by Peter Watt
‘I say, are you travelling alone?’ the young man asked eagerly, changing the subject.
Fenella raised the faintest of smiles. ‘That is a very forward question from a man who has not been introduced to me.’
‘Oh, I am sorry,’ the young man apologised. ‘My name is Sean Duffy. I am a solicitor with my uncle’s firm in Sydney, currently travelling to America to represent our firm on legal matters. I hate dining alone and noticed that you also were dining alone this morning when we departed Sydney.’
‘Mr Duffy, it is a pleasure to meet you,’ Fenella answered. ‘I am Fiona Owens from Melbourne. I am a teacher of music.’
‘It is an honour to meet you, Miss Owens,’ Sean said, extending his hand. ‘I would be grateful if you would meet with me tonight at the captain’s table for dinner.’
‘I think that would be nice, Mr Duffy,’ she replied. ‘But for now I would like to be alone if you do not mind.’
‘I will leave you, Miss Owens, with the pleasure of knowing that we will break bread together tonight.’ Sean lifted his hat and made his way down the virtually deserted deck.
Fenella was still feeling ill and did not want to show so to the charming young man who she guessed to be in his late twenties, and whose face was not unlike those of her father and brothers. She had been clever in concealing her shock at meeting Sean Duffy. After all, she was an actress. She knew of the law firm and her father’s relationship with his Irish-born cousin Daniel Duffy, son of a partner of that legal enterprise. Of all the places to bump into someone related to her, albeit distantly, she reflected. She even felt a little paranoid at having accepted the invitation to share a meal at the captain’s table. But it did not hurt her cover to be seen in the company of a handsome young man when she was travelling by herself.
Then Fenella felt the tears rolling down her face. She really was alone, leaving all she knew. She desperately missed her father and Alexander and, above all, Randolph. The tears turned to soft sobbing but no one heard or saw her other than a couple of seagulls drifting on the wind off the ship’s railing. She prayed that the sea voyage that divorced her from a supply of heroin might help stave off her addiction to the drug. After all, she was now responsible for the life growing inside her and suspected that the narcotic might be injurious to her baby’s health. Even now, the terrible desire to use the drug haunted her and only her seasickness took her mind off her craving for its euphoric daze.
Colonel John Hughes read the de-coded cable from England’s Secret Service chief. He rubbed his forehead. The pain in his face was evident. According to the message intelligence sources in England had stumbled on information that the covert operation in the Pacific had been compromised. The three men steaming for German Pacific territory were probably journeying into a trap.
He stood and paced his office, arms clasped behind his back. How in hell could the mission be compromised when the only persons who knew of its existence were just the five conspirators?
For a moment Hughes suspected Randolph Gates. He was, after all, an American and pro-German feeling was strong in his native land. He had pulled out at the last moment although that was understandable considering the Yank’s infatuation with Patrick’s daughter. The English soldier had been some years in the world of espionage so for him anything could have a sinister meaning. Did Gates arrange to have Fenella Macintosh abducted to give him a reason not to join the mission north? He shook his head. There had to be easier ways to excuse himself from the operation. He only had to feign illness. If the American had not betrayed them, who had? He instantly dismissed suspicion of either Matthew Duffy or Alexander Macintosh. Both men were soldiers at heart and prepared to die for their country. Matthew had proved that in South Africa and it was unimaginable that Alex would bring any shame on the family name and as for Colonel Duffy, his friend and colleague – impossible.
But then there was George Macintosh, Hughes thought. Not a likely suspect as he too would not do anything to jeopardise his standing in society – let alone want to be acccused of treason. However, he did have access to Patrick’s work. And even for a moment Hughes thought about Fenella but dismissed her as a suspect despite her mysterious disappearance. She did not really have access to what they were doing, just as George Macintosh had not been involved in any of their planning – as far as he knew. However, George Macintosh might have the means to monitor matters . . .
John Hughes returned to his desk and folded the cable for destruction at a later date. He could only think of one other man he could confer with about the contents of the coded cable.
‘Major Oaks,’ he bellowed from his office to his aide. ‘Fetch the car.’
Angus MacDonald greeted Colonel Hughes at the front door and immediately invited him to enter. The former Scottish soldier had served under John Hughes when they were younger and he respected the man for his close friendship with Patrick Duffy.
‘I suppose you heard the news, Colonel,’ Angus said, taking the officer’s cane and coat. ‘It’s in all the papers, sir,’ Angus said, holding up a copy he had kept in the foyer. ‘The mad Serbians have killed the Austrian archduke and his wife. Do you think it will mean war in Europe?’
John Hughes accepted the paper from the valet and carefully read the account of the assassination of the heir to the throne of the Austro–Hungarian Empire. It appeared that a plot by Serbian nationalists had been carried out in the Bosnian city of Sarajevo. The English officer’s quick mind took in the ramifications of what this spark may have set off. There had always been bad blood between the Balkan Serbians and the occupying Austrians. So long as the old Emperor of Austria did not seek revenge against the Serbians they might avoid a war in that part of Europe. But another small voice told him that the religious and cultural relationship between the Russian empire and the Serbian Orthodox church might be a dangerous factor in mobilising the Tsar’s armed forces to immediately provide the Serbians with moral support. Sabre rattling was not uncommon in these times.
‘All going well, Sergeant Major MacDonald,’ Hughes finally commented, ‘I think cooler heads will prevail and a Balkans war will be avoided.’
‘I dinna know, Colonel,’ Angus mumbled. ‘There is a lot in Europe spoiling for a war. I will announce to Colonel Duffy that you have arrived.’
With that, Angus escorted the British colonel to Patrick’s library where he knocked, opened the door and ushered him inside.
The two soldiers greeted each other warmly.
‘I suppose you have heard by now,’ Patrick said. ‘About events in the Balkans.’
‘I only just read it in the paper Mac showed me,’ John Hughes answered, taking a comfortable leather chair by the fire. ‘It seems that we in the army are always the last to know. No doubt a paper will be on my desk when I return to the barracks. How is the search for Nellie going, old chap?’
Patrick walked across to his liquor cabinet to retrieve a bottle of whisky and two glasses. ‘Mr Gates is making inquiries with all Nellie’s friends and acquaintances. I have provided him with a list,’ Patrick said, pouring two generous glasses. ‘He keeps me up to date on his progress which has been very little as yet, I regret to say. But he is a good man with a clear head on his shoulders.’
‘I wish you well and am sure that Nellie has her reasons for taking some time away to avoid the public scrutiny that dreadful Wilkes thing has caused,’ Hughes said, accepting a glass from Patrick who now sat opposite his friend. Both men raised their glasses in a silent toast to what they thought most appropriate.
‘You said on the telephone to Mac that you have a very important matter to discuss with me,’ Patrick started, taking a swig from his glass.
Hughes moved uncomfortably in his chair before answering. ‘I have just received news from England that they believe our operation is compromised and that the Germans are well and truly aware of our plans,’ he replied.
Patrick looked sharply at his friend. ‘Are you saying that the boys are in danger of betrayal?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ Hughes replied. ‘We have to make a decision today as to whether we abort the operation or chance that they will be able to carry it off without incident. That is one of the reasons I am here today.’
‘What is the other reason?’ Patrick asked.
‘To discuss with you the matter of a security breach – possibly from someone close to us.’
The pained expression on Patrick’s face told his friend a story. ‘I think that we should consider your first matter,’ he replied, ‘before exploring the second issue.’
‘Do we abort?’ Hughes asked bluntly.
Patrick put down his glass and stood to pace his library, rubbing his face in his anguish. So many months of hard work had gone in to coordinating the vital mission. But what about the fate of his beloved youngest son? He was forced to choose between being a concerned father and a professional soldier. ‘How reliable is your information?’ Patrick asked.
‘It is from the highest sources in London,’ Hughes answered. ‘There was a note of urgency in the cable. I don’t think the people in Westminster want us to embarrass them before the Germans. We might be disowned as renegade military men and that would be disastrous for both our careers.’
‘I am more concerned about the fate of three very brave young men,’ Patrick said, slumping into his armchair. ‘But if we had even a fifty per cent chance of pulling off the mission we would have in our hands vital intelligence that could change the course of history in this part of the world. I have to consider that my son is also an officer of the King and has a duty to risk his life – if necessary.’
John Hughes waited patiently, sensing that Patrick was mulling over all the alternatives. ‘There is an option,’ John Hughes offered. ‘That we alert Alex to the intelligence we have and he can then consider another approach to the situation. Maybe he can find an alternative way of completing the mission. He is a very astute young man.’
‘Maybe,’ Patrick mused. ‘They should be docking in Port Moresby very soon. We could cable them with what we know and ask Alex whether he wishes to continue with a new course of action.’
Hughes nodded. It was not as if Patrick was avoiding the decision but rather trusting his son to consider the outcomes. Still, Hughes felt sure that the young army captain would reply that he could continue under another plan. Such was the sometimes reckless nature of men with blood like Patrick’s.
‘That decided, it will be done,’ Hughes said. ‘I will send off a cable today. Now, the second issue is equally as serious. I strongly believe that there is a security leak close to us.’
‘Do you have anyone in mind?’ Patrick asked warily. ‘Do you consider me a security risk?’
Hughes laughed softly. ‘I would hardly be discussing the matter with you, Patrick, if I suspected you in any way. No, but I am sorry that I have to even bring up the subject with you. However, I must do so as a servant of the Crown. We have known for many years that your Irish side of the family are openly critical of England. You saw that for yourself in your trip to Ireland only a few years ago in your meeting with your Jesuit priest cousin.’
‘That was resolved,’ Patrick reddened. ‘There is no one close to me whom I could think of as harbouring treasonous leanings.’
‘Can you vouch for George?’ Hughes asked, clearing his throat.
‘George?’ Patrick asked, puzzled. ‘Despite his manner my oldest son is more interested in making money than putting himself in harm’s way. No, not George.’
Hughes frowned. Patrick was thinking like a protective father and not a professional soldier. ‘Do you know that George has strong links with German industrialists?’
‘The Macintosh companies are not alone in trading with German interests,’ Patrick retorted. ‘I am sure half of England’s aristocracy has German links in one way or another. After all, King George and Kaiser Wilhelm are cousins.’
Hughes raised his hand to placate his friend. ‘I am not accusing you or the Macintosh companies of treachery, but simply asking if you are aware that George has doubled your German trading interests.’
‘You and I both know that Alexander’s trading trip earlier this year to German territory was a ruse for him to establish our current mission.’
‘I am not talking about that,’ Hughes said. ‘Are you aware that George has shifted a substantial amount of money into German chemical investments?’
Patrick did not answer immediately. He had always allowed George a free hand in business dealings as his son had a way of doubling their fortunes. The information about the German chemical investment was news to him. ‘No, I did not,’ Patrick finally replied. ‘But it might be a good thing for a sound return. The German scientists are among the best in the world.’
‘Sadly, I must agree,’ Hughes said. ‘It’s just that in his dealings George may have innocently revealed bits and pieces about the operation we had planned.’
Patrick stood up suddenly. ‘Despite the fact that they do not like each other very much, George would never endanger his brother’s life,’ he said. ‘How is it that you seem to know more than I about the family company dealings?’
‘I am sorry, Patrick, but I have had to initiate inquiries into every avenue close to you for possible answers,’ Hughes replied. ‘It sickened me that I had to have your private business dealings looked into but you must understand my position.’
Despite his anger at his long-time friend, Patrick understood what he was saying in his apology. Would he have approached the problem in any different way? ‘I will speak with George,’ he said quietly. ‘I promise that I will do so as a loyal officer of the Empire and not as a father.’
Hughes rose to his feet. ‘I think that enough has been said,’ he commented, offering his hand. ‘I am sure that you will find that your son has not inadvertently revealed our operation to the Germans he deals with.’
Patrick accepted the gesture and the two men walked towards the library door. When John Hughes had left, Patrick walked back to the liquor cabinet and poured himself another drink. The conversation had almost cost the two men their longstanding friendship, he thought. How could anyone even consider that a person of his blood could betray his country? He would confront George with the absurd accusations and clear his son of any suspicion.
Just the smallest voice nagged at the back of Patrick’s thoughts, however. Had his son been in a position to reveal the operation? The same small voice answered that Patrick had been too trusting. Now his son was in a position to blackmail him over the death of Wilkes. Patrick fully knew that he was not the man to question George. But blood was blood and Colonel Hughes trusted him to do the right thing. Patrick shuddered. What if his son had betrayed them all? It was not something he wanted to think about.
The Macintosh steamer lay at anchor off Ella Beach in the Port Moresby harbour under a hot, tropical sun. Alexander Macintosh returned to his ship by row boat and was helped aboard by Matthew Duffy and Bob Houston.
‘How did it go with the governor’s man?’ Matthew asked.
‘We need to have a conference in my cabin straight away,’ Alex replied, wiping down his cotton slacks and shirt with his sweating hands. ‘Something has cropped up.’
Bob and Matthew followed the young army officer to his cramped cabin and jammed themselves in as best as they could. It was fortunate that Alexander’s cabin had a porthole to allow the tropical breeze to air the stuffy space. The two companions waited in silence.
‘It appears that the Germans know we are coming,’ Alex said quietly. ‘Somehow, the mission has been compromised.’
Matthew knew that his cousin was to meet with the military attaché assigned to decode messages in Port Moresby but thought that this would merely be routine before setting off on the last leg of their operation. ‘So, what do we do?’ he asked.
Alex, sitting on his bunk, frowned. ‘I have the option of choosing whether we call off the mission or proceed with another course of action.’
‘What course of
action?’ Bob asked.
‘First, I have to send a cable as to whether we go ahead or turn the Osprey around and return to Sydney,’ Alex answered, wiping at the sweat on his face with a small hand towel. ‘If I choose to continue I can only request that you trust me and follow me into what appears to be very hostile waters. It seems things are hotting up over in Europe over the assassination of the Austrian archduke. If we are not careful we might just find ourselves at war with Germany – if they choose to side with the Austrian emperor in any war that has the potential to bring the Russians in on the side of the Serbs.’
‘The Germans would be fools to do that,’ Matthew said quietly. ‘The Austrian empire is already in decline and I doubt that they could muster an effective force to fight even the Serbs.’
‘How do you know that?’ Alex asked, looking with interest at his cousin.
‘Texas Slim and I were visitors to Vienna a couple of years ago,’ Matthew answered with a grin. ‘Other than dancing the waltz, the Austrians did not impress me with their show of arms. However, I was impressed with the ladies I met.’
Alex shrugged. ‘I am not going to return,’ he said. ‘With or without you both, I will go on with the mission. You have an hour to decide whether you get off at Port Moresby and take another boat home or continue with me to Rabaul.’