Beneath a Rising Sun

by Peter Watt

  ‘Ah, Jessie,’ he said by way of greeting. ‘What have you gone and done?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Jessica said.

  The cafe was warm and Donald removed his hat and coat. ‘I will order a pot of tea and a round of sandwiches,’ he said. ‘I know everything, so there is no sense in you hiding the truth from me. Major Duffy has briefed me on his investigation.’

  Jessica was stunned. Why would Sean brief the son of the man he suspected of being complicit in Tony’s death?

  As if reading her thoughts Donald said, ‘I know about Major Duffy’s suspicions concerning my father, but Sean has been more of a father to me than my own. There is a rottenness in our family, but despite my strong dislike for my father, I pray that Sean is wrong about his part in Lieutenant Caccamo’s death.’

  ‘So you know about Tony?’ Jessica cut in. ‘What else do you know?’

  ‘I know that you could soon be classified as a deserter, and that carries very heavy penalties in wartime,’ Donald said quietly. ‘Even the PM is aware of you leaving your post. He is very disappointed.’

  Jessica was stunned to hear that her absence from MacArthur’s HQ in Brisbane had reached the Prime Minister’s Department. Jessica had met John Curtin briefly and she admired him. To disappoint the leader of Australia hurt Jessica more than any military penalty could.

  ‘You know I have my reasons for taking unauthorised leave,’ she said. ‘For all I know my own department could have been responsible for his death.’

  ‘From the little that I have been able to glean, the Yanks were actually working in the background to quietly secure his release. They were just as stunned to learn of his murder. But I also suspect they are not overly disappointed that he has been silenced.’

  ‘That just leaves the Major and myself to care about justice for Tony and his family back in New York,’ Jessica said bitterly.

  ‘And me,’ Donald corrected her. ‘I am in a position to help.’

  ‘Why did you meet me tonight?’ Jessica asked.

  ‘I wanted you to know that I am on your side, Jessie,’ he answered. ‘You are still someone that I care about a lot.’

  Jessica could see in Donald’s eyes there was no guile behind this statement, and for a moment the days in western Queensland before the war came back to her in a gentle wave of memories. But so much had happened in the last couple of years and the two of them were now worlds apart.

  ‘I appreciate your concern,’ she said. ‘I presume that you have my telephone number, should you need to contact me.’

  Donald nodded. ‘This is my number in case you ever need help,’ he said, passing Jessica a slip of paper.

  Donald ordered and then the two chatted as if they were back at Glen View and had just come in from riding their horses. That was a lifetime ago when the world knew peace.

  Fourteen

  The tranquillity of summer in New Hampshire brought back a host of memories for James Duffy as he drove up the tree-lined avenue to his grandfather’s mansion. He had grown up in one of New Hampshire’s wealthiest families with all that money could afford a young man, and before the war it had seemed his life would turn out to be just like his grandfather’s, one built on power and privilege.

  James alighted from his sports car and was met by his grandfather’s old black butler at the front door. The two men greeted each other with fond familiarity, and the old servant led James inside. Olivia, his twin sister, came bowling towards him and threw her arms around his neck.

  ‘James!’ she said. ‘It is so good to see you.’

  James hugged her fiercely, then stepped back to look at her properly. She was dressed in a tennis skirt and had obviously just come off the court. Beside her was a tall and handsome young man James knew from his days at his exclusive high school. His name was Edgar Wilson and James did not like him. It was rumoured that his wealthy and influential politician father had found a way to have him exempted from the draft.

  ‘I have heard a lot about your exploits,’ Edgar said without offering his hand. ‘Olivia has told me that you are a fighter ace. What’s it like to be a hero?’

  James was wearing his marine uniform, with the Navy Cross riband on his chest. ‘Just been lucky,’ he replied. ‘How is Grandfather?’ he asked, turning to his sister.

  ‘He has recovered well,’ she answered. ‘He is upstairs in his library and will be thrilled to see you. He has been asking all day when you will arrive.’

  ‘Well, better go and announce my arrival,’ James said, leaving his sister and her despised boyfriend downstairs.

  James climbed the broad turning staircase to the upper storey. The library door was open and James walked in to find his grandfather, James Barrington Senior, dressed in his pyjamas, dressing gown and slippers, sitting at his great polished timber desk. He glanced up at James and for a moment his face lit up with love and joy. The normally dour man rarely demonstrated emotion, so James was surprised and touched at his reaction.

  ‘Hello, sir,’ he said, wondering if he should go over and hug the old man.

  ‘James, it is very good to see you,’ Barrington said, attempting to rise.

  James could see that he was physically weak from the stroke and quickly stepped in to help him. When he did his grandfather took James’s hand and shook it. He helped the old man to a comfortable divan in the centre of the room and sat him down.

  ‘It is good to see how well you have recovered.’

  ‘Take a seat, James,’ his grandfather said, patting a spot beside him. ‘There is much to discuss while you are here. My sources on the west coast have told me that you are doing a fine job raising war bonds, but I suspect you would rather be back flying your Wild Cats.’

  ‘You are right there, sir,’ James answered. ‘I have done everything that I can to get back into the war, but all my requests have fallen on deaf ears.’

  ‘I will confess that I have used my friendship with the President to ensure that you are kept out of harm’s way,’ Barrington sighed. ‘You are the only male member of my blood line, and even though you have adopted your father’s family name, you are still my grandson. Look around you,’ he continued, waving his arm. ‘All this means nothing if it cannot be passed on.’

  ‘There is Olivia,’ James reminded him.

  ‘Olivia is a woman,’ Barrington snorted. ‘She will find a man and follow him. As a matter of fact she appears to be very keen on that Wilson boy. Good family with a good pedigree.’

  ‘I thought that my sister and Donald Macintosh were a sure thing,’ James said. ‘In my opinion, Donald was a far better deal than Wilson.’

  ‘Your sister has a lot more sense than you,’ Barrington said. ‘She was not prepared to live so far away from home.’

  ‘Well, I suppose I should cross off romance as a strong feature of my sister,’ James sighed.

  ‘She inherited the common sense from my side of the family,’ Barrington said. ‘Your reckless and impulsive acts appear to be in the Irish blood of your father.’

  ‘At least the love of flying I got from my father,’ James said. ‘I know that it is in your power to speak to people in Washington, and have me sent back to active service flying,’ James said.

  ‘That would be reckless,’ Barrington countered. ‘I need you here by my side. The next stroke may end my life, and I want to know that everything our family has fought for will continue when I am gone. I will not beat about the bush, James, I want you to resign your commission and return home. There is a position on the board for you, and I think with your public exposure as a war hero you could possibly end up with the governor’s job.’

  ‘I’m not a hero,’ James said. ‘Do you know how scared I get when I am in the cockpit, waiting to take off? I have to fight not to piss myself.’

  ‘Despite that, you have proven yourself hero enough to be awarded the Navy Cross for
valour,’ Barrington said. ‘What the voters will see is a handsome and dashing young man whose reputation for courage cannot be questioned.’

  James could see that his grandfather was going to use all his considerable influence to keep him out of the war. Maybe he was right, James thought. He had done his bit, but then the memories of all those other men he had seen die – from the skies in the Pacific to the hell of Guadalcanal on the ground – came back to him. Yet if he accepted his grandfather’s wishes he could go back to Julianna and tell her he was leaving the marines and the war behind. That would please her, and they could start planning a future together.

  ‘If I accept your offer,’ James said, ‘it would have to include a woman I am in love with and hope to make my wife.’

  ‘That is excellent news,’ Barrington said. ‘A man standing for public office is more favourably looked upon if he has a wife and family. Do I know the lady in question?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ James said. ‘She is from New Orleans and works in Hollywood. Her name is Miss Julianna Dupont.’

  ‘Dupont,’ Barrington echoed. ‘I know of the New Orleans Duponts,’ he said and James could see a dark cloud come over his grandfather’s face. ‘As far as I know they are a strong Papist family.’

  ‘They are Roman Catholics,’ James said. ‘I believe that her family rivals our own when it comes to money and capital in the South.’

  ‘You cannot entertain the idea of marrying a Roman Catholic,’ Barrington said. ‘Get the foolish idea out of your head. There are plenty of eligible girls back here in New Hampshire from good families.’

  ‘With or without your permission, I intend to propose to Julianna,’ James said firmly.

  Barrington rose from the divan and walked on unsteady legs back to his desk where he slumped into his chair. ‘I can pick up the telephone right now and call Washington. A word from me and you would find yourself back in the cockpit of a Hellcat. I know you would use what little common sense you appear to have and delay any idea of marriage until the war is over.’

  ‘I would, Grandfather,’ James said, shocked that his grandfather would rather see him dead than married to a Catholic.

  ‘I will call friends in the War Department to arrange for your return to active service – if you promise me that you will not go ahead with any foolish ideas of marriage to that woman.’

  ‘You have my word,’ James answered. ‘At least until the end of the war. I think that I should catch up with my sister now that we are both clear on how things stand between us.’

  ‘James, you have misread me,’ Barrington began to protest. ‘I love you and only have the best intentions at heart.’

  ‘My best intentions or yours, Grandfather?’ James said. ‘I have always respected your wishes, and I am grateful for all that you have given Olivia and myself over the years. You forget, however, that my mother, your daughter, fell in love with a Roman Catholic, and I carry his blood and name. I love and respect you, but I cannot denounce who I am. Good afternoon, sir. I will see you when we dine tonight.’

  James left the library and walked slowly down the stairs, reflecting on how his flesh and blood would rather risk losing him in combat than see him marry a Catholic. It was strange that back in combat no one really cared about a man’s religious beliefs. Each was a brother to the man fighting beside him, and somehow James felt that the same thing should occur at home. He would keep his promise to his grandfather, but he would also marry Julianna when he returned from the war and hung up his wings. All he had to do was lie to Julianna and say that the marines had decided he was needed back in the Pacific. Hopefully she would accept that matters were out of his hands and promise to wait for him. He knew he was walking a dangerous tightrope.

  *

  The message written on the sheet of paper in Sean’s hands shook him to the core. He looked at young Patrick standing with his school bag slung over his shoulder and shuddered.

  ‘Who gave you this piece of paper?’ Sean asked, fighting to keep calm.

  ‘A man outside the schoolyard said he knew you and he wanted me to give you the letter because it was important,’ the boy said.

  Sean reread the threat: The boy carrying this message to you could have a bad accident if you do not stop asking questions about the death of the Canadian.

  ‘What did the man look like?’ Sean asked and the boy shrugged.

  ‘He was old,’ he said.

  Anyone over eight years of age was old to Patrick.

  ‘If you see the man again, run back to school and tell Sister Mary he is trying to hurt you,’ Sean said, knowing full well why Patrick had been given the message. It was a way of showing how vulnerable the boy was. How in hell did anyone outside a trusted few know about his investigation? He did not suspect Jessica or Donald. There was obviously a leak, and it had to be inside his own law firm. Was it worth continuing this investigation if Patrick’s safety was at risk? Sean gazed down at the schoolboy with paternal fondness. It was time for a talk with Jessica and Donald, to discuss what they should do from here.

  A meeting was arranged for the next day. They would individually take ferries to the popular beachside suburb of Manly and then catch a ferry straight back to Circular Quay together.

  When Sean’s ferry pulled into the wharf he saw Donald reading a newspaper, whilst Jessica sat on a bench throwing chips to the swarms of seagulls. The three immediately boarded the next ferry returning to Circular Quay across the windswept harbour. The ferry dipped and rolled through the heavy seas pouring in from the harbour’s heads. The other passengers were mostly servicemen from America, and a few from Australia. In many cases they were in the company of young women. A few of the older civilian passengers frowned at the fraternisation of the American servicemen with Aussie girls as the little ferry passed between the hulls of the great warships anchored in the harbour.

  ‘I have had a threat delivered to me,’ Sean said when the three were together inside the cabin. ‘Had it been directed at me personally I would not be worried, but the threat was against young Patrick.’

  ‘You have to be a low bastard to threaten a child,’ Donald growled. ‘Do you have any suspicions as to who may have been behind it?’

  ‘I think the most obvious person would be Detective Preston,’ Sean said.

  ‘It might be best if you stop your investigation,’ Jessica said. ‘It is not worth Patrick’s safety – or yours.’

  ‘How will you get justice for Tony if I desist now?’ Sean asked.

  ‘I will finish Tony’s mission,’ Jessica said quietly, causing both men to look sharply at her.

  ‘Do you mean killing Ulverstone?’ Donald asked in horror.

  ‘That was Tony’s mission, and it is the only way we will get any justice for him. I doubt that we will ever be able to collect enough evidence to expose him as a traitor. He is too well protected by the system,’ she said with quiet certainty.

  ‘Jessie,’ Sean said sternly, ‘you have been a nun, and the Ten Commandments tell us that to kill is a mortal sin. Besides, killing a man is not as easy as it may seem.’

  ‘Major, we are at war and Ulverstone is an enemy – a traitor. What is the difference between shooting the enemy in New Guinea or in Australia?’

  ‘It’s a stupid idea,’ Sean grumbled. ‘Forget it. What you should be doing is worrying about your position as a deserter, not going after a man with legal protection.’

  ‘Ulverstone is about to be appointed to a committee on our defence strategy,’ Donald said. ‘That would allow him into the most secret meetings we hold with the Americans. I was in Canberra a couple of weeks ago when the Americans protested his appointment, but it fell on deaf ears with our people.’

  ‘All the more reason why I should finish Tony’s mission,’ Jessica said.

  ‘You are not with the Special Operations Executive,’ Sean cautioned. ‘That is something they woul
d do. Besides, it is preposterous – a former nun executing a man on Australian soil. If you are caught you will probably face the same fate as your young American officer. I doubt that if he were alive he would condone your harebrained idea.’

  ‘I am a member of the armed forces,’ Jessica said, ‘and I am prepared to put my life on the line to defend this country. My father has done so many times, as you have, Major.’

  ‘A very stirring, patriotic speech,’ Donald said sarcastically. ‘But you have to have a watertight plan to carry out such a mission.’

  ‘I have,’ Jessica replied. ‘And I will need your help, Donald.’

  Donald blinked his surprise as the ferry plunged into a wave trough, forcing the three to grip a rail in the cabin. ‘How can I help?’ he asked warily.

  ‘You are in a position to get close to Ulverstone,’ Jessica said. ‘You have told me that you have met the man at your father’s place, and I believe you have occasion to mix with him at a professional level. All you have to do is arrange for me to meet Lord Ulverstone and I will take it from there.’

  ‘I am not sure if Ulverstone is inclined towards the fairer sex,’ Donald said.

  ‘Then find out,’ Jessica said firmly. ‘If all goes well, you two will be out of this conspiracy after I meet Ulverstone. You will have alibis if you are ever questioned, which will be very unlikely. Oh, Major, I will need a pistol. I used to practise with my father’s Webley & Scott on the station when I was young. I can assure you that I am very capable with a revolver. Can you do that?’

  ‘I can,’ Sean answered. ‘But I am reluctant to support your plan to kill Ulverstone. There is no such thing as the perfect murder. Believe me, I have seen many people try and fail in my career as a criminal defence lawyer.’

  ‘This is not a murder,’ Jessica said. ‘It is an execution of a dangerous traitor. Besides, if things go wrong I know the best solicitor in Sydney.’ She tried to give him a reassuring smile.