Red Tide, стр. 59
Once on the ground the navy officers were greeted by an Aussie lieutenant. He rendered a salute which Nathan returned. “Welcome to Pom City. Lieutenant Swallow at your service. The meeting with General Haskell is slated for 0900 tomorrow morning. But, according to what I’ve been told, he’ll be present at tonight’s party.”
Nathan frowned. “Party? What party?”
A party? Ryson wondered. In the wake of the attack on Okinawa? That was strange. But maybe the Parkers were trying to boost morale. A stiff upper lip and all that.
“The party will be held at the Parker mansion,” Swallow replied. “Which, as it happens, is where you’ve been invited to stay.”
“I see,” Nathan replied. “That was very nice of the Parkers. What have we got by way of ground transportation?”
“The vehicles are over there,” Swallow said, as he gestured to a column of armored cars. “Nothing fancy, sir … That wouldn’t be safe here. Pom City was dangerous before the war, and it’s worse now. There’s a great deal of government corruption. And, because of that, the Raskol (Rascal) gangs are even more assertive. Car jackings are common. As are kidnappings.”
Ryson saw that a Bushmaster PMV was waiting to lead the parade, followed by two Land Rovers, and a second Bushmaster. All heavily armed.
“I see,” Nathan replied. “Thank you for the efforts on our behalf. This is Lieutenant Commander Ryson by the way … He’s American, but don’t hold that against him.”
Swallow smiled. “We’ll do our best, sir. Please follow me.”
The fact that both visitors were issued body armor, and told to put it on, served to emphasize the dangers resident in Port Moresby.
So why live there, Ryson wondered? Especially since the Parkers could live anywhere. The answer was obvious. For better or worse, the family business was headquartered in Pom City. And they had to defend it.
“Parker House is located on Touaguba Hill, overlooking Port Moresby,” Lieutenant Swallow informed them, as the Land Rover bumped through a series of pot holes, and sped past a row of shacks with rusty roofs. “The house provides them with a terrific view of the harbor. Not to mention their ships as they come and go.
“The Chinese try to bomb the Parker freight terminal on a regular basis but, thanks to our fighters, they haven’t been able to score.”
That caused Ryson to wonder. Was Kelsey acting as a patriot, out to protect Australia? Or the daughter of a shipping magnate, with an ax to grind? And did it matter? So long as her motivations were consistent with each other?
Swallow was an amateur historian, and proceeded to describe the air battles that took place over Port Moresby between February of 1942 and August 1943. “It was a bloody affair,” Swallow said, as the convoy passed through a seedy business district.
“On March 31st our chaps were joined by the American 8th Bombardment Squadron which flew A-24 bombers. And for two weeks in May, six P-39 Airacobras of the American 36th Pursuit Squadron joined the fray.
“But, in spite of American assistance, the daily battles reduced the No. 75 Squadron RAAF to just three airworthy machines.
“Eventually elements of the American 35th, and the full 36th Pursuit Squadron, arrived to lend a hand. The No. 75 Squadron lost twenty-one aircraft and twelve pilots. It was a close thing.”
While Swallow continued talking, the lead Bushmaster led the convoy through narrow streets, and onto the road that climbed the side of Touaguba Hill. “There’s the bay,” Swallow said. “As you can see two Indonesian destroyers are in port.”
Ryson knew that Western New Guinea was governed by Indonesia, which was clearly doing a piss poor job of it. But there was no reason to say that and he didn’t.
The convoy slowed, then came to a stop in front of a military style checkpoint, complete with concertina wire and machine gun positions. Smart looking soldiers, most of whom were black, came forward to check IDs and search the vehicles for IEDs.
“They’re mercenaries,” Swallow explained. “All veterans of the South African Special Forces Brigade. That’s something Mr. Parker insists on. ‘You can’t trust the locals.’ That’s what he says. And I agree.”
Once cleared, the convoy was allowed to pass through a gate, and follow a paved road up through a series of switchbacks to the sprawling mansion above. It was painted an eye-searing white and much given to right angles, gleaming windows, and verandahs. All boasting views of the city and bay.
The convoy took a hard turn to the left, climbed the last stretch of driveway, and came to a stop under a flat-roofed portico. “Duty calls,” Swallow said, as the navy officers got out. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Two white clad servants appeared to greet the guests. One was a young woman in a sari. “My name is Nia,” the girl said, as she brought the palms of her hands together and bowed. “Welcome to Parker House. Please allow me to take your bag, and show you to your room.”
“Thank you,” Ryson replied. “I’ll carry the bag.”
“As you wish,” Nia said, with another bow. “Please follow me.”
Glass doors slid out of the way as Nia approached them. The reception area was large and beautifully furnished. An enormous portrait confronted each guest as they entered. The woman was Asian. Chinese? Ryson thought so.
She was dressed for a formal occasion. A large diamond dangled from her neck. Matching diamonds glittered on her ears. The skintight evening dress fit like a glove. The woman’s eyes were focused on a point somewhere in the distance. “And who,” Ryson inquired, “is she?”
“That’s Li jing,” Nia answered. “Her name means beautiful spirit. She was Mr. Parker’s first wife.”
“Was?”
“Yes. She died of cancer over twenty-five years ago.”
“And Mr. Parker’s second wife?”
“They’re divorced. She lives in Sydney.”
So, Kelsey’s mother was alive, and living in Australia. Ryson filed the fact away.
Servants bowed, as Nia led Ryson to a bank of elevators, and stood to one side as he entered.
“Your suite is on the second floor,”