The tension was only momentarily relieved when Macklin and Grace returned from lunch. As Grace entered the office, Macklin, limping on his wounded leg, joined Julian and Edmonson on their continuing tour of inspection. It was yet another cause for disquiet. Contrary to his former haste, Edmonson now seemed intent on prolonging his time in the laboratory. It re-affirmed her intuition that this was an exercise in marking time.
At mid-afternoon Grace called the three men to the office for afternoon tea. This time the door remained open. No mysteries here. Grace and the three men were talking, eating cookies, drinking tea. There was nothing to interest the curious workers. A scene of sedate harmony. Irrationally, it deepened her fear.
Though the hands of her watch seemed to be standing still, they eventually reached four o’clock. Soon it would be time to leave. Would the quartet in the office ever separate? Ever leave?
At four-ten Clark returned. His arrival was the signal for action. Edmonson immediately rose, beckoned to Julian, and followed Clark to the small laboratory. Macklin closed the office door. In the end, nothing had changed. The office door and the small laboratory door were closed, the staff left wondering. Yet again left in an ignorant vacuum between the two closed doors, they were no longer silent.
“Did you start all this?” Lillian whispered to Anne.
“I don’t know.”
The watch hands settled on five, knock-off time. Nothing significant, at least nothing they knew about, had happened since Clark had come back. Grateful to be so easily released, the over-stressed staff left the building.
Again Aaron insisted on escorting her to the tram. Again her father was patiently waiting at the tram stop and again her mother was gentle. Their concern was comforting, but nothing could dispel the acute anxiety of continuing premonition. So here she was, home and safe and compelled to endure yet another restless night peopled by shadowy figures and unanswered questions. What would tomorrow bring?
Chapter Nineteen
Quote of the Year 1944:
“A weapon of unparalleled power is being created. Unless some international agreement about the control or the use of the new active materials can be obtained, any temporary advantage, however great, may be outweighed by a perpetual menace to human society.”
Niels Bohr. Scientist. (Researcher into the structure of the atom.)
Excerpt from a letter to Prime Minister Churchill and President Roosevelt.
Wednesday - three days since the investigation had started. The door to the small lab was closed and Aaron was not at his place in the main lab. What she had presumed was to be a brief exercise had become a marathon. Custom and exhaustion were blunting the sensations of excitement and fear. Why couldn’t it all be over? Living on the knife edge of suspense was unbearable.
Her friends felt the same. Thankfully, the companionship of mutual anxiety still prevailed. Even Alice, for reasons no one fully trusted, was temporarily subdued and amenable. Though experience had shown that the truce had to be tragically fragile, Alice’s temporary silence was a bonus; it should be cherished while it lasted.
Morning tea. Julian exited the small lab. Aaron followed. The door remained open. To the surprise of everyone, they could see no sign of the two inquisitors, nor of the impedimenta of the inquisition. The notes and the files and the precisely arranged desk and chairs were gone, the usual equipment was back in place.
Arriving in the staff room, Julian smiled at Anne. “Sorry we didn’t meet you this morning. We’re too busy catching up.”
She hadn’t thought about it. “It’s okay. I’m all right.”
“We should have let you know.”
“It’s all right, Julian. Really.”
Alice, apparently inspired by the unexplained return to normalcy, confronted Julian. “What’s going on?”
Aaron looked unhappy.
“We’ve got a right to know.” Too long repressed, Alice was reverting to form.
“I do know that, Alice. I’m not sure there’s anything we can tell you.” Julian’s unexpected patience was remarkable.
“You’d better think about that. It’s gone on too long. How are we expected to work?”
“There’s a war on, Alice.”
“Rubbish! If you’re talking about the Secrecy Acts? Humbug!”
Nervous laughter eased the room’s building tension.
“In good time, Alice,” Julian gave no hint of his feelings - whatever they actually were. “A little more patience, Alice. I promise. Please - give us time.”
Surprisingly, Alice turned away.
What was going on? Julian was patient. Alice was back to her obnoxious self. Clearly, some unstated balance of power had shifted; Julian and Alice were acting like allies.
The remainder of the tea break was superficially cordial. Until Julian and Aaron left for the small laboratory.
“Really!” Alice huffed at Julian’s retreating back: “The man’s insufferable.”
The outburst fell on deaf ears and hurriedly exiting white coats. There was work to be done, and whatever the next shock was to be it was evident that bent heads and no questions was again the order of the day.
Sitting at her work bench, concentration remained impossible. Where was Edmonson? Why had there been no reaction to her report? Julian had told Alice to give him time. Everyone had heard it, everyone understood its import. But what did it mean? That something new was about to happen? The room reeked with suspense.
At eleven-thirty Julian exited the small lab, went through to the lift and immediately returned. With him was Clark, the junior inquisitor of the last two days, and the pale young man with the slicked-back hair who had first presented the pile of photo albums. There was no sign of Edmonson.
Looking to neither right nor left the three men crossed to the office, opened the door, entered, and closed it after them. They had not bothered to knock.
In the laboratory, work was abruptly abandoned and intent faces were fixed on the closed office door. What was happening in there?
“It is most disturbing.” Aaron, having also left the small laboratory, sat beside her.
“What’s happening?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve been with Julian all morning.”
“He did not say. Truly, Anne.”
“Sh!” Alice gestured to the office. “Listen!”
By maintaining complete silence, it was just possible to hear a murmur of voices.
“It’s nothing.” Joan turned back to her work.
“Sh!” Alice hissed.
Suddenly, from the office, they heard a scream.
She started up.
“Wait….” Aaron held her back.
The office door opened.
Julian stepped into the laboratory and inspected the shocked faces at their benches. Behind him, in the office, there was no sound.
Satisfied, he turned back. “It’s okay,” he ordered. You can come ahead.”
Ashen-faced, Macklin limped through the doorway. Following, supported by the two officials, was Grace.
It had to be Grace who’d screamed. Why?
Julian was already on his way to the lift.
In the doorway, Grace suddenly propped. The two men, caught off balance, lost their grip.
“Grace….?” Leaving her bench, Lillian broke the uncanny silence.
Clark intervened. “Come along, Mrs Dawson.”
“Don’t touch me!” Grace cried.
A pace ahead, Macklin halted.
Lillian stepped forward. “Grace…? What’s happening?”
“Step back,” Clark ordered. “Come along, Mrs Dawson.”
“Don’t touch me!”
“Grace!” Julian turned back from the entrance. “It’s over!”
Why were the men holding Grace? Why was she refusing to go with them? What was over?
The two men were trying to forcefully pull Grace from the office. Julian was waiting by the open foyer door.
Suddenly, Aaron lef
t his bench. “Nazi!!!”
“Aaron! No!” Julian yelled. “Get her out of here!”
Aaron flew at Grace.
Julian held Aaron. “Get her out! Get her out of here!”
Breaking free, Grace lunged at Aaron. “Jew bastard!”
Aaron slumped.
“Get her out of here!”
The officials struggled to obey.
Her beautiful face twisted, Grace fought them off.
Grace! It couldn’t be true. It was. The vicious woman fighting the two men was a stranger. The two men fought their prisoner to the outer door and into the foyer. The soft ping of the lift bell was loud in the stunned room.
Julian snapped: “See to Aaron.”
Gently, they led him to the staff room. Alice made a pot of tea. Myrtle made coffee. No one spoke. The silence was fragile. A word, any word, would trigger an explosion. They could not have seen what they’d just seen. They could not have heard what they’d just heard.
“Right!” Julian was at the door. “I’ve just put Macklin in a taxi. What about you, Aaron?”
Still trembling, Aaron shook his head.
“You sure?”
Aaron made an effort. “I am sure, Julian.”
“Good work,” Julian sat beside his friend.
Alice poured coffee. “Do we get that explanation now?”
Still bemused, still embarrassed, still guiltily aware that no one had yet apologised to Aaron, she wanted to reprimand Alice – but words were too difficult.
“You’ll all get an explanation in good time,” Julian answered. “But only when Aaron’s up to it.”
“Now please, Julian,” Aaron requested.
“You shouldn’t…” Lillian began.
“It is necessary, Lillian,” Aaron interrupted “We have to do this. Before the sun sets on our outrage.”
“Sounds good,” Julian agreed. “Just call a halt when you want a break…”
If only she could go home, go to sleep. If only she didn’t have to watch Aaron’s agony.
“It’s true.” Julian verified what they already knew. “Grace is the saboteur. The Fifth Columnist. She’s a member of an underground Fascist Group. They’ve all been apprehended.”
Final certainty had been established. Grace, alone, had been responsible for the erosion of staff morale. Initiating the affair with Macklin to win influence over him, she’d gained control. Speedily recognised tactics had been the employment of grossly incompatible personalities, promotion of a junior over seniors, instigating rumours of a thief and inciting general suspicion and mistrust. Both in bold moves and in secret manipulation, Grace had skillfully set friend against friend and critically reduced production. She’d successfully won a battle they did not even know they were in. She’d used them. She’d turned them into tools of war. Nazi tools of war!
Detection of Grace’s role in the new lab had followed investigation of the partially successful sabotage in the old laboratory, where she’d set up a pattern of uneaten lunches. Small items were easily slipped between the slices of limp bread and soapy cheese she’d deliberately used to make her sandwiches inedible. In this way she’d smuggled out critical information and brought in plastic explosives, later primed by a smuggled-in timing device.
In view of the laxity of the guards there’d been no risk except, possibly, from a curious colleague. The explosion had been timed to coincide with Anne’s absence through illness. It had been a simple matter to place the lunch box in Anne’s unused bench.
Grace’s first problem was Anne. Though ‘friendship’ was necessary to consolidation of her cover, it risked inadvertently letting her guard down. Security lay in Anne’s naivety. Of them all, Anne was by far the most innocent. Anne had suspected nothing. But then Julian came back. Aware through her own sources of Julian’s affiliation with the Communist Party, of his close relationship with Anne, and correctly suspecting the reason for his appointment, Grace anticipated exposure. Thus the attempts to discredit, and eventually silence, Anne.
Grace’s second major problem had been Sophie, who had so helpfully supplied her with a decent lunch. What if Sophie, inspired by the deteriorating conditions and Julian’s probing, started to question the matter of the inedible lunches? What if Sophie, so alert and so cynical, had - even subconsciously – begun to question those innocuous lunch boxes? As Anne was eventually to do? Thus, explained Julian, the need to silence Sophie too.
“Why? Why would Grace do all this?”
“You heard her.”
“She never… She didn’t even hint…”
“I should have known!” Aaron struggled up. “I should have….”
“Sh - Aaron -” Lillian tried to comfort him.
In the appalled room they heard only the sounds of Aaron’s sobbing, and the restless rustle of starched white coats.
Alice spoke for everyone. “I understand how. But why? She’s not German. Or is she?”
“Her husband is of German descent,” Julian explained. “Not important in most instances. However, he’s been indoctrinated with the Nazi fascist filth. Grace, too, as we’ve learned. We know they took a trip in the thirties, during the Spanish War. Fell for Hitler’s line, Mussolini’s...”
“What? To overthrow democracy? To endorse Dictatorship?”
“What’s the Spanish Civil War got to do with anything?”
“Ah!” Julian retorted. “There you have it, don’t you.”
“What, for God’s sake!”
“Revolution! Fear of another Russia. Fear of Communism. You defeat the scourge of Communism with the authority of Fascism. Franco, Mussolini, Hitler. It’s not so long since we feared Communism. It’s only because…”
“Stop it,” Alice begged. “We want to know about Grace. I understood her husband was in Canberra. They were divorced.”
“A farce. Apparently in case either one of them was suspected. It was designed to take the heat off the other one.”
“Their poor children.” Lillian was appalled.
“Obviously the kids weren’t a priority.”
“Or a calculated sacrifice?”
“Who’s to know?” Julian asked. “He’s a clever bastard. It took years to get enough on him. He’s under arrest, too.”
“Did she know you’d caught him?”
“We had to be careful. Co-ordination of all arrests. She’s just found out. Seems she cares for the bastard.”
“The scream!” Aaron roused. “We heard it.”
Julian had explained the inexplicable. It was also unacceptable. How must Sophie feel? How must they all feel? The cost had been exorbitant. The malicious scheme had so very nearly succeeded.
Not true. It had succeeded. The damage was incalculable. Lillian would never again be fully fit. Nor Margaret, nor Sophie nor…. The list went on. None of them would ever regain their lost innocence. Suspicion and mistrust would walk with each of them for many years, if not for all their lives. Would the toll ever be truly counted? She felt sick. She felt tired and contaminated and bereft. She felt grief, as though someone had died. And something else. What was it, this very different feeling?
Sitting in the luxurious staff-room, watching her heart-broken friends, she hated what Grace had put them all through. Over-shadowing what she was looking at, indelibly imprinted, was the picture of Grace attacking Aaron. How could she ever have liked her? Grace was a monster. How had Aaron survived in a world where people like Grace ruled? How could people like Aaron survive? How would Aaron cope with this new threat here, in his new country, where he’d expected to find tolerance?
What about Julian? He’d become Aaron’s friend. As readily and comfortably as he’d been at home with Inga and her friends, he’d enjoyed being with Aaron. Their friendship had been relaxed, effortless and mutually respective. Or had it? Had Julian used Aaron? Had Aaron’s placement here been part of a plan to expose the fifth columnists? Had Julian’s friendship with Aaron been no different from Grace’s friendship with her? Had it merely been an
other calculated tactic in this behind-the-lines battle? Did this excuse Julian? His ruthlessness? His callousness?
Liberty! Equality! Fraternity! Social justice. Mutual Respect. Memory of the night when she’d delved into her father’s book case for clues about Communism surfaced. Was Julian a zealot crusading against evil? Or was he a man doing a job? Was he truly a Communist? Or was he a Federal Agent? Or both? Or someone else again? Had he used her as a tool, as Grace had? Almost certainly.
She was beginning to understand. When she’d studied her father’s books, she’d thought mutual respect an impossible ideal, ‘love they neighbour’ a naïve Sunday sermon. Today, Grace’s betrayal had confirmed it. Ideals were for books and fairy tales. She hated what Grace had done. She hated Grace. She hated…
Hate! This is the new feeling!
Grace believed her cause was just. Julian believed his cause was just. Both, because their cause was ‘just’, had been ruthless and callous and devious and users of people as tools. So why did she hate Grace, and not Julian?
Easy. Grace was a bigot. Julian was not. Julian was fighting for equality and fraternity. Grace was fighting against equality and fraternity. How could she not hate Grace? Was this how it started? In the fight of ‘good’ against ‘evil’, was she being compelled to hate? Was it that simple? How could it be?
Looking across the room, watching Julian’s genuine kindness to Aaron, his courtesy to Alice, it was difficult to recall his cruelty. Like Grace, who could also be genuinely kind and courteous, Julian had embraced the darkness. Yet she didn’t hate him. How could she? His cause was ‘good’.
It wasn’t that simple. It couldn’t be. What if Julian had been born and reared in Germany? Or Japan? Or Mussolini’s Italy? In Franco’s Spain? He’d have been reared in a climate of belief in his country, in its way of life. It was a matter of chance only. Your place of birth dictated your beliefs.
Not necessarily. Italian-born people, converted to Communism, were combating Fascism in Mussolini’s Italy, in Franco’s Spain. Julian had become a Communist in a democratic country. Grace a Fascist, same democratic country. Both were symbols of the wider conflict between Fascism and Communism! Julian embraced equality. Did Grace fear it? So where did hate fit? Why did Grace hate Aaron? Fear? Fear of equality? Fear of Aaron’s race?
Tools of War Page 30