‘Well, great chiefs,’ said President Milne. ‘You always have the deciding vote. If you still wish to go through with the execution of the prisoners, that’s showbiz.’
Chief Somohl sipped his coffee and looked serious. ‘It is the law, Sawi. When we agreed to grow maru many years ago, we also agreed that anyone caught with the white powder died.’
‘And they insulted us,’ said Chief Namalek. ‘So they must die by the sharks. It is the law.’
‘Hey. Sweet with me, Chief Namalek,’ agreed Milne. ‘By the sharks it is. I’ll be the first one there beating a drum.’
‘Then why did you have to inform the Americans, Sawi?’ asked Chief Isosueri.
‘Great chiefs, I had to,’ said Milne. ‘It’s called diplomacy.’ He took another sip of coffee and stared at the three men over the rim of his mug. ‘And I hope you realise there’s going to be a big blow-up over this.’
‘In what way?’ asked Chief Somohl.
‘Well for starters,’ said Milne, ‘they’ll probably send in the military and try to take the prisoners.’
‘They cannot do this,’ said Chief Namalek. ‘It is against our law.’
‘I know,’ said Milne. ‘Then I imagine they’ll come back and take me away too. And put me in an American gaol.’
‘But we cannot have this,’ said Chief Namalek. ‘You are our President. You are Sawi.’
‘They cannot take Sawi away,’ said Chief Isosueri.
‘Try telling the Seppos that,’ said Ron Milne. ‘I’ve been a boil on their arse for years. The Frogs aren’t all that rapt in me either.’
‘If the Americans and the French try to take the prisoners away,’ said Chief Isosueri, ‘that will mean war. And with their allies, too.’
‘I realise this, Chief Isosueri,’ agreed Milne. ‘That’s what I meant, when I said there’d be a blow up.’
‘So what do you intend to do, Sawi?’ asked Chief Namalek.
Milne looked pensive for a moment. ‘I’ll think of something.’
‘Can you stop them?’ asked Chief Somohl.
‘With a dozen men, a seaplane and an old tugboat, Chief Somohl? It’s a bit of an ask.’
‘So what will happen, Sawi?’ asked Chief Namalek.
‘I’m not sure at the moment,’ replied Milne. ‘But soon, someone may arrive on the island. A Takatau. If he does, it could be the answer to all our problems.’
‘A Takatau,’ said Chief Namalek. ‘Oh! That would be good.’
‘Indeed,’ agreed Chief Isosueri.
‘And if the Takatau does not come, Sawi?’ said Chief Somohl. ‘Can you still stop them?’
Ron Milne stroked his chin and looked at one of the ceiling fans for a moment. ‘Yeah, I suppose I can sort it out.’ He smiled over at the three men seated before him. ‘I’ll have to. Won’t I?’
The great chiefs of the island rose then knelt before the Presidential desk with their heads bowed. ‘That is why you are Sawi,’ said Chief Somohl. ‘And that is why we worship you.’
‘We worship you,’ said Chief Isosueri.
‘We will always worship you, Sawi,’ said Chief Namalek.
President Milne took a sip of coffee and looked down at the three men kneeling before him. ‘And why wouldn’t you worship me,’ he said. ‘Old Sawi’s had to do every thing around the joint so far. Winning a third world war shouldn’t be any different.’
For a man used to travelling light, Brian Bradshaw couldn’t believe what the returning Nauruans at Brisbane international airport were trying to get on the plane. Everything from giant screen TV sets to huge eskys crammed full of drinks. Consequently, they’d overloaded the 737, and F334 to Guam via Nauru and Konipeau was already an hour late taking off. Shaking his head in frustration, Brian watched the Nauruans arguing with the ground staff. Apart from the suitcase he’d checked in, all Brian had was an overnight bag, his Canon EOS IV camera, an instamatic and a bottle of duty-free Jack Daniels. All he was wearing was a white baseball cap, blue cargoes, a yellow T-shirt and trainers, with a blue cotton jacket draped over his arm. Finally the ground staff kicked six passengers and their excess baggage off the plane, and the rest of the passengers started boarding the aircraft.
Brian’s seat was at the very front near the galley and, apart from a couple of engineers in crisp white shirts, he had business class to himself. On the flight up from Sydney Brian had studied what he’d found about Lan Laroi, which was very little. It was an island 50 kilometres long by 30 wide, with a mountain range running halfway across the middle. There was a bay at the top and halfway down on the right was a large harbour, connected to the ocean by a narrow channel. A much smaller island sat a kilometre out from the inlet. The population was around one thousand. No airport. No tourist facilities. No nothing. The harbour was called Key Harbour. The small island was Tiger Island. And that was it. Brian had roamed through cyberspace but couldn’t even find the island’s latitude and longitude. Though he was only staying the one night, Brian had found some information on Konipeau. It was the main island in Micronesia, with an international airport and a deepwater harbour, and it was the starting point if you wanted to get to any other islands in Micronesia. Population 25,000. Main town, Kahiap.
Having done a fair bit of travelling through his profession, Brian knew what to expect on long flights. You either read, listened to a walkman or tried to sleep, avoiding booze, drinking plenty of water, and not overeating. And that’s what Brian did, all the way to Nauru. Ate sandwiches and fruit and read his book, Waitress by Diane Ginsberg. Brian’s taste in music was somewhere between middle of the road and contemporary Oz rock, and when he wanted a break from reading, he’d listen to some tapes he’d made. Anything from Warren Zevon to The Whitlams, Steely Dan to Skunkhour. Now and again he’d doze off then wake up wondering where he was. Before long they were descending into Nauru and the plane touched down on an airstrip alongside the ocean.
For some reason, everybody got herded off the plane into a holding lounge. The first thing Brian noticed when he stepped onto the tarmac was the heat and the smell of superphosphate. It was like landing in a giant chicken coop. The air-conditioning wasn’t working in the holding lounge, either. So while the returning Nauruans got off with their luggage, Brian and about thirty other passengers sat around like battery hens wiping sweat from their faces. Then something went wrong with the refuelling so they lost another hour sitting around in the holding lounge. Brian took a few photos and scribbled some notes till eventually they were herded back onto the plane and they took off for Konipeau.
After Nauru it was sandwiches washed down with all the mineral water Brian could drink, listening to Skunkhour, reading and dozing off now and again. Late in the afternoon F334 arrived at Konipeau and began its descent into Kahiap airport right in the middle of a howling tropical squall. One minute they were flying through calm weather and blue skies. Next instant the plane was being buffeted violently and Brian couldn’t see two metres out the window for driving rain. The pilot kept taking the plane down as Brian stared apprehensively out the rain lashed window. Then suddenly the pilot gunned the engines and the plane roared up into the sky almost vertically.
‘I’m sorry about that,’ said the pilot. ‘But visibility was bad over the airport. I’ll just circle round to the east for a while, till this turbulence blows over. We should have you down at Kahiap in five minutes.’
The pilot circled the airport for half an hour, making another two aborted landings. The engineers sitting opposite were pretty blasé about the first couple of attempted landings. They’d been there, done that. But when the pilot went down for the fourth time, the engineers’ faces were matching their shirts and you could have heard a pin drop anywhere in the plane. Brian’s heart was racing, his hands were sweaty and he was starting to wish he’d listened to his mother. But there was nothing he could do. You can’t open the door and say I’m getting out. Brian closed his eyes and hoped if anything happened it would be quick. The pilot must have spotted a break in
the clouds and started to descend again, the plane still shaking like the wings were going to fall off at any moment. They kept descending. Brian’s knuckles had turned white from gripping the armrests. Then the pilot gunned the engines, straightened up and they touched down in a huge plume of spray on Kahiap airstrip. There was a muffled cheer throughout the plane. Brian felt like running into the pilot’s cabin and kissing him. Instead he made a mental sign of the cross thanking the Almighty for getting him down safely and started sorting out his visas and entry documents. He put his jacket on, slung his bag over his shoulder and stepped off the plane with the others.
It was hotter than Nauru, raining steadily and crushingly humid. Brian kept his head down because of the rain but through the mist he glimpsed a range of jungle-covered mountains across a harbour before stepping into a granite building with a sign out front saying WELCOME TO KONIPEAU. Not many people got off the flight and Brian’s bag soon arrived on a trolley. He picked it up and took it to customs.
The customs officer had blue pants with a stripe down the seam and a white shirt with a big silver badge on the front. He had a slight American accent and reminded Brian of the last time he was in Hawaii.
‘From Australia?’ said the customs officer, flicking through Brian’s passport.
‘That’s right,’ replied Brian. ‘I’m only staying in Konipeau one night. Then I’m going to Lan Laroi in the morning.’
‘Lan Laroi? You got friends in Lan Laroi?’
Brian shook his head. ‘I’m a journalist. I’m going there to do a story.’
‘I see.’ The customs officer paused for a moment before he stamped Brian’s passport, then gave him a very studied look as he handed it back to him. ‘Have a nice stay in Konipeau,’ he said evenly.
‘Thanks. I’m sure I will.’
Brian stepped out into the arrivals and departures area. It wasn’t very big and looked a little run-down. A couple of shops were open, selling drinks and souvenirs, but most of the people were standing near an open pick-up area, waiting for the rain to ease. He noticed a woman in a red uniform, standing beneath a fibreglass marlin suspended above a closed information desk. She was carrying a clipboard and seemed to be looking for someone. Brian walked over to her.
‘Excuse me,’ he said. ‘Are you from Hertz car rentals?’
‘Yes. Are you Mr Bradshaw?’ The woman was Konipeauan, about forty with a shy smile and the same accent as the customs officer.
‘That’s right. From Australia. I believe you have a car for me.’
‘Yes. A Nissan. Do you have your licence with you, Mr Bradshaw?’
‘Yep. Right here.’
Brian showed the woman his New South Wales driver’s licence then signed the rental form plus a separate one for insurance. The woman was quite pleasant and asked Brian if this was his first time in Konipeau. Brian replied, yes, but only for the night and told her where he was staying. The woman said the hotel wasn’t far from the Hertz office and offered to accompany Brian there, then catch a taxi back to her office. While he was talking, Brian got a strange feeling someone was watching him. He ran his gaze around the check-in counters and the pick-up area and the people seated at or standing around the benches and tables in front of the souvenir shops. But he didn’t catch anybody’s eye or notice anybody look away. He put it down to his imagination. With the paperwork completed, the woman from Hertz picked up an umbrella and led Brian out to the carpark.
It was just a short walk to the car, a four-cylinder, maroon Nissan. Brian stood under the woman’s umbrella while she opened the door, then tossed his bags on the back seat and got behind the wheel. The woman got in next to him. The steering wheel was on the left; Brian started the engine and while he sorted things out he had a quick look around. The wharves were adjacent to the airport. There were several grey warehouses and other buildings and a row of fishing boats with shark fins drying in nets strung above the decks. On a construction site to the left, a number of men were working in the rain. Brian could hardly believe the humidity. He wasn’t in the car a minute before sweat started dripping down his face and his T-shirt was sticking to him. Noticing this, the woman smiled and put the air-conditioner on. Brian returned her smile and drove off towards town.
Kahiap was connected to the airport by a long narrow peninsula with the harbour on the right and mountains behind. On the left were bays and mangrove swamps dotted with ramshackle houses amongst the trees and grass huts built over the water. At the end of the peninsula one road continued on ahead and another one curved up a hill into town. Brian said he’d like to take the long way round to the hotel and check the place out a bit. The woman didn’t mind. While she was driving round in an air-conditioned car she wasn’t in the office doing paperwork.
Rickety little shops and small supermarkets began to appear and the occasional roadside stall. Brian drove past a row of white two-storey buildings on the right and noticed the Australian flag upstairs outside the consulate. A little further on, the woman told Brian to turn right near some more shops. Brian drove up a hill past houses with dirt floors, rusty corrugated-iron roofs and hessian curtains; they were some of the poorest homes he’d ever seen. However, the locals seemed quite happy and waved or smiled as he drove past. Brian waved and smiled back. At the top of the hill Brian went left at a garage, coming out halfway along the main street of town. The road went past more ramshackle buildings then came to a fork. On the left was a brown building with an American flag, and a guard standing out front next to a brass plaque saying US CONSULATE. Brian recognised it as where they had taken the photo of Ron Milne. Opposite was the local botanical gardens and a road on the right went somewhere else. Brian did a U-turn and came back along the main street. Two hundred metres on Brian felt he was being followed. It was a grey car, bigger than the Nissan, with two westerners sitting in the front, a man and a woman. The woman had dark hair and a light blue top, the man had grey hair and a dark blue T-shirt. Traffic was light and they were about five car-lengths behind. Brian’s view in the rear-vision mirror was a little blurred from the rain. But something told him this time he wasn’t imagining things. He smiled at the woman from Hertz and kept going as if he was enjoying the drive.
Main Street was just a few hundred metres of old, mostly two-storey buildings; some built below the footpath, others closed down. Amongst the souvenir shops and other stores was the post office, a police station and the visitors’ bureau with an old Japanese tank rusting away under a tree outside. Brian figured out where he could get a meal or something to drink if he needed it, then near the end of town, the woman told him to take the next on the left. Brian drove down past a hotel and a school, more shops and old houses, then the road went uphill to the left and at the top on the right, with a gate at either end, was a long, white wall with NORTH PARK HOTEL painted on it in black. Brian went in the first gate and pulled up in the covered car space near the main office. As he switched off the engine and the air-conditioner, he kept his eye on the rear-vision mirror. The grey car drove past the hotel and kept going. The rain stopped and what was left of the afternoon sun suddenly squinted from behind a break in the clouds. Brian got his bags from the car and had a look around.
The hotel was set in a wide lawn edged with flowering trees and had a spectacular view over Kahiap harbour. On the left was a two-storey row of rooms with a restaurant underneath, a set of steps led down from the lawn to another row of rooms and on the right was the office. A movement near his feet made Brian look down. Between the car spaces and the office were at least twenty scrawny cats ranging from tortoiseshell to black. With the cats miaowing round his feet, Brian followed the Hertz woman across to the office.
The skinny manager with curly black hair and glasses was expecting him. All Brian had to do was sign in and pick up his key. He charged two large bottles of mineral water to his room and said goodbye to the woman from Hertz, telling her he’d drop the car off at the airport in the morning. He checked his watch against the one in the office and noticed
Konipeau was only half an hour ahead of Sydney time, then picked up his bags and took the steps down to his room — number eight.
Brian’s room was fairly basic. Green walls and a white ceiling, two single beds, a fridge, a phone, a small air-conditioner and a small table and two chairs. A back door opened onto another lawn, then jungle sloped down to the harbour. The view out the back door was absolutely beautiful. The sun was starting to go down and the sky was streaked with pink and gold over a lazy green harbour. It looked like something you’d read about in a south seas novel by James M. Michener. Brian got his camera and took a few photos looking out the back door. He opened a bottle of water, drank some, then lay down on the bed closest to the back door. It was comfortable enough, but the tiny air-conditioner hardly made any difference and in seconds Brian was dripping sweat into the pillow. In a few moments the reaction from the trip settled over him and he started to feel tired. It had been a long day sitting in two planes breathing recycled air, now he was looking forward to an early night. He yawned and closed his eyes. While he was relaxing on the bed, Brian began to mull a few things over.
The customs officer had given him an odd look when he mentioned he was going to Lan Laroi. Somebody was probably watching him at the airport and that grey car had definitely followed him back to the hotel. But why? Shit! He was only going there to take some photos and do a story. Brian wondered what was going on. Then he thought about his mother. Maybe she was right. Maybe he should have stayed at home. He ran a hand through his damp hair. One thing he didn’t have to wonder about was the heat. It was horrible. Now he was hungry, and not for another plate of airline sandwiches, either. He lay on the bed a while longer then unpacked his shaving gear and a clean white T-shirt, and got under the shower. While he was washing away the sweat, Brian decided he might as well eat at the hotel, then take a drive into Kahiap after and buy a magazine or something before he went to bed. Feeling fresher after a change of clothes, he locked his room and walked up to the restaurant.
The Ultimate Aphrodisiac Page 3