Eden

by Peter Watt

  Fuji had listened and fallen for her wiles but felt clumsy in the ways of romance. He held the view that the woman must be subservient to the man – a perception reinforced by his short time in Japan. But this beautiful young girl with the copper burnished skin and laughing eyes was a free spirit, at one with the sand and sea. Despite all that he believed about a relationship between a man and a woman, Fuji had to admit to himself that he would have possibly deserted his cause for the Emperor to possess her.

  ‘If you are the son of the boat builder, why is it that you do not live under your father’s roof?’ Keela asked one day as they sat side by side in the shade, gazing out at the placid waters of the Gulf.

  Fuji picked up a shard of sea shell and tossed it idly at the beach. ‘I cannot answer your question,’ he replied and fell silent.

  ‘Do you work for the white men?’

  Keela’s questions were making Fuji feel uncomfortable. ‘No, I work to rid this country of the Europeans,’ he said. ‘But I cannot tell you any more.’

  Keela stood and consciously stretched her arms above her head. Fuji could see the firm swell of her breasts and felt the desire return. He sensed that she was deliberately provoking him and reached up to drag her down beside him. Keela did not resist and Fuji rolled her on her back. ‘I want you, Keela,’ he said, covering her body with his. ‘I think you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.’

  Keela smiled up at his face and subtly spread her legs apart. Without a further word between them Fuji followed her cue and struggled to pull down his pants. Under a Papuan sun Fuji finally realised a desire that was almost as strong as his loyalty to the Emperor.

  EIGHT

  When Victoria returned to Port Moresby Jack noticed a subtle change in his wife and guessed that it had a lot to do with her journey south to meet with her uncle. She seemed just a little reserved and even absent-minded at times.

  ‘I am sorry to hear about Lukas,’ she had said, sitting with a mug of coffee at the stern of their schooner on her first night home in Port Moresby. ‘But Joe’s telegram says he is in fine health and will recover. He has his father’s resilience.’

  Jack stared at the lights of Port Moresby. The schooner was anchored offshore and the sea breeze had a wonderful cooling effect after a hot day under a tropical sun loading stores at the wharf. The crew went ashore and would return when they sailed again to carry valuable goods to outlying islands in the nearer waters of the Coral Sea. ‘A bloody bird,’ Jack mused. ‘He has flown so many hours only to be blinded and grounded by a bird.’

  ‘He can still go back to flying with one eye,’ Victoria offered hopefully. ‘I am sure that there are aviators who only have one eye.’

  Jack glanced at his wife and under the light thrown by the lantern swinging on the stern could see the genuine concern written in her expression. She was extremely fond of his son and considered him one of her closest friends. ‘He was returning to join the RAAF,’ Jack said. ‘I doubt that the air force will take a one-eyed flyer.’

  Victoria knew Jack was right and did not comment. She had long ago learned that both the Kelly men in her life were proud, driven by a strong masculine ideal of being protectors and providers. War to Lukas was the protective side of his nature, and as such, the unfortunate crash had deprived him of his pride to be able to fight for his country in the armed forces altogether. How would the son of Jack Kelly cope with not being able to enlist even as a foot soldier in the army?

  ‘Speaking of the armed services,’ Jack said, ‘how did things go with your uncle?’

  The question was bound to be asked and Victoria was prepared for the answer. ‘Do you think we will go to war with Japan?’ she asked, turning to Jack.

  ‘Funny question, but I think it is inevitable sooner or later. The Japs are in a corner and I don’t think they will stay there.’

  ‘Uncle Bernie thinks that too,’ Victoria said slowly, deliberating on how she would enlist her husband’s help in her mission. ‘He thinks that the Japanese are already active in this part of the world spying on us.’

  ‘They have been doing that for years,’ Jack laughed softly. ‘Their goodwill naval visits around the Pacific have been intelligence-gathering exercises, so that is not news.’

  ‘Uncle Bernie is a bit more specific. He has a name – a name we both know well.’

  Jack raised his eyebrows and took in a breath. He knew whatever his wife was about to say was most probably backed by corroborated Yankee intelligence.

  ‘Who?’ he asked.

  ‘Do you remember a young Japanese man who was born here called Fuji Komine? I believe he went to school with Karl and Lukas in Port Moresby when they were in the primary grades.’

  ‘The boat builder’s son,’ Jack said quietly. ‘The little bastard who was with O’Leary when they came to Paul’s plantation all those years ago. Yeah, I remember him but last I heard he headed for Japan after the attack.’

  ‘We … I think he is back,’ Victoria said. ‘And is setting up a spy network somewhere around Port Moresby. I feel that we should find him and report the matter to the police.’

  ‘I am not going to ask you how you know all this,’ Jack said with a grin. ‘But you realise that even if we find Fuji that we have laws, even in Papua, that say we have to have evidence of his spying to lock him up.’

  ‘Surely you Aussies must have some form of counter-intelligence organisation?’ Victoria asked.

  ‘Not that I know of,’ Jack shrugged. ‘Only have those things when we are at war. Other than that, only the coppers.’

  Victoria was amazed at Jack’s statement. At least the United States had the Federal Bureau of Investigation under Mr Hoover, to monitor any persons or organisations that might pose a threat to national security. Uncle Bernie was right about the Aussies being woefully unprepared. ‘Will you help me find Fuji Komine?’Victoria asked. ‘I need your help.’

  Jack shook his head. ‘I think that you have been reading too many of those Agatha Christie novels,’ he said, chuckling. ‘But I will give it a go – just for you – and Uncle Bernie.’

  Impulsively Victoria placed her mug on the deck and hugged her husband. ‘Thank you,’ she said squeezing him. ‘It means a lot to both our countries.’

  Jack buried his head in his wife’s long hair and smelled its clean, salty scent. He loved her more than his own life, and despite his misgivings about hunting down a name from the past, he would take some steps to help her crusade to save Australia and America from the Yellow Peril. It was growing more possible each day to visualise Japan unleashing its growing military power in the Pacific, as they already occupied French Indochina and most of China. He knew they would not stop there. They badly needed the rubber of Malaya and the oil of the Dutch East Indies and that meant his beloved Papua and New Guinea would have to be in the firing line. As for finding the Japanese boat builder’s son – that was another matter. Jack had no qualms about quietly killing the man when he remembered the terrible night Fuji had assisted O’Leary in attacking the Mann plantation. Jack had killed many times before in the trenches of the Western Front and he was not a man to take half measures. Finding and then killing Fuji was simply finishing a job.

  Jack had an idea of where to start. He figured that if Fuji was in the district on subversive activities for Japan he would not risk staying around his father’s house outside Moresby. And it would be very hard for a Japanese man to remain in hiding in any of the villages, which would not welcome him because of his race – Asian people not being popular with Melanesians. No, Fuji must either be camped out in the bush or holed up with someone sympathetic to the Japanese. The first thought that came to Jack’s mind was that Fuji might be given refuge by German missionaries in Papua. But most had declared their basic neutrality in the war against their fatherland and as missionaries they had explained that their loyalty was primarily to God and not the Führer. If anyone could answer his questions it had to be his old friend Kwong Yu Sen – what he did not know a
bout the comings and goings in the district was not worth recording. Yes, he would visit Sen and ask him what he might know about Fuji’s return.

  ‘You realise that we have a cargo to deliver,’ Jack said, disengaging himself from the hug. ‘So I am going to visit someone I know and if he cannot help then we sail in two days.’

  ‘I understand,’ Victoria agreed. ‘But I have faith in whatever you do. If you are not successful then I will stop searching.’

  ‘Like hell you will,’ Jack growled affectionately. ‘I know you Miss Duvall. Once I exhaust my contacts you will no doubt go back to Uncle Bernie and see if he has any more leads. Then you will chase them – with or without me.’

  ‘I would not, Jack Kelly,’ she said, with a laugh feigning indignation. ‘I would return to being a dutiful wife to my one hundred per cent Aussie cave man.’

  Jack reached out to touch his wife on the cheek. ‘That’s what I love about you,’ he said and Victoria took a playful swipe at him. But Jack was too fast, catching her hand, drawing her close and kissing her passionately. He was glad that they were the only two aboard the schooner on this balmy tropical night. Hopefully Lukas would soon return to Papua and Jack could hand over the running of the schooner to his son. Victoria was not the only one with secrets. Jack had one of his own but was just a little afraid to tell his wife what he had done in her absence. He knew he would have to wait for the right time. His promise to Victoria that he would not enlist had been broken and already the papers were signed. The New Guinea Volunteer Rifles had accepted him after he had passed his medical examinations and he had sworn his oath of allegiance for the term of his military service. But when was the right time to tell a woman anything that was bound to upset her? Jack brooded briefly as he led his wife by the hand below decks.

  The following day Jack left Victoria to supervise the final loading of stores and borrowed a horse from a prospector friend. Saddled up, he rode for a couple of hours to Sen’s bungalow outside Port Moresby. It was a place he knew well and almost a second home to him in the old days following the Great War. Here he had brought his old comrade-in-arms George Spencer, who had met the beautiful Eurasian beauty Iris, sister-in-law to Sen. Riding east along the rarely used rutted track, Jack remembered the past: how he had gone with George in search of gold in the Morobe province only to have the expedition cost his wartime friend his life from a Kukukuku arrow; how Iris had been taken captive by the infamous Tim O’Leary and disappeared; and how Jack had found out after the death of his father in England that George was in fact Lord Spencer.

  Jack sighed when he remembered how he and Iris had been left a fortune in George’s will. The only catch was that both had to sign for the release. Dear old George had never foreseen that this might be impossible, as it was when events unfolded as they did. As far as Jack was concerned Iris was forever lost – maybe even dead by now. Easy come easy go. The thought came idly to mind as Jack reined in at Sen’s house. He was not aware that even as he dismounted and tethered his horse to a tall tree at the edge of the small lawn, he was being watched by eyes that contained both fear and hate.

  Fuji recognised Jack Kelly immediately even though it had been years since he had last seen him in the company of his son, Lukas. Fuji gripped the handle of the short but finely honed knife he always carried strapped and hidden behind his shirt. It was an assassin’s weapon, one Fuji had been trained to use with deadly skill by his masters in Japan.

  He crouched by a window and watched Jack walk unconcernedly towards the house, then heard Sen’s voice welcome Jack. Fuji knew that what occurred in the next vital moments depended on the Chinese trader.

  ‘Jack, it is good to see you after all this time,’ Sen said with a smile, offering his hand. Jack, with a broad smile, shook the extended hand.

  ‘Been a while, old cobber,’ he said, standing on the front verandah bordered by the greenery of tropical plants. ‘How long? Six, seven years?’

  ‘Longer,’ Sen replied without attempting to allow his old friend past the front door. ‘I did not have the opportunity to say goodbye when I took my family to Singapore.’

  ‘Yeah, that was a while ago,’ Jack admitted. ‘But you haven’t changed at all, you old Chinese bastard. How is the family?’

  Sen winced a little at his friend’s statement but knew the derogatory term was used with affection when it came from the mouth of his old friend. ‘My son and daughters are growing strong and my wife is well, although I could have used my wife’s considerable skills in re-establishing the running of our place here, when I had to return,’ he said, without elaborating on the matter of his return to his home in Papua. He offered Jack one of the comfortable cane chairs facing the luxurious, well-kept garden. ‘I will arrange to have tea brought to us on the verandah.’

  In minutes a young haus meri appeared with a silver salver on which perched a teapot and two delicate china cups. Jack knew from past experience that they would soon be sipping the almost clear green tea, Sen’s favourite beverage.

  When they were settled Sen poured the tea for them both. ‘I have heard that all is going well in your life,’ he said. ‘But I have not heard about your son, Lukas.’

  ‘The young fella will be home soon,’ Jack said, taking a sip of the fragrant tea. ‘He had a bit of an accident flying in the States but it seems he will be all right.’

  ‘I am sorry to hear of that,’ Sen replied. ‘I remember him as a fine young man when he was in Moresby.’

  ‘Speaking of young men from the past,’ Jack said casually, ‘you wouldn’t have happened to hear about Fuji Komine in these parts recently, would you?’ For a second Jack thought he saw a perceptible change in Sen’s normally relaxed manner. It was as if he had stiffened at the mention of the Japanese man’s name.

  ‘I last heard that he had disappeared north after the terrible happenings at Paul Mann’s plantation all those years ago,’ he replied without looking at Jack. ‘Other than that I cannot help you. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Nothing of much importance in particular,’ Jack lied. ‘Just thought I heard on the grapevine that he was back in these parts.’

  ‘Sorry that I cannot help,’ Sen continued lying. ‘But I tend to keep to myself out here, as you know.’

  ‘No matter,’ Jack shrugged. ‘It just gave me an excuse to catch up with an old friend if nothing else.’

  Fuji frowned at the haus meri as she was confronted by him in the house. She knew that she was to see nothing – and know the same – about the Japanese man’s residence with her master. Besides, she was afraid of him and sensed that he was a very dangerous man. Fuji let her pass and stealthily made his way to the wall adjoining the verandah from where he could monitor the conversation between Jack Kelly and Sen. The knife was in his hand and he was poised like a spring to use it should things go wrong. He knew by doing so that his stay in Papua would be short lived. If Jack Kelly went missing, Fuji knew that every police officer in the Moresby district would be mobilised to find the famous son of Papua. Killing was a last resort, but not one to be dismissed under the circumstances.

  He listened closely and was pleased to hear Sen playing his part. The conversation went on for some time as the two men caught up on years of separation – there was nothing else mentioned about him after the initial questions – and soon the Australian bid his farewells to return to his tethered horse for the ride back to Port Moresby.

  Sen came inside and Fuji could see that his hands were shaking. ‘It seems that the authorities know of you being here,’ Sen said. ‘How could that be?’

  Fuji was at a loss to explain why Jack Kelly should say that he had been seen in the district. His only conclusion was that a member of the staff had gossiped. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, sliding the knife back into the sheath inside the waistband of his trousers. ‘Maybe I should leave here before the police come, instead of Kelly,’ he added. Whatever the leak to his security he knew it was time to move on. ‘Tonight I will make the broadcast,’ Fuji said thoughtful
ly. ‘You will no longer need to fear my presence under your roof.’

  At his last statement Fuji noticed the relief flood the normally impassive Chinese man’s face. He scowled. The Chinese were a cowardly race, deserving of complete decimation. At least his brothers in the Imperial forces in China were doing their best to see that would happen.

  Jack rode away from the house in the Papuan bush. He should have made it a point to visit Sen earlier, he thought with a twinge of guilt. But time had gone so fast and his work with the Independence had taken up much of that time. Outside his own race Sen did not have many friends and Jack was one of the few exceptions.

  NINE

  Although Karl Mann was back in Jerusalem he may as well have been cut off behind enemy lines, unarmed and without a compass and map to guide him home. He sat in a tiny, almost airless room above a house, which, from the voices below he guessed, belonged to Arabs. Marie and Abdul had blindfolded him and forced him down in the seat of the battered sedan as they had approached the city’s outskirts. It was clear to Karl that they still did not trust him and no doubt the agent he had come to know as Fritz was making checks on his story.

  He had been held a virtual prisoner for two days now with just water, a few dates and unleavened bread for sustenance. A bucket jammed in one corner of the windowless room was his only furniture other than a flea-infested straw mattress. There were no visitors, only the sound of men’s voices speaking in Arabic below.

  Karl wondered what he should do next. His mission briefing by Featherstone was to report on the identity and location of a German agent Karl now strongly suspected as being the German he had met outside Jerusalem. After that, he had completed what was expected of him for the shadowy Captain Featherstone. But in the briefings that filled his time before setting out for the café in the old section of the city, Featherstone had been a bit vague about how Karl was to extricate himself from the type of situation he now found himself in. When Karl had asked the question as to what he was to do when he achieved the aim of his mission, the naval officer had simply brushed off the answer with ‘We will worry about that, old chap, when the time comes.’ With a soldier’s inherent duty to orders from a superior, Karl had at the time uneasily accepted the captain’s explanation. Now he was not so sure that he should have. How was he expected to be successful in his task if he had no way to contact Featherstone? Featherstone and his mob had probably written him off when he did not report back within twenty-four hours, Karl thought morosely, scratching at the itchy stubble of his face. After all, this was war and one more life lost in the course of military events would simply mean he would be listed as missing in action. Or was there more to this mission that Featherstone had not told him? It was dawning on Karl that paranoia was not the exclusive domain of neurotic people. Something did not feel right about the whole affair.