“Yes sir,” Graham replied. “We know that because we- you have captured some of its members. We have their badges. And we have this message.”
“Question Two,” Inspector Sharpe asked, writing it down as he did. “Who is the message from?”
“The Obersturmbannfuhrer Australia,” Stephen replied.
“Who or what is he?”
Roger put his hand up. “He must be the KSS chief in Australia,” he answered.
“Probably. So what else can we deduce?”
“That there are KSS in other countries as well; like Paraguay,” Peter offered.
“Yes. Good. Now, who was the message to?”
Stephen held the sheet up. “The...the Untersturmfuhrer commanding Detachment Rainforest,” he read out.
“Good. That is Mr Jablonski, currently assisting police with their enquiries. Was he alone?”
Graham shook his head. “No sir. He had at least three others with him,” he answered.
“What is he?”
“A Kosarian?” Roger answered.
“Yes. But that’s not what I meant,” Inspector Sharpe replied.
“I know,” Peter said. “He is the leader of a Special Action Team.”
Inspector Sharpe nodded. “That is what I think too. How many men in a Special Action Team?”
“Nine,” Stephen replied.
“How many men have we accounted for?”
“Only four,” Graham answered.
“No,” Roger countered. “Only three. One was a colonel; the old guy.”
Inspector Sharpe nodded. “That’s right Roger. So there could be six more around. I doubt if there are but we must plan on that assumption. Now, when was the message sent?”
“Eight O’clock this morning,” Graham answered.
“It was a message within a message. The message within was one they had intercepted somehow from their enemies. What does that suggest? How did the KSS get it?”
“Radio intercept?” Peter suggested.
“Possibly,” Inspector Sharpe replied.
“Treachery,” Roger said. “From a traitor in the royal organization.”
“Have a chocolate frog Roger! That’s what I think too; and I even think I know who our treacherous double-agent is. Listen to this. It is from the Diary of Boris Krapinski; which you recovered for us this afternoon,” Inspector Sharpe said. He reached into a plastic bag and took out the small diary. Flicking it open at a marked page he read: “13th June. After all these years the White Falcon has called for me at last. I must go. Dorkoffsky gave me the message but I don’t trust him. I will lay a trail to check. I will put out the clues tomorrow.” Inspector Sharpe closed the diary. “That is the last entry. He was murdered the next day.”
“Dorkoffsky,” Roger hissed. “This is his house.”
“Yes.”
Graham looked puzzled. “Did Captain Krapinski put out the clues?” he asked.
“We don’t know. That may be what these numbers on the pieces of blue cardboard are,” Inspector Sharpe replied, indicating them.
“Clues to what?” Peter asked.
“Where to find the treasure of course!” Roger cried.
“Why not lead his people to it, or give it to them?” Peter asked.
Stephen answered that. “Because he obviously feared treachery and he wanted some sort of extra insurance it wouldn’t fall into the wrong hands,” he suggested. “He said he would lay a trail to check. I’ll bet he was going to watch from in hiding who followed that trail.”
“Possibly,” Graham conceded. “He was right to be careful.”
“But not careful enough,” DS Crowe added grimly.
They were all silent for a moment. Then Inspector Sharpe ended this speculation by asking, “Who is the intercepted message from?”
“The General Staff of the Kosarian...no.. of the Royal Army,” Stephen read out.
“Who is it to?”
“Colonel Count Michael Von Krapnoff, Kommandant of the Royal Guard,” Stephen read.
“Who do we know for sure was in the Royal Guard?”
“Captain Krapinski,” Roger answered. His fingers seemed to curl up as they involuntarily shrank back as he had a vivid flash-back to when he first touched the floating corpse.
“He was. We know he was back in 1941. But would they have such an old man in such an organization?” the Inspector quizzed.
“Yes!” Roger was emphatic.
“So you think the Royal Guard still exists?”
“Definitely sir,” Graham said. “Why would there be a signal to its kommandant, this Colonel Krapnoff, if it didn’t exist?”
“Good deduction. And nor would the KSS be interested in them otherwise. Now, what do the Royal Guard do?”
“Guard the Royal Family,” Peter suggested.
“Guard Prince Peter,” Graham said.
“Which Prince Peter?”
“The one who was the baby, whose parents were murdered in London,” Stephen said.
The Inspector nodded. “If the prince was born in 1941 would he still be alive?”
There was a pause while they all did the sums in their heads.
“Yes,” Peter answered. “He would only be in his sixties.”
“Where is he?”
“Here,” Roger answered.
“In Australia you mean?”
Roger shook his head. “No. Yes. Here, on the Tablelands.”
“Why do you think that ?”
Roger thought hard and then said, “Because this is where the commander of his body guard is.”
The Inspector sat in silent thought for a moment, then went on. “What does the intercepted message say?”
Stephen read it again: “Colonel Krapnoff is to meet the White Falcon at Legend Hill at... between those two times, and then guide him to Concentration Place ‘Cloud’.”
“What are the timings. Read them again.”
“Between 171800Zulu and 172400Zulu June,” Stephen read. The Inspector jotted them down.
Graham looked at the wall clock. “Oh. We are too late. It’s nearly midnight now. We’ve only got twenty minutes to try to catch them.”
Inspector Sharpe looked at the clock and swore. He stood up and walked to the telephone.
“Wait sir,” Peter called. “Those timings are in Zulu Time. That is Time Zone Zulu, which is Greenwich Mean Time.”
“Good lad!” Inspector Sharpe beamed. “That is ten hours behind us. So what are those timings in local time?”
“Between 0400hrs and 1000hrs tomorrow,” Peter answered.
“There is time!” Roger squeaked with excitement.
Inspector Sharpe sat down. “Let’s keep teasing this out. Where is the meeting place?”
“Legend Hill. It’s a nickname or code name, and is believed to be a road junction between here and Malanda,” Stephen read.
Inspector Sharpe snapped his fingers. “Quick, a map.”
Graham pulled out his 1:100 000 scale map and unfolded it on the table. They all crowded around to look.
“There are a lot of road junctions,” Stephen noted.
Peter ran his finger tip across the map. “On a hill. A road junction on a hill,” he suggested.
“That’s better. Let’s see now. Count them,” Inspector Sharpe said.
Roger looked at the web of roads between Yungaburra and Malanda and was instantly depressed. He didn’t bother to count. There were at least three routes, all interconnected by several laterals.
Graham did and he said, “There are at least twenty five road junctions, not counting dead-ends going to farms.”
When he heard that Roger felt a stab of dismay.
“But only fourteen are on, or close to hill tops,” Peter said. “That’s not too bad.”
Inspector Sharpe turned to DS Crowe. “Start planning Crowe. How can we get the manpower to watch them all; and to get them in position within three hours?” He turned to the boys. “What else do we get out of this message?”
Rog
er put his hand up. “Sir, Can we help? We could watch a couple of road junctions,” he suggested.
“No Roger. Sorry. This could be dangerous, and it’s police business. You just go on with your hike.”
Roger didn’t try to hide his disappointment. It had seemed such a good idea; and he really wanted to help solve the mystery.
Inspector Sharpe went on. “OK, who is the White Falcon?”
“Didn’t I read that the Royal Guard was the White Falcon Regiment?” Graham asked.
“White Eagle wasn’t it?” Peter corrected.
Inspector Sharpe picked up the History Book. Roger looked at the cover. Suddenly he jabbed his finger at it.
“The White Falcon! There it is, with a crown on it. The White Falcon is the King.”
They all looked at the cover. Inspector Sharpe bit his lip. “I have a sinking feeling you are right. The Crown Prince anyway. He isn’t a King until he is crowned, and I suppose that can only be done with the proper ceremony in their national cathedral.”
Roger felt a pulse of excitement. “Prince Peter! Here, on the Tablelands!” he cried. It seemed unbelievable. He’d once seen Prince Charles in the distance at a Scout Jamboree in Sydney. That was the closest he had ever come to royalty.
Graham added: “He must be important anyway, if a general orders a colonel to go and meet him.”
Inspector Sharpe looked at them. “What else do we know about him?”
Stephen read from the sheet. “He will be in a grey Mercedes with three other men; one of whom is Adjutant Stiltz.”
“We should be able to spot that sir,” DS Crowe growled. “There can’t be that many grey Mercedes on the Tablelands.”
Inspector Sharpe nodded. “Yes. It gives us a chance. Bloody hell! Here’s me worrying about the Kosarian Deputy Premier’s visit and now we’ve got a Crown Prince swanning around as well. Blast! Why couldn’t this just be a simple murder?”
“We will need more men sir,” DS Crowe said.
“Lots more. And Federal as well as State. Let’s see what we can work out before we hit the panic button. Where is this White Falcon going?”
Graham answered. “Concentration Place Cloud. That’s ‘Sammelplatz’ in German,” he explained. “It’s a literal translation but in the dictionary it had ‘mil’ in brackets after it so I think it means what we would call an Assembly Area.”
“Mil?”
“Military sir. It’s a military technical term.”
“What’s an Assembly Area?”
“Where troops from different units group together and get organized for an attack sir.” Graham replied.
For a moment there was complete silence. Inspector Sharpe swore softly, then asked, “Where?”
Graham shrugged. “A place called ‘Cloud’. It is a codeword. So we don’t know where.”
“What troops?” asked the Inspector. He now looked very worried.
Stephen read from the message: “Company Knight sir, for a thing called ‘Operation Return’.”
“A company is about a hundred men isn’t it?” DS Crowe asked.
Graham nodded. “A hundred and thirty in our army,” he replied.
DS Crowe swore then said: “Christ ! Could they have that many men in this Royal Guard?”
No-one answered. It was a sobering thought.
Peter frowned. “I wonder what ‘Operation Return’ is?” he asked.
Graham flung out an arm in a theatrical gesture and said: “I shall return! You know, General Macarthur in World War Two. In this case I’ll bet it is the return to the old country.”
Inspector Sharpe looked at him with a grim frown. “I think you’ve got it lad. These Kosarians have formed a secret army here and probably plan to go back to Kosaria to start a revolution, to try to put the king back on his throne.”
“That makes sense,” Stephen said.
“It might. But it’s bloody illegal. These bloody foreigners have no right to break our laws while having their own political squabbles,” Inspector Sharpe snapped, pounding the table.
Roger was puzzled so he said, “But sir, if the Kosarian government are Communists I can understand why they and the Royal Guard are enemies. But where do the KSS come into it?”
“Oh Roger!” Stephen sneered. “We just had pages of it. First Peter, then Paul, then Peter, then Paul! Obviously the Archduke Paul wants to be the king; so he’s sent his men to bump off Prince Peter.”
“Yes. I see that,” Roger replied. “But then why are the KSS digging holes and searching the jungle? What are they looking for?”
“Something Krapinski hid,” Peter suggested.
“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.
CHAPTER 21
IN THE FOG
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 j
ust 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.
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