Papua (32 page)

Gerhardt finished the letter and sealed it. Now it was time to make contact with the Americans. But he knew that he must be very careful. He assumed now that he was being watched. First he must go to Martin Place to the General Post Office and send the letter to Papua.

T
iming would be all-important. But O’Leary still had not been given a time to strike. All that followed the original coded letter from Papua was a complete silence; no letter indicating the arrival of the German Gerhardt Stahl had been sent to Thursday Island. O’Leary had wasted a week before giving up and sailing north into the Gulf of Papua only to be becalmed. The Irishman fumed about the breakdown in communications as he stood on the deck of his schooner and waited for a wind to move them on a northeast bearing to the Port Moresby district. A niggling suspicion began to eat away at him. He knew that Sen hated him enough to kill him if the opportunity arose. Was he was being set up in an elaborate ambush?

‘Fuji!’ he bellowed from the bow. ‘How far are we from Moresby?’

The Japanese sailor did not have to refer to a chart to answer. He knew these waters like the back of his hand. ‘Forty-eight hours if we get a wind.’

‘Use the bloody engine,’ O’Leary commanded. ‘Just get us there in forty-eight hours.’

Fuji went to protest. Using the engine would quickly consume their limited supply of fuel. But he shrugged and decided to obey. Hopefully they would not use all the fuel before the winds returned.

Within minutes the schooner was again under way and a few hours later they were fortunate to pick up a good breeze. O’Leary was not a patient man. If he was being lured into a trap by Sen, he wanted to know. Or perhaps the Chinaman had fallen silent for reasons known only to himself. The Irishman had not survived for so long on caution alone. Sometimes it paid to make the first move. The Mann plantation was on a secluded part of the coastline and a strike from the sea would be the best way to achieve his ends.

Joe Oblachinski was more than satisfied with the footage that he had been able to film. Serero had coordinated the mock battles but some blood had still been spilled in the enthusiasm of the warriors to show off their prowess, although fortunately none of them had been killed when the arrows flew. It was in the can, as Joe said, and he was ready to pack up and return to Port Moresby.

Jack Kelly was puzzled at Victoria’s apparent avoidance of him after the wonderful night they had shared. It was as if nothing had happened. He tried to convince himself that the night of passion had been brought on by the excitement of making contact with Serero’s clan and was not to be repeated. He would be wise to dismiss her from his life. But as much as he tried to forget her, Victoria haunted his thoughts. He reacted to her seeming indifference with his own but found that he had to restrain himself from displaying any sign of emotion when he noticed his son and Victoria flirting with each other. Well, easy come, easy go, he told himself.

‘Got everything aboard?’ Paul asked as he stood at the stern pondering the beautiful and intriguing young American woman.

‘Yeah,’ Jack answered absent-mindedly and sighed. ‘Time to head back.’

Paul left his friend standing alone and staring vacantly into the brown swirling water at the river mouth. He sensed Jack’s preoccupation but did not suspect that it was about a particular woman. In all the years he had known Jack, though, he had never seen the man looking so gloomy. Even during the toughest of times when they had gone in search of gold in the Morobe province years earlier, Jack would remain calm and cheerful in the worst of situations. Although things were going well for Jack’s first charter, his friend was noticeably a different man to the Jack Kelly who had set out on this trip.

‘Ready to pull up the anchor?’ Paul asked Lukas as he scrambled across the top of the lugger to the cockpit.

‘Ready to sail,’ Lukas replied with a grin. He had grown so comfortable with the
Erika Sarah
that it now felt like a part of his own body. The anchors were weighed and the lugger pulled out into the channel under the power of her auxiliary engine. Once she was in the channel the sails were unfurled and the lugger was set on her course back to Moresby.

After supper Victoria left the men to go above decks where Jack was at the helm, guiding the lugger through the gently rolling tropical seas. She knew that the next morning they would be berthing in Port Moresby and within days she would be on a ship back to Australia and then en route to the United States. She watched the Australian standing behind the great polished timber wheel, a glowing cigar clamped between his teeth. It had been sent up to Jack earlier by Joe from his store of fine Havanas to celebrate the end of a successful expedition.

‘Thought you would be with the boys celebrating,’ Jack said mildly when Victoria appeared in the cockpit.

‘I thought that you might like some company since your watch has denied you the pleasures of Joe’s stories and whisky.’

‘I’m sure that Joe will pay enough to buy one or two bottles for me to celebrate when we reach Moresby in the morning,’ Jack replied. He puffed on his cigar which was being rapidly whittled away by the stiff night breeze.

‘You have said very little to me since we spent that night together,’ Victoria said. ‘I was wondering why.’

Jack took the cigar from his mouth and gazed into the velvet depths of the night. The stars had disappeared behind a heavy cloud cover and apart from the lantern swinging beside him, they seemed alone to the rest of the world. ‘Didn’t think it meant much to you,’ he said, softly enough for his words to be almost swept away by the wind. ‘You head back to the United States soon to make your report and write your book. But I promise you that I will be the first Aussie to buy a copy when it comes to Papua.’

‘I . . .’ Victoria was at a loss to say something that would make sense to not only him but also to herself. She glanced away, staring into the same darkness that held Jack’s gaze.

‘I think you will write a great yarn,’ Jack said gently. ‘You are truly the most extraordinary woman that I have ever met.’

Victoria turned to him, her face an enigmatic mask. ‘I just wanted you to know that I will never forget that night. I . . .’ she choked on her words and turned away lest he see the depth of feelings she was so desperately trying to suppress. ‘I think I should go back and join the party.’

Victoria made her way down to the cabin where the bottles were almost empty and the drinkers mostly full. Even Paul had imbibed more than usual and both Lukas and Karl were already feeling the nauseating effects of too much strong liquor. They hardly noticed Victoria as she passed by them to go to her cabin.

With the door closed she fell on the bunk and stared at the low ceiling. What was it about Jack Kelly that preoccupied her? She knew time was running out. Soon they would be in Port Moresby and shortly after that Jack Kelly would no longer be a part of her life except as the main character in her book.

At the helm Jack watched the compass shifting in its glass dome as the boat rose and fell against the sea. South on the horizon a tiny light was also rising and falling. He knew it must be another boat – any village lights would have been on the landward side to the north – but this was not unusual as many boats used these waters. Little did he know that Tim O’Leary was at the helm of his schooner and had also noticed a boat’s light to his north. And like Jack Kelly, he did not think the sighting of any significance either.

As he stood in Gerhardt’s hotel room Jacob Schmidt examined the grainy photographs, handing each one on to his partner Bill Havers. Gerhardt sat in a chair in the corner of the room, waiting patiently for their reaction.

‘We will need you to corroborate the authenticity of what we have here,’ Bill Havers said as he passed the photographs of the stolen files back to Jacob.

‘You will have that,’ Gerhardt replied in a tired voice. ‘As soon as I complete my deal with the Nazis.’

‘You realise that if you go to Papua you may be travelling to your death,’ Jacob pointed out sympathetically. ‘As far as the new German government is concerned, you are a traitor and therefore can expect no mercy at their hands.’

‘At least what they do on Australian territory will be considered murder,’ Gerhardt answered bitterly, ‘no matter how the German government tries to justify my death.’

Jacob glanced at his partner. They had worked together long enough to understand what such a look meant. ‘We would rather you did not make the appointment in Papua but returned with us to the States to assist in our future investigations.’

Gerhardt realised that the American’s offer was not motivated by any humane concern but rather by the value of what he knew, but it was reassuring in any case. ‘My daughter is more important to me than my life,’ he said. ‘If there were any way I could get her back other than honouring my pact with my former government, then I would.’

A slow smile developed on Bill Havers’ battered face. ‘I think we can do that,’ he said and Gerhardt glanced at him sharply.

‘How? I have no idea where my daughter is.’

‘Jacob and I have been involved in a discreet investigation into a group here called the New Guard. It has worried Uncle Sam because it seemed to be somewhat similar to Mussolini’s Fascist party and your Nazis in Berlin. Along the way we have had the cooperation of the Australian government in information sharing. They are also concerned. The organisation is made up of former military men who could possibly provoke a civil war in this country. So far we cannot find any links with Hitler or Mussolini, but one thing we have discovered is a New Guard link with one or two prominent businessmen. Our counterparts in the Australian government have been keeping track of your wife’s movements. We know where your daughter is.’

Gerhardt leapt from his chair and crossed the room to Havers. ‘Why did you not tell me before? Is she safe and well?’ he demanded. ‘When can I go and take her back?’

‘As soon as you agree to return to the States with us.’

‘You have my agreement. Where is my daughter?’

‘Not far from here, Mr Stahl,’ Jacob said. ‘We can make contact with our Australian friends and arrange for the appropriate people to come with us.’

Quentin Arrowsmith was outraged by the intrusion of a couple of burly New South Wales policemen into his house at one o’clock in the morning.

‘We have reason to believe that there is a young German girl here by the name of Ilsa Stahl, sir,’ the uniformed sergeant said as he stood over Quentin who wore only his dressing gown.

‘You realise who I am, Sergeant?’ Arrowsmith replied. ‘If so you must realise that I have friends in government.’

‘That may be, Mr Arrowsmith,’ the big sergeant said, unfazed. ‘But as I understand it these couple of Yanks with me are acting with the government in this matter. The Premier’s department personally informed me this evening that I was to act on their behalf in this matter.’

Quentin glanced past the policeman to the two men dressed in grey suits standing in his foyer. One was young with an intelligent expression whilst the other was a tough looking older man whose face spoke of rugged times. Behind them he could see another man who he guessed to be in his early forties. He looked worried, not like a police or government officer.

Outraged as he was, Arrowsmith was not about to involve his name in any public scandal. He had done all that was asked of him and handing over Ilsa was of no great concern. ‘Ilsa is a guest in this house, Sergeant,’ he said. ‘But if you have the authority to take her with you then I will not stand in your way.’

‘I thank you for your cooperation, sir, and apologise for disturbing you at this hour of the morning. Now if you could fetch the young lady we will let you all get back to bed.’

Quentin led the men upstairs to a bedroom, opened the door and turned on the light. Ilsa stirred under the blankets, then sat up and blinked at the fuzzy picture slowly focusing before her. The first face she saw was that of her father. ‘Papa!’ she cried out as Gerhardt swept her up in his arms. ‘Mama said that you had gone back to Germany and that I would never see you again.’

By his daughter’s innocent words Gerhardt knew that Papua had been a trap. ‘I would never leave you, my little love,’ he said with tears in his eyes. ‘You and I are going to America with these nice men. You will get to meet Shirley Temple and all the other movie stars.’

‘Where is Frau Stahl?’ Jacob asked Arrowsmith outside the bedroom.

Quentin did not ask the young American to identify himself and would be glad when they were all gone from his house. But his reply was prompt. ‘Mrs Stahl is currently at the hospital with my wife. And I would suggest that you don’t go bothering either one of them at the moment as my wife has gone into labour.’

Jacob frowned at the aristocratic looking Australian. ‘Thank you for your help, Mr Arrowsmith,’ he replied and turned his back on the man in disgust.

When they left the Arrowsmith mansion Gerhardt suddenly remembered his letter to Papua. Now that he was safe with the Americans and had Ilsa back, there had been no need to send it. But what would happen when Erika’s brother received the letter and read its contents? He reassured himself it would not matter as he and Ilsa would be well and truly on their way across the Pacific Ocean to their new home in the United States of America. Even if this Jack Kelly – if he was still alive after all these years – did learn that he was the real father of Ilsa, there was little he could do.