Fire Cult

by R. B. Shaw

  ‘Nothing’s changed,’ said Dave, then lifted Jan’s pack into the rear of the Thunderbox.

  Dave, Jan and their team always stayed at the Madang Hotel. Its colonial charm and simple elegance captured the open style of living typical of Melanesia. The manager, Peter Butler, was a good friend and gave them substantial discounts in exchange for the charter rights to Dave’s cabin cruiser, the Lahara. Dave rarely used the Lahara of late. It sat permanently moored at the Madang Hotel’s private marina on a picturesque inlet of the harbour.

  Madang Harbour looked like a tropical Venice of the South Pacific. It was a tranquil maze of waterways, canals, bridges and coral reefs, blessed with a magnificent setting amid lush foliage and exotic flowers.

  As they arrived in the hotel lobby, Peter Butler called them over. ‘Dave. I gather Fiery Fang isn’t with you this time?’

  ‘No Pete. We’re picking him up from the airport later.’

  Butler’s relaxed features took on a look of concern. ‘Do me a favour, Dave. Try and keep him under control. I don’t want a repeat of his last brawl. At least keep him away from the Haus Wind bar.’

  ‘There’s no stopping him sometimes. You know what he’s like.’

  ‘Yeah. Mankind’s answer to the Bull Terrier.’

  Dave shrugged. ‘He’s a great guy with a short fuse, but I’ll try and keep him occupied.’

  The Madang Hotel was ideally situated on the harbour foreshore. Some cabins hung precariously on stilts over the water like a Papuan village. Coconut palms and bougainvillea dominated the lush surrounding gardens. Before returning to his room, Dave rechecked on the Lahara in the nearby lagoon. Croton hedges in full bloom edged the pathway. They were a blaze of colour. Their waxy leaves shone with a deep green and maroon, veined with the purest yellow.

  Except for the Sepik Explorer, a mini cruise ship, the Lahara was the biggest boat at anchor. The rain covers could not hide the lovely white lines and teak upper deck work of Dave’s cruiser. Everything aboard the Lahara was in good order and ready for the search around the Bismarck islands. He locked up and prepared to meet Fang at the airport.

  Fang’s Invader flew into sight over the offshore islands. Karkar looked big and threatening, smudges of smoke drifting from its summit. A distant pall of dissipating ash and smoke betrayed the position of Manam Island. The active volcano formed a classic cone, only fifteen kilometres off the north coast.

  As Fang taxied the Invader onto the hard stand, Dave stared out across the azure tropical waters. Somewhere out there a lost fortune in gold dust lay hidden.

  While they waited for Fang to lock up the Invader, Seiji stared curiously at the plane. ‘Why does he fly around in that old thing. With his skills he could be flying airliners?’

  ‘It suits the kind of work he’s doing at the moment.’ Dave paused, searching for a diplomatic response. ‘He used to be an airline pilot many years back, not long after we both got out of the military.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Some time back the highlands had a severe frost that destroyed the native’s crops. Fang was a pilot on the relief flights flying food in to help the shortage. It was serious, but many of the locals milked it to the hilt. It later became known as the giamine famine, giamine being the Pidgin word for pretend. Fang delivered a planeload of rice and the so-called starving locals were too lazy to help him unload it. He unloaded the plane by himself, then in front of the locals, pissed all over the rice in a stupid gesture of contempt. The government heard about it and had him sacked. Word got around and now none of the airlines in the South Pacific will take him on.’

  As he concluded, Fang climbed in the Thunderbox and tossed his pack in the back.

  ‘Is that all your luggage?’ Seiji asked, surprised at Fang’s tiny kit.

  ‘All I need, pal—the J-kit; jacket, jumper, jamis, jocks, jeans and joggers,’ he replied, obviously still unwilling to talk at length with Seiji.

  Dave sensed the hostility and butted in. ‘Fang, did you manage to fix up the Invader?’

  ‘No. Still flyin’ on temporary repairs. Too many legal eagles snoopin’ around Avmar. She’ll hold together if we take it easy.’

  As they drove into town, the scent of the south seas seemed palpable. Evidence of the earthquakes appeared, split roads, collapsed palms and ruptured water tanks. They passed by the Catholic Church and Fang pointed at the statue of the crucifixion. ‘Better stay away from that pub, Dave. A bit rough. Look what they did to that guy.’

  Dave and Jan ignored Fang’s sacrilegious ill-humour—they were used to it. Seiji frowned, still perplexed by the weird stocky Australian.

  They unloaded their gear in the Madang Hotel carpark. Fang caught sight of Peter Butler behind the counter, checking on the arrival of a Japanese tour group. ‘Well, there’s Peanut Butter. Still fleecin’ Jap tourists, Peanut?’

  Butler glared back angrily. ‘Peter Butler! Get it right or get out. I’ve got two big tour groups in at the moment. Any hint of trouble from you and I’ll call the police. Is that understood?’

  ‘Been takin’ nasty pills again, Peanut?’ Fang smirked and kept walking to his room. ‘Bad mix with those blood pressure tablets.’

  ‘Did you sort things out in Port Moresby, Fang?’ said Jan, trying to keep pace.

  ‘We’ve still got a cash-flow problem.’ Fang responded. ‘The cops can’t find the guy who cleaned out our bank. I sold off a load of guns at basement rates to help keep us goin’. There’s some inspector tryin’ to get hold of us, I avoided him in case he’s tryin’ to close down the operation.’

  Dave realised Fang felt responsible and did all he could to ease their predicament. ‘We’ll sort them out later. Tonight we’re formulating a search plan. Jake and Seiji will look for the barge in the Lahara. In the meantime, the rest of us will try and locate the Ventura using the chopper. Better have a good rest—you and your Invader are going to be very busy.’

  23

  In the late afternoon and particularly on a Friday, the Haus Wind bar at the Madang Hotel became a popular meeting place. An old adage states the only expatriates in PNG are either missionaries, mercenaries or misfits, and a kaleidoscope of characters always gathered here.

  Dave compared its atmosphere and style to Quinns Bar in Tahiti. The regular bar flies included over-nighting aircrew, native plantation owners and former Coastwatchers. Patrol officers and ageing war heroes came to drink with old friends and study the cavalcade of tourists. Conversely, the sprinkling of tourists from Australia, Japan and America were lured by the bar’s colourful reputation. They came to observe its unique blend of locals, lushes and legends.

  Though initially warm and friendly, Jan had said very little since arriving from Moresby. Dave sensed an underlying uncertainty. As they walked to the bar, he picked a frangipani and placed it over her ear. The five waxy petals stood out starkly white against the dark waves of her hair. She stopped and looked up at him and responded with a warm smile. Amber flecks in her large brown eyes contrasted perfectly with the yellow stamen of the bright frangipani. Without a word, Dave kissed her lightly on the forehead. He took her hand as they entered the bar to relax, then discuss their search strategy.

  The large Haus Wind bar and clubroom displayed many carvings to maintain a distinctive traditional flavour. Haus Wind literally meant ‘windy house’, a name it lived up to due to its open-sided design, allowing the tropical sea breeze to relieve the stifling humidity.

  After dinner, Dave arranged for Jake to show Seiji around the Lahara, moored in the lagoon nearby. Very shortly, it would be their living quarters and transport as they began scouring the north coast and islands for sunken barges.

  Dave and Jan moved to a table in the bar. The hand-carved Sepik chairs and tables, woven pit-pit grass curtains and carvings had been personally selected by Peter Butler. Artefacts, weapons and storyboards lavishly decorated any existing wall space. Numerous ceiling fans fought a losing battle trying to disperse the rising haze of smoke above the nois
y crowd. They began discussing lost planes, sunken barges and gold dust.

  Fang had been working on the Invader; he saw Dave and Jan and joined them. He brooded darkly, still uptight about his problems with Bianca. Listening half-heartedly to Dave’s plans, he gazed around at the usual mix of bar flies and bar girls. A young part-Asian girl sat alone on a stool and glanced at him. He stared back, instantly captivated by her exotic beauty. She held his smouldering gaze with a cheeky smile. Even her lovely almond eyes seemed to be smiling. They were shaded by black lashes lengthened and tempered by evolution and the fierce Asian sun. She raised and crossed her slim legs. The blue satin skirt stretched tight, deliberately exposing her shapely thighs. Her skin glowed like polished ivory.

  As a connoisseur and corrupter of the female form, Fang classified her a perfect ten. His sexist scale simply required a fabulous face and a curvaceous size-ten figure. Yet he held back, remembering the girlie bars in Saigon—exotic places with exotic diseases. But inevitably he had to react—he stood without a word and strode over to the woman. She saw him coming, tossed her raven black hair back off her shoulders, then deliberately finished her drink.

  Fang barged his way in next to her, forcing the man alongside to slide off his stool. The angry American patron turned. He was obviously a tourist, dressed in khaki calico fatigues, hunting jacket and jungle boots. He glanced at Fang’s heavy build and battered face, meekly picked up his beer and moved silently to the next stool.

  ‘It’s a hot night. Can I get you another drink?’ Fang offered casually to the vision before him.

  She responded promptly in good English, not taking her eyes off his face. ‘Thank you. A scotch and dry would be nice.’ Her smile beamed as though she could just contain her elation.

  Fang fumbled for his wallet, fascinated by her face. Lightly made-up with long lashes and petite nose, her full red lips exposed perfect teeth. He handed her the frosted glass. ‘My name’s Chris Mitchell … and you?’

  ‘Tiana. I haven’t seen you here before, where are you from?’

  ‘Port Moresby. I’m Australian, but I was born in Papua. Are you a local?’

  ‘No. I’m from Thailand, working here on contract.’

  ‘You don’t look Thai?’

  ‘My father was French.’

  They continued with small talk for nearly an hour, drinking more as the conversation became more intimate. Tiana’s tiny hand stroked Fang’s well-muscled arm. Her elegant fingers and long scarlet nails combed and teased the silken cocoon of sun-bleached hair on his tanned forearm. Each erotic stroke felt like a miniature electric shock as he stared into the depths of her dark eyes.

  Someone tapped on Fang’s shoulder. He turned, expecting an argument with the man he’d forced off the stool. Bianca stood next to him, arms folded. ‘What are you doin’ here?’ he demanded with mixed astonishment and consternation.

  Bianca looked ravishing in her favourite white outfit. ‘I thought I’d surprise you. Caught the last Air Niugini flight over,’ she said angrily, then glared at Tiana. ‘It seems I was the one in for a surprise.’

  ‘It ain’t like that Bianca,’ Fang responded sheepishly. ‘This is Tiana, we were just havin’ a drink.’

  Bianca slapped Fang’s face so hard, the sound echoed around the bar. Everyone turned in the stunned silence. ‘You greedy two-timing bastard! I should have known better. Don’t ever try to see me again!’ she screamed, then turned on Tiana. ‘Watch out for this one, baby. He treats women like booze. Savour the moment, then look for the next. Use ‘em, abuse ‘em, then lose ‘em!’ Bianca deliberately knocked Fang’s drink over and stormed out of the bar.

  Fang did not chase her. He simply brushed drops of beer from his pants as the patrons returned to their bar chatter and sarcastic laughter. He turned to Tiana. ‘Sorry about that—she’s a bit hot tempered.’

  Tiana was concerned. ‘I hope I didn’t cause this, I didn’t know you were attached.’

  ‘Not anymore,’ Fang replied simply.

  An hour later, Fang exhausted all he knew about Thailand. He told Tiana about his plane and then the Lahara moored outside.

  ‘You have a cabin cruiser here at the hotel?’ she enquired excitedly.

  ‘Yeah, I’m a shareholder anyway. Let’s go for a walk and I’ll show you. We’ve got a well stocked bar on board.’

  ‘What a wonderful idea,’ Tiana agreed readily.

  Fang excused himself briefly and checked with Dave and Jan. ‘Dave, are Jake and Seiji still on the Lahara?’

  ‘Should be finished by now. Said they were checking it over before their trip. They were intending to take some maps back to the room to plot courses. They’ll meet us back here later. You want to join us?’

  ‘Yeah, just takin’ a friend over for a look at the Lahara.’ Fang replied evasively. ‘Won’t be long.’

  ‘You’re a glutton for punishment, Fang,’ said Dave knowingly.

  Tiana and Fang strolled arm in arm along the hotel foreshore. A sprinkling of harbour lights reflected off the dark smooth waters. Flaming tiki torches lit the path that wandered through the luxuriant palms, poinsettias and bougainvilleas. The humid night exuded the heavy fragrance of frangipani and hibiscus. They ambled lazily along the torch lit path, stopping occasionally to admire the view.

  Fang put his arm around Tiana’s waist. Without hesitation, she turned and kissed him gently on the cheek. Fang’s pulse raced despite his casual pace. They stopped again and cuddled. Tiana put her arms around his neck, stared briefly into his face, then kissed him passionately on the lips. Fang could no longer resist her. He caressed her in a firm embrace that neither wanted to break.

  At last they moved along hand in hand, urgency in their stride. The white graceful lines of the Lahara loomed out of the dark. The lights were off, Jake and Seiji must have left. After negotiating the gangplank, Fang folded back the rain covers. He unlocked the door and escorted Tiana into the comfortable and luxurious cabin.

  Fang gave her a brief tour, pointing out the red ochre upholstery, the polished brass and varnished teak. Opening the liquor cabinet, he poured them each a drink. Tiana came to him and laid her head on his chest, then looked up seductively into his eyes. Her beauty stunned him. Her hypnotic eyes shone like black pearls above smooth glowing skin contoured over high cheekbones.

  ‘What else is there to see?’ she smiled cheekily.

  ‘Well, there’s the galley over there. All that’s left is the engine room down that hatch and the bedrooms through there.’

  ‘I hate stairs,’ she pouted almost suggestively, as she took his hand and moved to the bedroom. ‘I want to make up for the trouble I caused earlier.’

  The master bedroom was small and Spartan but as big as the vessel’s design would allow. All pretence dropped as they entered and passionately embraced, exploring each other freely. Their shed clothing gradually fell to the floor as they moved to the bed. Tiana hugged Fang’s large muscular body. Except for a small beergut, he kept in good shape.

  Fang could hardly contain his passion. Tiana was slimmer than he first thought, a wonderfully trim size eight, slim waist and small breasts. Though she stripped totally naked, he could not take his eyes off her glorious face. He laid her back on the bed and let his hands slide over her.

  Fang’s lovemaking lacked foreplay and had always been wild, urgent and brief. Tiana stemmed his urgency and clamped his frustrated movements, forcing him to calm down. She massaged his outstretched arms, then slid naked onto his bare stomach and pinned him there.

  As she straddled him, she expertly teased and massaged him. Her silken tresses trickled down, mingling with his chest hair. Every time Fang’s virile movements began, she quelled them erotically with a kiss, a squeeze or a stroke. Fang was not used to this—five minutes of wild delirious sex was his scene. He had never experienced anything like this. His entire body flooded in an ecstatic limbo, his skin hypersensitive to the erotic touch of her silken hands, lips and thighs.

  Tiana kept him at e
ruption point for nearly half an hour. She slid back onto him and began writhing, slowly at first and then rapidly increased the tempo until Fang violently convulsed in ecstasy. His whole body relaxed with pleasure, as if all his problems had suddenly exploded through the top of his head. Despite hardly having moved, he felt totally exhausted. He lay calm, absolutely stupefied by the mystic powers of the beautiful woman who straddled him and still gently massaged his chest.

  Fang finally spoke. ‘Tell me more about yourself. What are you doing here in Madang?’

  ‘I told you in the bar,’ Tiana hesitated. ‘I’m a contract data processing teacher. Mainly private tuition to Asian children.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A tutor. I teach basic computer skills.’ She tried to contain her perfect cheeky smile. ‘What about you? What are you doing on this side of the island?’

  ‘Salvage work. Though I usually fly, I’m also a Scuba diver,’ Fang responded absent-mindedly. ‘I have to do some divin’ on an old Jap barge.’

  Tiana listened carefully. ‘When do you start?’

  ‘Soon. First we gotta find a wartime bomber wreck in the mountains.’ Fang was still off-guard, speaking his thoughts.

  ‘A bomber. Sounds interesting. Where is it?’

  ‘Don’t know, still tryin’ to track it down. That’s why we’re in Madang. We know the barge is on the coast or islands here somewhere, but we need to find the bomber first.’

  ‘Why is the bomber so important?’ she ventured.

  Fang glanced at her with suspicion. ‘Why so many questions?’

  ‘Nothing really,’ Tiana backed off, caught unawares by Fang’s abruptness. ‘I just want to know everything about you and your friends.’

  ‘Of course,’ Fang smiled. ‘Later on you can meet my partners, Dave and Jan. Great couple. Jan’s a real doll. Dave’s okay, but real strange sometimes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Got an attitude problem. Reckons nothin’s impossible subject to the limits of time, money and technology.’