Beneath a Rising Sun

by Peter Watt

  Donald was sitting in Sean’s office, his hat in his hand.

  ‘The annual general meeting went ahead this morning, despite my father’s body lying barely cold in the morgue,’ he said. ‘His resignation letter stated that Sarah was to take charge. I must admit I was surprised, I always suspected that my father, deep down, thought it improper for a woman to hold such a high position. Nevertheless, that was his decision and I must respect it. I have tendered my resignation and intend to join up.’

  ‘Isn’t that a little hasty?’ Sean said. ‘I know it would be hard to play second fiddle to Sarah, but you have proved so competent in your job.’

  Donald shook his head. ‘I have always wanted to serve,’ he said. ‘Sarah taking total control is the straw that broke the camel’s back. I have often envied David’s courage, and doubted my own. No, it is my time to do my bit.’

  ‘Courage is not something exclusive to a battlefield,’ Sean said. ‘Believe me. But if you are determined to enlist I have no doubt that you will be commissioned with your background. What service do you favour?’

  ‘I think I will join the army,’ Donald said. ‘Maybe I might even one day get a chance to serve with David.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Sean echoed. ‘I have a feeling that the tide has turned against the enemy but the war is far from over. It could stretch out for several more years the way the Japanese are so tenaciously defending their territory.’ The two men fell silent, pondering a future that held so much uncertainty. ‘To get back to your father’s death, do you know who the head detective is in the investigation?’

  ‘My sister told me that it is Preston,’ Donald answered and noticed Sean raise his eyebrows. ‘Is that significant?’ he asked.

  ‘Preston was on your father’s secret payroll,’ Sean said. ‘He had a lot to lose with the death of your father.’

  ‘So, if anything was suspicious, he would be the first to stir up trouble for Sarah,’ Donald said.

  ‘I suppose so,’ Sean said. ‘Preston has just lost his meal ticket. On another matter,’ Sean said eventually, ‘I am sure Tom Duffy will be offering to buy Glen View when he learns of your father’s death.’

  ‘My sister will oppose the sale,’ Donald said.

  ‘What about you?’ Sean countered.

  ‘I will go with whatever David thinks,’ Donald answered and Sean was pleased. Tom had told him about his positive meeting with David in New Guinea. ‘The meeting to discuss sales will be held next week and I will be sure to attend. All you need to do is contact David, and ask him what he thinks about Glen View going to Tom Duffy.’

  ‘I don’t know if you have heard, but David has been posted back into the Pacific – whereabouts at this stage unknown.’

  ‘Damn!’ Donald swore. ‘It may take time to get a reply from him, and if we do not before the meeting, I will be in the dark as to his views on the matter.’

  ‘I am sure that David wishes Tom Duffy and Jessica to have the property,’ Sean said.

  ‘Speaking of Jessica,’ Donald said, ‘have you heard anything from her lately? I have attempted to telephone her, and all I get is that Jessica has left Brisbane, whereabouts unknown. I have even knocked on doors in Canberra, but I get the same answer, even from my contacts in the military – they do not know where she is. It is as if she has dropped off the face of the earth and I am very worried. Do you think she has been made to disappear because of her role in the Ulverstone matter?’

  ‘I hope I am right in believing that matter has been put to bed, and Jessie exonerated,’ Sean said. ‘There has to be some other reason for her disappearance.’

  ‘I hope you are right,’ Donald said. ‘Jessie and I have some unfinished business.’

  Sean did not ask what that business was as he strongly suspected that Donald was in love with Jessica Duffy and there were expressions of this yet to be fulfilled.

  *

  White fluffy clouds billowed over a placid blue-green sea and set the stage for an idyllic holiday in Australia’s tropical north. But not for Sergeant Jessica Duffy. She was wading from the water, wearing combat fatigues and towing a small rubber raft containing her .45 Thompson machine gun and spare magazines, along with a radio sealed in a greased tarpaulin.

  Wet and exhausted, she just wanted to collapse on the isolated beach north of Cairns and sleep. But a man wearing combat dress strode down to her with a swagger stick in his hand. He had a barrel chest and powerful arms and sported a sweeping moustache. Despite the fact he was in his forties he looked as fit as a man half his age. His thinning red hair blended with a freckled face.

  ‘I was expecting you before dawn, girlie,’ he said when he reached Jessica kneeling in the hot sand. ‘Not good enough if you want to stay with Z Special Unit. My granddaughters could do better.’

  Jessica did not try to excuse herself, although she had been caught up in a rip as she had paddled through the night, navigating by compass and keeping out as far as she could from the shore. She doubted that the sergeant major actually had any grandchildren because he would have eaten them at birth. He was a hard man who had been assigned as her personal instructor in the art of guerrilla warfare.

  ‘Go easy on her, sarn’t major,’ came the drawling English voice of another man. He wore the rank of captain and had a revolver in a canvas holder on his hip. ‘It is not likely that Sergeant Duffy will be rowing into her RV.’

  Jessica knew both men well. They were the only people she had contact with. Jessica had learned she was very close to the training camp for the men selected for special operations in the Pacific. She knew the top secret Z Special Unit was composed of the best of the best, and its operations not recorded for public information. The members were drawn from many nationalities, including British, Dutch, New Zealand, Timorese and Indonesian operatives. The Australian members were commando trained, and the special operations forces had evolved from the practices of the British Special Operations Executive and were also known as the Services Reconnaissance Department. She knew this because she had once listened in to their mysterious messages as part of her role in Brisbane.

  Jessica had been met at the airfield upon her departure from Brisbane by the captain and the sergeant major. They straightaway whisked her away to a farmhouse not far from the Z Special Unit HQ in the sprawling hilltop mansion on top of Ah Chings Hill near Cairns. She was kept well away from the others in the unit; in fact, the captain had told her she was not even on their parade roll, so sensitive was the mission she had been assigned to.

  Jessica knew that the British SOE employed many women for work behind enemy lines in France, but their Australian equivalent saw the missions as purely men’s work. This did not deter Jessica, and she strived to learn all she could from her two instructors. For the past two weeks, Jessica had trained without any knowledge of the mission she had been chosen for. The British captain standing on the beach was the only person she really saw – except when he released his sergeant major on her for one-on-one training in weapons, explosives, hand-to-hand combat, knife fighting, camouflage and stealthy movement.

  Captain Mike Unsworthy was from the British Army and the tough senior NCO she knew only as sir or sergeant major. Despite his gruffness with her, she sensed that he cared deeply about her welfare, and drove her mercilessly to ensure she had a better chance of living through her top secret mission, of which she knew nothing at all.

  ‘I have some good news for you, Sergeant Duffy,’ Captain Unsworthy said. ‘The sarn’t major has briefed me that in his opinion you are ready for your mission.’

  Jessica rose to her feet, weary with exhaustion, and tried to smile her gratitude.

  ‘Tomorrow, we head up to HQ for a complete briefing,’ Unsworthy continued. ‘But tonight you stand down, and we will share the best steak and chips there is in this part of the world. I think a bottle of champagne would also be in order. So, gather your things and we will hitc
h a ride back to our digs.’

  Jessica retrieved her Tommy gun, and the sergeant major secured the raft under palm trees growing at the edge of the beach. They walked through the scrub until they came to a dirt track where a jeep was waiting for them. The sergeant major drove, and when they reached the farmhouse Jessica staggered to her room to have a shower and as much sleep as she could catch before dinner.

  Jessica stepped inside the room, with its fan whirling slowly overhead, and froze at what she saw laid out on her bed. It was a nun’s habit. The white garb she had once worn as a Catholic missionary sister.

  Twenty-nine

  Harry Griffiths was an imposing man, with a reputation with his fists that Chatsworth was very aware of as the man sat down opposite him in his dingy office.

  ‘What did you want to see me about, Harry?’ he asked.

  ‘Let’s say my employer has asked me to look into a little matter of some photographs you took a few months back at the party of an illustrious Sydney family.’

  ‘Don’t know what you are talking about,’ Chatsworth snorted. ‘So, if that is all, you may as well go to the pub and have a beer.’

  Harry shook his head slowly. ‘I will ask the question again and you will tell me about the matter I am interested in.’

  ‘Why the bloody hell are you asking me?’ Chatsworth countered.

  ‘Because I know for a fact you are on the payroll of Sarah Macintosh,’ Harry answered.

  ‘I heard her old man fell down the steps and broke his neck,’ Chatsworth deflected. ‘Sorry to hear it.’

  Harry reached down and brought up a shotgun cartridge, placing it on Chatsworth’s desk. The private investigator glanced at it. ‘You threatening me, Harry?’ he asked.

  Harry placed a brown paper bag on the table beside the shotgun shell. ‘Your choice, Chatsworth,’ he said with a shrug. ‘If I were you I would choose the bag. Better than having a bad accident one night while you are doing a stake-out on some poor bugger playing up on his missus.’

  Chatsworth leaned back in his chair contemplating the offer. He had once heard whispers on the street that Harry Griffiths had killed a former policeman and got away with it.

  ‘You know that what goes on between investigator and client is confidential,’ Chatsworth said. ‘Where would my reputation be if I dobbed in a well-paying client?’

  ‘Put it this way,’ Harry said, ‘what if someone broke into your office and found incriminating photos? Nothing you could do about that, eh? You get my drift?’

  Chatsworth eyed the brown paper bag, which had a healthy bulge to it, and nodded. He stood up and walked over to a metal filing cabinet, opening it with a key and produced a manila folder, placing it on his desk.

  Harry leaned forward and flipped it open. The evidence was there, photos and negatives. He closed the folder and picked up the shotgun shell and slipped it into his pocket. ‘See, we didn’t even need to mess up your office,’ he said. ‘I can promise you that the file will disappear and my employer will be very grateful for your assistance in this delicate matter.’

  Chatsworth well knew who employed Harry, and he respected Sean Duffy for also being a hard man in his own way. When the choice came down to being pitted against the formidable duo of Harry Griffiths and Sean Duffy or taking a payoff, the financial option was much preferred. After all, his employer, Sarah Macintosh, was a mere woman, with only one recourse to getting what she wanted – money.

  Harry left the private investigator’s office. When he stepped out onto the street, a car was waiting for him where Sean sat in the driver’s seat.

  ‘Move over, cobber,’ Harry said with a broad smile. ‘I don’t trust your driving.’

  Sean slid over to the passenger side, and Harry passed him the folder.

  ‘It’s all there,’ Harry said. ‘Chatsworth was very helpful, although he did not admit that Sarah Macintosh hired him.’

  Sean flipped open the folder but closed it quickly when he saw the first lewd photograph. They would be burned – along with the negatives – when he returned to his office. As far as Sean was concerned the photographs in the possession of Sarah’s investigator was all the circumstantial evidence he needed to completely exonerate Allison. It was time to make David see the truth.

  At his office, Sean informed Allison that he had been able to obtain the incriminating evidence, and that he was one hundred per cent sure Sarah had been behind a devious plot to discredit Allison in the eyes of David. Allison burst into tears and Sean slipped the folder into a drawer in his desk and locked it, knowing he would destroy the folder and its contents that evening in his flat.

  Sean excused Allison, and began to write a letter.

  *

  It was the first time that Jessica had visited the northern HQ of the Z Special Unit located at Fairview House. The grounds were deserted as she and Captain Unsworthy drove up in his jeep. There was not even a guard at the front entrance. Jessica thought this was unusual and said so.

  ‘Your existence is a highly guarded secret, Sergeant Duffy,’ the captain replied. ‘We had the area cleared before you arrived. Most of the boys are out on training exercises.’

  Unsworthy pulled up in front of the building and Jessica followed him inside where they were met by a naval officer in the uniform of a commodore. He greeted Jessica warmly after she and Captain Unsworthy had saluted.

  ‘Sergeant Duffy,’ he said. ‘I have read Captain Unsworthy’s report on the progress of your training and I am impressed. I am also aware of your rather unconventional activities whilst absent from General MacArthur’s HQ in Brisbane. If ever a woman was destined for this mission, I am sure it is you. We should go into the conference room and provide Sergeant Duffy with her briefing, don’t you think, Captain Unsworthy? I am sure Sergeant Duffy has a thousand and one questions.’

  They followed the high-ranking naval officer into a large airy room adorned with maps and with a couple of tables strewn with aerial photographs.

  ‘Could we organise tea or coffee for you, Sergeant Duffy?’ the naval officer offered politely, but Jessica declined. The man perched on the edge of one of the robust tables. ‘Right, I will get to the point then,’ he said, withdrawing a silver cigarette case from his pocket and offering a cigarette to Unsworthy and Jessica, who both politely declined.

  ‘You have shown remarkable courage in volunteering blindly for this mission. No doubt you are also wondering about the nun’s kit we sent to you – well, for the next few weeks or months you will be a nun again. Oh, I can see the look of surprise on your face, Sergeant Duffy. Or is that a look of horror?’ he chuckled. ‘We know of your escape from New Britain last year, and how resourceful you have proved ever since. We are going to send you back to New Britain to your old mission station, and before you start asking questions, I am sure that you remember your mother superior, Sister Michael.’

  ‘Yes, sir, I do,’ Jessica said.

  ‘Good, because she has not forgotten you,’ the naval officer said. ‘We have had contact with her through one of our coastwatchers. You will be dropped into New Britain by one of our subs leaving tomorrow. You will not be alone on your mission, you will be accompanied by another Z Special Unit operative. You will have paperwork to identify the pair of you as a nun and Lutheran pastor. Four weeks ago an American army air force colonel decided to go on a bombing raid with a US squadron, to see what air combat was like at first hand. Unfortunately he found out when the Boston bomber he was crewing was shot down off the coast of New Britain. Natives saved him and took him ashore. The natives lived near your old mission station, and reports were carried to our coastwatcher that he was given assistance by Sister Michael at great risk to her life and those of her good sisters. Sadly, we have lost contact with the coastwatcher whose last report was that the Yank colonel is hiding out on the island crawling with Japs. You and Pastor Heinz, also known as Warrant Officer Roland Porath of the
commando company, are tasked to get him out from under the Japs’ noses, because he has a secret in his head that, if it came out under torture, could change the course of the war against us. He was forbidden to fly but still did so, so I suspect our American brothers will not act kindly towards him when you get him back.’

  ‘It’s about Ultra, isn’t it, sir?’ Jessica offered boldly, causing the commodore to look at her sharply.

  ‘I presume you picked that up in your work with the Yanks, Sergeant Duffy,’ he said sternly. ‘I think we owe that much to you to say it is a secret related to Ultra. If I were you I would do your best to forget you ever even heard the word.’

  ‘That is all I ever knew, sir,’ Jessica replied. ‘I only ever heard the word said in hushed tones around the office when I was working on codes.’

  ‘Maybe, if we win the war,’ the naval officer said, ‘the world will know about the vital importance of the word itself one day.’

  Jessica did not tell the commodore that she had worked out that the term related to some place called Bletchley Park in England, and the information was so sensitive that it went beyond the highest standard classification of most secret to ultra secret.

  ‘What word, sir?’ she said and brought a broad smile to the naval officer’s face.

  ‘Good girl,’ he said and continued briefing her on the details of her mission. He concluded by saying that she would be driven to Cairns where a sub would leave that night with her and her colleague aboard. More detailed briefing would be provided on the sea journey to New Britain.

  ‘Good luck, Sergeant Duffy,’ the commodore said, stretching out his hand in a gesture that took Jessica by surprise. Naval commodores normally did not shake hands with lowly NCOs.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ Jessica said.