"All conversation will be in my village dialect. No necessity for a scrambler there." He laughed, despite the seriousness of the situation. Joe reveled in his newfound expertise.
Police came and left.
Ted and Bob came, firing many questions, and left when no conclusive answers were forthcoming. Feeling the tension, but reading Peter's body language, they knew it was best not to pursue their worries.
Ted was particularly satisfied that finance was not the cause of the tension as insurance covered the explosion and resulting damage.
Firemen came and went and reporters seemed to camp on the doorstep demanding exclusive interviews.
The day rushed by with still no word from Andrew.
It was late that night when Peter was lying almost comatose on the floor of Bill's office. The jangle of the phone cut into the black hole that was Peter's mind.
"Andrew? Where are you ringing from?" Peter paused while Andrew explained.
"Good! Now listen and don't interrupt. Jennifer's gone missing and I believe someone has kidnapped her. Return to the farm and hitch the cattle trailer to the Mac. Tell the Regimental Sergeant Major I need eight men here urgently and they are to come armed. Their arms will be carried in the company semi and a couple of them are to travel with you - the others will come in company cars and bring the coach as well."
The distraught tone of Peter's voice told Andrew how distressed he was. Ignoring Andrew's need to ask more questions, Peter rattled on.
"Yes, tell your parents about Jennifer and tell them if they want to see Jennifer alive not to ring me. We'll keep them informed using someone delegated by the RSM. If anyone asks, your parents are to say Jennifer is out riding horses and they cannot contact her. Make any excuse at all."
"The RSM is to organize boundary patrols and security for all the personnel of Blake Pastoral. One person is to operate the phone at the hospital, 24/7. Conversation is not to be in English.
He heard Andrew's query. "Yes, that's right. Conversation is not to be in English."
"I may be panicking but neither of your parents is to leave the farm without an armed Ghurkha escort.
"Now get back home, don't bust yourself.
"On the way here allow the Ghurkhas to drive as well. Feed them well. What's that?"
Peter listened to Andrew for a moment.
"Yes, indeed, The Little One is alive and kicking. Say that again!" Peter started to laugh.
"You feel sorry for the poor bastards. They'll never know what hit them! You don't know how right you are.
"Bring my altar and the plaque from my office please, so I don't feel naked. In addition, my attaché case - I believe you know the one. Now go, there's a lot about to happen. See you soon."
As an afterthought he added, "By the way, come up the Olympic way. Take your time and get one of the Ghurkhas to ring me when you're at Bathurst. Go to a pub and ring and don't any of you start drinking."
Andrew was enraged at the peals of loud laughter that came through the phone. He failed to understand how this man could laugh when his wife, Andrew's sister, was in such danger.
Still the orders continued. "Don't leave Bathurst until that Ghurkha speaks with me. Now go. May our God travel with you! Don't forget, ring me from Bathurst and bring the RSM."
Abruptly the long phone call ended.
****** THAT FATEFUL TUESDAY
Late the next day Mark, the bookkeeper, called Peter to the phone. Neither Joe nor Mark understood the conversation as Peter explained in Nepali the next steps the Melbourne team were to take.
"You're to leave the truck in Bathurst and fly to Sydney while one of the group, not Andrew, is to drive the car to the workshop. The car will escort the coach. Wait, Joe my foreman will tell you where to leave the truck in Bathurst."
Peter handed the phone to Joe. "Give them directions. The trucking yard would be excellent."
Speaking slowly and distinctly, much to Peter's amusement, Joe gave the necessary directions. When the call ended, he immediately rang the yard boss in Bathurst.
The soft intonation and the rolling 'r' of Italian were enough to show Peter that Joe was organizing Bathurst.
With the first of the arrangements completed, Peter walked to the Motel where his request to use her phone surprised Susie but her hug told Peter that his friends were just as worried as he was.
He chartered a plane. The pilot was to collect a party of eight with their luggage at Bathurst airport.
When he returned to the workshop office, Joe and Mark were waiting expectantly for him. They made him sit before handing over a small box that a courier had just delivered.
Slowly, with a sinking heart, Peter opened it, dreading the moment when he could see the contents.
Inside was some of Jennifer's hair. Taped to a sheet of paper were her wedding ring and engagement ring. On the paper was a clear communication in flowery script.
'Big Red, our new pony, did not take any training at all.
'Really, she is a good ride and has no further need of these!'
It was unsigned.
Peter's chair crashed back against the wall as he hurled himself to his feet, and the solid office table shook as his fist hammered down to crush the box that had contained the message.
Both Joe and Mark recoiled from the anger blazing from his eyes.
"They are dead men and so is the Thai who wrote this."
He answered the inquisitive stares of his friends with a venomous snarl. "This was written by a Thai - I recognize the letter formation which is peculiar to Thais.
"Bloody hell, that bastard Dingo and his followers are so stupid. I warned them and they ignored my words. That gang, including Pretty Boy, is ignorant." and his voice tailed off in a long list of expletives.
"They are so confident of their own smartness." His swearing would have made a bullock driver proud. "They can run but the bastards can't hide! Vengeance is mine and a reasonable payment for their stupidity will be their lives."
Lovingly, he lifted the two rings to his lips and kissed them. He stared at them for a long time before scooping the hair up to his nose. Washing the lock in his tears, he inhaled her fragrance. Peter carefully placed her hair, her rings wrapped in the paper and the note in an envelope that he then locked in the office safe.
Suddenly the phone rang and Mark answered then handed it to Joe who quickly broke into Italian. The conversation was brief.
When the call finished Joe translated. "Our favorite black Mercedes collected two Arabs - renowned horse breeders and traders in female flesh - from the International Terminal. The car took them to a mansion in Hunters Hill where the Arabs are obviously guests. You'll never miss them as they're dressed in traditional Arab white clothing with the usual headpiece.
"Their photos will be in tomorrow's sporting section as they're here to collect a special mare."
Peter's harsh snarl cut across Joe's translation. "I hope they enjoyed their trip to Sydney as I am afraid they will be collecting no mare. In fact, they have sealed their death warrant. They have come a long way to meet the Angel of Death." A bitter, angry outburst of hate colored his voice.
Joe and Mark were startled at the change in Peter but they could nod their agreement.
"Thank your friends, Joe."
"No need for thanks Boss," answered Joe. "You'd be surprised how many taxis followed that car and are now in Hunter's Hill waiting for fares."
The phone rang again. Joe absentmindedly picked it up as he watched Peter's face intently.
"Joe speaking." Then he immediately broke into Italian. Even Mark, who thought he could speak a few European languages and whose Italian was good, didn't have the faintest idea what Joe was saying in his dialect.
"Thanks. Keep in touch," Joe concluded.
Those were the only words Peter or Mark understood.
"I believed my Italian was good but..." Mark commented with a laugh.
"Unless you were born in the same village as me on the island of Sicily you wouldn't understand a word of what I was saying," was Joe's laughing reply.
"Peter let's go." He led him into the street where they couldn't be overheard. "Things are developing. Silver Service Limousines have contacted me to say Dingo has ordered four limos for 8pm Friday to pick up at Hunters Hill and drop off at the Red Jade, Dingo's own nightclub.
"It appears the nightclub chef has his knickers in a knot, as all food is to be Halal. In fact, the staff is furious. They're ready to quit but are terrified of repercussions."
Mark interrupted any further comment by calling Peter out of the street to the phone. A quick conversation in Cantonese ensued.
"God, this is like the United Nations," Joe remarked.
Peter returned to the street to continue the conversation with Joe. Laughing at the surprised look on Joe's face he announced, "Our troops arrive tomorrow and Dingo's fools genuinely consider they are so smart.
"We shall see! Stop looking worried and surprised, Joe, I've merely called in some debts owed to me." Peter threw these words back at Joe as he rushed up the hill to the Motel.
"Cancel all bookings for say the next month, please Susie. Any bookings you're holding, arrange to pass onto nearby motels and you pick up the tab. Make them free to your clients so they'll definitely wish to come back. I'll leave the appropriate arrangements to you but the motel will hang the NO VACANCY sign out until I say otherwise. I'll sign the register as a business booking now.
"You'll have no problem with the motel owner as you'll be showing a healthy profit during this period. At least, for a while you'll have quality time with James."
Susie could only shake her head in surprise as Peter wrote in flourishing calligraphy the official names of two companies - one in Mandarin Script and the other in Tamil.
"Your guests are hopefully arriving tomorrow morning and taking a few tours of Sydney before beginning the hard work and study at Blake Pastoral," he explained. "Blake Pastoral will be looking after the tab and will be paying you something special for being a gracious hostess."
Ignoring her efforts to refuse, he phoned Blake Pastoral and merely grunted, "The acting RSM please," before breaking into Nepali. When he had eventually concluded his orders, he put his arm across Susie's shoulder to reassure her.
"Stop looking so worried Susie. Never fear, we will rescue Jennifer and I'll kill the scum responsible for her plight. That's a guarantee, not a threat, and it'll be to my immense satisfaction. Tomorrow night you'll discover why I'm laughing at these fools."
"Just as well, the car park is large as a tourist coach'll be here tomorrow and will be parked on the premises to transport your guests. Perhaps, if you're up to it, you could go with the coach as hostess as you know Sydney pretty well. I know the passengers will enjoy James and spoil him rotten."
"The men who are coming are good fun. They're bloody dangerous but good fun. They'll protect you and James. God," his face broke into despair, "if only I'd taken the same care of Jennifer."
Tearfully, he retraced his way to the workshop where he called Joe and handed the phone to him.
"Ring your mates in the taxis. Singapore Airlines Flight 301 from Singapore arrives at 7am tomorrow. They'll hold up a sign Little One Tours and will collect sixteen passengers. Blake Pastoral will pay all bills for the trip. The expenses will include 25% cash tip for each driver. They are to take two passengers per cab and the taxis are to be clean. The drivers are to dress in clean uniforms. Can you arrange that? They're to be brought to Susie's Motel where the drivers will have breakfast with our guests and get to know them."
Joe stared at this man who was so calmly arranging a war, a gang war where there could only be one outcome.
Dingo wouldn't have time to duck or run.
The telephone conversation continued for a long time and Peter was becoming impatient when Joe replaced the phone. "Now that was really interesting," Joe commented. "It seems Dingo's been running a protection racket on the various taxi fleets, and when a few drivers rebelled by smashing up his Merc, they were killed. Now they're only too pleased to assist you."
****** THAT FATEFUL WEDNESDAY
It was very early Wednesday morning when two Victorian cars drove to the entrance of the workshop and Peter directed them to the motel where they were booked in as guests of Blake Pastoral.
The first of the invited visitors had arrived.
Taxi after taxi dropped their fares at the motel before disappearing into the traffic. None of the guests signed the register and none gave their name. To Susie they were nameless Ghurkhas, Indians or Chinese.
Andrew arrived and the motel was quickly filling.
The first out of the coach were the two daughters of the RSM. They rushed to Susie demanding to see James William.
Peter was surprised but instinctively he knew the RSM had supplied his own bodyguards for the baby. Ghurkha women were renowned for their fierce protection of their children.
An even bigger surprise was the last passenger to alight. The surgeon from Blake Pastoral's village hospital stepped forward to grip Peter's hand. "The RSM demanded I come in case some of you wild, hot headed young fellows get injured."
No one left the premises and there seemed to be an air of urgent expectancy and excitement hanging over the building. Food arrived. The new guests were served an Italian lunch.
Susie had ceased to be amazed at her guests' courtesy and smiling treatment of her and the baby.
She recognized the RSM and his daughters but all the other Ghurkhas looked alike and they didn't attempt to introduce themselves. The RSM said they had unpronounceable names and called them by their various ranks. He added that it was better if no one knew their names but didn't elaborate.
That night a banquet was prepared in the dining room and Bill, Susie, Mark, Joe and Joe's wife, Maria, were honored guests. Two special guests were invited - Ted and Bob.
During the meal, Susie whispered to Peter that the two babysitters had tossed her out of the baby's room and had made up beds in his room to look after him all night. It was as though the girls intended keeping a 24/7 watch on him. The meal eventually ended and two Ghurkhas moved to guard the door guaranteeing absolute privacy,
Andrew stood. Hesitating, he looked over the eager faces, and then began to address the crowd.
"Friends, it's my sister who's been taken. It's Peter's wife who's been stolen and," he proceeded to outline Peter's background. The welcome visitors from Malaysia, Singapore and the Ghurkhas all knew Peter's history, but of the others, only Susie had a vague outline. Ted and Bob were flummoxed.
He finalized his talk with the brief words, "There'll only be five involved in the planning to rescue Jennifer: Joe, the RSM, Peter, Bill and I, and only Peter will be in charge knowing the total plan."
"Susie, will you arrange accommodation for Maria, as she'll be staying here for a while. Peter, Joe and I have to work. I think Peter has an evil plan for me to get blisters on my hands tonight as he says I don't know what hard work is.
"Mark, Bob and Ted are to be our smokescreen people. You're to confer closely with the RSM, Bill and Peter so the smokescreen is extremely dense and most effective.
"Now everyone sleep well. There's plenty of wine and beer here so enjoy yourselves. Have a party but no sore heads. Okay, Peter let's go. Come on Joe, I believe I'm your apprentice. I'll make you earn your money tonight."
With Joe and Peter as passengers, Andrew drove the tourist coach into the workshop where advertisements announcing Little One's Australasian Tours replaced the Blake Pastoral signs on the sides and rear. Andrew under Joe's guidance unscrewed the Mercedes insignia and grunted when assisting in the removal of the bull bar.
The new bull bar and Scania signs were in place when, knowing that it was not the cleanest of jobs, Joe made Andrew crawl under the bus. He was to hold the air hose in place and increase the pressure in the air bags so the extra weight on the Mercedes' chassis would not be noticeable.
"If the Germans could camouflage a destroyer as an ordinary tramp steamer then we can disguise this coach." Peter tried to encourage them.
The three men even changed the registration plates before being satisfied. When all was completed, Joe drove the disguised coach to the motel where he joined Maria although there was not much left of the night for sleep.
Slowly Andrew walked back to the motel. He wondered how his hands would recover from their blisters as he collapsed on the bed and slept in his clothes.
****** THAT FATEFUL THURSDAY
On Thursday morning the moment breakfast was finished, Andrew, Joe, The Commander, the RSM, one Chinese, one Tamil and Peter walked to Bill's office for a Council of War. A Ghurkha stood guard and Peter smiled ruthfully knowing they would not be disturbed.
Breathless and fussing about everyone's health, Susie walked in. Before sitting, she had checked that breakfast had been to their tastes. Laughing, she explained that her Italian cook had learnt to share his kitchen with one Tamil and one Chinese and the three had prepared breakfasts for their own contingent. She had left the three of them discussing recipes and exchanging tips.
"Those guests can stay anytime. They're so polite and thoughtful. A certain husband, here, had better take care else they may be taking me back with them." She ruffled Bill's hair as she sat beside Peter.
Even the surprise of her late arrival did not cut into Peter's intense anger and he made his feelings obvious, demanding they attack Dingo and his mob immediately.
An intense debate followed with everyone vigorously advancing ideas and the volume had risen to an alarming level.
The calm, confident voice of the RSM halted all disputes. "Peter, in the jungle, it was the patient attack that succeeded. How many times did we attack and completely rout the enemy with no loss of any of our men. You stop and think. Why were we so successful?"
Awaiting an answer, he paused and stared at Peter before continuing positively. "We must prepare for a battle that will come, and it will come make no mistake. These people will not give Jennifer up willingly.
"We cannot storm their castle.
"Police would arrive and we would lose men needlessly. Slowly, slowly - surprise and stealth will be our allies.
"First we must send out our scouts."
Peter clenched his fists as he rose to interject although instinctively he knew that the RSM was correct.
The Commander leant across to pull Peter back down to his seat. "Come on Peter be rational. What's the sense in having Jennifer free if you're dead?
"Your RSM's a military man and is planning a military style operation.
"The navy says hoist the mainsails, heave to and fire a broadside. Yet we are not at sea so we use camouflage and smokescreens to deceive the enemy.
"We're aiming at the complete destruction of Dingo. You may be surprised that my conflict with Dingo goes back a long way. I also have some scores to settle so sit and listen to some common sense."
"But." Peter tried to interject.
"But -- bloody nothing! Just shut up and listen." Bill, the ex-naval Commander had lost patience. "You may not be willing to admit it but we are all in this together."
Methodically the RSM continued. "To succeed, this must be a military style operation. Last night while you and your wicked workman wore out the poor little farmer, Bill, Susie, your two tourists here and I made plans for today." He nodded at the Tamil and the Chinese trying to lighten the atmosphere. It was imperative that Peter realize they would gain nothing rushing ahead to attack the criminals.
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