Secret in the Clouds

by Christopher Cummings

By 2030 the exercise was completed. On reporting back to HQ Stephen was told to dismiss his NCOs for the night and was asked to join the officers. He readily assented to this, particularly as the other CUOs and CSM were all there. For the next hour he sat on a box under the shelter and joined in the discussion on how the training was going and which corporals needed more instruction in navigation. To be sitting there with that group gave Stephen a great sense of achievement and he hugged the feeling to himself.

  Despite the continual downpour Stephen slept very well that night, untroubled by the damp clothes and drips. When he woke at 0600 he felt cheerful and ready to go. It was still pouring rain but he just sat under the plastic shelter and cooked his breakfast. A hot shave and a brush of his teeth and he was ready.

  By then the access track was awash with run-off and the area around the shelters was turning into a muddy slush. Despite that the training went on. The CUOs, sergeants and CSM joined the OOCs as checkpoints for another navex. This one combined all the methods of navigation: map to ground, compass and resections, plus fieldcraft. The corporals were grouped in teams of four and given the task of avoiding ‘Opposing Force’ Observation Posts to reach an objective.

  The exercise lasted three hours and during it Stephen sat with Lt Maclaren and the CQMS, Staff Sergeant Lacey. The rain came and went in showers of varying intensity. The plane crash was the main topic of conversation, which Stephen did not enjoy. ‘I wish I could just wipe it from mind,’ he thought, images of the rotting skull swirling into his mind. But then he shook his head. ‘No, I’d love to know what the plane was doing. What was its mission?’

  Very heavy rain was falling as they all walked in at the end of the exercise. Capt Conkey then held a short debrief before sending them to have lunch. After that the vehicles were loaded, shelters dropped and when their hire bus arrived the whole group made its way out to the main road. As this was only a hundred metres away the vehicles made it fairly easily while the cadets followed them along the muddy road. They quickly loaded the bus and climbed aboard.

  On the way back down to Cairns Stephen sat next to Graham and relaxed. It had been a good weekend and he had enjoyed it, despite the wet. Back at school stores were returned and the cadets dismissed. Stephen’s father was waiting to take him home so he said his goodbyes and went. Ten minutes later he was home.

  As Stephen lugged his wet pack and webbing into the laundry a car drove into the driveway. Assuming it was some friend of his parents Stephen paid no notice till he heard a strange man’s voice. His mother answered, her tone sounding anxious. “Yes he’s here. Stephen!”

  “Yes mum, coming!” Stephen replied. He walked through the car port to the front of the house to find two men in grey suits standing at the front of the house.

  “These men want to speak to you,” his mother said.

  Stephen looked at the men and felt an instant dislike. Both were big, burly men. One was middle-aged and was partly bald, his grey hair matching his suit. This one was smiling but somehow it didn’t seem to meet his eyes. The other was bigger but younger, a tall, solid man with a thin face and black hair.

  “You Stephen Bell?” the older one asked.

  “Yes, who are you?” Stephen replied.

  “Mr Jorgenson, Commonwealth Police,” the man replied.

  The word ‘police’ made Stephen tense up. Two years earlier he had been in serious trouble with the State Police and that coloured his emotions. “Oh yeah? Show me you ID,” he replied.

  The man scowled and reached into his jacket and took out a wallet which he flicked open, held out for a second, then snapped shut and put away.

  “I didn’t have time to see that,” Stephen said, annoyed at the way the man had acted.

  “I told you who I was,” Mr Jorgenson replied.

  “My mother told me not to trust strangers,” Stephen replied, “Now show me your ID again.”

  “Listen kid!” the other man began. Stephen’s mother murmured, “Oh Stephen!”

  At that moment Stephen’s father joined them. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  Mr Jorgenson smiled and said, “Mr Jorgenson, Commonwealth Police. We just have to ask your son a few questions.”

  “So what is the problem?” Stephen’s father asked.

  Stephen answered. “He won’t show me his ID Dad,” he replied. He knew he was being stubborn and that it could get him into trouble but the man’s actions had annoyed him so he stood his ground.

  “I did,” Mr Jorgenson said, his face mottling with rising anger.

  “So show me,” Stephen’s father replied.

  Mr Jorgenson reached into his coat and again opened the wallet and flicked it open. Stephen stepped forward and reached out to grab it before the man realised what he was doing. “Hey! What are you doing?” Mr Jorgenson snapped.

  “Reading this,” Stephen replied. “My eyes aren’t very good so I need to get close.”

  Stephen kept a grip on the wallet and moved so that he could read the fine print. He then carefully scrutinised the photo and made a play of obviously comparing it with the man’s face. By then Jorgenson's face was dark with anger. Having checked that it did indeed say Commonwealth Police and Jorgenson Stephen let go and stepped back.

  “Satisfied?” Mr Jorgenson asked stiffly. He was plainly trying to keep his composure.

  “Not quite. Who is this other man?” Stephen asked.

  “Oh for heavens sake!” Stephen’s mother said.

  “Show him Walters,” Mr Jorgenson said.

  The other man did, his face and eyes hard. Albert Walters, it read. Stephen nodded. “I just wanted to be sure you weren’t more of those news people,” he explained.

  His father agreed. “We’ve had a lot of trouble from them over the last week,” he said.

  Both policemen nodded but Mr Jorgenson did not look happy. Stephen asked, “Yes, what do you want?”

  Mr Jorgenson spoke to him. “We have heard that you made a copy of some papers taken from a crashed German aeroplane. Is that right?”

  Stephen was amazed. ‘Who talked?’ he wondered, mentally ticking off who of his friends had been present when they had discussed getting the papers translated. Reluctantly he nodded. “Yes, I did.”

  “Have you read them?” Mr Jorgenson asked.

  “No. My German’s not that good. I should have paid more attention at school.”

  “Can we have the papers please,” Mr Jorgenson asked. He did not make it sound like a request and that nettled Stephen as well.

  “Why? I found them. They date from sixty years ago. They couldn’t be important now.”

  “That isn’t for you to decide,” Mr Jorgenson replied. “The relevant authorities believe they may have sensitive security information on them which could harm our relations with Germany. We have been tasked with recovering them.”

  “You mean you want to find out who the traitor was?” Stephen suggested.

  “Why do you say that?” Mr Jorgenson snapped.

  ‘He didn’t like that,’ Stephen thought. ‘My dart has hit the mark.’ He said, “It’s obvious isn’t it? That plane was up to no good. It was either dropping something off to a spy or picking something up from one.”

  “Where did you get that idea from?” Mr Jorgenson asked.

  “It’s what all my friends think,” Stephen replied. “Why else would it be flying over Australia?”

  “I don’t know,” Mr Jorgenson replied. “My job is just to collect the papers. May I have them please?”

  “Yes, but I haven’t got them,” Stephen answered.

  “Who has them? Where are they?” Mr Jorgenson demanded.

  “I gave them to the German Teacher, Miss Meyer, to translate. She has them,” Stephen replied. He found he was now quite enjoying the situation.

  “Where does she live?” Mr Jorgenson asked.

  “I don’t know. She’s a teacher. I don’t care that much about them that I’d find out where they live,” Stephen replied. He regretted saying that
as soon as he did as both his parents were teachers and he saw a pained look cross his mother’s face.

  “What is her name?” Mr Jorgenson asked.

  Stephen told him and the other man wrote it in a notebook. Mr Jorgenson then said, “Do you have any other copies of these papers?”

  “No.”

  “What about your friend?”

  “Graham? Not as far as I know. Why don’t you ask him,” Stephen replied.

  “We will. Thank you for your time,” Mr Jorgenson said. He and the other man then said their farewells and left.

  “Stephen, you were a bit rude,” his mother said as they watched the men’s car drive away.

  “I didn’t like them,” Stephen replied. He then hurried inside and telephoned Graham to warn him of the possible visit by the two men. After that he went to the bathroom, enjoyed a hot shower and changed into clean clothes. By the time he had finished Graham was on the telephone saying that the two men had called. The two friends then discussed the visit by the Federal Police until Stephen was called to the dining room for tea.

  That evening Stephen settled to doing his homework. He also broached the idea of doing an expedition to Black Mountain. His mother was opposed to this. “I don’t think it is a good idea,” she said. “You have been having bad dreams about it for days. Another trip will only re-open the memories.”

  “But Roger and Peter haven’t see it mum,” Stephen replied.

  “So? I am sure they are quite capable of getting there.”

  “Aw Mum! It isn’t safe for just two in the bush.”

  “They can find two more friends.”

  “But Mum, the longer we leave it the less that will be left to find. All the treasure hunters and Nazi freaks will go there and take everything of value,” Stephen persisted.

  “Ah!” his father put in, “Now we get to the real reason.”

  It wasn’t, but Stephen nodded, ashamed of his secret. “Please Mum?”

  “Another week after that maybe,” she suggested.

  With that Stephen had to be content. So he returned to his homework and then lay on his bed and read the papers given him by the German Embassy and did some deep thinking.

  His conclusions he confided to Graham at school on Monday morning. “You know what I reckon about those Federal coppers?” he said.

  “No, what?” Graham replied.

  “I reckon they wanted those papers because they must think that the German spy is still alive and they want to track him down.”

  Graham nodded. “That makes sense. Why else would they want them?”

  “I wonder if Miss Meyer handed them over,” Stephen said. He was now consumed with curiosity as to what had been in the papers.

  The two boys made their way to Miss Meyer’s staffroom and asked her. She nodded “I handed them over of course.”

  Stephen made a face, then asked, “Did you manage to translate any of them Miss?”

  “A bit. Most of the pages were some sort of code, lots of three letter groups at random with dates next to them.”

  The boys had often met such things in cadets in their signals training. “They are called Trigrams Miss. They change all the time so the enemy has trouble decoding them,” Graham explained.

  “Was there anything else Miss?” Stephen asked. He had seen the Trigrams and understood what they were. ‘That is what a spy would need,’ he had reasoned, ‘new codes to send secret information by radio.’

  “There was a long and very detailed instruction to a man codenamed ‘Vulkan’, spelt in the German way with a ‘K’. It told him how to contact other people and listed places, times and passwords.”

  That really got Stephen’s interest. “The other members in the spy ring,” he said. “Did you keep your notes Miss?”

  “No. The policemen took my notebook as well and asked if I had told anyone else. They said I was not to talk about this to anyone,” Miss Meyer replied.

  “Can you remember any of the details Miss?” Stephen asked.

  At that Miss Meyer smiled. “I just told you they told me not to talk to anyone about this.”

  “Aw but Miss!” Stephen said. “We found it!”

  “Sorry Stephen. Anyway I can only remember little bits, and most of the places were in Victoria or South Australia.”

  Feeling very frustrated and not a little annoyed Stephen thanked the teacher. The boys went back down to where their friends had now gathered. On the way Graham commented, “I’d love to know just what that plane was doing.”

  “So would I,” Stephen said. Curiosity was starting to burn in him. “It was some secret spy stuff for sure.”

  “And the spy must still be alive or why else would the coppers want the papers?” Graham added.

  “Yes, but he must be pretty old. That was over seventy years ago,” Stephen replied. He had been doing the sums in his head.

  “So the spy must have been a young man in his twenties,” Graham agreed. “My Gran is eighty seven so he would be older.”

  Stephen nodded. “Let’s not discuss this in front of the others,” he added.

  “Why not?” Graham asked.

  “Because one of them told someone else, who told the police,” Stephen replied.

  “They may not have meant to,” Graham said. “I mean they might just have mentioned it to a parent, who told the police, but the kid isn’t aware of that.”

  “Doesn’t matter if it was deliberate or not,” Stephen answered. “If we are going to find out what really happened we don’t want any more leaks.”

  “Oh come off it Steve! How can we possibly find out what the plane was doing?”

  “We can try,” Stephen replied. “I’ve got a few ideas.”

  CHAPTER 11

  THE MYSTERY DEEPENS

  When Stephen arrived home that afternoon he was surprised to find another government car parked out the front and two more men in grey suits waiting to see him. His mother had invited them in and had given them both afternoon tea so he felt he had to be civil to them.

  “These men are from the Foreign Affairs Department,” his mother explained. “This is Mr Hemmings and this is Mr Baxter.”

  Stephen shook hands with the two men and they all seated themselves. Mr Hemmings, a spare, grey-haired man with flinty grey eyes, explained the reason for the visit. “We are very sorry to trouble you but we have been informed that you removed a case with some papers in it from the wreck of a German aircraft that you found.”

  “Yes, I did,” Stephen replied. He badly wanted to do the same ID check on the two men but his mother seemed to have accepted their explanation so he said nothing.

  Mr Hemmings had a sip of tea, smacked his lips appreciatively, then went on, “We have also been told that you handed the case and papers to officials from the German Embassy.”

  “Yes, it was theirs I thought,” Stephen answered. Now a little niggling doubt crept in- have I done the right thing? Am I in trouble?

  Mr Hemmings nodded. “Quite so. However we have also learned that you made photocopies of the papers and have tried to have them translated.”

  Stephen nodded. “That’s right. I was curious. But those Federal policemen took them so I don’t have any papers any more.”

  To Stephen’s intense curiosity he saw the two men glance at each other. Mr Hemmings frowned. “What Federal policemen?”

  “Yesterday. Two of them. Mr Jorgenson and Mr Walters,” Stephen replied.

  “You are sure?” Mr Hemmings asked as his assistant took out a notebook and began writing.

  Stephen nodded emphatically. “Positive. I made a point of checking their ID. You wouldn’t mind if I asked to see yours?” he said.

  “Not at all,” Mr Hemmings answered. He kept a cheerful smile on his face while he took out a wallet with Identity Cards and papers in it. Stephen studied the card and memorized the number and names on it. To him it appeared authentic but years of reading spy thrillers and watching TV had made him aware that forgery was a stock-in-trade of secre
t government agencies.

  As Stephen handed back the ID Mr Hemming asked, “Can you describe these men?”

  Stephen did so, in detail. He found it both mystifying and enjoyable. Mr Hemmings shook his head slightly and then said, “This is a worry. I cannot imagine what interest they might have in the case. Ours is to prevent any documents falling into the wrong hands and being used to damage the excellent relations Australia currently enjoys with Germany.”

  Stephen had to agree with that. Mr Hemmings then asked him if he had any other copies of the papers. “No sir, sorry. Nor has anyone I know. You had better check with Miss Meyer though.”

  “Miss Meyer? Who is she?”

  “A German teacher at my school. I asked her to translate the papers, but she didn’t get time,” Stephen explained.

  “We will do that. Well, we are sorry to have bothered you. It’s a pity that two government departments cannot co-ordinate better. Never mind, thank you for your help,” Mr Hemmings said. He put down his tea cup and stood up.

  Stephen found himself shaking hands and being thanked again and then both men left. As they drove away an intense feeling of frustration and curiosity gripped him.

  “That’s a bit odd don’t you think Mum? That two different government departments might be after the same thing?”

  His mother shook her head. “No. The way the place is over-governed these days it doesn’t surprise me in the slightest if the right hand doesn’t know what the left is doing.”

  Stephen made his way inside, had a big afternoon tea, then went to his room and continued working on his journal article. While he worked there were two phone calls which his mother answered. When he asked later who they were she simply said, “More nutters wanting part of the German plane. That last one was willing to pay for any badges or buttons.”

  That made Stephen very glad that the proper authorities had removed the remains. ‘It would be robbing the dead,’ he thought, then shivered. A twinge of guilt over what he had taken bothered him.

  During the evening he completed the editing his journal article and had his parents check it. Satisfied with both the wording and the photos to be included he copied it to a CD and placed it in an envelope and asked his father to mail it the next day. After that he relaxed and played a game on his computer.