The Ultimate Aphrodisiac

by Robert G. Barrett

  Finally they dried off, collected the empties and pedalled home. Keleu wanted to have a shower, so Brian left her at the house and said he’d go and look for Sawi. When Brian returned the esky, Milne was sitting in the kitchen eating an apple.

  ‘Mate,’ said Brian, putting the empties away. ‘I just had a fantastic day down the other end of the harbour. What did you do?’

  ‘Drove Airu to a waterfall in the rainforest,’ said Milne. ‘Had a few cool ones. And attacked her in a lagoon like a mad, rabid dog.’

  ‘I did pretty much the same along the harbour,’ smiled Brian.

  ‘You fancy a late?’

  ‘Yeah. Why not.’

  Brian took the Tracker and Milne took the Jackson. They put them in the ute and headed for the beach. Windmills was over a metre, filling up and the wind suited the lefts. They waxed up, paddled out and ripped into the lefts till they could take no more, then drove back to the PP. Keleu and Airu were in the kitchen in their wihros cooking something that smelled good. It would be ready in half an hour, so Brian and Milne had plenty of time to get cleaned up. Brian went to his room, had a leisurely shave and shower then got into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. After making a few notes in his diary, he walked back to the kitchen.

  Milne was sitting at the table having a beer. He was dressed similar to Brian and had the same look on his face: weary contentment. Brian said hello to everyone, got a beer and sat down opposite Milne.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ asked Brian.

  ‘About rooted,’ replied Milne.

  ‘So am I. What are we doing?’

  ‘The ladies have cooked up something. We’ll scoff that. Then go over to the house and watch a video.’

  ‘Sounds okay,’ said Brian. ‘Any tampering?’

  Milne shook his head. ‘Suit yourself.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ nodded Brian.

  Keleu and Airu served up baked coral trout stuffed with shellfish, plus braised Jerusalem artichokes and peas, followed by cherry chiffon pie and coconut cream. It was absolutely delicious and as good as anything Lengi could cook; Brian was mildly surprised. Then he found out Lengi had left Keleu and Airu the recipe. They had coffee, then Brian got the half bottle of Jack Daniels he had left in his room and they had a couple with mineral water. After they all washed up and dried, they trooped across to the house.

  The video was Water with Michael Caine and Billy Connolly. Brian had seen it, so had everyone else. But because it was about a bunch of Americans and French invading an island, they related to it and it seemed funnier than ever. Airu producing an enormous hot one helped, too. By the time the video was over they were all pretty much on the nod. Brian and Milne kissed the girls goodnight and left them. Milne told Brian he’d see him in the kitchen at seven. Brian said that suited him and went to his room.

  Brian changed down to his jox, cleaned his teeth then dragged himself out on the balcony to get a little air and have a quick look at the stars. The constellations seemed to say Brian Bradshaw, millionaire. And the best thing to do with all his money would be to open an account at the Bank of Lan Laroi and try and spend it in Key Harbour. While he surfed, porked, ate and worked on his book in the sun. Brian yawned and stretched then went inside and climbed under the mosquito net. He pushed his head into the pillows and smiled. It had a been a fantastic day, with plenty more to come. Brian didn’t need any music to put him to sleep.

  Brian was up well before seven and feeling good. A few deep breaths on the balcony told him it was another delightful day in paradise; a sparkling blue sky with a few tufts of cloud floating over the mountains and a gentle zephyr barely ruffling the harbour. Brian had a shower, put his uniform on and walked down to the kitchen. Lengi was at the stove, Milne was seated sipping fresh orange juice, wearing a pair of blue shorts, a white Save the Rainforests T-shirt and a green cap with an Indian hemp leaf motif on the front. Brian said hello, poured himself a glass of orange juice and sat down opposite the President.

  ‘How you feeling?’ said Milne.

  ‘Great,’ said Brian. ‘I had a fantastic night’s sleep.’

  ‘That’s good.’ Milne took a sip of orange juice. ‘So you know what to do?’

  ‘Yessir,’ replied Brian. ‘Drive to the temple. Take a MeG 21 and fly straight to America. Visit Umatilla. Catch up with you north of Lan Laroi and escort you to the Warren. Sink two battleships. Shake my tail feathers. Then split back to the island in time for the late. Sir.’

  ‘Very good, Wing Commander Bradshaw,’ said Milne.

  ‘Thank you, Herr Reichsmarschall.’

  ‘You’ll need this.’ Milne handed Brian a piece of purple crystal. ‘That’s the spare key to the temple. Don’t lose it,’ said Milne. ‘The keys to the Jackaroo are in the ignition.’

  ‘Do I get a packed lunch?’ asked Brian.

  ‘Of course. You don’t think I’d let you starve? Lengi’s made you some sandwiches and a thermos of coffee.’

  ‘Unreal.’

  They had a good breakfast of fruit, poached eggs with salsa, coffee and toasted Turkish bread. When they’d finished, Milne walked Brian down to the car, told him he’d see him over the Pacific, then when everything was sorted out they’d catch up back in the conference room. Brian bipped the horn and drove off. At the turnoff Brian noticed one of his tapes sitting in the cassette. He pushed it in and Bob Sinclair started pumping out ‘Ultimate Funk’ as Brian drove into the rainforest.

  The drive to the temple was fun. Brian parked in the usual place and let himself in with the spare key. It was a little spooky inside on his own and Brian wondered what it must have felt like for Milne the first time he entered the building and came across the three discs sitting against the wall. Mind blowing. Brian tossed his bag on the table and changed into his hemp gym boots then checked his watch. He made sure his alien mask was in his bag along with his camera and a bottle of mineral water, then took the crystal from the wall and walked over to the disc. Minutes later Brian was hovering above the reef. He took the disc to maximum, squeezed the handle and tore off across the Pacific for the United States.

  While Brian was on his way to the temple, Milne was at the jetty opposite the PP, a travel bag over his shoulder, getting ready to board the seaplane. Sohte was standing at the door in his fatigues, a wide green headband holding his hair and a sidearm on his hip; Ohlo was in the cockpit warming up the engines. Milne got on board and sat down, Sohte slammed the door shut and they began taxiing across the harbour. Lengi, Airu and Keleu were waving from the balcony outside the office, Milne waved back from his window, then the seaplane rose from the harbour and soared above the channel.

  Brian smiled to himself as he howled across the Pacific and looked down at a tropical storm somewhere over the Tropic of Cancer. It was a fantastic feeling being alone in the disc, high above the world. Having Milne for company was good. But running your own race was another thing altogether. When this war situation was all over he was definitely taking a disc for a spin now and again. There was no other sensation like it. He reached America, put his mask on and followed the California coastline to Oregon. He didn’t bother flying over Silverdale. He went straight across the mountain ranges and on to the semi-arid desert. He lowered speed and altitude as a familiar low range of mountains caught his eye, then at the edge of the plains he came to the start of the chainlink fence. He slowed right down and almost flew under the metal arch at the front gate he was flying that low. This time Brian noticed a sign on a pole near the guardhouse.

  DANGER. WARNING. RESTRICTED AREA. DANGER. It is Unlawful to Enter This Area Without Permission of the Installation Commander. Sec. 21 Internal Security Act of 1950: 50. US. C. 797. While on This Installation All Personnel and the Property Under Their Control are Subject to Search. THE USE OF DEADLY FORCE AUTHORIZED.

  Fair enough, thought Brian. He smiled and patted AMI. Nothing like a bit of deadly force. Especially if you know how to use it. He cruised around the other bunkers, then pulled up above bunker K–1856 a
nd hovered. He could see the security cameras zooming in on him, then something else caught Brian’s eye. A skinny old coyote appeared from somewhere and, completely oblivious to the disc, scratched itself, yawned and ambled off behind the bunker.

  ‘That’s Wile E. Coyote,’ Brian laughed to himself. ‘And this is the ACME weapons depot. The Road Runner’s probably sitting in the guardhouse.’

  Brian gave it another five minutes then vanished straight up to thirty kilometres and howled back across the Pacific at maximum. He veered right before the Hawaiian islands then circled around when he neared Lan Laroi. It didn’t take long to find the seaplane. It was cruising at a moderate speed, roughly half a kilometre above the ocean. Brian came down through a band of thin cloud layer and drew alongside.

  Milne saw him and waved from the window. Inside the cockpit, Ohlo and Sohte stared wide-eyed at the disc as if it was the Gods had arrived, before taking their caps off and bowing their heads. Brian smiled beneath his alien mask then fell back behind and above the seaplane. Although they were flying at what now seemed like a snail’s pace, it didn’t take long to reach the rendezvous area.

  Brian spotted the Warren and the smaller Hernandez at the same time Ohlo saw them from the seaplane. Behind them was an aircraft-carrier with a deck full of planes, three guided missile destroyers, a nuclear submarine and an oiler. Drifting a couple of kilometres in front of the Warren were two massive grey battleships, looking a little the worse for wear compared to the rest of the fleet. Ohlo took the seaplane down towards the Warren as two Navy C–53A helicopters took off from the deck of the aircraft-carrier. Brian zoomed down and buzzed them close enough to see the looks on the pilots’ faces. He left them and did a quick lap of the support ships, close enough to read the name of the aircraft-carrier, the USS Battle Mountain, then went back and hovered above the Warren. Below him the seaplane motored up alongside the Warren on the leeward side to the two old battleships.

  Angling down the side of the Warren was a wooden gangplank and at the bottom bobbed a cutter full of ratings. The wide foredeck of the Warren was edged by sailors in gob hats four deep and beneath the huge barrels of a gun turret was a white-covered table with naval brass and generals all milling around it, staring up at the disc. Beneath the shelter of the poop deck was another cluster of brass and secret service men and, if Brian wasn’t mistaken, standing in the middle, wearing a char grey suit and a red tie, was President Clooney.

  Ohlo manoeuvred the seaplane up against the cutter, Sohte opened the door and tossed a rope to a rating who secured the plane. Wearing a pair of sunglasses, Milne stepped out onto a landing at the bottom of the gangplank carrying the travel bag over his shoulder. He and Sohte saluted the ratings then scrambled up the gangplank. When they got to the poop deck, a sailor piped them on board and they both saluted the stars and stripes waving on the stern as they stepped onto the ship. Like everybody else, Clooney was taken back by the young surfie in the T-shirt and his wild-looking Apache friend. Then Milne spotted the President, grinned and spread his arms out by his side.

  ‘G’day, Cliff,’ he called out happily. ‘How’re you goin’ there, mate?’

  Milne walked across and grabbed Clooney’s hand and started pumping it. The secret service men shuffled uneasily and looked at each other as they whispered into their intercoms. Clooney started pumping Milne’s hand in return.

  ‘Well, how’re you doin’ there, Ron,’ said Clooney. ‘This is a pleasure.’

  ‘My oath it is.’ Milne introduced Sohte. ‘Cliff. This is a mate of mine. Sohte. Sohte, this is Mr Clooney, President of the United States.’

  Sohte snapped off a salute and came to attention. ‘Hello, Mr President.’

  Clooney returned the salute and shook Sohte’s hand. ‘Hello, Sohte,’ he said, a little nervously. ‘Nice to meet you.’

  ‘Don’t worry, mate’ said Milne. ‘He won’t scalp you.’ Milne put his arm around Clooney’s shoulders. ‘Now, where are we going to sort all this rattle out, Cliff? That table round the front, I imagine?’

  ‘Yes, Ron. Everything’s set up,’ said Clooney. ‘Would you and your buddy like to follow me?’

  ‘Okey doke.’ Milne grinned and jiggled the carry-bag. ‘Hey Cliff. Wait till you see what I’ve brought you. Fair dinkum, mate. You’re gonna shit yourself.’

  Clooney glanced at Milne’s carry-bag. ‘I can’t wait … mate.’

  Surrounded by a phalanx of brass, members of his Cabinet and secret service men, Clooney ushered Milne and Sohte to the table on the foredeck. Cameras flashed, videos whirred and men gaped at Milne and Sohte and up at the disc still hovering above the ship like a million-watt light bulb. With Sohte standing at ease, Milne got introduced to various admirals and generals and members of Clooney’s Cabinet. Milne nodded and smiled back. But beneath the veneer of stiff politeness he could sense the hostility and didn’t bother shaking too many hands.

  Clooney shielded his eyes and looked up at Brian in the disc. ‘So that’s one of them there Loo Noo, is it Ron?’

  ‘Yeah. That’s them,’ replied Milne. ‘He’s just hanging around keeping an eye on things. The other one’s over at that place we were talking about on the phone. Give him a wave.’

  Milne waved to the disc, so did Clooney. Brian saw them and wiggled the disc. Then he shot straight up for a kilometre, came straight back, flew round the Warren and did several manoeuvres it was physically impossible to do in a conventional aircraft. The sailors around the railings and the brass watched in total astonishment.

  ‘By golly,’ said Clooney. ‘That pilot sure know what he’s doing.’

  ‘Yeah. He’s only had his licence three hundred years, too.’ Milne hooked his sunglasses on the front of his T-shirt and tossed his bag up on the table. ‘Righto, Cliff. Check this out, old mate.’ The secret service men stiffened as Milne zipped open the bag and took out two Tupperware containers with two cakes protected by cardboard cartons inside. One was a kiwi fruit mudcake with slices of kiwifruit, peaches and strawberries arranged on the top. The other was a mandarin almond sponge covered in shredded coconut. Milne removed them from the containers and handed Clooney a plastic fork. ‘There you go, mate. Try that.’

  Clooney scooped out a piece of mudcake, chewed it and rolled his eyes. ‘Sonofagun, Ron,’ he said, sincerely. ‘This cake is fantastic. Where did you get this?’

  ‘My cook Lengi baked it especially for you, Cliff,’ said Milne. ‘Go on. Try some of the other one.’

  Milne scooped up a piece of sponge cake, chewed it and rolled his eyes again. ‘Ron. That’s a mighty fine cake. Thank you.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ said Milne, nodding to the disc. ‘That should help to make up for any trouble those cranky old buggers caused you. Now I got something else for you.’ Milne took out a six-pack of beer. ‘There you go. Six bottles of Lan Laroi lager. The best drop of piss in the Pacific.’

  Clooney took a bottle and looked at the plain white label with L.L.L. on it. ‘That’s damn thoughtful of you, Ron. Thank you.’

  Milne gave a nod. ‘We ain’t finished yet, Cliff,’ he said, and pulled two bottles of rum from the bag. ‘There you are, mate. Two bottles of Lan Laroi rum. Papaya and passionfruit.’ Milne gave Clooney a lecherous wink. ‘Fair dinkum, Cliff. Two snorts of this, and you’ll be chasing Mrs President around the White House on three legs. And I’m tellin’ you that for nothing.’

  Milne placed the bottles of rum on the table. Clooney picked one up and looked at the label. ‘Ron …’ he said, a little helplessly.

  Milne held up a hand. ‘And last but not least. A genuine Lan Laroian hemp shirt, made especially for the occasion.’ Milne took a white collarless top from his bag with the US flag and the Lan Laroian flag together on the front. He held it up against Clooney’s chest. ‘Look at that. A perfect fit.’

  Clooney took the shirt. ‘Ron. I don’t know how to thank you.’

  ‘Think nothing of it, Cliff. It was our pleasure.’ Milne moved in closer to CC. ‘Though there is one sma
ll favour you could do me.’

  ‘Sure, Ron. What’s that?’

  Milne fished a piece of paper from his pocket. ‘Mate. Could you get me 20 rolls of Kodak ASA 200 film and a polaroid camera from your PX?’

  ‘I … believe I can arrange that.’ Clooney looked around.

  Milne handed the list to the chairman of the Joint Chiefs. ‘Here, bellhop. Get this for me, will you.’

  Admiral Machonicie seethed under his uniform. Clooney stared at him. ‘Well. You heard the man, Penrod.’

  Admiral Machonicie handed the list to a senior officer. From there it went down the chain of command, before two sailors, an adjutant, two MPs, two shore patrol, a six-man marine guard and two secret service men double-timed below deck with the list to the PX.

  Milne rubbed his hands together. ‘Okay, Cliff. Now, where’s the peace documents and we’ll get this out the road. There’s no need to fartarse around making speeches and all that bullshit. You’re a busy man. And,’ Milne nodded up to Brian in the disc, ‘the old bastards start getting the shits, if they have to hang around too long.’

  ‘All right,’ agreed Clooney. ‘Let’s get to it.’

  There was a flurry of officers and brass, secret service men and flunkies. Two bound documents were produced along with two fountain pens. Milne gave the documents a quick perusal and while it all went in one ear and out the other, let Clooney play the grande dame, reading a prepared statement. Cameras flashed, TV cameras and videos whirled and Milne muttered a half dozen words. Then both Presidents posed shaking hands and signing the documents. By this time the marine guard arrived back with the film and the camera. Milne put the film in his bag with the two tupperware containers and got several polaroids taken of him and Clooney. He took several more with an instamatic camera. Then he and Sohte posed for a few with Clooney, some unwilling brass and members of Clooney’s Cabinet.

  ‘Well, I’d say that’s about it for the peace agreements, Cliff,’ said Milne.