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.
He pulled on clean underwear and a fresh uniform and felt better. Then he went out into the bedroom. The others had all moved outside. The light in the room had been turned off and the sliding door was open. Roger saw that thick fog still blanketed the back lawn. He collected his gear and carried it out.
The transition from the warm room to outdoors was abrupt. His bare feet met concrete which felt like ice and the first breath seemed to scour its way down his nostrils.
“Cripes it’s cold! I’m going back to bed,” he cried. The others laughed. Roger lumped his gear to a clear space on the patio and looked around. The fog was so thick he could barely see the garage a few metres away. The lake at the bottom of the lawn was invisible. It was very gloomy and depressing. He pulled out his pullover and put it on, then sat to put sticking plaster on his blisters.
Graham went in to have a shower and shave. The other two had their stoves alight and were cooking. Roger pulled on socks and boots before digging out his own stove. A cup of Milo, liberally sweetened with condensed milk gave him a lift. Then he had two ‘Weetbix’ with warm milk. A muesli bar followed.
Graham returned, talking to Inspector Sharpe. The Inspector looked at their cooking arrangements and asked what they were having for breakfast
.
“Smells good Peter. What is it?”
“Beef Stroganoff sir.”
“What else! Well, I’ll be off. I will lock this door and go out the front way. Thank you for your help. I will ask you to telephone me when you finish so that I know that you are safe. Here is the number.” He wrote in a notebook, tore the page out and passed it to Graham. “Goodbye then, and once again, thanks for your help. Remember not to mention this to anyone; and beware of strangers. Good luck.”
“See you sir. We will be careful,” Graham promised.
“I hope you catch all these foreigners,” Stephen added.
Roger said nothing. He wished he could go with the Inspector more than anything he could think of. He gave a small smile and turned back to heating a tin of Pork and Beans. The Inspector slid the door shut and locked it.
Stephen said, “I wonder if he will catch these KSS creeps?”
“I hope so. We don’t want types like that lurking around our country,” Peter replied.
Graham sat down and picked up a boot. “Eat up you lot. It’s ten to seven,” he said.
Inwardly Roger groaned. “So we have plenty of time. We could sit here till midday and still cover the twenty five kilometres before dark,” he replied sharply.
Graham looked up, then burst into laughter. “Quite right Roger. OK. We will aim at being on the road by seven thirty.”
“I wish Inspector Sharpe hadn’t locked the house. I need to go to the dunny now,” Peter complained.
“You will have to save it till we are in town then,” Stephen replied unsympathetically. “There is a toilet in the main street.”
“Where do you think the next clue will take us?” Roger asked.
“I reckon Atherton, or near it somewhere,” Stephen said.
Graham tightened a boot lace. “That’s what I think too. There is a High School there,” he replied.
“There is one in Malanda too,” Peter reminded.
Half an hour later the friends were crouched over the map studying the route. Graham laid out all the clues on the concrete. “Here is the first one. It says MT BALDY on top and TWO CHIMNEYS underneath. Then at The Chimneys we got this one which said HIGH SCHOOL on top and CURTAIN FIG underneath. So we still have to go to the Curtain Fig. Eventually I reckon we must end up at a High School and at Mt Baldy.”
“Where is this Mt Baldy again?” Stephen asked.
“Here. Just west of Atherton,” Peter indicated.
Roger bent closer to look. “One thousand and seventeen metres. I hope we don’t have to climb it!”
“I’ll bet we do. You know Captain Conkey,” Peter laughed.
“Cheer up Roger. That’s the height above sea level and we are about seven hundred metres up now. So it won’t be that bad,” Graham said. He began folding the map. “OK. Let’s go. Gear on.”
The sun was up by this, shining through the fog as a bright orange ball. Roger could see the water of the lake now. The fog had lifted a few metres and wisps of mist streamed up from black water that looked like polished glass. He groaned and hoisted on his pack.
They had to walk uphill for the first few hundred metres and Roger found this very testing as tight muscles warmed and loosened. He soon began to sweat.
By the time they reached Yungaburra’s main street ten minutes later the fog was no more than patches in the shady hollows.
“Not a cloud in the sky again,” Graham observed.
“It will be another hot day,” Peter grumbled.
“I’m hot already. Stop for a minute while I take off my pullover,” Stephen said.
“Good idea. Over near that Bakery. They look like they are open,” Roger added.
“Roger! We’ve only just started,” Graham replied.
Stephen sniffed. “Oh yes! Smell that fresh bread!” he said.
That decided them. In spite of Graham’s protests they crossed to a picnic table under a tree in the centre of the wide street, dropped their gear, peeled off pullovers and packed them, then headed for the shop. Peter made for the nearby public toilet.
At the door of the shop Graham said. “But we’ve only been going for a few minutes.”
“So? We’ve covered a kilometre. Twenty four to go and ten hours to do them in. The slower we go the more likely I am to make it,” Roger answered. “Besides, I’m hungry.”
In the shop Roger purchased a Steak and Kidney pie and a Sausage Roll. Stephen bought a loaf of freshly baked bread which he broke in two to share with Peter. Graham sulked but bought a ‘Caramello’ chocolate. Stephen also purchased a newspaper.
They walked back to the picnic table. Stephen spread out the newspaper and began to read. Roger took out the warm pie and sniffed it in pleasurable anticipation. It smelt delicious.
Peter rejoined them. “Anything about the murder?” he asked, pointing to the newspaper.
“Not on the front page,” Stephen replied. He turned the pages searching. “Nothing on any of the pages. Not that I can see.”
They all looked but there was no mention of the previous day’s events.
“I wonder if it was on radio or TV?” Roger asked.
“Maybe. But probably not. Remember the Inspector wanted to keep it quiet. He doesn’t want to scare the other KSS off, so he can catch them too.” Peter reminded him.
Roger nodded. “Yes. I know. I wish we could help.”
Graham shook his head. “Forget it Roger. Ask him when it’s over. Which reminds me, no loose talk in shops or around town,” he said.
The boys sat in silence for a few minutes, eating and watching the lovely little town come slowly to life. Two attractive girls walked past. Graham watched them with open interest, then commented, “They are the third lot of good looking girls to go past since we got here.”
“Maybe we should spend the day here?” Peter suggested, tongue in cheek.
“Certainly a lot of pretty girls in this town,” Stephen added. “Here comes another.”
They looked across at a woman walking with a dog. Roger smiled at his friends comments and took another mouthful. He felt stiff and sore but he was happy. ‘We have reached the halfway point of the hike. I will make it,’ he told himself. He had been scared that he would have to give up during the first two days of the hike. Now it was Day 4 and he felt fitter and more confident.
By 8:15am the boys were marching out of town. They crossed the small bridge on the western edge of town and turned left at the first road junction. There was already an uncomfortable amount of traffic, locals rushing to work. The route led up a long gentle hill along a bitumen road for three hundred metres. The sun was already hot enough to make them thankful when the road plunged into a tunnel of rain forest.
Apart from a few cars which raced past at high speed it was peaceful and it was easy walking. The road climbed gently and curved, first right, then left. A clearing opened out ahead with a bitumen car park.
“Here’s the Curtain Fig Tree,” Graham said.
“No-one else here,” Peter added.
Stephen snorted. “Bit early for tourists!”
It was quite cool in the shadows. They dropped their gear next to a National Park sign which marked the end of a walking track. This led a short distance into the rain forest to the Curtain Fig Tree. Roger shivered as the cool air encountered his sweaty shirt when he swung off his pack.
Graham looked around while he stretched. “Now, where would you hide a clue?” he asked.
“Where a tourist wouldn’t find it and take it,” Peter replied.
“And where a National Park Ranger picking up litter wouldn’t see it,” Roger added.
Graham took command. “OK. Let’s search. Look behind trees and rocks away from the track. Roger, you do this side of the track. Pete, you and Steve look on the other side.”
Roger stepped off the track into open rain forest. There were numerous moss-covered stones amongst the tree trunks but very little undergrowth and only a few vines. He decided he was sick of rain forest. This patc
h did not impress him. It was cold and water dripped from everything, the tail end of the fog.
It was only fifty metres in to where the huge parasitic strangler fig grew, its aerial root system forming the ‘Curtain’. A wooden walkway with railings surrounded the tree. All of the boys had been there several times on family excursions so they gave the giant wonder of nature only a cursory glance.
There was no sign of a clue. They looked behind every tree and rock within 25 metres, then under the walkways. Roger walked over to a large signboard describing the tree. Then an idea came to him. He clambered under the wooden railing and looked at the back of the sign.
“Here it is,” he cried, reaching up to extract a plastic packet wedged between the board and an upright. The others crowded round as he returned to the path. They did not need to open the packet. It contained the same bright yellow cardboard with black printing. It said:
MICROWAVE TOWER
RAILWAY TUNNEL
“Microwave Tower! Railway Tunnel!” cried Peter. “Bloody hell. There are dozens of microwave towers around. They stretch from here to Melbourne!”
“And plenty of railway tunnels too. There are fifteen on the Kuranda Railway,” Stephen added.
“Don’t remind us!” Roger said, remembering that awful day the madman had chased them into Number 15 Tunnel. He didn’t like tunnels- or caves- or mineshafts!
“Surely we don’t have to walk to Kuranda from here? That must be fifty kilometres in a straight line?” Peter asked.
“Easily fifty. There must be a closer tunnel than that. Wrack your brains. Let’s look at the map,” Graham said. He unfolded one map. “Wrong one. Atherton 1:100 000 is the one we need.” He unfolded the correct map. A large drop of condensation fell- splat!- fair in the middle of the map. “Bugger!” he swore and wiped it off.
“There are no tunnels between Kuranda and Mareeba,” Stephen said. “I know, we just walked it all, on that exercise last week against the Air Cadets.”
Behind Mt. Baldy Page 21
