To Touch the Clouds : The Frontier Series 5

by Peter Watt

  Matthew had a good grasp of German and was surprised to hear that this stranger already knew about his past, as he also did of Bob Houston. That knowledge made him feel uneasy but he did not show it. A tall, good-looking young man stepped forward holding out glasses of clear liquid to Matthew and Bob while Alex accepted the same from another of the club’s patrons.

  ‘Schnapps, my friend,’ the tall German said in halting English to Matthew. ‘I am Lieutenant Klaus and I had the honour of serving as a volunteer gunnery officer to our Dutch allies in that war. We drink to brave men, ja?’

  ‘On both sides,’ Matthew replied diplomatically, raising his glass as did Bob.

  ‘Where did you campaign?’ the former artillery officer asked.

  ‘I saw most of my action at the Elands River,’ Matthew replied, causing the German to raise his eyebrows.

  ‘You were at Elands River,’ he answered with a note of respect. ‘I heard much about your gallant defence from our Dutch brothers who were also there.’

  ‘Well, I am glad not to be there now,’ Matthew responded.

  The German officer turned to Bob and his questions took the three men into a deep conversation about shared war experiences, albeit from opposite sides. The conversation made Matthew feel just a little easier and he was growing to like the men he met around him. No wonder Alex had suggested that they go to the club to mix with men not unlike themselves.

  Alex found himself mostly in Hirsch’s company and the two men exchanged idle news on many matters. But when Hirsch noticed a new arrival in the club he excused himself to walk over to a slightly portly German officer wearing his dress uniform and the insignia of a major.

  ‘So, those are the men who have caused so much consternation to our governor,’ Major Paul Pfieffer said, accepting a drink from a junior officer.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Hirsch replied. ‘But from what we have learned I doubt that they will be able to do much as they have left their aeroplane at the Schumann plantation.’

  ‘Not now,’ the intelligence officer replied, sipping the drink. ‘I suspect that their visit is an attempt to throw us offguard. They know, as do we, that there will be nothing incriminating aboard their ship anchored in the harbour. After we are satisfied that they pose no threat they will steam back to the plantation, pick up their aircraft and return covertly to our shores to complete their mission. They are still as dangerous as ever and must be eliminated.’

  ‘Sir, all we have to do is use the Komet to shadow them and its presence will deter any attempt they make to carry out their mission,’ Hirsch said, hoping that the matter could be resolved without recourse to violence. The reappearance of the Australian militia officer had caused the German to remember how likeable Alex was. It would feel akin to treachery on his part if he was forced to have the Australian killed – it would be like murder.

  ‘I am afraid that we have lost the use of the Komet,’ Pfieffer replied, taking a cigarette from a silver case adorned with a regimental badge. ‘Governor Haber has directed that the ship be used to carry out an inspection of our islands here. I suspect that he does not wish to be involved in any dealings we may have with the English that may be viewed by civilians as being a dirty job. No, we have to use other means to once and for all finalise this matter. To that extent I am going to organise for a fairly powerful explosive device to be placed aboard their ship with a timing mechanism so that by the time the bomb goes off their ship will be a long way out of our waters. Its sinking will be seen as an accident and nothing will be able to be traced back to the German government.’

  Hirsch listened to the senior officer whose calm expression had not changed as he described the sabotage he had planned to kill off the three young men who, as he spoke, were partaking of the Germans’ hospitality.

  ‘What if I send a signal to the Schumann plantation to simply destroy the aircraft,’ Hirsch countered in quiet desperation.

  ‘That has already been done,’ Pfieffer replied. ‘I had a signal sent as soon as their ship anchored today. It seems there was a tragic fire in the storage sheds and everything was razed to the ground.’

  ‘To blow the bottom out of a ship of that size will require a very large explosive device,’ Hirsch said.

  ‘I have arranged for a couple of our sea mines to be re-engineered for the task,’ Pfieffer said. ‘I have also arranged for them to be placed aboard using means that will not raise their suspicions. Trust me, Hauptmann Hirsch,’ Pfieffer continued, ‘I am very good at what I do in the interests of the Fatherland.’

  Although frustrated at not being able to spare the lives of the three guests of his club, Hirsch realised that they were, after all, a threat to German strategic interests in a very uncertain time. He sighed and excused himself, rejoining Alex who was now sharing drinks with two other German officers. The laughter came easily in the club as the sun set over the placid tropical waters where the Macintosh ship rocked gently at anchor.

  George Macintosh stared at the bottle of Scotch on the shelf in his library. In the past he had dismissed the use of alcohol as the crutch of the weak, but now he was wondering if it could help his depression. His plan to discredit Fenella seemed to have gone wrong. His father showed nothing but paternal concern for his daughter despite her failings. The latest cable from the Hawaiian Islands had said that Fenella was to be returned on the first available ship back to Sydney, escorted by a member of the American police. Patrick had expressed elation at having Fenella returned to him and, ironically, the death of Wilkes appeared to have only strengthened the bond between father and daughter.

  At least his brother’s life was still in extreme peril, George consoled himself. At his meeting with the assistant German consul at Hyde Park that afternoon he had been assured that the authorities in Rabaul had the situation in hand. The German agent had not elaborated on how but George was satisfied he may not ever see his hated brother again.

  George walked over to the cabinet and retrieved a crystal glass, filled it with whisky and swigged a mouthful. It was his toast to the possible eradication of at least one of the stumbling blocks to his eventual sole ownership of the Macintosh fortunes.

  The Scotch consumed, George pulled a cord to summon his valet from his quarters. Within a minute, the man appeared.

  ‘Curtiss, have my dinner jacket laid out for me,’ he said.

  ‘You will not be dining at home tonight, Mr Macintosh?’ the man asked.

  ‘Not tonight, Curtiss,’ George replied. ‘I will be dining with Miss Gyles.’

  The man nodded and hurried away to prepare the clothes, leaving George alone to ponder on the return of his sister. He would have to think of some other way to discredit her in his father’s eyes. Failing that, a fatal accident may befall her too.

  The meeting of Colonel Hughes’ staff officers concerning the developments in Europe and the possible ramifications to Australian security had ended and the grim-faced men filed out of the office leaving Patrick alone with the British officer. When the room was cleared, Hughes turned to him.

  ‘You should have informed me, Patrick, about the matter concerning Nellie. From what I hear she is being transported by the American authorities back to Sydney to face a murder charge. It’s not possible . . . I have known Nellie practically from the day she was born. I attended her christening and she is like a daughter to myself and Mrs Hughes.’

  ‘She did not kill Wilkes,’ Patrick responded. ‘I am very sure of that.’

  ‘I could never imagine that it would have gone this far,’ Hughes said. ‘Nellie is not capable of killing anyone, despite the apparent evidence against her. The newspapers are having a grand time splashing their lurid conjecture across the pages over the matter. I pray that you have taken on good legal services for when she returns.’

  ‘I have decided to employ the services of Solomon & Duffy for Nellie’s defence,’ Patrick said.

  ‘You are employing your cousin’s firm?’ Hughes asked.

  ‘It has been Sean Duffy who h
as been looking after Nellie’s interests,’ Patrick said. ‘I have not met the man but it appears he is aware who Nellie is and has expressed an absolute belief in her innocence.’

  Hughes shook his head. ‘No matter how much he may have faith in Nellie’s innocence it will not help in a court of law,’ he said. ‘The evidence may be circumstantial but a good prosecution could make a jury believe she had motive as well as means and displayed guilt by fleeing the scene under an assumed name.’

  ‘It was not because of Wilkes that she was fleeing this country,’ Patrick said. ‘It was because of me and the family name. She has been addicted to heroin and was pregnant.’

  ‘That will not convince a jury of her innocence,’ Hughes responded pragmatically.

  ‘They cannot convict an innocent woman,’ Patrick said.

  ‘I know that you must be blinded to the possibility that Nellie could have committed the killing, but as we know women are capable of crimes of passion.’

  ‘I know that my daughter is innocent as it was I who killed Wilkes,’ Patrick said quietly.

  ‘Good God!’ Hughes blurted. ‘What can I say? At this vital point in time we cannot expect you to sacrifice yourself – even for Nellie. Although I can understand why you might choose to confess to something that you have not done for your daughter.’

  ‘I am speaking the truth,’ Patrick said and recounted the events leading up to and including the accidental death of the actor. He excluded George’s presence at the house on the night to avoid dragging his son into the affair, despite his potential to corroborate Patrick’s story.

  ‘I think we should sit down and talk about this,’ Hughes said, slumping into a chair. ‘You realise that if you go to the police your story will seriously interfere with our operation in Neu Pommern.’

  ‘I know that,’ Patrick said. ‘If it was not for the fact that the mission is underway I would have gone to the police already and expected to be cleared of any charge of murder.’

  ‘Did not your own father face a similar situation back in the sixties in Sydney?’ the British officer asked.

  ‘Do you know, John,’ Patrick said, taking a chair and crossing his leg, ‘there is a family story that an old Aboriginal curse dogs the Macintosh and Duffy bloodlines. When I look at what is happening to my own family I can understand why my grandmother died believing we were cursed for killing the Aboriginals who used to roam the Glen View lands. It is as if history is repeating itself and I do not know why we deserve this.’

  ‘Poppycock,’ Hughes said. ‘That is all superstitious nonsense and you are a modern man. We both know that there are no such things as blackfella curses. I also believe you when you say you have kept quiet to protect our operation and so what you have confessed to me tonight will be forgotten. It will be up to you to decide what to do when the mission is over. Your secret is safe with me. We have soldiered through too many campaigns not to trust each other.’

  ‘Thank you, John,’ Patrick said, rising from his chair and extending his hand to his friend and superior. ‘Our priority is to complete the operation and get the boys back safely. I will ensure that my daughter receives the very best counsel money can buy and that she is found not guilty, should the matter go before a jury.’

  Hughes watched the Australian officer depart. He knew emotional pain when he saw it. He’d seen that kind of pain on the faces of young officers leading platoons and losing men they were responsible for in battle. That was the pain in the face of his friend.

  Alex, Matthew and Bob had been treated with the utmost of hospitality while ashore and had been billeted with the families of their German hosts at Hauptmann Hirsch’s insistence. Each day the three from Australia would meet at the Rabaul Club and breakfast on a fine meal before seeking out possible trade contracts with planters who, with the assistance of those they met in the club, they had arranged to meet. The offers Alex made were genuine. He was now experienced at trading negotiations and his excellent grasp of the German language helped him establish contacts for future deals.

  Matthew made himself useful by spending the days wandering around the German settlement, observing all that he could in the eventuality that the township may have to be taken by force of arms. He carried in his head dispositions of armed institutions, such as the constabulary and reservist depots. He was careful not to engage the colonial reservist officers in conversations concerning their armed forces, lest that attract attention but, even so, Matthew had the feeling his and Bob’s movements around the settlement were always under scrutiny.

  On the morning of the fourth day the three men met to prepare for their embarkation on the ship in the harbour. Aware that they were leaving Dieter Hirsch made a point of walking with them to the wharf where a longboat from the Macintosh ship was waiting for them.

  ‘Well, my friends, I will be sad to see you leave us so soon,’ Dieter said, shaking each man’s hand. ‘I hope that we may see you again.’

  The three Australians agreed that they would like to once again enjoy the hospitality of the Rabaul Club and its members.

  Pushing off in the boat, Matthew and Bob rowed while Alex took the rudder. The waters were calm and within minutes they reached the side of the ship. The chief engineer greeted them from the deck and called the crew to assist with the bringing aboard of the longboat using the davits affixed for cargo.

  Alex, Matthew and Bob clambered up a rope ladder thrown to them.

  ‘Welcome aboard, Mr Macintosh,’ Jock McLeod greeted with a slap on his boss’s back. The Scot’s grin spread across his ruddy face. ‘We dinna have fun and games while you were ashore with the ladies drinkin’ an carousin’.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Alex asked as Matthew climbed aboard behind him.

  ‘The wee ladies from the German Customs and some soldier lads did pay us a visit yesterday afternoon,’ Jock replied. ‘They ordered the captain and all of us to go to the mess with all our papers. They held us there for some time before they left.’

  ‘A bit out of sorts for the Customs people to carry out their duties when we have been in port for at least three days,’ Alex puzzled. ‘I thought they would do that the first day we anchored.’

  ‘Well, they did,’ Jock replied. ‘I thought it was a wee bit strange to have us muster in the mess when they could have done the same on the bridge. They were adamant that we were all together – all the crew.’

  Alex shrugged. It did seem a bit suspicious but he dismissed the variation from routine as a consequence of the tensions arising from the current world situation in far-off Europe. ‘I will speak with the captain,’ Alex said. ‘In the meantime, do we have a brew going in the galley?’

  ‘That we do,’ Jock replied and wandered bow-legged towards a steel door.

  ‘What was that about Customs?’ Matthew asked.

  ‘Just a bit strange the way they went about a routine inspection,’ Alex replied. ‘I don’t think it’s anything to be concerned about. After all, you can see how friendly they were to us ashore and in an hour we will be steaming out of here and returning to the Schumann plantation to put stage two of the operation into place.’

  ‘Okay,’ Matthew replied, satisfied that Alex knew what he was doing. He had to agree that everything was going to plan. Within weeks they would have completed their mission and be returning home. Matthew glanced over at the volcano that cast its ominous shadow over the German settlement. He had to admit that every day he awoke on the covert operation he experienced the same pangs of fear he’d known as a soldier in South Africa fourteen years earlier. Sometimes the waiting for something to happen sharpened an already stretched imagination. Was it that the Germans were just leading them on, and that they were walking into an ambush? Matthew had a healthy respect for his adversaries. Something did not smell right.

  19

  Sean Duffy had been able to convince the American authorities to release Fenella on a substantial bail while she awaited transportation back to Sydney. His telegram to the Macintosh office in S
ydney had been transmitted courtesy of the Macintosh agency office in Hawaii. The agent had arranged for Fenella to be put up at one of the best hotels in the Hawaiian capital and Sean had visited her every day, dining with her at night and discussing her situation. To all intents and purposes they could have been on a wonderful tropical vacation – except Fenella was forced to report her whereabouts each day to the police.

  They sat on a balcony overlooking the beach waiting for the main course to be served. A gentle breeze stirred the candle flames on the table and the moon slid from behind a bank of dark clouds lighting up the sea with silver.

  ‘I am grateful for all you have done,’ Fenella said, gazing across the dining patio to the shimmering ocean. ‘I only wish that my family had not learned of my predicament.’

  Sean felt a little awkward. He had taken it upon himself to send telegrams informing his distant relative of his daughter’s whereabouts. ‘It was only inevitable your father would learn of your situation, considering that you had been taken into custody,’ he answered in his defence. ‘Knowing your father’s rather fierce reputation I believe he will be of considerable help to us . . . you, when you have been returned.’

  ‘Do you truly believe that I am innocent of the charge the police wish to level against me?’ Fenella asked, turning to gaze directly into Sean’s eyes.

  ‘I do,’ Sean replied. ‘Don’t ask me why, but I do believe that you are innocent of the charge.’

  ‘That is very important to me,’ Fenella said, reaching across the table and taking his hand. ‘I don’t know how I would have coped under the current circumstances, and you have proved to be a true friend.’

  Sean was disappointed in her words. He had hoped that she might see him as something more than just a friend to her. It was becoming obvious that there was something Fenella had not told him and he felt the sickening pangs of jealousy. There had to be someone else in her life, he brooded, holding her hand without much enthusiasm. ‘I think you know how I feel about you,’ he said quietly as Fenella slowly withdrew her hand.