“But what?”
“The Thigh Bone
of St Joris?”
Graham answered.
“The gold.”
Stephen said.
Peter shook his head. “No.
The Crown Jewels.
You need a crown to have a coronation,” he
stated emphatically.
“Stop!”
Inspector Sharpe said. “We are
starting to go round in circles. It’s nearly midnight. Let’s finish picking
this message to pieces. Read the whole thing again Stephen.”
Stephen did so.
Inspector Sharpe then said: “OK,
this Operation Return is timed for the nineteenth. That is in two days time.
Tomorrow is the eighteenth. In fact it’s nearly tomorrow now. So we don’t have
much time.”
“That ties in with this bit where
it says the KSS must find the Royal Guard HQ within thirty six hours,” Stephen
suggested.
“It could. Let’s see. Thirty six
hours from eight O’clock this morning is....”
“Twenty hundred hours tomorrow,”
Peter replied.
“Only twenty hours! Bloody hell!
Now, who is this Red Eagle who is still following his travel plan?”
DS Crowe spoke first. “Red-
Communist colour.
The Kosarian Deputy Premier?”
“Could be.
I suppose they would keep close
tabs on their enemy’s movements. Now, the KSS have been ordered to watch this
meeting, then follow the White Falcon. If there are more KSS we could well end
up bumping into them when we try to put those road junctions under
surveillance,” Inspector Sharpe said.
Stephen laughed. “It will be like
‘Spy versus Spy’!”
DS Crowe gave him a sour look. “Yes.
It is a real worry. These characters obviously mean business. It certainly
complicates things.”
“It certainly does,” Inspector
Sharpe agreed. “We don’t want any gun play. Also, this Major Gostyxz is coming
to help the local KSS lads. He lands at Mareeba airport tomorrow at four pm. He
is to be met and they are to have the answer or...”
“Or what sir?”
Roger asked.
“Or bloody else
Roger.
It is
a threat. And I think these chaps back up their threats,” Inspector Sharpe
said. He made a ‘pistol’ of his fingers and pretended to shoot it and blow
smoke from the barrel. Roger felt his hair stand on end and a wave of goose
bumps swept up his back. Krapinski’s shattered skull with the hair all......!
DS Crowe gave a mirthless
grinned. “He will be easy to deal with anyway,” he said. “We will certainly
make sure he is met at the airport.”
Roger shivered. He would hate to
be ‘met’ by DS Crowe. “I didn’t know airlines flew into Mareeba,” he said.
“They don’t. He has either
chartered a light plane or the KSS own one,” Crowe replied.
“What will we do now sir?” Graham
asked.
“I’ve got to get on the phone and
start wheels turning. There is nothing more you lads can do. I suggest you go
to bed.”
Roger looked at the clock. Five
past midnight. Suddenly he yawned. That set all the others going. The
excitement ebbed away and his mind seemed to shut down as though a battery had
gone flat. He realized he was very tired.
As he went to stand up Roger
found that all of his muscles had tightened up. He cried out in pain, then used
his arms to lever himself to his feet. He groaned.
Peter laughed. “Come on Grandad!”
he said.
“Coming Graham?
Steve?”
Graham looked up. “We will just
make a neat copy of this message for the Inspector. We won’t be long.”
“OK.”
Roger hobbled to the stairs.
Inspector Sharpe and DS Crowe sat hunched over the map, busily making notes.
Peter went down into the laundry. Roger
followed,
a step
at a time, thankful there was a handrail.
Peter met him at the laundry
door. “Here are your clothes Roger, all clean and fresh.” He dumped a warm
bundle in Roger’s arms.
“Thanks,” Roger said. Clutching
the bundle he turned and hobbled along the corridor. The clean clothes felt
deliciously warm. He turned into their bedroom.
And came to a
standstill.
Outside the glass sliding door a
man was bending over his pack!
The man was middle-aged, with a
solid build. He had a squarish face, tanned skin with many wrinkles in the
neck, short, close-cropped grey hair and grey eyebrows.
At that moment the man looked up
and saw Roger. ‘Brown eyes,’ Roger noted.
Hard, unfriendly
eyes.
The man abruptly straightened up and walked out of sight.
“Hey!” Roger cried. He tossed the
clothes on the bed, walked quickly to the door and wrenched it open. “Hey!
There is a man out here!” he called.
Without thinking Roger stepped
outside. He was just in time to see the man turn the corner of the house. Roger
walked quickly after him.
Away from the light of the room
it was quite dark and only as he reached the corner did Roger realize there was
a heavy fog. He could just make out the shape of a man walking quickly up the
driveway. A streetlight showed as just a dim, golden glow.
Roger started up the driveway,
his aches and pains forgotten.
“Hey you!
Who are you?
Stop!” he called out.
The man reached the street and
turned right. Roger was twenty paces behind. He tried to run but his muscles
began to cramp. When he reached the footpath he looked along the footpath, just
in time to see a ghostly figure pass under the streetlight, to be swallowed up
by the fog.
Only then did Roger hesitate.
Should he chase the man in the fog and darkness? ‘What if the man turns and attacks
me? What if he has a gun?’ he thought. Those thoughts stopped him and he
stood, hopping from foot to foot in indecision. Dimly he was aware of doors
opening and of voices behind him. Then the fear hit him. It seemed to wash over
him as though he had been doused in ice-water.
He turned and saw Peter running
up the driveway. At the front door, silhouetted in the bar of light, were
Graham, Stephen, Inspector Sharpe and DS Crowe.
“What’s going on?” Inspector
Sharpe called as he started across the lawn.
“A man sir.
He was looking through our gear.
He went off that way.”
Peter arrived first and went to
run along the street.
“Hold it young fella!” DS Crowe
snapped as he ran past. With a shock Roger saw that the sergeant had a pistol
in his hand.
So had Inspector Sharpe.
The fear became
solid ice.
“Don’t follow him Crowe!”
Inspector Sharpe ordered. “Describe what
happened
Roger.”
Roger did so, also describing the
man’s face.
“What was he wearing?”
“A Coat Man’s
Field, dark grey long trousers and black rubber-soled shoes.”
“Coat
Mansfield?
What the devil is that?”
“An army field jacket sir, a dark
green coat,” Roger flustered as he tried to explain.
Graham spoke up. “We’ve all got
one sir. I’ll show it to you. It’s just army ‘Q’ Store jargon.
The coat and then the type; for men and for field service.”
“Ah. I see. Yes. Let’s get back
to the house. It’s damned cold out here. Don’t you do that again young Roger!
It was a bloody silly thing to do. You could have met a bullet coming the other
way.”
“Yes sir. I realize that now
sir,” Roger replied. He shivered and peered into the gloom.
DS Crowe slipped his pistol back
into its shoulder holster. “Well, now we know there are more of the bastards
lurking in the area anyway,” he growled.
They went back down the driveway and
Roger showed the policemen where the man had been. By then he was shaking with
fright and the darkness and fog on the back lawn seemed very threatening.
Inspector Sharpe pointed indoors.
“You boys get all your gear inside,” he ordered.
When they had done so he locked
the door and pulled the curtains across. “Now, you are to stay inside. You are
not to leave the house till I say so. Go to bed.”
The two policemen went upstairs.
Graham and Stephen followed to finish rewriting the message. Roger sat on the bed
and trembled.
“You OK mate?”
Peter asked.
“Yeah.
I just got a fright.”
“A good sleep will help.”
“Who gets the bed?”
“You have it. You deserve it
after that effort this afternoon. That was real gutsy,” Peter said.
Roger glowed with pleasure. “What
about you blokes?”
“We will sleep on the floor. It’s
OK with this thick carpet,” Peter assured him.
“Sure?”
“Yes. Don’t argue.”
Roger pushed the clothes off the
bed and lay back with a sigh. He closed his eyes and tried to relax his
trembling muscles. He found his mind spinning with emotions and thoughts and
knew he was over-tired. His mind raced; jumbled thoughts of the KSS and murder
and secret meetings. He also began worrying about intruders sneaking in during
the night.
Peter turned off the light and arranged
his bedding near the glass door. Roger pretended to be asleep but kept opening
an eye to check. He despaired of going to sleep but it claimed him gently. He
did not even hear Graham and Stephen come down, or their grumbling while they
organized their beds.
Roger slept so soundly he hardly
moved all night. When he was woken he could not even remember dreaming. His
muscles felt very stiff but he was only slightly tired, with a small headache
behind his eyes. He saw that Inspector Sharpe had turned the light on and was
shaking Peter. The Inspector was wearing a thick overcoat and looked cold and
tired. Roger rubbed sleep from his eyes and sat up. As he did a groan was
wrenched from him as stiff muscles let their displeasure felt.
“Oouch!
Oooh! Uh! Hello sir. Good
morning.”
“Good morning Roger. Sleep well?”
“Yes sir. Like a log. Did you?”
Inspector Sharpe gave a short
laugh. “Huh! No such luck. I haven’t been to bed yet.”
Roger woke up abruptly as memory
flooded back.
“Sir!
You’ve been out looking for the White
Falcon in his grey Mercedes. Did you find him?”
“Quite right Roger, I have. And
no, we haven’t seen any sign of him.”
The others were awake and
listening by this. Graham asked: “What do you want us to do now sir?”
“I’m going to have breakfast,
then go out again. Are you lads still set on going ahead with your hike?”
Inspector Sharpe asked, turning to look at Roger who was rubbing his calf
muscles. Roger felt put on a spot as the others looked at him too. ‘Could I do
it?’ he wondered. He had made it the previous day when they had marched over
thirty kilometres. They had fifty to go and two days: perhaps twenty five each
day. He set his jaw.
“Yes sir. We do,” he said.
“Good lad. That’s the spirit.”
Stephen spoke up. “Do you think
it is safe sir? That man saw us last night.”
“I’ve been thinking about that.
He may assume you are working with the police but I think it is unlikely he
will see you; and even more unlikely he would bother you. I suspect these KSS
types must be puzzled about what has happened to Dorkoffsky and his scaly
mates; so they’ll be worried and be slithering away under rocks.”
“Can we help sir?” Roger asked.
“Thanks for the offer Roger, but
no. You have been a great help but this is serious police business. You go on
with your hike. Do you know where you go next?”
Graham answered. “Yes sir. Our
last clue directed us to the Curtain Fig Tree.”
Inspector Sharpe nodded. “I’m
going to lock this place up when I leave. Do you think you could be out of here
in half an hour? Say by six thirty?”
“Yes sir. We can eat our
breakfast on the back patio if that’s OK?” Graham answered.
“Fine.
I will see you before I go.”
“I’m going to have a hot shower
then,” Roger said. He got to his feet with a groan.
In reply Stephen sprang up and pushed
Roger. “I’m first! You had the bed,” he cried. Caught by surprise Roger fell
back on the bed. Stephen pointed at him. “Hold him down while I get my soap and
towel,” he ordered.
Graham at once grabbed Roger and
sat on him. “Tickle him Pete.”
Peter joined in. Inspector Sharpe
grinned,
shook his head and left the room. Roger
squirmed and shrieked.
Twenty minutes later he stepped
from the hot shower into a bathroom filled with steam and towelled
himself
dry. He felt much better, almost fresh. He was even
looking forward to the day. Well, almost. Ruefully he examined the blue-black
blotching of bruises. They appeared to encircle his entire mid-section. His
chafing wasn’t too bad he decided, and the blisters had mostly subsided.