“Well done Roger!” Captain Conkey cried.
Roger began walking quickly along the top of the mound, followed by the others. They passed close behind the captured partisans who stared curiously at them. At the far end Roger stopped and turned.
“Where is the High School Peter?”
“Over there somewhere, on the north side of the town,” Peter replied.
Roger scanned the distant jumble of buildings which sprawled down the slope of the hill. “Which one is it? I can’t tell.”
They all looked but no-one could positively identify any buildings as the High School. Stephen pointed to the largest he could see. “What about those?”
“That is the Hospital, remember?” Graham said.
They all nodded. Roger shook his head. ‘We aren’t likely to forget,’ he thought, ‘not after that horrible adventure in the old mine at Stannary Hills last year when we all ended up there.’
“Give us a magnetic bearing to the school Pete,” Graham asked, seeing Peter had his map out.
Peter knelt and quickly drew a pencil line on his map. He used his Silva Compass to calculate the magnetic bearing, then converted it to a ‘Back Bearing’. He gave the answer to Graham who lined his own compass up.
Graham pointed. “It is through those trees there,” he said.
“Perhaps we can see it from up on the side of the mountain,” Stephen suggested.
“Or further down the range,” Roger added.
Stephen sneered. “Don’t be a dork Roger, there’s nothing there,” he said, pointing down the long strip of mowed grass.
The jibe stung and Roger’s temper flared. “Then the treasure might be buried. You go up the mountain and I’ll look down there,” he snapped. He began striding down the mound. Stephen shrugged and turned to walk up the slope. The others stood and watched.
Roger kept looking to his left as he walked. His path took him right over on the southern side of the range beside the drain. He reached the 100 Metre Mound but still there was no sign of the High School. But a small part of the northern slope of Atherton had come into view so he continued on.
At the 200 metre mound he still could not see the school but he could see even more of the slope. By then he was starting to feel silly, worried that he would look a fool if there was nothing, or if he could not see the High School at all because of the trees on the other side of the range. Stubbornly he kept walking. There were some weeds and small bushes ahead near the end of the 300 Metre Mound. He walked to them and looked.
There was nothing among the bushes but he wondered if they grew there because the ground had been disturbed when someone had buried the treasure. Feeling quite stressed he walked onto the mound and looked. ‘Yes! There, through that gap in the trees. I can see the school.’ To check he went forward ten paces but the school was lost to sight. He walked fifty and it did not reappear.
Roger stopped and walked back slowly. The school came into view again as he reached the mound again. Just that one gap in the trees. He looked down. A low concrete wall about 20cm high ran across the front of the mound and ended in a concrete sump just next to him. This had a rusty iron grille over it and was almost hidden by a small bush. He walked around in a circle studying the ground for signs of digging; and checking that he could still see all five objects.
Graham called out: “Can you see the High School?”
“Yes,” Roger replied. He pointed. Then he noted with some satisfaction that Stephen was walking back down the mountain side. That sent him back to quartering the ground. He quickly discovered that he could only see all five things within a couple of paces of the drain. If he crossed it he lost sight of the pine trees. If he went up and down the drain he lost sight of the school.
Was it the sump? It looked such an ordinary thing, half-hidden in weeds. He stopped and looked carefully at it. A few paces away was the open drain, a deep, eroded ditch running downhill along the side of the clearing. He walked to that and looked into it. A pipe led into it from the sump but was much too small for a person to crawl into.
Roger jumped down into the drain and looked up the pipe. He could see clearly up to the concrete sump a few metres away. Nothing in there. Feeling frustrated but certain that the answer was close he scrambled out of the drain, ignoring a sharp twinge in his left knee. Again he walked up and down checking that the five objects could only be seen from that one area. Further down the drain the pine trees were obscured and so was the school.
He went back to the sump. That was the only place he could see all five objects from. But he could see no sign of any disturbed earth. Puzzled, Roger studied the sump again. It looked like every other sump he had ever seen. So what was the answer? He shook his head in annoyance and studied the surrounding area. Then it occurred to him. Why was this the only mound which appeared to have a retaining wall and a sump? Why was it there? Why didn’t any run-off simply flow along the face of the retaining wall and into the ditch?
‘Is the treasure hidden in the sump?’ Roger wondered. To check he bent down and pushed the bush aside. His eyes focused on the metal grille. It was just the usual heavy, rusty iron bars resting in grooves. He brushed some grass and leaves aside, pushed his fingers through the bars and gripped them. Then he tried to lift it.
It was heavy. Roger found he was panting as he strained with exertion.
“What is it Roger? What have you found?” called Graham, who was running down ahead of the group. Roger made no answer. He heaved again and the grille moved. Graham joined him and grabbed a hold. They hauled the grille up.
“Just a drain,” Graham said, bending to look in.
Roger knelt and peered in. The concrete rim which supported the grille was smaller than the space underneath, which was at least a metre and a half deep. He could not see under the rim because of that. On an impulse he put his feet in and slid down, just as the others arrived.
There was just room for him to bend his knees and crouch. He looked around.
And there it was: a small steel door about 40cm high X 50cm wide, with a heavy padlock on it.
Roger stood up, his eyes only able to focus on Prince Peter.
“The big key please Your Majesty.”
Prince Peter looked astonished, then fumbled in the briefcase. Princess Mareena took the piece of cardboard from him, ripped the key free and handed it to Roger. He crouched and had to wipe perspiration from his hands before taking hold of the lock.
The key slid in easily. The lock was oiled and in good condition.
Click!
Roger unlocked the padlock and passed it up. He pulled the metal door by a small handle. It swung open easily. Also well oiled, he noted. Beyond was a concrete lined cavity. Almost filling the space was a grey metal container. He had difficulty getting a grip on it but after a few tries he pulled it out.
It was an oblong box almost a metre long. It was locked.
‘I know what this is,’ Roger thought with a strong sense of premonition. He suddenly shivered and found he was trembling as he passed the heavy box up to Graham, who laid it on the grass. Peter helped Roger to climb out.
Inspector Sharpe shook his head in admiration. “The cunning old devil,” he said. “He built this drain, then came here almost every day for years, to guard it with a loaded rifle.”
Prince Peter put down his briefcase and took the other key from the princess and knelt to open the box. He was visibly trembling and was gripped by strong emotion.
Lt Col Smith moved next to him. “Do you know what it is sir?” he asked.
Prince Peter shook his head. “No. Count Krapinski did not say. But I can guess,” he replied. He licked his lips and wiped his hands, then inserted the key and turned it.
“I hope it’s not booby-trapped,” DS Crowe commented.
There was a moment of frozen pause. Then Prince Peter took a deep breath and opened the lid.
The container was felt lined and around the edges had a rubber seal. Inside was another oblong object wrapped in purple silk. The Prince reverently picked it up and gently unwrapped the silk.
“The Thigh Bone of St Joris,” he whispered.
They stood in awed silence, gazing at the relic. It was in a glass fronted box of ancient polished wood. Roger realized that the hinges, fastenings and clamps were made of gold. The sacred bone looked thin and grey and had several splits along it.
Prince Peter stood up. He seemed to swell up as he lifted the box. In a loud voice he cried: “The Thigh Bone of St Joris!”
“Are you sure?” Inspector Sharpe asked.
“Yes! Yes I am. Look here. It says so.” He pointed to a gold plate with engraved Cyrillic letters. His eyes blazed and he held the icon aloft. His voice rang in exultation as he shouted in Serbo-Croat.
Roger did not understand what he said but the effect on the partisan prisoners on the mound was instantaneous. To the alarm of their police guards they sprang to their feet and began shouting.
Prince Peter grasped the box to his chest, took Princess Mareena’s hand and began striding up the range. The others followed in amazed silence. Inspector Sharpe picked up the prince’s briefcase as he went.
Roger walked along at the rear as though he was in a dream. He felt simultaneously uplifted and exhausted.
Prince Peter walked right up to the six prisoners. He held the box out and began to speak rapidly in Serbo-Croat, ending in a shout of triumph. The effect on the men was astonishing. One threw himself at the prince’s feet and went to kiss his boots. Two others knelt and put their heads on the ground. The partisan sergeant knelt and bowed his head. Only one remained standing, glaring hate and defiance.
DS Crowe moved forward to push the grovelling partisan back.
Inspector Sharpe also stepped forward. “Please Your Highness. Please move away from these men.” He led the prince and princess down off the mound to the police vehicles.
Roger turned to the partisan sergeant. “What did Prince Peter say? What was that all about?”
The man’s eyes seemed to glaze. He wiped sweat from his brow. “He said, ‘I am Peter Dragovitch, your rightful King and, and.... here is God’s sign that this is so; our most sacred national treasure’,” the partisan sergeant said. He suddenly raised his arms and shouted in Serbo-Croat.
Roger and the others sprang back in alarm.
The police guards raised their weapons. Three other partisans also scrambled to their feet and joined in the shouting. It was a rhythmic chant which echoed from the slopes of Mt Baldy. The men looked towards Prince Peter who turned to face them and smiled. He made a gesture with his right hand and the men cheered.
“Long live King Peter!” shouted the partisan sergeant, tears streaming down his face. He suddenly embraced his neighbour and kissed him on both cheeks. The others did likewise, although handicapped by their handcuffs. Only the sour-faced one did not join in. The police looked on in astonishment.
Then the partisan sergeant turned and grabbed Roger, who was too surprised to react. Before he could move the man had slobbered smelly, sweaty kisses on each cheek. He then turned towards Stephen but he and the others retreated hastily. Roger fled after them, aflame with embarrassment.
“Lucky you Roger!” Peter laughed.
“Bite your bum!” Roger growled.
Graham grabbed hold of the partisan sergeant and shook him. “Stop it! Stop it! Calm down! Inspector! I just had an idea. Have this bloke radio to his officers that Prince Peter now has the Thigh Bone of St Joris.”
“Jolly good idea. Come down here you cadets. Constable, sit those fellows down. And keep a close eye on that surly looking brute at the back,” Inspector Sharpe called.
The boys moved down with Captain Conkey to stand with the Lt Colonel and his staff near Prince Peter and Princess Mareena. A few minutes later Inspector Sharpe came walking down.
“Done that. Good. Now, who is this coming? Ah! The Federal Police at last.”
Three large white cars drew up. A dozen men in suits climbed out. There was a flurry of introductions which left the boys standing in the background as interested spectators, with the army signallers and RSM.
Inspector Sharpe did the introductions. “Commander Simkin your Royal Highness. He is with the Federal Police. And this is Mr Colin Prendergast of the Foreign Affairs Department.”
Commander Simkin, a hard looking grey man with a clipped grey moustache, shook hands with Prince Peter and bowed to the princess. Then he turned to Inspector Sharpe. “Now, Inspector Sharpe, can you please explain what the blazes is going on?”
“It is a very long story Commander. I will give you an outline now. Then I suggest we move somewhere safer and more comfortable while we cover all the details,” Inspector Sharpe replied. He then gave an outline of the events of the previous six days which produced looks of ever-increasing surprise, shock and dismay on the official’s faces.
After fifteen minutes an astonished and worried Commander said: “We will certainly move from here.” He looked up at the wooded slopes of Mt Baldy with a worried frown.
Roger also glanced up at the forested slope. ‘He’s thinking of snipers,’ he thought. He began to fret lest a bullet suddenly strike down the prince or princess.
Commander Simkin went on: “Is there somewhere not too far away where we can house fifty people and isolate and protect them for a day or two?”
Inspector Sharpe tugged at his jaw. “Hmmm. Yes. I know just the place. There is a motel on a peninsula in Lake Tinaroo at Yungaburra. It has water on three sides and is surrounded by open lawns. It is a motel called ‘Tinaburra Waters’.”
DS Crowe nodded agreement. “Good spot sir. A nice comfortable place too. As well as being easy to secure. ‘Lakeside Motor Inn’ is the name of the motel.”
The Commander turned to one of his aides. “Wilkins, go and requisition that motel. Use the minister’s name. If need be call him. This is most important. Do not haggle over the rates. Pay what the management ask. Arrange alternate accommodation and compensation for any guests. Have the place cleared within two hours, except for the staff. Get going. Colonel Smith, I want one of your companies to move there at once, surround and secure the area. Keep everyone out who does not have my authorization- and No media! Sorry Colonel, but your little war in the mountains will have to wait.”
The Lt Colonel and his staff looked visibly disappointed at this but he moved at once to issue the orders. Commander Simkin turned to Captain Conkey. “Captain, I must require you and your cadets to come with us. I must also insist, nay, demand, that none of you say anything to the media or your friends or families until I authorize it- which may be never.”
“I must inform their parents that the boys are safe,” Captain Conkey insisted.
“Yes, you may do that,” Commander Simkin agreed. He turned to Inspector Sharpe. “There have been rumours for days. Half the Press Corps in the country are out there at the turn-off, clamouring to get in. We want to keep this quiet. It is a major diplomatic incident. National Security is involved. Captain, make sure your cadets understand.”
Roger suddenly felt worried and sick. He was appalled at the authority and power of this grim-faced man. He also had the awful realization that, in discovering the Thigh Bone, he may have started events beyond his control, which he would regret.
They were kept waiting for ten minutes before four ‘Black Hawks’ came roaring down to land along the Rifle Range. The cadets were led forward and placed aboard the third one. Even though Roger had flown in helicopters before; twice the previous year- when they were rescued from the flooded Mulgrave River in January, and when searching for Willy Williams and his airship in June- he was still excited and anxious.
The crew strapped them in. Roger was comfortably in the middle. He didn’t enjoy flying but still found it fascinating. As the machine trembled with power and lifted off he uttered a quiet prayer. Below him he glimpsed trees, a small creek, a gravel road, houses, another creek, then the roofs of Atherton. In a minute they were beyond the town and over open farmland. Roger shivered and closed his eyes.
Five minutes later they were circling Tinaburra Waters. The machine settled on a wide lawn beside the lake and they climbed out. The motel had not yet been taken over but Commander Simkin led them over to it. His aide, Wilkins, arrived at that moment and a discussion began with the manager. Roger was so tired he did not care what happened next. Now he just wanted to lie down and sleep.
More helicopters roared in, to disgorge soldiers who surrounded the buildings and were placed on guard at doorways. Others were sent to patrol the shores of the lake. The boys were warned not to leave the premises and were led to two downstairs rooms by a policeman, who then stood guard on the veranda. Roger and Graham were given one room and Peter and Stephen the other. Capt Conkey had the next along, sharing with DS Crowe.
The boys were told to shower and were given fresh uniforms by the soldiers. Roger found the hot shower to be a mixture of bliss and stinging pains. He pulled on the clean clothes and flopped onto one of the beds. Just as he was drifting into sleep food was brought by a friendly woman who gave them a cheerful welcome. Roger sat up and placed one of the trays on a table and wolfed the food down. An army doctor visited them with a couple of medics and their minor ailments were treated. Then they were left alone.
Captain Conkey checked how they were, then told them to get some sleep until they were needed. Roger needed no encouragement. He stretched out on the very comfortable bed and was soon asleep.
At 8pm they were woken and taken to a lounge room where Commander Simkin, several other men in suits, Mr Prendergast, Inspector Sharpe, DS Crowe and Captain Conkey were all seated. Peter and Stephen joined them and they were made comfortable in chairs. Coffee and biscuits were provided.
Once they were settled they were required to tell the whole story and were minutely questioned on every little detail. It was after midnight before they finished and were led back to their rooms. Roger was so exhausted he just threw himself on the bed and was asleep in moments.
After breakfast next morning they were interviewed again and detailed statements taken. They were allowed to speak briefly to their parents on the telephone, saying only a prepared speech. The morning dragged by. During this time they learned that, on orders from the Kosarian Embassy, the Partisans in the jungle had surrendered (“Much to the disgust of the Colonel and his men who were looking forward to a good little stoush,” explained Inspector Sharpe). Several partisans had asked for political asylum. The rest were to be deported. Diplomatic relations between Australia and Kosaria were ‘very strained’. Mr Stinkibitz had cut short his visit and flown out.
Several Royal Guards had also been arrested. Most had gone into hiding. Two more KSS men had been taken into custody.
“What about Hauptman Ritnik sir? Is he alright?” Roger asked.
“Yes. He is in hospital and will recover fully,” Inspector Sharpe replied.
“What will happen to the prince and princess Sir?” Peter asked.
“They are to be flown out of the country and set free.”
Roger liked that. The thought of them being put in jail or something had been bothering him.
After lunch the four friends sat on the patio. Roger relaxed and enjoyed the lovely view out over the lake. As he dozed he heard another helicopter land. A few minutes later the boys were called by a plain-clothes policeman.
“Prince Peter and Princess Mareena wish to speak to you before they leave,” he said.
They were led down to where Inspector Sharpe, Commander Simkin and Captain Conkey stood with the prince and princess at the front entrance. Prince Peter and Princess Mareena were now in civilian clothes, the prince in a light grey suit and the princess in a lovely emerald green frock.
The boys lined up, feeling very self conscious. Prince Peter stepped forward and said: “We have now heard the whole story of what you did. I would like to thank you again. You saved my life, and you saved my cousin’s life as well. If you would be so kind I would consider it a favour if you would accept honorary life membership in the Crown Prince’s Life Guard of the Kosarian Royal Guard.”
He then stepped forward and handed each of them one of the Golden Eagle badges and shook their hands. When he got to Roger he added: “And a special thanks to you for helping to find the er... the object in Count Krapinski’s care.”
Roger felt very proud, humble and embarrassed. But what happened next overwhelmed him. Princess Mareena stepped forward and kissed him on both cheeks. “As a special thanks for saving the prince and Baron Ritnik,” she said. Then she moved along and also kissed the others.
The memory of her touch and the smell of her perfume lingered long after the sound of the helicopter died away.
And the prince did keep his word. The boys not only received their Duke of Edinburgh Award, but also received with it a personal letter from Prince Phillip congratulating them and offering his thanks.
Months later each of the boys received in the mail a small box. Inside was a handwritten note of thanks from Prince Peter; and a beautiful silver and gold medal on a green and white ribbon. A typed letter signed by Major Ritnik explained it was the Kosarian medal of the White Falcon for sacrifice in the service of the King. As they were foreign medals from a government which did not legally exist the boys could not wear them on their uniforms, but for each they remained a treasured possession; a permanent reminder to Roger of Count Krapinski; and of the meaning of Duty, Loyalty and Honour.