Maralinga (43 page)

 

Maralinga was once again a hive of excitement as, throughout August, preparations for the second major test series became progressively more intense. The first of the three detonations that constituted the Antler series was codenamed Tadje and was scheduled to take place on 14 September.

By the end of August, the hordes had started pouring in. First came the scientists and specialists who would be directly involved in the tests, then the bureaucrats, military personnel and other VIPs of varying description who would observe the firings. Conspicuously absent amongst these latter arrivals was Harold Dartleigh. Harold was leaving things until the last minute. Once the series started he'd be marooned in that Godforsaken wilderness for the duration, he told himself – a whole month, no less. He would arrive for the briefings several days before the Tadje firing, and not one minute sooner.

 

‘I won't be able to see you for the next fortnight or so,' Nick said, ‘not until after the first test of the series. There'll be a press conference following the firing, of course, and I'll be coming to Adelaide for that.'

It was early afternoon. They'd just made love and were lying naked in each other's arms, the bedclothes tossed to one side, their bodies still warm from their exertion.

He'd flown into Adelaide for a late morning conference at the AGIO offices and the plan had been to meet for lunch, but they'd skipped lunch and come straight to the flat. She'd told him when he'd telephoned that she could take the afternoon off. She was working on a feature that she could easily write at home, she'd said, which wasn't true. She'd cancelled an interview to be with him.

‘I have to make a couple of trips to Canberra,' he continued, ‘but I can't really justify an excuse for a stopover here, things are too busy.'

She'd miss him, she thought, but she didn't say so. She continued to play the game the way he liked it played.

‘We'll just have to wait until the press conference then, won't we?' she said cheekily. ‘I shall harass you as much as I can and you can take it out on me in bed afterwards.'

He laughed and propped himself on his side with his chin in his hand, looking down at her as she lay there. She was so bloody gorgeous, he thought. He longed to make love to her again, but recovery time was necessary, so he kissed her instead, a slow, languid kiss, sensual rather than erotic, and, without the urgency of copulation, a deeply pleasurable experience.

‘I'll miss you, Elizabeth,' he said lightly. Then he lay back, drawing her to him and pulling the bedclothes up around them – winter's final throes lent a chill to the air, and they'd both cooled down now. ‘It's
only two weeks, I know, but what on earth will I do without you?'

The kiss, the nurturing embrace and, above all, the sentiment, playful though it was, rather took her by surprise and she heard herself ask something she'd never thought she would.

‘Have you ever been in love, Nick?'

Far from being daunted by the question or confronted by her asking it, he replied in all honesty.

‘Once, yes. I was stationed in Seoul and she was a captain in the US army intelligence unit. I asked her to marry me. She knocked me back, thank goodness.'

‘Why do you say thank goodness if you loved her?'

‘I don't know.' He shrugged. ‘Perhaps I
didn't
love her, although I certainly thought I did at the time. I was heartbroken when she said no. But I'm glad she did now – it wouldn't have worked out. I'm not the marrying kind. Besides,' he added, planting an affectionate kiss on the top of her head, ‘if I'd married Jenny I wouldn't be here with you, would I?'

‘No, I suppose you wouldn't.'

There was a moment's pause.

‘Tell me about your fiancé, Elizabeth.' The conversation had taken such an intimate turn that it seemed a natural enquiry, and he was interested to know. ‘How did he die? Or would you rather I didn't ask that? I'll quite understand if you don't want to talk about it.'

‘No, no, I'm very glad you asked.' There would never be a more appropriate time, Elizabeth thought; she couldn't have orchestrated a better opening if she'd tried. ‘I've been wanting to tell you for some time now, Nick.'

She sat up, leaning her back against the bedstead, the blankets pulled around her, and Nick, recognising her need to talk, did the same.

‘My fiancé's name was Daniel,' she said. ‘Lieutenant Daniel Gardiner, and he died at Maralinga.' She was aware of his shock, but she didn't wait for a response, continuing in the same matter-of-fact manner. ‘Exactly how he died is a mystery. The official report says “accidental death”, the unofficial report says “suicide”. I don't believe either to be the case.'

He was staring at her dumbfounded, barely able to believe what he'd heard. ‘You're young Dan's fiancée?'

‘I was. Yes. Did you know him?'

‘Of course I did. Everyone knows everyone at Maralinga.'

‘Do you know anything about his death?'

‘No more than you obviously do.' Was she interrogating him, he wondered. It certainly sounded that way. ‘His death was reported accidental for the sake of the family and also for security purposes. How did you know it was suicide? Who told you?'

‘It wasn't suicide, Nick.' She ignored the question. ‘Danny would never have killed himself. He had too much to live for. We were in love, we were to be married in April. It wasn't suicide, and it wasn't an accident. They're covering something. I don't know what, and I don't know who, but I intend to find out. That's why I came to Australia. Will you help me?'

‘Help you? In what way could I possibly help you?'

Elizabeth didn't notice the slightly distant tone. She was too excited by the prospect of acquiring an ally in Nick.

‘You could make some enquiries for me.'

‘Enquiries into what exactly?'

‘The investigation.'

‘And what investigation would that be?'

‘The investigation into the accident …' She'd suddenly registered the scorn in his voice and she became flustered. He was ridiculing her, or so it sounded. ‘There must have been an investigation. You could find out who was the last person to see Danny alive, that sort of thing …'

‘What could have led you to believe, Elizabeth, that I would offer you my assistance? If you have seriously developed the demented notion that the army murdered your fiancé, how on earth could you expect –'

‘Not the army, Nick, I didn't say the army. Well, I didn't
mean
the army, I meant some
one.
I don't know who or why, but someone killed Danny.'

He threw back the bedclothes and stood. It was too ludicrous, he thought, sitting here naked discussing military assassination plots.

‘Please listen to me, please,' she said desperately.

‘I can listen while I dress,' he said, pulling on his trousers. ‘I have to be leaving for the airport soon – the plane's scheduled for take-off at four.'

‘I had a letter from Danny that he posted from Ceduna only several days before he was killed. In it he talked about his friend Pete Mitchell. Pete had been murdered and Danny suspected foul play –'

‘Pete Mitchell was killed by a jealous husband.' He didn't look at her as he tucked his shirt into his trousers and sat to put on his boots.

‘I know that, but Danny didn't at the time and it worried him. Pete had told him just before he'd been
murdered of something terrible that had happened at Maralinga. Danny didn't say what it was, but men had been threatened with court martial if they spoke of what they'd seen.'

Nick looked up sharply.

‘And,' she continued, ‘he was worried that Pete's murder was in some way connected.' Elizabeth was relieved to have finally gained Nick's full attention. His eyes were now riveted upon her. ‘Danny intended to make his own investigations into the murder, but he died only several days after he posted that letter. Pete's death proved unrelated to whatever it was the men saw and to the threat of court martial, Nick, but what about Danny's? Don't you think two coincidental deaths is rather stretching credibility?'

‘So you believe some nameless, faceless person murdered Dan to prevent him exposing the reason why men were threatened with court martial, is that it?'

Again the derision, but this time, even though she was unable to give him a direct answer, Elizabeth's response was not in the least flustered.

‘I don't know what I believe. But I intend to find out what it was those men saw. It may not be the answer, but at least it's a starting point.'

‘I see.' He stood and shrugged on his jacket. ‘Well, you're certainly a woman of surprises, Elizabeth. I must congratulate you. I would never have guessed.'

‘Guessed what?' He was offended, she thought. Why?

‘That all the time you were posing as an investigative reporter you were using me to gather personal information.'

She supposed he had a right to be annoyed, but she couldn't help feeling he was overreacting a little.

‘I admit that I had a hidden agenda, Nick, but I was also doing what I'm employed to do and that is to cover events at Maralinga. I wasn't posing as an investigative reporter. I
am
a reporter, it's my
job
to investigate, and you're the principal source of information regarding Maralinga.'

‘Do you make a habit of sleeping with your principal source of information?'

So that's why he's angry, she thought. She didn't deign to answer.

Her silence only aggravated him further. ‘I presume that's just another part of the job, is it? You used me, Elizabeth, why don't you admit it? You used me unashamedly.'

‘No more than you used me, Nick.' Her eyes met his squarely. ‘Be honest.'

They gazed at each other for several long seconds. Then he turned and walked away.

He's leaving, she thought. And he's leaving for good. So where's the harm in telling him the truth?

‘I didn't sleep with you to gain information,' she said.

He stopped at the door and looked back.

‘I slept with you because I love you.'

Did he believe her? From the look in his eyes it was impossible to tell, and it didn't matter anyway. But she was glad she'd said the words out loud. She didn't like living with a lie.

‘I know what it was the men saw, Elizabeth.' His voice was cold. ‘I know what they saw and I know why they were threatened with court martial. I should,
after all: I was the officer who issued the threat. Does that make me a suspect, do you think? Could the nameless, faceless person possibly be me?'

He left, closing the door quietly behind him.

 

All was in readiness and, with only several days until countdown commenced, Maralinga was abuzz with anticipation. The final batches of VIPs had settled in and, with over 3000 residents, the township was now functioning at full capacity. But there was one more late arrival.

Harold Dartleigh stepped out of the de Havilland into a perfect spring morning. The sky was a cloudless blue, and the vibrant colours of the Nullarbor appeared newly washed as fresh green growth sprang from the ochre-red earth. But Harold didn't notice. All he could see was the wretched wasteland of desert stretching for miles and, as he walked towards the airport terminal, those preposterous oleanders lining the pathway in welcome. Monstrous plants, he thought, ugly as sin, even in blossom. Little wonder they thrived in this wilderness. No respectable English plant could survive out here.

Ned Hanson, his cipher clerk, was on hand to greet him.

‘There was little for me to do back at the office, sir,' he explained, ‘so I thought I'd come out and offer you a personal welcome.'

Oh, Christ, Harold thought. ‘How very kind,' he said.

During the drive into Maralinga, Ned chatted away, first about the reports he'd been sending, then, when that didn't produce much reaction, the weather – Ned
was not a man comfortable with silence. Beside him, Harold stared listlessly out of the Land Rover's passenger window. He would miss young Daniel during this trip, he thought.

Things picked up several hours later though. When Ned had left the office for the second lunchtime shift as arranged, a familiar face appeared in the doorway.

‘Welcome back to Maralinga.' Carefully latching the door behind him, Gideon slid with his customary grace into the wicker chair opposite Harold's desk. ‘You've been pining for us all, I can tell.'

Thank God for Gideon Melbray, Harold thought.

They quickly got down to business, the main topic of the day being the minor test series. Gideon brought Harold up to date on the progress of the Kittens, Tims and Rats.

‘Your account is certainly far removed from the reports that are forwarded to me from this office,' Harold remarked dryly.

‘Ah, yes, poor old Ned's been left very much in the dark, I'm afraid, but then so has everyone else. The boffins are having a field day out there.' Gideon waved a hand about vaguely as if indicating the entire desert area of South Australia. ‘With no eyes upon them they can do what they want and they're getting away with bloody murder.'

‘Good for them. I have no problem with that, but how dare Penney not keep MI6 informed.' Harold scowled. ‘The man's power truly has gone to his head.'

‘We knew they'd close ranks on us though, didn't we? That's why I'm here, after all.'

‘Yes, indeed.' Yet again, Harold congratulated himself on the foresight he'd shown in placing Gideon
undercover. ‘I presume you're gaining your information from the phone taps?'

‘Oh, yes. The little red phones have proved a positive goldmine. They chat away on their personally interconnected lines like garrulous teenagers. And then they hand their boring, predictable reports in to poor old Ned – it's really quite laughable.'