I looked at him, unsmiling. My heart was thumping. I didn’t want this.
‘Yes, sir. Of course,’ I said.
Ross walked over to me and sat down in the chair next to mine, crossing one leg over the other in an effortlessly elegant pose. I wondered how, when every other Australian soldier’s uniform was baggy, his fitted so well. Perhaps he’d had it tailored.
‘I’ve been asked to review all the instances in the last year where field missions have gone wrong.’
‘All missions?’
‘Allied Intelligence Bureau missions. It’ll include the APLO missions that have been compromised in the past year.’
Molloy made a soft snorting sound, and Ross’s mouth tightened.
‘Human error,’ said Molloy. ‘I can tell you that now. The APLO missions were lost because of bad luck and human error and cowardice.’
‘Tom’s no coward.’ Ross sounded angry. ‘He’s still not recovered from what they did to him. Whipping, starvation, God knows –’
‘He talked,’ said Molloy dismissively.
‘So he was cut loose,’ said Ross in a bitter voice. ‘No help for men like him, is there? We set broken bones and we treat machete wounds and we pump them full of pills for infection and disease. But if they’re racked with guilt at the death of their men and they’ve been through what would have broken any man – well then they’re on their own. We don’t treat blind despair, do we?’
Molloy’s expression was as soft as granite. ‘We can’t treat weakness like his. Lack of moral fibre.’
‘Let it go, Nick.’ Deacon’s voice was placating. ‘It’s an argument you won’t win.’ His tone sharpened. ‘Molloy’s sea-green bloody incorruptible. One mistake and you’re tainted as unreliable.’
‘And you could have handled your mission better.’ Molloy was glaring at Ross. ‘You never should have gone up there. Should have stayed here, where your skills are useful, instead of insisting on commanding a field mission. Should have left that for those who do those things well. Your skills are interrogation and psychological warfare, not gallivanting around on field missions. If it hadn’t been for Lund –’
‘Yes, sir.’ Ross cut him off, which was a breach of military etiquette. Shocked, I looked at him. His face was flushed and he was sitting rigid in the chair. Staring at the floor, he drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Gradually his face relaxed.
They’d forgotten I was there. I coughed gently and three pairs of eyes were on me. I sat up straight and looked at Molloy.
‘What duties am I expected to perform for Lieutenant Ross?’
Molloy frowned, patted at his breast pocket and pulled out his pipe. ‘The lieutenant wants assistance in reviewing records of interview and interrogation relating to Allied intelligence missions in the South West Pacific theatre. Think of it as similar to how an auditor reviews financial documents. We want to know what intelligence the enemy had about our missions, what mistakes were made, how to improve. Ross needs assistance and thinks your fluency in Malay will come in handy.’ I came in for a keen look. ‘Think you can do that?’
‘Yes, sir.’
There was a knock at the door. It opened before Molloy could say anything and Lieutenant Cole seemed to burst into the room. He pushed the door closed behind him and stood with his head lowered, so that he looked at the four of us from under his eyebrows, like a bull about to charge. It was then he remembered to salute. He stood up straighter and did so.
‘Is this about Destro?’ He seemed to growl the words.
Molloy frowned at him. It was an obvious, Shut up, Cole. I tried to pretend I was invisible, but Molloy nodded at me.
‘Sergeant Aldridge is being allocated new duties.’
‘To help Ross check up on Destro?’ Cole’s voice rose. ‘There’s nothing wrong with Destro. It’s the most successful operation in the SWP theatre. I don’t know why Ross wants to spread bulldust about it, but I suspect it’s to try to find an excuse for his dismal failure in commanding the Kestrel mission.’
Ross was sitting back in his chair now, in a pose of calculated ease, regarding Cole through half-closed eyes. He even smiled a little.
‘Wrong, Cole,’ he said. ‘These orders come from Blamey himself. We’re to look at the missions that have gone wrong.’ He flicked a bit of dust off his sleeve. ‘You’re always so quick to defend Destro. Does that mean you’ve got concerns about it?’
‘And you were quick to ask for the pretty sergeant to assist you. Should we have concerns about her?’
‘Stop it, both of you.’ Molloy’s voice was a sharp bark. He looked at me. ‘That’ll be all, Sergeant. Just keep quiet about this and do whatever the lieutenant asks of you.’
Beside me, Ross breathed a laugh. Cole snorted.
‘Yes, sir,’ I said.
When I looked at Ross he smiled his movie-star smile. ‘Thank you, Sergeant.’
Twelve
Lieutenant Ross sat behind his desk and told me to sit down. I looked around. Various maps of the South West Pacific area lined the walls of his office. Behind his desk, in the space between two long sash windows, was a 1942 calendar showing a print of the lovely painting by Degas, The Star. Degas had captured the ballerina’s rapid movement across the stage in strokes that were swift and sure, almost calligraphic. Her head was flung back, eyes half shut; one white arm was outstretched and the other seemed to float, imploring the audience to adore her. From the wings the other dancers watched. A man in a black suit watched also, his face obscured.
‘It’s out of date,’ I said, gesturing towards the calendar.
Ross twisted away from me to look at it. ‘I know. I like looking at it, the sense of abandonment to movement that Degas captured in the painting.’
I shrugged. ‘It’s a beautiful painting. I’ve seen it many times, in Paris. But that man in the wings, watching her – he unnerves me.’
Ross swung around at that, to regard me with a shrewd, considering expression on his face. Then he grunted and looked down. He removed a glass paperweight from a pile of papers and began to shuffle through them in a desultory, almost nervous fashion.
I decided to get straight to the point, but when I spoke my voice sounded hesitant. ‘Why me?’
He raised one shoulder in a shrug that would have done justice to a Parisian and didn’t answer.
‘Why did you ask for me to be your assistant with this? You hardly know me.’
He looked at me steadily. ‘It’s not because of that wide cool mouth of yours. It came into my dreams last night and I told it to get lost. Said it wasn’t my type of mouth at all.’
I snapped at him. ‘Go to hell, Ross. I’m not working with you just so you can get fresh with me.’ I was shaking with fury. ‘And I’ll march straight into Molloy’s office and tell him so.’
He held my gaze. ‘Well, I prefer angry Aldridge to shy little mouse Aldridge who was in Molloy’s office just now.’
‘What?’ My jaw was so tight it was painful. I took a deep breath, and just like Ross had earlier, I let it out slowly. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I need to work with you on this, need to know you’ll stand up to me if necessary. We need to be able to work as a team – not as officer and sergeant, but as equals.’
I looked at him, considered this. He hadn’t answered my question, and I needed to know that he’d not asked for me as his assistant so he could proposition me again, the way he had the night before.
‘Why me?’ I repeated, in a stronger voice.
‘You impressed me when you came to my office to warn me about what you’d overheard. So I asked around. Deacon thinks very highly of you. Says you lack confidence, but you’re smart and competent and you get the job done without any fuss. You’re fluent in Malay, which is a bonus. Gabriel says you’re caring, that you’re willing to go the extra mile for people. She thinks you’re intuitive
, and slightly manipulative. That’s exactly what I need in this job.’
‘I’m not –’
‘Manipulative? Gabriel says you always manage to persuade the Yanks to give us supplies for missions that they’d otherwise keep back. Even the surly commander of the Netherlands East Indies Forces Intelligence Service is happy to deal with Sergeant Aldridge, happy to give her whatever she asks for by way of assistance for the field missions. Gabriel says you’re discreet and you deal with people brilliantly.’
I let out the breath I was holding in a whoosh of air. ‘They said that about me? Captain Deacon and Captain Gabriel said those things about me?’
He looked down and shuffled the papers some more. His cheeks reddened slightly. ‘You didn’t let me charm you into bed. That was important, too.’
My own cheeks were blazing.
‘You were the only reasonable choice for the job,’ he went on. ‘Molloy wanted to give me a male assistant, but none of them fitted the bill, and Deacon and I wanted an APLO person for security reasons. We’ve been discussing the matter over the last few days. And we decided you were the one.’
I said hesitantly, ‘Did you tell them about . . .’
‘Last night? No.’
There was a soft knock at the door. It opened before Ross could say anything and Captain Deacon slipped into the room, closing the door behind him.
‘You told her?’
‘Not yet.’
I looked from Deacon to Ross. They exchanged glances. Deacon walked over to the chair next to me and sat down.
‘Sergeant, we need to know if we can trust you to do extra duties,’ he said. ‘And do them without reporting to Captain Molloy, and without mentioning anything to Lieutenant Cole or Captain Gabriel.’
I didn’t know what to answer. I liked Captain Deacon, and I trusted him more than I did Lieutenant Ross. But Captain Molloy was in charge of APLO’s Melbourne office. How could I keep secrets from my CO?
‘Lieutenant Ross and I are under the direct authority of General Blamey, and we’re reporting to him personally on this,’ said Deacon.
‘May I ask what it’s all about, sir?’
He glanced at Ross, gestured to him to reply. Ross leaned back in his seat and steepled his fingers, not looking at me. He blew out a breath and crumpled his hands into fists.
‘As you heard in Captain Molloy’s office, a mission I led a couple of months ago – my first field mission – was compromised,’ said Ross. ‘We lost a man and the enemy destroyed two native villages for assisting us.’
My mouth was dry. ‘Destroyed? What do you mean by that? Were people . . .’
‘They killed at least twenty natives. Men, women and children. Tortured others.’
My stomach seemed to roll with nausea. It was terrible that Mike had died on the mission, but he was a soldier and all operatives were volunteers. He’d known that he might die. The natives were living on their own land, and it was appalling that they’d suffered so for helping us.
‘Captain Deacon and I think there’s a traitor in APLO,’ said Ross, ‘and General Blamey has asked us to find out who it is.’
I felt my mouth open in surprise, and I closed it with a snap. ‘But why the secrecy? Why can’t I mention it to Captain Molloy?’
Ross’s voice was tight. ‘Because he doesn’t believe any of it. You heard him in there. He thinks that the missions failed because of errors made by Tom in the first mission – Cobweb – and by me in Kestrel. I know we each walked into a trap.’
‘Between the first and second mission APLO entirely changed the way it was organised,’ said Deacon, in his quiet way. ‘How much do you know about APLO’s organisational structure?’
‘I know Captain Molloy’s the CO here in Melbourne, and the deputy controller overall. That here in Melbourne we’re in charge of field operations and disinformation. I also know we run powerful radio transceivers in New South Wales and Queensland. Our cover is that we draft propaganda and most people think that’s all we do, but that’s done in Queensland, not here in Melbourne.’
Deacon nodded. ‘The command structure is a nucleus of officers from the army, navy and air force,’ he replied. ‘We’re independent of the Allied Intelligence Bureau and operate under General Blamey’s direct command. We thought that once we’d reorganised we were safe and anything Tom might have told them under duress was of no benefit to them. But then Lieutenant Ross’s mission was compromised as well.’
I was trying to make sense of it all; I looked at Ross. ‘I heard that there was a suggestion that you’d . . .’ I stopped, unsure whether to say more.
Deacon and Ross exchanged looks again.
‘I was exonerated in court martial,’ said Ross. ‘But what you heard on Saturday related to Kestrel and I think you’d already guessed that I’m the lieutenant they’d prefer to be dead.’
‘Um, Destro?’ I said. ‘I’ve heard it’s the most successful intelligence operation in the South West Pacific theatre. Why is Lieutenant Cole so defensive about it?’
Ross smiled faintly. ‘I’ve raised concerns about it, and it’s got his hackles up. I never trust anything that’s too successful.’
‘Molloy and Cole thought up Destro, they chose Avila to run it,’ said Deacon.
‘Avila?’ Although I looked at Deacon, Ross answered.
‘Destro is under the command of a former Portuguese provincial administrator on Timor, Lieutenant Avila. He’s got some sort of Portuguese title, duke or prince or something. I’ve met Avila. He’s arrogant and I think he’s unstable. But Cole’s reputation rests on Destro, so he won’t hear a word against Avila. Nor will Captain Molloy.’
‘We’ve got a good man up there with them as Australian liaison officer,’ said Deacon.
‘Bill Ellis’s only twenty-one,’ said Ross, ‘and Avila resents him. We had to promote him from sergeant to lieutenant, just so that he could exert some pressure on Avila. But Avila’s not the sort of man to take kindly to interference from someone like Bill.’
Captain Deacon ran a hand through his hair, tousling it, which made him look all of fourteen, though I knew he was twenty-four. Some of our officers were so young, I thought; too young for such responsibility.
Deacon looked at Ross and frowned. ‘There’s no evidence that –’
‘I’m not suggesting that Destro’s been compromised,’ said Ross. ‘It’s clear that Bill and Avila are still sending regular bulletins.’ His voice dropped. ‘Cole won’t let me see any of them, though.’
Deacon seemed pained. ‘Nick, he’s not hiding anything. He keeps Molloy fully informed. You and he are like dogs with a bone over Destro.’
Ross frowned, nodded, looked down at the papers on his desk and began to shuffle them.
I said to Deacon, ‘What am I supposed to do?’
He glanced at Ross, who sat up in his chair, took a breath and was all business. ‘Go through reports of field missions. I’ve been able to get documents from most of the AIB operations, not just APLO. It was a devil of a job to get hold of all this, so we need to make the most of the opportunity.’ He leaned over the desk and stared at me, his jaw tight. ‘This is all top secret – about as top secret as you can get – so keep it under your hat.’
‘I understand that.’ I held his gaze and my voice was clipped. He didn’t want mouse Stella, I thought, well then he’d jolly well get angry Stella. ‘Anything else? Sir?’
He leaned back in his chair. ‘I want you to go through transcripts of interrogations. What I’m looking for is a common denominator when something went wrong in any of the operations. Use your brain and your imagination. Think about the little clues that might be in there and see where they lead.’
‘Yes, sir. What does Captain Molloy think I’m doing?’
‘Exactly what I told you, but he thinks we’re looking at how to improve our operations. He doesn’t
know we’ve got another agenda.’
He glanced at me quickly, checked that I seemed to understand, and looked down at the desk again. ‘I’m not ruling out deliberate sabotage from our own side. There’s a lot of jealousy between the various groups, reputations to be made. It might even be the Americans, wanting us to fail. There’s also stupidity. Too many operatives are antisocial individualists; they can be less than discreet sometimes, let information slip without thinking about it. And there are always some people willing to betray their country for money.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Captain Deacon got up from his chair. I sprang up also, to salute him.
‘I appreciate your help on this,’ he said to me. There was a brief smile. ‘Don’t let Nick bully you, Sergeant. And you should remember that he’s a psychologist whose hobby is psychoanalysis. Try not to let him into your head.’
‘Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir.’
His smile widened. ‘Good luck.’
He turned and left the room.
I looked at Ross, who was apparently perusing the papers on his desk. He sighed, ran his hand over his face and looked up at me.
‘Stella, we’ll be working closely on this. I know that we got off to a bad start last night. I was drunk, but that’s no excuse. I told you that I blame myself for the failure of the mission. That’s what Eric thinks. He thinks it was my fault.’
Without thinking, I said, ‘So you’re hoping to prove to yourself – but mainly to him – that it was a traitor and not your mistakes that cost those lives.’
I was shocked to realise I’d said it out loud and I mumbled an apology.
He looked away, at something above my head, and his smile was wry. ‘No sugar coating from Stella Aldridge. You know, you rather remind me of him.’
‘Who?’
‘Eric bloody Lund.’ Ross almost spat out the name. He closed his own eyes for a beat, and when he opened them again I could see the weariness in his face. ‘He saved my life up there. Saved all of us. I find it hard to forgive him for that. Stupid, eh?’
A Time of Secrets Page 12