Uncommon Enemy (16 page)

The following morning Stuart rose early. He had arranged to meet Prof. Sterling later in the morning but was motivated by a need to revisit the familiar university grounds and try and come to terms with the previous day’s events. Consequently he caught an early bus that linked him with the 6.30 ferry. In a quick discussion over breakfast Carol had agreed to meet him at lunchtime in Albert Park. She had no idea if Hamish would try to contact her but they decided that the wisest course of action would be to go to work as usual.

No mention of the meeting or the brutal police response was contained in the radio news or in the New Order Herald the following morning. Clearly the authorities had decided to either ignore the event or bide their time before releasing the details with an appropriate interpretation.

Queen St was slowly filling with the usual assortment of citizens making their way to work but due to the relatively early hour few people were about as he entered the university grounds by a path at the edge of the clock tower. Walking towards the back of the Old Choral Hall he looked round for any sign of movement. Satisfied that he was alone he walked over to the bushes where, the day before, he had thrust his blazer. It was still there and, although rather crumpled, appeared none the worse for wear.

Brushing it down he put it on and headed towards the centre of the complex. He stopped short. The length of the old barracks wall was covered in sheets of plywood to which had been attached large notices. He moved closer to the western end of the wall and began to read. 

Stuart looked down the line. Each of the notice boards bore an identical message. He was just about to turn away when he noticed something different on several of the notices near the far end of the wall. He moved closer. The top right hand corner of each one bore a large inked stamp. It featured a cartoon of a semi naked man draped across a swastika in a pose analogous to a crucifixion. Underneath was written:

Citizens! The choice is yours! Stop the oppression! Join Fightback!

Stuart gazed at the stamp in wonderment. Clearly there was some sort of resistance movement at work – a movement that must have known when the posters would be put up so that they could quickly move in during the night with their stamp. As he stood staring at the image he heard a footfall behind him. He turned quickly to face a young man whose face he had seen around the university.

“Here!” said the man and thrust a pamphlet into Stuart’s hand. “We will be in contact!”

Stuart looked down at the pamphlet that appeared to have been hurriedly typed and produced on a Gestetner-type machine. When he looked up again the young man had gone. He stood there for a few moments trying to work out the implications of the poster, the young man, and the pamphlet that he had hastily thrust into his pocket for later inspection.

Suddenly he remembered what the poster had said about senior staff being taken into custody. Professor Sterling was ‘senior staff ’. He turned and walked rapidly towards the History Department. Letting himself in with his key he dropped his Gladstone bag inside his small office and strode along the corridor to his mentor’s door. It was locked. “Still early,” he thought and walked back to his office. Picking up the phone he dialled the professor’s home number. The phone rang repeatedly and he was about to hang up when a familiar female voice answered hesitantly.

“Yes?”

“Hullo, Susan,” responded Stuart. “It’s Stuart. Is the professor at home?”

There was a brief silence before the voice replied, “No, Stuart, he’s not here. I was visiting him last night,” her voice faltered, “when some men came and took him away.”

Stuart felt his stomach tighten. “Some men?”

“Yes, three in dark suits, overcoats and black ties. Two of them were German and the one who did most of the talking was
a New Zealander. They said Uncle David was wanted for questioning. They were very polite but very firm. He was told he wouldn’t need anything as he would be released as soon as he had answered their questions.”

“Where did they take him?”

“I’ve no idea. Oh, Stuart, I’m so worried. I don’t know what to do or who to talk to.”

“Nobody does these days,” he replied, almost as an aside. “Now look, Susan, the professor’s a wily old fellow. I’m sure he’ll bamboozle them with his answers and they’ll soon let him go.”

“Yes, I suppose so. But I’m not sure what to do in the meantime.”

“Look, why don’t you come into varsity. I’m phoning from my office. Meet me here. In the meantime I’ll make a few inquiries and we’ll try to sort out some plan of action.”

“What say Uncle David turns up here?”

“Leave a note to phone you at my office.”

“OK. If you’re sure that’s what I should do.”

“Yes I am. You’ll only fret if you stay there by yourself. See you soon.”

Stuart replaced the hand piece on the hook wishing he felt as confident as he had tried to sound. He sighed heavily. For Susan’s sake he’d tried to be positive but in reality he had no idea what would happen to Sterling or his other colleagues for that matter.

Suddenly he remembered the pamphlet. He got up, locked the door and removed it from his pocket. On the front page was the twisted body on the swastika. Underneath was the slogan “Join the Fightback!”

The inside page contained details of all the negative aspects of the New Order and an exhortation for readers not to be taken in by the propaganda that was increasingly filling the newspapers, billboards and airwaves. None of this was particularly new to Stuart but he felt elated that somebody was writing ideas that had been developing in his mind over the past few months. Clearly there was a group who was prepared to resist the edicts of the conquerors and not succumb to blandishments and hollow promises of peace and prosperity. The final page was of particular interest. Headed, “What Now?” it offered a number of alternatives for action. These ranged from slogans that could be painted onto walls, simple acts of sabotage for those working in armaments factories, the writing and printing of anti-government pamphlets, or the joining of armed partisan groups. They all seemed feasible except the last one. There had been no indication that groups were engaged in any form of armed resistance. And even if they were, who were they and how could they be contacted? Or was the poster, in fact, simply a ploy to flush out citizens who were disloyal to the New Order? His mind in turmoil, he sat slumped in his chair going over and over both his personal and the political situations, trying to find some logic and formulate some plan of action. A loud knock on the door startled him. Quickly stuffing the pamphlet into his pocket, he sat upright. The sound of a clock striking 10.30 made him realize that he’d been sitting there for some time.

“Who is it?” he asked softly.

“Me, you bloody idiot.”

Rising immediately he unlocked the door. Brendan stood staring quizzically at him.

“Locking the door now, are we?” he asked as he entered and sat down. “Planning some subversive activity, perhaps?” When Stuart made no reply he frowned. “You don’t look too happy, chum. I came to ask you about those bloody great notices on the old barracks wall. Have you seen them?”

Stuart nodded.

“So what’s it all about? Do you know?”

Remembering that Brendan, had been off with the flu for the previous three days, Stuart began to describe in detail what had occurred in the quad. When he reached the part where Cox was shot Brendan turned pale. He was about to speak but Stuart held up his hand and continued his story by describing the encounter with the Waffen SS pair on the motorcycle and the news of Professor Sterling’s arrest. When he’d finished he leaned back in his chair and stared at his friend.

“Christ. Here, have one of these.” He proffered a packet of Capstan and scraped a match along the edge of the Beehive matchbox. After his first draw Stuart said, “There’s one more thing.”

“What?”

“Lock the door again.”

Brendan rose, locked the door and returned to his seat. Stuart pulled the pamphlet from his pocket and held it in his hand.

“While I was looking at the notices early this morning a chap came up to me, spoke a few words, thrust this into my hand and then disappeared. Read it and you’ll see why I’ve locked the door.”

Brendan took the pamphlet and read it through. Ejecting a thin stream of smoke as he handed it back.

“What do you think?” asked Stuart.

“Glad some bastards are doing something. But who are these people?”

“No idea. But what I do know is that I can’t stand idly by while the authorities arrest and kill varsity staff and students. If we or any of the other university colleges capitulate then all the principles of democracy and free speech will rapidly disappear from our country.”

“Yeah. Fine words, but the big question is, where do we go from here?”

“Not sure, but I get the impression that the fellow who contacted me may want to get in touch again. In the meantime, we
need to discuss our options.”

“Could be a trap of course. But assuming it’s kosher, well, we’re both pretty good with words, thanks to the efforts of this illustrious institution – your written English is better than mine, and my German’s fluent, particularly after all that wartime research. That means that we could assist a group such as Fightback with their pamphlets and anti-government propaganda.”

“May not be enough. What say they need men to undertake acts of sabotage, shooting Germans, that sort of thing?”

“No reason why we can’t do both.” He sighed and ran his fingers through his untidy hair. “However I’m not prepared to start trying to shoot Germans without----.”

A soft knock on the door interrupted him. Quickly Stuart scooped the pamphlet up from the table, thrust it into his pocket and began to cautiously open the door. He was thrust back as Susan stumbled forward and fell trembling into his arms.

“It’s OK, Susan. You’re safe here.”

She continued trembling and breathing deeply, trying to get a grip on herself. Gradually her shaking subsided and she stepped back. Her face was flushed and she’d clearly been crying. She looked up at Stuart and then caught sight of Brendan.

“Oh, sorry. Didn’t see you there.”

Brendan smiled sympathetically. “That’s OK. Had a rough time?”

“Susan, meet Brendan. Susan is Professor Sterling’s niece, the one I was telling you about.” He looked at her. “Sit down here, Susan and we’ll make you a cup of tea. You look as if you could use one.”

“It’s got worse, Stuart,” she said as she sat down heavily. “Just after you phoned a car pulled up. There was a loud knock at the door and when I opened it there were two men in long coats, hats and black ties.”

“The Security Police?”

She nodded as she made an effort to control herself. “They were holding Uncle David between them. He could barely stand. His tie was missing, his face was puffed up and he was groaning. They walked straight past me, into the lounge and dropped him into a chair. Then they turned and said, ‘He wasn’t very cooperative. We may have to pay him another visit.’ Then they left, slamming the door behind them.”

“Jesus,” muttered Brendan. “What did you do then?”

“I rang Dr Rawlings. He came straight away and did a complete inspection. He told us that the upper part of Uncle David’s body was covered in bruises, that he had several cracked or broken ribs. He gave him some form of sedative and I left him asleep. I then phoned a couple of neighbourhood women who are around there now. There wasn’t anything else I could do and I was worried about using the phone, so I decided to come straight here. Not sure why but,” she glanced uncertainly at both young men, “perhaps we should check his office just in case there’s any documents that they could use against him.”

“Huh, probably everything in there could be used against him if they wanted to,” said Brendan.

“Yes,” replied Stuart, “but it’s worth checking just in case there’s anything really incriminating.” He looked at the other two. “Brendan, you stay here and make Susan a cup of tea while I take a look around the professor’s study. Most of his material would have been related to the wartime research project.”

“Best to get rid of it. And any of your own stuff for that matter.”

“Yes. I’ve got a key. I’ll do it now.”

Fortunately Sterling was a very methodical man. As a priority Stuart identified all material that had been translated from intercepted wartime German messages on the basis that in the twisted environment in which they all now operated, such activities, even in retrospect, could be categorized as spying. Not wishing to give the impression that all documentation had been removed, he left a number of the professor’s speculative reports intact as well as all the pre-war files relating to university activities. He then returned to his office, where Susan and Brendan were talking earnestly. Locking the door he handed the Fightback pamphlet to Susan and, gulping down a cup of tea, he set about removing some of his own files that could be termed incriminating, particularly the German translations supplied by Brendan.