she added. ‘I was so much looking forward to sharing her with you.’

  When Erika received a telephone call at the hotel from Caroline to explain the difficult circumstances, she slammed the phone down. Damn her, she thought. She would find someone else to support her claim for British citizenship. The need to do so was now a matter of life and death. Hitler was in power and she well knew the lengths his government would go to in the future to eliminate anyone they felt was the slightest threat to them. Since her husband had planted her name in the files she knew there was no going back, despite her innocence. Damn him for taking away all that she had gained with her body. He deserved the worst she could think of. She had always plotted her revenge but had fooled him for the moment into thinking she had changed. It was time to take from him the only thing he considered precious and worth dying for.

  Erika had not planned on continuing her journey to Papua. But getting citizenship of a country not under German influence was not to be. Suddenly the thought of continuing their journey to Papua had a great appeal. Erika had been told by Caroline that Jack Kelly was in Papua – around the Port Moresby district, she’d been informed when she had casually asked of his whereabouts. Caroline also told her of Jack’s rise to wealth in Sydney and his sudden financial collapse. Caroline had given Erika an enigmatic look when she had asked about Jack. But Erika had an idea of why Jack Kelly would support anything she proposed.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  The Erika Sarah lay at anchor in the broad waters of the Fly River. With his son at the helm Jack had navigated through a maze of islands to a point Paul remembered as close to Serero’s village. Joe Oblachinski’s cameramen had been filming the river at intervals while Victoria was busy making no
tes in her journal. Joe himself had relaxed on deck, puffing on a fat cigar, which he also used as a pointer to direct his cameramen to specific shots. ‘It would be a real bonus if we could get some of the natives to come out of the bush and fire some arrows at us,’ he said to Jack. ‘Got a few Tarzan movies in the works where it sure would be great background stuff.’

  ‘Probably on the cards,’ Jack said dryly, ‘from what Paul says about O’Leary’s activities in this part of the world.’

  ‘Who’s this O’Leary guy you mentioned?’

  ‘Someone you wouldn’t want to know,’ Jack replied as he scanned the jungle-covered shoreline for a place to land the rowboat.

  ‘Well, time to go ashore and see if we can make contact with this canoe builder your German friend has told us about,’ Joe said launching himself to his feet.

  ‘I will be coming too,’ Victoria said as she emerged from below decks wearing her jodhpurs and a clean cotton shirt.

  ‘Not a real good idea,’ Jack grunted. ‘We don’t know what kind of reception we might get ashore.’

  ‘Too bad,’ the young American woman countered, staring Jack directly in the eyes. ‘You are being employed by Joe and I have full rights to go wherever he chooses to.’

  ‘Okay,’ Jack replied and turned his back on her to prepare the small boat.

  ‘Lukas, you remain with the Erika Sarah. Karl can come and issue arms.

  Lukas was disappointed that he was not going ashore, but he also realised that someone had to look after the lugger. Karl grinned at his friend standing at the helm as he took a .303 rifle handed to him. ‘See you when I see you,’ he said and glanced at Victoria who was stepping down into the rowboat at the side of the lugger. Two cameras were then carefully lowered and when all were aboard Jack and Karl took the oars while Paul stood at the rudder to steer. The river was running and after ten minutes of hard rowing they reached the shore. As soon as they stepped ashore the drums began to beat.

  ‘Looks like we might get a few arrows sent our way after all,’ Jack muttered within hearing of Joe Oblachinski, who only beamed a smile as he prepared another cigar. Jack had to admire the man. The humidity onshore was extreme, as was the heat, but the American seemed to take it all in his stride. Nevertheless, he was sweating profusely and the extra weight he carried around his midriff could not have helped in the jungle.

  ‘This is exciting!’ Victoria exclaimed. ‘It’s just like a Johnny Weismuller movie.’

  Jack did not comment but checked the safety catch on his rifle. He was no expert on the meaning of the drums but hoped they were peaceful messages being passed up and down the river.

  ‘The village was around a quarter mile from here,’ Paul said, hefting his rifle over his shoulder. ‘At least it was ten years ago.’

  He stepped forward and the others fell in behind him. Victoria seemed to stay close to Jack and within a short time they had slashed a track to where Paul remembered the village to be. But the jungle had long reclaimed what had once been a place of habitation. Just a faint outline of the logs that had once supported thatch huts remained in a clearing of high grasses.

  ‘What next?’ Joe asked, with a note of disappointment.

  ‘We just sit and wait,’ Paul replied. ‘It is the way of the people in this country to come to you.’

  ‘How long?’ Joe asked and Paul shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Who knows,’ he replied. ‘But we will wait until near sunset and if they have not made contact by then we will leave the box of trade goods for them. Then we can come back tomorrow and they will see that we have come to talk and not make war.’

  They settled down in the shade of a great rainforest giant that had stood long before the now deserted village had existed. Jack prepared a billy of tea and Karl opened cans of bully beef to be handed around as their meal for the day. Victoria took one look at the gooey pink meat melting in its own fat in the tropical heat and passed it to Malip who grinned his appreciation at the extra rations. The men ate from the cans with their fingers and waited whilst the smoke from Joe’s cigar curled in lazy clouds in the still air of the clearing.

  In the mid afternoon they came. ‘God almighty!’ Joe swore as he raised himself into a sitting position to stare at the fully armed warriors emerging from the tree line on the far side of the clearing. ‘I didn’t think that there would be so many!’

  Paul stood and shaded his eyes with his hand. They were a formidable force with their bows and long, deadly barbed arrows. They stood in curious silence as if considering whether to string their bows and release a volley down on the white men. Jack released the safety catch on his rifle and glanced at Victoria to check that she was near him if it came to a fighting retreat back to the boat.

  The seconds that ticked by were tense with fear for what might happen next. But at the front of the line of warriors with their bows and plumes was one man with a very battered pipe in his mouth. ‘Serero!’ Paul Mann called, hoping that he had identified a friendly face. ‘Serero, is that you?’

  The man with the pipe walked forward and burst into tears. It was indeed Serero the canoe builder and he was overjoyed to see that his long dead brother was once again visiting him in his old age. The two men met in the centre of the clearing to embrace and the warriors swarmed forward to surround the party.

  Victoria was the centre of their attention. She had to remind herself that she was doing all this for her country as they poked and probed her to ascertain whether she was in fact a female. Jack stood very close by and watched for any sign of distress from her. She glanced at him and saw the concern in his face for her predicament but shook her head to indicate he was to do nothing for the moment. Reluctantly he stepped back.

  Serero began his high warbling speech of welcome and warned his fellow warriors to give the white woman space to move. His dead brother had returned to give him tobacco for his pipe, as he knew he would. They obeyed and Paul handed out the few trade goods that he had brought to the clearing as the cameramen frantically worked their cameras to record the moment. These were a people whose exposure to Europeans was negligible. It would make for rare footage indeed, back in Hollywood.

  ‘Malip, you tell Serero that our friends from across the sea have many such gifts for all of them if they will do some things for him,’ Paul said and Malip translated as best as he could.

  Serero understood and held Paul’s hand in his as he nodded.

  ‘Mr Oblachinski,’ Paul said, ‘we have been very lucky and I think you will get the finest footage for your friends in Hollywood that can be taken.’

  Jack supervised the pitching of the camp. With Malip’s help in translating he had some of the warriors return down the track and stores were ferried from the Erika Sarah.

  Victoria was photographing the events and found herself snapping many of Jack as he stood in the clearing and went about the task of setting up a base for the American film-maker and his crew. He was stripped to the waist and his tanned and muscular body reflected his hard life. With his rifle slung over his shoulder and a revolver at his waist, he well and truly fitted the Jungle Jack title that Victoria had secretly bestowed on him. The sight of him working amongst the colourfully plumed warriors was uncomfortably attractive for her and she tried to dismiss the next thought that came to her: the two of them making love. She knew that to do so would be to make a commitment to this man whom she had already guessed was not willing to be taken from this savage yet beautiful world of warriors and jungles. She clicked off another photograph of Jack attempting to communicate his orders to a couple of bemused warriors carrying bows and stone axes and shook her head. ‘Girl, what are you thinking?’ she muttered to herself. Whatever it was, it was tinged with sweat and passion.

  By nightfall the camp was set up and Karl had hiked back to relieve Lukas on his watch aboard the anchored boat. A fire was lit and the night sky filled with sparkling stars. A haunch of beef that had been kept in the refrigerated locker of the lugger was cooked in a camp oven with fr
esh vegetables and served with a few precious bottles of wine hoarded for the occasion. The sumptuous meal – by expedition standards – was washed down with good coffee and tea. There was soft laughter and risque yarns spun about Hollywood celebrities under the sparkle of tropical stars until the rain came in a sudden, violent downpour, forcing all to the tents that had been erected in the late afternoon.

  Victoria grabbed Jack by the hand as she sat by him on a log near the fire which was now sizzling under the weight of water. ‘Quick,’ she said with a laugh, ‘ we can get to my tent before we drown.’

  Jack let her lead him and they both burst inside her tent drenched to the skin. She collapsed on her camp stretcher in the dark and Jack fumbled for the lantern which he found and lit. The soft light flooded the tent as the rain pounded the canvas and ran in little rivulets across the earthen floor. He hung the hurricane lantern on a post and wiped his face with his hands. ‘Don’t think we were very successful,’ he said with a smile as he sat in a portable camp chair and gazed at Victoria stretched out on her bed.

  ‘I do,’ she answered quietly. ‘I have you alone on a night when I doubt that anyone is going to come visiting.’

  It took a second for the meaning of her reply to dawn on the tough Australian. He stared into her eyes and saw a strange softness that he had not noticed before. ‘Victoria?’ he asked, and she reached up to draw him down to her. Without further conversation she slowly undid the buttons of his shirt. He felt her lips on his and her tongue probe his mouth. Then she pulled him down on her and he felt the softness of her breasts against his chest. His head was spinning at the suddenness of events unfolding as the rain roared in his ears. He was barely aware of her whispered words but found that he was reacting, as she had wanted him to. His hands were inside her shirt and he found her nipples under his fingers, large and erect. Then he was kissing her back with the intensity of long concealed desire. But he was also tense for reasons he could not fathom. Yes, he admitted to himself, he had wanted her from the day he had laid eyes on the beautiful young woman stepping out of the car on the Moresby wharf.