Fire Cult

by R. B. Shaw

  Richard had no strength or will to move. An insidious brown gas poured from the ruptured and saturated sack of superphosphate. It was so pungent he could not breathe. He slowly lifted his battered face. Blood was dripping from his torn eye socket, almost blinding him as he glanced at the sack. It was a superheated mass of turgid brown froth and sizzling bubbles. Richard could hear distant voices. He used all his remaining strength to roll clear through the open shed doors. The lump on his forehead grew larger and his head throbbed painfully.

  As he began to black out there was a tremendous explosion.

  7

  Dave’s priority was to contact Ted Frazer and get him to visit the camp at Zawan. He was eager to question Frazer about the gold shipment and concerned about what the rogue Japanese might be up to. Frazer’s local knowledge would also be valuable for trekking the wreck along the Saidor trail. ‘Mr. Sugano, if this Ted Frazer’s in danger from Harada, I’ll send an urgent request for him to join us here for his own safety. I hope he cooperates. The locals tell me he’s always drunk.’

  Seiji Sugano nodded. ‘A wise move. He could assist us. We know the Australians initially buried the gold here. He would have been captured by the advancing Japanese forces when the gold was seized.’

  ‘We’ll check with him later,’ said Dave, then spoke rapidly in Pidgin to a local elder and scribbled a note to Frazer. Within minutes a young warrior carrying the message, jogged away along a jungle trail. Frazer’s plantation was close by and the elder expected a response before mid afternoon.

  Jake continued to dismantle the damaged plane, still puzzled over Dave’s strategy. ‘Why don’t we repair this heap and fly it out later?’ he blurted out suddenly.

  Dave had already dismissed a possible take-off attempt. ‘Yeah. Normally we would.’ He had absolute trust in Jake and told him about Sugano’s statement, the gold and his plan to follow the wartime trail. ‘This strip’s too damaged after the ‘quake and it gives us a perfect excuse to search the trail to Saidor.’

  Jake understood Dave’s explanation but felt suspicion and challenged Seiji. ‘Why did you come here with someone like Harada?’

  ‘Harada was bankrupt after his previous search. He tracked me down in Japan and asked me to finance another expedition.’

  This intrigued Dave. ‘What convinced you to go along?’

  ‘He told me about the diary, the mention of my father and its implications. We argued a lot after we arrived in New Guinea. My priority was to find my father’s remains, Harada was only interested in the gold.’

  Dave listened intently as he helped remove the wings and tail. ‘Jake, finish pulling the wreck apart. I’m gonna start questioning the locals about wartime patrols through here.’

  ‘Before you go, can you and Seiji help roll the wreck over?’

  The wingless fuselage crashed noisily back onto its wheels, dislodging a cascade of loose articles from behind the instrument panel. Seiji suddenly shouted. ‘Wait! There’s something inside on the floor.’ He grabbed an old hardcover notebook and flicked through the faded and water damaged pages.

  ‘Is that the diary?’ said Dave.

  ‘Yes, I thought Harada took it. We must be careful. He may try to get it back. It might be useful for us.’

  ‘Great, see if you can find out anything and in the meantime keep it somewhere safe,’ Dave advised.

  Jake removed the engine from the Cessna and cut three metre lengths of thick saplings. He lashed them to each side of the 300-kilogram engine, allowing it to be slung in the centre of an open frame. Eight poles projected for maximum carrying access.

  Dave was now impatient. ‘It’ll be two hours before the messenger returns. We’ll check out the trail to Saidor while we’re waiting.’

  ‘What about Seiji?’

  ‘He’ll be safe in the village.’

  After an hour’s trek, Dave baulked at the prospects. The narrow trail threaded through steep ravines densely covered with half-metre thick trees growing less than a metre apart. ‘This is gonna be a nightmare. We can’t manhandle a dismantled plane through this.’

  Jake agreed. ‘Let’s cut a track to the riverbank. Maybe we can go that way if we have to.’

  The dry season had reduced the Nankina River to a series of sluggish meandering streams, none wider than ten metres. Most were less than knee deep, so they used the riverbanks and sandbars to avoid the matted vines and dense areas of bush.

  ‘This is the way to go,’ Dave decided. ‘When the trail’s overgrown or too narrow, we’ll divert and follow the river.’

  Jake waded in the cool water to avoid the heat. ‘Still, I’ll advise Fang to bring plenty of machetes.’

  When they returned, Seiji was waiting anxiously, frustrated by the delay. ‘Mr. Stark. The messenger has not returned. We may have time to revisit the site where I found the gold dust.’

  ‘We won’t disturb anything by digging yet.’ Dave insisted. ‘Wait till we talk to Frazer.’

  The natives showed them many war relics, mainly old weapons and ration tins, but they found nothing of importance.

  Jake gave up the search. ‘It’s getting late. We better get back and see if Frazer’s turned up yet.’

  They walked back to Zawan village along the rough trail. It was obvious the tiny ‘pot-hole explorer’ wheels of the Cessna would be unsuitable for the journey ahead. Dave used the time to set up the portable radio and made a call to Fang. ‘The wreck’s dismantled,’ he explained. ‘Have we got the go-ahead?’

  Static distorted Fang’s voice. ‘Yeah, couldn’t believe it. Documents arrived here approvin’ our salvage trek; helicopter drops at Zawan and airdrops as required. Even my Invader’s been cleared to fly, so I’ve done some quick temporary repairs. Everythin’s signed by that prick Collins. He’s a tough nut, Dave. What did ya do? Grease him or sleep with him?’

  ‘I’ll tell you about it later. This trail to Saidor is rougher than I realised and overgrown in places. Bring at least a dozen machetes. We’ll be forced to divert to the river a lot. Remember the Twin Otter we salvaged last month? Pinch those large wheels and balloon tyres and fabricate axle adaptors to fit to the Cessna undercarriage legs. It’ll keep the fuselage high out of the water and make it easier to manoeuvre.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do. See ya soon.’ Fang signed off.

  8

  Dave was unprepared for his first meeting with Ted Frazer. The skinny and sinewy old man limped into the village, exuding an air of aggressive suspicion. His mutilated leg had obviously been broken in the past. It had knitted without splints or plaster and was now grotesquely cranked. Initially, he ignored Dave and stared at Seiji with a haunted look—a spark of recognition from the past. He systematically checked the area, then waved some natives into the clearing. They carried a young mixed-race man on a rough bush material litter.

  Reluctantly, Frazer tore his fascinated gaze from Seiji. He monitored the bearers as they carefully lowered the stretcher, then turned to Dave. ‘Okay, I’m here. What the bloody hell’s goin’ on? Some arsehole attacked my son while I was away on harvest.’ Frazer was deeply tanned and sun weathered. His skin damage included horrific scars from old burns and skin grafts.

  ‘You’re in danger,’ said Dave with genuine concern. ‘How’s your son?’

  Frazer frowned. ‘He’s unconscious, maybe even in coma. Fortunately, he’s still breathing.’

  Dave looked the young man over. He had been brutally beaten. ‘Don’t look good. Is there a doctor nearby?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Frazer replied angrily. ‘I sent a message to the medical orderly at the mission station. He should reach here by late afternoon. I want the bastard that did this.’

  ‘We suspect a Japanese man named Kendo Harada.’

  Frazer hesitated briefly at the mention of the name. ‘Why? Whatta we done to cause such a savage bloody attack? Richard’s just a farmer. Never hurt anyone.’

  Dave introduced his group and attempted to explain the circumstances. ‘Mr Seiji Sugano h
ere tells me you were a guard escorting a gold shipment from Bulolo in 1942. Apparently you were captured by the Japs and tortured. That gold’s never been found, except for a few small specimens. Harada is desperate for information and obviously willing to do anything to get it.’

  Frazer’s blue eyes glanced suspiciously around the assembled strangers. ‘So what’s this got to do with me?’

  ‘Seiji’s father was the Officer of the Jap company that captured you. He’s now seeking the remains of his father and the gold, and we need your help.’

  A stunned look crept over Ted Frazer’s ragged face as he suddenly recognised Seiji’s features from a previous generation. ‘I want no part of that bloody gold. As far as I’m concerned it’s cursed. I thought the nips took it all to Japan … if they didn’t get it all … it’s possible there could be some still buried near our old campsite … and more along the trail to Saidor. Take what ya find and leave us in peace.’

  The candid submission surprised Dave. ‘There’s more to it than that. You’re not safe. Harada’s after the gold. He’s dangerous and determined to question you.’

  Frazer’s eyes were shifty and hostile, constantly scanning all around him. ‘Bastard’s dangerous all right. He attacked Richard, ransacked my store shed and burnt down my house. Richard came round briefly and told me he took a rifle, a hunting knife and a lot of explosives.’

  An inquisitive native bystander pulled a thick tobacco-stuffed bamboo pot from his stretched earlobe and lit a long cigarette rolled from newspaper. The flaring match took all Frazer’s attention. He trembled, startled and speechless, until the tiny flame was extinguished.

  Dave broke the brittle silence. ‘I’m told you’re the only survivor of the escort group. If you help our search, I’ll make sure you’re well rewarded.’

  Frazer took a quick slug from a small chrome flask he kept in his back pocket. The sweet smell of malt whisky pervaded the air. ‘All I want is to get the prick who attacked my son. I went through a bad time back then. Can’t remember much. The bulk of the gold probably disappeared into the Jap vaults ages ago.’

  Seiji was desperate and interrupted. ‘Mr Frazer, during the war you were saved from further torture by a Japanese Marine Officer. That was my father. He never returned to Japan and was presumed missing in action. I have traced all Allied and Japanese records. The Bulolo gold shipment never reached the destroyer that was to take it to Japan. Somewhere between here and the Bismarck Sea are the remains of my father and very likely, the bulk of the lost gold dust. I implore you, please help me to follow his trail. He saved your life; you owe us that much.’

  The plea touched Frazer and his mood mellowed, despite his alcoholic daze. He’d hated the Japanese since his ordeal, but remembered the compassionate officer. He stared at Seiji, picturing another man fifty years before, almost identical and in uniform. The same face and build, but gold upper teeth and a strange lifeless eye, probably glass. ‘How d’ya know all this if your father never returned?’

  ‘The man responsible for the attack is Kendo Harada. He’s the son of the medical orderly who treated your face wound. Harada’s father kept a war diary—it details your trek and mutual suffering when captured by some strange cult of native fire worshippers.’

  ‘So why me?’ Frazer demanded.

  ‘You and Harada’s father were the only survivors. He died last year and passed on his diary to Kendo. I managed a brief look, so only had limited knowledge of its contents. I now have the diary. It will take some time to decipher due to age and water damage. Harada has deciphered a lot of the diary, but he took his notes with him when he turned against me.’

  Seiji had evoked terrible memories. Ted Frazer trembled and wiped sweat from his scarred face. He reached for his flask and took another swig. ‘Looks like I’m in danger if I go back to the plantation and there’s no house anyway.’

  Dave remembered his helicopter in Madang. ‘Mr. Frazer, we could help each other. Aircraft can’t land at Zawan because of ‘quake damage and all helicopters are tied up in disaster relief. I’ve got my own chopper in Madang. I’ll radio for a medical evacuation. Your son will be safely in Madang hospital within three hours.’

  Frazer sniggered with contempt. ‘Blackmail?’

  ‘No, this ain’t blackmail. It’s a candid offer, whether you help us find our way along the old trail to the coast or not. I’ll go further and offer you full accommodation in Madang as long your son needs attention or while further threats exist at Zawan.’

  Ted Frazer looked at the prone figure on the stretcher with concern. ‘That’s a very generous offer. If you arrange it, I’ll stay and help you out. I’ll only lead you as far as the coast. When we catch up with this Harada, I want first shot at him. I’ll try and show you the route, campsites and likely places where gold might be buried.’ He turned to Seiji. ‘I think your father safely reached Saidor and beyond. As I said, I remember very little.’

  Dave made his radio call and returned without delay. ‘It’s all arranged then. The chopper should be here in just over an hour. Now Mr. Frazer, we want to salvage this dismantled plane and carry it to the coast. The trail’s too narrow for the fuselage in places. Is it feasible to use the river where necessary?’

  Frazer’s eagle-like eyes were bleary with alcohol and jaundiced from decades of quinine use. ‘Yeah. You could wheel it down the river a lot of the way. There’s a village at the highest navigable point—beyond that, the Nankina’s too deep. You’ll have to raft your plane from there through a steep-sided gorge to a vine bridge. A motor road to the coast starts the other side of the bridge.’

  Dave thought out his options. ‘The plane’s not important, it’s just a cover. Once on the trail, we’ll divide as required into a salvage crew led by Jake and a search team with me, an associate who hasn’t arrived yet, yourself and Seiji. Was your stolen rifle loaded?’

  ‘Yes, but only the one round. He didn’t find my ammunition box.’ Involuntarily, Frazer’s bony fingers rubbed a terrible scar that stretched from his mouth across his cheek. Scalloped like a harelip, the fierce afternoon sun emphasised it with deep shadow.

  Dave was relieved. ‘Right, I’d hate to think that prick was out there with a rifle and a box of ammo. Mr. Frazer, can you show us any other likely spots around here where there might be more gold?’

  Frazer hesitated, then scanned the clearing, picturing the scene fifty years earlier. ‘You can call me Ted. There wasn’t much the Japs didn’t find when they tortured us. Dig down halfway between those rocks, there could be more they missed.’

  Jake quickly unfolded a trenching tool and began digging. In less than twenty minutes he exposed another crumbling sack of gold dust. ‘Dave! Look here!’

  Dave smiled broadly with contained elation. ‘This trek to the coast looks more inviting by the minute. Any more around here Ted?’

  ‘I doubt it, but I’m sure the Japs buried gold along the coast trail. I recollect a lot of strange things happenin’ at their secret headquarters in a hidden sinkhole halfway to the coast. Dunno’ if I could find it now though.’

  Less than forty minutes later, the distinctive sound of an approaching helicopter disturbed them. The chopper landed. Dave and a pilot friend from Madang quickly removed the helicopter’s rear sling seats. They secured the stretcher directly to the cabin floor. Ted stood quietly beside his son, willing a quick recovery.

  They all watched as the chopper lifted off noisily and headed for the coast. A native medical assistant accompanied the pilot to monitor the evacuee’s condition during the flight. Ted’s eyes glazed over as he solemnly watched the helicopter fade into the misty mountain slopes. He wondered if he would ever see Richard alive again, but dismissed the thought. Richard was young, fit and in capable hands. He’d survive all right.

  His would-be killer would not be so lucky.

  9

  That night in Zawan village, Dave pondered the proposed trek to Saidor. ‘Ted, you said the river gets deeper through a ravine downstream. Cou
ld we use a log raft or timber platform lashed over a series of canoes?’

  ‘Either would do, as long as it’s strong and wide enough to take the cabin section. All the small stuff can be carried along the cliff track. You’ll need a team up on the trail with tetherin’ ropes to restrain the raft through the gorge. Leave the final construction to the villagers, they know better than we do.’ Ted thought for a moment. ‘You want me to send a runner with a message to start building a raft?’

  ‘Could be risky with that Jap out there somewhere,’ Dave advised cautiously. ‘You can bet he’s watching us right now.’

  ‘We’ll use the bush telegraph then,’ Ted replied and quickly organised his native assistant to send a drum message to the distant village downstream. The staccato rattle of kundu hand drums and the deep resonant sound of the huge garamut log drum disturbed the quiet tropical evening.

  They settled for an early night after discussing plans for the trek. Highland nights were cool and relatively free of insects so they bedded down in sleeping bags near the fire. Ted spread his sleeping bag well back. He could not even look at the fire and would not go near the smallest of flames. Terrors of the past haunted him. Harada had tried to take from him the sole reason for his existence. He thought about Richard’s handsome young face and jovial smile then cursed silently.

  Ted bedded down with reluctance and opened another bottle of whisky. He hoped to find relief from the phantoms of the night already forming in the jungle fringe. His inescapable dreams were a curse that always degenerated into hideous enigmatic nightmares. Within minutes of falling asleep he relived his experience as a nineteen-year-old army private. Indelibly clear, it revealed a surrealistic scene of absolute silence and tranquillity.

  Ted saw a bright orange sky reflecting and shimmering on the liquid copper surface of the swamp. It was pierced randomly by twisted black skeletons of drowned acacia and the silhouettes of wind-stunted raintrees. The leafless crowns were gnarled and haunted by a myriad of expectant ibis, egrets and herons. He noticed a group of alien figures camped nearby. They were oblivious to the raw beauty about them, intent only on their world of wartime turmoil and personal greed.