“This is good. Want some Steve?”
“Thanks. Yes.” Stephen took the can
and drank a mouthful, then handed it back. Roger drained the last few drops and
felt a pleasant glow inside.
After a few minutes they set off
again, the empty cans crushed and placed in basic pouches. It was a long
downhill slope through open farmland for the next kilometre. As they trudged
along Roger looked out over the rolling country. On the next rise was another
dark belt of rainforest, the Lake Eacham National Park. In the middle distance
the bulk of Mt Quincan, and the Seven Sisters, a line of ancient volcanic
scoria cones, stood in a line across their front. In the far distance a low
lava dome topped by a microwave tower marked the site of Atherton, largest town
on the Tablelands. Beyond it, barring the western
horizon,
was a line of jumbled and rugged mountains, the Herberton Range.
‘One of them is Mt Baldy,’ Roger
thought. He could not identify exactly which mountain peak it was but it
cheered him up to be walking directly towards it as he was sure that was the
end of the hike.
Near the bottom of the hill Roger
remembered his packet of jelly beans. He put a hand into his damp pocket and
fumbled around until he extracted two. They were all sticky but he didn’t care.
He glanced at them.
‘Just my luck - two black ones!’
Then it was uphill for nearly a
kilometre. They were now marching straight into the afternoon sun and the
stench of diesel fumes from several big trucks made him feel a bit queasy.
At length they reached the road
junction on the crest and got glimpses of sunlight glittering on water off to
their right. It was another arm of Lake Tinaroo. The boys halted for a minute
for a drink.
“We’ve come a fair way,” Peter
said, indicating the lake. They all looked out and in the middle distance to
the north was the dark mass of Python Ridge and beyond it, blue with distance,
the mass of the Lamb Range. They couldn’t see the actual town or dam at Tinaroo
but could work out where it was. Roger was amazed at how far it did look and
felt a sudden surge of accomplishment.
“Let’s go,” Graham said. “Still five
or six kilometres to go and it’s nearly four O’clock.”
Roger lumbered into painful
motion. Now he didn’t care how much it hurt. ‘I’m going to walk this if it
kills me!’ he told himself.
The sun was now low in the west,
just above the mountains beyond Atherton. Roger was up with the others but the
effort had cost him and he knew he was near the end of his strength. At ten past
five the four sweat-soaked boys rounded the bend on the edge of the small town
of Yungaburra.
As they walked past the State
School Peter asked: “Where will we go? Will we wait here for the police?”
“Let’s go to the shop,” Graham
suggested.
“The Inspector said to wait
beside the road,” Stephen reminded.
“What’s the difference? It’s not
a very big town. The cops will find us,” Graham replied.
“Where are we sleeping?” Roger
asked. He felt so tired he just wanted to lie down.
“There’s a Caravan Park down by the
lake,” Stephen said.
“That will do. Oh! Here
come
the police,” Roger replied.
The Police Landcruiser turned
into view from a side-street. Sergeant Grey was driving. He pulled up and
grinned at them.
“Right on time.
Did you walk all that
way?” He looked at Roger.
Roger nodded, too tired to speak.
Sergeant Grey nodded approval.
“Bloody well done young Roger.
Chuck your gear in the back.
Some of you will have to get in there. Just pretend you’re a bunch of crims.
You look like a mob of ne’er do wells anyway.”
Roger took off his gear with a
sigh of relief and climbed into the rear of the vehicle. Stephen hopped in the
cab. Sergeant Grey started up and did a U-turn.
Stephen took off his glasses to
polish them. “Where we going Sarge?” he asked.
“Dorkoffsky’s place.”
Graham leaned forward. “We need
to find somewhere to camp for the night,” he said.
“You can doss down there, or, if
the Inspector doesn’t like that, at the station.”
“Can we have a hot shower?” Peter
asked.
“Sure. We’ve done our search in
the house. We are searching the garage and garden shed now.”
“Doesn’t anyone else live there?”
Stephen asked.
“Apparently
not.
It’s a
four bedroom house, almost new. Dorkoffsky lived
on his own,
only moved into it a few weeks ago.”
A couple of minutes later they pulled
up in the drive-way beside a modern house down near the edge of the lake. The
house was built on a slope so that the front door was also the entrance to the
upper level of the two story building. Roger climbed out and stretched. He had
stiffened up and could hardly walk. Even so he was struck by the beauty of the
setting. The back lawn ran down to the lake, which was like a mirror. The
afternoon sun lit up rainforest on a hill across the water. A line of ducks
sent a ripple of Vs in their wake.
The detectives were searching a
shed at the back of the house. Inspector Sharpe was there. He looked up and
gave a wave but went on probing a garden bed.
Sergeant Grey spoke to them,
“Grab your gear and dump it in this room.”
He led the way down past the side
of the house and around to the back of the house. Here there was a concrete
patio. A sliding glass door opened into a bedroom. The room was carpeted and
the bed made but was otherwise bare. The lights were already on and it was all
so clean and civilised Roger hesitated to walk in while wearing his muddy boots
and filthy clothes. He dropped his gear on the patio and so did the others,
before following Sergeant Grey in.
Sergeant Grey pointed. “There’s a
shower just there. Keep yourselves in this area for the moment except to use
the phone. The Inspector wants you to call your captain and also your parents.
But he doesn’t want you to say much. Just tell them you are OK and safe then
give the phone to me. So far the news media haven’t got wind of any of this and
the Inspector wants it kept quiet for the moment.”
“Why’s that Sir?” Graham asked.
“I’d rather not say.”
Stephen frowned. “Are there more
of them and he wants to catch them too?” he suggested.
“He has his reasons. Now, who’s
first on the phone?”
Graham put his hand up. “I’d
better call Captain Conkey first.”
Sergeant Grey led him through an
internal door and up a flight of stairs. This led to the lounge, dining room
and kitchen which were level with the front lawn.
Roger turned to the others. “I’m
first in the shower.”
Peter wrinkled his nose. “Good
idea.”
Roger flushed, unsure just how
badly he smelt. He went out onto the patio and dug into his pack for his soap,
towel and clean underwear. The first thing he saw when he opened the top was
the black jacket he’d found. He pulled it out and looked around for the
Inspector. None of the police were in sight. He shrugged and put it down and
kept unpacking. His muscles hurt so much he could hardly bend his legs.
He also extracted his other uniform and looked at it. It was already dirty from
two days walking. ‘I’ll have to wear it,’ he thought unhappily, knowing he had
nothing else. With a sigh of relief he sat on the concrete and began to unlace
his boots.
Stephen came out and began to
rummage in his pack. “There’s a washing machine and tumble dryer in the next
room. I’m going to wash my uniforms,” he said.
“Do you think we should?”
“Why not?
The police want us here, so it’s
only fair,” Stephen replied.
Roger decided he would definitely
wash both uniforms. He had a spare T-shirt and could wear his first pair of
trousers. Taking his clothes and toilet gear Roger went through to the
bathroom. Peter had gone upstairs to the phone. It was all very modern and clean
and made Roger feel even dirtier. The tiles felt smooth and cold under his bare
feet.
Roger quickly undressed and was
appalled at what he saw in the mirror. His whole body seemed to be blotches of
red and black on white where chafing and bruises had marked him. He felt
utterly exhausted and his legs trembled.
Quickly he adjusted the
temperature in the shower and stepped in.
Oh! Bliss!
Aaah! It hurt!
First the water and then the soap
stung his chafing and scratches. Then the stinging tree bite began to throb.
Tears came to Roger’s eyes but he persevered and soaped himself. Slowly the
sharpness went out of the pain and he seemed to itch all over. He washed the
soap off then saw some shampoo on a shelf. For a moment he hesitated and then
picked up the bottle.
As he was lathering his hair
there was a knock at the door. Peter called, “Roger, do you want a hamburger or
fish and chips? Constable Widmark is going to the shop to buy tea for the
police.”
“Two hamburgers
please.”
A few minutes later Roger had
towelled himself dry, dressed in T-shirt and trousers, combed his hair and
cleaned his fingernails and teeth. His whole body seemed to smart and glow but
he felt much better.
Stephen knocked. “Can I come in?”
“Sure. I’m finished.” Roger
replied. He gathered his belongings and went to the laundry.
Here he began tossing things into
the washing machine, carefully emptying the pockets as he did. It was a chore
he did at home and his mother had trained him well. He fished his plastic map
case out of the trouser pocket and at once saw the signal in German.
‘Cripes. I’d better get this to
the Inspector in case it’s important,’ he muttered. He shoved it into his
waistband, turned the washing machine on and went to get the jacket. On going outside
he was surprised to find it was now quite dark and that it was already getting
quite cold. He picked up the jacket, closed the sliding door, and went
upstairs. Here he found himself in a very pleasant lounge room; polished floor
with rugs, leather settees and armchairs, sound equipment, TV and a bookshelf
which had been emptied, its contents stacked against the wall.
Inspector Sharpe, the other
detectives, plus Sergeant Grey and Peter and Stephen were there. Graham was in
the shower. Stephen was on the phone and as Roger came in he handed it to
Sergeant Grey. Inspector Sharpe was seated talking to Det Sgt Crowe.
Roger hesitated, unsure whether he should be overhearing any of it.
Inspector Sharpe looked up. “Yes
Roger? What is it?”
“Excuse me Sir. After you
left I found this jacket, and this message was in the pocket.” He held
them up.
Inspector Sharpe took the jacket
and looked at it while Roger described where he had found it. DS Crowe pointed
to the black metal badge with the silver ‘pip’ and silver edging.
“Untersturmfuhrer,” he said.
“Yes. Where’s that info sheet on
the Iron Claw? What else have you got there Roger?”
“This message
Sir.
It
appears to be in German.”
“That’s a bloody lot of good!”
snorted Inspector Sharpe, taking the message. He looked at it, grunted
and passed it to DS Crowe. “Anyone speak German? What about you kids? Do you
learn it at school?” he asked as he looked at the Code Book and rough copy.
Stephen nodded and answered, “I
do, and so does Graham, but we’ve already looked at it. It’s a bit beyond us.
Maybe if we had a dictionary.”
Peter sat up.
“Might
be one among those books.”
He went over to the bookshelf. Roger went to
help him.
As he knelt he and cried out in pain.
“Ow!
Ow! Aaah! Oooh! Cramp!” he moaned. He rolled on the carpet clutching his right
leg. As always with a cramp the pain was so intense and sudden that it quite
shocked him. Stephen pummelled it for a couple of minutes and the pain slowly
subsided.
Peter pulled a book from the
stack and held it up. “Here we are. A German-English Dictionary,” he said.
Stephen bent and picked up
another book. “Look, here’s a ‘History of Kosaria’.”
While still lying on the floor
massaging his leg, Roger looked. It was only a small book. On the black cover
was a white eagle with a crown on its head being blasted in two by a yellow
lightning bolt coming from a red
star.
Stephen flicked through the
pages. “It’s in English,” he said.
“Here’s Widmark with the food,”
Inspector Sharpe said. “Here, you kids have a go at translating this for us.”
He passed the message to Roger, who sat up.
Stephen picked up the dictionary.
“Let me help,” he said.
“Have a bath first.”
“Yeah.
OK. You phoned your Mum yet,
Roger?”