Roger sat up and rubbed sleep
from his eyes. It was still pitch dark; no moon and no wind. He assured Graham
he was awake, then had a drink and rubbed his eyes with wet fingers to help
freshen up. Groaning softly at his sore muscles he got out of his sleeping bag
and stood up. It was just cold enough to need a jacket so he extracted this
from his pack and pulled it on.
Then he stood for a while flexing
his legs. Graham fidgeted for a while as he made himself comfortable and then
almost complete silence settled. Roger listened in wonder. Even the usual small
night noises: crickets, lizards, frogs and so on, seemed absent.
Once again he had the impression
of being very isolated and the knowledge of the men in black less than half a
kilometre away added to a deep feeling of concern. (He refused to concede it
was fear.) One consequence was a continual shifting of position to look and
listen in different directions.
As he stood there Roger went over
in his mind the events of the last two days. He also gently rubbed his chafed
skin and sore muscles. Not knowing who the men were or what they were searching
for now nagged at Roger’s mind as insistently as his bodily aches.
So they were Kosarians. Well,
maybe not, but Boris Krapinski was a Kosarian. That idea led to the presumption
that they were the murderers. Roger was sure they were but uneasily recognised
this feeling of certainty was not based on real proof and he was, possibly,
being unjust.
‘But the guns, the black clothing, the odd
behaviour and the police interest?
It all looks very suspicious,’ he
thought. ‘And who, or what, were the KSS?’
Roger had a wrist watch with a
small light in it. He checked the time. 0145. ‘It’s going to be a long night,’
he mused. He sat down to massage his thigh and calf muscles, then had another
drink.
So the two hours of his duty
slowly
passed,
the thoughts and fears going round and
round in his head. Nothing disturbed the night and the other three slept on,
stirring from time to time to change position. Roger became bored and tiredness
began to drag his eyelids down. Aware that he was in danger of nodding off he
shook himself and washed his face. Then he stood up again to stop dozing off.
At last 0300 came round. Roger
walked carefully the five paces to where Peter slept. As he did his boots
crunched on the dry leaves and Graham stirred and looked up. Roger shook Peter
awake and waited until he assured him he was ready and wouldn’t go back to
sleep.
“Anything happen?” Peter asked.
“Not a thing. Don’t forget to
wake Stephen at five o’clock,” Roger replied.
“Don’t worry about that,” Peter
replied with a soft laugh.
Roger groped his way back to his
bedding and thankfully slid into his sleeping bag. He was asleep in
minutes.
Roger was so tired that he slept
soundly for the next three hours with only an occasional movement to ease his
discomfort.
He was shaken awake by Peter.
With an effort he opened his eyes and rolled onto his back. It was still
dark.
“What is it?” he asked, dimly aware
that Graham and Stephen were awake too.
Peter answered. “Six o’clock.
Time to get up.”
“But it’s still dark!”
Graham spoke. “Tough! Up you get
Roger. Roll up your bedding straight away and get ready to move.”
“Will we have breakfast first?”
Roger asked.
“Yes, as soon as everything else
is packed.”
“What will we do then, go back to
the Forestry Barracks?”
“No. Push on till we come to a
farm house.”
Roger squirmed out of his
sleeping bag and rubbed his eyes. By feel he straightened out the bedding on the
groundsheet,
then
rolled it up, kneeling on it after
each roll while he dusted off dirt and leaves which clung to the plastic. The
bedroll was strapped into the bottom of his pack within a couple of minutes.
This was a drill they often did on cadet exercises so he had no difficulty with
it. Then he stood and stretched.
At once all his aches and pains
returned and he became aware his left hand was throbbing from the stinging
tree. He didn’t feel at all like a forced march carrying a pack. After going to
the toilet he washed his hands and instantly regretted it. The water activated
the poison barbs of the stinging tree which were now embedded in his flesh and
they stung!
As waves of pain shot up his arm
he moaned and muttered and fluttered his hand in the air. It was just starting
to get light and he could see the shapes of the others.
“You OK Roger?”
Stephen asked.
“Yeah.
Just that bloody stinging tree.”
The others were sympathetic but
there was nothing they could do to help. Roger sat on his pack and held the
sore hand as the pain slowly subsided. Graham removed a boot, powdered his foot
and placed on a clean sock.
“Phew! What a pong!” Peter
chided.
“Washing day if we pass a creek,”
Graham replied. He sniffed at his shirt. Roger noted that his own sweat soaked
uniform had a definite reek to it.
After seating himself on his pack
Roger took out his stove and a tin of steak and kidney. It was still quite
gloomy so the flare of the match and the flicker of flames cheered him up. The
smell of sulphur and then of hexamine made him instantly feel hungry and happy.
‘Things aren’t so bad after all,’ he thought. In fact, apart from his sore hand
and a few scratches, aches and pains, he felt OK.
As he opened the can and emptied
it into a mess tin they discussed the events of the previous afternoon and
night. This re-awakened Roger’s interest.
“I’m just bursting to know what
those blokes are looking for,” he said.
“Is that what it is? I just
thought you ate too much,” Stephen replied. He looked tired and grumpy.
The jibe hurt but Roger ignored
it. “I wonder if they’ve dug the treasure up yet. Do you think we should go and
look? I thought two of us could stay and watch while the other two went to
phone the police,” he suggested.
Graham looked up from his
cooking. “Fair go Rog. You took an awful risk yesterday. Besides we’ve got our
hike to get on with. Don’t you want to do that?”
“Not particularly,” Roger
replied.
Stephen looked up from his
cooking. “Then why the bloody hell did you come with us? You’ve been a
bloody drag right from the start, moaning and dropping behind. You’re too
bloody fat and unfit and ...”
Graham cut in. “That’ll do Steve.
Let’s not fight among ourselves, and keep your voice down or those blokes might
hear us,” he said.
“Bugger them!” Stephen snapped back.
“I don’t care about them. They won’t bother us if we mind our own business.”
“We shall, once we contact the
police. That will be the end of it,” Graham replied.
Peter stopped drinking coffee and
spoke up for the first time. “Should we phone the OC at the same time? He told
us to keep out of trouble remember.”
Graham shook his head. “No. I
don’t think so. We haven’t been in trouble yet. We’ve just been delayed,” he
replied.
It was fully light by this and a brightness
through the leaves to the east heralded the sunrise. A kookaburra woke
the echoes with its laugh. Then cockatoos began screeching down the ridge.
Roger had just placed a mess tin of water on his stove and picked up the other
mess tin to start to eat. He paused, spoon half way to his mouth.
“Hear those cockatoos? I’ll bet
those men have just woken up.”
“If they’re still there,” Stephen
said.
“We didn’t hear them leave,”
Peter said. In the distance there was the sound of a sharp but unmistakable ‘crack’.
“Gunshot!”
Graham said.
They listened for a moment. The
screeching of the cockatoos grew louder, then rose and fell indicating the
birds had taken flight. Then the awful racket receded as the birds flew away
southwards.
“One of those blokes took a pot
shot at the cockatoos I reckon,” Peter said.
Roger was indignant. “But it’s
against the law to shoot in a State Forest. And cockatoos are ‘protected’,”
Roger said indignantly.
Graham gave a dry laugh. “So are
men. I reckon if you’ve murdered a bloke, you wouldn’t be too worried about
shooting a few birds.”
Stephen pushed his glasses up and
looked up. “Give it a break Graham! You’re as bad as Roger. We don’t know those
blokes are murderers. We’ve no proof. They might be just pinching
orchids,” he suggested.
Peter laughed softly. “Orchids
grow in trees Steve. Why are they digging that hole?”
Stephen didn’t answer. The
conversation lapsed while they finished their breakfast. Graham kept looking at
his watch and Roger knew he was going to start urging them to move. He wiped
his mess tins and packed them and the stove. Then he stood and cleaned his
teeth. While the others shaved Roger put a layer of polish on his boots. Then
he turned his back on the others and unbuttoned his shirt and the waistband of
his trousers. For the next two minutes he searched himself for ticks and
leeches. He was appalled at all the bruises and chafing he found but there were
no ticks.
After that he combed his hair and
gave his face a rinse. Taking care, he wiped a smear of tick repellent around
the openings in his clothing. Then he was ready to go. The others soon finished
their packing. Graham checked his watch again. “Nearly seven o’clock.
Everyone ready?
Then let’s move.”
Reluctantly Roger swung on his
webbing and pack, causing the stinging to start in his hand again. The friends
stood for a minute adjusting their gear and settling it comfortably. Stephen
bent and picked up his hat.
“Aaargh!” he cried, throwing the
hat down.
The others turned in surprise.
“A spider!”
Stephen said.
“A
bloody great spider in my hat.”
“Spider!”
Roger snorted. He was closest so
he bent and picked the hat up and looked inside it. Then he turned it over. If
there had been one he couldn’t see it. “It’s gone now,” he said, handing the
hat to Stephen. The incident gave him malicious pleasure, which he instantly
regretted.
Graham gave a wry smile then
turned and started walking.
Graham began walking and they
followed him. He went back the way they had come up the previous afternoon,
walking along the old road then turning off to go down the slope through the
rainforest.
Half way down the hill the sound
of a motor starting up made
them
stop.
“Is that them?
Or
just a car on the road?”
Peter asked.
Roger listened, then cried, “Them
for sure. Come on! Let’s get down closer to the road so we can
see.” He started walking around Stephen.
“They’re on the move early,”
Stephen commented.
“They must have dug up the
treasure and are getting away, quick!” Roger replied. He tried to run but kept
getting snagged by trees and vines. Then his right foot caught and he almost
tripped, only saving himself by clutching at a vine. The result was that he
stumbled and cannoned into a tree, bruising his right shoulder. The
others came pushing down through the jungle behind him.
Graham called, “Slow down Roger,
you’ll break something.”
But Roger didn’t. ‘I have to
know,’ he told himself. Regardless of bumps and scratches he went on blundering
down the slope. He heard the engine noise change, then die away, then increase
in volume, then die and rise several more times. It was the 4WD and it was on
the move. He began to get glimpses of the road below him but he was too far
from the turnoff to see that. ‘If the vehicle goes back towards Danbulla we
won’t see it,’ he thought.
When Roger was only about twenty
paces from the road, the engine noise abruptly grew in volume and the vehicle
came into view around the bend to his right. Roger stopped behind a tree
and watched. He could just see through gaps in the jungle.
It was the men in black alright.
Roger saw the hawk-faced old man sitting in the passenger seat as the 4WD went
past. It was followed almost at once by the black car with the blond haired man
driving. Bruno sat beside him. The men were still all dressed in black. The men
in the vehicles did not look up into the rainforest and both vehicles quickly
vanished from sight heading downhill to the east.
“They’ve got away!” Roger wailed.
“Doesn’t
matter.
The
cops will pick them up,” Graham replied.
“They might not,” Peter
suggested. “They could go down the Gillies Highway and be in Cairns in less
than two hours. They could go the International Airport and fly out of the
country in three hours - say by ten o’clock. We’d be hard pressed to reach a
phone before then.”