Behind Mt. Baldy (22 page)
“Grid
references?”
Graham suggested.
“They might be clues telling
these men where to dig Sir,” Peter added.
“You could be right.”
“Ahah!
Good! Ah, yes!” Inspector Sharpe
picked up a small book.
Roger squirmed with curiosity.
“What is it Sir?”
“The Diary of
Boris Krapinski.
I think we have certain proof that these men are the murderers.”
Inspector Sharpe walked over to the old man and held up the pocket diary for him
to see. “This was in the plastic bag you tried to hide. Where did you get it?”
The old man gave him a stony
glare and looked away. Inspector Shape went to ‘Glasses’ and repeated the
question. Roger saw ‘Glasses’ return a blank stare. Inspector Sharpe moved on
to the third man and tried again. The man shook his head and said nothing.
“What is your name?” Inspector
Sharpe rapped. The man looked at him calmly but did not reply.
“His name is Bruno Sir,” Roger
said.
Bruno’s eyes swivelled to focus
on Roger and seemed to bore into him. Suddenly Bruno began to shout in a
foreign language and tried to get to his feet. Roger couldn’t understand a word
of the torrent of abuse the man screamed at him but its meaning was clear. He
felt sick inside and had to resist an urge to flee; actually stepped backwards
several paces before he realised it. By a conscious effort he made himself
stand his ground.
Det. West grabbed Bruno and
pushed him down but he kept shouting. He was so enraged that spittle flecked
his lips. As Bruno paused to gasp for breath the old man spoke sharply to him
in
their own
language. Bruno slumped down and hung his
head.
Inspector Sharpe snarled at the
prisoners, “Keep silent all of you. Speak when you are spoken to; and don’t
make things worse for yourselves by making threats.” He went over to the
man with glasses. “Now Mr. Dorkoffsky, you tell me what is going on.”
Dorkoffsky looked up and said
something in the foreign language. Inspector Sharpe flared with anger and stood
over him with hands on hips. “Don’t give me the ‘no spik da English’ crap
Dorkoffsky. You’ve got a Queensland Driver’s Licence and you’ve lived in
Yungaburra for years.”
Dorkoffsky said something, a
swear word by the way he said it. Then, in excellent English he said. “I know
my rights. I wish to speak to a solicitor. I have nothing further to say.”
Inspector Sharpe tried again but
none of the men would speak. He swore angrily and slapped a mosquito on
his face.
“Right, let’s have those badges
off these fellows. Put them in plastic bags with their names in with
them,” Inspector Sharpe ordered.
“Can’t Sir,” replied Sgt Crowe.
“Our gear was in our car and there’s none in the Four Wheel Drive. I
looked.”
“I’ve got some Sir,” said Roger.
“In my webbing.
I’ll just run and get them.”
“Good boy Roger. Do that.”
Roger ran quickly out and across
the road to where their gear was hidden. He was so keen to help he didn’t
notice how much he was puffing when he got back. He held the plastic sandwich
bags open. Inspector Sharpe took the badges as Sgt Crowe handed them to him. He
examined each closely, before popping it in the plastic sandwich bag. Roger
stared at the badges, fascinated. Graham wrote KLOTOVITCH on a page of his
Field Message Notebook and tore it out. This went into the bag with the badge.
One badge was Rhomboid shaped
metal with pin fasteners on the back. It was black enamel with silver edging
and what looked like silver leaves on it.
“I wonder what it
means?
” Stephen asked.
“I’ve got a sheet in my briefcase
in our car with the KSS badges on it,” Inspector Sharpe said. “We’ll soon
know.” He took the two packets from Graham. “OK, Crowe, you and West load these
three into the Four Wheel Drive. West, you drive it. Crowe and I will drive
these vehicles. And when we get back, keep this quiet. I don’t want the media
people getting hold of it yet. Don’t answer any questions; and tell the Senior
I want it kept under wraps for the moment.”
As the two detectives moved to
start putting the prisoners in the Four Wheel Drive Graham spoke up. “What
about us Sir?”
“Sorry boys. I want you to come
with me. This time I need a more detailed statement.”
“So that’s the end of our hike?”
Graham said sadly.
“It was finished on Day One,”
Stephen snapped irritably.
“How far have you got?” Inspector
Sharpe asked.
“Only about thirty kilometres,”
Stephen sneered. “We should have covered sixty or seventy. We would have to do
that in just over two days now.”
Graham spoke up. “We can still do
it. It’s only midday now. We’ve got about five hours of daylight left today. We
can do twenty kilometres in that time.”
The idea of walking that distance
before sunset dismayed Roger but he held his tongue rathe than attract
derision. To his relief Stephen spoke up. “Ah!
Don’t
be stupid Graham,” he replied.
“Just a minute,” Inspector Sharpe
interrupted. “It’s not up to you. I’ll decide. You will need to inform your
captain and your parents, and I need full statements.” He looked from one glum
face to the other then spoke again, “You really do want to go on with your hike
don’t you?”
“Yes Sir, please Sir,” Graham
replied. He looked at the others. Peter nodded. “What about you Roger? Do
you feel up to it?”
Roger really just wanted to say no
and go home but found
himself
saying “Yeah. I
can do it.”
“What about you Steve? Do you
still want to drop out?” Graham asked.
Inspector Sharpe interrupted
again. “Where are you heading? Where is your next clue?”
“The Curtain
Fig Tree.
It’s near Yungaburra,” Graham replied. “It’s about twenty five kilometres from
here.”
As Roger heard this he groaned
inwardly. ‘Twenty five kilometres!’ he thought ruefully.
‘Bloody
hell!’
He wished he had the courage to speak up against it but feared
Graham’s contempt.
“Can you make that?” Inspector
Sharpe asked.
“We can try. If you’ll let us,”
Graham answered.
“I meant
,
can you make it by dark?”
“Probably not
sir.”
“Well, I will be in Yungaburra
later. I’ve got to go to Atherton first. Then I’m going to search Mr Dorkoffsky’s
house which, as you heard, is in Yungaburra.
If you could
make it to there by about 5pm that would be fine.”
“We can try,” Graham replied
eagerly. Again Roger groaned inwardly but said nothing.
“Show me the route you intend to
follow,” Inspector Sharpe ordered. Graham pulled out his map and did so. It was
just along the main roads.
“Right.
Don’t leave that route. If you
aren’t there by 5pm wait beside the road and we will pick you up. We can drop
you at the same place early tomorrow morning if that doesn’t break the rules
for your hike.”
“That will be fine Sir,” Graham
beamed. He turned to the others. “
You coming
with us
Steve?”
Stephen pulled a face.
“Yeah.
I’ll come as far as Yungaburra anyway. But I reckon
when I phone my oldies about this they’ll just come and get me.”
Roger suddenly felt his spirits
fall. “So will mine,” he said.
“That’s the plan then,” Inspector
Sharpe said. “Oh, and remember what I said about not saying anything to anyone.
It might be a good idea not to speak to people at all. And, just in case,
don’t accept a lift from any strangers.”
Roger felt a sudden chill. “Do
you really think there might be more of these ‘Iron Claw’ types Sir?”
“Could be.
Just be careful. Now, give us a
hand to get this car out of the bog.”
Five minutes later the boys were
on their own, the sound of the vehicles receding in the distance.
Graham glanced at his watch. “OK,
let’s grab a quick lunch and get going,” he said.
“Come on Roger,” Peter called.
“Be with you in a minute. I’ll
just have a leak,” Roger replied. He walked back up the side track a few paces.
As he stood there he looked
around at the scene of the action. It reminded him of that awful day in Year 8
when the leader of the Swamp Rats gang had been shot. At the memory he
shuddered and shook his head. He found he was trembling and a wave of goose
bumps ran up his back. It made him glance behind him, suddenly very conscious
he was alone.
His eye caught something at the
base of a tree. Curious, he finished his business and walked over to it. It was
a black jacket, almost invisible on the rotting deadfall. It had been dropped
or thrown there.
Roger’s heart leapt. ‘It must
belong to one of those men!’ he thought as he bent down and picked it up. Out
of curiosity he looked under the collars.
Yes!
An Iron Claw
badge under one lapel and under the other a black lozenge with a silver border
and a silver stud on it, like a miniature 2nd Lieutenant’s ‘pip’.
Roger felt the pockets then unbuttoned
them. In the left one was a KSS Badge and a Passport - Paraguayan. Roger
flicked it open and there was a photo and the name MILAN JABLONSKI. In the
other pocket was a note book; a small book with pages of letters and numbers in
groups of four. Stuck between the pages were two folded sheets of paper.
He unfolded these and stared at
them. One was obviously a coded message because it had headings in boxes and
the text was typed rows of the jumbled letters. He’d seen the same sort
of thing at an army cadet signals exercise.
The other page was also a Signal
Form but the message on it was typed in words. He tried to read it but gave up.
German?
He wasn’t sure.
Bubbling with excitement he
hurried after the others, out onto the main road and along it. He met Graham
coming back.
Graham looked anxious. “I
wondered what you were doing,” he commented.
“I found this. Look. It’s that
other man’s jacket. And it’s got a code book and a secret message,” Roger said.
He thrust the Message Forms at Graham.
“Secret Message
!...
”
Graham began. Then, as he studied the form his expression changed. “You’re
right. It is. Gosh! I wonder what it says.”
“It’s in German I think,” Roger
said. He dimly remembered lessons in Year 8.
“Yes it is,” Graham agreed.
“Ooh! I wish I’d paid more attention in class.”
“We’d better give it to the
Inspector.”
“We will.
Tonight.
Come on.”
When they joined the others Roger
told his story again and they all looked at the badges, passport and signals.
Graham urged them on. “Come on!
Eat and let’s get going.
It’s
twelve forty five
already.”
Roger pushed the signal into his
map case then had a big drink and sat down. All of a sudden he felt quite
drained and really regretted having said he would walk. Ruefully contemplating
the pain to come he packed the black jacket in his pack and dug out a tin of
peaches.
Twenty minutes later Roger
was groaning audibly as he hoisted on his pack. The cadets made their way
out onto the road and continued their trek. Roger felt the strain right from
the start. His muscles ached. He was chafed and tired; and he was worried the
others could smell his wet uniform.
Graham, as usual, set off at a
cracking pace. Roger had to force himself to stride it out to keep up. Soon he
was sweating freely and hating every step. He was also starting to develop a
real loathing for the rainforest. The road was damp underfoot and that made
walking harder as mud stuck to his boots. The jungle met overhead and induced
that claustrophobic feeling of walking in a never-ending tunnel of gloom. The
rainforest on the right had never been cleared and had almost no undergrowth.
It appeared to be just a mass of trees with black trunks which gave the
impression of all being the same height and thickness. Even the rotting
deadfall was black.
“There’s a car coming,” Stephen
called.
“Will we hide?” Roger gasped in
alarm.
“Don’t be silly Roger. You’ve got
those crooks on the brain,” Stephen retorted.
“Besides, it could be the police
looking for us,” Peter added.
The boys all moved over to the
right hand side of the road. A car came into view behind them, an old station
wagon. It drove slowly because the road was badly potholed. As it drew level
Roger turned to look. There was an elderly couple in it and the old lady gave a
cheerful smile.
