Maralinga (50 page)

‘… But I know, Lord Dartleigh, that Daniel's death was not the accident it was reported to be …'

Harold refused to be shaken. The grieving fiancée compelled to apportion blame, he thought, but he was angry. How dare she do so in such a public manner.

‘We are all aware,' he said coldly, ‘of the tragic circumstances of your fiancé's death, Miss Hoffmann –'

She cut him short. ‘Nor was it a suicide as military records purport!'

‘And we sympathise with your pain,' he continued icily, ‘but it does not warrant your flagrant disregard for the law. You are in breach of security regulations and you will be charged accordingly.' He gestured to one of the military police who stepped forward.

Elizabeth ignored the threat, raising her voice in accusation. ‘I received a letter written by Daniel just
before he was killed,' she announced clearly for the benefit of the entire assembly. ‘I know the truth, Lord Dartleigh –'

‘Take her away,' Harold angrily ordered, and another MP stepped forward. ‘I will not tolerate these histrionics. You make a mockery of the law, madam. Get her out of here,' he growled with a wave of his hand.

Those seated near Elizabeth hastily stood to make way for the MPs, who, taking an arm apiece, started escorting her from the room. But Elizabeth wasn't about to go peacefully. She struggled and, as they got her to the door, managed to drag herself free from the grip of one of the policemen. Whirling about she flung a final accusation at Harold Dartleigh.

‘I know about you and Gideon Melbray!' she yelled.

Harold froze. Gideon? How could she know about Gideon?

Elizabeth saw the flash of recognition in his eyes and realised she'd hit home.

‘Daniel knew too, Dartleigh,' she shouted, bluffing wildly, throwing everything she could at him. ‘He wrote and told me –'

‘Get this madwoman out of here,' Harold roared.

‘I know the truth about both of you!' she screamed. ‘I have written proof –'

She gasped as her arm was wrenched behind her back. She tottered on her feet, knees threatening to give way, a fierce pain shooting through her shoulder.

Suddenly the room was in chaos.

Nick, upon seeing Elizabeth so manhandled, automatically launched himself at the policeman who had
her in an arm lock. He threw a powerful punch that connected and the man released his hold, staggering back against the wall. Elizabeth fell to her knees. People jumped to their feet and chairs overturned as other MPs sprang into action, wrestling to control the colonel who appeared to have gone insane.

The scuffle didn't last long. Nick made no attempt to resist arrest. He was quickly overpowered and both he and Elizabeth were handcuffed.

Harold Dartleigh took immediate control.

‘Lock them up,' he barked. ‘I'll interview them in due course. Until then, they're to remain in the cells and no-one is to speak to them.'

As the two were bundled out of the room, he directed his anger at the members of the press. ‘A serious breach of security has occurred here today,' he said. ‘A full investigation will be held and whoever assisted this woman in breaking the law will be duly brought to justice. In the meantime,' he turned to the MPs who stood awaiting their orders, ‘have everyone taken to the airport and returned to Adelaide as planned.'

Harold stormed from the conference room, leaving the press bewildered and Sir William Penney utterly flabbergasted. What on earth had just happened, they all wondered.

As he strode to his office several buildings away, Harold did not dwell upon the woman or how she may have discovered the truth. The simple fact was that she had, which meant he must take immediate action. There were plans to be made.

He popped his head into Ned Hanson's office.

‘There's been a bit of a fracas in the conference room,' he said. ‘A breach of security regulations. I've
had a couple of troublemakers taken to the cells. One of them's a woman.'

‘Good grief –'

‘They're not to be spoken to until I've interviewed them. Go and keep an eye on things, there's a good chap. No-one's to come near them until I give the order.'

‘Yes, sir.' Ned stood. ‘A woman?'

‘And leave me the Land Rover keys.'

‘Yes, sir.' Ned took the car keys from his pocket and handed them to his superior. ‘A woman? How on earth did –'

‘On the double, Ned.' Harold wanted to smash his fist in the dullard's face, but he smiled genially. ‘Off you go now, there's a good man.'

‘Yes, sir, of course, sir.'

As soon as Ned had gone, Harold closed the door, sat down at his desk and telephoned the airport.

‘I've received a communiqué from London,' he said, ‘they need my immediate return. Have the aircraft and crew standing by and arrange clearance. I'll be leaving tonight instead of tomorrow morning.'

He made another brief phone call, hushed and urgent. And finally he rang Gideon.

‘Gideon, old man, would you pop over to my office. Quick smart if you wouldn't mind. Something's cropped up. We need to have a bit of a chat.'

He replaced the receiver, took the Walther .32 from the top drawer of his desk and attached the silencer. Then, nursing the pistol out of sight on his lap, he leaned back in his chair and waited.

He didn't have to wait long. Several minutes later the familiar tap sounded on his office door.

‘Come in,' he called, and Gideon appeared.

Harold continued to lounge in his chair, a picture of nonchalance, as Gideon carefully closed the door behind him. Gideon always took great care to ensure the door was firmly latched these days. And so he damn well should, Harold thought with a flash of annoyance. If he'd taken a little more care in the past they wouldn't be in this current predicament. In all fairness though, he couldn't place the entire blame on Gideon's shoulders. They'd both been slack.

‘What's up?' Gideon asked as he turned to face Harold.

‘Bit of a change in plans, I'm afraid. Take a seat, old man.'

Gideon sat in one of the two wicker chairs opposite the desk. ‘What sort of –'

He didn't get any further as, in rapid succession, two bullets thumped into his heart.

Harold lowered the gun. In Gideon's eyes, was a puzzled look.
Why,
he seemed to be asking.
Why?

‘Sorry, old chap, no choice, I'm afraid. Can't take you with me, and you're a liability if I leave you here.'

But the eyes had clouded over. He was talking to a dead man.

Harold moved quickly. He cleared space in the large cupboard behind his desk, then he examined the body. There were two neat holes in the front of Gideon's jacket and, as he'd expected, no exit wounds. Good. No evidence of blood as yet, and if he laid the corpse on its back there would be little seepage. He dragged the body to the cupboard, piled it inside, checked the room for any telltale evidence, and, satisfied that all
seemed in order, he closed the cupboard door. He had a flash of déjà vu as he did so. It was not the first time the cupboard had served such a purpose.

He put the Walther in his briefcase, locked both doors to his office, and minutes later he was in the Land Rover heading for the airport.

When he arrived, he was relieved to discover that the aircraft taking the journalists to Adelaide had departed, but irritated to learn that, although his RAF crew was standing by, it would be a further hour before the ground crew finished final checks on the de Havilland.

‘We weren't expecting her to take off until tomorrow, you see, sir. She's all fuelled up, but we –'

‘Yes, yes, quick as you can, man, quick as you can.'

Harold spent a very tense hour waiting. He had time to think now and he was feeling distinctly uneasy. What if the MPs had disobeyed his orders and spoken to the woman? What if she'd shown them the letter, the written proof that she'd said she had? He comforted himself with the thought that Ned was standing guard. Good old reliable Ned, he thought, loyal to the bitter end. That was one thing he had to give the chap. Ned would die before he'd allow anyone to disobey the orders of Lord Dartleigh.

Nevertheless, as Harold sat in the small, near-deserted air terminal, his eyes kept flickering to the doors, expecting that any minute a storm of police may arrive.

It was dark by the time they took off, and when they were finally airborne he felt a sense of relief. His
ordeal was very far from over, he knew, but being away from Maralinga was a start.

 

Ned was manfully holding the fort, just as Harold had supposed.

‘I'll take the meals in,' he insisted. ‘Lord Dartleigh's orders. No communication until he's interviewed them.' He'd said the same thing at least a dozen times by now.

The MPs were good-natured enough. They'd had to talk Ned into allowing the meals in the first place.

‘The woman can't be flown back to Adelaide until tomorrow, mate,' Gus Oakley, the sergeant had said. ‘They'll both be staying in the cells overnight and they have to be fed.'

Ned had given in, and the coppers had shared a smile. Ned Hanson's devotion to duty was considered a bit of a joke.

A policeman opened the door to the cell where Nick and Elizabeth were being held and Ned appeared with a tray, which he set down on the table.

‘When you've eaten you'll be moved to another cell,' he said abruptly to Elizabeth, taking care to avoid eye contact. ‘The bunk's being made up, you'll be staying the night.'

Then he left very quickly before either she or Colonel Stratton could get in a reply. To Ned the rules were abundantly clear. The issue of instructions did not qualify as communication; conversation in any form did.

The policeman raised an eyebrow at Nick as he closed the cell door.

‘Welcome to army food,' Nick said, surveying the plates of stew and mashed potatoes.'

‘It looks fine to me,' Elizabeth replied. ‘I'm starving.' She picked up her fork and tucked into her meal. ‘Much better than anything I could cook,' she admitted with absolute honesty.

Realising he was hungry, Nick also tucked in and they ate in silence. They'd said everything there was to say. He'd ranted a little to start with.

‘You should have told me, Elizabeth!'

‘If I had, you would have tried to stop me, wouldn't you?'

‘Of course I would. It was a very dangerous thing to –'

‘Besides, if I'd involved you in any way, you'd have been an accomplice, which would have landed you in a whole lot of trouble.'

‘And I suppose this isn't a whole lot of trouble?' he said dryly, waving a hand at their surrounds.

‘I'm sorry, Nick. I'm so sorry.' She felt wretched. ‘I didn't know you were going to come charging to my rescue.'

‘Nor did I.' He shrugged. ‘It just happened somehow.'

‘Is this a major dilemma? What will they do to you?'

‘Well, decking a member of the military constabulary doesn't win you a promotion, put it that way.'

‘But he seemed really nice about it, the sergeant.'

As the two MPs had taken them to the cells, Nick had apologised to the man he'd hit. He knew Gus Oakley well.

‘I'm sorry, Sergeant, I don't know what came over me,' he'd said.

Gus had exchanged a knowing look with his mate. It wasn't half obvious there was something going on
between Nick Stratton and the good-looking woman. Half his luck, their look had said.

Gus had accepted the apology with equanimity. ‘You landed a beauty, Colonel,' he'd replied, gingerly touching the side of his face that was sore, and Nick had apologised again.

When they'd arrived at the holding cell, Gus would have chatted on a little longer – he liked Nick and didn't give a stuff about Harold Dartleigh's orders – but Ned Hanson had turned up.

‘Gus isn't the problem, Elizabeth,' Nick said. ‘Harold Dartleigh is. Dartleigh will insist they throw the book at me, you can bet your last penny on it.'

The mere mention of Dartleigh's name had been enough to get Elizabeth going. ‘Did you see the look in his eyes when I mentioned Gideon Melbray, Nick?'

‘No, I was too busy looking at you. So was everyone else.'

‘He was caught out. We were right. Gideon Melbray's MI6 too, they're working as a team …'

She was off and running again without a shred of proof, he thought. She really was amazing. ‘Great,' he said, ‘I'm glad we sorted that out.'

His cynicism was wasted on her.

‘Which means MI6 killed Danny,' she concluded triumphantly. ‘And I tell you what else, Nick. I believe it was Dartleigh himself who did the deed.'

‘Because of the look in his eyes, I take it.' There was no mistaking his sarcasm this time.

‘Yes,' she said with more than a touch of defiance, ‘because of the look in his eyes, because of the way he overreacted, because of his whole manner. The man's entire reaction was one of guilt, surely you must agree.'

What a very female viewpoint, Nick thought. To his mind, Dartleigh's reaction had been absolutely in keeping with that of a man in a position of authority confronted by the gross flouting of top-security regulations. It would have been surprising had Dartleigh acted in any other manner, he thought. But there didn't seem much point in telling her that.

‘Whether I agree or not is incidental,' he said diplomatically. ‘You still have to prove your case.'

That had successfully brought the conversation to a close, and now, as they ate their meals in silence, Elizabeth was a little subdued.

‘Do you think if we ask him, the sergeant might let me stay here with you?'

‘I hardly think so, Elizabeth, and if he did, Ned Hanson would have a heart attack. It might not look it, but this
is
a military prison, you know.'

‘Oh. What a pity.'