‘I’ll have to have a look at that, too,’ said Brian.
‘You know how the government jumps up and down about anybody getting a smoke out of the other hemp? It’ll ruin society and send you mad and all that?’
‘Yeah,’ nodded Brian.
‘Herer came up with some interesting statistics. In one year in America, 450,000 people died from tobacco. 150,000 died from alcohol. 100,000 died from prescription drugs. 10,000 died from caffeine. 5200 died from heroin and cocaine. 1000 people died from taking fuckin aspirin. You know how many people died from smoking pot?’
‘How many?’ asked Brian.
‘None,’ said Milne. ‘Zero. You know the only people who died from smoking pot in America?’
‘No.’
‘The ones shot by cops.’
‘That’d be right,’ agreed Brian.
‘I came up with a few statistics myself, Brian,’ said Milne. ‘I reckon, for around fifty million dollars, the cost of two jet fighters, Australia could make billions and save the world’s rainforests.’
‘How, Ron?’
‘You know all along the Southern Ocean, where it meets the Nullabor Plain?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Imagine a few hundred wind generators along there picking up all that wind coming in from the Great Australian Bight. Use them to power desalination plants. Like they’ve got in Kuwait. With all that endless fresh water, you could irrigate thousands of hectares of desert, and grow Indian hemp. You’d never have to cut down another rainforest. Australia’d have paper coming out of its arse. Plus all the by-products.’
‘Jesus, Ron,’ said Brian. ‘You truly are Sawi. You’re a visionary.’
Milne shook his head. ‘No I’m not. I’m just not a rotten, corrupt politician. And I don’t run an oil company or manufacture napalm. I only do what mother nature intended. Now they want to put me in gaol and bomb my island.’ As Milne said that, a clap of thunder rattled across the darkened sky and it started to rain. He looked up and several plump raindrops hit him in the face. ‘This could set in,’ he said. ‘I don’t think we’ll be going to the ruins. It’ll be too muddy. You fancy a cup of coffee?’
‘Okay,’ said Brian.
Milne got the esky from the back seat and they found a spot in one of the drying sheds. Lengi had packed fruit and tuna and salad rolls. Brian wasn’t all that hungry, but he had a pick and some coffee as the rain splattered down on the drying shed roof and the President told him some more about the benefits of cultivating hemp and some more conspiracy theories. Milne told Brian about how some people were protesting in California over hemp laws, waving flags with the green hemp leaf symbol on them. Ronald Reagan saw the flags as he drove past and wanted to know what all the Canadians were protesting about. An aide had to explain to the President they weren’t maple leaves, they were hemp leaves. Reagan said there must be something they could do to stop them. So with the help of a side-kick in the FBI, they dug up an obscure security law going back to the Second World War and had them all arrested. And Jack Herer got a gaol term. Where he wrote his book, The Emperor Wears No Clothes. Brian was listening to this in amazement when a beeper on Milne’s belt went off.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Someone wants me on the two-way.’ He went to the car and picked up a walkie-talkie. He was in the car for a few minutes, before he came back with a bemused look on his face.
‘What’s up?’ asked Brian.
‘Clooney’s just been on TV again,’ said Milne, picking up his coffee.
‘He has?’ said Brian.
‘Yep. Remember this morning I said they hadn’t come for the prisoners yet?’
‘Yeah. That was around eight o’clock,’ said Brian.
‘Well, I was wrong. They had.’
Brian’s eyes widened. ‘They had?’ he said.
‘They sure did,’ nodded Milne. ‘But they didn’t have a real lot of luck.’
‘Why? What happened? I …’
‘Finish this and we’ll get back to the office,’ said Milne. ‘Ohlo sounded a bit concerned about what Clooney had to say. And I want to see for myself.’
‘All right,’ said Brian. ‘I’d like to see what’s going on, too.’
They finished their coffee, rinsed the cups with rainwater, then put the esky back in the 4WD and headed for Key Harbour.
Milne played the same tape again, but he was only absently listening to it. He hardly said a word. Every now and again he’d turn to Brian and give a brief smile. Brian didn’t say much either. He just watched the rain coming down as they bounced along and surmised President Milne was doing a lot of thinking. Before long they reached the fork in the road and the rain eased. It stopped when they pulled up in the backyard and a few streaks of sunlight broke through the clouds.
Milne switched off the engine. ‘I’ll meet you in the conference room in fifteen minutes,’ he said.
‘Okay, Ron,’ said Brian. ‘I’ll see you then.’
Brian went to his room, put his camera gear away and threw some water over his face. After tidying himself up, he walked down to the conference room. The door was half-open and Milne was inside loading another tape into the VCR.
‘Grab a seat,’ he said, ‘and we’ll see what prick features has got to say.’
‘It must be pretty heavy,’ said Brian. ‘He was only on TV last night.’
Milne loaded the cassette in the VCR, took a seat next to Brian and pushed a button on the remote. Clooney was in the Oval Office again with all the trimmings around him. This time he was wearing a sober charcoal-grey suit with a grey tie. His face matched his suit and looked a lot longer than before.
‘My fellow Americans,’ he started. ‘Recently, I informed you of the rescue mission by the United States and French governments to free the hostages held captive on Lan Laroi. This action was never anything more than a rescue mission. Even though the island is under the control of a notorious drug dealer, no hostilities were ever intended towards the people of Lan Laroi. All the United States wanted was the safe return of the innocent hostages. It is my sad duty to inform you that in a cowardly act of aggression, terrorist forces on Lan Laroi have shot down the rescue mission. It is believed the three helicopters were brought down by surface to air missiles supplied by the communist government of North Korea. Two more helicopters were sent in to rescue any survivors. These two helicopters were unarmed and clearly marked with red crosses. They were also brought down by North Korean surface to air missiles. There were no survivors.
‘This brutal and flagrant act of aggression moves what was meant to be nothing more than a rescue mission into an entirely new dimension. Having a deployment of missiles in the area now compromises American defence interests, and the interests of our allies, throughout the entire Pacific region. It is not beyond comprehension that these missiles could be armed with nuclear warheads and aimed at the United States. I have therefore ordered units of the United States military, along with our French allies, to invade the Republic of Lan Laroi. However, and I must stress this fact, because the United States is, and always has been, a peace-loving nation, I am giving the government of Lan Laroi five days to surrender the missiles, lay down its arms, and hand their drug-dealing President, Ronald Milne, into American custody. Where he will be given a fair and just hearing in a court of law. Thus saving any unnecessary bloodshed on both sides. In the meantime, I would like you all to pray for the gallant service men and women who have just lost their lives in the name of freedom, justice and the United States of America. And their families. Thank you. And God bless the flag. And God bless the United States of America.’
The tape ran out. There was silence in the conference room for a moment. Then President Milne turned to Brian.
‘I don’t believe this cunt,’ he said. ‘I fair dinkum don’t fuckin believe him.’
Brian looked at Milne for a moment. ‘So what happened to all the helicopters? You haven’t got any North Korean missiles, have you? I’ve got to be honest, Ron. It wouldn’t surp
rise me.’
Milne threw back his head and laughed. ‘I love you, Brian. I honestly do. Mate. Remember what happened to you in the plane coming here from Konipeau?’
Brian thought for a second, then snapped his fingers. ‘The electrical wind shears.’ Up until now Brian had almost managed to put the terrifying memory out of his mind.
‘Right on, baby. The fuckin idiots flew straight into them.’
‘Did you know this was going to happen, Ron?’
Milne made a magnanimous gesture. ‘Well, you never know for sure what’s going to happen. But I knew where their support ship was. And I was ninety-nine point nine per cent sure which way they’d come. I have to admit the odds were slightly in my favour.’
‘Now you’ve got five days before they invade,’ said Brian.
‘Five days,’ scoffed Milne. ‘The only reason they’re giving me five days is because they’re fucked if they know what happened. And it’ll take them that long to organise an invasion force. I wonder what he’ll call it? Operation Pacific Shield. Operation Ocean Storm. The boofheaded, cheeseburger-eating, left-hand-side-of-the-road driving, gum-chewing, line-dancing, cowboy-boot-wearing, flag-waving, Kentucky-fried fuck.’
‘You don’t like President Clooney, Ron?’
Milne took a deep breath. ‘Apart from wanting to stick red-hot knitting needles through his orchestras and boil him in goanna oil. Yes, Brian. You could say that.’
‘So what do you intend to do?’
‘What do I intend to do?’ retorted Milne. ‘You’re talking to an old digger. What do you think I intend to do? I’m going to fight. I’m gonna take the cunts on. The Yanks, the French. And anybody else that wants to stick their fuckin head in.’
Brian slowly stroked his chin. ‘Well, I have to admire your courage, Ron. But you’ve got one seaplane. A tugboat with a cannon. About twenty soldiers. And a runabout. With all respect, Mr President, I don’t think the odds are in your favour. Not this time, anyway.’
‘Brian,’ said Milne. ‘Remember on the welcome night, you said you’d be prepared to do almost anything to help Lan Laroi.’
‘Yes. That’s right,’ agreed Brian. ‘Almost anything.’
‘You want to give me a hand to fight these pricks?’
‘Give you a hand?’ Brian’s eyes widened. ‘Shit! If you’re asking me to grab a gun and lay down my life for Lan Laroi, I’d have to give it a lot of thought, Ron. I’ve got a lot of living to do yet, mate.’
Milne shook his head. ‘I don’t mean lay down your life. No way in the world. I just want you to give me a bit of a hand.’
Brian stared at President Milne. ‘A bit of a hand? In what way? I don’t understand, Ron.’
Milne looked at his watch then looked out the window. ‘The sun’s out. The rain’s stopped. Windmills’ll be a complete glass-off. Let’s go for a surf and I’ll explain things later over a beer.’
‘I think that might be a good idea, Ron.’
Brian got his board shorts and met Milne at the surfboard rack. The President took the ten-foot Jackson, Brian thought he’d give the Tracker another run. They put the boards in the ute and headed for Windmills.
There was no wind and the water was like oil. They waxed up and paddled straight out onto the rights. Brian picked up a nice two-metre swell and it was the best lollipop wave he’d ever ridden. He got up in the curl, trimmed, and the wave broke over him softer than fairy floss. Brian could never remember surfing waves so gentle in water so smooth. Paddling out, he went straight through the broken waves as if they were clouds rolling towards him. The sky darkened momentarily and a brief shower passed over, then the sun came out again sparkling on the clear blue ocean. The dolphins nosed their way around them, some turtles swam by and on the edge of the reef Brian noticed a pair of whale sharks lazing on the surface. He didn’t see any tiger sharks. He was hoping he would.
Milne didn’t say a great deal out in the water unless it was to comment about the waves. Brian wasn’t saying much, either. As well as wondering what Milne meant in the conference room about giving him a hand, Brian was also shaking his head about what President Clooney came out with on TV. Calling Ron a notorious drug dealer. Saying he shot down the helicopters with North Korean missiles. Referring to the prisoners as hostages. What a load of shit.
Between waves Brian sat on his surfboard and looked around him at the rainforest running down to the sea, the birds, the windmills above the headlands, the crystal clear water. The dolphins, the whale sharks, the turtles. Now if Ron didn’t surrender, it would all get blown to hell. Those beautiful ruins would probably finish up a pile of rubble and innocent people’s lives would be destroyed forever. Innocent people like Keleu and Ebonee. All for one man’s vanity and another’s dishonesty. And to think the American and French military had the mindless indifference to dump radioactive waste on Lan Laroi in the first place. The bastards. Brian looked down at the old Tracker. The bond between himself, Ron and his father now seemed stronger than ever and in a way Brian hoped there was something he could do. But there was no way a tiny island like Lan Laroi could take on the American and French military. He could understand Milne’s anger and determination in the office. But apart from possible nuisance value, the President was having himself on. Brian looked up and saw him paddling over.
‘What do you reckon, mate?’ he said. ‘We might get going. Lengi’ll have dinner waiting for us before long.’
‘Yeah, righto,’ replied Brian, coming back to earth.
‘I hear you’ve got a big night lined up with Keleu, too?’
‘Yeah. I’ve got to see her at seven.’
‘Good. But don’t forget, I want to have a word with you after dinner. So I’ll let her know you might be a bit late.’
‘Okay, Ron. No worries.’
A beautiful two-metre wave loomed up. Milne motioned to Brian it was all his and Brian surfed it to the beach. Milne arrived hanging ten on another wave a few moments later. They paddled across the channel, walked up to the car and put the boards in the back of the ute then got out of their wet gear and drove back to the Presidential Palace. After they hosed the boards and put them away, Milne told Brian he’d see him in the kitchen in half an hour.
Brian had a shower and daubed on a little aftershave. As he was getting into a pair of white jeans and a blue Hawaiian shirt, a thought occurred to him. He hadn’t read a newspaper, listened to the radio or watched TV since —? Since he left Bondi. And it didn’t worry him in the least. He gave himself a last detail and walked down to the kitchen. Milne was seated in the same shorts and a different T-shirt, Lengi was standing by the stove. She turned around and gave Brian a warm smile.
‘Hello mate,’ said Milne. ‘You’re looking very spruce there, me old.’
‘Thanks,’ replied Brian, taking a seat.
‘You hungry?’
‘A bit. What’s on tonight?’
‘Fish ’n’ chips.’
‘Fish ’n’ chips? What’s wrong with Hungry Jacks?’
‘Yeah. I should have got a pizza delivered.’
Lengi put a bowl of wedges and a tossed salad in the middle of the table. Then placed a plate of coral trout fillets fried in a light beer batter in front of Brian. The seafood tasted like something from the fish ’n’ chip shop in heaven. All washed down with coffee and strawberry vanilla slices. The conversation while they were eating was mainly about the day’s surf and surfboards. When they finished, they put their dishes in the sink, thanked Lengi and walked down to the Key Bar. There was one table of six people in there and a barman: Otti. Laid-back music was playing softly through the speakers. Milne got two beers, handed one to Brian and they went up to the VIP area away from the others.
Milne clinked his beer against Brian’s. ‘Well. Cheers, mate.’
‘Yeah, cheers, Mr President,’ said Brian.
Milne chuckled as he took a drink. ‘I know another one, looks like he could do with a few cheers at the moment.’
‘You’re not wro
ng,’ agreed Brian. He placed his bottle on the table. ‘All right, Ron. What were you talking about earlier?’
‘Yeah. Let’s get straight to the point.’ Milne looked directly at Brian. ‘Okay Brian. Now we both know the shit’s going to hit the fan here by next weekend.’
‘Yes,’ nodded Brian.
‘So I want to, sort of, offer you something. Two things.’
‘Go on,’ said Brian.
‘First up. You can go back to Australia if you want to. And I wouldn’t blame you. We’ll fly you to Konipeau. I’ll arrange everything with the Australian consulate. And you’ll be home safe and sound. It was fantastic to see you Brian, and everyone will miss you. But there’ll be no hard feelings.’
‘Thanks, Ron. I really appreciate that,’ said Brian.
‘No worries.’ Milne lifted his beer. ‘On the other hand, you can stay here and help me. But, if you decide to stay, there’s no “Oh, I’ve changed my mind, Ron. Sorry.” You have to stay. All right?’
‘Yeah. Fair enough,’ agreed Brian.
‘But if you do decide to stay,’ said Milne, ‘I promise you, Brian, I’ll give you power. Power like you wouldn’t believe.’
‘Power, Ron?’ said Brian. ‘The ultimate aphrodisiac.’
‘Absolutely,’ nodded Milne. ‘That’s what they call it.’ A gleam appeared in President Milne’s eyes. ‘But this isn’t political power, Brian. Or rock-star power. Or movie-star power. This is a different kind of power. This is power almost beyond belief.’
‘Almost beyond belief?’ Brian sipped his beer. ‘I’m impressed, Ron. But didn’t someone else say power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. How do I know with all this power, I won’t be corrupted, Ron?’
‘You don’t,’ said Milne. ‘But fair dinkum, Brian. You give me a hand, and together we can beat the Yanks. The French. The Poms, the Russians. Anyone you care to name. I could do it on my own. I have to anyway. But two of us. We’d shit it in.’
Brian stared at Milne over his bottle. ‘This all sounds a bit … I dunno, Ron. Weird? Can you …?’
Milne shook his head. ‘That’s all I can tell you for the time being. But you don’t have to give me your answer straightaway. Think it over tonight. But let me know by tomorrow morning. We’ll have breakfast at seven-thirty. And if you decide to stay and help me, we’ll get the ball rolling straightaway.’
The Ultimate Aphrodisiac Page 19