by Peter Watt
‘Mrs Schumann, I have orders to take you to the commandant,’ he said in an awkward voice.
‘Why is that?’ Karolina responded indignantly.
‘I dunno,’ he replied with a shrug of his shoulders. ‘I just have orders to escort you to the office.’
Karolina felt the cold grip of fear. This had never happened before, but she allowed herself to be taken to the main building housing the camp administration. The office was not the commandant’s, but when a male voice bid them enter, Karolina was ushered inside. The room was virtually empty, with just two old chairs and a burly looking civilian standing in the middle.
‘My name is Detective Inspector Firth,’ he said. ‘And I have reason to believe that you are in possession of papers deemed to be subversive.’
Even though she always thought she might be able to bluff her way out of any such situation, the shock registered on Karolina’s face. ‘I do not know what you are saying,’ she replied, her face pale with fear.
Jack took a threatening step towards her, towering over Karolina. ‘Don’t make it hard for yourself, Mrs Schumann,’ he said in a low, menacing voice. ‘We have had a file on you for some time. I have the power to have you stripped and searched by a woman authorised to do so. The choice is yours.’
Karolina glanced around the room. There was an open window but it was foolish to think of fleeing. She knew she would not get far. Jack waited a moment while Karolina stood in silence. ‘Corporal, fetch Mrs Jenkins for the search,’ he said in a tired voice.
‘Wait,’ Karolina said, raising her hand. ‘That will not be necessary. I will give you the documents you demand.’
Jack nodded to the corporal who remained in the room while Karolina turned away from the men. Lifting the front of her long skirt, she took out the papers and passed them to Jack.
‘You do realise, Mrs Schumann, that if these prove to be subversive documents you will be charged with espionage, a crime that carries a death sentence in this country? But, if you cooperate now I may be able to mitigate your sentence.’
Karolina’s hands were trembling. She felt faint. Observing her distress, the policeman pushed a chair towards her.
‘Please, have a seat,’ he said in a gruff tone. ‘We are not in the habit of bullying women, regardless of their nationality.’
Karolina gratefully sat down and stared at the dusty floor. She knew that the Australians would soon discern that the papers she carried were in code – and if they broke that code she would be found guilty of spying. The death threat was not an idle one. In her two years of active work for her country she had not really considered the consequences. Now the reality hit her. A death sentence would mean never seeing her grandson grow up to be a man.
‘What do you want to know?’ she asked in a beaten voice.
‘Who is coding the documents?’ Firth asked, glancing at the unintelligible words. ‘Is it the pastor, von Fellmann, or the former consulate assistant, Herr Bosch?’
Karolina realised that the authorities knew more about her contacts than she gave them credit for. ‘I am afraid that I cannot tell you,’ she said. ‘To do so would be handing them a death sentence.’
‘Fair enough,’ Jack said. ‘I admire your courage and would probably give the same answer if I were in your shoes. But for now you are under arrest and will be taken back to Sydney to be formally charged and put in prison until your trial. Just remember that if at any time you wish to speak to me, it might help in sentencing. I know that your daughter has married into a prominent Sydney family and that your son-in-law is currently on his way overseas. That will be hard on her. You will have to think about your family. Your death would not help either your daughter or your grand son.’
Karolina knew the policeman spoke sense but she also realised that she had a duty to fight for her country and thus must share the dangers faced by her countrymen on the battlefields of Europe.
Jack did not handcuff her as he escorted her to the waiting car. Did they shoot spies? Karolina wondered. Or would she have to resign herself to death on the gallows?
14
Karolina sat in the front seat beside the police inspector, who drove in silence until they were some distance from the camp. He suddenly pulled off the dirt road to park a short distance away among a stand of gum trees. Karolina now experienced real terror. Was she about to be executed on the side of the road?
Jack leaned towards her. ‘I want you to listen very carefully, and if you have any sense you will do everything I say,’ he said. ‘Right now I am the only one who has your file and if you want to stay alive you will listen to what I am going to tell you.’
Karolina had shrunk back from him, fearing that he was about to rape her before killing her. ‘I am listening.’
‘Good,’ Jack said. ‘As I said, I am the one who has been assigned to follow up your file and we both know that the papers you were caught with would probably get you executed if they were passed onto the intelligence people. But it is a queer world and you just happen to be related to a well-known and respected Sydney family. I am sure if you were arrested for spying it would bring shame on the Macintosh name so I am going to return you to your daughter’s house, but you will not step out of the place unless I say so.’
Karolina was stunned by her reversal of fortune. ‘Why do you do this?’ she asked.
‘Let’s just say that it is in both our interests,’ Jack said, removing his pipe from his pocket and tapping it on the steering wheel. ‘If you do not agree with me, believe me, I will make sure you swing on a rope.’
‘I will do as you say,’ Karolina said meekly. ‘But I will not tell you what you want to know about my friends.’
‘Bugger that,’ Jack snorted. ‘I have other plans. So, we are clear on what I have told you?’
Karolina nodded, still trying to fathom how she had escaped certain death. Jack then swung the car back on the road and drove to Alex Macintosh’s residence, where Giselle was surprised to see her mother escorted to the front door by a burly policeman.
On his way back to his office Jack Firth made another stop. In Kent Street he parked in front of the Macintosh building and told the receptionist he wanted to speak with Mr George Macintosh immediately. The receptionist attempted to protest but was silenced by George, who had come out of his office when he heard the raised voices.
‘Come in, Jack,’ he said. ‘It must be bloody urgent for you to meet me here.’ He closed the door behind them.
‘I have just arrested your brother’s mother-in-law for espionage,’ Jack said without any preliminaries. ‘I had no choice. It seems that a separate file on her exists with the army intelligence people but I was able to convince them to leave the arrest in my hands. I will be needing your influence to make the arrest go away.’
George slumped into the big leather chair behind his desk. His immediate reaction was the impact such a matter might have on his being awarded an honour by the King. ‘Is Karolina currently in a prison?’ he asked.
‘Not exactly,’ Jack said, walking to the window overlooking the harbour. ‘I have placed her under unofficial house arrest at your brother’s house until something can be worked out.’
‘Why would you do that?’ George asked, feigning innocence but knowing full well the shrewd police inspector was most probably jockeying for a bribe.
‘To prevent you and your family suffering the public disgrace of having a traitor in the family,’ Jack said with just the slightest of satisfied smiles. ‘Right now, I am the only one with Frau Schumann’s file. I ensured all other copies were destroyed – except the army one, which I need you to make go away. Now, I know you fully appreciate what her arrest might mean so you must also appreciate that I need compensation for risking my pension.’
‘How much?’ George cut across the policeman’s explanation.
Jack pushed a scrap of paper across the desk. George glanced at the figure, raising his eyebrows at the large sum.
‘You realise that I will need
something more in return for paying you the figure you ask,’ George said, already scheming to recover the amount. ‘I would need the file you have. I am sure it could be easily lost in your busy department.’
‘When I get the money you get the file,’ Jack said, pleased to see that the wealthy businessman had not queried what he had asked for. ‘But I will have to take steps over the next week or so to have Frau Schumann returned to internment at Holdsworthy – just to cover my arse. That way I can be sure she will not continue her spying and cause us any future embarrassment. There would be a good chance that your sister-in-law’s mother might meet with an unfortunate accident in the camp if it was circulated that she had betrayed her fellow agents to our intelligence people. In the meantime, you have to ensure that the file the army keeps on Schumann is lost.’
‘That sounds like a very good arrangement,’ George concurred, knowing it probably meant he would not have to pass on the coded papers she brought him. ‘I will arrange to drop off the money to you at our usual meeting spot,’ he continued. ‘I just need a day to arrange withdrawals. As for the other file, I am sure that a well-placed friend of mine in government can take care of that for me in return for a party contribution.’
‘Keep to the plan and all will work out for us both,’ Jack said. ‘If there is nothing else, I will bid you a good day, Mr Macintosh.’
When Jack had left the office, George leaned back in his chair. His success in business was largely the result of having the mind to recognise an opportunity. And right now he was about to be played a hand that would help him realise yet another dream. He would be able to rid himself at last of the woman who had been the only link he had with the German agent in the internment camp. Finally he had an excuse to cease acting as the courier for the coded letters.
George rose from his desk, walked over to the window and gazed out at the view. His kingdom. One day, the Macintosh family would be the most influential in Australia, he mused. He returned to his desk and lifted the telephone receiver. His public service contact, Sir Hubert, would make the army file disappear. As for Karolina Schumann, he trusted the corrupt policeman to make her also vanish.
Matthew did not require anyone to wake him for his mission. Years of early rises had equipped his internal clock to bring him out of his sleep. The first thing he noticed as he heard the settlement stirring was that Joanne was no longer beside him.
He dressed in his flying kit and left the house under the last veil of night to go to the improvised airfield. Here he met the Russian who had first greeted him.
‘I have checked guns and bomb,’ the Russian said in the dawn’s half-light, shaking Matthew’s hand with his own grease-plastered one. ‘We paint out your identification.’
Matthew turned his head. All AFC roundels had been painted out. His aircraft was now one that seemingly did not belong to any nation, which made the Australian flyer apprehensive. He was helped into the cockpit by the Russian, who made his way around the nose to spin the propeller into action. With a choking roar, the engine spluttered alive. Matthew checked his instruments – especially his compass – and waved to the small crowd of curious men and women who had gathered to see him take off. The operation was well sketched in his mind and he pulled out his fob watch to check the time. According to Saul’s plan he should have just about put his raiding party in place for the surprise attack.
The Russian stood back, throwing a salute which Matthew returned with a wave of his hand. He could barely make out the end of the strip and prayed nothing had changed since the evening before. When he was satisfied his revs were up he let the heavy bomber lurch forward, picking up speed until he was confident there was enough wind on his wings to lift her skyward. With a final bump she was in the air and Matthew was pleased to see the dawning day was proving to be clear of clouds.
He pulled on the stick to get altitude before swinging around and checking his compass for the bearing he had calculated the night before. Soon, he had levelled off and was flying in the direction of the unsuspecting Arab village. He would have the sun at his back when he made his approach, thus blinding any observer on the ground as he swept in.
It did not take long to reach the sleeping village below and, as he passed over a ridge, Matthew could make out Saul’s force of around fifty men dismounted and waiting on the reverse slope. They waved to him as he continued his flight towards the village.
With the sun rising behind him, he levelled off at almost roof level to make his approach on the cluster of square mud and stone buildings. According to the map Saul had shown him, his target was a large mud building at the edge of town, bordered by a low, stone wall. He had been assured that if the bomb dropped cleanly there was little chance of killing the women and children of the village. But that was a great trust in his own ability to deliver the deadly iron canister accurately.
As he approached Matthew could see his target and also noticed men spilling from the stone building. The sound of his engine had obviously alerted them and he could see dark faces staring at him as rifles were raised to challenge his approach. When Matthew was satisfied that his height, speed and angle of delivery were right he pulled the stick to release the bomb. It fell away cleanly and the release of weight caused his aircraft to lurch upwards. He was over the village before the bomb hit the building and exploded. But it was the second explosion that almost blew his flimsy aircraft from the sky. He could feel the heat rise up to grasp at him and realised that his bomb must have set off a store of high explosives. Buffeted by the secondary explosions, Matthew fought to keep control of the Martinsyde. He put on more speed and, as he did, pulled up and around to fly back over the target. From his cockpit he could see dust rising on the plain below from Saul’s assault force charging the stunned survivors of the blast. Matthew could not hear the rattle of gunfire as both attackers and attacked engaged in a savage skirmish. The roar of his engine and the air whistling past his ears drowned all sound from below.
He swooped again over the area, now covered in black, boiling smoke, and saw the remains of men mutilated by his bomb. A few more fortunate survivors wandered aimlessly around the area scorched by the explosion, clearly with ear drums blown out and suffering concussion. They were no longer interested in firing on him and ignored his fly over.
From his vantage point, Matthew could see Saul’s men already firing in the narrow, twisting alleys of the village, fighting any armed men who came out to engage them. There was little else he could do but return to the settlement and land to await the final outcome.
‘We could hear the explosion from here,’ the Russian said when Matthew had brought his aircraft to a halt and cut the engine. ‘You do good.’
Matthew climbed out of the cockpit and jumped to the earth, taking off his goggles and leather head cap as he did. The Russian passed him a bottle of vodka.
‘We drink,’ he said. Matthew took a long swig of the fiery liquid and passed the bottle back.
‘How long before Saul returns?’
‘Maybe before noon,’ the Russian replied. ‘If all go well.’
The Australian airman walked over to a stand of olive trees and wearily sat down in the shade. He soon fell asleep but just before midday was awoken by the loud wailing of women coming from the settlement. Blinking away the snatched sleep, he stood up and walked quickly to the township. When he entered the main square he was shocked to see Saul holding his eldest son, Benjamin, in his arms. He was covered in blood. Elsa sobbed, clutching frantically at her son. Matthew spotted Joanne, alarmed to see that she, too, was covered in blood. He rushed to her.
‘It did not go well,’ she said in a tired voice. ‘I was left on the ridge to observe until the signal was given for me to identify the body of the man we were supposed to kill. When I went in I saw that Benjamin had been severely wounded. Saul allowed his men to run amok and they killed every male they found, sparing only the very elderly, women and children. Saul forced them out of the village and set it alight. We only had one cas
ualty – Saul’s son.’
‘Have you been wounded?’ Matthew asked, ignoring for the moment the brutal tactics of his old army friend.
‘No, this is Benjamin’s blood. I tried to bandage his wound after we ensured the Arab agitator was among the dead. Benjamin appears to have been hit in the upper chest with a dum dum bullet and if he does not get first class medical treatment he will surely die. There’s a medical clinic here but it is not equipped for major surgery.’
‘Thank God you have not been injured,’ Matthew said. ‘I don’t know what I would have done.’
‘Well, we are both alive,’ she said softly, touching his cheek with the tips of her fingers.
‘What do we do now?’ Matthew asked as the men who had accompanied Saul on his raid mixed with wives and children joyous to have their men back safely.
‘I have to help save Benjamin’s life,’ Joanne said. ‘I know a Syrian surgeon from Damascus who has a practice in Jerusalem. He is reputed to be one of the best in the Holy Land.’
‘Jerusalem is still held by the Turks,’ Matthew cautioned. ‘It would be too dangerous.’
‘We don’t have much choice,’ Joanne answered. ‘I have the Packard and will be able to transport him. As a US citizen I am still classified as a neutral, and the Ottomans respect that. I will not be harmed.’
‘It is still risky,’ Matthew frowned. ‘The last I heard, your country is on the verge of declaring war.’
‘I have survived this long. Just trust me.’
Matthew agonised. How could he stop her? When it came to looking after herself in these harsh and dangerous lands she had more than proved to be the better of most men he knew. ‘Promise that you will contact me as soon as you can,’ he said.
‘I will,’ Joanne answered. ‘We will leave within the hour and should be in Jerusalem before nightfall. All I can hope is that Benjamin is strong enough to make the trip.’
Matthew joined Saul and between the people of the settlement they were able to make up a litter to fit in the big American touring car. Elsa insisted on tending to her son for the journey and against Saul’s protests won her argument. With a sigh and shrug he watched as his wife cradled her son’s head in her lap, crooning soothing words of encouragement. Both Saul and Matthew stood shoulder to shoulder as Joanne set out to drive north to the ancient city with her cargo which was precious to both men.