Fire Cult

by R. B. Shaw

  Dave bashed his beer down so suddenly on the table it frothed over. He leaned eagerly over the map and stared intently. ‘Shit Fang, that meridian your finger’s on is the 146 longitude!’

  They both stared, briefly dumbfounded. With a sudden rush Dave grabbed the edge of the map. He scanned the vertical scale for the four-degree, thirty-minute latitude and eagerly traced it across to the 146 longitude. His finger rested on Karkar Island.

  ‘You got it, Dave, it’s longitude and latitude. The barge hit a reef on the north coast of Karkar Island. At least that’s where Steper sighted it! He probably didn’t wanna trust memorisin’ the co-ordinates so scribbled ‘em on this scrap of film wrapper.’

  Dave did not answer for a moment. He studied the map detail of the huge volcanic island with strange misgivings. The shape of a rumpled football, it spanned twenty kilometres across and twenty-five, north to south. Two large features dominated the terrain, Mount Uluman and Mount Kunugui, sweeping to an altitude of over 6000 feet. A notation appeared in brackets, ‘ACTIVE VOLCANO’.

  ‘We gotta confirm this,’ he said. ‘Ted did reckon the sinking barge was heading for a beach on a volcanic island.’

  Fang rummaged through the old documents. ‘Where’s that faded wartime map we got from the wreck. If we extend the old headings across a current map, it could confirm the position.’

  The section of old map left folded outermost by the unfortunate crew remained faded and bleached by time. Unfortunately, the portion lost was the most important, the north coast and offshore islands. They carefully unfolded the faded chart and selected two reference points on the old pencilled course line that ended abruptly at the faded section. They identified the two points on the new map, duplicated the heading then extended them out across the Bismarck Sea.

  The extended line crossed and confirmed the position.

  30

  They searched unsuccessfully for four days in the region dictated by the co-ordinates, but, frustratingly, Karkar Island would not give up its secrets. Vibration problems again plagued the helicopter. Dave left Jan to arrange a major tear down of the rotor head and gearbox following the blade strike on the mountain.

  On the morning of the fifth day, he stepped from the shower as the telephone rang. Fang had reluctantly taken the call. ‘Buckingham Palace, Throne room.’ Fang recognised the repetition of pips, realised it was an international call and corrected himself. ‘Chris Mitchell speaking.’

  After a puzzled silence, the Kodak agent spoke. ‘We’ve developed the old films you sent us. Despite fragile negatives and emulsion break-up, we’ve got reasonable results with the Brownie shots, but even with computer enhancing we couldn’t lift an image from the large aerial negatives. Very likely unused.’

  Fang brimmed with excitement. ‘What do the photos show?’

  ‘Planes, people, probably airmen and soldiers, coastline, boats and a volcano,’ the Kodak agent replied. ‘All very indistinct.’

  ‘What sorta boat?’

  ‘Squarish, like an assault craft or landing barge.’

  Fang quickly turned to Dave and advised him of the developments.

  ‘Get him to fax them up, care of the Madang Hotel,’ Dave orderded. ‘We can assess them ourselves. Ask him if there’s anything else that can be done to improve the prints?’

  Fang relayed the message and waited as the Kodak agent pondered the request.

  ‘I could use advanced computer enhancement—what we call Morphing techniques.’

  ‘Sounds like a drug,’ Fang joked.

  The expert laughed. ‘It’s the latest sophisticated computer technique developed by the NASA space laboratories in the States. Often used by the FBI and CIA. Comes from a Greek word for form or body. We can sometimes reconstruct vague images and enhance poor resolution but it’s very expensive.’

  ‘How expensive?’

  ‘To take it as far as we can go is time consuming,’ said the Kodak agent. ‘You’re looking at the four figure range.’

  Fang briefly explained the technique and cost to Dave.

  ‘Four figures?’ Dave scoffed unconcerned. ‘We’re looking at seven figure rewards. Go for it.’

  Later that day the faxes arrived as requested. The small postcard prints lacked resolution and had suffered further during transmission. Shading and definition had become diffuse, reduced to featureless silhouettes of black and white. Obviously, the enhanced originals would reveal valuable information. The vague and tempting square shape of a barge appeared in many of the shots.

  Two days of bad weather prevented Jake and Seiji from further searches in the Lahara. Fang used the time to endorse Jan on the Invader. In that time, they had managed only one flight over Karkar. Thunderstorms and torrential rain precluded any possibility of even finding the north coast.

  Eventually, the precious photographs arrived, hand delivered by courier. All prints had been enlarged to A4 page size, as requested. Fang, Dave and Jan eagerly inspected the photos.

  Dave nervously rummaged through the rare black and white shots. ‘Only light damage to the vertical edges.’

  Jan studied each in detail. ‘They’re incredibly clear. The enhancing process has worked a minor miracle.’ She noticed most were personal shots, lost memories of war and futility from a bygone era.

  Fang urged them on. ‘Whatta we got?’

  ‘American Aircobra fighters, the Port Moresby hills and revetments on Jackson’s airstrip,’ Dave responded as he handed each print on. Another print displayed uniformed ground crews in a moment of frivolity, raising beers and puffing Lucky Strikes. The next revealed a shot of the Ventura bomber. ‘Look at this one, probably taken just before their last flight.’ The first of three aerial shots revealed a coastline backed by a mountainous skyline. Dave instantly recognised the mountains. ‘That’s the Adelbert ranges, north of Madang.’

  A dramatic photo revealed the vast volcanic island, Karkar, backed by a distant mainland. The next showed an unusual view, directly into the yawning calderas of what was unmistakably Karkar’s twin volcanos, one smaller within the huge outer crater.

  The final shot excited them. On a foam-topped reef, between a palm-fringed beach and a tiny offshore islet, lay the vague rectangular shape of a marine barge.

  Dave anxiously turned to the next photo. He smiled, rewarded with a close-up taken from low altitude. It filled most of the frame and was obviously the Japanese barge half-submerged on the outer reef. ‘This shot must’ve been taken with the Ventura’s arse almost in the water. The image is blurred by speed, but there’s no mistaking it. You can see the number 282 stencilled on the upper bow!’ Excitement was barely contained under a ‘down-to-business’ tone. ‘We’ve got to locate a reef somewhere between a small islet and the north coast of Karkar. Contact Jake. Tell him to call off the search temporarily and return to Madang. We’ll stock up the Lahara, return and set up camp at Karkar. Ted and Seiji can sail over with Jake.’

  Fang huffed sceptically. ‘You ain’t gonna get Ted anywhere near fire, let alone a 6,000 foot active volcano! It’s a disaster area over there and still under martial law.’

  ‘We’ll work something out. You, Jan and me can fly over in the Invader—we’ll be needing quick transport. It’ll be a good opportunity to do Jan’s final check flight in the Invader.’

  Fang shook his head. ‘What’s the plan with Ted, Dave? Break him in by lettin’ him play with a box of matches, then coax him into blowin’ out the candles on a birthday cake. Maybe then we could invite him to an open barbecue before takin’ him out to watch a distant bushfire. Shit, pal. You’re plannin’ to drop him on the edge of one of the most unpredictable volcanos in the South Pacific! It’s already killed six people, including two volcanologists and the lava’s still flowin’. The old prick is shit-scared of fire and terrified of bloody volcanos!’

  Dave was immune to Fang’s sarcasm. Though the point was valid, he had no intention of being intimidated by it. ‘I said we’ll work something out. In the meantime, Jan, make
arrangements to take the chopper over after the repairs. We’re gonna need it on Karkar.’

  Later, Jan recontacted the war historians in Port Moresby. They confirmed evidence that a Japanese barge hit a reef and sank off Karkar Island. The records still did not confirm a tangible link to barge 282. She packed up the dog tags, documents, bags, wallets and other personal belongings and stowed them away safely. She would pass them on to the US Armed Forces War Graves Commission in Hawaii in due course.

  Ted Frazer looked despondent after his hospital visit. He joined Dave and Fang at the bar and questioned Dave about Harada’s movements. Dave could not help. Harada seemed to have disappeared.

  ‘Are you gonna help us with the search out on Karkar island, Ted?’ Dave queried hopefully as they leaned on the bar.

  ‘No way. With the volcano still playin’ up, you won’t get me over there. I wanna be around when Richard comes out of the coma. He should be able to tell us somethin’ about Harada. What I could do is ring an old friend on the island and arrange for him to help you. His name’s Joe Wallis and he’s the resident volcanologist. He’s a strange, mercenary bastard. Bit of a whinger too. If it was rainin’ gold bars he’d be complainin’ about the dents in his car.’

  ‘Anything would help, Ted. Can you give him a call now and see what he can do for us? Question him about Jap barges and strange cults like the one you encountered.’

  Ted telephoned the volcanologist and after a lengthy discussion, returned to the bar. He looked serious and haunted as he sat down.

  Fang sensed his sombre mood. ‘What’s up with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

  Ted downed his whisky. ‘There’s a Jap stranger been askin’ questions over there. It must be Harada. He knows something about the barge. It’s gotta be the right island. It’s got a big volcano, there are Jap wrecks and not only did they have a fire worshipping cult … they still have.’

  ‘A Fire Cult, in this day and age.’ Fang sipped at his beer. ‘You gotta be jokin’?’

  ‘Accordin’ to Joe they still carry on with the same rituals. It’s tamed right down under official pressure of course. But the authorities haven’t been able to stamp it out. The cult’s activities are tolerated as long as they keep to themselves and don’t make themselves too obvious.’

  ‘Horseshit!’ grunted a still-sceptical Fang.

  ‘Why so unbelievable?’ Dave pointed out. ‘Look what happened at Jonestown and Waco and the other strange cult in Switzerland recently. If they can flourish in modern society, imagine what goes on in remote areas with primitive people.’

  Ted did not listen. His mind dropped back fifty years to a time of torture and a terrible searing blue flame.

  The barman’s voice called around the bar. ‘Is there a Ted Frazer here?’

  ‘Yeah, over here.’

  ‘Madang hospital, mate. Urgent call.’

  When Fang and Dave turned to check on Ted, he was gone.

  The telephone handpiece swung on its cord like a pendulum.

  31

  Fang lay back on the bed and tossed the map of the Bismarck Sea aside. He stared at the cracked mirror on the wall and the fractured ceiling, graphic evidence of the power of the recent earthquake. The overhead fan stirred the tobacco-laden air. A halo of slashes scarred the plaster of the ceiling above the fan, mute testimony to its violent oscillations during the earthquake. Fang diced a mango, devoured it and washed it down with a half glass of straight Rum Negrita. He only just heard the telephone ring above the tropical rain thundering down outside the hotel room.

  ‘Burnie’s wood yard—Burnie Board speakin’,’ said Fang.

  ‘It’s Dave. I’m at the airport. Bad news from the hospital. Ted’s son never recovered from the coma. He passed away this afternoon.’

  ‘Sorry to hear it. How’s Ted?’

  ‘He’s taken it really bad. I don’t think he’ll be much help now, probably hit the bottle again.’

  ‘Pass on my sympathies and let me know if there’s anythin’ I can do.’

  ‘I’ll do that. In the meantime, we’ve got problems with the chopper. Even with another set of blades, the vibrations are still there. Looks like the rotor strike buggered the gearbox. Jan’s organising to get a new one up from Australia. Seiji and Jake are still searching the coast of Karkar Island in the Lahara. Can you do an advance aerial scan along the north coast in the Invader, particularly the area of the co-ordinates, as soon as the weather permits? Jan and I are gonna be tied up all day tomorrow.’

  ‘No worries,’ Fang responded. ‘It’d be better with an observer but I’ll be okay.’

  ‘Thanks mate, I’ll leave it with you. Let us know what you find as soon as you get back.’ He hung up.

  Fang prepared to savour another glass of Negrita when the telephone rang again.

  ‘Vatican City, Pope John Paul speaking,’ Fang recited with a heavy eastern European accent.

  There was a stunned silence at the other end of the line, then a soft feminine voice. ‘I think I have the wrong number,’ a hesitation, ‘I was looking for Chris Mitchell?’

  Fang almost panicked. Only one woman did not use his nickname. ‘Tiana! It’s me, I was just playin’ a prank. I thought it was Dave.’

  ‘How are you? I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again,’ said Tiana, in a lilting melody of words.

  ‘Great now, thanks for callin’. What are you doin’ today?’

  ‘Teaching. I thought I’d call while I’m having a break.’

  ‘What about later? I’ll pick you up and we can have dinner out at Smugglers Hotel on the point. It’s a top spot.’

  Tiana faltered. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve got other commitments and I’m expecting an overseas call.’

  Fang felt despondent, aching to see her again. Memories of their first evening flashed through his mind, then he remembered his boring air search next day. ‘What about tomorrow, I have to fly my plane on a routine search out to Karkar Island. Would you like to come along, just you and me?’

  ‘I do have a day off,’ Tiana replied. ‘That would be wonderful.’

  Fang let out a loud whoop. ‘Great, I’ll pick you up at seven. It’ll be nice to have your company.’

  ‘No, it’d be better if I met you at the airport. I’ll take a taxi.’

  ‘That’s okay, just look for my orange ‘Cruiser. It’ll be parked near the control tower. I’ll meet you there about seven thirty.’

  ‘Fine, I’ll see you then.’

  Next morning, Jan stepped into the Thunderbox and noticed that Fang’s normally untidy hair looked combed. His usual scruffy beard had been neatly trimmed. ‘Wow Fang, you almost look civilised. What’s that? Aftershave?’

  Dave wrinkled his nose as he climbed in. ‘Smells like catch of the day!’ He then changed the subject. ‘Hope the weather improves for you today—we’ve lost nearly a week.’

  Fang dropped them at the damaged helicopter, then flight planned. The news from the tower looked bad. Scattered showers, isolated storms with heavy rainfall expected. He waited patiently for Tiana’s arrival. He scanned each arriving car, especially the taxis. Finally a small Toyota cab stopped right at the tower. Light rain began to fall as Tiana opened the door and paid the driver. Fang had never seen such a beautiful woman. She wore a knee length white cheong sam. As she stepped from the cab, it revealed the ivory shapeliness of her thighs. Tiana turned from the departing cab and saw Fang’s unmistakable Landcruiser. The wind teased her hair as she walked over and beamed a broad smile that exposed her perfect teeth.

  Fang knew then that he wanted her more than anything else in his limited but exotic life. The ‘heartless humper’, as a woman once called him, experienced alien feelings of love and devotion. He knew he would never be the same again. She stepped up into the seat of the Thunderbox, then sat staring and smiling without a word. Fang fumbled like a teenager on a first date, not knowing if he should kiss her.

  She simply took his hand and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Hi! Thank you
for the invitation. Is the weather okay for flying.’

  ‘No. We might have to wait until the storm passes through. After that, no problems.’

  As if on cue, heavy rain began to fall. A tropical downpour like a wall of water instantly flooded the carpark. Fang studied Tiana’s freshly shampooed hair. It glowed like black satin and framed her lovely face. Her dark eyes sparkled like black pearls below long lashes elaborately enhanced with mascara. Her high cheekbones were accentuated with blush and her broad tempting lips glossed the brightest red.

  They talked and joked as they waited. Even with the din of heavy rain thundering on the roof, their conversation became more intimate. They sat closer. Fang ran his fingers gently down her neck and threaded them through the dark glossy waves of her hair. It felt as soft as sable. He could not resist kissing her on the neck and then on her soft warm lips. Tiana responded in full and the kissing and caressing became more torrid and passionate. Fang ran his hand up the silken skin of her thigh. She gripped his hand and pulled it away. Fang remained consumed with passion and persisted.

  ‘Not here, Chris. Find somewhere more private.’ Tiana’s face was flushed and voice heavy with primitive emotion.

  Fang quickly started the brawny V8 and drove carefully down the perimeter track toward the water’s edge. The overstrained wipers battled to clear the torrential rain. He stopped at the shore where there would normally be a panoramic view of Madang Harbour, switched off and without hesitation took her in his arms.

  Tiana was just as eager, so Fang coaxed her into the rear of the wagon. He pulled the curtains across the windows and spread a thickly padded sleeping bag.

  As they lay on the sleeping bag her hands explored. First they combed his lank sun-bleached hair and then the soft stubble of his golden beard. She smiled her irresistible smile and again kissed him on the lips. Her hand slid down over the tanned bulk of his chest and unbuttoned his shirt. There was something intimately erotic about the remote privacy of the curtained wagon as the tumultuous rain pounded on the roof.