Frog Whistle Mine (7 page)

Then he burst out laughing—loud and long.

‘What is it?’ Rose yelled.

‘Water flowing down a small waterfall,’ he called back. ‘There’s nobody here.’

‘Then come back up. It’s scary here by myself.’

‘Yeah, in a minute.’ He wasn’t going back up until he had explored further. The footprints must have led there for some reason.

He found the reason tucked beside a group of old stalagmites poking up through the sand. There were brown bottles of various liquids, some yellow cans, a gas burner,
and flasks in a range of sizes. It was a laboratory of some sort.

He put his hand near the gas burner—it was still hot. It had just been turned off. Around the ground were crystals of uranium ore. Tony guessed it was a laboratory to extract uranium.

When he got back to the top, Rose was plainly pleased to see him. ‘Don’t ever do that again,’ she said quietly. ‘It was horrible being up here and not knowing what was happening to you.’

‘I was OK.’

‘Did you find anything?’

‘Yes,’ he said, smugly.

‘Well? Are you going to tell me?’

‘I found all the equipment used to extract uranium from those crystals.’

‘What? Why would he want to do that?’

‘I don’t know yet. But I bet he’s up to no good.’

They then set off back out of the mine. Nothing more was said, but they sure did a lot of thinking. Tony had no doubts that the ‘he’ was Jamie Duggan, and that he was getting uranium. He was also certain it had something to do with the French. It had to be. Them and the special batch of marshmallows stored under the counter in Duggan’s shop.

Lofty, Rose and Tony went in the ute to Westport to do their Christmas shopping. It was an enjoyable trip for Tony: going from shop to shop looking for the best gift was a new experience. He wasn’t after expensive things, just something which each recipient could use and enjoy. With the small amount of money he had to spend, he hoped everyone had heard the saying about it being the thought that mattered.

The only person he didn’t buy a present for was Rose. He wanted to get her something containing vanilla, and that meant another visit to Duggan’s shop—sometime when she wasn’t with him.

He bought two things for himself: a book and a toy. The toy had dozens of square coloured tiles that could be pressed onto a board to make a pattern. He wanted to make a map of the mine. White tiles would show the main passage. Different coloured tiles would be used for the branches depending on what he knew about them: explored, unexplored, blocked, that sort of thing.

Back at the lodge he spent an hour wrapping and
labelling his gifts. Then, with a happy smile, he arranged them under the Christmas tree in the lounge. Just two more nights and it would be time to hand them out. He could hardly wait.

While waiting for dinner he told Nick about his discovery in the mine, without mentioning any of his suspicions. The geologist became most interested, asking several questions. By the time dinner was served, they had agreed to go to the mine first thing in the morning. Nick would bring his Geiger counter.

Tony went to bed early to read his new book. At just after midnight he turned off the lamp and snuggled down, wondering what creature would be sent to disturb him that night.

He was not left wondering for long.

It was hard to say what had woken him, except it was definitely a noise from outside. He sat up. There it was again—the clink of metal on rock. He pulled the curtain back, and watched and listened. There was nothing to see, but the noise kept on. Maybe he’d see something from another window.

He did: a ghostly blue-white movement in the scrub. As his eyes focused, he made out the shape of a human, except that it had no edges, as if it was formed from the mist. The movement was in time with the sound.

Clink, clink, clink…

Then the object turned and he could see it better: arms were lifting and lowering a tool of some type—a pick perhaps. Yes, that’s what it was—a miner’s pick. And
every time it hit the ground it clinked.

Tony admitted being a bit scared by the rat and the possum; however, this thing frightened him in a different way. The others were easily explained; this was not. In fact, there seemed only one explanation—it was a ghost. The ghost of some ancient miner. Perhaps it was Fred’s grandfather still searching for the rich lead that had eluded him all his living years.

Clink, clink, clink…

The more Tony watched, the calmer he got. This was something special. He was seeing something that few people ever saw in the whole of their lives: a real live ghost—or should that be a real dead ghost?

The clinking got slower and slower, as if the miner was tiring. Then it stopped altogether. A moment later the shape seemed to merge into the ground until it was gone. Tony watched for a while longer, half hoping for something more, but there was nothing, and eventually he went back to his bed.

In the morning, he went once more to the window, lining up things so that he knew just where the ghost had been digging. Next, he left the caravan and went into the scrub to the place he’d identified. There was no rock, or pick, or hole, or anything else that might confirm what he had seen. He searched for some minutes, finding nothing more than a few broken twigs that could have been snapped by anything—the wind, the weka, the possums…He went to breakfast wondering if he had imagined the whole thing.

Duggan had already been and gone when he got to the
kitchen. Two huge fish lay on the table, alongside the usual box of vegetables. It looked as though the fishing trip had been successful.

Lofty looked up from his paper and nodded a greeting.

‘Morning, Tony,’ welcomed Betty. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Yes, thank you.’ Tony had decided to keep the ghost to himself, but he did want to know if anyone had seen one in the past. ‘Has anyone else slept in that caravan?’

‘Apart from the builder, I don’t think so.’

‘Yes, there has,’ said Lofty, without looking up. ‘That weird boy a couple of years back.’

‘Ah, yes,’ remembered Betty. ‘He was a bit older than you. But he only lasted a few nights. Said there were things bashing on the caravan. He thought they were ghosts,’ she chuckled. ‘He slept in his mother’s room after that. He was a strange boy. Always by himself, sneaking around the place. Real nosey, he was. Kept going into the guests’ chalets. In the end, I had to ask them to go.’

Tony smiled to himself. So he wasn’t the first. Maybe there
were
ghosts in the area, and it was not just a dream.

Nick looked the perfect geologist when he arrived for the trip into the mine: beard uncombed; khaki shirt, shorts and backpack; heavy boots; a geological hammer on his belt; and all topped by a helmet with a strange-looking contraption where the lamp would normally be.

‘OK,’ he said to Tony, ‘I will lead. Let me know if I go too fast.’

‘You’re going too fast.’

Nick turned to him. ‘We haven’t moved yet.’

‘Just practising,’ chuckled Tony.

‘OK, lights on.’ Nick stretched up to the contraption on his helmet. Tony saw a couple of blue sparks before a yellow flame formed from a jet.

‘Carbide lamp,’ explained Nick. ‘It runs off a gas formed in here.’ He tapped his backpack where a hose was connected to the helmet. ‘They can last all day and give light in all directions. They’re much better than battery-powered lamps.’

The boy turned on his inferior lamp and they set off down the now familiar tracks.

Tony had his tiles and board with him so that he could begin the first part of the map—marking the side passages in yellow. At one stage he got a little behind and called out to Nick, who came back to see what he was doing.

‘Are you planning to come in here quite often?’

‘Yes. I want to collect all the concretions I can. I’m going into business.’

Nick smiled. ‘You are not scared of this place?’

‘No,’ Tony said confidently, and then to himself, ‘Liar.’

Later, further along, he asked: ‘Nick, do you believe in ghosts?’

‘Mmm. I believe that some people may see ghosts. Why?’

Tony thought for a moment, before deciding that telling him would do no harm. ‘I saw one last night.’ He then described the scene that he had witnessed during the night.

‘That is very interesting. Because there is a Canadian professor who believes that there is always an increase in sightings before earthquakes. Not just ghosts, but UFOs and religious images. Tell me, did you have thoughts about ghosts when you came here?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Ah! Then you were conditioned to think of ghosts. If you were a deeply religious person, then you may have seen the Virgin Mary. If you were reading science fiction, you would have seen little green men.’

‘So you believe that I did see something?’

‘I believe it is possible that your brain formed some images.’

‘Why?’

Nick stopped and turned to him. He put his hand to his helmet and fired the spark a couple of times. ‘See that spark? It is formed by pressure on a quartz crystal. The pressure causes an electric field which, when it gets big enough, forms a spark. Most rocks have quartz in them. Charleston Gneiss has lots—that is why it is so white. At the moment there is a lot of pressure on those rocks. Hence there is an electric field all around this area. Your brain might be sensitive to that field and so you see things like ghosts.’

‘Seems simple enough,’ said Tony, smiling.

‘It is,’ Nick said seriously, ‘but it is still unproven. That is why I am interested in your story. Please let me know if you see any more of them.’

They continued along the tracks. So, thought Tony, the ghost was just something formed in my head. He was disappointed. He wanted to believe that it existed.

The uranium grotto was as he had seen it the day before. He hadn’t expected any change—there had been no new footprints on the fallen sand.

Nick pulled an instrument out of his pack. ‘Now, I will count the geigers,’ he chuckled. He turned it on and the cave echoed with an erratic clicking. ‘Each click is a burst of radiation going through the instrument.’ He moved it around the centre of the space. ‘There is a lot of radiation in here. Outside you would only get a click once in a while. But listen.’

He moved to the wall of crystals and held the instrument
close. The clicks came so rapidly that the machine sounded like a buzzer. ‘See! The radiation is much higher closer to the crystals. That is because the alphas and betas can travel only a short distance before they lose their power.’

Tony thought about this. ‘What would happen if you ate the crystals?’

‘Ah! That would be very dangerous. The alphas and the betas would be released in your body and could damage the DNA. Nothing would be obvious for a long time, but then you might have a cancer. The most common is leukaemia and it can be many years before it causes a serious problem.’

Tony left it at that, but he stored the information in his mind. He was beginning to see where all of this might be heading.

Next stop was the limestone pit. Nick studied the entrance with interest. ‘See those flood lines. That means the stream outlet sometimes gets blocked and the water builds right up to here.’ He moved closer. ‘Look, this top line is almost high enough for the water to spill over into the main tunnel.’

As they climbed into the pit, Tony told Nick about the murmuring stream and how he had thought it was people talking.

‘Yes,’ said Nick, ‘I have been fooled by that too. Most cavers have. At times you think that you can even make out some words. It just makes the caves seem spookier.’

The chemicals were untouched from the previous visit. Nick studied them in detail, sniffing at the flasks and some
of the bottles. ‘I am not a very good chemist, but I think these have been used to extract the uranium. See this yellow deposit in this flask? That could be uranium nitrate.’

He took out the Geiger counter and held it in the air for a while. There were occasional clicks, but nothing like as many as there had been in the uranium grotto. Then he brought it near the flask and the clicking turned into a buzzing sound.

‘I think I am right.’

‘Is that more dangerous than the rock?’

‘Oh yes. Much more. It is soluble and could get into the bloodstream more easily.’

‘So it is more likely to cause cancer?’

‘Yes.’

They stood in silence for a while before Nick asked, ‘Who do you think is doing this, Tony?’

Tony answered without hesitation. ‘Jamie Duggan.’

Nick nodded. ‘Yes, you may be right.’ Then, after a pause, ‘Sit down and I will tell you a story.’

After they were seated, Nick began speaking. He seemed quiet and controlled, yet Tony could sense the tension within. ‘When I first started working here, Jamie Duggan gave me a lot of help. I had to drill holes in the rocks with a diamond-tipped tool. It is very difficult for one person to do that. Jamie offered to help. For a week we worked together happily. He tells me lots of jokes and I tell him some of mine. It was fun working with him.’

He paused for a while, staring at the ground, but plainly seeing something else.

‘When we had finished it was a Friday night, and I took him down to the hotel to buy him a drink. We had a very good time until I suggested we have a Napoleon brandy to finish the evening. His face went serious, and he said he would never drink anything made by the murdering French. I thought he was just acting, so I did not say anything. I bought myself a brandy, and a whiskey for him. As I was drinking, he said: “I don’t know how you can drink anything made by the French.” I told him it was because I am French. That is when he changed into someone different.’

The pause was longer this time as the man struggled to control his emotions.

‘It was like he was another person. His voice got all quiet and evil. “You’re French?” he asked. “I thought you were Dutch.” I told him that my mother was Dutch, but my father was French. Then he accused me of all sorts of things, mostly that I was a murderer. There was no sense in trying to reason with him. Then he went to hit me. He missed, and I went back to the lodge.

‘I thought about it a lot overnight and decided it was just the alcohol talking. So, when I saw him the next morning, I said, “Good morning, Jamie.” He looked at me with hate and whispered “murderer” before turning away. I have not spoken to him since, and I try to avoid him when I can. I now know his anger is something to do with his wife dying and Tahiti, but I do not know why.’

Tony said, ‘It is something to do with testing bombs on Mururoa.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘From the Internet. He was convicted because of a protest. He was a vanilla farmer on an island close to where the bombs were tested. I think his wife was killed in an atom bomb explosion.’

‘No, Tony. The whole world would know if that was the case.’

‘Then maybe she died of cancer caused by the bombs.’

Nick thought for a moment. ‘That is possible, and it could explain some of his behaviour. But why would he blame me for something the French government did many years ago? It is in the past.’

Tony had no answer to that.

‘I think the death of his wife has caused something up here.’ Nick tapped his head. ‘He is not well in the head. Do you understand what I mean?’

Tony nodded.

‘And now he is playing with these radioactive things. That is not good. I think he could be dangerous. We need to keep a watch on him.’

Again Tony nodded. What was there to disagree with?

That afternoon, Tony walked up the hill towards Duggan’s shop wondering if this was the right thing to do. What if Duggan was in the shop by himself? Would it be safe to be alone with him?

Fortunately, the car park was full and the shop was
buzzing. Duggan was serving with the help of two assistants. Tony went straight to the vanilla section where he had the choice of a wide range of health and body products. He went through the lot, turning them over to check the price. They were so expensive, costing much more than he had to spend. The cheapest was a vanilla and oats soap, presented in a beautiful packet—Rose would love it. Yet it too was more than he had.

He was holding the soap in his hand, trying to work out what to do, when Jamie Duggan spoke behind him. ‘Hello, Tony. Is there somethin’ I can do to help?’

Tony turned to the smiling man. ‘I want to buy Rose this for Christmas, but I don’t have enough money.’

‘And how much have you got?’

Tony told him.

‘Och! Tha’s nay a problem. We give a discount to friends. Would you like it gift-wrapped?’

Tony said yes and the package was handed to one of the assistants for gift-wrapping. He stood in a corner studying Duggan at work. The man was friendly, helpful and good-humoured. In fact, everything that a shop owner should be. Tony could imagine the customers leaving and saying what a nice man he was. Could it be possible that that’s just what he was—a nice man, with a slight problem with the French? He thought back to the ghost that morning. ‘Am I imagining things again?’ he said to himself.

The shop was filled with chatter in several different languages, but one caught Tony’s ear—French. Duggan must have heard it too, for he looked up sharply, and for
a brief moment he was no longer the good-humoured, friendly shopkeeper.

The French couple browsed the shop for a while before deciding to buy a pack of marshmallows. Tony watched with interest. Duggan moved to serve them, pulling the package towards him, knocking it to the floor.

‘Oops!’ he cried. ‘Clumsy me.’ He bent to pick it up. Tony had a side-on view, and clearly saw the original package slipped under the counter, with another brought out in its place. This was put in a bag and handed to the unsuspecting customers.

‘There we are,’ Duggan said, smiling. ‘Tha’ll make a difference to your health.’

By that time the assistant had finished wrapping Tony’s gift, and he no longer had an excuse to loiter in the shop. He made his way slowly back to the caravan, thinking about what he had seen. He tried looking at it from several points of view, yet he always came to the same conclusion: Duggan was giving French customers poisoned marshmallows. He was paying them back for what they did to his wife. But this was no ordinary poison. This one might not affect them for years and years, but affect them it would, given enough time. That ‘nice man’, Jamie Duggan, was feeding them uranium.