Maralinga (46 page)

‘Oh, I'm quite aware of who Dartleigh
is
,' she said. ‘Harold Rodin Dartleigh, 6th Baron Somerston, and deputy director of MI6.'

How dumb, he thought, she was a British journalist, of course she'd know who Harold bloody Dartleigh was. ‘Sorry.'

‘But how do you know it was Dartleigh who paid Gideon Melbray to make enquiries?' Elizabeth wasn't interested in apologies.

‘I don't, although it's a pretty fair assumption. According to the fettlers, Gideon was the only one sniffing around the fettlers' camp apart from the military police, and, according to my MP mates, Dartleigh promised Dan he'd have some enquiries
made. It all adds up. Dartleigh wanted to help put Dan's mind at rest, he told the police – he said he was very worried about him.'

‘Why would he choose Gideon Melbray to make his enquiries? Where's the connection between them?'

‘There isn't one that I'm aware of, apart from the fact that Gideon's a gregarious bloke who knows everyone at Maralinga and regularly does favours.'

‘No, I don't go along with that. For a man in Harold Dartleigh's position there'd have to be a stronger link, surely.'

‘Yes, I tend to agree with you.'

Nick had his own ideas about the Dartleigh/Melbray connection, but he waited to see what she'd come up with. Elizabeth changed tack though. Her teacup nestled in her hands, she gazed out at the expanse of sun-dappled water.

‘It's strange that Danny didn't mention Dartleigh's offer of help in his letter,' she said. ‘He drove Harold Dartleigh to Ceduna only several days before he was killed, and it's obvious they spoke intimately during the trip. I wonder why he didn't …' Then the thought occurred to her. ‘Of course,' she said, ‘the offer of help must have been made on the return journey to Maralinga,
after
Danny had posted the letter.'

‘Yes, I'd say so. Dartleigh told the MPs that Dan had talked to him at length. He'd seemed obsessed with the murder of Pete Mitchell, Dartleigh said. Even though all the facts pointed to a simple crime of passion, Dan was desperate for positive proof that the fettler had actually done it.'

‘The intimation being that Dan wasn't quite of sound mind perhaps?'

‘Yes, perhaps.'

Nick was trying hard not to sway Elizabeth. He considered it important she draw her own conclusions, but their reasoning was certainly following the same path.

‘A view not dissimilar to that of Gideon Melbray,' Elizabeth said dryly. ‘How coincidental that the mate who was the last to see Danny alive and the superior in whom he confided only days before his death should be in such agreement about his mental state. And furthermore, unbeknownst to anyone else, the two knew each other well.'

‘Yes.' She was right on the money, Nick thought. ‘According to the MPs, the corroboration of their evidence confirmed the suicide findings,' he said.

‘I see.' Elizabeth put down her teacup, discovering as she did so that it was empty anyway. ‘There certainly appears to be some collusion.' She picked up the pot. ‘Would you like some more tea?'

‘No, thanks,' he said, checking his watch, ‘I have to leave in five minutes.'

She seemed very calm, he thought, given the circumstances. He'd expected an angrier reaction to this hint of a possible conspiracy.

But Elizabeth had no time to be emotional; her mind was preoccupied with other things.

‘What if Gideon Melbray had some connection with MI6, Nick?' she said as she poured herself a cup of tea. ‘What if he was some sort of undercover backup for Dartleigh? They do that kind of thing, don't they? Plant a secret agent to keep an eye on everyone for security purposes?'

‘Yes, they certainly do.' The very same thought had occurred to Nick.

‘So what if Danny's death was covered up by MI6? What if the army had nothing to do with it?' She dumped the teapot back on the table with an alarming thump. Things were starting to make sense. ‘What if something happened – perhaps some terrible botch-up like you said – and in the interests of national security MI6 made it look like a suicide? What if nobody else but Dartleigh and Melbray knew? Or if someone else did, they were being kept quiet by MI6?'

‘That's a hell of a lot of “what ifs”, Elizabeth.'

‘Yes, it is, isn't it?' She flashed him a delighted smile. ‘And each one eminently possible. What a pity you can't stay a bit longer,' she said as she added milk to her tea. ‘I could get you a Scotch and we could celebrate.'

‘I think we may need something a little more concrete to go on,' he said wryly. ‘I get the feeling a celebration party might be just a bit further down the track. Of course, I could be wrong …'

Elizabeth ignored his sarcasm. She was planning her course of action. Whether or not her surmise was the right one, Gideon Melbray and Harold Dartleigh appeared to be the men who held the answers. Nick had done well with his enquiries, but the next step was up to her.

‘Are they likely to be coming into town soon?' she asked.

‘Who?'

‘Gideon Melbray and Harold Dartleigh, of course. Who else?'

He might have guessed – Elizabeth was making plans.

‘I wouldn't have a clue,' he said, ‘although I strongly doubt it. Gideon's a permanent fixture throughout Maralinga. He seems to love the place, never goes on leave – Mr Popular, in fact, the life and soul of every party.'

‘And Harold Dartleigh?'

‘Dartleigh can't stand Maralinga. He fronts up just prior to the major test series and takes off the moment they're over.'

‘He doesn't come to Adelaide for the press conferences, does he? His presence isn't recorded in any of the previous reports.'

Dartleigh was the important one, she thought. Dartleigh was the one she needed to confront face to face.

‘He hasn't yet, no.'

‘Perhaps you could persuade him? In the interest of public relations it might be appropriate. A man in his eminent position, both socially and professionally, couldn't fail to impress.'

‘So that's your plan?' How very typical of Elizabeth, he thought. ‘You're going to front him at a press conference, are you?'

‘Of course. What better arena could I have? He'd have to answer me in some way or another.'

‘You'll cause a furore.'

‘I certainly hope so.'

‘All right.' He stood. ‘I can't promise anything, but I'll give it a go.'

As she rose to her feet, he drew her to him and they kissed. ‘I'll ring you and let you know whether or not Dartleigh's coming,' he said as they parted. ‘See you at the press conference next week.' Then he grabbed
his jacket and was gone. She waved to him from the balcony as he drove off.

Elizabeth was left on tenterhooks. The second test of the Antler series, codenamed Biak, was scheduled to take place in just four days. Providing meteorological reports proved favourable and all went according to plan, it had been announced that the press conference would take place the following day. Perhaps, she thought, just perhaps, she was only five days away from discovering the truth.

 

Upon his return to Maralinga, Nick sought out Harold Dartleigh, but was informed by his cipher clerk, Ned Hanson, that Lord Dartleigh had gone to Ceduna. Ned wasn't sure for how long.

‘I wanted to drive him myself,' Ned said, ‘but he told me I was far too valuable here, I had to stay and man the office. Bit of a shame really, I'd have liked the trip.'

On checking with the transport office, Nick discovered that Dartleigh had booked a Land Rover and driver for three whole days, which hadn't at all endeared him to the sergeant on desk duty.

‘With the bigwigs in town we need every driver and vehicle at our disposal, Colonel,' the sergeant said. He wanted to say ‘Bloody lord muck, who the hell does he think he is?' but for all he knew the colonel might be mates with Dartleigh so he kept his trap shut. ‘His lordship will be back the day before the scheduled firing, sir.'

‘Thank you, Sergeant.'

Nick finally cornered Harold Dartleigh late in the afternoon on the day of his return. He literally bumped
into him walking along Ottowa Street. Nick was on his way to the swimming pool and Harold, having just left the hospital, was walking in the opposite direction on his way to his office in the administration block.

‘Lord Dartleigh, I've been wanting to have a word with you. Would you have a minute?'

‘Ah, Colonel Stratton.' Harold came to a brief halt. ‘Yes, yes, of course I have a minute, old chap. What can I do for you?'

Harold Dartleigh's response was most affable, but he once again set off up Ottowa Street, so Nick changed direction and walked alongside him. He was only too happy to do so; he'd much rather conduct their conversation in the privacy of Dartleigh's office. He decided to buy a little time until they got there.

‘I believe you've been to Ceduna, sir. Did you have a pleasant trip?'

‘Oh, yes, yes, delightful little place, perfect escape from all this.' Harold waved his hands about in a disparaging gesture at the all-pervading desert. The forefinger of his left hand was freshly bandaged. ‘Got a nasty little cut though,' he said, wiggling the damaged digit. ‘Had a fall wandering about on the rocks of the foreshore, sliced right through my damn finger. The shellfish are quite beastly, I'm told, the possibility of poisoning and all that. Just went and got myself a shot of penicillin. Best to be on the safe side, what?'

‘Yes. Yes, indeed.'

‘Damned painful though, I must say.'

Having reached the intersection of London Road, they turned left and crossed the street, and it was only when they were standing right outside HQ and
the buildings of the administration block that Harold finally called a halt.

‘So what is it you wanted to chat about, Colonel?'

Nick realised he hadn't needed to buy time at all. Dartleigh had no intention whatsoever of inviting him into his office.

‘I was hoping, Lord Dartleigh, that I might persuade you to attend the press conference following the Biak test.'

‘Good heavens above, man, why?'

‘I'm sure the members of the press would like to meet you, sir, and it would be an excellent public relations exercise.'

‘But I see those chaps at the debriefings after each of the firings.'

‘No, sir.' Nick firmly but patiently corrected him. ‘At the debriefings, you see only those journalists invited to Maralinga to observe the detonations. I'm referring to the national press conference in Adelaide.'

‘Ah, yes, yes …
Adelaide
…' Harold was already turning up his nose. ‘I don't feel there's much purpose in –'

‘I strongly believe that your appearance would be more than a gesture of goodwill, Lord Dartleigh.' Nick interrupted before the answer became an outright no. ‘Your presence would be perceived as a mark of great respect. After all, a man of your rank and position symbolises the true link between the mother country and Australia.' What a load of bullshit, he thought, but flattery was the way to a man like Dartleigh. ‘Indeed, sir, you symbolise the link between Britain and the entire Commonwealth of Nations.'

‘Ah, yes, one does. It's quite true, one does.'

‘I take it you'll attend then?'

‘We'll see, Colonel. We'll see.'

Harold started to move off, but Nick persisted.

‘I'd rather like to announce your appearance to the press, if I may.'

‘Oh, I hardly think that necessary, old chap. They'll be there anyway, won't they? I'll let you know on the day.' Harold gave a wave of his non-damaged hand and disappeared into the building that housed his office.

 

Nick telephoned Elizabeth who'd been impatiently awaiting his call.

‘No news about our guest.' Through force of habit, he spoke cryptically. It was probably not necessary, but he always liked to be on the safe side. ‘I asked him to the party, but he doesn't want to commit in any way. We won't know if he's coming until the last minute, I'm afraid.'

‘Oh dear, how very annoying.'

‘Yes, it's a bugger, isn't it? Fingers crossed though. I'll see you at the conference.'

He hung up and Elizabeth was left still on tenterhooks.

 

Throughout the night, weather conditions remained propitious, and at dawn the meteorological reports proved favourable. The countdown had already started. The Biak test, the second in the Antler series, was to go ahead as planned.

The bomb, with an energy yield of 6 kilotons, was to be exploded from a tower, and the detonation was to take place at ten o'clock on the morning of 25 September 1957.

Etta is terrified. First the world turned white — the whole of the desert and the scrubland and the sky turned white in one great, blinding flash. Then the evil spirit beings attacked her. She felt their fists as they punched her and she fell to the ground.

Now she staggers to her feet and, in sheer terror, runs from the mamu. But they chase her, maddened, screaming their rage. They are too fast for her. They race ahead of her, through the mallee scrub, dodging amongst the trees, hiding in the grasses. They are invisible these mamu, but everywhere she turns she is met by their screeching voices.

They have surrounded her, and she sinks to her knees. Their voices are no longer angry. They are playing with her now, taunting her. They surely mean to kill her. She sobs with fear as she awaits her death.

Then all is silent. The voices have ceased.

Etta looks about, whimpering, expecting any moment the mamu will make themselves visible. Where are they hiding? The morning is clear and the sun bright, but she can see little.
Her vision is clouded and there are spots before her eyes. The mamu have blinded her.

She feels the child kicking eagerly in her belly. She is only days away from her time and she is frightened. She cannot have her baby here in the presence of the mamu. She must run. She must run far, far away from them.

She tries to stand, but she is exhausted, and the last of her reserves seem now to desert her. She slumps onto her back, the desert sand warming her skin through her thin cotton dress. She is defeated.

Then she sees the great cloud.

The great cloud rises majestically in the sky, just like the cloud she saw from the railway line near Ooldea. But this cloud is far mightier. It is more than a sign; this cloud must surely be a powerful spirit being.

As Etta stares up into the sky, her fear slowly subsides. Her vision is clearing and she knows the mamu have gone. The great cloud spirit has broken their spell and frightened them away.

Again, the child in her belly kicks, reminding her that she will soon give birth. She hoped to have a woman of experience with her when her time came, but she has not found her family, nor those of her people whose women would have tended to her, and she has resigned herself to the prospect of bearing the burden of childbirth alone.

But she is no longer alone, she tells herself. The great cloud spirit is with her, the great cloud spirit who chased away the mamu that would have killed her.

She struggles to her feet. She has regained her breath and now has the strength to stand. She must find water and a comfortable shaded place. There she will wait and give birth to her baby.