The Ultimate Aphrodisiac

by Robert G. Barrett

  ‘There’s only one way to find out.’ Milne stood up then pushed the silver speaker in the dash. ‘That’s the radio on so we can talk to each other. There’s no Roger over and out. It stays on all the time. Like a telephone.’

  Brian looked at the speaker, then turned to Milne. ‘Won’t other people hear us talking?’

  Milne shook his head. ‘Not on this frequency. You can play music through it, too. Okay. I’m going to jump in the other bogey. Follow me along the tunnel.’

  Brian snapped off a salute. ‘Along the tunnel it is, sir.’

  Milne returned Brian’s salute. ‘As you were, Wing Commander Bradshaw.’

  Milne opened the hatch and stepped outside. The stairs came back up and Brian watched him get a crystal from the wall and climb inside the other, smaller disc. The rims began to spin, then Milne’s voice came out of the tiny speaker, filling the cabin as if he was still there.

  ‘Can you hear me all right?’ said Milne.

  ‘Yeah. Clear as a bell,’ replied Brian. ‘It’s unreal.’

  ‘Okay. Power up, and we’ll get going.’

  ‘Righto.’ Brian started the rotors and watched the rims turn into a white blur.

  Milne took his disc away from the wall and Brian did the same, moving to a couple of metres behind him. They went down into the pool and Brian followed Milne along the tunnel. The discs stirred up the water and all Brian could make out was a bright ball of light in front of him, then they popped out the end of the tunnel into clear deep blue water. Brian glimpsed a school of sharks and followed Milne to the surface. They burst through and Brian hovered above the water a few metres alongside Milne.

  ‘You okay?’ said Milne.

  ‘Yeah. Good as gold,’ replied Brian, his heart racing as he looked around the ocean and at the island behind them. Flying in the two-seater with Milne was a huge buzz. But being behind the controls alone was the adrenalin rush of all time.

  ‘All right. Just follow me for a while.’

  ‘Righto, Ron. After you.’ Brian watched Milne angle his disc up into the sky and took off after him.

  It was so easy. All Brian had to do was keep an eye on Milne’s disc, move the joy sticks in the same direction and squeeze the accelerator. They got to thirty kilometres, levelled off, then Milne took off again. Brian checked the crystal in the dash and they were heading north-east. They went at a steady pace for a while and Brian was happy watching the clouds go by below when Milne’s voice came over the speaker telling him they were moving to top speed. Brian clicked on three and it was like watching time-lapse photography again as they sped across the sky. Brian glimpsed a speck in the ocean through the clouds, then a small string of islands. He checked his map and they’d passed Wake Island and Midway. Milne came to a hover, spun the disc around and they took off again the way they had come. They slowed down and Milne started doing loop the loops, fast banks, dropping, climbing and coming to an immediate halt. Brian stuck behind Milne like he was being towed with no problems at all. The complete absence of inertia and the feeling of support in the cabin astounded Brian; he felt he could do no wrong. They hurtled across the sky and a strange feeling suddenly came over him. He ran his eyes around the cabin and along the dash and wondered who had been sitting behind the controls before him, during an entirely different period in earth’s history. Brian was imagining all kinds of weird things when Milne’s voice brought him back to reality.

  ‘You’re going well,’ said Milne. ‘Now let’s head down to Antarctica and you can get some target practice.’

  ‘Roger that, disc one,’ said Brian. ‘Affirmative, and have AMI on standby.’

  ‘Fuck off, Brian, and talk English will you. You’re not Clint Eastwood in Foxfire.’

  ‘Sorry, Sawi. I don’t know what came over me.’ Brian laughed to himself and fell in behind Milne.

  This time they passed over two particularly violent storms. One approaching Campbell Island, past the tip of New Zealand, had a lightning-filled front over three hundred kilometres long. When they got to Antarctica and came down it had changed dramatically from last time also. The seas were rough and surging, the sky was black and a howling gale was ripping across the ocean. It looked hostile and dangerous. Cocooned inside the mellow comfort of the MeG 21, however, Brian felt completely safe. They flew over the rolling icepack and the big icebergs began to appear. Milne fell behind Brian and directed him to one floating island of ice out in the middle of nowhere. They hovered back from it and Milne told Brian to power up and give it a DV on three. Brian pushed the button on the dash, thumbed the switch then watched the red lights run into each other, and squeezed the trigger. A moment later the huge iceberg disintegrated into the freezing Antarctic air before the remains tumbled down into the storm-tossed ocean. Brian stared ahead at the boiling sea. The power at his fingertips sent shivers up his spine and a thrill though his body. It was exciting, it was wonderful. And it was absolutely terrifying. Whatever it was, it was better being on this side of AMI.

  ‘Good shot, Takatau,’ came Milne’s voice.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Brian.

  ‘Let’s knock over a few more.’

  ‘Okay.’ Brian followed Milne and they went looking for another iceberg to destroy.

  While Brian was strafing and shooting up Antarctica, it was evening in Washington DC. A fairly mellow night after a steamy day, thankfully broken by showers. President Clooney was seated in the Oval Office in a neat blue suit minus his tie. Seated opposite him in almost identical suits with shiny brogues were Secretary for Defense Jack Werner and Attorney-General Joseph Arnold. President Clooney was all smiles. He had nothing on that evening except a good meal and watching the basketball on TV. What had him in such a good mood, however, was that the talk to the nation on TV had gone over like a roast turkey on Thanksgiving Day. The God-fearing American public had got behind him as one, his approval rating had soared almost overnight and he was finally looking like a President. The North Korean missile spin, along with execution by sharks, came over as both ominous and horrifying. But the clincher was branding Milne as a notorious drug dealer and making Lan Laroi sound like a hotbed of terrorist activity. The United States had a bad guy in a black hat to head off at the pass, then pump full of lead from their blazing six-shooters. Of course the sceptics had voiced their opinion and certain sections of the media and Congress were smelling a rat. But the loss of five helicopters along with the deaths of all the military personnel had shut them up. On top of all that, Milne’s message of unconditional surrender had arrived via CNN and President Clooney was beaming. He’d watched the video of it several times and he’d just watched it again in the Oval Office with Werner and Arnold. And although President Clooney wasn’t quite getting ready to bat himself off on the White House lawn, he’d definitely be taking Mrs President’s inside thigh measurements after the basketball that night. He hit the TV remote and smiled across his desk at the two hard-faced men in front of him.

  ‘Goddamn. What can you say?’ beamed the President. ‘If that guy wasn’t a drug dealer, I’d have him working for me. Great wise one from across the ocean,’ preened the President. ‘I like that.’ Clooney fixed his eyes on the two men in front of him. ‘And he’s right, too. Why can’t those flakes on my staff come up with something like that?’

  ‘Yes, Mr President,’ conceded Jack Werner. ‘Milne certainly has a way with words. I’ll give him that.’

  ‘The sonofabitch wouldn’t admit he shot down our people,’ grumbled Joseph Arnold.

  ‘Any word yet on what actually happened to the helicopters?’ asked the President.

  ‘We believe engine failure, sir,’ said Jack Werner. ‘It appears they flew too low over an atoll and their engines sucked up sand.’

  Clooney pointed at both men. ‘Didn’t I say this could be another Iran? Did I say that or not?’

  ‘You did, sir,’ agreed Jack Werner. ‘But we still don’t know Milne didn’t shoot down our helicopters, sir.’

  ‘True,’ agre
ed Clooney. ‘Milne might be a great judge of character, but he’d still be as cunning as a one-eyed coon dog at a cat show.’ Clooney turned to the Secretary for Defense. ‘Jack. What’s the status, situational-wise, on the rescue mission? Any wreckage or survivors?’

  ‘No, sir,’ replied the Secretary for Defense. ‘We have two submarines in the area now. The Oak Ridge and the Edward Teller. And they haven’t come up with a thing. It’s almost as if the helicopters vanished into thin air.’

  ‘Milne wouldn’t be holding them hostage, would he?’ frowned Clooney.

  The Attorney-General shook his head. ‘No sir. We heard them go down.’

  ‘There’s a lot of deep troughs in the area, sir,’ said Jack Werner. ‘When we secure Lan Laroi we’ll send down submersibles. Conduct a thorough search, sir.’

  ‘Hey,’ Clooney snapped his fingers. ‘I’ll take charge of the search. I shall personally fly one of the choppers.’

  ‘We were going to suggest that, Mr President,’ smiled Joseph Arnold. ‘A pilot’s uniform sits well on you, sir.’

  ‘I know.’ Clooney rubbed his hands together. ‘So how is Operation Sea Stinger coming along? Everything ship-shape and Bristol fashion, as our Limey allies like to say?’

  ‘Yessir, Mr President,’ replied the Secretary for Defense. ‘The Clarke will return to the area at 0400 hours Friday with two hundred marines and twenty attack helicopters. The rest of Operation Sea Stinger will rendezvous with the Clarke at 1700 hours Saturday evening. Milne will be held on the Clarke and brought back to the United States on Monday. The hostages will arrive Monday afternoon. The press will be invited to the White House lawn for photos on Tuesday. Wednesday, it will be all wrapped up neater and tighter than Superman’s shorts.’

  ‘I like it,’ smiled Clooney. ‘I truly do.’

  ‘Sir. I know this may seem insignificant,’ said Attorney-General Arnold, ‘but I’m still curious who Milne’s allies are.’

  ‘Who gives a shit,’ said President Clooney. ‘Probably the Cubans, or the Libyans. Or some piss-ass, insignificable little island in the Pacific. Hell, boys, I kind of hope his allies do go for their guns. I’m still up for a shoot-out.’

  Attorney-General Joseph Arnold smiled treacherously. ‘Sir. The aircraft-carrier John Wayne and a support fleet will be on standby. Mr President, if they so much as even try to slap leather, they’ll be dead before they hit the ground.’

  ‘Now that’s the kinda talk I like, Joe,’ said President Clooney.

  Approximately the same time this meeting was going on in the White House, three other people were discussing events closer to Lan Laroi. They were wearing white prison uniforms and sitting in a kitchen drinking coffee after having finished breakfast. One was having trouble chewing; the other two were a little stiff getting around. They lacked for nothing on their prison island: refrigeration, TV, radio. Plenty of food and water. They just couldn’t leave and swimming out too far was also inadvisable. They hadn’t seen President Milne’s speech. But they’d seen both of President Clooney’s. And what they’d seen hadn’t made their week.

  ‘Jesus H. Christ,’ cursed Tanton Lee Britt, looking up at the ceiling. ‘We should’ve been off this goddamn island days ago. Screw that asshole Milne.’

  ‘I still want to know how he managed to bring down five helicopters,’ said Agent Taggart.

  ‘I knew it was too fucking good to be true,’ spat Agent De Andrade.

  ‘They’ll be back,’ said Lee Britt. ‘You heard what the President said.’

  ‘And something fucking else will go wrong,’ lamented De Andrade.

  ‘She’s right,’ said Lee Britt. ‘I wouldn’t put it past that fuck Milne to feed us to the sharks just for spite.’

  ‘You’re probably right, Tanton,’ said Taggart. ‘And I’ve been thinking things over.’

  ‘I knew I could smell wood burning,’ said De Andrade.

  Taggart ignored her. ‘Listen. You can bet your last dime Milne will come back to rub this into us.’

  ‘I’m surprised the kangaroo-fucking sonofabitch hasn’t been round already,’ agreed Lee Britt.

  ‘And when he does, he’ll bring that other guy with him to try something cute,’ said Taggart. He emphasised his words with his mug of coffee. ‘Milne’s smart. And tough. But the other guy’s just a patsy. I was watching him. Even though he jumped us, he’s shit-scared of guns. I saw it in his face.’

  ‘In his pretty face,’ scowled De Andrade, running a finger over her nose.

  ‘If Milne comes out and tries anything, the other guy’s the weak link.’ Agent Taggart stared directly at the other two and slowly nodded his head. ‘I got a plan,’ he said.

  In Antarctica the weather had worsened. It was blowing a full-on gale and the snow on top of the icebergs was being swept away in great swirling plumes by the ferocious wind. Huge as they were, Brian could just make the icebergs out in the gloomy, atrocious conditions. Milne the gunnery instructor, however, was showing no mercy. After another strafing run across the heaving ice pack in the driving snow and rain, Brian felt like he’d blown up half of Greenland.

  ‘Righto, Brian. That’ll do,’ Milne’s voice came over the radio. ‘You’ve got it together. Let’s head for home. You can lead the way.’

  ‘All right.’ Brian looked at the compass in the dash and checked his map. Home was straight up into the South Pacific and turn left. Brian took the disc up above the storm, stepped on the gas then swung left. Below him the ocean was still dark blue and choppy, with thick clouds. There were one or two storm-tossed islands below. But no clusters of tiny islands and atolls basking in the sun. A land mass with a long, rugged coastline appeared below.

  ‘Hey, Ron,’ said Brian. ‘I think I’m lost. What’s that below?’

  ‘The Horn of Africa. You’re in the Indian Ocean heading for the South Atlantic.’

  ‘Oh shit!’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Milne. ‘Keep going. We’ll go home the back way.’

  Brian howled across the South Atlantic and something happened he hadn’t expected. It started to get dark. The sun was now on the other side of the world. Brian looked behind him and Milne’s disc was a ball of blazing white light in the night sky. Below the clouds Brian could make out the silver of the ocean, then another land mass appeared. Brian checked his map and they were flying over the mountain ranges of Uruguay, Argentina and Chile. The South Pacific appeared, they kept going, Brian had another look at his map and veered to the right. A string of islands spread over the ocean and they sped across French Polynesia. Kiribati came into view, and a few minutes later they were home.

  ‘Here we are,’ said the President. ‘The mysterious castle of the evil Dr Milne. You can take us in, Takatau.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Brian.

  Brian took the disc down and hovered above the reef. He sighted up with the temple and took the disc under the water. Carefully he guided it along the face of the reef, scattering sharks and several big cod drifting around the coral. Finding the entrance was a little tricky. But there it was, behind several hammerheads: a square of black against the dark blue. Brian guided the disc into the entrance and along the tunnel. A few minutes later, he and Milne had docked both discs and powered down. Brian got out, closed the hatch and returned his crystal to its place in the wall. He walked across to Milne standing under the middle disc.

  ‘Well, I sure stuffed that up,’ said Brian, a little disappointed. ‘I didn’t realise how far we’d drifted across the front of Antarctica blowing up icebergs.’

  ‘It was atrocious down there,’ said Milne. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘Yeah. But I feel like a bit of a dill getting lost.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter if you do take a wrong turn,’ said Milne. ‘The discs are that fast, you’re back on course before you know it.’

  ‘At least I got to fly at night time,’ said Brian. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’

  ‘Saves having to do it tomorrow,’ said Milne.

 
They walked towards the table. ‘So what’s doing now?’ asked Brian.

  ‘I was thinking of some tea and the smoked salmon sandwiches my lovely Lengi has packed for us. And we’ll have a debriefing.’

  ‘Roger that, Sawi.’ Brian smiled. ‘I mean, let’s get into it.’

  Milne opened the esky and they poured themselves a mug of tea each from a large thermos and started on Lengi’s sandwiches. Apart from one small hitch, Milne told Brian he was going well with the MeG 21. He was a natural. A few more hours flying tomorrow and he’d have his wings. Still keep quiet about what they were up to and Milne would make an announcement to the people on Friday.

  Brian swallowed a piece of sandwich and looked at Milne over his tea. ‘Hey Ron,’ he said. ‘Have you ever landed one of these near a town? Or anything like that?’

  ‘Once,’ said Milne. ‘In New Zealand. But the magnospheric vortex shorts out all the car engines and people start flipping out at the light. So I keep right away from populated areas.’

  ‘What about other UFOs or flying saucers? You ever seen any?’

  Milne shook his head. ‘Not a thing. I’ve been sprung a couple of times. But I piss off straightaway.’

  ‘What about all those abductions I read about?’ said Brian. ‘You sure that’s not you, Ron?’ Brian nodded around the temple. ‘You haven’t got a few women tied up in here somewhere and you’re having your evil way with them. You did call this place the evil castle of Dr Milne. I wouldn’t put it past you, Sawi.’

  ‘You know what I find funny about all those abductions,’ said Milne.

  ‘What?’ asked Brian.

  ‘It’s always Americans with access to magazines and TV shows that get flown up to the mother ship. There’s never any Chinese, Koreans, Africans, Israelis, Arabs or whatever get abducted.’

  ‘Hey. You’re right, Ron,’ said Brian. ‘And you know why?’

  ‘No, Brian. Why?’

  ‘Because the aliens are all racists.’

  ‘Racists?’

  ‘Yep. They only abduct good, God-fearing white folk. They don’t want any chows, abos, wogs, Jews, or whatever in their spaceships.’